banshee | s. winchester

EPILOGUE

BANSHEE

act three | an epilogue

     Ellen Harvelle woke up to a tap on her shoulder. She had thought it was her daughter, waking from one of her rare nightmares. Instead she was met with bloodshot green eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The smell of alcohol hit her immediately, giving away the drunken state of the Goddess before the half-empty bottle and small stumbles had a chance to be shown.

Ellen turned on the lamp beside the bed, illuminating the room. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, not letting herself look away from the drunken mess stood before her. "Abbie?"

"I ran," Abigail slurred. She ran a hand through her dyed hair. "I'm no use to him. I'm bad. I'm not... Good."

Ellen tilted her head at her, a sad smile forming on her lips. She reached forward and took ahold of the bottle on Abigail's hand, slipping it from her grip and placing it on the nightstand.

"I'm not good for him and he knows. Who wants someone like me?"

Abigail sat on the bed beside Ellen, immediately falling into her arms. Ellen had held Abigail as she cried herself into a sleep that night. She carefully removed the makeup staining her cheeks using the bottle of water she had kept beside her bed and a tissue, gently rubbing her cheeks. She didn't want the girl waking up and having to do it herself.

When Jo had arrived at the motel the next morning, she tensed at the blonde sleeping in her bed. She watched for a few moments as Ellen finished removing the majority of the black mascara.

Before Jo could get a single word out over the sight of her ex-girlfriend's head resting on her mother's lap, Ellen had explained everything.

Abigail hadn't planned on staying as long as she did. She intended on leaving as soon as possible, wanting to join the angels and try to prevent Michael from doing anything too stupid. She stayed, only meaning to do so for a few days. But then a few days, turned into a few weeks.

And then a few weeks turned into... The second of May.

On May second, Abigail had tracked down Lilith. She was going to go inside to help, yet stopped when she heard the growling of the hellhounds. She tried her hardest to stop them all. It was the least she could do, after all.

Bleeding from her stomach, Abigail had watched as the hellhounds dug their claws into Dean. Their claws tore and ripped into his body, disembowelling him so they could drag his soul to Hell for an eternity of torture.

Bobby Singer had seen Abigail, swearing not to tell the younger Winchester she had been there. After all, she couldn't have Sam find out she had done nothing to help — she knew she couldn't and it made her feel sick.

     Bobby kept that promise.

Abigail kept in close contact with the demon Ruby — mostly to ensure Torrick remained in his spot in Hell. Ruby would occasionally mention something about Sam and how he was doing — she knew Abigail was just dying to ask but never would. Abigail felt something was off about the demon, but perhaps it was only her growing closeness to Sam.

It was probably only a week or two after the day Sam Winchester has been dreading. Drunk and alone on the streets of an unfamiliar city, Sam dropped the empty glass bottle into the trash can and sat hidden in an alley so he could stay unnoticed.

"Abigail?" His voice was hoarse, throat dry and burning. "I know you can hear me. Please... Help me. Bring back Dean or something." He looked around himself, no appearance of the blonde. His nostrils flared. "Come on! It's the least you could do!" Sam squeezed his eyes shut, letting out heaving breaths. "Please."

Abigail laid there, listening to different emotions Sam had gone through. Tears pricked at her eyes as she listened to him pray to her. She had wanted to help. She wanted to bring Dean back but she knew and Sam knew that she was unable to do that.

Sam had thought it was worth a shot. He wasn't surprised she wasn't listening. Had he been in her shoes, he might not have been either. Though, it would have been nice to hear her voice once again.

Abigail had thought about how she needed him.

They both thought about how they missed the other.