Fic: Never Say Die (9/16)

[briarwood]

Title: Never Say Die (9/16)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Adults Only
Pairing: John/Ellen (see notes in Part 0)
Summary: After a hunt that went horribly wrong, John wakes up in a California hospital. It's thirteen years later, everyone he trusted seems to be dead, and he has no idea how to find his sons. Meanwhile, unknown to John, Dean's time is running out.
Warnings: Darkfic. Character death. Torture. (See notes in Part 0 for more details)
Spoilers: Up to Jus In Bello.
Previous chapters: archived here.

---

NEVER SAY DIE

Part Nine

"Sam!" Dean ran to his brother, half-tripping over a loose stone in his hurry. "Sammy!"

Sam straddled the body the demon had been using. His chest was bare, a few charred scraps all that remained of his shirt. There were long, diagonal scratches across his chest like claw marks, blood still flowing from them in streaks. Sam's arms were spread wide as if in supplication. He gave no sign he heard or saw Dean there.

Dean grasped Sam's bare shoulders and shook him. "Sam!"

Sam slowly turned his head to look at Dean.

Dean drew back with a gasp. "Sammy...your eyes!"

Sam swayed. "I know," he said dreamily. "I can feel it. But I don't know what I look like. How do I look, Dean?"

Too scared to offer a sarcastic reply, Dean answered truthfully. "Your eyes...you look like Jake."

It seemed to reach Sam. His face crumpled as if he were about to cry. Without warning, Sam pulled Dean into his arms. He hugged Dean close to him, just as he had after that endless Tuesday when the trickster made Sam watch Dean die so many times. Hugging Sam over a still-warm corpse wasn't Dean's idea of a reunion, but he returned the hug, slapping Sam on the back.

"Alright, Sam. It's alright."

John bent to pick up the bloody knife. He tore up a handful of grass and wiped the blade with it.

Dean watched his father, and sudden, blind rage filled him. He wormed his way out of Sam's embrace, stood and walked the three paces to where John stood. Dean didn't ask any of the questions filling his mind. He looked into John's face - Jesus, could it truly be Dad? Dean drew back his fist and threw a punch with his full weight behind it. His knuckles hit John's jaw hard enough to split skin.

John must have seen it coming but he made no attempt to evade it or block. He fell, landed on his ass and half-sat up, supporting himself on one elbow. He gazed up at Dean. "I guess I deserved that."

The acceptance only fired Dean's anger. "How could you do that to him? After everything we've been through!" Dean deliberately turned his back and returned to Sam. "Come on, Sammy," he said gently, helping Sam up. "You're okay."

Sam accepted Dean's help, but shrugged off his arm once he was on his feet. He met Dean's eyes in the darkness and his eyes were Sam's again. Sam seemed about to say something, but instead he walked past Dean to their dad. He offered his hand to John, who was still on the ground. John took it and Sam hauled him up.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" John asked warily.

"I would have done anything to save Dean," Sam said clearly. "Anything. So I forgive you, Dad. But you used me. You used me like a weapon. I won't forget that."

John returned Sam's look steadily. "No. I don't suppose you will."

Dean moved to stand with his brother. Somehow, Sam's cold anger took the edge off Dean's own. "Is someone gonna tell me," Dean demanded, "what the hell is going on?"

John turned to him with a warm smile. "I'll tell you what I know. We're not out of danger, boys. We need to get back to the cabin."

Sam looked back at the broken body behind them. "I don't think he's much of a threat now."

"He's not," John agreed, "but Lilith is, and I'm afraid she knows where you are."

Dean swore.

---

John wasn't sure whether his sons had let him off easy or he should be waiting for the second boot to fall. He had accomplished his goal. Dean's soul was safe and both of his boys were alive. If they both hated him for the way he'd done it...that was a price John was willing to pay.

It was a long walk back to the cabin and they couldn't walk too quickly in the dark. While they walked, John told the boys what he knew of his resurrection. It wasn't much. When he was done, they walked in silence for a while.

"Dad," Sam broke the silence eventually, "what we just did...what does it mean?"

"What does what mean?" John didn't think Sam was asking about Dean's demon contract. He knew that was done.

Sam looked troubled. "Do I - God, it sounds crazy to say it, but, do I own Dean's soul now?"

John could see the lights of the cabin ahead of them and someone - Ellen, he thought - watching for them from the window. He walked more slowly, to give them time for the discussion. "That's maybe more complicated than you think, Sam," John began.

"Well, bottom-line it!"

"While Dean is alive, no one can 'own' his soul except him. These demon deals always require the person to die before the demon can claim its due." John looked at them both. "Technically, yes, he owes you his soul when he dies."

"Wait a minute," Dean objected. "I'd remember makin' that kind of a deal with Sam. I woulda gotten a decent price."

Sam snorted with suppressed laughter. "I still can't believe that counts as a contract."

"What counts?" Dean pressed.

"Dad reminded me," Sam explained. "When we were kids we read that story about a haunted castle in Scotland. The legend said the ghost was a man so addicted to gambling he put his own soul up as the stakes to play cards with the devil himself."

"Which is crap," Dean said, "because if he'd sold his soul there'd be no ghost."

"Yeah, but do you remember the game we made of it that winter? And how mad Dad was when he caught us?"

Dean stopped walking abruptly. "You've got to be kidding me. Seriously?"

Sam shrugged. "The rule was if we didn't finish the game, I won. Dad stopped the game. I never took it seriously, but, dude, if the demon did, that's good enough for me."

"So where does that leave me?" Dean asked. He sounded worried.

John interrupted. "I have a suggestion, boys." He waited until they were both looking his way. "It doesn't matter that it was just a game when you were kids. What Sam just did seals the contract between you. But there's no reason you can't change the terms. Sam, the best thing you can do is just trade Dean's soul back to him.Trade, don't give. It's only binding if you exchange something of value."

"Value like what?" Dean asked.

"Anything you choose," John answered.

Sam laughed suddenly and John felt his own heart lighten to hear that sound. If Sam could laugh, he was going to be fine.

"What?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Just wondering what your car's worth to you," Sam grinned.

"A lot more than my soul!" Dean retorted.

The rain had eased off, but the slope leading up to the cabin was waterlogged and treacherous. John paused again before they reached the last part of the trek. "Boys, there's one more thing I need to tell you before we go inside."

Sam stopped to look at him. Dean walked a few more steps before turning back.

"There are three others with me, hopefully safe in the cabin."

"I saw Bobby," Sam agreed. "Who else?"

"Ellen Harvelle and someone I don't think you know: David Hunter. He's the one who still owes me - us - some answers. But what I want to tell you is about Ellen's daughter. Jo."

"Yeah, we know her," Dean volunteered. "Cute kid."

John hesitated, hoping she didn't mean something to Dean. Having no better way to put it, John said bluntly, "Jo's dead. She was supposed to join us on the way here, but when she did...it wasn't Jo. She didn't survive the exorcism."

"Oh," Dean said. "Oh, hell. You couldn't have left her out of this?"

"Ellen called her. I don't think she's really dealt with it yet," he added. "So go easy on her, okay?"

"Sure, Dad," Dean answered.

Sam was being very quiet. John had no idea how well they knew Jo, so he didn't push.

The slope beneath their feet levelled out as they approached the cabin. Just as they reached Ellen's Jeep, Ruby appeared in their path. She stood there, between them and the cabin, her arms crossed, her legs apart. It would have been more impressive if she wasn't soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her head and clothing.

Sam started to move forward; John stopped him with a gesture.

"I want," Ruby declared, looking directly at John, "my property back."

"Go to Hell," he told her pleasantly.

"That's exactly where I'll end up if you don't let me have it back!"

"My heart bleeds for you," John said sarcastically.

"Dad, she helped us..." Sam began.

"Only because I forced her to help." John didn't take his eyes off the demon. "If you think I've come close to repaying you for what you did to me, you'd better think again. The next time you touch this knife will be when I gut you with it." John let his hand rest on the hilt and walked around her to the cabin steps.

After a brief hesitation, Sam and Dean followed him.

"What did that mean?" Sam asked. "What did she do to you?"

"I'll explain inside," John promised, and headed up the steps.

Bobby was at the door. He stepped back to let them enter. John glanced up at the symbols above the door as he stepped over the threshold. There would be no need for a holy water test: the protections Sam had set up around the cabin guaranteed nothing supernatural could enter.

Ellen was smiling as she walked toward John. She hugged him. "You did it, John."

He returned her hug. "Sam did it," he answered.

Sam hesitated at the door. Dean grabbed his arm and yanked him into the cabin. "See?" he snapped irritably. "You're still Sam."

"Jerk," Sam accused.

"Bitch," Dean grinned back. His smile remained as he turned to Bobby. John felt the atmosphere change as the two men looked at each other.

Bobby shook his head. "You got nine lives, boy," he told Dean gruffly.

Dean's smile vanished. "I think I used up eight of them tonight."

"Then don't go wastin' the one you got left," Bobby admonished.

Dean simply nodded and clasped Bobby's shoulder briefly as he walked past him.

John, watching the exchange, remembered Bobby telling him I love the boy, too. He wondered what he had missed.

Bobby turned to John. "I've checked all the windows and doors. Added a few traps of my own. It's overkill, but after your lecture about paranoia..." he shrugged eloquently.

John got the point. "I hear a 'but'," he prompted.

"But none of it's worth a damn if Lilith's coming here. John, she ain't like any demon you ever faced. She doesn't need to get in. She blew apart a building in Monument and that was bricks and mortar."

Dean whirled around. "Lilith's coming here?" He stared at John. "How does she know we're here? All our protection..."

"It's my fault," John confessed. "She got your location from me."

Dean made a sound of contempt. "Way to go! When you said she might know where we are I didn't think you'd drawn the bitch a map!"

Sam moved forward. "Are you sure, Dad? If she knows, why isn't she here already?"

"According to Ruby," John said," her plan was to attack you once Dean was gone. I trust Ruby about as far as I can throw her, but that's all we've got." Even as he spoke, he realised that didn't make much sense. It was past the time when Dean would have died. So why wasn't she here? He met Sam's puzzled eyes and suddenly got it. Sam was why. You don't kill an upper level demon without making waves in Hell. John frowned. "I think what Sam just did might have given her second thoughts."

Sam's expression showed he understood. "Fuck. You're right."

"What am I missing?" Ellen asked. "I mean, if we're not in danger of imminent attack, isn't that a good thing?"

John slid his arm around her again, leaving Sam to answer her question.

"She already thinks I'm a threat, Ellen. I was supposed to lead the yellow-eyed demon's army. If she knows what I just did she'll hit us twice as hard. And now we won't know when to expect her." He turned to John, his eyes hard. "You should have done as Ruby asked. She's - "

John interrupted. "If Ruby has any sense, she's gone for good."

"That's helpful."

"She's a demon, Sam!"

"Stop it!" Dean yelled.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"If I had any doubts..." Dean muttered, then, louder, "I swear, if you two don't cut it out I'm gonna start throwin' punches! Do we need to run for our lives or not?"

John took a deep breath. Dean was right.

"She doesn't know exactly where we are," David announced. He had been standing quietly near the cabin's window since they arrived. "The demon," David went on, "...Jo...she couldn't take from your mind more than was there, John."

"What do you mean?" John frowned.

"You weren't certain where this cabin is. We took a couple of wrong turns on the way here. So she doesn't know. Not exactly."

Ellen said, "I don't think we can leave tonight anyway. The Jeep can handle the track but with all this rain that ancient wreck Dean drives won't make it out of here."

"Hey!" Dean objected.

John couldn't help smiling. "She's right. The Impala can't handle these conditions. Alright, for tonight, we stay here. Ellen, would you take a look at Dean's wound?"

"Sure," she agreed.

"Sam, what about you? How badly are you hurt?"

Sam looked down at his blood-streaked chest. "I'm fine. Most of it's not my blood."

John nodded. "David and I will take first watch. The rest of you try to get some sleep." He looked at Sam. "Okay, Sammy?"

Sam gave him a confused look. "Uh...yeah. There's only two beds, though."

"You boys mind sharing?"

Sam hesitated, then shrugged. "We'll work something out."

---

David cracked the shotgun open, checking the load. "Rock salt," he said aloud. "That's cute."

John threw him a box of lead ammo. "Dean's idea. Works great with spirits."

David caught the box with his left hand. "It's about as useful against demons as pelting them with cotton candy." He reached into his own canvas bag and withdrew a small tin. "Try these." He offered the tin to John.

The tin had held tobacco once but it was so worn the brand was barely visible. John opened the lid and inspected the contents. They were, as expected, bullets, but not like any ammo John had ever seen. They were hollow shells made of what looked like glass and filled with a clear liquid. He found himself smiling. "This ain't...?"

"Holy water. The bullets work like safety rounds - they explode on impact. Minimal damage to the human body, but demons really don't like it."

John raised his eyebrows, impressed. "You make these?"

"No, I have a contact in Albuquerque who makes the hollow rounds. I just add the holy water. Or silver nitrate. Occasionally other things."

"And you claim you're not a hunter?" John shook his head sceptically.

"I'm not a hunter in the way you are. I don't seek these things out. I just know how to deal with them when they find me." He closed the shotgun, now loaded with lead buckshot. "You didn't set this up to talk ammo." He walked to the window.

They had blown out the candles so the only light came from the softly-glowing stove in the centre of the room. It gave them a reasonably clear view of the landscape outside the cabin, though with clouds still covering the moon and stars, there was very little light to see anything. Keeping watch would be a challenge.

John moved to the other window. "No," he agreed. "So why don't you start at the beginning?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Who are you? What are you?"

David turned toward John. "I thought you would have guessed that part," he commented. "I'm the same thing Sam is. The last of my generation of psychic children."

John studied the other man, thinking that over. It explained a great deal: David's interest in John and his family, his apparent ability to read minds, his undoubted power to restore John's lost memories...yes, it made sense, Except the one thing which meant it couldn't possibly be true.

"I spent a long time researching the last generation. None of them survived." John stated the fact baldly.

David didn't deny it. "I'm older than I look. A lot older."

John stared. A bullet wound that healed in less than an hour: the side-effect of a curse, David had claimed. Now this. Like his claim to be like Sammy, it fit the facts.

John shook his head. "You call immortality a curse?"

"It was to me." David leaned back against the cabin wall. "I can't prove it, John. Well, not unless you want to test the theory by shooting me in the head. But let me tell you my story, first."

"I'm listening."

"I was born in Africa about a hundred and twenty years ago. My parents were missionaries. Like your son I had certain gifts and like him I was...changed by the yellow-eyed demon. But the world was very different then. The supernatural wasn't some urban legend no one believed. It was a daily reality. Spirits of the dead, night stalkers, witchcraft and demons: they were all around us. To the people I grew up with, my psychic gift marked me as their version of a hunter. A hero." David said that last with more sadness than pride.

"What did the demon do to you?"

"From the little Bobby has told me of Sam's experience it was similar, but I didn't go through the whole there-can-be-only-one thing. He treated every generation differently and, I'm not certain, but I think he saved that particular arena for Sam. I may have unintentionally done his bidding when I was young but mostly the demon left me alone...or, that's what I thought. I got on with my life. By the time I was Sam's age I had a wife and three children. I owned a small tract of land, a farm. It was a good life."

John wondered what I unintentionally did his bidding meant. It was another reason to keep a close eye on David, but John wasn't going to ask. If it was bad, David would lie. John would do the research for himself, when he had time. "Let me guess: he fucked it up for you."

David frowned. "I always thought he was behind it. But Azazel is dead now and I'm still cursed. So perhaps I was wrong." He sighed heavily. "It was a witch. She was terrorising a nearby village and they sent to me for help. I was an arrogant jerk and thought I could handle her on my own. I was wrong."

"What happened?" John asked, fascinated despite his reservations.

"You know what I mean by 'witch'?"

John nodded. "They made demon pacts."

"Yes, but in Africa there's another kind of witch: the kind that creates muti, medicine. Some of it is useful, some of it is harmless...and some of it is death magic. The magic can be powerful but those witches don't have power in their own right. The magic is in the muti, the ritual. I assumed I was dealing with that kind of witch. I was wrong. She had some serious power. When I tracked her down, she cursed me.  I knew she'd cast some spell, but not the nature of the curse. The next night, she came to my home. I heard something and went to investigate. While I was wasting my time outside, she set fire to the house. The first I knew of it was hearing my wife screaming. By the time I reached her, the whole room was blazing. It was so hot, it hurt just to get close. I couldn't reach her."

John shivered, remembering Mary's death. He, too, had been alerted by her scream and unable to reach her through the flames. David said this happened a century ago, but John could hear the pain in his voice and the grief in his expression was very real. It still haunted him.

"I tried to get to my children, but I was too late to save them," David went on, his voice quiet. "I remember my daughter..." his voice trailed off.

"I'm still not seeing the curse," John prompted gently.

David looked at him. "Don't you, John? She cursed me first. The night of the fire I could have walked through those flames and carried my wife and kids out of there. I could have saved them all. I would have been burned, but I would have healed. Instead I just stood there and watched them all die. Now I have to live with that. Forever. You tell me, John."

John nodded. "I see what you mean." He thought it very unlikely that David "just stood there", but he understood the point. How would he have felt if he'd realised just a few days after Mary died that he could have saved her?

"Don't get me wrong," David added. I'm not suicidal or depressed. I enjoy life. I'd just like to know there'll be an end to it someday."

"You really can't be hurt at all?"

David shrugged. "I can be hurt just like anyone else. I heal quickly and, so far, I can't die. That's a curse all by itself sometimes. I met Bobby on a hunt. I chased a chucacabra off a cliff and I think I shattered every bone in my body."

John winced. "Yeah, I know how that feels." At David's questioning look he explained, "I spent a year in Hell, remember?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"So, how did you bring me back? Ellen told me the boys burned my body." John had a sudden flash of memory: he raised his hands before his face and found the flesh burned, black and torn. Brittle skin cracked as he flexed his fingers and he saw his own bones. Dear God, was that real? Not some memory of Hell?

David was silent for a moment then took off his amulet and passed it to John. "After World War Two, I finally accepted that this curse wouldn’t let me die. I returned to Africa to track down someone who could break it. There are things more powerful than demons. Aziza is one of them."

Aziza. John had heard the name before. He frowned, turning the amulet over in his hands. The visible side was a protective symbol he recognised but the reverse, the side of the amulet that lay against David's skin, held a stylised face. "I've read about Aziza. She's a demon."

David shook his head. "No, John. In most of the lore of Africa, demon is a mistranslation. It was Christian missionaries who collected the early lore and they considered any spiritual being of power to be a demon. Aziza is nothing to do with Hell. She was worshipped as a goddess but I don’t think she’s that, either. She’s not good, not evil. Just powerful."

"And you're what? Her worshipper?" John handed the amulet back to David.

David chuckled. "Hardly that. I tracked her down and earned her aid, but she couldn't give me what I wanted. She couldn't break my curse. When I realised you were the key to saving Dean, I called in her debt to me. Raising the dead is something I knew she could do."

"What did you do to put her in debt to you?"

"A hunt. She likes hunters, whatever the prey."

"If she's so powerful, why did I lose my memories?"

"That's harder to explain," David admitted. "You have to understand, John, I'm not omniscient. You sold your soul. If you'd woken up with that horror fresh in your memory, you'd have been a basket case. You were supposed to lose that much of your past. Why you lost thirteen years instead of two..." he shrugged. "All I know is that you had some control over how much you needed to forget."

"Me?" John repeated. "How?"

"I don't know." David gave him a look. "Seriously. I'm only human, man. She wouldn't explain it to me." He was silent for a moment, frowning. "I screwed it up, I know. You weren't supposed to be unconscious for so long. I left Sacramento to get help - mystical help - but you woke up while I was gone."

John knew the rest of that story. "Next time," he suggested, "leave a note or something. It might help."

David laughed. "If even half of Bobby's stories about you are true, that wouldn't have helped."

Would a note from some stranger have kept him in the hospital? No, John admitted. He hadn't thought of anything beyond finding his boys. He peered through the window but could see very little out there. "I'm going to check the perimeter," he announced. "You okay here?"

"Of course, but...John, you should let me go. Unless you still don't trust me."

"Why you?"

"Because you're not expendable." David headed to the door.

John stopped him. "And you are?"

David smiled. "I'm hard to kill, John. I just got through telling you that."

John moved back from the door. "Alright. It's all yours."

---

The claw mark on Dean's back was four parallel lines scored deep across his left scapula. He winced as Ellen cleaned the cuts with iodine, but he didn't complain. She knew she was hurting him but she worried about infection.

Sam had dropped the charred remnants of his shirt on the floor and was rummaging through his duffel for a new one. "I guess Dean and I can share a bed. We always used to when we stayed here." He smiled weakly. "Of course, I was four then."

Ellen ran her fingers along the edge of the deepest wound. "The bleeding has stopped, Dean, but I think you need a couple of stitches to hold the muscle in place while it heals." That was the problem with back injuries: a person uses the muscles of the back a lot more than they realise, and one of the gouges on Dean's back had sliced into the muscle. If she didn't stitch it, the muscle could heal crooked: it would be ugly and might weaken him.

Dean answered through gritted teeth. "Fine. Do it."

It didn't take long. Just two stitches to hold the deepest cut together. Finally, Ellen selected a sterile dressing from the first aid kit and taped it down over the wound.

"Thanks, Ellen," Dean acknowledged.

"You can take the bed," Bobby suggested to her.

Ellen shook her head. "Do you really think I can sleep after..." she broke off, not wanting to talk about Jo.

Bobby met her eyes with an understanding nod. "Take the bed anyhow," he suggested. "You need rest."

"So do you," she insisted, "and if it comes to a battle, you'll need to be fresh, Bobby. Give me a blanket, and I'll wait for John to finish his heart-to-heart with David." She finished fixing the dressing on Dean's back and patted his shoulder. "You're all done."

He turned to face her with a quick smile. "Thanks," he said again. He craned his neck to see the dressing on his back. "Who is that guy? Hunter can't be his real name."

"Probably not," Bobby agreed. "I've known him for a long time; he's a good man. He's used that name as long as I've known him."

"You never mentioned him to us," Sam objected. He'd found a clean t-shirt and was pulling it over his head as he spoke.

"I don't gossip about you boys to other folk, either," Bobby answered.

"Fair enough," Sam nodded.

"But who is he?" Dean pressed.

Sam interrupted, "Dean, let's just get some sleep."

"Dude, are you okay? Don't you want answers?"

Sam sighed, sitting down on the nearest bed. "Dean, it's been a long week and it's not over yet. I thought you - " he broke off abruptly.

Ellen understood. Sam wouldn't speak in front of them, but she knew what he wanted to say. Sam had believed Dean was going to die tonight. He had to be feeling more than a little overwhelmed. She turned away to give the boys a moment of privacy.

It took a while for everyone to get settled. The leaking roof wasn't too bad in here and fortunately neither of the beds was under a leak. Eventually, Ellen settled herself on the floor with a blanket around her shoulders. Bobby was asleep already; like most hunters, he could sleep anywhere. Sam and Dean were lying in the other bed. Ellen could hear them whispering to each other, but they were quiet enough that she couldn't hear the words. After a long time, the whispering stopped.

Alone in the dark, Ellen found her thoughts drifting back to Jo. Jo, stubborn and courageous, so like her father. Jo, dying in Ellen's arms. She wished she could blame John for her loss. It would give her a way to lash out, something to help her feel better. Which was, of course, just what she'd done when Bill died. Oh, but it was so easy to blame John then, with his bullet in Bill's head. She had driven him away in her grief and regretted it ever since.

Oh, John. We really had something, didn't we? She was attracted to him from the beginning. On his first visit to the Roadhouse he was just another hunter. He'd show up from time to time, always alone. He kept to himself, mostly, drinking whiskey or beer, occasionally seeking information from the other hunters. But it was the way he watched the children that caught Ellen's attention. Ash and Jo were always scurrying around the bar; most hunters chased them off. John didn't. He'd watch them playing, and talked with them if they approached him. Ellen tried to talk with him, too, just friendly-like. She sensed something different in this unhappy, driven man. John was unfailingly polite to her, but rebuffed her efforts to get him to open up. It was the other hunters who told her things: John Winchester took out a poltergeist in New Jersey; John Winchester tracked down a cursed necklace in Ohio; John Winchester teamed up with Jim Murphy; John Winchester took down a whole werewolf pack in North Dakota... Perhaps some of the tales that reached Ellen were a little exaggerated but one thing was clear: John was becoming a legend among hunters.

One Christmas Eve before dawn he showed up at the Roadhouse with a serious concussion and his arm broken in three places. Ellen could suture a wound but setting bones so badly broken was beyond her rudimentary medical skills. She'd called a local doctor and lied through her teeth about who he was and how he got hurt. John stayed for three nights, out of his head on pain relief most of the time. He'd called her Mary. Ellen never told him that.

The next time he dropped by for a drink he was easier with her. He took to showing up more often. He'd ask after her kids and, once or twice asked her advice about his own boys. Ellen knew his feelings for her. She cared for him, too. She encouraged her Bill to get to know him, hoping they could work something out.

Then for two wonderful months she had John in her bed. She loved him. She watched him fall for Bill, too - that surprised her and thrilled her. But in the end she'd driven him away.

It already felt like weeks or even months since the night he came to her door. The night they made love. She'd taken shameless advantage of him, Ellen thought, but she couldn't regret it. She was too old to tiptoe around what she wanted.

She heard the cabin door open and close. No further sound came. Ellen stood and, careful not to disturb the others, she opened the door to the other room. She saw John there alone and walked in.

"John?" she called softly.

He turned from the window and smiled. "Hey. Can't sleep?"

"Bobby snores," she answered, moving toward him. She wondered if he really expected her to share a bed with any other man, even just for sleep. "Did you get the answers you wanted?"

"Some of them," John nodded. "Oh. I see. You want some answers yourself."

Ellen smiled. "I thought, as long as we're both awake, we should talk."

In the dim light, John looked very tired. How long since he'd slept? A couple of hours in the Jeep...but that was before the attack in the diner. Once Ruby joined them, John stayed awake, watching her. Ellen looked around for some sign of coffee. There was a copper kettle on the stove. She filled it with water and put it on to boil, then went looking for the rest. She found the groceries in two, now very wet bags. Typical boys, she thought as the bag tore open. But she found freeze-dried coffee and a couple of well-used tin cups. Good enough.

"If you have coffee, you'll never sleep," John said softly. He had come up behind her without Ellen noticing.

She jumped to find him so close. "I don't plan on sleeping," she said when her heart slowed down again. She turned to face him. "John, the other night..." It wasn't where she'd intended to begin; the words just tumbled out.

John slid one hand around her waist. He still held a shotgun in the other. "It was..." he began, then stopped as if searching for the right word. "Oh, hell, Ellen. If you want to forget it happened just tell me. I don't want to screw this up again."

"I want you," she said, moving into his arms.

John kissed her lightly, then turned them both so Ellen had her back to the door. "I'm on watch," he explained. John: always so cautious.

Ellen grinned. "Well, I wasn't suggesting we should fuck right here on the floor. Too many splinters!"

"What do you say," John suggested with a wicked smile, "we find a motel and stay in bed for a week?" He pulled her body against his, close enough for her to feel the hard bulge in his pants, leaving Ellen in no doubt what he wanted.

Ellen laughed. "You really have changed."

John's smile faded. "I was an idiot to leave the way I did. I should have at least returned your calls when I was tracking the demon. It took dying and going to Hell to knock some perspective into me."

"Better late than never," she said softly.

John leaned in to kiss her. "Ellen, I've got to take care of my boys. But I'm going to make time for us, too. I promise you that." His mouth met hers and Ellen closed her eyes, returning his kiss.

She felt John's shoulders tense suddenly under her hands and Ellen drew back from him. "What is it?"

"Hopefully, only David." John held his shotgun ready as he approached the cabin door.

"It's me," David called as the door swung open. He saw Ellen and nodded a greeting. "John, there's something out here you should see. I think we have a problem."

Part Ten