CHAPTER FOUR: ARE YOU THERE GOD? IT'S ME, HENRY WINGRAVE

"APOCALYPSE?" Dean, now on his feet, asked, concern coloring his face. "The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?"

"That's the one," Bobby nodded. "The rise of the witnesses is a ─ a mile marker."

"Okay," Sam nodded, taking this in comparatively calmer than his brother, "so, what do we do now?"

"Road trip," Dean said. "Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience. Bunny Ranch."

"First things first," Henrietta interrupted and threw her legs down the side of the cot. "How about we survive our friends out there?"

"Great," Dean nodded and looked at her. "Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?" Henrietta made a face at him. 

"It's a spell," Bobby pointed to the paper in front of him, "to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

"Should," Sam pressed against the word like it was a lifeboat. "Great."

"If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house."

"Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?" Dean asked from his chair of despair as Henrietta got up, lacing her boots.

"So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden? Spell's got to be cast over an open fire."

Henrietta looked over in realization. "The fireplace in the library."

"Bingo."

"That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?" Dean said, really tired and not wanting to leave this beautiful masterpiece.

Henrietta slapped the back of his head. "Stop whining, you big baby."

Armed with their salt shotguns now, the quartet found themselves ready to cross the threshold of safety and venture into the great beyond ─ the house of Bobby Singer. "Cover each other," Bobby instructed them. "And aim careful. Don't run out of ammo until I'm done, or they'll shred you. Ready?" When they nodded, he opened the iron gate and led them out. They hadn't even taken the first few steps when they encountered their first ghost.

Sat on the stairs was a young man in his early 20s with curly hair and a chalk-white face. "Hey, Dean," he said as if they were long-lost friends. "You remember me?"

"Ronald, huh?" The ends of Dean's mouth pulled into an unintended smile. He must have been a fond memory, Henrietta guessed. "With the laser eyes? I wish I could say it's good to see you."

"I am dead because of you," Ronald said angrily as he stood up. "You were supposed to help me!" 

Henrietta registered the sound before anything else. It was almost in her ear and the surprise shook her body. Ronald had disappeared and Bobby's gun was still aimed. The three of them looked at him. "If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk."

Thankfully they made their way to the living room without another meet and greet with an old acquaintance. Sam tossed her a bag of salt and as they both drew a circle around the table and the fireplace, Dean started the fire.

"Sam. Upstairs," Bobby said, "linen closet ─ red hex box. It'll be heavy."

"Got it." He ran up the stairs just as the twin girls from before appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Bobby," one of them called and Booby froze. Dean aimed his shotgun at the ghosts and banished them. For the time being. 

Having completed the salt circle, Henrietta stepped inside it and traded the bag of salt for a gun. As she checked the ammunition, Bobby instructed Dean, "Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood."

Dean, who had already been on his way, paused in the doorway. "Opium?" he asked, incredulous ─ both at its use and at the fact that Bobby had opium.

"Go!" Bobby shouted, sending him to work. In Dean's wake, the girls flickered back. Henrietta noticed them before Bobby, who was busy drawing with chalk on the desk. 

"Bobby," one of them called. "You walked right by us while that monster ate us all up."

"You could have saved us."

Henrietta shot at them, making them disappear again. What she failed to notice was that behind her, over the salt line, Josie had reappeared. Still in the bloody waitress dress, she looked like a victim from some 90s horror flick. She opened her mouth, and screamed, "Everywhere you go, people die!"

Henrietta turned around in a flash, her gun aimed. She quietly said, "Josie, I'm sorry," and she meant every word as she shot her and sent her away. As she lowered her gun, the doors to the kitchen suddenly closed loudly. The sound made Henrietta turn and raise her weapon.

"Dean?" Bobby called.

Dean's voice was muffled from the other side of the door. "I'm all right, Bobby! Keep working!" 

Henrietta glanced over towards Bobby who increased his speed. She grabbed the bullets kept on the table when a loud bang echoed from the kitchen making her wince. She looked over her shoulder at Bobby and said, "Keep working."

Stepping out of the salt circle, she took the longer route to the kitchen through the hallway. Busy with reloading the gun, she failed to notice the melancholic presence of her personal ghost a moment too late. Just as she had finished loading the gun, hands wrapped around her neck, shoving her against the hallway wall. Gun still gripped in her hand, Henrietta took in the attacker with furrowed eyebrows.

Kieran stood over her, hands around her throat, crushing her neck like a rag doll. He could have broken her neck in one swift move but he had things to say. Things he needed Henrietta to hear. Decade-old things that still pricked and pierced.

There was a pain throbbing in the back of Henrietta's skull and making its way to her ear. She gasped and fiddled with the gun, trying to aim it carefully.

Kieran leaned in closer, his face inches from her. "You know," he whispered, "I did it exactly like you." A chill went down Henrietta's spine. Her finger over the gun's trigger froze. Kieran grabbed her left wrist and jerked it forward. He grabbed the long sleeve of the jacket and pulled it back, revealing thin white scars running down Henrietta's wrist. He put forwards his own forearm, the hospital band still hanging around his wrist. The scars on his ghost-white skin mirrored hers.

The horrifying realization was enough to bring Henrietta back to reality.

"I thought if someone brought you back," Kieran said, hand moving towards her chest to rip her heart out, "they can bring me back, too, you know. And then I'll be fine. But no one helped me, Henry. Nobody saved me. How is that fair? Why you, Henry? Why are you saved? Why not me?"

Henrietta shook her head. She didn't know. She had never wanted to be saved. "I'm sorry, Key. I'm sorry." The sound of the shotgun filled the hallway and Henrietta ended back on her sturdy feet. She rushed, hearing the grunting from the kitchen, and sprinted inside upon the scene of Dean struggling. His ghost had his hand thrust inside his chest, ready to rip out his heart.

Without another moment to think, Henrietta aimed her gun at the ghost and fired. The ghost disappeared and Dean fell back, gasping for air. Henrietta hurried towards him and crouched beside, hand on his fast rising-and-falling shoulder. "You all right?" she asked.

Dean, still staring at where the ghost once was, tried his best to get his breathing back to normal. "No," he forced the words out because he really wasn't alright. 

Henrietta pursed her lips. It was incredibly hard sometimes not to let everything get to you as a hunter when you had one job. Not to count the dead but to keep the living safe. Instinctively, she grabbed Dean's face, his chin in her hand, and turned his eyes towards her. There was steel behind her gaze, something sturdy that Dean was searching to stand on. Her face said everything. She didn't need a worrier right now, she needed a warrior. She let her hand fall. He kept staring into her ice-blue eyes, his breathing back to normal. She grabbed his collar, and said, "Let's go."

Standing up, Dean grabbed the ingredients and they hurried back to the library as Sam entered carrying the red hex box, looking battered and beaten. Dumping all the supplies on the table, they turned to reload their guns when Ronald appeared again.

"Ronald. Hey," Dean said, "come on, man. I thought we were pals."

"That's when I was breathing. Now I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Well . . . come on, I'm not a cheeseburger."

Dean cocked his gun and pointed it at Ronald, but Ronald had already vanished. Bobby started the Latin chants and Henrietta raised her eyebrows before the windows blew open and the wind filled the room. Henrietta covered her face behind her elbow at the strength of the wind. In a swirling mess of flying papers and dancing hair, the salt line started to break. Though everyone seemed to notice it, the words escaped Henrietta's mouth in both warning and dread. "Guys, the salt line."

No faster had she said so, Meg appeared but Sam shot her quickly as Bobby continued to recite the spell. In her bloody waitress dress, Josie appeared again and Dean took the shot failing to notice Ronald behind him but Henrietta banished him away.

Henrietta lost count then, about who shot who or who appeared next. Ammunition was depleting fast and the ghosts kept coming. Bobby's chant continued on in the background and Henrietta kept herself as sharp as possible. One of the little girls from before appeared in front of her and she took a shot but the girl's twin pushed her with immense force from behind. She crashed to the floor and skidded to a stop a distance away from the group.

From here, she could see it all from an outsider's point of view as Dean grabbed hold of a fire poker and hit Henriksen's ghost with it, sending him away. Grunting, Henrietta pushed herself to her feet, cradling her left arm. Her eyes widened as Meg appeared and pushed Sam against the wall, trapping him there with a desk.

"Sam!" Henrietta shouted, reaching for her gun on the floor and aiming for Meg. 

But Sam had other concerns. Eyes wide, he shouted, "Behind you!"

Henrietta turned, gun still raised, ready to fire but Kieran knocked it out of her hands. "I loved you! And you let me rot in that mind prison!" He shoved her against the wall and thrust his hand inside her chest, grabbing her heart. Henrietta stopped breathing in shock. Her hand gripped Kieran's collar in a deadly grip and her eyes were wide from shock. She could feel his fingers taking hold of her little beating heart. One last time, she gazed at Kieran in utter incredulity. Then gasped and started choking.

Her gaze moved over Kieran to Dean who was standing behind him. He shouted her name, or she thought he shouted her name. His lips formed words but she couldn't hear them. Her chin fell on Kieran's shoulder as he twisted his hand inside her. Her eyes fell on Bobby, behind whom Meg was standing. Henrietta must have said his name, she had wanted to, she had made her mouth move but no sound had come out. At least not one she heard. Maybe Dean did because he turned to Bobby. 

Henrietta felt a burning pain originate at the base of her throat. Like someone had taken red hot iron and pressed it against her skin. She cried out in pain just as the bowl of ingredients from Bobby's hands fell. He called for Dean who caught it just before it hit the ground.

"Fireplace!"

And Dean threw the bowl in the fire, which raged blue. The ghost all disappeared. Bobby fell as well, released from Meg's hold and Dean caught him. "Bobby?

Henrietta crumbled to the ground, the burning pain still hurting her but not as much. Sam pushed the desk away, freeing himself, and slid to his knees beside Henrietta. Her face was covered behind a curtain of her red hair. Sam brushed it back and caught hold of her shoulders. "Henry, hey. Hey." Henrietta winced but sat up. Sam rocked back slightly when she half fell into his chest but balanced them both. She dropped her forehead on his shoulder, drained. Sam sighed and placed his chin on her head, sharing a look with Dean.

SMOKE rose from the burning end of the cigarette hanging from the lips of Henrietta Wingrave. She sat on the steps of Bobby's house in the twilight of September evening as birds returned home for the night. After the ghosts had all gone away and they had made sure the ghosts had all gone away, Henrietta had helped them clean up the mess. Then she had called Siobhan and Father Parrish and told them everything. The Revelation omens, the ghosts, the Rising of the Witnesses, the prelude to the Apocalypse. Well, almost everything. She didn't tell them about Kieran or Josie. They didn't need to know. 

It was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.

In certain cracks of reality, the flashes of the past terrified her. Her damned soul was well on its way to hell and she just kept accelerating the process with each risk she took and each puff of smoke she exhaled. She took another drag from her cigarette when she heard shuffling footsteps. Quietly, Dean Winchester slid down on the stairs beside her. Neither of them said a word for a very long time. 

Henrietta was thinking about moments. About past, and present and future all mingled up together. Essentially, she was thinking about time. It had been so long ago, she had heard his name in hell for the first time. She had forgotten it. But then again, time was not relevant in pocket dimensions ─ everything was happening and not happening all at the same time. She had been sixteen and paranoid so it was hard keeping track of names she had heard in hell. But she remembered it clearly now. Moments.

Quietly, she started, "Tell me, Dean, how was Hell?"

Dean caught off guard, glanced over at Henrietta. "What?"

"Sorry. I'm not good with people. No one taught me any bedside manners." She took a last drag out of her cigarette and tossed it, crushing it under her boot.

"I, uh," Dean hesitated, "I don't really remember Hell," he said quietly.

"Lucky you."

"You say it as if you've been there."

Henrietta placed her chin in her palm and glanced at him. "How long were you dead, Dean?"

"Four months."

"Then I'm happy you don't remember Hell," she said. "I was dead for four days and I don't ever wanna go back."

Dean nodded quietly. This conversation had been out of the blue. When he had looked out the window from inside and caught her sitting alone on the steps, he didn't know why he had felt as if he had to talk to her about something. The sun had set and the sky displayed its bullet wounds filled with light. The starry night did not succeed in lessening the mystery around Henrietta Wingrave. 

Here was this girl with her hair on fire and a cherry Chevelle whose trunk was filled with weapons. Here was a little girl, just reaching Dean's shoulder with a bruised orbital and a purple cheek. Here was a girl who was apparently a celebrity in the hunter community and here was a girl that everyone knew but no one knew. 

And there was something Dean Winchester was supposed to say to Henrietta Wingrave but couldn't for the life of him, remember what it was.

So, he digressed. "Who was he?" he asked quietly, not meaning to cross any lines. "The boy?"

Henrietta glanced at him. The surprise on her face was visible at this question. "Kieran?" she asked. "My best friend. My first love." She looked down at her shoe, then back at Dean. "My personal ghost. There was a demon trapped inside of him. I told him I'd help him. That I'd get an exorcist." She shook her head as if the memory pained her. "He died. He died the day I went back with an exorcist. Minutes before."

Dean answered with silence. It was nice outside. Though both of them had ditched their jackets inside, the September breeze was only a little chill. It moved Henrietta's hair and she moved her hand to brush it back. Dean wasn't supposed to see them, but he accidentally did. Thin white scars ran along her wrist and under the harsh porch light, they weren't spared the ugliness. He pursed his lips. Who was she? The question puzzled him. Where had he known her before? What had happened to her?

The thing was, what hadn't happened to Henrietta. Yet she was still thinking about Kieran and Josie and their families. That was the hardest part. She had never had one of her own so it often confused her. Like most kind and selfless gestures did. Father Parrish and Siobhan had done their best to make Henrietta realize that she was deserving of such things but you can only lead a horse to water, not make it drink it. Henrietta exhaled her sorrow. "Do you keep tabs on them? The people you save? The families of people you couldn't save?"

Dean shook his head. So many people living with mystery, but they couldn't know what had really happened. Now that he thought about it, if he had been in their shoes, he would have liked some peace. He closed his eyes as if to discard these thoughts and glanced at Henrietta. "You do?"

She scrunched her nose. "Some of them. I try. Best I can."

"Do they get better? The families?"

"Some do," she said quietly. "Others coddle the pain. It's the only reminder you see, that something wrong happened to them. Something unholy."

Somehow, this reminded Dean of his father. He kicked a rock. "So how do you get past it?"

Henrietta smiled a very small smile and looked at him. "Well, you tell yourself, 'I'm still here. And I'll be here tomorrow and the day after. And it wasn't my fault.' Because why do you get out of bed every morning, Dean? Why is it you that has to fight all these monsters? Because that's the deal." She shrugged and turned back to the stars. "Hurt us all you want, but the bastards don't get to win."

The night brought fitful sleep. Sam being taller took the couch while Henrietta curled up in a big wing chair. Dean stretched asleep on the floor nearby. 

Restless, tossing and turning, Henry sat upright at the slightest sound. She looked around in the library then wiped her face with her hand realizing it was nothing. Unknown to her, the amulet around her neck gleamed and she winced at the sudden headache and ringing in her ear. Her mouth opened in anticipation of a scream of pain, then suddenly, absolute silence. The ache was gone and so was the ringing. She grunted quietly. Chalking it up to blood rush, she threw her legs over and stood up. Massaging her forehead, she checked the time. Almost seven. 

She sighed and stretched and moved to the kitchen, putting coffee on the stove. From her bag tossed on the floor, she fetched her toothbrush and toothpaste and started brushing as the coffee warmed over.

The sounds woke Sam up. He hummed then sat up slowly before padding his way across to the kitchen. Henrietta glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps and raised her eyebrows at him. Pulling the toothbrush out of her mouth, she asked quietly, "Did I wake you?"

Sam shook his head then glanced at the stove. "Coffee?"

"Want some?" Sam nodded in answer and Henrietta pointed to the shelf behind him. "Pass me the cups."

Passing her the cups, Sam went to clean up as Henrietta finished brushing and poured the coffee in their cups. She handed him his cup as he came back and followed him back towards the library. Sam parked himself on the couch again and Henrietta dropped down on the floor sitting cross-legged just beside Dean as he stirred awake from all the shuffling.

He blinked, adjusting to the light, and Henrietta grinned teasingly, "Morning, Sunshine."

Sam grinned in response, too, expecting Dean to retort but his brother only stared ─ shaken and lost in thought.

"You all right?" Sam asked. Dean didn't reply. It was as if he couldn't, still reeling from whatever. Henrietta frowned and took a sip from her coffee. Sam continued, concerned coloring his features, "What's wrong, Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath. Quietly, he said, "So . . . You got no problem believing in . . . God and Angels?"

Sam looked hard at Dean. His words did little to ease his concern. He said, "No, not really."

"So then . . . I guess that means that you believe in the Devil."

Sam stammered. A beat then, Henrietta said, "You should. He believes in you."

Sam glanced at her, unnerved, then at Dean. "Why are you asking me this?"

Henrietta took a sip from her cup, staring at Sam over the edge, then Dean, his expression conflicted, wrestling with this harder than ever.