Unbreakable Φ
mirror | prologue | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | crossroad
chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | epilogue
Φ
Don't die. They will feed you to the lions. They are worth more than we are.12
The truck’s tires have been slashed, leaving him with no other exit.
The smell of wet pavement and burning rubber and gas follows him down the alleyway as he runs from Meg and her henchman. Darkness and refuse silences his footsteps until he reaches a streetlamp at a cross alley. He stops dead, his arms swaying out in front of him, tense and useless. Under the lamp stands a man he’s never seen before, but he knows who it is. He can see a bony smile, like that of an animal, gleaming in the cast of the man’s downturned face.
Hello, John.
John stands up straight and says nothing, does nothing, tries to feel nothing. He waits for the other shoe to drop. Azazel.
So they used to call me, but I've missed the last few high school reunions. The man steps forward, black thoughts of mass destruction and vengeance won ghosting across his face like the shadows of taut puppet strings. I’d say that I’m a mite disappointed in the end of our little game, but the truth is we’re just getting started.
Are we? John retorts flatly.
The man lifts a pair of golden eyes into the light and jerks his head backwards once. Two pairs of brutish hands grip John’s shoulders on either side and wrench hard, shoving him onto his knees.
John doesn’t struggle, not even in token protest. He looks up with a secret buried in his eyes.
You’re not a very good actor, you know. Not like young Sammy. You’re not fooling anyone. Azazel draws a serrated knife from the folds of his coat and holds it against the throbbing vein in John’s throat. You are going to tell me where that gun is.
Swallowing defiantly, John’s sweat drips onto the blade. No, I’m not.
The man’s eyes close slowly and he listens to the heartbeat of his quarry. He smiles again, scraping the knife’s edge across and up, slitting the skin enough to make John hiss. I’m only trying to be polite. I don’t have to ask, but I'm a traditionalist.
Good to know.
Some habits die hard. The man’s face tries to smile but ends up jerking and twitching, a failed reflex at best. I could get it out of you the old-fashioned way, but Herb and I just bought these shoes.
We can do this all day. I’m not telling you a damn thing.
Azazel illustrates a thought bubble in the air with the point of the knife, waving it back and forth in front of John's eyes, You might not, but I know some boys who might. I believe you've met them.
A deep breath escapes before he can stop it, but John keeps most of the fire out of his eyes. I’ll kill you. You lay one finger on them and I’ll kill you. I will kill all of you.
Tsk, tsk, fathers condoning such violence. Azazel brings the man's face to within kissing distance and John holds his breath at the man’s smell: lungs full of smoke and rotting meat, voice dripping with desires that nobody should have to think about. Those boys... I could be a better father to those boys than you ever were.
John struggles. You can go to hell.
Azazel’s lurid smile backs away, just enough for his hands to start measuring him at the shoulders and down, squeezing at his groin and frowning like it’s a downgrade. Ah, but I’m at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box, John. I’m not leaving without my prize.
Johns spits in his face. You won’t break me. You know that as well as I do. And if I don’t kill you, they will.
A bent elbow slams down on the crown of his head and John sees stars. Another pair of blows land across either side of his jaw. Azazel flexes his hand as John wheels between blacking out and breathing again. Thank you, John. That’s all I needed to know. Now, was that so hard?
He coughs and spits up blood. It drains down his throat and clings to his nose. Doesn’t matter. Kill me. If they come for me and I'm gone… he lifts his face one last time… they'll know, and they’ll end you.
Oh, but they won’t know it’s me, Azazel whispers. He does a cage dance turn on one foot with a shining grin, and he winks.
John blinks and stares into the darkness as they grab his head and hold it in place. Wait and see.
And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.13
John dreams. Inside the demon's hold, the world is not the same as the world of the living. He is standing on a hill under a twisted tree with limbs made of sinew and bone. He knows it because he's seen it in his nightmares.
He looks across a barren, smoking field and knows he is alone. That can only mean one thing: that his sons are not here with him. Good.
He sets out across the plain, hounded by the demon's voice floating across the burning wind, stinging his eyes. Don't worry about them, he says, and the whole sky turns yellow, eyes staring down at John from the high reaches of his soul, Worry about me.
It turns out that Azazel isn't as strong as he thought. John surfaces time and time again. He forces the demons to beat him, drug him and tie him down, using his humanity against him after sheer will prevails.
By the time he hears Dean call his name, Azazel is brimming with triumph and pride. Cocky. Careless.
Dad, please. Don't you let it kill me.
The blood of his son breaks the bonds of the dream, and John rallies for one last push. He makes it count.
But suppose this son has a son who sees all the sins his father commits, and though he sees them, he does not do such things?14
fin.