Author's Note: Okay, I hear you. Bobby's POV it is. Here's a sneak peak at "Midnight", the final installment in this little trilogy. Please check it out when I post it soon!
"Do you wake up on your own
And wonder where you are?
You live with all your faults."
—The Goo Goo Dolls, "Slide"
Truth be told, there's not a lot that Bobby Singer hasn't seen. He's killed demons for years now and while he considered himself "research only" up until about five years ago, he's hunted and killed pretty much every damn creature that hunters have ever heard of. Hell, he's even hunted things that rarely step foot on American shores! When it comes to all matters of things that go bump in the night, there's not much that can faze him. As many years as he's been in the life, he's pretty much seen it all.
"Bobby." A voice solemnly greeted him from behind and the gruff hunter cursed softly as he maneuvered his chair around. There stood the one thing that he had been sure didn't exist—the Messenger of Heaven himself, Castiel. Before Dean went to Hell, they all believed that only demons and other dark creatures existed. No one had ever dealt with the forces of Heaven nor had they even heard of an actual angel.
Up until now, that is.
"Jesus," He cursed as his heart continued to hammer in his chest. He wasn't as fast as he would like to be in this blasted chair. He was a liability to Sam and Dean—he just seemed to be the only one who knew it. "Anyone ever tell you not to startle people?" He had meant it rhetorically, but the angel nodded his head.
"Dean has said that, yes," Castiel reported dutifully. "Even Sam has on occasion." At the mention of the youngest Winchester, a pang of guilt mixed with anger coursed through Bobby's veins. Today . . . today, they had almost lost the youngest Winchester. Seemingly sensing this change in the mood, Castiel's head drooped slightly and he shifted his weight nervously. A weary grin tugged at the gruff hunter's lips—a nervous angel. Who would've believed that five years ago?
Then again, five years ago, they weren't in the middle of the damn apocalypse.
I'm going to end this now, Bobby.
The words resounded in his mind, as he knew they would for a long time, and he soon found himself back in time, sitting at his desk with the phone blaring in the background. At the time, he had been researching more rituals on how to keep angels away from a vessel for good. He had ignored the phone—it was all the way in the kitchen and he was in the middle of something important. He had let it go to voicemail and when he had finished the passage—a fruitless one that provided him with nothing that he didn't already know—he rolled himself to the kitchen to pick up a beer and he drank that before finally going to the machine and pressing the button, nearly 20 minutes after the call had been placed.
For as long as he will live, he will never forget that message.
"Bobby, hey, it's Sam," He had scoffed, muttered something about the boy always being so damn nervous around him. Ever since he had gotten put in this chair, Sam had begun to look at him with sheer regret in his eyes. The boy could justify putting the weight of the world on his shoulders and Bobby wasn't surprised that he felt guilty about what had befell him. "Listen, I just want to tell you that I'm sorry. Again, for everything." The youngest Winchester coughed nervously and uneasiness filled the older hunter. Sam had apologized before for the apocalypse—he used to do it constantly—but he had thought they were past this part. What was going on here? "Also, I need you to know," Sam cleared his throat before continuing and the uneasiness hardened into foreboding. Something was seriously wrong here. "I need you to know that I appreciated everything you ever did for me, Bobby. I might not have deserved it, but you always came through. Thank you."
"What the hell are you thinking, Sam?" He had said aloud, as if he could reason with Sam, as if the youngest Winchester brother was in the room.
"I'm going to end this now, Bobby. Dean won't understand and I'm sorry that I have to saddle you with explaining this to him, but if Lucifer can't get his hands on me, then it's game over. You know that, I know that, even Dean does, he just refuses to accept it."
"Sam—" He had growled, voice deadly and full of denial, because no, this was not happening, Sam would never think of doing this!
"My coordinates are 33°32′19″North and 112°11′11″West." Sam paused for a few seconds and Bobby shook his head. This was not happening, this could not be—"And Bobby? I, um, this will sound really girly, but I want you to know that I always looked up to you. I'm sorry I was such a disappointment. I hope this will set things right—you and Dean deserve a better life."
With his piece said, the message had cut off.
And for the first time in years, Bobby had spiraled down into that pit of despair that he hadn't felt since he had been forced to kill Karen.
Author's Note: So, there you go! This piece will be super long when it's completed. It should be up soon as I'm almost done with it. Please look forward to "Midnight" when I post it. Thanks! Please review if you have a second!