![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
last01standingTitle: The Shadow Men [11/11]
Rating: PG-13
Words: 31,000 total
Disclaimer: Kripke owns SPN, not me
Summary: The campus of Stanford lies in ruins. The veil between hell and earth is getting thinner by the day and the only thing worse then the fires are the mysterious men emerging from the flames. [AU, apocafic]
Previous Parts:1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
THE SHADOW MEN
CHAPTER 11
It was normally a day’s drive to Uncle Bobby’s house but fueled by panic and caffeine, Sam made it in twelve hours flat. The junkyard looked foreign and strange in the greenish morning light, twisted hunks of scrap metal morphing into the dark abyss of hell. Sam skidded to a stop outside Uncle Bobby’s house and bolted out of the car in a quick smooth motion. “I’m going to check the perimeter,” Dean called to his retreating back. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Sam barely heard him as he dashed up the porch. The door was ajar, swinging on busted hinges. The place was a wreck. There was a thick layer of dust on the floor that hadn’t been there the last time Sam was. He could see a pair of foot tracks in the dust. Big clunky boots that Sam guessed belonged to Mason and a smaller pair of tennis shoes that had to be Chris’s. He crouched down lowly, moving as softly as his body would permit. The blinds were drawn in the house, making it dark and difficult to navigate. It didn’t matter much to Sam though because he knew this house better then the back of his hand. Uncle Bobby was not a man who liked change and the furniture had been in the same configuration since Sam was a toddler. He crept past an open door, taking the corner quickly, entering gun first. It was his room and it had been ransacked. The drawers were pulled out, clothes strewn around. His mattress had been slashed. Sam thought of the colt packed away in the impala.
Something was wrong. Mason wouldn’t have a reason to be ransacking his room. Mason knew he wasn’t a hunter, knew he didn’t keep a hidden collection of weapons stashed under his bed.
He heard a sound coming from the next room over, a kind of muffled sob and all suspicions flew out of his mind. “Chris,” he muttered moving swiftly into the next room. Uncle Bobby’s room, the back room that housed hundreds of hunters and secrets over these past twenty years. The door was cracked partially open. Sam took a deep breath and threw himself around the corner brandishing the gun in front of him.
The scene wasn’t what he would have expected. There was a body splayed out face down on the wood paneled floor, the back half of his head caved in. Sam recognized the guy’s jacket, his build, his coloring. It was Mason. Mason who was clearly and undeniably dead, blood pooling on the ground around him.
And curled up in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears streamed down her face was Chris. There was blood coating her arms, red and sticky and still fresh. “Chris?” Sam said cautiously.
“Sam!” Chris said, crying. She leaped to her feet and pulling him into an impossibly tight hug. “Sam, I didn’t mean to do it. I just wanted to get away. I was scared.”
Chris’s trusty baseball bat was lying three feet away, the metal coated in blood. Sam thought about blunt force trauma he’d seen as a side effect in his pre-law classes. The pattern of the wound was the same. “Chris, it’s all right.”
“I didn’t mean too!” Chris cried. “Sam I didn’t want any of this to happen!”
“Outside looks clear,” Dean said. He pushed open the door, stepped inside and froze, taking in the scene quickly. His eyes locked on Chris. His face twisted into a fierce scowl. “It’s you.”
Sam felt Chris’s body stiffen. He let go of her shoulders, backing away.
And Chris stood in the dim light, dark hair falling in clumps around her face as she started at them both through bright yellow eyes. “Dean,” Chris said is a voice lower and deeper then Sam recognized. “Still piercing the veil I see.”
“You son of a bitch,” Dean hissed and raised the gun.
The demon wearing Chris’s face made a clicking sound with her tongue, raised a hand and said, “Not this time, Dean-o.” The gun flew out of Dean’s hands, landing solidly in Chris’s tiny hands. “Thanks though. I’ve been looking for that.”
“What did you do to Chris?” Sam hissed. “I swear to God.”
“Oh, it’s not what I did to Chris,” the Demon said. “It’s what did sweet little Chrissie do to Mason. She made quite a mess, didn’t she? Bludgeoned with a baseball bat. Strong for her size. Not my usual preference in a meat suit, but fully functional.”
“If you hurt her,” Sam growled, lunging for the demon. Chris waved a hand and he rocked backwards, colliding into the wall with a force that shook uncle Bobby’s house to its very core.
“You’ll do what again, Sammy?” the demon sneered. “From where I’m standing it doesn’t look like you can do much of anything. So sit a spell. I’ve got a bone to pick with Dean here.” Chris’s eyes flashed yellow. Dean strained against the invisible force holding him fast. “I’m got to say, Dean, it’s good to see you out.” The demon let out a breath hissing through Chris’s teeth. “Because if I’m not mistaken. That’s a violation of our deal. Your Johnny’s fair game.”
What little color that was in Dean’s cheeks drained leaving a sheet white that looked more like a ghost then a human. “You’re not going to touch him. You said you wouldn’t touch him. A normal life. Away from all this shit.”
“For as long as you were in Hell,” the demon said, putting an arm against the wall and leaning over next to him. “But unless I’m mistaken. You’re out--which means our deal is off. And boy, you’re kid’s a smart one. Developing faster then the speed of light. I hadn’t expected this. Especially not after you were such a dud.”
Dean didn’t know what the demon was talking about. Sam could see the confusion seeping into his face amidst the blind fury. The yellow-eyed demon laughed in Chris’s light airy tone and the sound made Sam almost physically ill.
“Oh, never heard this one, have you, Dean,” the demon said. “It’s a good story. See, forty-six years ago pretty little Mary Winchester burned up over her son, Dean’s crib. His daddy grabbed him and pulled him out of the flames and the two spend almost twenty years criss-crossing the country in that old impala of yours looking for,” he paused. “Well, looking for me and killing whatever else you could along the way. And then,” Chris’s face twisted into a lopsided grin so very unlike her usual sunny smile. “And then there’s the twist. One of the girls Dean had his way with drops by with a little bundle of joy. I’m ecstatic. This generation of kid was so much better then the last anyway. They’re chosen. Special. So I’m a little disappointed when Dean Winchester drops off the hunter’s map. He gets a job, settles down and plays daddy and everything’s apple pie and picket fences until he catches me paying a visit to his son one day.” The demon dragged the barrel of the pistol down Dean’s cheek. “His precious little gun was a day away, backlogged by the post office. So he dis the only thing he could think of. He made a deal and well, you know the rest. And then we have poor Sammy,” the demon continued gleefully turning toward Sam. “Sam who’s father abandoned him when he was just six months old with a complete stranger. Are we seeing the parallels here or do you need the remedial course?”
Realization crossed Dean’s face a split second before it hit Sam. Because it made perfect sense. More sense then having visions of people he’d never met anyway. And then, out of a distant fog, a memory hit him. Only it wasn’t his memory, it was Dean’s:
Nineteen eighty three, sitting in the old black impala outside Singer’s Salvage with a baby secured in a car seat while Bobby Singer comes out with a shotgun and a scowl. “Thought I told you, Winchester!” He fired off a warning shot. “I didn’t ever want to see you ‘round these parts again.”
Dean scrambled out of the car, hands raised high. “I’m in trouble, Bobby,” he said. “I’m in trouble and I can’t get a hold of Dad and I didn’t know who else I could turn to.”
“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked, lowering the shotgun.
With infinite care, Dean reached into the impala and undid the fastenings on the car seat, pulling the child out and cradling him in his arms. “Bobby, this is John Samuel Winchester. Johnny. He’s---he’s mine.”
“Congratulations are in order then, boy,” Bobby said. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to sleep since this little one started wailing.”
“He doesn’t cry,” Dean said, shifting his grip so he could support the infant’s head. “Hardly at all. He just—“ He stopped. “Bobby, I’m in trouble. Johnny’s in trouble. And I’ve got to go take care of it before he gets hurt. I just need you to watch him for a few days.” He gestured helplessly to the car. “I’ve got all the things you need in here.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to ask a man,” Bobby said.
“Dad’s coming,” Dean said. “I left him a message and say what you want about my dad but he doesn’t turn his back on family. He’ll be here in a few days. I just need you to watch him until then. Please, Bobby?” His face was pale and sweaty, his hands wet. “Please? I don’t have anyone else I trust.”
Bobby was quiet for a long moment but then put out his hands and very carefully took the baby out of Dean’s arms, cradling him gently. “Hey there, Sam,” he said.
Dean watched sadly as the baby made a grab for Bobby’s scraggly beard. “His name’s Johnny.”
Bobby let out a snort of laughter. “If you think I’m going to deal with two John Winchesters, you’re off your rocker.”
There was a wetness in Dean’s eyes as he nodded and forced a smile. “Thanks, Bobby. Dad should be here before you know it. Could you tell him---“ Dean paused. “Could you tell Dad to make sure he gets a shot at normal?”
“There any reason you can’t tell him yourself?”
Dean didn’t answer. “Just, tell Johnny I love him, alright?”
The scene twisted back to the house, the light from the green sky outside. Dean was staring at him with an aching on his face. His mouth moved to form the words, I’m sorry.
“Touching as this little reunion is,” the demon sneered, “I’ve got something more interesting to do. You see it turns out Hell and Earth, they’re not so far away as they used to be. In fact, you spill some of the right blood in the right places, well all sorts of interesting things start happening. All you really need is some help from one of those special kids. Works well when you’ve got them killing people, like what happened to dear little Jessica. Works better when they’re killing each other. But I guess we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.”
The demon produced a gleaming sliver knife from Chris’s sleeve. Sam recognized as Mason’s favorite knife. It was pure silver, engraved with an intricate symbol used to amplify the effects of any magic in the air. “This is going to hurt,” the demons said in Chris’s deceptively sweet voice. “It’s all right to scream.”
“I’m going to kill you if you touch him,” Dean howled. “I swear to God, I will end you”
“Quiet now, Daddy dearest,” Chris said, extending a hand in his direction.
Dean screamed, pressed up against the wall by an invisible force. Out of nowhere, blood started to appear, slicing through his chest, seeping through his body. “Dean!” Sam yelled. “Dean!”
“Your turn,” Chris said, plunging the knife into his stomach.
Sam tried to double over in pain but the invisible force held his arms fast against the wall, refused to let him curve his spine. The pain was white hot, starting from the room and screaming up all his synapses, setting every limb on fire. Chris smiled sweetly and twisted the blade before pulling it out saying a few words in a coarse language Sam had never heard before. The drops of his blood hung in the air as they dripped off the, shining in the dim green glow and Chris moved to arrange them precisely, the shimmering drops turning into solid lines and the lines twisting into the solidifying outline of a door. “Time was you needed a Devil’s Gate to do something like this.” The demon dropped the knife in favor of the colt, pressing the barrel into the place that would be the door handle. “Turns out nowadays, you just need a key.”
The demon twisted the gun and the outline shimmered for just a second in the air before exploding into motion. Black smoke and ghosts and dozens of things Sam didn’t even recognize exploding into the world around them. Chris was laughing delightedly. Sam felt the pressure on his body ease and he slammed into the ground. A white flash of pain threatened to envelop him. “Dean!” he choked, trying not to notice the way the word sent a smattering of blood spraying to the floor. “Dean.”
And then under the roar of the demons, he heard Dean’s voice. Quiet at first but getting louder with each syllable. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas--”
It was the exorcism tumbling out of Dean’s mouth with a quiet, precise urgency. Chris’s body twitched, dropping the gun.
No one should be able to move through that sort of pain, Sam thought. It shouldn’t be possible, but Dean had spent years in hell accustomed that to level of pain, dealing with that level of pain. Chris closed her eyes tight and squashed her mouth shut as if attempting to keep the demon bottled up inside but as Dean’s voice rose, she tossed her head back and screamed as the smoke shot out of her mouth and joined the swirling mass of demons making their escape from hell. Chris’s body toppled to the ground. Sam turned his head away from he sight, trying to glimpse Dean through the masses.
He was turning back into shadows again, dragged back hellward in the undercurrent of the massive exodus from Hell. “Johnny,” Dean whispered, eyes unfocused, indistinct.
“Dean!” Sam said.
And something woke up inside him. Something that had been threatening to break through since the visions started, since Jessica and Stanford burned. There was a shift in the atmosphere, and suddenly Sam could see, see where Hell ended and the earth began. Could see the real manifestation of the door, the complicated blend of blood magic and spell work just as real as the world around him. So he took a deep breath and reached clumsily into the hidden depths that housed his powers and slammed into the spell work with all his might. It crumpled like a stack of cars, the roar of the exiting demons suddenly starting to diminish as the portal shrank. Wincing in pain, Sam reached into the rest of the world, trying to seperate Hell from the Earth and shoved it back forcefully back into its rightful place. Silence swept over him as his hearing cut out completely. He felt something burst and blood started snaking its way down from his nose as his vision blacked out. Somehow his hand found its way to Dean’s right before he lost all feeling in his body.
He was exhausted. It was worse then the all-nighters at Stanford studying for the LSATs, worse then all those sleepless nights on the hunt with Mason. He felt his body starting to break. Old wounds and scars tore open anew. His stomach was on fire. He felt his arm snap. He tried to scream but no sound came out. And just when he through it might have been too much he felt himself falling away into the shadows that ruled his world.
________________________________________
Something beeped in his ear, impossibly loud in the deafening silence. Sam flinched and tried to move his hands and then it beeped again. He couldn’t see.
He fought a surging panic that ended only when he realized he couldn’t see because his eyes were closed. A voice said, “Johnny?” It sounded like it was a million miles away.
“Sam,” he answered, blinking as the world started to come back into focus. “It’s Sam.”
Dean was at his bedside, staring at him under pale skin and thick black smudges under the eyes. “I don’t know what you did, but you’re never allowed to do it again.”
Inches from indignation, Sam opened his mouth and tried to draw himself up to argue, but every muscle in his body protested vehemently. “I don’t think I want to do that again.”
Dean laughed, but the laughter turned into a hacking cough. “It’s really good to have you back, Sam.”
“How long was I out?”
“Two months,” Dean said. He rubbed at his eyes. “Granted I was out of it for about half of that. Doctor’s couldn’t tell what it was. They said it wasn’t just the knife wound. It was like your entire body reset. You were suffering exhaustion, malnutrition, bunches of old scar tissue gave way. What the hell did you do anyway?”
Sam frowned. “I really don’t know. I just—it was like I had this thing inside of me and I just used it. I don’t really know what happened.”
“You closed it, Sammy,” Dean said. There was a light in his eyes that Sam had never seen before, a flush of red crossing previously ashen cheeks. “You slammed the damned door in Hell’s face.”
Sam blinked and took stock of his surroundings for the first time. He was in tiny hospital room on an uncomfortable bed, hooked into three different machines and an IV. But from out the window, he could see bright, unpolluted sunlight streaming in from a clear blue sky.
“This thing inside you,” Dean said. “What the demon was talking about. Is it still there?”
Uncertainty colored his features. Dean didn’t like things he couldn’t understand, but for Sam’s sake he was willing to try. Sam closed his eyes and tried to find the small locked room that housed his talents, but the door didn’t seem to be there anymore.
“I think I used it all up,” Sam said. “It’s gone.” He stared out the open window at the clear blue sky. “Almost like it never happened.”
“It happened,” Dean countered quickly. “The world’s starting to forget but that doesn’t change it at all. But you don’t need to worry about that. You can go back to school, get back to your normal life.”
Sam pushed himself slowly to a sitting position, wincing as the IV pulled at the skin on his arm. “What about you?”
“Same old life I guess. Saving people, hunting things. I’m betting that demon’s still out there somewhere. Your friend, Chris, dropped off the colt before she skipped out of town. Not to mention all those other things that made a break for it while the door was open. There’s plenty of work to be done.” Dean shrugged. “Sure beats an eternity in Hell.”
There was something forming in the pit of Sam’s stomach. A sensation he’d never really felt before. “Dean,” he said cautiously. “You don’t think I could maybe—“
“Yeah?”
“I could come with you,” Sam stammered. “I mean, it sounds like it is sort of the family business.”
“Really?” Dean asked. He looked impossibly young in the afternoon sun and Sam had to remind himself that Dean had spent twenty years in hell. That he’d spent a lifetime before that hunting, that he’d lost everything and everyone only to finally get a piece of it back.
They were missing time sure, missing twenty years of his youth that should have been spent in this man’s company, but that was over and past and it was never coming back. This was a new start. “There are still demons out there,” Sam said slowly. “Not to mention ghosts and poltergeists and god knows what else. If we aren’t hunting them, who else is going to do it?”
A smile spread slowly across Dean’s face. “Sounds like we’ve got work to do.”
(END)
________________________________________
For those of you who stuck with this from the early chapters, thanks for all your kind words. You guys certainly spurred me to write this WIP faster then I've ever done one before.
If you've made it through this story, gold star for you. I hope you enjoyed it because I certainly had an awesome time writing. I would appreciate knowing what you thought.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 31,000 total
Disclaimer: Kripke owns SPN, not me
Summary: The campus of Stanford lies in ruins. The veil between hell and earth is getting thinner by the day and the only thing worse then the fires are the mysterious men emerging from the flames. [AU, apocafic]
Previous Parts:1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
CHAPTER 11
It was normally a day’s drive to Uncle Bobby’s house but fueled by panic and caffeine, Sam made it in twelve hours flat. The junkyard looked foreign and strange in the greenish morning light, twisted hunks of scrap metal morphing into the dark abyss of hell. Sam skidded to a stop outside Uncle Bobby’s house and bolted out of the car in a quick smooth motion. “I’m going to check the perimeter,” Dean called to his retreating back. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Sam barely heard him as he dashed up the porch. The door was ajar, swinging on busted hinges. The place was a wreck. There was a thick layer of dust on the floor that hadn’t been there the last time Sam was. He could see a pair of foot tracks in the dust. Big clunky boots that Sam guessed belonged to Mason and a smaller pair of tennis shoes that had to be Chris’s. He crouched down lowly, moving as softly as his body would permit. The blinds were drawn in the house, making it dark and difficult to navigate. It didn’t matter much to Sam though because he knew this house better then the back of his hand. Uncle Bobby was not a man who liked change and the furniture had been in the same configuration since Sam was a toddler. He crept past an open door, taking the corner quickly, entering gun first. It was his room and it had been ransacked. The drawers were pulled out, clothes strewn around. His mattress had been slashed. Sam thought of the colt packed away in the impala.
Something was wrong. Mason wouldn’t have a reason to be ransacking his room. Mason knew he wasn’t a hunter, knew he didn’t keep a hidden collection of weapons stashed under his bed.
He heard a sound coming from the next room over, a kind of muffled sob and all suspicions flew out of his mind. “Chris,” he muttered moving swiftly into the next room. Uncle Bobby’s room, the back room that housed hundreds of hunters and secrets over these past twenty years. The door was cracked partially open. Sam took a deep breath and threw himself around the corner brandishing the gun in front of him.
The scene wasn’t what he would have expected. There was a body splayed out face down on the wood paneled floor, the back half of his head caved in. Sam recognized the guy’s jacket, his build, his coloring. It was Mason. Mason who was clearly and undeniably dead, blood pooling on the ground around him.
And curled up in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears streamed down her face was Chris. There was blood coating her arms, red and sticky and still fresh. “Chris?” Sam said cautiously.
“Sam!” Chris said, crying. She leaped to her feet and pulling him into an impossibly tight hug. “Sam, I didn’t mean to do it. I just wanted to get away. I was scared.”
Chris’s trusty baseball bat was lying three feet away, the metal coated in blood. Sam thought about blunt force trauma he’d seen as a side effect in his pre-law classes. The pattern of the wound was the same. “Chris, it’s all right.”
“I didn’t mean too!” Chris cried. “Sam I didn’t want any of this to happen!”
“Outside looks clear,” Dean said. He pushed open the door, stepped inside and froze, taking in the scene quickly. His eyes locked on Chris. His face twisted into a fierce scowl. “It’s you.”
Sam felt Chris’s body stiffen. He let go of her shoulders, backing away.
And Chris stood in the dim light, dark hair falling in clumps around her face as she started at them both through bright yellow eyes. “Dean,” Chris said is a voice lower and deeper then Sam recognized. “Still piercing the veil I see.”
“You son of a bitch,” Dean hissed and raised the gun.
The demon wearing Chris’s face made a clicking sound with her tongue, raised a hand and said, “Not this time, Dean-o.” The gun flew out of Dean’s hands, landing solidly in Chris’s tiny hands. “Thanks though. I’ve been looking for that.”
“What did you do to Chris?” Sam hissed. “I swear to God.”
“Oh, it’s not what I did to Chris,” the Demon said. “It’s what did sweet little Chrissie do to Mason. She made quite a mess, didn’t she? Bludgeoned with a baseball bat. Strong for her size. Not my usual preference in a meat suit, but fully functional.”
“If you hurt her,” Sam growled, lunging for the demon. Chris waved a hand and he rocked backwards, colliding into the wall with a force that shook uncle Bobby’s house to its very core.
“You’ll do what again, Sammy?” the demon sneered. “From where I’m standing it doesn’t look like you can do much of anything. So sit a spell. I’ve got a bone to pick with Dean here.” Chris’s eyes flashed yellow. Dean strained against the invisible force holding him fast. “I’m got to say, Dean, it’s good to see you out.” The demon let out a breath hissing through Chris’s teeth. “Because if I’m not mistaken. That’s a violation of our deal. Your Johnny’s fair game.”
What little color that was in Dean’s cheeks drained leaving a sheet white that looked more like a ghost then a human. “You’re not going to touch him. You said you wouldn’t touch him. A normal life. Away from all this shit.”
“For as long as you were in Hell,” the demon said, putting an arm against the wall and leaning over next to him. “But unless I’m mistaken. You’re out--which means our deal is off. And boy, you’re kid’s a smart one. Developing faster then the speed of light. I hadn’t expected this. Especially not after you were such a dud.”
Dean didn’t know what the demon was talking about. Sam could see the confusion seeping into his face amidst the blind fury. The yellow-eyed demon laughed in Chris’s light airy tone and the sound made Sam almost physically ill.
“Oh, never heard this one, have you, Dean,” the demon said. “It’s a good story. See, forty-six years ago pretty little Mary Winchester burned up over her son, Dean’s crib. His daddy grabbed him and pulled him out of the flames and the two spend almost twenty years criss-crossing the country in that old impala of yours looking for,” he paused. “Well, looking for me and killing whatever else you could along the way. And then,” Chris’s face twisted into a lopsided grin so very unlike her usual sunny smile. “And then there’s the twist. One of the girls Dean had his way with drops by with a little bundle of joy. I’m ecstatic. This generation of kid was so much better then the last anyway. They’re chosen. Special. So I’m a little disappointed when Dean Winchester drops off the hunter’s map. He gets a job, settles down and plays daddy and everything’s apple pie and picket fences until he catches me paying a visit to his son one day.” The demon dragged the barrel of the pistol down Dean’s cheek. “His precious little gun was a day away, backlogged by the post office. So he dis the only thing he could think of. He made a deal and well, you know the rest. And then we have poor Sammy,” the demon continued gleefully turning toward Sam. “Sam who’s father abandoned him when he was just six months old with a complete stranger. Are we seeing the parallels here or do you need the remedial course?”
Realization crossed Dean’s face a split second before it hit Sam. Because it made perfect sense. More sense then having visions of people he’d never met anyway. And then, out of a distant fog, a memory hit him. Only it wasn’t his memory, it was Dean’s:
Nineteen eighty three, sitting in the old black impala outside Singer’s Salvage with a baby secured in a car seat while Bobby Singer comes out with a shotgun and a scowl. “Thought I told you, Winchester!” He fired off a warning shot. “I didn’t ever want to see you ‘round these parts again.”
Dean scrambled out of the car, hands raised high. “I’m in trouble, Bobby,” he said. “I’m in trouble and I can’t get a hold of Dad and I didn’t know who else I could turn to.”
“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked, lowering the shotgun.
With infinite care, Dean reached into the impala and undid the fastenings on the car seat, pulling the child out and cradling him in his arms. “Bobby, this is John Samuel Winchester. Johnny. He’s---he’s mine.”
“Congratulations are in order then, boy,” Bobby said. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to sleep since this little one started wailing.”
“He doesn’t cry,” Dean said, shifting his grip so he could support the infant’s head. “Hardly at all. He just—“ He stopped. “Bobby, I’m in trouble. Johnny’s in trouble. And I’ve got to go take care of it before he gets hurt. I just need you to watch him for a few days.” He gestured helplessly to the car. “I’ve got all the things you need in here.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to ask a man,” Bobby said.
“Dad’s coming,” Dean said. “I left him a message and say what you want about my dad but he doesn’t turn his back on family. He’ll be here in a few days. I just need you to watch him until then. Please, Bobby?” His face was pale and sweaty, his hands wet. “Please? I don’t have anyone else I trust.”
Bobby was quiet for a long moment but then put out his hands and very carefully took the baby out of Dean’s arms, cradling him gently. “Hey there, Sam,” he said.
Dean watched sadly as the baby made a grab for Bobby’s scraggly beard. “His name’s Johnny.”
Bobby let out a snort of laughter. “If you think I’m going to deal with two John Winchesters, you’re off your rocker.”
There was a wetness in Dean’s eyes as he nodded and forced a smile. “Thanks, Bobby. Dad should be here before you know it. Could you tell him---“ Dean paused. “Could you tell Dad to make sure he gets a shot at normal?”
“There any reason you can’t tell him yourself?”
Dean didn’t answer. “Just, tell Johnny I love him, alright?”
The scene twisted back to the house, the light from the green sky outside. Dean was staring at him with an aching on his face. His mouth moved to form the words, I’m sorry.
“Touching as this little reunion is,” the demon sneered, “I’ve got something more interesting to do. You see it turns out Hell and Earth, they’re not so far away as they used to be. In fact, you spill some of the right blood in the right places, well all sorts of interesting things start happening. All you really need is some help from one of those special kids. Works well when you’ve got them killing people, like what happened to dear little Jessica. Works better when they’re killing each other. But I guess we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.”
The demon produced a gleaming sliver knife from Chris’s sleeve. Sam recognized as Mason’s favorite knife. It was pure silver, engraved with an intricate symbol used to amplify the effects of any magic in the air. “This is going to hurt,” the demons said in Chris’s deceptively sweet voice. “It’s all right to scream.”
“I’m going to kill you if you touch him,” Dean howled. “I swear to God, I will end you”
“Quiet now, Daddy dearest,” Chris said, extending a hand in his direction.
Dean screamed, pressed up against the wall by an invisible force. Out of nowhere, blood started to appear, slicing through his chest, seeping through his body. “Dean!” Sam yelled. “Dean!”
“Your turn,” Chris said, plunging the knife into his stomach.
Sam tried to double over in pain but the invisible force held his arms fast against the wall, refused to let him curve his spine. The pain was white hot, starting from the room and screaming up all his synapses, setting every limb on fire. Chris smiled sweetly and twisted the blade before pulling it out saying a few words in a coarse language Sam had never heard before. The drops of his blood hung in the air as they dripped off the, shining in the dim green glow and Chris moved to arrange them precisely, the shimmering drops turning into solid lines and the lines twisting into the solidifying outline of a door. “Time was you needed a Devil’s Gate to do something like this.” The demon dropped the knife in favor of the colt, pressing the barrel into the place that would be the door handle. “Turns out nowadays, you just need a key.”
The demon twisted the gun and the outline shimmered for just a second in the air before exploding into motion. Black smoke and ghosts and dozens of things Sam didn’t even recognize exploding into the world around them. Chris was laughing delightedly. Sam felt the pressure on his body ease and he slammed into the ground. A white flash of pain threatened to envelop him. “Dean!” he choked, trying not to notice the way the word sent a smattering of blood spraying to the floor. “Dean.”
And then under the roar of the demons, he heard Dean’s voice. Quiet at first but getting louder with each syllable. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas--”
It was the exorcism tumbling out of Dean’s mouth with a quiet, precise urgency. Chris’s body twitched, dropping the gun.
No one should be able to move through that sort of pain, Sam thought. It shouldn’t be possible, but Dean had spent years in hell accustomed that to level of pain, dealing with that level of pain. Chris closed her eyes tight and squashed her mouth shut as if attempting to keep the demon bottled up inside but as Dean’s voice rose, she tossed her head back and screamed as the smoke shot out of her mouth and joined the swirling mass of demons making their escape from hell. Chris’s body toppled to the ground. Sam turned his head away from he sight, trying to glimpse Dean through the masses.
He was turning back into shadows again, dragged back hellward in the undercurrent of the massive exodus from Hell. “Johnny,” Dean whispered, eyes unfocused, indistinct.
“Dean!” Sam said.
And something woke up inside him. Something that had been threatening to break through since the visions started, since Jessica and Stanford burned. There was a shift in the atmosphere, and suddenly Sam could see, see where Hell ended and the earth began. Could see the real manifestation of the door, the complicated blend of blood magic and spell work just as real as the world around him. So he took a deep breath and reached clumsily into the hidden depths that housed his powers and slammed into the spell work with all his might. It crumpled like a stack of cars, the roar of the exiting demons suddenly starting to diminish as the portal shrank. Wincing in pain, Sam reached into the rest of the world, trying to seperate Hell from the Earth and shoved it back forcefully back into its rightful place. Silence swept over him as his hearing cut out completely. He felt something burst and blood started snaking its way down from his nose as his vision blacked out. Somehow his hand found its way to Dean’s right before he lost all feeling in his body.
He was exhausted. It was worse then the all-nighters at Stanford studying for the LSATs, worse then all those sleepless nights on the hunt with Mason. He felt his body starting to break. Old wounds and scars tore open anew. His stomach was on fire. He felt his arm snap. He tried to scream but no sound came out. And just when he through it might have been too much he felt himself falling away into the shadows that ruled his world.
Something beeped in his ear, impossibly loud in the deafening silence. Sam flinched and tried to move his hands and then it beeped again. He couldn’t see.
He fought a surging panic that ended only when he realized he couldn’t see because his eyes were closed. A voice said, “Johnny?” It sounded like it was a million miles away.
“Sam,” he answered, blinking as the world started to come back into focus. “It’s Sam.”
Dean was at his bedside, staring at him under pale skin and thick black smudges under the eyes. “I don’t know what you did, but you’re never allowed to do it again.”
Inches from indignation, Sam opened his mouth and tried to draw himself up to argue, but every muscle in his body protested vehemently. “I don’t think I want to do that again.”
Dean laughed, but the laughter turned into a hacking cough. “It’s really good to have you back, Sam.”
“How long was I out?”
“Two months,” Dean said. He rubbed at his eyes. “Granted I was out of it for about half of that. Doctor’s couldn’t tell what it was. They said it wasn’t just the knife wound. It was like your entire body reset. You were suffering exhaustion, malnutrition, bunches of old scar tissue gave way. What the hell did you do anyway?”
Sam frowned. “I really don’t know. I just—it was like I had this thing inside of me and I just used it. I don’t really know what happened.”
“You closed it, Sammy,” Dean said. There was a light in his eyes that Sam had never seen before, a flush of red crossing previously ashen cheeks. “You slammed the damned door in Hell’s face.”
Sam blinked and took stock of his surroundings for the first time. He was in tiny hospital room on an uncomfortable bed, hooked into three different machines and an IV. But from out the window, he could see bright, unpolluted sunlight streaming in from a clear blue sky.
“This thing inside you,” Dean said. “What the demon was talking about. Is it still there?”
Uncertainty colored his features. Dean didn’t like things he couldn’t understand, but for Sam’s sake he was willing to try. Sam closed his eyes and tried to find the small locked room that housed his talents, but the door didn’t seem to be there anymore.
“I think I used it all up,” Sam said. “It’s gone.” He stared out the open window at the clear blue sky. “Almost like it never happened.”
“It happened,” Dean countered quickly. “The world’s starting to forget but that doesn’t change it at all. But you don’t need to worry about that. You can go back to school, get back to your normal life.”
Sam pushed himself slowly to a sitting position, wincing as the IV pulled at the skin on his arm. “What about you?”
“Same old life I guess. Saving people, hunting things. I’m betting that demon’s still out there somewhere. Your friend, Chris, dropped off the colt before she skipped out of town. Not to mention all those other things that made a break for it while the door was open. There’s plenty of work to be done.” Dean shrugged. “Sure beats an eternity in Hell.”
There was something forming in the pit of Sam’s stomach. A sensation he’d never really felt before. “Dean,” he said cautiously. “You don’t think I could maybe—“
“Yeah?”
“I could come with you,” Sam stammered. “I mean, it sounds like it is sort of the family business.”
“Really?” Dean asked. He looked impossibly young in the afternoon sun and Sam had to remind himself that Dean had spent twenty years in hell. That he’d spent a lifetime before that hunting, that he’d lost everything and everyone only to finally get a piece of it back.
They were missing time sure, missing twenty years of his youth that should have been spent in this man’s company, but that was over and past and it was never coming back. This was a new start. “There are still demons out there,” Sam said slowly. “Not to mention ghosts and poltergeists and god knows what else. If we aren’t hunting them, who else is going to do it?”
A smile spread slowly across Dean’s face. “Sounds like we’ve got work to do.”
(END)
For those of you who stuck with this from the early chapters, thanks for all your kind words. You guys certainly spurred me to write this WIP faster then I've ever done one before.
If you've made it through this story, gold star for you. I hope you enjoyed it because I certainly had an awesome time writing. I would appreciate knowing what you thought.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
14/9/08 16:13 (UTC)(no subject)
14/9/08 17:14 (UTC)And here I thought I was being obvious. This root of this story actually sparked from a conversation about how Dean was pretty much Sam's dad in the series and well, there is is.
Just one thing though, if Sam started having visions, i.e. something not normal, before Dean ever got out of hell, does that mean the contract was already void? Just wondering.
In my head, Sam's powers aren't at all connected to the demon. Even in the series, I always thought the demon was just bringing out what was already there. I keep thinking of the scene in Shadows where Sam's TK comes out to play. There's no demon at all involved in that senerio. Just 'Dean's in trouble' and bam it comes out on its own. The deal in this story was the YED didn't touch Sam and didn't push him along like he tried with Andy and Webber. The dreams happened because they'd always been there. Then again, I might be the only one who thinks that way.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING. It was awesome seeing your comments post up in my inbox every chapter. I can't tell you how much that made me smile.
(no subject)
14/9/08 16:49 (UTC)And yay - dad and son together! I like that. Really different story - interesting stuff. I enjoyed it! :)
*and i hope Chris made it through the possession!*
(no subject)
14/9/08 17:22 (UTC)And yay - dad and son together! I like that.
It is my conviction that an epic SPN fanfic cannot end any other way but with Sam and Dean driving off in the impala to go do work. If it's not the last scene in the real series, I will be incredibly disappointed. =)
*and i hope Chris made it through the possession!*
Chris made it out all right but it turns out the FBI is on her back because they think she killed Mason not to mention others. Eventually Agent Henriksen tracks her to an abandoned diner intent on taking her into custody when suddenly zombies attack. Granted this goes some way to making Henriksen start to trust her and now, together, they fight crime.
You were one of those few who stuck around to comment every single chapter. Thank you so much. It's always nice to know people are reading and your comments are always so bouncy and happy even through all the death and that just put a big old grin on my face. =)
(no subject)
14/9/08 17:37 (UTC)*grins*
That works for me. And why am i not surprised that she has a bit of a 'past'? :)
I like to try and comment on every chapter of a wip - i know i like it when someone does the same for me!
(no subject)
14/9/08 19:52 (UTC)Chris has a lot more story to her then you might expect. Mason does too. My OCs always seem to take on a life of their own. They're a lot easier to write if you know where they're coiming from.
(no subject)
14/9/08 19:59 (UTC)I usually have way too many details for my ocs, too - it just happens! The hard part is cutting it all down to something people actually want to read.
*loves the details*
:)
(no subject)
14/9/08 20:28 (UTC)I love developing OCs. On some occassions, I've even jacked OCs straight from original novels and vice versa. There was a character from a scrapped fanfic once upon a time who later became the main character in a novel... er that I have finished but given up hopes of publishing. One of these days, he'll make it into something that sees the light of day. Mason may or may not turn up in an orignial novel I'm plotting and Chris's personailty is a toned down version of a character in another original story. My OCs get around. =)
(no subject)
14/9/08 21:52 (UTC)I've done the self-same thing, actually. Just recently put a long-time oc into an SPN fic. It was quite fun to get him some 'air time'!
I love writing ocs - the fandoms i'm in *do* actually contain them on a regular basis, and the main people interact with them, so it seems silly to not have them in a story.
(no subject)
15/9/08 02:13 (UTC)(no subject)
14/9/08 17:46 (UTC)Loved this story-good multichaps are sooooo addicting! And yup, Sam and Dean riding off into the sunset is just perfect *sniffles*
(no subject)
14/9/08 19:55 (UTC)I tend to shy away of WIPs myself because writing them I always hit a roadblock and reading them, I get to the end of what's posted and then lose interest for the rest. I'm glad you've managed to make it the whole way. It was an addictive write so I'm happy to hear it was an addictive read as well.
Sam and Dean always should ride off into the sunset at the end of supernatural stuff. Anything else just feels wrong you know?
=)
(no subject)
14/9/08 18:06 (UTC)(no subject)
14/9/08 19:55 (UTC)(no subject)
14/9/08 20:04 (UTC)(no subject)
14/9/08 20:31 (UTC)(no subject)
14/9/08 21:29 (UTC)(no subject)
15/9/08 02:13 (UTC)Re: great au
15/9/08 02:14 (UTC)(no subject)
15/9/08 02:03 (UTC)Thank you so much for tiding over my SPN cravings this summer. I think I might be able to make it to Thursday now. Just barely. ;-)
(no subject)
15/9/08 02:16 (UTC)It's been way too long without supernatural. I can't wait until Thursday! Can't come soon enough.
(no subject)
15/9/08 11:41 (UTC)Excellent stuff! I'll be pointing people towards this.
(no subject)
15/9/08 19:21 (UTC)I'm glad to hear the twist seemed obvious in retrospect. I was trying to leave you clues along the way.
(no subject)
13/10/08 04:27 (UTC)(no subject)
15/10/08 18:41 (UTC)