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FIC: What Lies Beneath (Part Two) (Adult)
Title: Slouching Toward Bethlehem IV: What Lies Beneath (Part Two)
Series: Slouching Toward Bethlehem
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Adults Only
Pairing: John/Sam
Summary: Dean begins to unravel the mystery of what is happening to Sam.
Warnings: Major character death. Non-consensual sex.
Click for Part One
Notes: Sequel to The Eighth Deadly Sin, Ceremony of Innocence and You Can't Go Home Again. The series is a dark AU beginning at In My Time of Dying. The 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?
Also posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2687
WHAT LIES BENEATH
PART TWO
John pushed the comforter aside as Sam walked back to the bed. He saw Sam's smile, and smiled back. He felt drained, but pleasantly so...but they couldn't spend the entire night together.
"Maybe," he suggested, "you should be getting back to Dean."
Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, half-turned away from John. The outline of his nude body was a perfect sculpture in the darkness. "Don't worry about Dean," Sam said softly. He ran a hand over John's thigh.
"Ain't you tired yet?" John grinned.
Sam looked down at the floor. "Yes, you're right," he said, his voice still very soft. "I am tired of this game."
Game? John sat up, drawing a breath to speak. Then Sam looked at him and he saw Sam's eyes. Yellow eyes that John recognised. Instantly he reached for the holy water beside his bed. Sam moved so fast John barely saw it, snatching the bottle and throwing it across the room.
"Not this time, John." The voice was Sam's, but the cadence of his voice, the malicious smile...those were alien. No, not alien. Horribly familiar.
It was only weeks since John himself had been possessed by that yellow-eyed bastard. He remembered what it was like to be unable to control his own body or his voice. He remembered that evil seeping into every crevice of his soul, learning his darkest secrets, and using them against him and his boys. He remembered being forced to watch as it tortured Dean. The memories stole John's breath and froze him in place for a moment. It was hatred, not fear, but he fought it down. His hatred was selfish. It couldn't help Sam.
John forced himself to meet the demon's yellow eyes. "Get. The fuck. Out. Of my son."
The demon laughed. It was Sam's laugh, rich and warm. "I'm curious, John. What exactly do you think you have left to bargain with?" His fingers stroked John's bare thigh idly. "I already own you, John. Body..." his fingertips brushed John's balls, making him draw breath sharply, "...and soul."
John tried to jerk away from that touch. He couldn't move. His body simply refused to obey him, just as it had earlier when Sam held him against the wall. When Sam... Oh, fuck, how long had the demon been in Sam? Was he already possessed that morning. Was it there when he and Sam...when they made love? The thought made him feel sick.
"You can take me instead," John offered desperately.
Sam laid a hand on his chest. "Oh, I'm touched," he said sarcastically. "Sorry. It doesn't work that way. Sammy bought this ticket himself."
"What the fuck does that mean?" John tried to force his body to move, hell, even just a finger, but he failed. The demon's power held him, seemingly effortlessly, on the bed.
Sam - (Christ, stop thinking of him as Sammy!) - the demon looked at John speculatively. "You know, John, I think you've caught me in a generous mood. I owe you one, so I'm going to answer that question." His hand moved from John's thigh to his cock, Sam's big hand cupping him. John couldn't pull away, so he did his best to ignore it. It was meant as a distraction.
"I know you wanted the Colt because you thought it could kill me," the demon said. "You were right about that, John, but there's a catch. You see, I can't die. Not even the Colt can break the rules, John." He leaned over John's body, stroking John's limp cock. "So, there's a simple way to resolve the paradox. If you kill me, you become me." His face was very close to John's, those sickly yellow eyes filling John's vision. "Sammy pulled the trigger, so Sammy won the grand prize." The demon kissed John on his lips, a gentle touch, a flutter of tongue. John wanted to vomit, but to his horror his body reacted to the caresses. The hands that touched him were Sam's, and his body didn't care who was driving.
The demon chuckled, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth. It had noticed John's reaction. Well, he couldn't exactly hide it with Sam's hand on his dick.
If you kill me, you become me. It was an old, old story. John knew the legends, from many cultures, but he had never thought they might apply to demons. Most of the stories were about humans: the guardian of some sacred treasure was granted immortality for as long as he (or sometimes she) was the guardian. In many stories, a would-be thief would appear and kill the guardian for the treasure he held, thus becoming the next guardian, immortal until someone came along to kill him. And that was the connection, John realised. What happens when you kill something immortal?
Hunters like John spoke of "killing" demons, but what that usually meant was "send them back to Hell". The Colt was supposed to be able to kill anything, and John believed the legend...but it was a damn hard theory to test. Too late, now.
John stared back at the demon with Sam's face. If this were true, then the demon had been inside Sam since the hospital. It had been in Sam for weeks. That couldn't be true.
Sam smiled again. "Nice catch, John," he said, as if John had spoken his thoughts aloud. He was still leaning over John, still stroking him firmly. "The Colt," he went on conversationally, "couldn't make me die, but it sure did hurt me. I planted a seed of myself in Sammy, and it took time for it - for me - to grow inside him."
John's body betrayed him. The relentless hand on his cock pushed him over the edge, tore a cry of frustration and unwanted pleasure from his throat as he orgasmed for the third time that night. Hot semen splashed his belly. A distraction, it was just a distraction. The violation was nothing. It meant nothing. John opened his eyes, humiliated and angry.
The demon finally quit touching him. It stood, wiping Sam's hand on the sheet.
"You're lying," John spat defiantly. He still couldn't move.
"You know I'm not," Sam answered, "but I'm not done." He laughed. "And, I really want to tell you this part because I know you'll...appreciate it, John." Sam was pacing now, beside the bed. "You see, I was vulnerable, then, trapped inside Sammy. If you'd realised I was there, if you had the balls to kill him before I was strong...well, I might have been stuck in Hell for centuries while I healed. It wasn't easy to take hold of Sammy. You raised him well, Johnny. He's such a good boy. I needed a way in. A thread of evil in his soul that I could use to unravel him." Sam patted John's arm. "It was you who created it for me."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" John demanded. He was afraid he knew.
Sam leaned over and whispered the word into John's ear. "Incest." He drew out the "s" sounds so it was like the hissing of a snake.
John closed his eyes, struggling to control his expression. He would not give this demonic bastard the satisfaction.
The demon chuckled. "It's so delicious. I couldn't have planned it better. You led Sammy into incest. You knew it was a sin. So did he. And I didn't even need to nudge him. I really should be thanking you, John." He stretched out his arms, examining his hands. "This is such a fine body..." He stopped, looking at John as if a new thought occurred to him. "Oh, but you already know that, don't you? You enjoyed this body a lot. Bet you never guessed we were both fucking your baby boy - "
"You son of a bitch!" John raged. If he could have moved in that moment, he would have broken the demon's neck with his bare hands and never cared, until too late, that the body was his son's. He struggled against the power that held him, fought as never before, but nothing worked.
"Careful, John, you're gonna give yourself a stroke," the demon said casually.
John took a deep breath and shouted his rage, loud and long and wordless. It was becoming clear now, and he saw how badly he had failed his son. He should have seen this much sooner.
The exorcism that gave the boys so much trouble: Sam was...no, not possessed. Infected by a demonic presence. No wonder the exorcism didn't work. No wonder the demon obeyed Sam at the end. Dean tested Sam for possession, after, but he'd used holy water. They knew that wouldn't work on the yellow-eyed demon. It was too old, older than the Christian Church, so Christian rites had no power over it. But by testing Sam, Dean had given his suspicion away. Dean was a good hunter; he would have figured out a better test, so the demon made Sam leave him...and sent Sam to John who played right into he demon's hands because he couldn't keep his hands off his own son.
How could he?
"Sam's headaches?" John asked, but he already knew. Sam had told him. I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself. Every time this happens I die a little more.
This time, the demon ignored the question. It picked up Sam's pants from the floor and began to put them on.
John knew it wouldn't work, but he had to try. "If you stay in Sam's body," John said carefully, "you can't use him. I know about your plans for the children. You need Sam."
The demon buckled Sam's belt. Somehow, clothing made the yellow of his eyes less visible. He looked much more like Sam. The demon bent to retrieve Sam's shirt. "You're right," he said eventually. "It's a loss. I had big plans for Sammy. But there are other children like him."
John forced a smile to his lips, shaking his head. "Not like my Sam." It was a last, desperate ploy. He kept his voice low, persuasive. "Leave him. You know he's more useful to you as Sam."
The demon laughed. "Nice try, John." He finished dressing and sat down on the nightstand beside the bed. "You don't really want me to leave this body, John. What's left of Sammy isn't anything you'd enjoy seeing."
"Then he's dead." Every word was a knife in John's heart. Sammy. Oh, son, I'm so sorry. His rebellious son...John fought for so long to keep him safe. Now it was too late.
"Dead?" the demon repeated. "Oh, that's an exaggeration, John. A corpse is no good to me. Now..." he leaned forward, almost close enough to kiss John, "we had a deal, John," he whispered.
"Trading Sam for Dean wasn't the deal."
"You should always check the fine print, Johnny. Sam was never part of our bargain. So he's fair game. And you still owe me."
It was true. A deal was a deal, and John had considered it a good trade at the time. Dean's life was worth the price. But it hadn't just been about Dean. John needed Dean to live to keep Sam safe. And now...
The demon snapped his fingers suddenly. "I'll tell you what. You've been a big help with Sammy, and I'm feeling generous tonight. So I'm gonna give you a little time." He did kiss John then, a lingering touch of his lips to John's. "We'll have eternity, John. I can wait for that."
"Fuck you!"
"Now, now. I'm doing you a favour." The demon walked toward the door. "Don't worry. I'll come for you when I'm ready. Oh, and - " he turned back briefly " - don't forget you owe me the Colt, too."
Why? John wondered. He had agreed to hand over the Colt, true, but it was useless without its bullets...wasn't it? There were no bullets left.
The demon opened the motel room door. It looked back at John one last time. Its eyes were dark and clear, no sign of that sickly yellow. "Oh, speaking of reading the fine print, you should probably check on Dean. He really shouldn't peer through windows. I had to hit him pretty hard, but I think he'll live. This time."
The demon walked out, slamming the motel room door.
Dean! Oh, god, not Dean, too!
It was a few moments before John could move. When the demon's power finally released him, John leapt up, scrambling into his clothing in record time. He ran outside without stopping for shoes, or even a gun.
He found Dean in the parking lot, unconscious.
There was no sign of Sam.
Dean felt something cool and hard covering his face and reached up to push it away. Someone caught his hand and Dean's eyes flew open. Above him, he saw the roof of an ambulance and a paramedic standing over him. The thing covering Dean's face was an oxygen mask. Dean's head hurt. Everything hurt.
The paramedic leaned over him, still holding his hand in hers. "Dean? It's Dean, right?"
Dean tried to reply but the breather mask was in the way. He pulled his hand away from the paramedic's touch and pushed the mask aside. The movement hurt.
"Where's my dad?" he demanded urgently. "My brother?"
"Your father's okay, he's going to meet us at the E.R. I don't know anything about your brother. No one else was hurt, just you."
Dean relaxed. They were okay.
His vision was already grey at the edges. Grey, then black.
The next time Dean woke, he was in a hospital bed. He tried to sit up and his head swam.
"Dean!" It was John's voice. "It's okay, son. Just relax." John moved into Dean's field of vision, dragging a chair closer to the bed.
Usually, when John said something like it's okay, he was telling the truth. One look at his father's pale, drawn face told Dean something was very wrong. John looked like he hadn't slept for a week, but it was more than that. His shoulders were slumped, there was no life in his eyes. He looked...defeated.
"Dad, what's happened? Where's Sam?"
John answered, speaking slowly, as if he was carefully choosing each word. "I found you unconscious in the parking lot. Do you remember anything?"
"In the parking lot?" Dean repeated. He remembered O'Brien stopping him and dying, Sam's bullet flying through his chest. But that wasn't right.
It came back in a rush. Yellow eyes behind the curtain. Falling. The car bearing down on him.
"My car! Son of a bitch hit me with my car!"
"Who hit you?"
"Demon." Dean sat up quickly - and regretted it, but didn't lie back down. "Oh, god, Dad. It was the demon. That yellow-eyed bastard!"
John closed his eyes briefly. He didn't seem surprised.
John nodded wearily. "Right. Listen, Dean. The doc says you've got a bad concussion but nothing else is broken. They want to keep you here for 24 hours, just in case."
"Shit. Do I have to?" Dean protested. He felt fine! Well, except for the headache and the way the room wouldn't stay still.
"I think you should, son. Here..." he reached for a bag he'd hooked over the back of his chair. "I brought your things from the motel." He laid the bag on the floor beside the bed.
"Dad," Dean asked again. "Where's Sam?" Something bad was going on. Dean was getting scared.
John shook his head. "Dean, I'm so sorry."
Dean swallowed. "Cut the crap, Dad. Where's Sam? He's not...?" The word dead stuck in his throat. But what else could put that look on his father's face?
"There's so much I haven't told you, Dean. I meant to explain everything weeks ago, but after that hunt in Nebraska..." John drew his chair closer. "I need you to listen to me now, son, because there isn't much time."
Dean nodded.
"The last time you were in a hospital, I told you something big was coming."
It wasn't the last time. In fact, it felt like a hundred years ago. But Dean didn't argue. "You said I had to save Sam, or I'd have to kill him. But I thought that was over when you killed..." He stopped. He'd been about to say when you killed the demon. The demon Dean saw in John's room, right before he went flying. But Sam had been with John... Oh, god, no. His eyes went wide. "Dad, what happened to Sam?"
John hesitated and Dean could see the pain in his expression. Whatever it was, it was bad. It was costing John a great deal to speak.
"Sam is...he's gone, Dean."
"Gone? What does that mean?"
"You saw the demon last night. Didn't you see it was Sam?"
"He's possessed?" Dean pushed the blankets aside, fully intending to get out of bed. "Well, let's find him and exorcise his ass!" A wave of dizziness forced him to lie down again. Shit.
John shook his head slowly. "I can't. Dean - " he held up a hand, cutting off Dean's objections. "When I said you might have to kill Sam, I wasn't just trying to scare you. You boys are everything to me, son, but what this demon wants to do is bigger than our family. More important than all of us."
"But...we can't just leave Sam!" Dean couldn't believe he was hearing this. John couldn't mean to abandon Sammy. He just couldn't!
John stood, avoiding Dean's eyes. He walked away a few paces, rubbing his face with one hand. "Son, I know O'Brien told you something before he died. You've had your own suspicions about Sam. You've got to understand that what's happened to Sammy is more complicated than possession." John bowed his head, and the next words were muffled, barely audible. "I don't know how to help him."
"Well, for starters we've got to find him!"
John turned back to face Dean. "I agree. But first I have to make sure people are warned. The right people."
Dean, cursing his injury, stared at his father. Was he really saying that Sam was less important than... "Use the freaking phone, Dad."
"I will. I have. But some things I have to do in person. Dean, this demon now knows everything Sam knows. Our friends could be in danger."
John was lying. Dean didn't know why, but he was sure of it. He knew his father. He knew every look, every nuance of expression and he could tell that whatever John's reason for not going after Sammy, it had nothing to do with their friends. That was an excuse: a plausible reason to cover something he didn't want Dean to know.
Dean knew his father, so he knew he wouldn't get anywhere by demanding answers. He had to play along, accept the lie and hope the truth would come out.
He took a deep breath, and that didn't hurt. Progress. "Dad...you don't know where Sam - where the demon is, do you?"
John shook his head: no. "I can track demonic activity: the omens, but there are no guarantees, Dean."
Dean almost said, Christo, because this utter defeat was so unlike his father. But if John wasn't himself, Dean couldn't risk tipping him off. He didn't think that was really it.
"What's our plan?" he asked.
"Give me a break, Doc." Dean gave the doctor his best you-know-you-wanna smile. "I know my name and what day it is and who's president. You've gotta let me out of here. Man, if I have to watch any more daytime TV I swear..."
The doctor - a grey-haired woman wearing a white coat and an expression of tolerant amusement - ignored his tirade. "Dean, you sustained a severe concussion and there was some bleeding into your brain. It's not serious and will probably repair itself in a few days, but - "
Dean interrupted her again. "I can't stay here a few days. I can't."
"Just overnight."
Dean shook his head. "Level with me, Doc. I leave now, and what? What's the worst that could happen?"
The doctor took a step back, folding her arms over her chest. "The worst that could happen is that the internal bleeding forms a clot and you suffer a fatal stroke."
It was clearly supposed to make Dean hesitate but he forged ahead. "Okay, and what are the chances of that? Really?"
She sighed. "It's unlikely, but - "
"Then I'm out of here." Dean pushed the blankets aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was wearing one of those thin hospital gowns that tie at the back, and, unfortunately nothing else.
Before he could jump down from the bed, a familiar figure walked up to the open door. She looked into the room, saw Dean and walked toward them. Jo Harvelle was the last person Dean expected to see, but he was glad to see her. She was wearing a bright green top over her usual tight blue jeans, with a large bag slung over one shoulder. The bag was canvas with pink flowers printed on it.
Jo glanced at Dean, but gave her attention to the doctor, smiling sunnily as she approached. "Hi, doctor, I'm Jo. How's my big brother?"
Brother? Dean stared at her.
The doctor seemed charmed by Jo's smile. Her whole body language changed as she turned to speak to her. "He's stubborn, but he's tough. I think he'll be fine."
Dean grabbed it. "Great! Now, I'm leaving." He started to get down from the bed. Jo stopped him, moving to block his way. Dean narrowed his eyes at her. ""What's up, sister?" he said warningly.
She met his eyes, her smile gone. "Dad called me and asked me to take care of you."
"My dad?"
She nodded, her eyes flicking to the doctor.
He got the message, but set his jaw stubbornly. "I'm still leavin'."
She faced the doctor, switching on her smile again. "It'll be alright, doctor. I'll take care of him."
The doc sighed. "Fine. You'll have to sign a waiver agreeing you're leaving against medical advice."
Dean grinned. Victory. "Anything. Just get me out of here."
As the doctor left, Dean rounded on Jo. "What the hell are you doin' here? Why'd my dad call you?"
She looked serious. "He didn't, exactly. I called you and he answered your phone." She bit her lip. "Dean, I didn't know what to do so I told him everything. He asked me to come here." She reached into her bag. "There's something you should see."
Dean stopped her. "Okay, Jo, but whatever it is, wait until we're out of here."
"Sure," she said agreeably. She moved as if to sit in the nearest chair.
Dean got down from the bed. "Uh, little sister. Some privacy, please?"
She very deliberately looked him up and down, taking in the shapeless but short hospital gown, his bare legs and feet. "Spoilsport." She left with a grin.
Another day, Dean would have called her back. Not this day. Now all that mattered was finding Sam. Dean hauled up the bag John left for him and pulled out his clothing. He found his phone on top of everything. The jeans were the same ones he'd been wearing when the car hit him. Dean checked the pockets. The bullet was still there in its box, apparently untouched. He pulled the pants on, then socks and his boots.
There was a clean t-shirt inside the bag, but it was wrapped around something hard. Slowly, Dean unfolded the t-shirt. He could feel the shape of a gun inside and he smiled to himself. He should have guessed John would have included a weapon. But then Dean saw what it was and stopped. It was the Colt. Why did Dad leave this for him? Had he been through Dean's pockets? Did he know about the bullet?
Dean ran his finger along the Latin inscription on the barrel. Non timebo mala. Fear no evil.
Why would John leave this for him, and not mention it? John gave him the Colt before he'd walked into Meg's trap in Lincoln. I've been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here, and I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you boys now. It's your fight, you finish this. You finish what I started.
The Colt was a message. Just as John leaving his journal behind in Jericho had been a message. Dean closed his hand around the Colt. He understood. It was his job to find Sam. To find the demon.
He finished dressing quickly. He loaded the bullet into the Colt and hid it in the bottom of his bag.
I saw you, Dad. You were sitting at a table, alone. 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.
You boys are everything to me, son, but what this demon wants to do is bigger than our family. More important than all of us.
Dean swallowed, hard. His father was right. There was one thing more important than finding Sam.
Dean ran a loving hand over the grille of the Impala. She seemed unhurt.
Jo watched him check his car, a smile playing around her lips. "Are you done?"
Dean straightened, ignoring her question. "You said you had something to show me?"
"Yeah." Jo reached into her bag and gave Dean something wrapped in a paper napkin.
"What's this?" Dean unwrapped the napkin. Inside was a dirty piece of metal, copper, he thought, but it was hard to tell. There was some sort of symbol etched into it. He rubbed the dirt away with his thumb to get a closer look.
"I found it in the wreckage of that building," Jo volunteered.
"It's a Hermetic talisman," Dean told her. "For protection, I think." He recognised some of the symbols, but he wasn't certain of their meaning. Sam was always the expert in this stuff. He shrugged. "I guess it didn't work too well."
"Dean. I know the amulet." She met his eyes, very serious. "A lot of hunters pass through the Roadhouse. This belongs to Kelly O'Brien. He never takes it off."
Dean looks at the amulet more closely. "He's one of the bodies the cops couldn't identify," he guessed, wishing it was more of a surprise. Or maybe he'd just been poking around the building and lost this. Maybe. Either way, it raised too many questions.
"You didn't tell me there was another hunter on this," Jo said. It sounded like an accusation.
Dean shrugged. "You didn't ask, sweetheart." Let her assume whatever she liked. He wasn't about to tell her what really happened. He gave the talisman back to her. "Can you drive, Jo? I mean, something with gears and no powered steering?"
Her eyes went wide. "You mean your car? Yeah, I guess so." She grinned. "Where are we going?"
I guess so wasn't exactly the answer he'd wanted. Dean cringed inwardly at the thought of letting Jo drive his baby, but he was running out of options. He unlocked the car and tossed his bag onto the back seat. "Nebraska," he told her. We've got to get there before my dad and he's got a long headstart on us. So we don't stop for anything except gas, okay? When I'm too tired, you drive so I can sleep."
Jo nodded, climbing into the car on the passenger side. "Why is it so important to beat John?"
Dean thought again of Sam's vision. "If we don't," he said, "he'll die." He started the engine and turned the volume up on the music to avoid further conversation.
Jo took the hint and was silent as Dean drove out of town. Only when they reached the highway did she turn the music down and turn to him. "You already knew, didn't you? About O'Brien?"
Shit. Dean glanced at her. "I knew he was dead. I didn't know he was in the fire, but it makes sense."
"You'd better explain that."
"We've got a long drive ahead, Jo. There'll be plenty of time for stories." And time, Dean hoped, to come up with a version I can tell you. He took the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. He punched buttons, a little awkwardly, driving with one hand.
"Who are you calling?"
Dean narrowed his eyes at her impatiently. "The only person who can keep my dad alive if we don't make it." He heard the familiar voice answer his call. "Hey, Bobby, it's Dean. I need a favour."
Harvelle's Roadhouse
Ellen had closed the bar early so the three of them could be alone. It was only the third time she'd ever done that, and though John hadn't asked, he appreciated it. It was going to take a long time to explain everything.
John plucked a whiskey glass from behind the bar. When Ellen didn't object, he poured whiskey for all of them and carried the bottle over to the table, too. He sat down. They both looked back at him.
John returned Ellen's gaze first. He owed her a lot. She and Bill had been there for him at a time when he'd badly needed friends. Now her eyes were hard as she met his. She wasn't happy that Jo had become involved in John's shit. She was going to be even less happy when he told her everything. John gave Ellen his word that Jo was in no danger but the truth was he didn't know that for certain. If she was with Dean...well, he just had to hope Dean would have the sense to send her home now. He watched Ellen take a gulp of whiskey and her eyes softened, just a little. She might be mad at him, but she was still a friend.
Bobby was another friend he could rely on. John was surprised to find Bobby at the Roadhouse. These days, Bobby didn't leave his place much. When John asked, Bobby simply shrugged and said he wanted a beer. John took the hint.
Now Bobby looked back at him steadily, not touching his whiskey. "Alright, John. Let's hear it."
John drained his glass and poured himself another double. "This will take a while, but you need to hear everything."
"In that case," Bobby suggested dryly, "take it easy on the whiskey. Finish the story before you're under the table."
John pushed the glass away. "You both know the demon came after us - my boys and me - a few weeks ago. It put all three of us in the hospital. Dean was hurt the worst. He was injured before the car wreck..." John took a drink. He'd watched, helpless as the demon used his body to torture Dean. "The doctor made it clear Dean wasn't likely to live. But I couldn't accept that."
John drained his glass and looked at Bobby. He'd already guessed, John knew. Bobby was no fool. He poured more whiskey all around. Ellen might understand. She was a mother, after all.
John told them everything: his deal with the yellow-eyed demon; Sam stopping it from happening; the hunt and the succubus; his history with Sam. He told them what he knew about the exorcism in Jefferson City; about Sam leaving Dean and about their incestuous affair. And finally, he told them what happened in Palo Alto and in Nevada. He told them about Sam and the demon.
It took a long time to tell.
When John finished speaking, there was silence. Then Bobby reached for the whiskey bottle. The bottle clinked against his glass as he poured, then drank. Only then did he look at John.
"Well?" John asked.
Bobby looked grim. "You ain't gonna like it."
"I already don't like it, Bobby. I know I'm fucked to hell. So spill it."
Bobby turned those grim eyes to John. "Sounds to me," he said, "like you were played. Likely from the moment you got the Colt from Elkins."
It wasn't what John expected to hear. "What the hell are you talking about?" he flared.
Bobby returned John's angry look steadily. "Demon may have had plans for Sam, but that was before he was a man. By taking Sam now, it's got a face and a name that a hell of a lot of hunters will trust. It's got his visions, too. That's one power demons don't have. And anyone who knows you knows how far you'd go to save those boys. I don't think it's a coincidence, John. I'm sorry."
Bobby's words twisted the knife in John's heart. The demon hurt Dean, nearly killed Dean, to force John to trade his soul. Was it possible? John didn't think that was the way it went down but he couldn't deny it made sense. Then Sam finding out what he'd done to save Dean, and stopping him, thus becoming the demon's victim...yes, it might have been planned that way.
He'd thought that nothing could make this worse, but Bobby's insight did it. Just the possibility broke something inside of John. He poured more whiskey.
On the long drive to Nebraska, John stopped at one of many nameless gas stations to refuel the truck. The gas station was a lonely place: the only building for miles, two pumps and a single-storey hut for the owner. There was no diner, but there was a vending machine that provided bad coffee in paper cups. John paid for his gas and for a coffee, then drove a few more miles before he stopped to drink it.
Alone on the side of the road, John sipped the bitter coffee, leaning against the side of the truck and gazing out over endless fields. Mourning his son.
When he finished the coffee, John turned to climb back into the truck, crumpling the cup in his fist.
Sam was standing there.
"Howdy, John." His yellow eyes gleamed in the sunlight. But for the eyes, he looked just like Sam. Same posture, same gestures, even the same smile.
John's fist tightened around the paper cup. This son of a bitch murdered Mary. It tortured Dean. Now it had taken Sam, too. He thought about that, concentrated on his hatred so it couldn't take from his mind the message he'd left for Dean. Dean was John's last hope. If the demon guessed what he wanted Dean to do, it was over.
"What do you want?" John snarled.
"Just checking on my investment. Oh, and I thought you'd want to know about Dean. He left the hospital with that cute little blonde thing." He smiled lasciviously. "Little Jo. Do you think he's fucking her?"
John didn't answer. He didn't care who Dean slept with.
"I'll bet his is," the demon suggested, then, in a stage-whisper, "she looks so much like his mommy."
John's fist was beginning to cramp, he was clenching his fingers so tightly. John wanted to hurt him. Stab a knife into his guts. Tear him apart.
But the body was Sam's and John couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt his son. There might still be a chance to save him.
So John said nothing and did nothing. He climbed into his truck and drove on.
John met Bobby's eyes over his whiskey glass. "It doesn't matter now, Bobby. All that matters is Sam. There has to be a way to save him. Help me, Bobby. Help me save my boy."
Bobby closed his eyes. John knew before he spoke it was going to be bad news. "John, if it happened the way the demon told you, Sam's dead."
Ellen caught her breath. She made an odd gesture with one hand, as if she'd almost reached for John. She said nothing, only lifted the whiskey to her lips again.
John nodded. "How do we find out for sure? And how do we save Sam if the demon lied to me?"
Bobby shook his head. "I hate to kick a man when he's down, but we ain't doin' anything. There's nothing you can do for Sam. Demon can kill you any time you move against it."
"Bobby!" Ellen said sharply. It was the first thing she'd said since John began his story.
"Ellen, he's right," John said. "I sold my soul. The demon will collect when it's ready and there's not a damn thing can stop it." He looked at Bobby, searching his friend's face for some thread of hope. He saw only grief and regret.
Bobby rose from the table. "I've got some books may have somethin'. I don't know if I can help, but I'll try."
John knew Bobby well enough to translate that as we're fucked. He nodded anyway. "Thanks."
"John," Ellen began, "you know I've got to spread the word on this."
"Yeah. That's why I came here. And to ask..."
"Anything," she offered.
"Take care of my boy, if he'll let you. He won't understand what I've got to do."
"Done." Ellen's calm façade frayed at the edges as she spoke. She'd always been so good at hiding her feelings; the emotion poking through the mask was just the tip of the iceberg. "John..." she said, her voice breaking.
John smiled. "It's past and gone, Ellen. Can't be changed. No need to say anything about it." They were her words, not his.
She nodded, swallowed and stood up. "You want a bed for the night, John?"
"No. I'm fine here."
"You shouldn't be alone..."
"I'm fine here," he repeated.
She held out a hand. "Then give me your gun," she said firmly.
John didn't bother arguing. He gave her the gun and they left him alone.
How can you tell the right thing to do when every choice available is wrong?
John drank the last of the whiskey in one swallow straight from the bottle. He wasn't drunk. Or, not drunk enough.
He had done everything he could. It was damage control, nothing more, but Bobby was right. John couldn't be a part of this fight. He would be a liability at best, a danger at worst.
Sam was gone. He knew that now, beyond doubt. If there was any real hope, Bobby would have told him.
Perhaps it wasn't John's doing. He knew that demons lie, and he knew how much the demon had enjoyed twisting this particular knife. I really want to tell you this part because I know you'll...appreciate it, John. It's so delicious. I couldn't have planned it better.
He remembered kissing Sam, the way the taste of him tightened his body, the slow slide of his tongue in Sam's mouth. He remembered sex with Sam, the heat of Sam's body, the damp warmth of sweat, the small sounds Sam made when they fucked. Oh, god, Sammy... John blinked back tears and swallowed the lump in his throat.
John's real problem was the Colt.
When Dean was dying, he had offered the Colt to the demon in trade for Dean's life, and he'd considered it a good deal. He couldn't afford to be so careless now. John had assumed the demon's pursuit of the Colt was because the Colt could kill the demon. It could kill anything, according to the legend. But all of the bullets were gone and without them the Colt was just a useless antique...or so John had believed. But the demon still wanted it.
Why? John didn't need to know. It was enough to know the Colt still had some kind of significance.
The demon could not be allowed to get its hands on the Colt.
John's deal included the Colt and the demon could force him to hand it over. A deal was a deal.
There was only one way out. John had to die before the demon came to claim its due.
He pulled the knife from his boot and stared at it. The blade was clean and very sharp. The steel caught the lights behind the bar and gleamed silver.
He had no illusions that he could escape his deal. No, you don't sell your soul to Hell and look for a loophole. If the demon killed him or something else did, the demon would still claim his soul. But perhaps he could do this. He could deny the demon this one thing. It might be a small thing, insignificant. He didn't know. But it was something. One final defiance. One last revenge.
One desperate hope that he might be making a difference in this fight.
John laid the blade against his wrist. He knew how to cut. It would be quick.
I'm sorry, son. I'm so very sorry.
He closed his eyes. He thought of Mary, of her smile and her wicked sense of humour and her courage. He thought of Dean and would have prayed for him if he had believed God would listen. He began to press down with the blade.
A hand closed around John's wrist - the hand holding the knife - and jerked his hand upward painfully. John found himself staring into Dean's angry eyes.
"You selfish son of a bitch!" Dean hissed.
"Dean - " John began. He didn't know how to explain.
Dean squeezed down on John's wrist. "You don't get to do this," he insisted. His voice was low and furious. "You don't get to take the easy way out. There's a way to save Sam. I don't know how, yet, but you're gonna help me find it." His other hand closed over John's blade.
John let go of the knife.
The End
One final note: I know some of you will be thinking "you can't end it there". For me, this is where the story ends. Slouching Toward Bethlehem was intended from the beginning to be a fairly dark story, but I wanted to end in a place where there's at least a glimmer of hope. The clues as to what will happen next are all in the story if you look for them. That said, as always, my fic is fair game. If anyone else wants to write a sequel, you are welcome, and I'd enjoy seeing it.
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