God's Gift of Hope (Supernatural Fanfiction )

Scene 1

Then...

The boy lay in the middle of the room. He was seven, maybe eight years old. The room was much older. It was a sitting room and not the kind you bring company over to see. There was an eclectic mess cluttering the space.

A large leather-covered desk that had seen better days; a few single sofa chairs; a lamp or two. The sun came in through the dirty window and had dust mites bouncing on its beam. There were books... Everywhere... and old pieces of paper, maps and hundreds of weird trinkets.

Yet none of this held the interest of the boy. He just lay there looking up at the ceiling as if he were gazing at a sky full of white clouds.

"And what is that over there?" the boy asked as he pointed towards the corner of the room. He listened intently to the explanation that ensued, but there was nobody in the room with him.

The boy nattered on like this for a while. Asking questions, clearly hearing replies. He seemed to be discussing cloud patterns; sometimes he answered questions, even though nobody had seemed to ask him anything.

A man watched from the doorway to the next room. Concern masked on his face. After listening to this strange one-sided conversation, he turned and walked to the phone mounted on the wall of the kitchen.

He dialled slowly and after placing the call, he left a simple message "Have him call me. ASAP."

The man sat waiting, beer in hand, at the table in the kitchen. The table was old, like the other furniture in the house, with mismatched chairs, whose covers were aged and splitting in more than one place.

Dust mites danced on the sunbeams in this room too; silence bounced around the room.

The shrill bell of the phone made the man jump. He moved over quickly, to pick it up.

"Hello?" There was a pause as the man listened to the voice on the other end, "I think you had better be heading back. The boy is not right. He is just lying there talking to himself or something else... If you catch my drift?" More silence, more listening, "Idjit!" He said with a drawl, "if he is talking a ghost, you would think I would know about it... I am telling you, John, something is not right with him. It is like he is..." He stopped short, not knowing how to explain it properly, "somewhere else, with someone else, in his mind... but his body is here..." This was his best attempt at explaining, but it did not sit well with him, "I don't know how to tell you better. Get back here and help him." The man demanded.

He stood silently, listening to the voice on the other end and suddenly he dumped the phone back on its hook, saying as he did so, "Thanks for nothing... You idjit".

The man wandered back to the sitting room. He watched the boy as he continued his conversation with the invisible voice. Deliberately, so the boy would hear, the man cleared his throat.

"I have to go..." The boy whispered to nobody, he blinked his eyes several times as he added, "I am sorry..."

"Dean..." The man said aloud to the boy, "Go get your brother. It is time to get ready for dinner."

"Yes, Uncle Bobby." The boy said as he rolled over, rose to his feet and headed out of the room.

Now...

The glass slipped from Dean's hand. It bounced, rather than smashed, as it hit the edge of the carpet, making a loud thud, and rumble, as it rolled from the carpet across the floorboards.

"Cass..." Dean began, but he could not continue. Sam rose in the chair walking over to Castiel and Dean, who were near the door.

"Castiel?" Sam asked, "What are you saying?"

"You found her! You found Hope. I thought I was clear?" came Castiel's puzzled reply.

"Cass... That is not Hope!" Sam motioned to the girl on the bed, "That girl's name is Chayse. She is a reason we rang you... She needs your help." Sam was trying desperately to diffuse the situation, Castiel believing the boys had found Hope and Dean's stunned silence, at Castiel's wrong conclusion.

"I don't know why she said her name was Chayse, but I am telling you... That girl... Lying on the bed... Is Hope!" As Castiel said this he made to move toward the girl, but Dean shifted to stand in his way.

"You are wrong. Why would she use a different name? She has no reason to." Dean's voice was strained; he was struggling. He wanted to believe what Castiel was saying, but if he were wrong then Dean feared that he would lose it. The search, and continually coming up empty, had taken its toll on Dean and he was beginning to feel useless.

Worse still. What if Castiel was right and this was Hope? What a life she had been forced to live. Tears sprung to Dean's eyes, as a sadness swelled up in his heart. This girl had suffered. Having hellhounds, hunting and killing anyone who had helped her. He remembered now, how rude she had been when he had tried to return that jacket to her. Rude... because that might stop him from trying to help her, which in turn might save him from being the next dead person, for which she was responsible.

No... He shook his head as he stood there thinking it through... He did not want this to be Hope. For that to be his sister's burden was unbearable to him. Yet somewhere, deep in his heart, he knew Castiel was right; had known the minute he saw Castiel lay eyes on her.

"Dean..." Castiel pleaded, "It is Hope. I was there from the day she was born, to just after her eighteenth birthday. I would know her anywhere... I do not know why she is using another name... but it is her... It is Hope." Castiel had hold of Dean's shoulders, as he looked into his eyes, pleading with Dean to believe him.

Dean shrugged him off and made for the door. He rushed out into the cold night air, and leaning over the edge of the small porch; he threw up. Retching, repeatedly, broken by what little he knew of Hope's life, of Hope's burden.

Fade out