𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 ²

╰┈➤ ❝ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ - ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ❞

*Ten Months Earlier*

     Abigael lay exactly where Dean Winchester had left her months ago, her body untouched and her expression hauntingly serene. Time had passed everywhere else, but inside that room, it seemed to have stopped entirely. Not a strand of hair had shifted. Not a trace of decay marked her skin. She looked as though she might open her eyes at any moment, yet the dagger buried in her chest suggested otherwise.

The apartment surrounding her had surrendered to dust, darkness, and silence. No cleaners had been allowed inside. No neighbours had visited. Complete isolation had been the plan, ensuring no one disturbed her, so the spell could run its course. What had once been her home now felt more like a sealed tomb, forgotten by the living.

Then came the first bang. The sound thundered through the apartment as something heavy struck the front door. A second impact followed, rattling the frame, and then a third. Whoever stood on the other side was not asking permission to enter.

With one final, brutal blow, the door tore free from its hinges and slammed onto the floor with a metallic shriek. The echo faded slowly, leaving behind a silence that felt even heavier than before. Boots stepped across the threshold, each footfall thudding against the floorboards as a figure moved cautiously inside.

The apartment swallowed him almost immediately. There was no natural light, only the narrow beam of the flashlight he held beneath his raised weapon. Dust drifted through the glow like ash, disturbed for the first time in months.

Sam Winchester moved from room to room, keeping his gun trained ahead of him as he checked each doorway and every shadowed corner. He had expected wards, traps, perhaps even someone waiting for him. Instead, he found nothing. Furniture sat beneath thick layers of dust. Curtains remained drawn. The air was stale and unnaturally still.

He eventually reached the master bedroom. Sam paused outside the door, listening carefully before resting his fingers against the wood. When no sound came from within, he pushed it open. The hinges creaked loudly, the noise cutting through the silence, and the flashlight beam swept across the room.

Then it found her. Abigael lay stretched across the bed like the ghost of the woman she had once been, pale and motionless, her hands folded loosely over her stomach. An ornate dagger protruded from the centre of her chest, its dark metal standing out sharply against her clothing. Sam froze in the doorway as the light settled across her face.

For several seconds, he simply stared. He had prepared himself for many things when he came looking for her, but not this. Not Abigael laid out as though someone had carefully arranged her body before abandoning the apartment.

Sam stepped closer, his senses sharpening as he approached the bed. His gaze moved over her face, then lowered to the dagger and the strange position of her hands. She almost appeared peaceful, as though caught in a deep sleep, but there was nothing peaceful about a blade driven through her heart.