Twelve: Lesson from Winchesters
I stared at the plate of bacon on the ground with a grimacing frown, feeling utterly rediculous for having placed it there. It wasn't like Charles was going to rise from the grave to gobble it up, but placing flowers seemed cliche' for a dog.
In the two days he'd been gone I'd missed him terribly. I felt like a piece of me was missing and it felt wrong of me to even think about getting another. Charles was irreplacible, and I had been counting on him to help me through this.
I was angry-- more angry than I could ever recall and it was all thanks to Crowley. The King of Hell had been an ironic favorite of mine in the show, that I'd almost forgotten during out meeting that he was... Well, a demon. After all I've seen him go through, I had hoped he still consisted of empty threats. It would seem the version of Crowley that had been trapped in this dimension had traits of his earlier self, before the human blood injections; still retaining malice and a cold heart toward the Winchesters.
I knew one thing was for certain, one thing I had spent time thinking of while I visited Charles' grave: I couldn't allow myself to be afraid. When the storm came, I didn't want to be huddled in a corner, scared to death and "hoping" everyone made it through. I wanted to be prepared, the only problem was I didn't know how or where to begin. The house was sealed as best it could be, and I was left trying to figure out what else I could to to ensure we all made it until the Doctor came back...
I reluctantly left Charles' grave after giving the hand-crafted cross a gentle caress, leaving my worries behind for the time being.
Once I reached the house, I looked up at the front door open and closed, the sound of jingling keys following the sound. Dean hopped off the last step of the porch, the corner of his lips quirking upward and his eyes crinkled as they squinted in the sunlight. "Hey, just the girl I wanted to see."
I couldn't control the blush in my cheeks and all that came out was a broken, "Huh?"
Dean tilted his head toward the Impala, "You got room in that garage for one more car? I don't want Baby getting scraped up-- and, yeah, I know. Don't give me a hard time about it."
I blinked a few times, trying to process what he had just said. I shook my head lightly to awaken myself from my trance, "Oh, yeah, there's plenty of room. Probably a good idea so we can have the weapons we need a room away, too."
Dean pointed his finger at me, "Exactly."
I lent him a hand pulling the garage door open, the wheels squeaking against the track. Dad was suppose to fix the garage door so that we wouldn't have to open it manually anymore, but he never quite got around to it.
Dean wiped his hands on his pants and pulled the keys out of his pocket. I stepped back and out of the way, but he stood by the driver side door, staring at me. "You want in?"
My heart did a somersault and my eyes practically lit up, "Really?"
"Yeah, really. Come on."
Dean ducked into the driver's seat and I bounced my way in next to him. Instantly, I was in awe. The leather interior was soft against my skin, and it smelt of worn cologne and gasoline. No wonder Dean loved this car--- it was cozy.
I looked into the back seat, marveling at Sam and Dean's initials carved into the door frame. "Oh, wow," I breathed.
Dean grinned and turned on the ignition.
The Impala jolted to life, the middle of a Led Zeppelin track blaring through the speakers. The car grumbled along with the beat of the music as Dean rolled into the garage, his fingers drumming along the steering wheel. I smiled as he mouthed the words to himself, knowing full well that he was going to let the song finish before cutting the ignition.
"You like Zeppelin, Cece?"
"Of course. You turned me on to them," I answered coyly.
Dean scrutinized me for a moment, "That right?"
I nodded and he seemed flabbergasted by the thought. It was still a little odd to be sharing that bit of information with him. I've seen nearly ten years of his life, I knew secrets he kept from Sam, I knew how he felt toward certain things. Dean seemed to be realizing that before my very eyes.
Dean turned off the ignition as the song ended, dropping the keys in the cup holder. We shut the garage door, watching in silence as the Impala disappeared behind it.
"That kind of seals the deal, doesn't it?" Dean mused.
I hummed in agreement and gazed up at him, "Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?"
His eyebrows raised ever so slightly, "Why the hell for?"
"Why do you think? I'm don't want to sit on my butt and do nothing. I got you all in this mess, and I don't expect you to take it all on your own. If I can't find the missing piece of my memory before the bad guys are on my doorstep, then I want to help hold them off until the Doctor gets back."
"What if something happens to you?"
"Something could happen to me anyway. I don't want to be a coward, Dean. We're a team, and I don't want any of you worried about me--- not if I can help take care of myself."
Dean grunted inwardly, shifting his weight. He clapped his hand over his neck, rubbing back and forth for a moment. He tested me with another glance, perhaps to see how serious I was about it and sighed, "Yeah, all right. We don't have a whole lot of ammo to waste, but one clip to show you the basics shouldn't make or break anything."
I smothered a smile, "I'll grab something to shoot."
<*>*<*>
"This, here, is a semiautomatic nine-mil," Dean explained, showing me the gun in his hand. He pointed to the barrel, "Sliding this back puts a bullet in the chamber and you can shoot till your magazine is empty, okay?"
I nodded and Dean placed the gun in my hand. It was heavier than I expected, and it gave me an unnerving feeling. I'd never been around a gun in my life, it didn't feel natural. It felt wrong to be holding it.
Sam joined me after setting up the target, gently adjusting my hands. "Place your dominant hand on the grip here and put your other hand under it for balance. Make sure your front sight and rear sight are lined up, and always keep your finger on the trigger safety until you're sure you're ready to fire."
I pointed the gun at the makeshift target, closing my left eye to aim down the sights. My stomach rolled and I grimaced, looking between the both of them. "This isn't going to come back and hit me in the face is it?"
"It has a little kick to it, but not enough to back fire on you. Here," Sam placed himself behind me, the length of his arms bending to match mine. He wrapped his hands around mine and lifted the gun into my sights. "Relax, Cece. Give a slight bend to your elbows and the recoil won't be so bad."
"Smooth, Sammy," Dean jeered.
Blood rushed to my face, feeling Sam's breath behind my ear. His finger raised to switch the safety off, "Aim carefully, and take a deep breath. Match your sights and pull the trigger when you're---"
Bang!
I shrieked, having closed my eyes at the last second. My ears rang, my body tense in fear the weapon was going to collide with my face. Sammy had a tight hold on me, but released a shaken breath at the surprise shot.
Dean chuckled to himself, "You missed, princess. Out of the way, Sammy."
The eldest brother shooed Sam away and took his place behind me. By now, Sherlock, John and Cas watched from a distance in peculiar intrigue as Dean hunched himself around me. I was going to explode with pressure.
"Listen to me, Cece," Dean drawled huskily. "That's not a target. That's Crowley--- the son of a bitch that killed Charles."
My breath hitched in my throat, and my grip on the gun tightening. Moisture filled my eyes, memories flashing of Crowley in front of me, the snap of his fingers shattering my dog's spinal cord sounding in my ears.
"I want you to aim this sucker right down the middle, and give him hell, kid. Understand?"
I swallowed and nodded obediently.
Aiming down the sights, I made contact with red circle in the center of the target. I imagined Crowley, arrogant smirk and all. I nearly yelped when his image winked at me, taunting. I narrowed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. The explosion startled me again, but I continued firing, standing my ground. I clenched my teeth, a powerful feeling surging through me. I didn't even notice Dean backing away and the gun clicked.
Out of ammo. I'd unloaded a full clip, bullet holes sporadically spread through the target. I didn't hit the bullseye once, but a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt like I could breath easier.
Dean patted me on the back and took the gun from my hand, "Atta girl."
The adrenaline pumping through my veins shook me to the core, a slow exhale escaping my lips. Sam wrapped his arm around my shoulder, his hand squeezing me. "Feel better?"
I blushed, "Kind of, yeah."
"Hey," Dean called, standing by the target. He pointed to a cluster of bullet holes, grinning ear to ear, "You managed to hit Crowley's shoulder a couple of times. Looky here, even got him in the family jewels."
I spent the rest of the afternoon learning how to throw knives; I even sparred against Sam, hand to hand. Though, one day wasn't exactly enough to make me an expert, I felt better--- more prepared. I felt less like a sitting duck; push come to shove, I could handle myself.
I was getting ready for bed, my hair damp from a shower and the warmth of my skin causing my eyelids to droop. I stared at the boarded up window, unable to shake the feeling of something staring back at me through the planks. The air just felt that thick, that ominous. It wouldn't be long, I thought. They're coming, it's only a matter of time.
I wondered how far the Doctor had made it, if he was making any progress. That was when a knock startled me out of my trance. "Cecily," John Watson drawled, pushing the door open. "You've got to see this."
My stomach dropped and I felt my skin pale. I barely had time to ask before I was following him out into the living room. I thought for sure I'd see my guests huddled around the kitchen window, but they were all in front of the television. My brows furrowed in discombobulation, hearing the coos of a baby and whiny replies from what sounded like an older man.
As the screen came into view, my eyes widened at the Doctor next to a chubby infant. "Doctor?" I yelped, crashing down between Castiel and John on the floor.
"Oh, hello, Cecily!" The Doctor exclaimed, beaming. He tilted his head toward the infant, "Look who I found."
The familiar head of dark hair and rounded cheeks were all too familiar. The little girl shrieked happily and pawed at the Doctor's nose, giggling at the face in made in turn.
I couldn't believe my eyes, "That's me!"
"Say what?" Dean grunted.
"Doctor, how in the world--- What are you doing there?"
"This is the first place in your time line the TARDIS took me," he explained. "I'm using Her transmitters to broadcast this to you. Frankly, I'm surprised it worked so easily. Honestly, little Cece, could you be any cuter?"
I stammered, my mouth moving wordlessly. "D-Doctor! What if my parents see you?"
"They've left you with a babysitter. She's a lovely girl, a bit too easy to fool, I'm afraid."
"Doctor, have you found anything?" John inquired.
"No, not yet. What's that, little Cece?" the Doctor inclined his head toward the infant as she tugged at his bow tie. The Doctor grinned, "Yes, you're quite right."
"Is he speaking to a baby?" Sherlock groaned.
"'Course, I am! I speak baby, you know? She says bow ties are cool," The Doctor placed a kiss on infant Cece's forehead and set her back down. "Right, I got quite the journey ahead of me, but I wanted to check in. Everything all right on your end, I assume?"
"So far so good," Sam said. "We're as prepared as we can be, but if Crowley does decide to ambush us we don't have much to stop him."
"And you, Cece? Staying brave?"
I nodded firmly, "I'm trying, Doctor."
"Good girl. I'll be back as soon as I can. Keep your wits about you...."
**A/N: Hiyah! Been a while, yes? Sorry, you guys and I've failed you by not making this chapter as good, or as long as I hoped; However, I'm feeling a surge of inspiration again, and the next chapter will be bigger and better! Vote, comment, favorite and I'll be back soon!***