Sons Of Fate Part Three: What's Worth The Price Is Always Worth The Fight
Hendrickson paces back and forth, one minute he has his arms folded across his chest, the next moment they are at his sides.
He’s frustrated and that is only serving to make him even more agitated. He’s not had one single break in the case and he needs to start finding some real answers and soon.
“Is there a problem?”
Hendrickson glances over at his partner. He still finds the man strange, they’ve only been working together for a month and he isn’t sure what to make of him yet.
“No, Compton, there’s not a problem,” he sarcastically fires back.
Compton stares up at him, obviously he can’t read the sarcasm and offers Hendrickson a smile.
Hendrickson shakes his head. “Yes, there is a problem, a rather large one at that. We have a killer on the loose; possibly the victim’s son and we have no idea where he is.”
“Perhaps you could consult with Deputy Dean Winchester.”
Hendrickson glares at his partner. “Now why in the hell would I do that, Compton?”
“I believe that he currently knows more than you about this case.” Compton leans forward and rests his hands on the desk. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure go ahead,” Hendrickson answers.
“Why do you call me Compton? I do have a first name.”
Hendrickson narrows his eyes at Compton and then shakes his head when the other man simply stares at him.
“Compton is a name that I chose,” he continues.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Hendrickson snaps at him. “We have a murder case here to solve and you’re talking about something that doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. So why don’t you focus on the fact that Mary Campbell’s funeral is in a few days.”
“How is that important to the case?” Compton asks.
Hendrickson shakes his head again. “If Sam Campbell is innocent or even if he is not, he will most likely be there.”
“Then we shall be there, too.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Sam spins around and sees Dean standing near the door, an impatient look etched across his face.
“We don’t have all day, you know.”
Sam is terrified again. He really does not want to leave the motel; he sure as hell does not want to learn how to use a gun. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since he arrived there and he’s still exhausted both mentally and physically.
Maybe it’s the shock of it all, that he’s even able to function. His mother was killed only two weeks ago, he knows that he hasn’t even really begun to process that.
Sam places the coffee cup down onto the table. Bobby had brought it with him, and then he had disappeared again after Sam came out of the bathroom. Dean had mentioned something about contacting a source nearby, whatever the hell that meant.
Five minutes later -after a lot of debating and arguing- they are in the car and heading to god only knows where.
Sam stares out of the window as they make their way across town. He has no idea where Dean is taking him but that’s not really the part that’s scaring him.
There are a million different things racing through his mind. He can’t shake the images of his mother being killed in front of him; he can’t shake the time spent hiding out in the old abandoned house on the other side of town; feeling so alone like that that any moment could be his last.
Brought back to the situation at hand when the car suddenly comes to a stop, Sam watches as Dean climbs out and disappears out of view. He can tell that Dean has opened the trunk and is searching around inside for something.
Pushing open the door, he steps out and instantly feels the cool breeze hit his skin. He wishes now that he had a jacket with him, he hadn’t carried one in almost two weeks, not since he left the house.
He walks to the end of the car to where Dean stands.
“Do you want to know how real all of this,” Dean says without even looking up at him. He points into the open trunk and Sam takes another step closer.
The small space is loaded with guns, more than Sam has ever seen; bottles of water line one side along with what appears to be stakes?
The inside of the lid has something drawn out in chalk, he wants to ask what it is but doesn’t dare.
Sam swallows the lump that has formed in his throat and glances over his shoulder towards the cemetery. Dean brought him to a cemetery.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I’m gonna teach you how to use these and also I know that it isn’t the same thing, but hopefully you will get the idea when I explain all of this to you.”
Dean picks up one of the guns and then slams the lid. He begins walking towards the gate, glancing over his shoulder every so often to make sure that Sam is following him.
Once they are inside, Dean stops at a random grave.
“There is a town in Wyoming that houses something called a Devil’s Gate. It was built by a man named Samuel Colt.”
“Ok,” Sam replies, he has no clue as to what Dean is talking about, he’s never heard of a Devil’s gate before, and he has no idea who Samuel Colt is.
“It’s a gateway to Hell,” Dean continues. “The first hunter that found out who Azazel was, there was only so much information about him but he somehow managed to find out about the Devil’s Gate and that Azazel had some interest in it. There’s a theory on how it works, but no one has ever even considered testing said theory. It’s supposed to keep the demons down in hell.”
Sam isn’t really sure how to respond to that. “It doesn’t work.”
Dean nods slightly. “Yeah, they keep finding ways up here; it’s my job to stop them. I didn’t ask for this, Sam, not for any of it, but I was taught how to fight back and so I chose to do this and I won’t stop until it kills me.”
“I didn’t ask for this, I’m not going to choose to do this, so whatever you’re trying to do here, it’s a waste of time,” Sam retorts.
“Unfortunately for you, you don’t get a choice. You can’t escape this, Sam, not even if you wanted to. You want payback on the son of a bitch who killed your Mom? Then you’re going to have to know how to use one of these, because if you see him, you’re going to take the shot.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Sam tells him. “You can’t make me.”
“Yeah, I know that I can’t,” Dean answers. “But, you will anyway.” He pauses for a moment. “The thing is, guns won’t stop them, it might slow them down long enough for you to get away, but it won’t kill them.”
Sam’s eyes grow wide. “Then what’s the point?”
“The point is that it will keep you alive.”
Sam studies him for a moment, he desperately wants to go back to the motel room, close the door and never leave.
That’s not going to happen though.
Several minutes pass before Sam very reluctantly takes the gun from Dean. The weight of it in his hand feels awkward and he can’t ever imagine having to actually pull the trigger, demon or not, he isn’t sure that would be able to do it.
“I’ve never even held a gun before. Do you actually expect me to learn how to use this? It might be who you are Dean, but it isn’t me.”
Dean shakes his head but more to himself than to Sam. “If you want to stand a chance against him, then yeah you’re going to have to learn how to use this.”
Silence fills the space around them, neither is really sure of what to say next.
Sam looks over at Dean, the gun still weighing in his hand. “You’re going to make sure that I’m ok though… right?”
That maybe scares the both of them more than anything else. That Dean won’t be able to protect him, that he won’t be able to protect either of them.
“I’ll make sure,” Dean responds.
Moments later, Dean is telling Sam to keep his arm straight and steady, to take a deep breath before he lightly presses his finger against the trigger. He warns of a possible kickback, especially seeing as Sam hasn’t experience firing a gun before but he doesn’t really struggle with it at all.
He does however miss the target each and every time.
Sam lowers the gun to his side and turns to look at Dean. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You’re doing just fine, Sam, better than I thought you would, actually.”
Sam points to the target which is still intact. “Are you kidding me? I’ve missed it every time.”
Deans shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it; you’ll get the hang of it.”
“And what happens in the meantime?” Sam replies. He shakes his head and holds the gun out for Dean to take. “I can’t do this, shooting someone.”
Dean takes the gun and clicks the safety into place. “The way that I look at it, it’s either me or them, Sam, and I would prefer to save my ass over theirs. They may look human but don’t let them fool you. They will tear you to pieces given half the chance.”
They both start walking back towards the car, Sam shoves his hands into his pockets; he can still feel the cold metal of the gun against his skin and he hates the feeling. He doesn’t want to do this, Dean’s comment about saving his ass or theirs, what if it did come down to that? Would he have the nerve to be able to pull the trigger?
Dean walks around to the driver’s side and rests his arm on the roof of the car. “You can do this, Sam; you don’t have any other choice.”
Pulling the car away from the old gates of the cemetery, Dean looks over to Sam and it’s quite possible that he looks more afraid now than he did earlier.
“So you really had no idea about any of this?” Dean asks.
“What are you talking about?” Sam answers.
“That your Mom was a hunter,” Dean tells him.
Sam turns in the seat to face Dean. “What do you mean; a hunter? She was like you?”
“Yeah, did I not mention that part?”
Sam just stares back at him.
“Ok, so you had no clue about any of it, I don’t blame her, actually, it kept you safe… until now at least.”
“What else aren’t you telling me?” Sam wants to know. “I mean, I had never heard of you before, but you seem to know everything about me and my Mom. How?”
“I don’t really know all that much,” Dean says. “Just that my dad knew your Mom from a long time ago. She called him for help, so here I am.”
“She never told me.”
“Then maybe you’re the lucky one then,” Dean responds.
“Yeah and how is that? At least you know what’s out there,” Sam points out. He shifts in the seat again; he feels incredibly uncomfortable.
“Sometimes I wish that I didn’t know,” Dean answers bluntly. “That I could have been a normal kid, running around with a football or climbing trees, but no, instead I got taught how to use a shotgun, how to set traps and how to kill demons.”
“So your Dad just took you out hunting these… things?”
Dean nods back at him. “Yeah, pretty much from the time that I could walk, that’s when it all started, my sister as well.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah, Jo, she’s a couple of years younger than you, she’s annoying as hell, but she knows her way around a weapon.”
“And your mom is ok with all of this? Because here I thought that mine would probably have a heart attack if I got into a fight let alone fought a demon.” He shifts in the seat again realizing that he’s talking about Mary as though she is still around. “But who would have guessed that she knew exactly what was going on, that she would be involved with it.”
Dean shakes his head. “No, my Mom is far from alright with this, she hates that my Dad got us involved.”
“So this is what you do?” Sam says a moment later. “This is all that you do?”
“No, I actually have a day job, I’m a Deputy in Charming, my Dad’s old war buddy is the Sheriff, yeah I got the gig 'cos of him, so sue me.” Dean explains.
“And he lets you just go of whenever you want?”
“No, not whenever I want, well ok most of the time, but he knows what I do, Bobby used to be a hunter,” Dean responds.
“You really aren’t joking about any of this are you?” Sam asks. “The demons, hunters…”
“Does it look like I’m joking about any of this?” Dean almost spits back.
He hadn’t meant to sound so snarky but he was becoming agitated, it wasn’t uncommon that he would have to spend a great deal of time explaining to people, but this was different, he wanted to avoid all of that and just focus on the problem at hand. Besides, Sam had witnessed something less than human killing his Mom, not to mention he had been the one to bring up the visions that he was having, did he not think that there was some sort of paranormal element to that.
“Sam.”
“Yeah?”
“Your Mom’s funeral is soon,” Dean says. “I spoke to the guy at the funeral home this morning.”
Sam stares out of the window, he doesn’t really want to think about it, he doesn’t want anything at all to do with any of this; he wants everything to be normal again.
“I don’t know that I can go, I don’t want to say goodbye to her.”
Dean draws in a deep breath and nods to himself. He isn’t sure that he would be able to do that either, if anything happened to Ellen, he doesn’t want to even think about it, it’s too hard.
“I’ll go with you, Sam; you don’t have to do this on your own. Bobby will be there as well.”
Sam doesn’t say anything; he just continues to stare out of the window.
“Sam, I get that this sucks and that you don’t wanna be there, but you will regret it if you don’t go and say goodbye to her, you know that right?”
The rest of the drive back to the motel is done so in silence, hell the rest of the day is silent between the two of them.
Dean isn’t really sure what else he can say to Sam so instead he focuses on finding out as much as he can about Azazel, and trying to get hold of Bobby.
It’s almost 2am before Dean finally manages to get in touch with Bobby. He’s barely on the phone for two minutes; Dean wonders if Bobby is maybe in the middle of a hunt or something, or if he found out something that he really doesn’t know how to tell Dean about.
He knows that he won’t be able to sleep so instead he heads down the street towards the diner. It’s one of those open all night places and Dean is more than happy to just sit there with his cup of coffee.
He has moments while sitting there when he wants to ring his father and call him out for sending him there. John knew more about the case than he had told Dean and that pissed him off to no end.
He hears the bell above the door jingle and he glances up to see Compton walk in, he’s surprised to see the Agent there, for a brief moment he wants to question Compton, but then he realizes that that probably wouldn’t be such a good idea and lowers his head.
It doesn’t work and Compton approaches the table anyway.
“Deputy Dean Winchester.”
Dean sighs heavily and pushes his coffee cup aside. “What do you want?”
“It would be in your best interests to make sure that Sam Campbell attends his mother’s funeral.”
Dean raises an eyebrow at Compton. “What are you talking about? Why do you care if he is there or not?”
“I cannot protect Sam Campbell if he is not there,” Compton replies.
Dean shakes his head; he has no idea what the Agent is talking about. “He doesn’t need you to protect him, that’s why I’m here.”
“Is that why you left him alone at the motel?”
“How the hell do you know where he is?” Dean demands to know.
“There is a lot that I know,” Compton says. “It is my job.”
“That’s awesome,” Dean retorts. “I have this under control; you can go back to Hendrickson and tell him… hell tell him whatever you want because he has no idea what he’s dealing with.”
“Do you know what it is that you are dealing with?” Compton asks him.
Dean stares back at him, he can’t really put his finger on it, but Compton’s tone of voice, it’s sent a chill down his spine that he can’t seem to shake.
“Why would you ask me that?” Dean wants to know when he’s able to focus again.
Compton places his hands on the table and stares back at Dean. “We are both aware of what is out there Deputy Dean Winchester.”
Dean squeezes his eyes shut and inhales a deep breath. A moment later when he looks up again, he is in complete shock to see that he is sitting at the table in the motel room.
He pushes the chair back and causes it to almost topple over. “What the hell?”
Swallowing the lump that has formed in his throat he backs up until he hits the wall.
He was at the diner, he remembered walking down there, taking a seat in a booth near the window and ordering coffee. Surely he didn’t just imagine doing all of that, it wasn’t possible.
Sucking in a deep breath he tries to calm himself down, making his way across the room, he sits down on the bed; he doesn’t really remember much after that.
Dean wakes early the next morning, he quickly goes about getting showered and changed. He figures that if he keeps busy then he won’t obsess over the previous night, he would really rather not think about it.
At least a half a dozen times he glances over at the bed where Sam is still sleeping. He feels bad for the 16 year-old on this particular day, but he knows that there isn’t really all that much that he can do for him.
That dreadful day had arrived and Dean knows that Sam is going to be a wreck, he was struggling with it all anyway, and his attitude and mood had shown that perfectly well in the last couple of days. Sam could be happy and talking like nothing was wrong one minute, the next he would be silent and couldn’t even look Dean in the eye.
Dean glances over to the bedside alarm clock and sees that it’s almost 9:30am. The funeral was due to start around midday and Dean was sure that he would still have a difficult time in convincing Sam to go.
When Dean literally grabs Sam’s ankle to try and wake him up, he gets no response. A thought occurs to him then, it’s been a week since Sam showed up at the motel, and to begin with Dean had promised that he wouldn’t call Jess, but seeing as it was the day of Mary’s funeral, he knows that even if Sam disagrees with it, Jess should be there with him.
She is angrier than anything else when she answers the phone and is told by Dean that Sam is alive and well, and that he has known that fact for a week.
She arrives at the motel in record time and stands at the end of the bed staring down at a still sleeping Sam.
Well, both Dean and Jess realize that Sam isn’t actually sleeping, he’s just pretending he can’t feel them shaking hell out of the bed to try and get him up.
Sam doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to get up, he doesn’t want to leave the motel and he sure as hell does not want to attend his mother’s funeral.
Because if he does that, then all of this is real and she really is not coming back.
Dean and Jess are resorted to sitting at the small table on the left side of the room. Tears stream down her face and he wants to say something comforting but the only words he can think of sound ridiculous in his head, they would be even worse if he actually spoke them out loud.
Dean also remembers the day he met Jess; she had told him that she knew Sam better than anyone else, yet she was having less luck getting through to Sam than Dean had.
Glancing at his watch, he realizes that it’s almost 11am now, If they are ever to make it on time, he needs to get Sam up.
He walks over to the bed and sits down, Sam mutters something under his breath but still refuses to look at Dean so instead Dean reaches out and grabs Sam around the wrist.
The bandage is still there, still covering the wound on Sam’s hand. He isn’t entirely sure what possesses him to do so, but he tears the bandage off and is confused at what he sees. The wound which had mostly looked like a wound when he had wrapped the towel around it now looks like something else entirely.
“What the hell is that?” Dean questions him.
Finally Sam responds and he sits up, yanking his hand away from Dean. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s bullshit, how did you cut your hand?”
“I don’t know,” Sam retorts. “I noticed it when I stopped running; I still had the knife in my hand.”
Dean nods and stands up, he walks over to the table and picks up the knife. He notices for the first time something is engraved into the blade, some sort of symbol and Dean holds it up, the marking bears a striking resemblance to the wound on Sam’s palm.
“You’re telling me that you didn’t notice that?” Dean asks him.
Sam shakes his head. “No, why would I?”
Dean won’t bother trying to talk to Sam about this right now; there are other more important things that they need to be dealing with. Instead he tucks the knife into the duffle bag and then turns back to Sam and Jess.
“We’re leaving in 10 minutes.”
Dean tried to contact Bobby on the way to the funeral but he couldn’t get in touch with him, not that he was surprised by that.
Glancing in the rear view mirror, Dean sees Sam sitting there simply staring out of the window; he hasn’t said a word since their ‘argument’ over the knife and the wound on Sam’s hand.
Dean really wants to believe that Sam doesn’t recall how the wound got there, but he has this feeling that Sam knows exactly what happened.
10 minutes later, Dean is pulling the car into a parking space. Sam looks even more heartbroken upon seeing the small gathering of people but Dean knows that he needs to be there, he will regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn’t say his goodbyes.
After exiting the car, Jess slips her arm around Sam’s waist; Dean watches as Sam reacts to that, because earlier at the motel he had barely even looked in Jess’ direction and that had hurt her.
But he needs her now.
Dean stands back from the group as Mary’s friends and co-workers express their condolences to Sam. He also stands back because he still feels the guilt from not being able to save Mary, and because this isn’t really his place. He doesn’t know these people.
But it doesn’t take him long to notice two people that he does know.
Agents Hendrickson and Compton stand to the far right; Hendrickson’s hands are stuffed into the pockets of his coat and he is staring back at Dean. Compton stands just behind Hendrickson; his gaze is also fixed upon Dean but apparently for very different reasons.
Dean feels that cold shiver again, the same one after finding himself back at the motel after his conversation with Compton at the diner, the one he is damn adamant that actually happened.
Dean is fully aware of what is going on here, he knows why Hendrickson would attend the funeral. He believes that Sam might be responsible for Mary’s death.
Dean will fight him every step of the way to make sure that nothing happens to Sam.
When the service has finished, the small group of mourners including Jess at Sam’s insistence have left to attend a wake that Dean has no idea who may have organized, he just knows that neither he nor Sam will go to it.
Instead, he gives Sam some time alone at his mother’s grave. He needs this time because the truth is, once they leave here, there might not be a chance to ever go back.
Several minutes later, he approaches Sam and reaches out placing his hand on Sam’s back and Sam turns to look at him. His eyes are red and he runs the back of his hand across them to wipe away the tears.
“It shouldn’t have happened like this,” Sam manages to choke out.
“It should never happen like this for anyone,” Dean adds. “But we can make this right by her, Sam; we can get the son of bitch.”
Sam looks over to where Hendrickson and his partner stand. “Who are they? I’ve never seen them before.”
Dean lets out a heavy sigh. “Right, about them, they’re FBI, Sam, and they think that you did this.”
Sam’s eyes widen at Dean’s comment. “No, they can’t think that, I didn’t do anything.”
“I know that,” Dean answers. “They will too, don’t worry about it.”
They stand there and watch as Hendrickson and Compton approach them.
“Samuel Campbell,” Hendrickson says. “We’ve been looking for you.” He turns to look at Compton. “Who would have guessed that you would be right about that.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean wants to know.
“My partner here told me that I would most likely find the suspect with you,” Hendrickson tells him.
“He’s not a suspect,” Dean retorts. “And if you did you job properly you would know that.”
“We are taking him in for questioning,” Hendrickson adds. “You have no authority here, Dean.”
“Like hell I don’t,” Dean snaps at him. “And you’re not taking him anywhere. Why the hell can’t you see that he’s mourning her death? Do you honestly think that if he were the killer and felt nothing that he would look like that?”
Hendrickson lets out a mocking laugh. “Is that right? Well we could do this the easy way, or if you want, we can go the…”
“Yeah whatever you say,” Dean replies, cutting him off. Dean then turns to look at Compton. “You don’t have anything to add?”
Compton smiles back at Dean. “All in due course.”
Dean raises and eyebrow at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
Hendrickson shakes his head and takes a step closer to Dean. “If you really want, I can take the both of you in for questioning.”
“You’re wasting your time, you do know that right?” Dean snaps at him.
Hendrickson motions towards the car which is parked just a few meters from the Impala. “Let’s go, I have a murder to solve and it looks like I’m so very close.”
Hendrickson steps behind Dean and almost shoves him in the direction of the car. Dean manages to glance over his shoulder to see Compton walking beside Sam, there was no forcible action there; he was allowing Sam to walk at his own pace. He mutters something under his breath and then turns back to Hendrickson.
“This is pointless.”
“So you keep saying.” Hendrickson smirks at him.
He opens the door and almost shoves Dean into the back of the car; Dean can’t help but stare out of the window to where his beloved Impala sits waiting for him. A moment later, the other passenger door opens and Sam climbs into the car.
Neither of them says a word; they simply sit in silence as they are driven to the local sheriff’s station.
Dean sits inside the small interrogation room with his palms pressed flat against the table top, he’s staring at the two way glass window on the other side of the room, and he knows Hendrickson is watching him.
Normally it’s Dean who stands on the other side of that glass, he knows the procedures and there is every chance that he could spend 24 hours locked up in there before they finally let him go.
Sam on the other hand, if they truly believe that he did this; then they might find other ways to keep the 16 year-old there.
Dean knows that he has to do something about this, he can’t allow them to keep Sam, not when they need to be out there finding the demon that did this. He needs to call John or Bobby.
A few minutes later the door swings open and Dean glances up to see Compton standing there. He’s holding a folder in his hand and Dean narrows his eyes at him.
“What, I don’t even get to talk to Hendrickson?”
Compton walks over to the table and takes a seat; he places the folder down and simply stares back at Dean.
“Yeah, this is fantastic and all, but I’d like my phone call thanks,” Dean tells him.
Compton pulls his chair closer to the table and rests his hands on the tabletop. “Deputy Dean Winchester.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s just great; you know most people call me Dean.”
“I have something for you,” Compton finally says.
Dean watches as the FBI Agent opens the folder and picks up a sheet of paper and pushes it across the table.
“What is this?”
“This is the initial report,” Compton tells him. “The Officer who was sent to the house described it as being inhuman; whoever was responsible for Mary Campbell’s death.”
“Ok,” Dean replies.
“I do not believe that Sam committed this murder.”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?” Dean snaps at him. “So why are we still here?”
Compton leans forward, his voice now barely above a whisper. “I believe that a demon is responsible.”
Dean’s eyes grow wide at Compton’s statement. He has had this argument many times with Hendrickson and not once has Hendrickson ever given Dean hope that he believes the so called stories. Now Compton was sitting there, saying everything that Dean had wanted to hear.
“I will help you,” Compton says.
Dean leans back in the seat and folds his arms across his chest; he isn’t really sure what else to say.
“There are things happening here that you may not be aware of,” Compton continues. “I will see to it that Sam is released into your custody.”
Dean has to say something now. “Why would you do that? And while I’m asking, why do you believe me?”
“Because what you speak of is the truth.”
“I haven’t actually said all that much,” Dean answers coldly. “I want a real reason why you believe me.”
“I am not who I say I am.”
Part Three A