Bobby Singer's Daughter - A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Chapter One Hundred and Nine - Guilty Conscious and Doppleganger Trouble

A week has gone by, I've seen dad here and there, Dean has called a handful of times after finding out that his brother was hunting some kind of monster, but Sam had let the person go. She was only killing to save her son who was dying; Dean's voice was thick with something when he called, and something was bothering him, but I didn't want to pry especially if it's something he did that he thought was the right thing to do. I've left the house a few times when dad was here to get supplies and large amounts of coffee to help keep me up at night, I get maybe two or three hours of sleep sometimes four if I'm drained enough to sleep through my nightmares.

"Babe, you really need to get sleep," Dean's voice hums over the phone at three in the morning; "I know you haven't been to bed yet."

"Dean, it's so hard to sleep, you don't understand," he sighs, "I've had hell nightmares Mel; I know it's not the easiest thing to deal with."

"Yeah, but you've not had Lucifer riding shotgun in your head for months."

"I know, I know, I'm doing it again," he sighs, "well try to sleep babe, I'll talk to you later, okay?" I yawn, "sure, Dean. I love you."

"I love you too."

We hang up, we've been saying those three words a lot more lately, especially since I kissed his brother which still haunts me; I have no clue what possessed me to do that unless Satan has some obsession with the younger Winchester. Sighing loudly, I sit up in bed, dad's snores can be heard down the hall which doesn't help with being so tired or wanting to go back to sleep. Lucifer had let me sleep for a few hours last night but tonight he's humming to himself across the room; I had to push on my injured hand harder than necessary to make him go away this time I think he's getting a bigger foothold on my brain each time he comes back. I tiptoe through the cabin pulling a beer from the fridge while dad sleeps, his head is resting on the small kitchen table books splayed about and papers on the floor; sighing at his situation I touch his shoulder making him jump in surprise.

"Why don't you go lay down old man?" I smile a little, "sleeping on the table isn't good for you."

He doesn't argue nor registers the time as he wanders over to the couch and plops down falling back asleep quickly, which I'm kind of jealous of truth be told. I look down at the work he has splayed out; most of this stuff looks foreign to me but at the same time I feel I've seen it somewhere. I continually drink until late morning while looking through the papers and trying to decipher the text even if I don't understand it myself. After a while dad's phone rings but he doesn't rise so I answer it, "Hey Sam, what do you got?"

"Mel? Where's Bobby?"

"Sleeping," I respond, "I've been looking over the stuff here."

"Alright, can you see if he made headway with anything?" I put the phone between my ear and shoulder flipping through pages, "it looks like Egyptian writing, Sam. "Book of the Dead" type stuff."

"So good news then?" I sigh, "define good, what are you guys after this time?"

"People are being put to judgement by something, then killed by whatever their deepest regrets were or something close to it."

Shuffling some more papers I say, "looks like you might be dealing with the God Osiris. He judges all, he plays all roles in the court no joke, it says in the lore that he can see directly into the human heart; weighs the guilt. If he finds more than a feather's worth, you're done."

"So what's he doing here, in Dearborn?"

"I don't know Sam, looks like he just pops up in places then disappears again." The couch creaks telling me dad's awake, "you've got to kill this guy before he disappears again."