Sanctuary Fighting back the darkness with style.

This is the beginning of Celeste's story. I was hassled into writing it by people (you know who you are, evil minx) who wanted me to clarify points and elaborate on her past. She's a pretty complex character with a colourful past... so I hope you enjoy her story.

Characters from the television show Supernatural are mentioned, and this is totally a work of fiction. Celeste is in no way based on anyone... I have eluded to the relationships between John Winchester, Ellen Harvell (sp?) and Bobby Singer, and once again, Marshall pops his fuzzy li'l head up.

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One.

The young child tottered across the grass towards the garage. “Daddy! Daddy!” she cried.

The tall, solid man with the thick beard walked around in front of the pick-up and watched her as she raced as fast as her little legs could carry her towards him, wiping his greasy hands on the rag as he leaned against the grill. The little girl, about two years old, moved from the grass to the gravel of the driveway, she stumbled a little, but quickly picked herself up and continued until she threw herself around his legs and he had to pick her up by the arms to detach her.

“Hey pumpkin… what are you doin’ out here so late?” He wiggled her nose with his fingers and she giggled. “Where’s ya momma?”

“Mommy in bed.” The young girl stated, matter of factly.

“What about Thomas?”

“Sleepy-bed too, daddy.”

“Already?” The man frowned. Then he tickled her, and she squealed, squirming in his arms. “Have you been raisin’ hell again today, pumpkin? Tired ‘em all out?”

“Nooooo…” she replied, grinning at him and giggling. He threw her up on his shoulders, and held her steady by one of her knees as he slammed the car door. Then he strolled across the grass in the late evening sun, singing along with his child, as she held on tightly, her arms wrapped around the top of his head, her small hands on his forehead. The man drew his tired legs up the stairs, his body already grumbling and groaning for food and a beer as he yanked the child down and carried her inside the door and into the kitchen.

“Hello?” He called. “Beth! I’m home! Look who I found out in the yard…”

There was no answer, and the man frowned – his woman was usually there when he got home, with a kiss and a beer, their two children scampering around his feet, craving attention. He walked out into the lounge. There was no sign of everyone – not even the television was on.

“Beth!” He called again. The child squirmed in his arms, but something told him not to put her down – there was something wrong. He walked up the stairs and down the hall, shushing the girl as she became fearful and irritated, sensing his unease. He pushed the door to his bedroom open, and smiled. There she was, sprawled out on her bed on her stomach. He grinned and quietly closed the door. There was no need to disturb her – she’d been pretty tired recently, what with Tom starting school and little Celeste turning out to be such a handful, even at the age of two. She was into everything, pulling things apart, playing with things… Last week, she’d gotten into his gun case in the basement and Beth had almost had a heart attack when she’d found her, the rifle laying across her lap as she ran her tiny hands down the shiny barrel, her eyes sparkling in wonder.

The man grinned at the thought, and walked back down the corridor to his son’s room. He was about to open the half-closed door when he heard a low growl. He looked around in surprise – they had no dogs at the moment; dogs made Beth nervous around the children. He clutched at the girl in his arm as he slowly pushed open the door to his kid’s bedroom, not willing to admit to himself what he thought he was about to see. But it was there – big, black and evil looking – bent over his boy’s body with it’s jaws ripping into his intestines.

He gasped and stumbled backwards, and his baby girl screamed as the creature swung around towards them with a yowl and a deathly evil stare. The man grasped at the door and yanked it shut – there was no reason for silence now – it was coming for him and it was coming now. He wrapped his arms around his baby and bolted desperately for the stairs and his gun cabinet. The little girl shrieked in his arms, and he cooed to her as he thumped down the stairs. He heard the thing roar in threatening anger and he felt his fear rise in his throat as he heard it scratching and tearing at the wood of the thick bedroom door. Fumbling with the keys to the lock his woman had forced him to place on the cupboard, he finally felt his quaking hands click the lock free as his ears heard the door fall from it’s hinges to the floor with a vast thud that echoed through his bones. He felt the child in his arms jump with fright, and he clamped his hand over her mouth instantly, pausing in his haste and drawing her around so he could look her in the face. Her eyes were flashing full of fear and confusion and… dare he notice… anger.

“Pumpkin, baby…” He bought his lips to her ear and whispered to her, barely audible. “Honey-pies. Pops needs you to be quiet. Very quiet. Remember Tommy’s game… Hide and go-seek? Like when you played that and was hid under the bed, okay honey? Shhh…”

He felt her tiny body relax a little and he swung her around again onto his hip, her stubby little arms still wrapped around his shoulders. She buried her face in his collar, and he felt the despair to keep her safe rise again through his chest to his throat. Ever so silently, he drew the shotgun from its place in the safe-box and picked up the bag of ammunition beside it. His ear was on the staircase as he thrust a casing into each barrel, yet he didn’t hear the creature until it was at the landing behind him, and he only had a split second to throw himself to his right as it launched itself at him. He bought up the gun as it flew through the air, firing as best he could in mid-roll, doing his best to avoid impacting the ground awkwardly and crushing the child. She grunted in his arms, but her chubby little hands grasped onto his shirt like a raccoon and she didn’t let go. The creature – he could see it clearly now: a huge, black, drooling dog – rumbled and stalked him, its coat bristling as it readied itself to leap again and finish them off. He realised with sickening dread that his aim had been true – he’d hit the beast, but it had barely affected it. The man raised his gun again, intent on planting another round in between the animal’s eyes.

Then suddenly the creature’s head exploded. He looked around him, confused. He hadn’t pulled the trigger… The little girl jumped and whimpered at the sound, but she didn’t try to move from the safety of the arms of the man. He got to his feet, just in time to see the other man, dark-haired and heavy-set, holding the rifle at the ready as he strode into the room. He ignored the man and his daughter on the floor, instead walking quickly to the body of the animal that lay bloodied and messy on the floor. He quickly put another two bullets in it’s chest, and then looked up at the man whom he’d saved.

“Sorry I couldn’t get here quicker…” he finally said softly. The other man got to his feet, cradling the girl in his arms.

“You saved my daughter. You got here plen’y quick.” He replied.

The two men stared at each other, studying, analysing. Finally, the saviour offered the saved his hand. “I’m Marshall.” He said.

“Robert… Bobby.” He replied shakily.

“Wish I could say nice to meet you, man…”

The man named Bobby looked at his feet – he knew his son was gone, that much was clear to him. Suddenly he remembered his wife and frowned – why hadn’t she come down? He walked to the staircase and stopped, looking back at the man named Marshall. Marshall reloaded his rifle and followed – they didn’t know how many of those creatures were lurking in that house. Bobby pushed open the door to his bedroom, Marshall, with his gun loaded and at the ready, close behind him.

“Beth, honey?” He barely got the words out when he saw her – from the doorway she looked peaceful – but the reality was anything but. When he rolled her over onto her back, he saw her body was hollow, dragged across the room and onto the bed, probably by those awful creatures. Bobby felt his body lurch as he took in the sight of his beautiful woman – her body gutted like a fish. His stomach rose into his throat and he felt Marshall take the girl from him as he stumbled out of the room, retching and vomiting as he leaned against the wall.

“Daddy!” Came her call and he heard her start to wail. Marshall hurried past him, stopping for a moment to rest his hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon.” Marshall muttered. “There’s nothing you can do here now. Get your girl outta here, she shouldn’t have to see this.”
Bobby nodded, taking Celeste from him, her small hands knotting in his hair as he wound her arms around his neck. It wasn’t until he was sitting on the steps outside that the full reality of the situation hit him. He looked down at Celeste, and he felt the tears start to sting behind his eyes. This couldn’t be happening… it was all a dream. But when Marshall handed him the flask of whisky and sat down on the steps next to him, he knew it was real.

Him and his girl, the little flame-haired bundle that now lay curled on his lap… they were all alone now.

***

The old pick-up rumbled up the driveway just as the sun was setting and the driver studied the ramshackle old two-storey with the paint-peeled walls and the rotting posts on the verandah. Bobby pulled up out back and shut off the engine. The place looked deserted… but then again it always did. He got out and quietly shut the driver’s side door, walking around to the passenger side. He opened the door and gently lifted the sleeping child out of the seat, just as he heard the screen door to the house slam, and the footsteps on the wooden boards of the verandah. She whimpered a little, but then she was still again, nestling her head on his shoulder. Bobby approached the man who stood leaning against one of the rickety posts, looking at him disapprovingly.

“Another hunt so soon, Bobby?” He asked quietly after staring at the man in front of him for a moment. The little girl was sound asleep.

“Marshall… I can’t take her with me.” Bobby replied, his eyes desperate. “It’s too much… keepin’ her safe, worryin’ about her when she’s all alone… please. Just this one last time…”

“Right, just like the last time… and the time before that?” Marshall scoffed at him. “What are you gonna do when she asks what you were doin’ all these years, Bob?” Marshall straightened and crossed his arms. “She’s gonna wanna know… Hell! She’s already askin’ questions! One day she’s gonna start askin’ where her daddy is, and you can bet your ass I’m not gonna be the one to tell her. You’re her father. Act like it.”

“Marshall, please… just take her. I’ll be back by the weekend. I just have this one thing…” Bobby pleaded with him.

“I’m not a goddamned babysitting service for you, Bob!” Marshall exploded, his frustration boiling over. He stopped and calmed his voice.

“Bobby you gotta step up to the plate!” He lowered his voice – he’d knew he’d never get through to the man by shouting. “You gotta lay off’a the hunting… at least for a while! At least ‘til she’s old enough to take care of herself whilst you’re gone! Give Ellen a call, she might be able to do a better job than an ol’ batch like me… Hell, why don’t you team up with Johnny for a while… Dean can take care of her whilst you two are…”

“I’m not givin’ that bastard the time of day, let alone leavin’ my kid with his brats.” Bobby spat back at him. “Not after what happened to…” he broke off, his anger bubbling up into his throat at the thought of Bill and the family he’d left behind.

“Bobby…” Marshall started. Then he dropped his head, looking at his feet, and sighed.

“Please Marshall.” Bobby pleaded again.

“Fine. Hand ‘er over.” He walked down the steps and took the little girl from him. Bobby sighed in relief. Marshall stomped back up the stairs and inside the house. “Take your friggin’ shoes off before y’come inside. Just cleaned the damn floor after the last time you was ‘ere.”

He called over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs and placed the sleeping child on the bed in the bedroom that was all but hers. This was vintage Bobby at his best, he thought: leaving the red-headed lass with him for weeks at a stretch, going off on his hunting jaunts, god knows where, hunting god knows what. At least now, even thought Bill was gone, Ellen had that Roadhouse to keep her busy, and it meant that she had a steady place to raise Joanna-Beth now. And those Winchester boys had each other to look out for them; they weren’t home alone like Celeste was much of the time when Bobby was too busy or too forgetful to find someone to look after her. Which was most of the time these days. He shook his head – hunting and fatherhood were a dangerous combination.

He stroked her hair as she woke momentarily.
“Uncle Marshall… can I have the dog bear tonight?” She whispered, croakily. He nodded, grinning at her. Then he quietly shushed her and handed her the worn, little, teddy bear. After a few minutes, she was asleep again. The girl was a real sweetheart, he noted, but she was definitely different; quiet, reserved, deliberate in her movements and words. It was like she just sat back and let the world happen around her, taking it in and analysing it in her own calm way. She was smart too; at just six, she was already reading some of Marshall’s books, and he’d had to put a lock on the study door to stop her from getting in and reading about that stuff. There was no way he was going to let Bobby turn her into a hunter the way that John had drill-seargented his own boys – she deserved a better life than that.
He stopped in the doorway before he walked out, studying that small, angelic face. She was every inch Bobby’s kid, but she wasn’t at all like him. Yet.

***

Celeste went via the backstreets, the darkness enveloping her like a warm blanket that comforted her, blocking out the rest of the world. She looked around her – the streets were deserted. She scuffed her shoes on the pavement as she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She lit one up, breathing the acrid smoke deep into her lungs, making her cough slightly; her second drag was much easier on her body, and she puffed on her cigarette as she walked, or rather dawdled, home.

She turned up the driveway of the dilapidated old house. Pausing to stamp out her butt in the dirt, she climbed the stairs, her sneakers barely making a sound on the wooden verandah as she made her way to the door. Before she opened it, she stared through the window – she’d left the kitchen light on when she’d left that afternoon and it was still on, but there was nothing else. She sighed. So he wasn’t home yet, like he’d promised to be. Like she was surprised. Slipping into the house she padded across the living room and was about to set one foot on the stairs when her father’s voice almost made her jump out of her skin.

“Bit late ain’t it?”

“Holy fuck…” She put her hand to her chest as her father rose from the chair and wandered over to her.

“Watch your mouth…” He started, but then stopped frowning. He leaned in and sniffed her. “Thought you said you quit?”

“No, I said I’d think about it.” She replied belligerently, and went to walk up the stairs, but he grabbed her arm before she could move. Her eyes went to his immediately in challenge.

“And I said you better or I’d kick your ass.” He said.

“Right… so it’s ok for you to go away hunting for a week and leave me all alone but it’s not ok for me to have a few drags of a cigarette?”

“No… it’s not.”

“And why the fuck not, Bobby?”

“Because I said so. And don’t refer t’me like that… I ain’t one a your gutter-trash friends.”

“What?” Celeste screwed her face up at him. “They’re not trash…. Looked after me better than you have…”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She saw his face freeze, his fists clench. But he just let her go and after one more angry look in his direction, she bolted up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Then she collapsed on the bed, the tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. Celeste brushed them away angrily. Why did he have to treat her like such a child, when she knew what he did? She knew where he went, she wasn’t stupid. And she knew what had happened to her mother and her brother, and she knew about his crazy job, or hobby or sidebar-work or whatever they wanted to call it… She knew everything and it made her sick to her stomach thinking about it. She flopped over onto her back, and lay there until he called her down for supper, which was eaten in complete silence. When she was finished, Celeste collected their plates and went to the sink to wash up. Bobby sat at the table, contemplating his beer for a moment, and then looked up at her.

“Cel…” He started. She didn’t turn around to face him, but she paused so he knew she’d heard him. “I been thinkin’… how ‘bout you head on over to Marshall’s or Ellen’s this Christmas? Spend it there… I got some work comin’ up that’ll take me around a bit, ‘n I don’t want you spendin’ the whole time alone here.”

This time Celeste turned around sharply. Her eyes were flashing in anger.
“So what? Now you don’t want me at all, is that it? You’re just gonna send me away because you’re tired of looking after me? Or maybe it’s because you don’t want to look at me anymore because I remind you of mom and you feel guilty coz you were never here to protect us. To protect her!”

This time he did slap her. He got up so quickly the chair shot out from under him and fell to the ground with a clatter. Before she could react, he took two long strides towards her and the next second Celeste felt her cheek sting with the impact of his open palm. His face was red with anger.

"You ungrateful little brat! Don’t you ever talk about your mother like that…”

Celeste shrank back from him for a moment, her face fearful. He’d never raised his hand to her, not ever. His face went white and she saw his face soften with regret. Then she remembered his words all those years ago: “Never show fear. They’ll use it against you.” She drew herself up and erased the fear from her face.

“Maybe I should just go to Uncle Marshall’s and stay there.” She hissed at him. His eyes never left hers.

“Maybe you should.” He whispered back after a moment. Celeste threw the tea towel on the bench and strode out of the kitchen, leaving Bobby standing there, looking after her in frustration, confusion and utter helplessness.

That night, Celeste packed as much as she could into her hiking pack. She grabbed the small, leather-bound notebook that passed for her diary and stuffed it inside also. Then she stuck her head out of her bedroom door – the house was quiet. It was about one in the morning, but Celeste knew Bobby slept lightly and would wake if she so much as blinked loudly. So, carrying her hiking boots because it was much easier to be silent in socks on the hardwood floor, she tiptoed down the stairs to the lounge room. There she used the small bent paperclip she always carried with her to pick the lock to his gun cabinet and opened the lid, examining the contents for a moment. She pulled out a large machete and grinned as the moonlight shining through the open curtains glinted on the razor sharp cutting edge that could slice a man open from bow to stern without so much as a sigh from the user. No, she thought. It was too big and unwieldy.
Placing it gently on the rug next to her, next she pulled out a small leather knife case with straps attached to it. She’d seen one of these before… attached to Bobby’s leg – just above the boot. Celeste pulled out the little blade and examined it. It was sharp, petit and perfect. She quickly replaced it in the case and fastened it to her leg snugly. Celeste then pulled out a .45 and tucked that in her bag, along with two boxes of ammunition she found in a metal case buried under a pile of shot guns, pistols and semi-automatic spare parts. Then she quickly and quietly shut the cabinet and re-locked it. She took only one look back around inside as she snuck out the door and jogged up the driveway out into the night.

***

“Whattaya mean you haven’t seen her?” Bobby rubbed his face with his free hand as the other one shakily held the telephone.

“Just that, Bobby. She’s not here, she hasn’t been here and if she knows what’s best for her she won’t come here, coz I’ll just send her packin’ on the first bus back to South Dakota.” Ellen was adamant in her promises to him. “Besides, when did you say she left?”

“Last night sometime.” Bobby replied. His head hurt with worry. His little girl was out there all alone, and he had no idea where. So he couldn’t protect her. Which was a bad thing, because trouble seemed to follow her around like a li’l pup dog, he thought to himself.

“Well, seeing as you’re there and I’m……. miles away, I don’t think she could have gotten this far in six hours. Relax Bobby. She’ll be fine. You’ll find her, you’ll kiss and hug and cry and then ten minutes later you’ll be screamin’ blue murder at each other again. I’ll call you if I hear from her.”

Click. Ellen was gone. Bobby sighed and dialed the next number on his list.

“Brooks Autos.” Marshall’s deep baritone echoed down the line.

“Marshall, it’s Bobby Singer.”

“Awww shit, man! Have you lost her again?” Marshall groaned.

“Shuddup Marshall. Have you seen her?”

There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line.
“Marshall?” Bobby pressed. There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

“She got here about forty minutes ago. Hitched a ride in a rig from just outside’ a town… Paid him in french-fries and caffeine at the truck stop diner, apparently.”

“She what?” Bobby heard Marshall chuckle on the other end of the line.

“That’s one resourceful kid you got there, Bob.”

Bobby cursed under his breath. “Gimme 6 hours. I’ll be there.”

“No, Bobby. Give her a few days to cool down… Give yourself a few days, for Christ’s sake.” Marshall paused.

“I’ll get her to call you when she’s ready to come home, ok? I’ll look after her.”

Bobby was left stunned when he hung up the phone. Marshall had always resisted baby-sitting the girl, and now he was telling him to back off? What had changed? He rubbed his face with his hands, finished his coffee that was growing cold on the bench, and went out to the garage.

Two weeks he waited. But the call never came. Two months… In a way, he was glad. Marshall had a steadier job, other than the hunting gig, and he was less entrenched in the life than the rest of them. But still, it hurt… not having his little girl there. Bobby threw himself into his hunting – he traveled almost constantly. He heard from Marshall regularly, updating him on how she was… her first day at high school… her first car. Her first dance… her first kiss…. her first boyfriend. Her first break-up. The first and second times she’d been arrested; he’d read about the last time in the paper. But soon the calls became more and more infrequent, and the uncomfortable silence between he and his daughter that had descended since that night in the kitchen continued to persist, until the years dulled the ache for family that both of them felt.