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Well, at least that worked (Mary)
The symbols had been right. Everything had been perfect; he'd worked the equations, done the translations, and researched. He'd done it all as he should have, or so he thought.
Rob sat up in bed, sweating. Something was wrong, and it wasn't just that he wasn't in his room back in the bunker. It wasn't the doilies with a rather unique bat pattern. It wasn't row of Easter eggs on a low shelf near by with book titles that made no sense: The Bloody Bunny, Duck Sauce: One Bite is Enough, and Pumpkin Soup for the Soul. It wasn't even the lack of darkness in color scheme.
No.
What was wrong was that his spell didn't work. Exploding, sure. Making him bleed out of his eyes, okay. Time travel in the wrong direction, quite possibly. But, complete loss of time - his time - and clothes was not one of the adverse side effects of the homing spell. One that should have found Mary even if she were in Hell itself.
"There is no way this is Hell." He got out of bed, ignoring his limited clothing - boxer briefs and that was it. His bare toes curled into the rug on the floor as he gave a quick bodily run through, checking and double checking that everything seemed to be in working order. A quick stop in the gentlemens' verified that everything was working fine. He took a moment to look through the bathroom, finding little out of the ordinary.
As he couldn't walk around wherever he was, even if it was Hell and he was beginning to consider the possibility that this was some branch of it - he'd heard Crowley was a very creative Prince of Hell type - he couldn't walk around Hell in just his underwear. He found a pair of jeans, boots, and a shirt. It wasn't his usual go to, but it'd work. He even relented, hearing his father chide him for going out without some sort of protection, by carrying the gun he'd found in the closet, covering it up with a light jacket.
He was ready. As he stepped out of the house, he wondered for what exactly he'd gotten ready.
Rob sat up in bed, sweating. Something was wrong, and it wasn't just that he wasn't in his room back in the bunker. It wasn't the doilies with a rather unique bat pattern. It wasn't row of Easter eggs on a low shelf near by with book titles that made no sense: The Bloody Bunny, Duck Sauce: One Bite is Enough, and Pumpkin Soup for the Soul. It wasn't even the lack of darkness in color scheme.
No.
What was wrong was that his spell didn't work. Exploding, sure. Making him bleed out of his eyes, okay. Time travel in the wrong direction, quite possibly. But, complete loss of time - his time - and clothes was not one of the adverse side effects of the homing spell. One that should have found Mary even if she were in Hell itself.
"There is no way this is Hell." He got out of bed, ignoring his limited clothing - boxer briefs and that was it. His bare toes curled into the rug on the floor as he gave a quick bodily run through, checking and double checking that everything seemed to be in working order. A quick stop in the gentlemens' verified that everything was working fine. He took a moment to look through the bathroom, finding little out of the ordinary.
As he couldn't walk around wherever he was, even if it was Hell and he was beginning to consider the possibility that this was some branch of it - he'd heard Crowley was a very creative Prince of Hell type - he couldn't walk around Hell in just his underwear. He found a pair of jeans, boots, and a shirt. It wasn't his usual go to, but it'd work. He even relented, hearing his father chide him for going out without some sort of protection, by carrying the gun he'd found in the closet, covering it up with a light jacket.
He was ready. As he stepped out of the house, he wondered for what exactly he'd gotten ready.