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FIC: The Eighth Deadly Sin (1/2)
Title: Slouching Toward Bethlehem I: The Eighth Deadly Sin (Part One of Two)
Series: Slouching Toward Bethlehem
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Adults Only
Pairing: John/Sam
Summary: The Yellow-Eyed Demon is dead and all three of the Winchesters are still alive. Does that mean it's over? Sam hopes so; John knows better.
Warnings: Non-con, dubious consent, mentions of under-age non-consensual sex, fuck-or-die. There will be the death of a major character later in the series, but not in this fic.
Notes: This is the first story in a series I'm planning. It's dark stuff: the light at the end of the tunnel is the headlamp of the oncoming train. The story begins at In My Time of Dying and is AU after that.
The series title is from The Second Coming by WB Yeats:
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned...
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
...which might give you a clue where the story is going...or it might not.
Revised version posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2684
THE EIGHTH DEADLY SIN
(Part One)
Prologue: The End
When things failed to go according to plan, it was usually because Sammy was around.
All that mattered to John Winchester was his two sons. If they were alive and well, and he could believe they would stay that way, no price was too high.
He thought he'd concealed the truth from Sammy, but he knew Dean saw right through his careful words to the steel-cold determination beneath. It wasn't possible to say the things he must say without also showing Dean that something was very wrong.
The sight of Dean sitting up in the hospital bed, awake and talking and alive was worth everything.
So John spoke the words, giving Dean the only warning he dared give, praying his son would understand. Dean would live and he would do everything possible to keep Sammy safe. There was nothing left to do but keep his side of the bargain.
John knew Sammy didn't trust him. Perhaps he had earned his youngest boy's distrust. The only way he could save Sammy from what was coming was to leave and trust Dean.
The brown paper bag wrapped around the precious Colt crackled beneath John's fingers. He felt the smooth steel of the gun through the paper but did not take it out of the bag: he couldn't wave a gun around in a hospital. For a last, reckless moment he wondered what would happen if instead of handing it over he took the Colt and... But no. A deal is a deal, even if it's a deal with the devil. His boys were safe.
John laid the still-wrapped Colt on the table.
The yellow-eyed son of a bitch didn't even look at the gun. It didn't seem to care about the Colt. It wanted John.
John was ready. "Okay," he said. He saw the demon begin to smile.
The gunshot echoed loudly in the small room.
Instinct kicked in and John dived for the nearest cover, reaching automatically for the knife that was the only other weapon he carried. He didn't see the demon fall, but he felt the shock of static like St Elmo's fire across his skin. He smelled gunpowder. He heard a body hit the ground. He didn't fully understand what had happened until he heard Sam's voice.
"Dad? Are you okay?"
John rose to his feet, slowly because his wounded leg and arm still hurt. He saw Sam half-concealed by the bed curtain, the still-smoking Colt in his hand. He saw the demon's body on the ground, a pool of blood slowly spreading out from its head.
There was no air in the room.
Sam met John's astounded eyes. He did not look happy.
Part One: The Beginning
Nearly twenty three years searching for the demon...it was hard to believe that it was really over.
The Winchesters left a dead body behind them in the hospital, a body no one would be able to explain. Bobby offered them house-room so they could lick their wounds. Dean seemed fully recovered, but Sam was pretty banged up and John had a bullet wound in his leg and an injured arm. All three of them would be under suspicion for the murder: they were going to need new IDs, new credit cards. It could be done, but it would take time. John had a complete new identity prepared, but the paperwork and cards were hidden in his truck, which was still in Lincoln.
But they had a safe haven with Bobby, and they had time to take stock, to decide where they should go next.
Dean turned the air blue when he saw what was left of his Impala.
Sammy was being very quiet; he'd barely spoken since they left the hospital. There was a storm brewing behind his brooding eyes.
And John... John had been hunting for too long to believe it was over.
The demon was dead, truly dead. Sam killed it, using the last of the bullets made for the legendary Colt. Mary was avenged. Whatever plans the demon had for Sammy became abruptly irrelevant. But John knew too much to trust this meant they were safe. The war was still coming; perhaps the demon's death had pushed it back a few years, but there were always more demons. Sammy, and the others like him, would still be targets when the time came.
John sat on the hood of one of the cars in Bobby's junkyard, a hip flask of Bobby's whiskey in his hand, trying to figure out what his next move should be. Sam appeared, sitting silently beside him on the hood. Without a word, John offered him the hip flask.
Sam took it and drank. "How could you make a deal with that thing?" he demanded.
John turned to look at his son. In the fading evening light, Sam's eyes seemed almost black as he looked back at John, challenging.
How could John explain it to Sam? Sam wasn't asking why: he already knew why. It was the deeper explanation he wanted. The demon killed the woman Sam loved. Sam was young, his need for revenge fresh. No wonder he didn't understand John's willingness to cut a deal. How could John explain that he was simply tired? He had been fighting for too long. He knew that. When the demon finally resurfaced after so long and John found the last of the answers he'd been seeking, he knew he wouldn't live to see the end of this war. He'd resigned himself to that, accepted it, wanted it, even, because he knew living to see the end would almost certainly mean outliving his children.
Now the demon was dead, and John didn't know how to handle it. He never thought he would see this day.
So, instead of answering Sam's question, what John said was, "Have you told your brother?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Not yet, but I will. Seriously, Dad, what the hell were you thinking?"
"Jim Murphy is dead. Caleb is dead. Dean was about to die. You demanded I do something, Sammy. There was only one way to save Dean." Only one way to save both of you.
Sam was avoiding his eyes again. "Was your deal only for the Colt?"
From the house behind them, John heard the strains of a Johnny Cash song. He gave Sam the truth. "No. It wasn't just for the Colt." He didn't need to elaborate. Sam was his son. He knew what a deal with a demon entailed.
"You fucking stupid..."
"Don't take that tone with me."
"I'm sick of this need-to-know crap! I'm sick of you hiding the truth from me! Both of you."
John could have yelled back. Two days earlier, he would have. Tonight, he bit his tongue and took another gulp of the whiskey. "You're right. I have kept things from you. And from Dean."
Sam stared at him, apparently not prepared for honesty. He took a deep breath and let it out. "It pissed me off when we were kids, but at least I understand that. I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. I need answers. I need to know why Jess is dead. And mom. I need to know..."
"If it's your fault," John finished for him.
Sam nodded.
John remembered Dean yelling at Sam that it wasn't his fault; this had been on Sam's mind for a long time. John understood that. "Are you sure you can handle the answer, Sammy?" he asked.
Sam held out his hand for the whiskey flask. "No, I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "But I am sure I can't handle the lies." He lifted the flask up to his lips and drank. "I want to know everything, Dad. Everything you know." He offered the flask back to John. "I think I've earned it."
He was right. Sam wasn't a child any longer. "Everything," John said carefully, "will take a while."
"Better get started, then."
John took the flask from Sam's hand. Their fingers touched and John pulled away quickly. He lifted the flask and found it almost empty. He finished the whiskey, letting it burn down his throat. "Sammy, what are your plans now? Are you going back to school?"
Sam looked up at the emerging stars above their heads. He sighed. "I want to," he confessed. "But I don't know. I need the answers, Dad. I can't see the future until I know."
John nodded. "Okay," he agreed, and even as he spoke he wondered if he could bear to tell Sammy everything he knew. The burden of knowing was too much for John; what would it do to Sam? He looked back at Bobby's house, where Johnny Cash still sang, checking that they were alone. "What happened to your mother...and to Jessica...wasn't your fault, Sammy. I don't want you to blame anyone but that evil son of a bitch you killed. But it's true that you were the target."
Sam nodded; he'd already figured out that much for himself. "You lied to me at the hospital. You know about the demon's plans for me, don't you?"
"I've known for a while," John admitted. And then he told his son everything. The whole, painful truth. Even though Sam demanded it, John felt guilty for telling him. Sammy didn't deserve this burden. John learned the secrets a piece at a time, and the learning almost killed him. For Sam to get this all at once, well, there just wasn't enough whiskey in the state for this.
When John finished, silence fell between them. Sam stared at John. There wasn't enough light left for John to see Sam's face, but he didn't need to. He knew he'd just destroyed his son's world.
Without saying a word, Sam jumped down from the car hood and walked away.
Dean rolled out from under the wreck of the Impala. He squinted against the sun and raised a hand to shield his eyes. "She's a mess, Dad."
Mess was an understatement. It broke John's heart a little to see his faithful car in this state but his assessment had been the same as Bobby's: the damage was just too great. That morning, over breakfast, Dean had declared them both idiots and stalked out to re-examine the car for himself. When he still hadn't returned three hours later, John came looking for him. She's a mess, Dean said, but already he had laid out tools around her.
"I see that," John agreed mildly. He picked up the crushed rear door. It was a miracle the three of them survived the crash. "Looks like you've made a good start."
Dean got to his feet. His injuries from the crash were still visible: the scar bisecting his forehead was healing, and the bruises were fading to yellow. It could have been a whole lot worse, John told himself. It almost had been a lot worse.
"Dad, what the hell did you say to Sam last night?"
That was a loaded question. "What did he tell you?" John asked.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Nothin'. Which is a first. So what did you say to him?"
"Sammy asked me for the truth. I gave it to him." That was as much as he was prepared to tell Dean, at least for that day. He headed off the inevitable questions by changing the subject. "Listen, Dean, I'm heading to Lincoln to pick up my truck. If you make a list of the things you need for the Impala I'll buy what I can."
Dean frowned. "Uh...thanks." He looked down at the car. "I think...I need everything."
Jon smiled. "You want a new car? We could let Bobby salvage..."
"Hell, no!" Dean interrupted, as if John had suggested something unimaginably horrifying.
It was exactly how John thought Dean would react. "So make that list," he said. "I'm, uh, I'm going to take Sammy with me to Lincoln, if he'll come."
"Why?"
"Why?" John repeated. He wasn't used to Dean questioning his decisions.
"Yeah. Why. Dad, you and Sammy can barely be in a room together without you tryin' to kill each other."
John nodded. He stepped back, surveying the wreck of the Impala again. "Dean, we all need to figure out where we're going from here. Sammy said last night he's not sure about going back to Stanford. That leaves the future wide open. Me and Sammy...we need to know if we can learn to get along."
Dean wiped oil off his hands with a cloth. "You know, I'd love for the three of us to be a family again. Sam's made it clear he doesn't want that."
"He might change his mind," John said, but he wasn't hopeful.
Sam was running. His grey t-shirt clung to his skin, a triangle of sweat visible down his chest. He slowed as he saw John watching him and circled around toward Bobby's house. He stopped a few feet away from John, breathing hard. He doubled over for a moment, then straightened, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face. He was flushed, dripping with sweat, every curve of muscle visible beneath the t-shirt and thin pants.
John couldn't help staring. When Sammy left for college, he'd been a boy. Now he was a man, the boyish body filled out with power and grace.
"Dad? Is something wrong?"
John shook himself out of his reflection. "No, nothing wrong. I'm...surprised to see you training."
"This isn't training. Just running. Training takes two." Sam stripped off the t-shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his face. "Dean's busy giving CPR to the Impala and you've still got some healing to do. So, I'm running."
John couldn't help smiling. "You think I can't take you right now, Sammy?"
But Sam didn't rise to the bait. "Later. I need a shower."
"Fifteen minutes. Then we're leaving."
"What? Why?"
Why was it Sam was incapable of answering an order with a simple Yes, sir? John couldn't keep the irritation from his voice when he answered, "I need to get my rig back and I could use some backup. The warehouse was a demon-den last time I was there."
"You don't want Dean backing you up?"
"Dean's determined to rebuild the Impala. He can use a day or two to concentrate on the work."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Okay. Now what's the real reason?"
"I don't like your tone," John began.
"Tough."
Okay. That's enough. "What did you say?"
"I'm through blindly following your orders, Dad! You tried to make a deal with the demon! How am I supposed to trust you after that?" He tossed the t-shirt over his bare shoulder. "When I ask a question, how about you just answer it?"
"You know there isn't always time."
"There's time now! Dad, just be honest with me, man!"
John bit back the angry response he wanted to give. He saw his own stubbornness in his son. "Alright, Sam. I'll make a deal with you. I'll answer your questions on the drive to Lincoln, but you've got to straighten up and follow orders. Deal?"
Sam's expression was defiant, but he shrugged. "Fine. I'll meet you out front." He walked past John into the house.
When twenty minutes had passed without any sign of Sam, John went to fetch him.
Dean and Sam slept the night in a beat-up old trailer behind Bobby's house. Sam wasn't there. The trailer had no facilities, so if Sam was still in the shower, he would be in the house. John passed Bobby on his way to the bathroom. He could hear the shower running.
"Is Sammy still in there?"
Bobby shrugged. "Sounds that way. Hot water must be all gone by now."
John was pissed. It was a small thing, really, but he'd told Sam fifteen minutes. This was deliberate defiance and it was typical of Sam. He'd hoped four years of college would have softened some of Sammy's adolescent rebellion.
John rapped on the bathroom door. "Sammy!"
There was no answer, only the constant sound of the water.
"Lock's broken," Bobby volunteered.
John pushed the door open, ready to give Sam six kinds of hell. Sam was kneeling on the bathroom floor. He was nude. One of his hands scrabbled at the tiled wall, as if for support. With the other hand he clutched his own face, as if he were in terrible pain.
"Sammy!" John crossed the room in two strides. He crouched down, reaching for Sam. "Sam, what's wrong?"
As John touched his bare shoulder Sam reacted, gripping John's arms, his eyes wide and frightened. His mouth formed the word, "Dad?" but no sound emerged.
"Sammy, it's okay. What happened?"
Sam was breathing as hard as when he'd been running. "Vision," he gasped.
A vision?
It started out as nightmares, then they started happening when he's awake.
Holy shit. John never imagined this. He handed Sam a towel to cover himself up. "Can you tell me what it was, Sam?" he asked, as gently as he could.
Sam looked down at himself and muttered something under his breath. He met John's eyes and still looked scared. "D'you mind if I dress first?" he asked.
In the end, they did The Talk as a group. Bobby chose a position from which he could watch all of them, leaning against the bookcase. Dean sat perched on Bobby's desk. John stood near the window, watching Sam pace in front of them all.
"I don't get it," Dean said, breaking a long silence. "All your weirdo visions have been connected to the thing that killed Mom. Demon's dead, ain't it? Did this one have something to do with...it?"
Sam looked at John. "I don't know. Maybe."
John didn't like the look Sam was giving him. "Just tell us what you saw, son."
Sam faced him, his expression determined. "I dreamed about Jess's death a year ago, and I didn't believe it was real. I could have protected her, but I didn't. I saw the woman who lives in our old house in danger, and that vision happened exactly as I saw it. Dean and I saved her, but the vision was real. I saw Max Miller's family die, and we managed to change some of that. And that woman in Salvation - if Dean and I hadn't been there with the Colt, she would have died just like Jess. Just like Mom."
"And you saved her," John agreed. "I know."
Dean jumped down from the desk. "Sammy, what did you see?"
Sam's eyes never left John's. "I saw you, Dad. You were sitting at a table, alone. I think it was a bar somewhere but I didn't recognise it. The place was empty, just you. You'd been drinking. A lot. There was an empty bottle on the table. I saw you pick up a knife and...and you laid the blade over your wrist. You were gonna do it, Dad. You were going to kill yourself."
"Did you see it happen, Sam?" Dean asked urgently.
Sam shook his head. "No, but I'm sure."
Everyone was looking at John. Dean, scared and trying to hide it. Sam, on edge and suspicious. And Bobby, inscrutable as always.
John looked at Dean, because Dean needed it most. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "Your brother's psychic ability is real enough, Dean, but this makes no sense. I'm not suicidal." He heard a grunt from Bobby and rounded on him. "What?"
"Nothin'"
"You got something to say, Bobby, say it."
"Fine. John, this past year your behaviour has been like to get you killed. I ain't sayin' you're suicidal but your boys have reason to be worried. Goddammit, John, you begged Sam to shoot you!"
"There was a reason - "
"Yeah. A good one. All the same, John."
John started to argue, but was stopped by the look in Bobby's eyes. "What are you saying, Bobby?"
"Don't ignore what Sam's seein'. Consider it a warning."
John found his eyes drawn to Sam. He understood Bobby's point. A warning. Like the warning of Jessica's death Sam believed he received before she was murdered. To Sam, John said, "Do you know when this vision is going to happen?"
Sam relaxed a little, but he still looked unhappy. "No. It's always been soon, and it can't be years away because you looked like you do now. The same age. But I didn't get the full story, just a flash."
"I looked like I do now?" John repeated, a sudden thought occurring. "What about this arm?" His arm was dislocated in the crash; the doctors fixed the joint but it would take several weeks for the muscle-damage to heal. That could give them a clue about the timescale involved.
Sam's eyes went wide. "Your arm looked fine."
"Okay. Then it's weeks away at least. Like Bobby said, a warning. I'm still going to Lincoln. You ready?"
Sam glanced at Dean. "I guess so."
Dean looked like he had something to say; John silenced him with a look before he could ask to come with them. John wanted to take this trip with Sam. Dean nodded curtly, acknowledging the unspoken order.
The car Bobby loaned them was old and worn out. When it hit forty the engine started howling like a banshee, and fifty seemed to be its top speed. This was going to be a very long drive.
For the first couple of hours, neither of them spoke. Only the radio and the protesting engine broke the silence between them but it didn't feel uncomfortable.
Not long after noon, Sam turned the radio off. "Is it really dead?" he asked bluntly.
John slowed the car to quiet the engine noise. He looked at Sam. "Truth?"
"Truth," Sam answered firmly.
"I don't know. The legend of the Colt is just that, a legend. That's why I had to waste a bullet to test it. As far as the demon is concerned, the evidence is convincing. I didn't see any black smoke and the body we left behind was very dead. But we can't know for sure. Except..."
"Except what?"
If it's still alive, the deal I made stands. It will come for me. But John couldn't tell Sam that. Sam was smart: he'd figure it out for himself if he wanted to. "Well," John hedged, "the demon was afraid of the Colt because it didn't know whether or not it would work. But the demon Dean killed, the one it called its son - he's dead."
"When I shot the demon in Salvation, the bullet went right through. I didn't miss, it just...didn't work."
"So that's a maybe," John agreed. "In the hospital, it looked final to me." He glanced back at the road then looked at his son's grim expression. "Something else on your mind?"
"Just...if it's not dead, what does that mean for this war you told me about?"
"That's something else I don't know. Whether or not the demon is really dead, it's not over. At best, we've postponed the war."
"How long?"
"A year? Ten years? A hundred? Right now, that's what we need to find out."
"How?"
"I'm working on that." John had hoped Bobby would have a bright idea or two but he hadn't come up with anything John hadn't already considered.
Sam looked sideways at John. "Is that I'm working on it as in I have a plan or as in I don't have a clue but can't admit it?"
Such confidence Sam had in his father. John grimaced. "Not much of a plan, more a wait-and-see strategy. I know some of what was supposed to happen next. I know the signs to watch out for. If something happens, we'll have a plan. If nothing happens, that tells us something, too."
Sam twisted in his seat, resting one big hand on the dash. "What signs are you looking for?"
That part of hunting had always fascinated Sammy. John had to fight to get his youngest son interested in tracking or bow-hunting, but put him in front of a pile of newspapers and he was happy, even eager to get to work. He was good at it, too.
John smiled as he answered. "Deaths with certain omens. Demonic possessions. Storms and natural disasters. All my research is in the truck." John saw a roadside diner and gas station ahead. It was as good a place as any to stop and refuel. "You ready for a cup of caffeine?"
"Sure."
John turned into the diner's parking lot. "Sammy, I need to know if you're prepared to stick this out. If you're with us, Your brother and I could use your help. If you plan to go back to school..."
Sam looked surprised. "Would you let me?"
John remembered the fight they had when Sam left the first time. Bitter words on both sides, frustrations they'd both stored up for much too long. Both of them said things they shouldn't have said, words impossible to take back. Sam wanted to hurt John, and he'd succeeded. That memory, and the memory of the days that followed, the void Sam left behind him, filled John as he looked at his son.
"If school is where you really want to be, Sam, I won't try to stop you."
Sam looked sceptical.
John added, "It's not worth you staying if you're not going to be part of the team, Sammy."
"It's Sam, okay. Not Sammy."
John smiled. "I'll try to remember that, Sammy."
Sam grinned and got out of the car.
The truck was right where John last saw it. He no longer had his keys but there was a spare set inside; John broke into the truck and leaned in to feel under the seat.
Behind him, Sam gazed around at the dark buildings. "Meg picked a good place for an ambush."
John's hand closed over the keyring. "You think so?" He straightened, walked around to the back and opened up the trunk.
"Yeah. The buildings appear to offer good cover, but it's an illusion of safety. You can hide but there's nowhere to run."
"Good," John approved. "What else?" The question was automatic and John half-expected Sam to tell him to go to hell.
But Sam turned around, examining the area. "Water cistern up there could be useful if it's full. I'd want to take a good look around; there must be places to hide, might be a place we could turn the tables on them. But still, on foot running over fields this flat I'd be visible. So I wouldn't want to leave anyone standing behind me." He nodded to the truck's flat tyres. "That's what got you?"
"Part of it," John admitted. He was impressed that Sam was thinking along the same lines he did. "We need to empty the trunk, then we'll find a local workshop to tow the truck."
Sam started to gather up the guns. He carried the shotguns over to their borrowed car and stowed them in the trunk, then returned to John's side as he was collecting up the knives.
Sam picked up John's Smith & Wesson .45 and slid the clip out. "Will you ever quit?" he asked, the tone interested rather than challenging.
John answered seriously. "I've thought about it, but, no. I won't ever quit."
"This job will kill you, Dad."
"Standing by and doing nothing while people die will kill me faster. Sam, I know the score. I know I'll need to slow down, choose my jobs more carefully. But I won't stop." He watched Sam's hands as he checked the clip. "You like the gun?"
Sam pushed the clip back in and aimed the gun at the wall. "It's got a larger grip than Dean's Colt. Fits better in my hand."
John nodded. "It's yours. If you want it."
Sam met his eyes and for a moment said nothing. Then he nodded. "Thanks. Let's get the rest of this ammo."
They stayed at the motel John usually used when he visited Caleb and John made arrangements for the truck to be towed from the warehouse and repaired. They bought Chinese food (Sam's choice) and John skimmed through a local newspaper while they ate. He wasn't really looking for a hunt: it was just habit. He found an article about a fire in a local bar which he read closely. There was no evidence of anything supernatural, but the article made him think.
The garage called to tell John what he already knew: that the wheels of the truck were damaged and it would take a few days to get replacement parts. John had already given the man Dean's list of parts he needed for the Impala, so the delay was expected. John agreed to the man's price and said he'd be back in two days for the truck. He and Sam could head back to Bobby's place, but perhaps there was time for a side trip.
John slept uneasily, but he wasn't the only one. Sam tossed and turned, his restlessness keeping John awake. Finally, near dawn, Sam left the room. John woke as Sam slipped quietly out, but he didn't try to stop him.
A few hours sleep later, John found Sam in the car. He couldn't help being amused; sleeping in the car was more like Dean than Sam. John opened the car door and grasped Sam's shoulder to wake him.
Sam came awake crying out. He saw John above him and terror filled his eyes. He scrambled away from John's touch.
"Whoa! Sammy, it's okay. It's me."
There was recognition in Sam's eyes, but he still seemed afraid.
"Sam!" John said sharply.
Sam shook his head, making a visible effort to relax. "Sorry," he said finally. "Bad dream."
Bad dream? It should take more than a dream to make Sam react like that. "Are you okay?" John pressed.
"I think so." Sam was rebuilding himself in front of John's eyes. He groaned and rubbed his temples. "I need coffee."
Over coffee and a cheap breakfast, John raised the subject that kept him awake most of the night.
"Sam, I've been thinking about your vision."
Sam choked on his coffee. "My visions?"
"Don't burn your mouth. You said you saw me about to suicide. I've been trying to think what could drive me to that."
"Oh. Um...yeah." Sam looked down at his empty plate.
"Meg drew me to Lincoln, into what I knew was a trap. She knew what she was doing. Killing Jim, Caleb..."
Sam looked up. "I know. I didn't know Caleb well, but Pastor Jim...I still can't believe he's gone."
"I feel the same way. But handing over the Colt wasn't going to bring them back. I came here to Lincoln because of the next names on Meg's list."
Sam frowned. "She told you...?"
"No, she didn't need to. Aside from you and your brother, there aren't many people who...matter to me. I knew who Meg would go for next. It's someone I haven't seen for a long time, but if there's going to be some payback for what you and I did at the hospital..."
"You're worried. Is he anyone I know?"
"No. But it's not far from here. I'm going to drive out there today. You want to come?"
"Sure. I'm driving."
"Excuse me?"
"Dad, you're limping. You've still got a bullet hole in that leg. I'll drive."
There were so many memories crowding John as Sam drove, following his directions. Even the roads were completely familiar, even after his long absence. If John had been driving, he might have turned around, so maybe it was a good thing that his injured leg was bothering him enough for Sam to insist on doing the driving. John didn't know what kind of a reception to expect, but he couldn't do this by phone.
"There it is. Harvelle's Roadhouse," he said to Sam. The Roadhouse looked the same as the last time he drove down this road. That time he'd been bringing Bill Harvelle's body back home. It was a relief just to see the building intact and John realised, then, what he'd been afraid of.
He glanced across to Sam. "Follow my lead on this, okay?"
Sam nodded, stopping the car. "Are we expecting trouble?"
"No. I'm not looking for trouble, either. If we're not welcome, we'll leave. But be prepared and save your questions for later."
Sam took his .45 out of his bag, checked the safety and pushed it through his belt. "Yes, sir."
John slammed the car door and looked up at the Roadhouse. It was still early; the place should be open but there wouldn't be many people around. He headed for the door.
Walking through that door was like stepping into the past. Nothing had changed. Nothing. The same battered pool table. The same bar, same everything. Even Ellen, right there behind the bar, a glass and a polishing cloth in her hands.
She looked up as John entered. Sam was right behind him, covering John's back. John was proud of how automatically Sam did that, even though it wasn't necessary here.
"Hello, Ellen." John pulled up a bar stool and sat down.
"John?" She froze for an instant, then smiled. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. Looks like you've been in the wars, Johnny."
He returned her smile with relief. "This?" he indicated his injured arm. "It's nothing. You should see the other guy." God, she looked good! "How have you been?"
She drew him a beer without waiting for him to ask. "How have I been? Ten years, Winchester, and that's the best you can do?" But she was still smiling when she said it.
If the bar hadn't been between them, John would have hugged her; he was that happy to see her again.
Ellen looked past him to Sam. "This must be Dean."
Sam looked very confused. "No. No...uh...I'm Sam. Dean's my brother." He looked at John, his expression clearly asking Who the hell is this? but John couldn't answer that yet and Sammy knew it.
Ellen lifted a glass. "Beer for you, too?" she offered.
"Yes, thanks."
She placed it on the bar in front of Sam and her eyes moved to John again. "Well? You didn't come by for a beer."
"No. You heard about Caleb?"
Ellen's expression shut down, instantly. "I heard. Jim Murphy, too. You know how the grapevine - "
About then a blonde whirlwind stormed into the bar, brandishing a white sheet of paper. "Mom, Ash found - " She stopped dead, staring.
Little Joanna. It had to be. John remembered a plump ten-year-old with torn skirts and ribbons in her hair, who begged him for sweets and stories while she sat in her daddy's lap. That little girl was gone. John was speechless as she was. Would she even remember him?
"Jo, honey." There was a hint of a warning in Ellen's voice. "This is John and Sam Winchester."
She stared at John, all wide eyes. "Uncle John? I didn't recognise you."
"Uncle?" Sam repeated, half-laughing.
"Not now, Sammy. Ellen, can we talk in private?"
Ellen nodded. "Sure. Jo, look after the bar for me, sweetheart."
Jo frowned, but moved behind the bar, folding the paper she carried and stuffing it into a pocket of her jeans.
Ellen led John to a table on the other side of the room. As he sat down, careful to face the door, he heard Jo say to Sam, "Are you a hunter, too?" He resisted the impulse to look their way. It was lucky he'd come with Sam, not Dean. Dean would have her on her back inside of twenty minutes...and would likely be on the wrong end of Ellen's shotgun thirty seconds later.
Ellen didn't look at their kids. "Alright, John. What's going down?"
John told the shortest version of the story he could think of; fortunately Ellen already knew the background. The demon resurfacing after twenty two years. Jessica dying as Mary died. The Colt. Meg and her declaration of war. The psychic children, including Sam, and the coming war. John spoke briefly of his own capture and possession, giving no details, and described the car crash and the demon's death. Finally he told her of his fear for the future; that more of his friends might die in retribution, that some other demon would take over the war and Sam would never be safe.
"You and your boys are welcome here," Ellen said finally. "If you need a place to go to ground."
"I can't put you at risk," John protested.
"You wouldn't be. We've got some protection around the place and the Roadhouse full of hunters. We can all defend ourselves if need be. I mean it, John. You and yours are family."
"I'll remember that." John reached across the table for her hand. "Ellen, about Bill..."
She shook her head, avoiding his attempt to touch her. "It's past and gone, John. Can't be changed. No need to say anything about it."
"Okay."
She looked past him then. "Do I need to rescue my daughter from your boy?"
"I think she's safe enough with Sammy." John turned to look at them. Sam and Jo had their heads close together over the bar. "I wouldn't mind being wrong, though. Sam's girlfriend died about a year ago. I hoped he'd be able to move on by now."
Perhaps Sam heard part of what John said, because he glanced their way. When he saw John looking at him he slid down from his bar stool and walked over. John observed Jo watching them and trying to seem like she wasn't, and he saw the sheet of paper in Sam's hand.
Sam offered it to John. "Dad, what do you make of this?"
John took the paper and unfolded it to reveal a story from a newspaper's web-site. "Are you looking for a new hunt, Sammy?"
Sam shrugged. "I wasn't. Jo found this."
John read through the story quickly, Missing teenage boy - some odd behaviour before he went missing - parents said he was sulky, depressed - friends insist it wasn't depression. The rest was the kind of emotional padding reporters love to indulge in: not worth reading. John handed it back. "The article isn't very revealing," he said, speaking loudly enough for Jo to hear. "Could be something. Could be just a teenager taking off for the big city. Do you want to call your brother?"
"Jo said she's working on getting the police file," Sam answered.
Ellen interrupted. "She means she talked Ash into hacking the police network. He's good. He'll get the files."
Sam continued, "...but she's got some reports that make it sound like our kind of gig."
John nodded, his mind racing. A new hunt wasn't what he had in mind when they came here, but maybe it was what Sam needed. "It's your call, Sam. If you want to check it out...I won't be much good to you on a hunt until this arm heals." Truthfully, the injury wouldn't hold John back, much. He said it because he wanted Sam to understand his meaning: that is wasn't just about this one hunt. Sam hadn't quite answered his question the day before.
Sam hesitated. "I'll call Dean."
It lifted a heavy weight from John's heart.
Jo ran out from behind the bar as Sam headed for the door and reached into his pocket for his phone.
"Hey! If you're going out there, I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not!" Ellen stood abruptly.
Jo whirled to confront her mother, but Sam stepped in first. "No, Jo," he said firmly.
His certainty surprised John. John would have said no himself, because he was sure Ellen wouldn't stand for it, but he didn't expect Sammy to see it his way.
Jo bristled. "What? Girls can't hunt?"
Sam turned to face her, shaking his head. "I've got nothing against women hunting, Jo. You and me - we just met today. You don't know how I work, any of the things that can trip you up in an crunch. And I don't know you. If this were a simple salt-and-burn, you'd be welcome to come along, but we don't know yet what it is. So no. Not this time."
Jo stared at him. She opened her mouth to argue. Closed it again. Grinned. "Some other time, then?"
Sam grinned back at her without answering and headed for the door.
Two Days Later
John gazed down at the photographs Jo laid in front of him. "Let me guess. You're thinking spontaneous combustion."
Jo nodded with an eagerness that reminded him of Dean. "Not many things can do that."
"More than you'd think," John answered. For a moment his memory threw out the image of Mary on the ceiling and he closed his eyes briefly before continuing. "Demons, salamanders, fire wraiths. I've heard of human pyrokinetics but I've never seen proof of it. Ghosts sometimes create fire but I've not seen one that can burn with enough intensity to burn up a whole body. There are stories from all over the world of spirits that live in and manipulate fire."
Jo looked taken aback. "Oh. Well, which do you think it is?"
"Well, to begin with you're missing some information. Look here..." John traced the photograph with his fingers. "These scorch marks aren't big enough to account for a human body and I don't see any sign of remains. If it's a genuine case of spontaneous combustion..." He stopped and looked up at Jo. "There wouldn't happen to be a churchyard near this boy's home, would there?"
"About half a mile away," Jo confirmed. "You know what it is, don't you?"
"I have a theory. We'll know more when we get there."
"I want to go," Jo said determinedly. She'd been nagging him for the past two days.
John started to gather up rest of the pictures. "Think you can handle this hunt alone?" he asked her bluntly.
"Maybe," she answered defiantly. "I can fight. I can shoot. I know the job. I've hunted before - "
"Alone?"
"No. With...someone else."
Boyfriend, John translated, but said nothing more about that. "Jo, only you can decide if you're ready. If you want to take on this hunt, it's your mother you have to convince, not me. But you ain't hunting with my boys. I won't let you endanger them."
"What makes you so sure I would?" she flared.
"I'm not. But I won't take the risk." He rose from the table and saw Ellen watching them. He knew Ellen would never let Jo go with them, and he knew why. Better let Jo believe it was his decision.
It was time they were leaving.
The boys were out back: Sam dragged Dean out there almost the instant Dean arrived with John's newly-rebuilt truck.
Dean was leaning against the wall; Sam was sitting on an overturned beer barrel. One look at Sam's face told John something was wrong.
Dean was shaking his head. "Dude, that's - "
"Insane," Sam supplied. "I know." He spread his hands. "I can't explain it, but it's what I saw."
Dean walked a few paces, then turned back. "I see why you didn't want to tell Dad. Uh...are you sure it was him?"
Sam made a face. "Yeah."
"Well, maybe one of you was possessed. Or a shape shifter."
Sam sighed. "I thought of that. But even if that's true...it would still mean that one of us was..."
"Yeah," Dean interrupted as if he didn't want to hear the rest of Sam's sentence. He paced back to the wall. "You know, Sam, I think your psychic radar is fried."
"I hope so."
"I just don't believe it, dude. There's no way."
"I had to tell you, Dean."
John looked from one of his sons to the other. He moved back in the doorway so they wouldn't see him.
Dean looked at Sam, his face serious. "You believe this, don't you? You wouldn't be so scared if you thought it was impossible."
Sam was silent. He looked so uncomfortable John thought about showing himself. He had no idea what Sam had seen in this latest vision but it sounded bad. Bad enough that Sam wouldn't trust his father with it?
"Not all your visions come true, Sammy," Dean pointed out.
"Name one that didn't."
"I'll name two. You saw me get my head blown off in Saginaw and you saw that woman die in Salvation. Both times, it didn't happen because you were there. You stopped it. You'll stop this one, too."
Dean turned toward the Roadhouse. He froze for an instant when he saw John there.
John moved quickly back into the shadows before Sam could see him. He heard Dean slap Sam on his back. "Come on, Sammy. Time we hit the road."
John dumped his bag at the foot of the motel bed. The room was decorated in a retro-seventies style, all migraine-inducing orange and pink in bold patterns. John hung a protective mandala over the door and pulled Jo's research out of his bag. He began to lay the information out on the plastic table. The most significant details he pinned to the wall: just as a reminder. He already had the details memorised. Then he sat down and started cleaning his guns while he waited for his boys.
Almost an hour later, Dean showed up with pizza and a six-pack. He looked around the room, his expression horrified. "Yeuch! And I thought our room was bad." He offered the pizza box to John.
"Makes you wish you were colour blind, doesn't it?" John smiled, taking the box. "Where's Sammy?"
"He went to the local newspaper office to see if there are any other disappearances. I said I'd meet him at the bar when we're done. Seems like the best place to start the recon."
John took a slice of pizza. It was still warm. "Sit down, Dean."
Dean sat. "Did I do wrong?"
"No. No, recon is a good idea, but I have an idea what we're facing. I don't know that Sam will be asking the right questions."
"What do you think we're facing?" Dean stuffed his mouth full of pizza and cracked open a beer.
"Later. Dean, I need to know about Sam's vision."
Dean stiffened. "You were listening."
"Not to all of it. I heard enough to know Sam was freaked. So tell me."
Dean gazed at his father for a long time, chewing on his pizza. John gave him the time. Finally, Dean swallowed, chased it with a gulp of beer, and shook his head firmly. "No."
It was the last thing John expected to hear.
"Dean," he warned.
"I said no."
"Dean, I can't lead this hunt if I don't have all the - "
"Don't give me that soldier crap!" Dean snapped, and John wondered when the hell Dean started channelling his brother. Dean slammed the beer bottle down on the table. "We ain't in the army, Dad. A CO doesn't abandon his unit just when the war is starting. You taught me that, damn it."
And John had abandoned Dean for a whole year. The unspoken accusation stung because it was true.
"We've been over this, Dean."
"I've got a right to be pissed, okay! And I'll tell you somethin' else. This past year, Sam and me made a damn good team. We're good at this and we can do it without you."
"I know you can, and I'm proud..." John began, but he'd misunderstood Dean's point.
Dean shook his head. "No, Dad. I've been thinking about this. About Sam's vision, ever since he told me. I think...no, I know, that if Sam had the same vision, exactly the same but about me, and he told you about it...Dad, you wouldn't tell me. Not about this. So I won't tell you. Not because I promised Sam, but because it's what you'd do."
"There's a difference, Dean," John argued.
Dean nodded, meeting John's eyes. "Dad, do you trust me?"
"You're not making it easy."
"Dad."
"Yes, son. I trust you."
"Then trust me. I swear, Sam's vision had nothing to do with this hunt. But if I tell you what he saw, it will affect things."
It was frustrating, but John had to trust Dean's judgement. He had to accept that perhaps, this time, Dean knew best.
Dean's stubbornness was a real kick in the head. Dean wasn't his good soldier any longer. John had forced him to be independent, so he was. He was demanding equality, and the truth was he deserved it.
John took a second slice of pizza. "Alright, son. You keep Sam's secret. But once we're out there, I expect you to follow orders. Both of you."
"Yes, sir," Dean answered, and his tone was obedient. But there was something in his eyes, some shadow of defiance. Of fear.
What the hell had Sam seen?