Memories of You

Chapter 2

You'd spent the next month at Bobby's house in Sioux Falls, working cases on your own, taking his advice and helping with lore when you could. The two of you got into a comfortable routine. When you weren't working a case, he paid you to help keep the house clean (to a certain degree. He always did like the clutter) and help with dinner. All your meals were homecooked from scratch and, judging by how much your uncle enjoyed them, you wondered if he'd had a homecooked meal every night since Karen died. But you knew it wasn't your place to ask. That was one unspoken rule in Bobby's house that you dad told you. Don't ever mention Bobby's wife.

After a month, you started to worry about your father. He always made sure to call when he was on hunts (and he had cell reception) or at least send a text message letting you know he was still alive.

But after a month with no communication, especially after he said he'd only be gone a few weeks, that hunter's intuition that you'd picked up over the years started to sink in. It was something your dad always told you.

"Even if you ignore me, never ever ignore your intuition. It can mean the difference between life and death."

You thought about voicing your concerns to Bobby, but there was a 50/50 chance of him telling you not to worry. Later that night, you figured that was the worst he could tell you.

"Uncle Bobby," you spoke up at the dinner table as Bobby sipped his beer while feasting on the chicken pot roast you'd made.

"What's on your mind, kiddo?" Bobby replied after swallowing.

"Have you heard from Dad lately?"

Bobby thought about it for a moment, then furrowed his eyebrows. "Come to think of it, I haven't. He hadn't talked to ya?"

"No, and it's been a month."

"Guess time flies when you're having fun," he grinned, trying not to sound like an old coot who couldn't make a joke, but it didn't matter. You enjoyed what little sense of humor Bobby had.

"I have enjoyed my time here, I really have, but I can't shake this feeling that something's very wrong with him," you finished off your plate as you spoke, downing the rest of your wine. You and Bobby had your own preferences of alcoholic beverages. You believed anything could be paired with a dry white wine while Bobby saw beer as the new water.

"Have you tried calling him?"

You picked up your cell phone from the table. "No, I haven't. I guess I'm so used to him calling me at the worst times that I didn't think to. Let me try." You had your dad's number on speed dial so all it took was one button push to call him.

It went straight to voicemail, sending your heart rate through the roof. Dad never turned off his phone.

"You've reached Paul Kolson at 894-302-7599. If your name is not Y/N Kolson, John Winchester, or Bobby Singer, you should NOT have this number."

"His phone's off..." you let your voice trail, horror pooling through your insides.

"That's not like him."

"Uncle Bobby, who's John Winchester?"

Bobby looked up at you with an expression that made you think you broke the unspoken rule.

"I thought you met John and his boys."

You shook your head.

"Ah well, I imagine not. John wasn't very fond of dealing with other hunters."

"Well I guess if Dad's voicemail mentions him by name, he would be a hunter."

"And a damn good one. The problem is the bastard's been so hell bent on revenge he's practically blind. But he's got a couple sons, Sam and Dean, who're being raised in the life, like yourself, driving around the country in an black '67 Impala hunting. Although I'd heard that Sam went off to college. Stanford, I think. Sam always was a smart kid. I think you'd like him."