The Devil Went Down To Georgia | Supernatural | ✓

Chapter III - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

"Let's see if I've got this right," Bobby groaned slightly as he sat down in the chair he'd shooed Gabriel out of. If he was realizing anything in his time away from his boys, it was that while he missed the thrill of the hunt, he was also getting far to old to be doing it anymore. "You assholes pissed off some Saint of whatever-the-hell and now you need me to tell you how to kill her because you don't know how?"

"Did you say that just so you could repeat that we don't know how to fix the problem?" Gabriel asked, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the old doorframe, staring at the old mechanic.

"And it tasted sweet as a slice of Roadhouse apple pie, Gabriel," his words were sour, despite filling the room with a warmth that came from the image of only the best Macintosh apples and the perfect pinch of cinnamon; no one made it like the Roadhouse had, Ellen always treated pie the right way, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream to dressed the sugar-crusted pastry shell. But the name Gabriel itself made Bobby's skin crawl as only the archangel could—Gabriel couldn't even remember why he was hated in the household but felt resentment to the bearded man all the same.

"Can you help us, Bobby?" Castiel asked, his voice urgent.

"'Course," Bobby answered, he took a sip from a chilled beer bottle. "The thing about saints is that you can't kill them without killing their vessel—"

"That's not an option—" Elijah interjected immediately.

"Wait for it," Gabriel said, without hesitation.

"Unless," Bobby continued, looking at the younger angel.

"There's always got to be an unless," Gabriel sighed.

"Can I talk or are you too busy playing petty, princess?" Bobby asked, looking at the archangel. Words dripped with venom that burned Bobby's throat like perfectly aged whisky—only he didn't enjoy the taste near as much. Perhaps his resentment of the archangel came from what had happened between him and Alisabeth, perhaps Bobby just hadn't liked him from the moment he'd met him. It was hard to tell, considering this Gabriel didn't seem to know who he was, which meant that he likely didn't know who she was—and maybe that pissed Bobby off even further.

Gabriel waved his hand dismissively, "Carry on."

"Thing is," Bobby rose from his seat once again, placing the beer on his desk. Condensation dripped down the bottle, staining the wood below it as he strode over to his bookshelf—it was dusty, but somehow still gave the sense of frequent use. Certain books had thumbprints and streaks that weren't covered in the veil of dust. With a single finger, he pulled a book from the shelf and flipped the pages quickly. "If I remember right, there's a spell that lets you get her out, but it only lasts a few seconds."

"A spell? Like... Like Harry Potter?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.

Bobby frowned at both the Ghostfacers. Turning his head to Castiel to ask a silent question—anyone in the room could tell the posed question was who the hell are these guys?—and received a small shrug in response—it's the best we could do.

Sighing softly as he looked back at the Ghostfacers, "You call Hogwarts and let me know what Dumbledore says."

"So, only a few seconds?" Gabriel asked, knitting his eyebrows together, as he veered the conversation back to relevance, "That doesn't sound like it's going to bode well for Goldilocks. You're sure there's nothing else?"

"Well, the only other sources of information we usually have are angels—but," Bobby sighed, looking pointedly at the angelic trio, "We don't seem to have that outlet this time around, do we?"