To Die in Love's Embrace Chapter 7
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"Dean? You ok?" Sam asked wearily and moved away. Dean pulled him back.
"I'm good. You're too cold still." Dean fidgeted with the blanket and sighed when Sam's eyes began to droop. "Go to sleep, midget."
"Am not." Sam slurred. "Yer a…amazon."
"You know I'm kicking your ass for that when you're better right?" Dean chuckled and was answered with a soft snore.
CHAPTER 7
John shut the bathroom door on his thirteen year old, now warming under a blistering shower and went to his stubborn seventeen year old who had yet to lay down as he'd been told.
"Dammit, Dean. Lay down before I put you down. You need rest." John ordered. Dean sat on the edge of the bed holding his wounded shoulder as if afraid to move.
Dean rolled his eyes at his Dad. "I'm fine, Dad."
"We've been over this." John picked up his protesting sons legs and swung them up on the bed. Dean groaned but let his Dad help him lay down. "See? If you were fine, this wouldn't have been so easy."
Dean snorted. "By the way, I think I know what killed Kaz's mom."
John looked up in surprise from pulling off Dean's boots. "It was a pretty vague description, son."
"Yeah but I think I'm right." Dean closed his eyes in bliss as the blankets were pulled up over him. The soft bed, warm blankets and painkillers Dad had given him were making his eyelids heavy.
"Dean?" John tapped his sons chin and smirked when drowsy green eyes met his. Dean was quickly heading for a crash.
"Right. Um…Powder Mill Park. That ghost I saw with Kaz." Dean struggled to order his quickly scattering thoughts. "Her mom said the thing that killed her didn't belong there. That it followed her daughter first. What are the odds Kaz just happens to know a creepy spirit that fits her mom's description?"
"Good point." John watched Dean's eyes close, snap open and drift closed again, smiling as his body relaxed suddenly into sleep. "We'll figure it out later." He said softly.
"Dad?" Sam called as he opened the bathroom door.
"You okay, Sammy?" John went to his baby boy, standing there in too short sweatpants, his older brothers tee-shirt and dripping hair.
"Sleepy." Sam said and suffered his Dad vigorously rubbing a towel through his hair. Sam's thoughts turned to the Banshee again and he impulsively threw his arms around his father's waist, burying his head into his shoulder.
"Sammy?" John asked, surprised. He dropped the towel and hugged his trembling son.
"She changed." Sam mumbled into his chest.
"Who changed?" John was confused.
"She had Mom's face." Sam squeezed harder, trying to forget the image. "The Banshee used Mom's face when she had me…when she touched me."
John was shocked, feeling tears wet his shirt where Sam's face rested. He felt a surge of anger for the dead woman. Had he known how she'd tormented his boy, he wouldn't have been so charitable with her at the end, sad story or not. He dropped his chin to rest on Sam's head. "It's ok, son. She's gone and you're safe. We'll keep you safe." He felt Sam nod miserably against him. "Come on. Bed." John led him to the bed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "In you go."
Sam released his father and climbed on the bed, crawling up to Dean's head and sliding under the blankets next to his softly snoring brother. Sam, still craving warmth and safety, snuggled into Dean's uninjured shoulder. Dean, even sound asleep, unconsciously wrapped his arm around his little brother as he had for the whole of his life. Sam sighed once, loud and long and fell quickly to sleep.
John smiled, happy to have his sons well and asleep and safe. He checked the salt lines at door and window and headed for the bathroom for a much needed shower of his own. He stopped in the doorway, his hand on the frame and stared. There was a thick pencil line on the frame with 'Sammy-13' written under it. Higher above was a second, much thicker line and above that 'BIG brother-17' was scrawled and John laughed softly then sniffed as his eyes stung. He ran his fingers over each line and wished he had been the one to make them. He glanced back at his sleeping sons making one big lump under the blankets and felt a little stab of guilt that he had missed this moment with his boys.
Unbidden came the memory of Mary pushing a giggling, four year old Dean against the kitchen doorframe, calling to John to bring a pencil. It was his birthday and there were three shorter lines beneath the one Mary made at the crown of his head. She had laughed and planted a kiss on his head, telling him that he was growing too quickly. John pushed the memory down and tucked it away with all the others. He was doing what needed to be done. He hoped Mary would understand that he was trying to protect her sons. In his mind, the only way to keep them safe was to find the thing that had killed her and kill it. He gave a last brush of his fingers to the marks on the frame and turned away, shutting the door behind him.
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Dean's 'Sammy radar' woke him suddenly with the unerring knowledge that his brother needed him. The mewling sounds coming from beside him and the thrashing arms and legs beating against his side told him all he needed to know. He tightened the arm he had around his little brother and pulled him in close.
"Sammy. Come on, Tiger. It's just a nightmare." Dean said softly, calmly. He should have known Sam wouldn't sleep without reliving what had happened, prone to nightmares as he was and Dean felt deep guilt that he hadn't been able to protect him from it.
"Dean?" John's voice came sleepily from the other bed.
"Just a nightmare, Dad. I got him." Dean added his injured arm to wrap around Sam, ignoring the twinges of pain and smoothed fingers through damp hair. Sunlight was trying to peek around the heavy curtains in the window, a single ray falling across Sam's face as the fear slowly began to smooth away with Dean's voice. "You're safe, Sammy." Dean felt the deep breath from his little brother as he relaxed finally into his chest. "I've got you." Sam was sleeping easily again and Dean followed after him, head resting in his dark shaggy hair.
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"We should find your friend, Kaz and talk to her again." John said absently while studying a map of Powder Mill Park. They had taken over a table in the back of the local library and Sam was, as usual, making quick work of the research needed. Somehow he always seemed to know exactly where to look and was as at home in a library as his father and brother were on the hunt.
"No, Dad." Dean said firmly and blushed as his father looked up at him in surprise.
"Care to explain why not?" John asked slowly, unused to having his eldest son question anything he said.
"She doesn't need to know this." Dean willed his father to understand. "Dad, if we're right, if her Mom was right, then Kaz led this thing to her mother. It won't matter it's not her fault. She didn't mean to. She didn't even know." He sighed. "But she'll have to live with knowing she caused her mother's death the rest of her life." Dean shrugged with one shoulder, his other arm in a sling. "Besides, she doesn't know anything about the ghost anyway other than he shows up."
John sat back, considering. The Hunter in him said 'talk to the witness, emotional fallout is not your problem' but the father in him was not so sure. He hoped that Sam would never have to know the truth of how his mother had died. John knew that his youngest's heart was big enough, sensitive enough that he would feel responsible, never mind he'd only been six months old. That wouldn't stop him feeling the guilt. He sighed, nodding.
"Alright, Dean. We'll leave her be." John agreed and smiled at the relief on his son's face. "I'm not an Ogre you know."
"You're not tall enough to be an Ogre." Sam said off hand as he came back to the table and set down a large book. Dean snorted and John barked a laugh. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and pulled the new book over.
"So what have you found?" John looked at the pages Sam had opened.
"Well it was a Powder Mill obviously. Started by a guy named Daniel Rand. They supplied gun and blasting powder during the Civil War." Sam grabbed the book from in front of Dean that his older brother had been ignoring and flipped it open as well. "There was a massive explosion at the Mill in 1887. I think that's when Rand died."
"You think?" Dean raised a brow.
"Yeah well, it doesn't actually say how he died, just that he did but it was the same year and the Mill went to his wife and oldest son." Sam pointed out a picture of the Rand family. "It was weird too. The powder explosion happened at just the right time when all the workers were at breakfast. Not a single casualty."
"Well isn't that convenient." John drawled and took a closer look at Daniel Rand, his Hunter senses tingling.
"Yeah. Maybe the reason this spirit is so pissed is because he was murdered up there." Dean frowned. "If this guy got blown up, there's not gonna be any bones to salt and burn."
"We'll have to go with a banishing spell then." John pulled his journal from his coat pocket and opened it, flipping through. "Bobby gave me one not too long ago. Haven't had a chance to try it yet."
"Hope it works better than the last one." Dean groaned. "I still have scars from that damn poltergeist."
"Can I come?" Sam asked and smiled hopefully up at his father.
"No way, Sammy." Dean answered instead. "Dude you're gonna stay at the motel and watch bad movies."
John smirked but agreed. "Dean's right. Not this time." He wasn't ready to see his son put in jeopardy again so soon after last night. Sam's shoulders rounded and he gave his best puppy dog eyes to his father to no avail. "Not going to work this time, son." John said and ruffled his hair affectionately.
Sam groaned and crossed his arms over his chest looking disgusted. He pulled his father's journal from his hands to look at the banishing spell while he and Dean discussed strategy. It wasn't as involved as the last Banishing spell he'd seen. That last had required drawing symbols on the ground, words spoken over each, herbs and crystals and all kinds of things that had had Dean cursing 'New Age nutjobs' for days after it hadn't worked. This one looked to be from early Judaism. Sam rolled the Latin words around in his head, memorizing them out of habit and the ritual itself. All that was required was a Pentacle, a silver knife and knowing which way was north. He smirked. Even Dean couldn't mess that up he thought to himself.
"The Sand hill seems to be where he's focused." Dean said and pointed to the location on the map for his father.
"That's where the family home used to be. On top of that hill." Sam offered. "It was torn down in the early 1900's."
"Huh." John held up the book Sam had first given him. "Guess when the sightings first started to appear."
"Same time the house came down?" Dean shook his head. "Figures. They blew him up, took his business and then tore down his house. I'd be pissed too."
"How'd he follow Kaz and her mom though?" Sam asked suddenly. "Don't ghosts usually stick to where they died?"
"Not always, Sammy." John smiled, proud of Sam's inquisitive mind and the intelligent question. "They can sometimes latch on to people and leave their haunt for a short time before they're pulled back. It takes an incredible amount of energy and will."
"They have to really want it." Dean added. "Can't blame him following Kaz." He said and smiled appreciatively to himself for a moment, remembering his evening in the backseat with relish. He jumped when his father smacked him up the side of the head with the map.
"That's enough of that." John glared at his son, instinctively knowing where his mind had gone.
"Head in the game. I know, Dad." Dean groaned and then gave him an irreverent smirk.
"Let's get back and get geared up for tonight." John rolled up the map and let Sam gather up the books he wanted, taking his journal back from Sam with a smile. Hopefully tonight would go fast and easy and they could be on their way tomorrow.
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John stood with Dean at the base of the Sand Hill in Powder Mills Park. It was just after eleven, the park closed and moonlight drifted between filmy clouds high above to wash across the sand and trees. The night air was warm again and filled with the sound of crickets and cicadas, a gentle breeze ruffling the long limbs of the Willow trees that seemed to abound everywhere they looked. Sam had told them the Willow trees were actually part of the blasting powder process, making his older brother pronounce him a 'geek' once again.
"It's a pretty place." John observed. He hefted the duffel bag to his shoulder, checked his shotgun and nodded to Dean. "Let's go make it safe again."
Dean checked the silver knife at his hip and brushed a hand over the Pentagram hanging on his chest and followed his father. Climbing the sand hill proved to be an exhausting affair. There were paths around the side of the hill but they were fenced and closed off at night and would add more than an hour on their time to the top if they followed them. Going straight up the front was faster, but the sand made for heavy going. They stopped halfway to lean against the wooden pilings and catch their breath.
"Wonder why Daniel the ghost hasn't shown himself yet?" Dean said and pulled out his EMF detector. He'd cobbled it together from an old Walkman and flicked it on. The needle lurched to the right and dropped again. "Well he's here somewhere."
"Or something is." John said. "There were multiple explosions here over the years it was in operation. Could be more than one spook."
"Awesome." Dean groaned and kept his shotgun handy, rock salt filled rounds ready. John pronounced the rest over and started to the top again, Dean on his heels. Periodically, Dean's detector would sound off and then go silent as if something was coming near and then moving off again. It was making Dean's teeth itch with tension. He wished the bastard would just appear already. He'd like the satisfaction of filling it full of salt.
John stumbled the last few feet to the top and bent over, hands on knees to catch his breath. Dean puffed up behind him and cussed at the climb, making his father grin. Dean may not be a Marine like his old man but he certainly cursed as though he were.
The top of the hill looked serene. There was a wide open space overhung with Willow trees. The ground was packed sand and dirt. John could almost see where the house had once been situated. The view would have been impressive. He headed for the center of the clearing, pulling a salt canister from his bag.
"We'll make a circle here. Give ourselves somewhere to fall back to." He announced and whirled around as Dean's detector suddenly screamed.
"Dad!" Dean shouted. The ghost appeared between them. As Dean had seen him before, he glowed white in the darkness, a full formed figure with no features. Dean raised his shotgun as his father did and then swore. Neither of them could shoot without hitting the other. The ghost made the point moot. It flung out one white arm and Dean felt himself knocked backwards. He grunted and pinwheeled back over the edge of the hill and down into the sand. He heard his father shout and then the report of a shotgun a moment later. Dean rolled into one of the wooden pylons with a grunt and felt his eyes cross as his wounded shoulder took the brunt of the impact. "Crap." He groaned and closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain.
"Dean!" John shot into the spirit the moment his son vanished from sight and watched it blown apart with satisfaction. He dropped the duffel and ran back to the edge of the hill. "Dean?" He could see his son resting against a row of wood fence twenty feet below. He slid over the side and used gravity to get him down faster, keeping his gun ready and clear of sand as he went.
"Dean." John reached him and palmed the back of his son's head, raising it up. "Are you alright?"
Dean groaned, teeth clenched and managed to get his eyes open. "Been…better." He managed and hissed out a breath as his shoulder screamed at him again. "I'm good. Get me up."
John knew his son was anything but good. He put it away though and took Dean's good arm, pulling him shakily to his feet. They had work to do and Dean had no choice but to suck it up for now. Worry tugged at him, seeing a growing wet spot on his son's left shoulder.
"Looks like you've pulled some stitches." John started toward the top again, noting how his son had kept hold of his shotgun all the way down and felt pride in his boy. He was becoming an excellent Hunter. "We'll take care of them after we send Daniel Rand on his way."
Dean ducked down to pick up his EMF detector as they neared the top. "Oh you bastard!" he cursed. "He killed my detector. Next time he shows up, I get to shoot him." Dean growled and John laughed.
"Deal." They reached the top and John got them both quickly to the center of the clearing. He let go of Dean, relieved when he stood solidly on his own and grabbed up the salt. He poured a large circle around his son. Just as he completed the circle, the ghost appeared again. Dean's gun echoed in John's ears as he shot and dissipated the spirit a second time.
"Hoo-ah!" Dean said fiercely and grinned. "Bet this is just pissing him off."
John said nothing, focused on the ritual now. He pulled over his duffel and retrieved a silver knife, then a wrought iron Pentagram on a thong he slipped over his neck. "Keep him off me while I perform the banishing." Dean nodded, serious at once and quickly reloaded his shotgun.
A gravelly voice crawled through the night air, the words scraping on their ears. "She…was…mine." The ghost flickered into sight beyond the circle and vanished again before Dean could fire.
John raised the silver knife and stepped just outside the circle to start the banishing ritual. "Ateh." He touched his forehead with the blade. "Malkuth." The blade tapped against his chest.
"You…took…her." The voice sounded again, softer.
"Hurry up, Dad." Dean growled, not liking where this was going.
"ve-Geburah." John tapped the blade to his right shoulder. "ve-Gedulah." Then again to his left shoulder and the ghost spoke again, this time in a whisper that made his skin crawl.
"I…will…take…him." The spirit appeared again beside John, threw its arms wide and disappeared.
"Dad?" Dean asked. John shook his head but didn't speak, not wanting to break the ritual.
John clasped his hands around the knife against his chest. "Le-Olahm, Amen." He turned to face east, holding out the knife as Metallica sounded from Dean's pocket.
"That's Sam." Dean said in surprise and fished the phone out, flipping it open. "Sammy?"
"Dean he's here!" Sam's panicked voice etched fear into Dean and he stared at his father with wide eyes.
"Dad! Stop! He's gone after Sam!" Dean almost screamed it and gave the phone to his father, ritual forgotten.
"Sam? Tell me what's happening?" John ordered in a clipped voice, swallowing the fear.
"Dad I looked out the window cause it got cold in here all of a sudden and he's just standing out there!" Sam was near tears; John could tell but was holding it together. "Dad why is he here?"
Dean was already picking up the duffel and his father's discarded shotgun. "Dad!" There was no doubt in his mind. Sam was in danger. They were going.
"Sam, I need you to stay calm." John said, purposefully keeping his voice even and trying to ratchet down the panic level of both his sons. "In the weapons bag under my bed. Get the Silver dagger and the Pentagram. I'll teach you the words…"
"I already know the ritual, Dad." Sam interrupted and smiled in spite of how scared he was when his Dad gave a small laugh.
"Of course you do." John shook his head. "Don't leave the room. Open the door but stay behind the salt line."
"Okay, Dad." Sam listened to Dean in the background begging their father to hurry and Dad's assurances that they would be there in minutes. Sam hung up the phone and looked out the window at the glowing figure as it moved closer. "I can do this."
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