Something isn't right about this day. As soon as you woke up, you knew something felt off. You couldn't quite place your nose on it, and that is what bugged the shit out of you. Maybe it's because you're now six months pregnant, or maybe it's something entirely different, but you have to figure it out before you let it ruin your life. It's like you know something is wrong, you have that gut feeling, but nothing is wrong at all.
The person who needs all your focus and attention is your dad because he is still reeling from Rufus' death. He knows what he almost did to you, but you forgave him for that almost immediately. It wasn't him, and everyone knows that. That doesn't stop him from beating himself up and drinking himself to death.
You, Sam, and Dean don't know what to say to him because really, what is there to say? The brothers stand in the doorway that separates the kitchen and the living room, but you sit at your dad's desk with him. He won't even look at you, and whenever you tried to say something, he would just clear his throat and drink some more. He finishes one bottle and moves onto the next.
"Dad—"
"I don't want to hear it," he cuts you off and takes a long swig of the alcohol bottle. He motions to the brothers with a shake of his head and looks at them. "You two just gonna stand there like the ugly girl at the prom, or you gonna pitch in? This so-called Eve, mother of whatever, ain't gonna gank herself. What's wrong with you two?"
"Dad, they only want to help," you sigh.
"Bobby, you haven't slept in days," Sam notes.
"I sleep. What are you, my wife now?"
"I'm just saying that, you know, taking five might be a good thing," Dean shrugs.
"For whom?"
"I did it, and you can do it," you say.
"You're pregnant, and I'm fine."
"Look, Bobby, it was tough for all of us, seeing Rufus go like that."
"You think this—this ain't about Rufus!"
"Dad, he was more than a poker buddy, and you know it," you say.
"You know when I knew Rufus was done for? The day I met him. The only question was, who first—him or me? Now, you want to stand there and therapize, or you want to get me some coffee?" he asks with a pause. "Make it Irish."
You get up with a roll of your eyes and join the brothers in the kitchen so you three can talk somewhat privately.
"Well, he's doing fantastic," Dean scoffs.
"Yeah, this isn't about Rufus at all."
"Well, what do you want to do? I mean, we can't just sit here and watch him shit out his liver," you state.
"Well, we could get him out of the house. There's a job."
"Really? What've you got?" Dean asks.
Sam pulls out a newspaper from his back pocket and opens it to show you two what he's got.
"Chester, Pennsylvania. Three people got kicked off in the last week, all freaky. Last guy got karate-chopped by his garage door, and these are all blood relatives."
"So, family curse?" you ask.
"Could be."
"Hey, grumpy—" Dean turns and yells at your dad, but jumps when he realizes that he's standing right behind him. "You, uh...?"
"I don't want to do crap. Leave me alone. Just, get out of my house, all three of you. You're driving me nuts."
"Dad."
"Now! For the love of Pete," he sighs and walks away.
"Dad, wait, please," you beg and lightly jog over to him. He turns to you with a sad sigh, and all you want to do is to take his pain away. "You know you can lean on me for anything right? I am here for you."
"I know," he whispers. He pulls you into a hug and kisses the side of your head before pulling away from you. "Get out of the house. You've been stuck in here for about a month."
"Okay," you nod. You leave back to the brothers with a smile. "So, when do we leave?"
"No, you're not coming with us. He needs you," Dean says.
"Dean, I did what the doctor said. I did the whole bed rest, and I feel great now. I took a step back when you two went on those small hunts. I followed every rule, so I'm asking you to give me a little leash. I will only be here for research. I need to get out of this house," you chuckle.
"She has been laying low," Sam states.
"Fine. You can come."
"Great, let's go," you chuckle and leave the house first.
As soon as you step outside, you frown. There is something different about... something. The junk yard looks the same, the house looks the same, and nothing is different... visually. However, there is something that is different, and it's clawing at you, begging to be noticed. Sam and Dean pass you to get to the car, and as soon as you see it, you stop short. Dean's car is shiny, black, has the two brown stripes in the front, and a Mustang in all its glory. Though, it's not supposed to be... or you think it's not supposed to be.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Dean asks after his brother got in the car.
"I could have sworn this used to be a Chevy," you mutter.
"Pregnancy brain, that's all I gotta say," he chuckles. "It's always been a Mustang. Come on, we gotta go."
Maybe he's right. You shake your head and get into the backseat of the car, ready to relax for the long drive you have ahead of you.
"You know, maybe we should wait 'til she gets back," Sam says before Dean drives off.
"Dude, she just called from the road and said she'd be here in two shakes. You really want to sit around and watch him stew in his juices?"
"Yeah, yeah, drive," he chuckles.
"Who called? I must have been sleeping," you chuckle.
"Ellen."
Ellen? Ellen Harvelle? You know she is real and alive, but there is something inside you that's telling you that she isn't supposed to be. There is something nudging you to think this way, and you don't know why. Dean drives off, and you take out your phone to play a game to pass the time. You just pulled up an app when you get a message from your... mom?
Hey sweetheart! Hope all is going well! Can't wait to see you!
That message brings a smile to your face, and you go to reply to her but you stop short. A frown slowly takes place upon your face, and one single thought enters your mind: my mom is dead. I watched her die... didn't I?
"Are you okay?" Dean asks when he sees your face through the rearview mirror.
"My mom texted me," you say slowly.
"Oh, tell her we said hi."
"Tell her we'll get you back in one piece. She doesn't need to come to us," Sam laughs.
"She's gonna come to us?" you ask, feeling more hopeful than you should have.
"No, we don't need her with us. All she's going to do is backseat hunt with us. We can handle this," Dean shakes his head.
"Hey, watch your mouth. That's my mother you're talking about."
That's what you wanted to say, but the words are lost to you. What is happening to you? Why are you having these feelings and thoughts? Most importantly, are these thoughts and feelings the right ones? The real ones?
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The first place you check out is the garage where the guy had his head decapitated by his garage door. The blood stains are still there, but it's late in the night, so it's not easily seen by anyone. The smell is there though, and instead of working in the dark, you need to have some light in here. As to not let people know you're here, you don't put the lights on full blast. Instead, you use your magic to keep them at a very dim setting so you at least know where you're going and what's around.
The brothers are walking around with their EMF readers, but you're just here for the exercise. It's a small garage, but there is a lot of shit inside that clutters up the place. Sam and Dean cover about half of the garage with the EMF reader, but nothing is coming up.
"Not a bleep," Dean notices and turns off his reader.
Sam uses his own for just a little bit longer before coming to the same conclusion.
"Well, not a vengeful spirit, then," Sam says and shuts off his reader. "So what is it?"
As you pass by a desk that's sitting by the far wall, you notice something shiny on the ground. You're so pregnant that if you were to bend down, your stomach would prevent you from picking whatever it is you want off the ground. However, that doesn't stop you from trying to accomplish that.
"Guys, look at this," you say.
You bend down with your hand outstretched in front of you, but you can never get close enough to the small golden thread. Sam and Dean look at you in amusement, watching as you struggle to pick up something off the ground.
"God damn it," you mutter and try a different position.
The brothers snicker at your attempts, and you straighten up with a glare. You point to the thing on the ground, and Sam walks over to you to pick it up for you. He snickers one again, and you slap his arm as hard as you could.
"Ass."
"Whatcha got? Christmas tinsel?" Dean asks.
"No, it looks too thick and real to be tinsel. Here," you say and grab the nearest thing you can find which is a flower pot. You hold it out to Sam for him to run the thing along it to see if it leaves a mark. Sam does so, and it leaves behind a thick stripe of gold. "It's gold."
"You mean, like, gold gold?" Dean gasps.
"Why would a handyman have gold just lying around in his garage?" you ask.
"I don't know. There is definitely a skeleton in this family's closet. I mean, accidents don't just happen accidentally," Dean says, and Sam gives him a weird look ."You know what I mean."
"Alright. How about Y/N and I go check family records, and you go with next of kin?"
"Yes, put me on that research duty," you chuckle.
"Yeah, good plan."
"How about we take this up tomorrow morning. I need some sleep," you state, and the brothers agree.