"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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Fixing the apartment came with a hefty price tag, and they refrained from probing into the circumstances that left my place in ruins. Employing a bit of magic to discourage inquiries and just for them to get the job done, I realised it would be weeks before I could move back in. I phoned Bobby, seeking temporary shelter, and to my surprise, he agreed to have me for a while.
During the past week, I've spent here, Hunters have been consistently reporting to Bobby about the ongoing Hunts, and to me, it sounded troubling. So, he decided to fill Dean and Sam in. We would need all the help we could get.
"I've been getting blasts from hunters all week," Bobby started, his gaze fixed on a map spread across the desk. "Nest of vamps," Bobby circled at the top of the map. "Werewolf dance party," he continued, circling another location. "Shifters six of them. Two hunters died taking them out... Ghouls, ghouls... Ghoul-wraith smorgasbord,"
"Is it just me or is that a straight kick-line down I-80," Dean announced.
"Exactly," Bobby responded, using the red pen to draw a line down I-80.
"Looks to me like it's a Sherman March monster mash," Dean remarked, making me squint my eyes for a moment at his reference.
"Yeah, but where are they marching to?" Sam inquired, curious about the monsters' destination. Bobby circled a larger circle at the end of I-80, then turned his attention back to Sam. "What is it?" he questioned, not quite grasping Bobby's point.
"Guy bashes in his family's heads," Bobby explained, but that was enough to get the boys geared up.
We hastily gathered our essentials, ensuring we didn't miss any crucial items. Bags were hastily packed, weapons carefully stowed away, and the Impala, stood ready to hit the road once again. Surprisingly, Bobby joined our hunt, expressing a genuine desire to contribute to the resolution of the case. It would make a nice change to have a more experienced hunter join us.
Seated within the precinct, the four of us donned an air of formality, the men in impeccably tailored suits—Bobby included. The collective attire projected an image of federal agents as if we were them. Contrary to the suited appearance of my male counterparts, I opted to retain my own attire. To the casual observer, I seemed to mirror the guise of a female agent, harmonizing seamlessly with the formal atmosphere, yet in truth, it was merely an illusion.
"It's like I told the cops," the man who bashed in his family's heads began to speak. "I blacked out," in his tone, he felt remorseful and broken.
"Well, just tell us what you do remember," Sam encouraged, leading the questioning. Seated at the table were Sam and Dean, while Bobby observed from near the two-way mirror, facing the table. I stood by the door, leaning on a nearby metal filing cabinet.
"Driving my regular route, and then I-I woke up in my truck at work," the man explained, his voice becoming teary, the words nearly choking him.
