Fic: Battle Cry (Supernatural) Chapter 10/10
Well, this is it. Here's the final chapter of Battle Cry. I have a few stand alone sections I plan to post as companion pieces to this. I had originally meant for this story to be told through a series of non-chronological shots, but the early pieces got away from me. This portion needed to be told as a linear story. The next few pieces in this 'verse will probably be more stand-alone.
Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed!
Masterpost is here. Chapter 1 is here.
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 2177
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
The Homecoming
Sam was upstairs helping Bobby when he heard it. Bobby had finally given in, unable to both hold up the swaying stacks and shelve at the same time, and allowed Sam to come up and help put his books in some kind of order. What order that might be eluded Sam entirely. As best he could tell they were arranged alphabetically within some strange genre system. For example, the book of Hans Christian Anderson fairytales had not been shelved with what Sam broadly considered the myths and legends, but rather in the middle of a shelf that primarily dealt with dangerous beasts. Exorcisms apparently didn’t belong with either the bible or demonology, because it now resided between a handwritten journal and a tall, skinny book about some Japanese monster.
Sam was holding up a second stack of journals when he heard the dull roar of an engine and the popping crunch of gravel as a car pulled into the driveway. Sam would know that sound anywhere. He didn’t dash out the door like Dean had. He waited patiently for Bobby to take the last book from him and shelve it before he made a mad rush towards the front of the house.
He checked himself just inside the door. In all the time John had been gone, he hadn’t once asked about Sam. Sam knew this because he had taken to the unfortunate habit of listening to Dean’s phone calls with the man. He knew his father was coming home hoping to find him speaking again.
Sam squared his shoulders and opened the door. John would find out soon enough. By the time he got out on the porch, John was halfway up the stairs.
“…been helping Bobby all morning,” Dean was saying.
John looked up at Sam and smiled at him. Sam smiled back and hurried down the stairs to hug his father. He was more than a little self-conscious about the enthusiastic greeting, but judging by the arm draped around Dean’s shoulder, he hadn’t been the only one to be glad to see John home.
Sam relaxed when John’s other arm snaked across his shoulders. He hadn’t realized that he had been worried for John, not just about his reaction. He was glad to see him safe and whole again. John squeezed him gently and Sam let the hug fall.
They stood there semi-awkward until Dean let his natural need to talk smooth things over. “I see Bobby didn’t actually use you for ritual ingredients,” he said to Sam.
Sam stuck his tongue out and turned back towards the house. Together the three made their way inside where Bobby was waiting for them.
“John,” Bobby said. Sam could hear a note of disapproval in his voice, but wasn’t quite sure why. “Safe trip?”
John nodded. “Went a lot smoother than I thought it would.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
John made a face and dropped the arm around Dean’s shoulders. “It was there all right. But I didn’t get any closer than I have been.”
Bobby nodded. Sam thought he looked a little disappointed, in John rather than in his news.
“Boys,” John said. “Why don’t you go get washed up for dinner, I stopped and got us something on the way in.” Sam and Dean shared a look, but dutifully headed upstairs.
At the top Sam stopped Dean with a hand on his chest.
‘Dad know?’ Sam wanted to know. He technically already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Dean say it. He had to know what he was walking into.
Dean glanced over Sam. ‘Know what?’ He replied in kind. Apparently he didn’t want the others downstairs to know what they were talking about. Or else he had suddenly gotten very studious.
Sam glared at Dean. He didn’t get to pull his deliberate stupid thing today. Sam crossed his arms and waited.
Dean sighed. ‘Not tell yet.’
Sam felt the weight back a hundred times. It was constricting in his chest. John didn’t know. ‘All be fine.’ Dean assured him, then headed for the bathroom. Sam was more than sure it would not.
When they came back down the stairs, Sam got the impression they had missed another furtive argument between the two older men. John was setting out pizza boxes from ???, one of Dean’s favorite joints. Bobby was pulling down glasses in the kitchen, letting them thunk a bit harder than necessary onto the counter. Both were quite intentionally not looking at one another.
Sam ducked his head and grabbed a stack of plates to set out while Dean went to go help fill the glasses before Bobby broke something. Sam realized immediately his mistake, but fortunately John seemed too preoccupied with his irritation at whatever had happened between him and Bobby to say anything much beyond a grunted thanks in Sam’s direction. Once the plates had been laid out he ran to the kitchen to grab his glass, half in an attempt to get away from being alone with John and half to ensure it was only milk he was drinking.
Finally they all settled down around the table together. The pizza boxes circulated in a dimly heavy silence. Dean finally found the courage to say, “So your hunt went well?”
John grunted. “Really wasn’t so much a hunt, but yeah it went well. Didn’t even get too banged up in the process.”
Dean laughed.
He was the only one, although John did smile a little.
“How did things go here? Did you keep up with your training?”
“Yes, sir. Except for that week Sam was sick.”
Sam kicked Dean under the table. He had hoped John need never know about that. He had never reckoned with Dean’s big mouth in the equation.
“Sick?” John turned towards Sam. “Are you okay?”
Sam nodded.
“He’s fine now. It was just a bout of the flu, but neither Bobby nor I wanted him out in the cold after he’d been running that fever.”
Sam ducked, fighting down a blush.
John nodded in approval. “Good, but you didn’t let it slide too long, I hope. I need you both in top shape.”
“No sir, of course not.”
“Any other news?” John asked carefully.
Dean shook his head, swallowing his bite of pizza so that it choked him and he had to drink down half his glass of water. Finally, he managed to croak, “no, sir.”
John turned his attention back to Sam. “No change at all?”
Sam shook his head. John leaned back in his chair with a sigh. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d swear John was disappointed in them. But they hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t their fault if there hadn’t been anything to find.
The conversation stuttered to a halt again. They finished their pizza in silence, all the while John seemed to sink further and further into a mood. The pizza sat heavy in Sam’s stomach.
When he’d finished the last piece on his plate, he pushed it away. He caught Bobby’s eye. Bobby was a bit of a stickler for dinner table manners. Most of the time he agreed there was no one to impress, but if they were all sat together at the table they were expected to at least be polite. It was one of John’s rules too. Something about teaching them proper respect.
‘I finished.’ Sam signed. He needed to get out of this room. ‘Go now?’
Bobby nodded. “Course, go on. Just put your plate in the sink.”
“Sam,” Dean said carefully.
Sam gave him a half smile. ‘I’m fine.’ He signed as he collected his plate. He made a quick sign of thanks towards John, dropped his plate in the sink, and retreated to his shared bedroom.
Behind him he left a wake of silence. He pause at the top of the stairs just long enough to hear John’s low “What the Hell was that about?” before he slipped in and closed the door.
Not that the closed door made any difference. He heard the roaring argument downstairs. He closed his eyes and covered his head with his pillow, but still he could hear them.
“What do you mean, sign language?”
Dean’s low murmur was punctuated with, “I will not calm down until someone explains what is going on around here,” from John. “I left you to look for a cure, not go on a little educational holiday.”
Dean’s voice came again. This time it was almost legible through the floorboards.
“A deal? You made a deal? You mean you gave in to your little brother because he made sad eyes at you instead of keeping him on task.”
Sam cringed, laying there.
“My job is to help Sam,” Dean’s voice had finally gotten loud enough to hear as well.
“Help him? How does this help him? Cure him so he can talk.”
“Winchester!” Bobby roared. “Listen to yourself. That boy up there is dealing with a lot of shit. Both your children are. He made a solid argument. Dean and I agreed. We’re still looking, but that’s your son up there. I’d have thought you would want what’s best for him. Not that anyone could tell by watching you.”
John’s voice went low. Sam lost track of the words, but he didn’t have to work hard to imagine what they would be.
“Don’t you dare, Winchester. I love both these boys like they’re my own. Heaven forbid we don’t find anything. What then? You want Sam to sit in a corner for the rest of his life?”
“He. Can’t. Hunt. Like. This.” John shouted each and every word forcefully projected.
There was silence. Sam felt his stomach turning. Of course. That’s what John was concerned about.
There was a loud bang before Bobby said, “Who cares about your damn crusade! Sam needs you. Not vengeance. Not the hunt. He needs a father who cares enough to stick around and deal with what’s happening.”
“And I suppose you think you’re the man for the job. Think you can turn my children against me?”
“Dad!” Dean said in alarm.
Enough was enough. Sam jumped to his feet, flinging the pillow to the floor. One way or another, he was going to get a say in this. It was his life after all. He had a right to live it any way he pleased.
Before he made it to the door, Bobby was yelling again. “Get out of my house. Now.”
“Bobby,” Dean could just barely be heard.
“You heard me you sack of shit. Get. Out. Of. My. House.”
There was a scraping of chairs. He could hear Dean saying something. Even John sounded subdued.
Bobby was not. “The boys are welcome to stay. But you aren’t. I don’t ever want to see your face here again.” Sam hesitated at the door when silence descended downstairs.
There was the cock of a shotgun. Sam leaped forward again. He had no desire to see his family pulled apart over this. Just as he made the top of the stairs, he collided with Dean who was coming up them. Sam grabbed Dean’s shirt to keep him from falling backwards down the flight.
Dean was breathing hard. “Come on. We have to go. Grab your stuff.”
Dean ushered him back down the hall. They flung their things into their duffels and slammed back down the stairs. As soon as he saw them coming, John turned and left out the door.
“You ever come back, I’ll load your ass full of buckshot, you hear?” Bobby shouted after him.
Dean gave him a quick hug. “Sorry about this, Bobby. He’s just-“
“Being an ass. It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare apologize for the man. Better get going. Much as I want you to stay, he’s still your Daddy.”
Dean looked relieved and fled.
Sam approached him. He held out the book that Bobby had given him on sign language. He knew he might be all over the place and he wouldn’t want to ruin one of Bobby’s books.
Bobby pushed it back to him. “You hang on to that. It’s yours now.”
Sam flung himself at Bobby. There was so much he wanted to say, but he just didn’t have the words. When he straightened back up, he signed, ‘Thank you.’
Bobby winked at him. “You’re welcome, son. And you’re always welcome here if you need a place to stay.”
Sam flashed him a quick, tight grin before turning towards the door. He squared his shoulders and went outside. “Sam, move your ass,” John called. “We’re leaving.”
Sam quickened his pace. When he got to the car, he gave a backwards glance. Bobby had Rumsfeld by the collar to keep him from bounding down the stairs. Sam waved and sank into the car. He’d barely shut the door before the Impala was nearly spinning out on the gravel drive.
The three sat in silence as they turned onto the pavement and put more and more distance between them and Booby’s house.
<< Masterpost
Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed!
Masterpost is here. Chapter 1 is here.
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 2177
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
The Homecoming
Sam was upstairs helping Bobby when he heard it. Bobby had finally given in, unable to both hold up the swaying stacks and shelve at the same time, and allowed Sam to come up and help put his books in some kind of order. What order that might be eluded Sam entirely. As best he could tell they were arranged alphabetically within some strange genre system. For example, the book of Hans Christian Anderson fairytales had not been shelved with what Sam broadly considered the myths and legends, but rather in the middle of a shelf that primarily dealt with dangerous beasts. Exorcisms apparently didn’t belong with either the bible or demonology, because it now resided between a handwritten journal and a tall, skinny book about some Japanese monster.
Sam was holding up a second stack of journals when he heard the dull roar of an engine and the popping crunch of gravel as a car pulled into the driveway. Sam would know that sound anywhere. He didn’t dash out the door like Dean had. He waited patiently for Bobby to take the last book from him and shelve it before he made a mad rush towards the front of the house.
He checked himself just inside the door. In all the time John had been gone, he hadn’t once asked about Sam. Sam knew this because he had taken to the unfortunate habit of listening to Dean’s phone calls with the man. He knew his father was coming home hoping to find him speaking again.
Sam squared his shoulders and opened the door. John would find out soon enough. By the time he got out on the porch, John was halfway up the stairs.
“…been helping Bobby all morning,” Dean was saying.
John looked up at Sam and smiled at him. Sam smiled back and hurried down the stairs to hug his father. He was more than a little self-conscious about the enthusiastic greeting, but judging by the arm draped around Dean’s shoulder, he hadn’t been the only one to be glad to see John home.
Sam relaxed when John’s other arm snaked across his shoulders. He hadn’t realized that he had been worried for John, not just about his reaction. He was glad to see him safe and whole again. John squeezed him gently and Sam let the hug fall.
They stood there semi-awkward until Dean let his natural need to talk smooth things over. “I see Bobby didn’t actually use you for ritual ingredients,” he said to Sam.
Sam stuck his tongue out and turned back towards the house. Together the three made their way inside where Bobby was waiting for them.
“John,” Bobby said. Sam could hear a note of disapproval in his voice, but wasn’t quite sure why. “Safe trip?”
John nodded. “Went a lot smoother than I thought it would.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
John made a face and dropped the arm around Dean’s shoulders. “It was there all right. But I didn’t get any closer than I have been.”
Bobby nodded. Sam thought he looked a little disappointed, in John rather than in his news.
“Boys,” John said. “Why don’t you go get washed up for dinner, I stopped and got us something on the way in.” Sam and Dean shared a look, but dutifully headed upstairs.
At the top Sam stopped Dean with a hand on his chest.
‘Dad know?’ Sam wanted to know. He technically already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Dean say it. He had to know what he was walking into.
Dean glanced over Sam. ‘Know what?’ He replied in kind. Apparently he didn’t want the others downstairs to know what they were talking about. Or else he had suddenly gotten very studious.
Sam glared at Dean. He didn’t get to pull his deliberate stupid thing today. Sam crossed his arms and waited.
Dean sighed. ‘Not tell yet.’
Sam felt the weight back a hundred times. It was constricting in his chest. John didn’t know. ‘All be fine.’ Dean assured him, then headed for the bathroom. Sam was more than sure it would not.
When they came back down the stairs, Sam got the impression they had missed another furtive argument between the two older men. John was setting out pizza boxes from ???, one of Dean’s favorite joints. Bobby was pulling down glasses in the kitchen, letting them thunk a bit harder than necessary onto the counter. Both were quite intentionally not looking at one another.
Sam ducked his head and grabbed a stack of plates to set out while Dean went to go help fill the glasses before Bobby broke something. Sam realized immediately his mistake, but fortunately John seemed too preoccupied with his irritation at whatever had happened between him and Bobby to say anything much beyond a grunted thanks in Sam’s direction. Once the plates had been laid out he ran to the kitchen to grab his glass, half in an attempt to get away from being alone with John and half to ensure it was only milk he was drinking.
Finally they all settled down around the table together. The pizza boxes circulated in a dimly heavy silence. Dean finally found the courage to say, “So your hunt went well?”
John grunted. “Really wasn’t so much a hunt, but yeah it went well. Didn’t even get too banged up in the process.”
Dean laughed.
He was the only one, although John did smile a little.
“How did things go here? Did you keep up with your training?”
“Yes, sir. Except for that week Sam was sick.”
Sam kicked Dean under the table. He had hoped John need never know about that. He had never reckoned with Dean’s big mouth in the equation.
“Sick?” John turned towards Sam. “Are you okay?”
Sam nodded.
“He’s fine now. It was just a bout of the flu, but neither Bobby nor I wanted him out in the cold after he’d been running that fever.”
Sam ducked, fighting down a blush.
John nodded in approval. “Good, but you didn’t let it slide too long, I hope. I need you both in top shape.”
“No sir, of course not.”
“Any other news?” John asked carefully.
Dean shook his head, swallowing his bite of pizza so that it choked him and he had to drink down half his glass of water. Finally, he managed to croak, “no, sir.”
John turned his attention back to Sam. “No change at all?”
Sam shook his head. John leaned back in his chair with a sigh. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d swear John was disappointed in them. But they hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t their fault if there hadn’t been anything to find.
The conversation stuttered to a halt again. They finished their pizza in silence, all the while John seemed to sink further and further into a mood. The pizza sat heavy in Sam’s stomach.
When he’d finished the last piece on his plate, he pushed it away. He caught Bobby’s eye. Bobby was a bit of a stickler for dinner table manners. Most of the time he agreed there was no one to impress, but if they were all sat together at the table they were expected to at least be polite. It was one of John’s rules too. Something about teaching them proper respect.
‘I finished.’ Sam signed. He needed to get out of this room. ‘Go now?’
Bobby nodded. “Course, go on. Just put your plate in the sink.”
“Sam,” Dean said carefully.
Sam gave him a half smile. ‘I’m fine.’ He signed as he collected his plate. He made a quick sign of thanks towards John, dropped his plate in the sink, and retreated to his shared bedroom.
Behind him he left a wake of silence. He pause at the top of the stairs just long enough to hear John’s low “What the Hell was that about?” before he slipped in and closed the door.
Not that the closed door made any difference. He heard the roaring argument downstairs. He closed his eyes and covered his head with his pillow, but still he could hear them.
“What do you mean, sign language?”
Dean’s low murmur was punctuated with, “I will not calm down until someone explains what is going on around here,” from John. “I left you to look for a cure, not go on a little educational holiday.”
Dean’s voice came again. This time it was almost legible through the floorboards.
“A deal? You made a deal? You mean you gave in to your little brother because he made sad eyes at you instead of keeping him on task.”
Sam cringed, laying there.
“My job is to help Sam,” Dean’s voice had finally gotten loud enough to hear as well.
“Help him? How does this help him? Cure him so he can talk.”
“Winchester!” Bobby roared. “Listen to yourself. That boy up there is dealing with a lot of shit. Both your children are. He made a solid argument. Dean and I agreed. We’re still looking, but that’s your son up there. I’d have thought you would want what’s best for him. Not that anyone could tell by watching you.”
John’s voice went low. Sam lost track of the words, but he didn’t have to work hard to imagine what they would be.
“Don’t you dare, Winchester. I love both these boys like they’re my own. Heaven forbid we don’t find anything. What then? You want Sam to sit in a corner for the rest of his life?”
“He. Can’t. Hunt. Like. This.” John shouted each and every word forcefully projected.
There was silence. Sam felt his stomach turning. Of course. That’s what John was concerned about.
There was a loud bang before Bobby said, “Who cares about your damn crusade! Sam needs you. Not vengeance. Not the hunt. He needs a father who cares enough to stick around and deal with what’s happening.”
“And I suppose you think you’re the man for the job. Think you can turn my children against me?”
“Dad!” Dean said in alarm.
Enough was enough. Sam jumped to his feet, flinging the pillow to the floor. One way or another, he was going to get a say in this. It was his life after all. He had a right to live it any way he pleased.
Before he made it to the door, Bobby was yelling again. “Get out of my house. Now.”
“Bobby,” Dean could just barely be heard.
“You heard me you sack of shit. Get. Out. Of. My. House.”
There was a scraping of chairs. He could hear Dean saying something. Even John sounded subdued.
Bobby was not. “The boys are welcome to stay. But you aren’t. I don’t ever want to see your face here again.” Sam hesitated at the door when silence descended downstairs.
There was the cock of a shotgun. Sam leaped forward again. He had no desire to see his family pulled apart over this. Just as he made the top of the stairs, he collided with Dean who was coming up them. Sam grabbed Dean’s shirt to keep him from falling backwards down the flight.
Dean was breathing hard. “Come on. We have to go. Grab your stuff.”
Dean ushered him back down the hall. They flung their things into their duffels and slammed back down the stairs. As soon as he saw them coming, John turned and left out the door.
“You ever come back, I’ll load your ass full of buckshot, you hear?” Bobby shouted after him.
Dean gave him a quick hug. “Sorry about this, Bobby. He’s just-“
“Being an ass. It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare apologize for the man. Better get going. Much as I want you to stay, he’s still your Daddy.”
Dean looked relieved and fled.
Sam approached him. He held out the book that Bobby had given him on sign language. He knew he might be all over the place and he wouldn’t want to ruin one of Bobby’s books.
Bobby pushed it back to him. “You hang on to that. It’s yours now.”
Sam flung himself at Bobby. There was so much he wanted to say, but he just didn’t have the words. When he straightened back up, he signed, ‘Thank you.’
Bobby winked at him. “You’re welcome, son. And you’re always welcome here if you need a place to stay.”
Sam flashed him a quick, tight grin before turning towards the door. He squared his shoulders and went outside. “Sam, move your ass,” John called. “We’re leaving.”
Sam quickened his pace. When he got to the car, he gave a backwards glance. Bobby had Rumsfeld by the collar to keep him from bounding down the stairs. Sam waved and sank into the car. He’d barely shut the door before the Impala was nearly spinning out on the gravel drive.
The three sat in silence as they turned onto the pavement and put more and more distance between them and Booby’s house.
<< Masterpost