"Aren't we all bound in one way or another?"
Since Abigael made the decision to place herself into a deep slumber, to come to terms with the knowledge Lucifer provided. All seemed well, and calm. She was coming to terms with the fact of it all. But...
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*Ten Months Earlier*
Abigael was still laid in the same position Dean Winchester had placed her in all those months ago. Though her apartment was dark and dusty as hell, it was her plan to not be disrupted, that included the cleaners. A bang rang free from the front door of the apartment, then again, and again. Someone is trying to break in, trying to access her apartment. With one last bang, the front door shot from its hinges and flew across the floor.
The apartment was dark, nothing was lit, it was like her own crypt. Heavy boots crept into the apartment, their weapon raised, with a flashlight in the same hand. As their eyes cast around the environment, looking for any sign of life. The man checked everyone's room that was available to him, before coming to that of the master bedroom. He places his hand onto the door, and pushes it open. It creeks along the way, but he got an eyeful of a woman laying on the bed, unmoving and lifeless. He pointed the flashlight onto her, and now noticed a dagger sticking out of her chest. He moved cautiously into the room, and over to the bed. His eyes scanned that of Abigael.
He places the flashlight on the nightstand nearby, allowing the light from it to light up the room. Then he puts away his gun, before reaching out to the dagger. Once his large manly hands reached that of the hilt, his palm pressed firmly onto it, and he was ready to pull it free. However, the hilt of the dagger began to heat up, and he felt the heat coming from it, but he could not remove his hand from it. A roar of pain echoed from his lips, as it was now like a hot branding iron. But before he could comprehend anything else, a strong wave of force came from the hilt, and blasted him away from Abigael and the dagger. He gained air time for a moment, before crashing into a nearby wardrobe, smashing it in. Due to the force of the blast. He groans loudly, finding the blast hurtful, and the pain generating from his hand. Once he got his bearings, he brought up his right hand to eye level to see a symbol burnt onto his palm - dead in the centre. To him it looked like a letter 'P'.
Abigael lay still and unaware of what was transpiring in her own bedroom. The man stood to his feet, brushing off the glass shards and wood pieces off of him. He walks towards the bedside once again, his eyes glancing along her figure. He pulled out his phone, and dialled a number.
"I found her," his deep voice rang free down the telephone. "But she appears to be dead," his eyes squinting, to see no rise or fall of her chest. "With a blade stuffed into her chest,"
"What?!" Bobby's voice exclaimed through the phone. "What do you mean Sam?" Bobby asked Sam, who took his gaze back over to Abigael.
"How else would you want me to describe it? She's dead, but doesn't look dead," Sam states, finding that her complexion didn't resemble a rotting body. Nor did the smell of rotting flesh lingered through the air.
"Bring her back, and we'll figure something out," Bobby instructed before Sam heard the dial tone of a call cutting off. Sam shoved his phone back into his pocket, and wery stepped closer to the bed. He extended his hand out to touch her arm - the exposed skin. His fingertips brushed against her supple skin, and nothing happened. He placed his fingers onto her forearm and allowed them to stay there for a few seconds, finding that she wasn't cold, but just at room temperature. But he recoiled his fingers back. Still nothing happened, meaning only if he tried to remove the dagger would he be hurt. With now a calm mind-frame, he slides his arms under her body, and gently lifts her with his strong arms. Carrying her bridal style, and if she was like a china-doll - fragile and breakable...
