spnxdf: Lost Sons Chapter 9
“You can’t be serious!” Harry protested.
Bob stared at him from the mantel of the fire place, his eye lights flickering like those of the candles collected around him. The evening chill had forced Harry out of his lab and now he stood pacing his small apartment with Sanya and Michael keeping watch from the couch.
The skull said nothing to otherwise prove the wizard wrong.
Harry felt something clench in the pit of his stomach. He dragged a hand back through his hair with a grimace and kept pacing in frustration.
Michael looked up from where he sat, his chin rested on his clasped hands and leaning against his knees. “You are certain of this, spirit?”
“The facts speak for themselves. The ritual in Carthage was the summoning of a Horsemen,” the skull reported. “The files you brought me about River Pass only confirm my findings.”
Sanya flipped slowly through the report, reading over the account that had been given by a priest caught in the thick of an all out war among the citizens of the Colorado town. The Knight confessed that he have been coming from River Pass to give these documents to Father Forthill for safe keeping, being the closest priest of the sacred Order that the Knights of the Cross answered to.
He had also been sent to Chicago because someone in Vatican City found out that the White Council had stuck its nose into Carthage and wanted to collect the notes from the lead investigator for comparison. Apparently they were too far behind the ball to collect any creditable evidence from the scene to conduct their own.
“There was a Horsemen in River Pass?” Harry asked.
“Yes. According to the priest, a man and his brother that arrived in the town shortly after the fighting broke out identified the Horsemen from specific signs that had been seen by the locals days earlier. Revelations 8:10.”
Michael looked down at the other files on the floor between them, warming in the light from the fireplace. “What about the other files, spirit?” he asked.
“More proof that the Apocalypse has started.” Bob replied.
Harry stopped pacing and leaned over the back of his couch. “What kind of proof?”
“Someone broke sixty six of the six hundred Seals to release Lucifer from Hell.”
Harry pointed at the rubber band bound folder. “There were only sixty four cases recorded. You’re off by two.”
“The first and the last Seals are the most important,” Bob explained. “Whatever you do, you have to break one specific Seal first and wrap up with the last one. If there are Horsemen walking the earth, then you can bet the farm that all sixty six were broken.”
Harry shook his head. “What are they then? If there are specific ones, why isn’t there a record of them being broken?”
Michael sighed as he stared into the fire from his seat. “The first Seal,” he began, “is broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell.”
The wizard’s eyes narrowed at him in confusion. “Wait,” he said. “How does that make any sense? If you’re a righteous man, isn’t impossible to end up downstairs?” Harry pointed to the floor.
“I am unsure myself as to how it might happen,” the former Knight confessed. “But it is not beyond the realm of possibility. It is a Seal.”
“What’s the last?” Harry asked.
“The first demon is the last Seal,” Michael said, pulling his gaze from the fire. “Lilith must be slain to complete the cycle.” He reached out and picked up the contents of a file titled ILLCHESTER, MD and held up a picture taken of a ruined monastery. The building and everything around it for a mile had been blown sky high and in the epicenter of the blast was a hole.
“St. Mary’s Convent,” he said. “In 1972, a priest murdered eight sisters of the order.” Michael picked up a scan of a newspaper clipping. “Father Lethne denied responsibility, claiming he was possessed by a demon named Azazel. Church records say that Azazel was given specific directions to find a special child and to free Lilith from the Pit to begin breaking the Seals.”
Bob let out a whistle. “Azazel, leader of the Grigori. Guess old habits die hard,” he muttered.
“Did the Denarians have anything to do with this?” Harry asked. “Nicodemus and his buddies?”
“Several of the Seals broken outside of North America were handled by the Denarians,” Sanya informed. “I collected the accounts of their destruction while in Africa, Europe, and Asia…but nobody knew for sure what was happened until the priest from River Pass contacted the Order.”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “Okay…so…who as the power to raise a Horsemen?”
“Denarians,” Sanya and Michael said together.
“Do we have any idea which one?” the wizard asked.
“Nothing specific,” Bob announced to the room. “The Horsemen in themselves are always bad news. The sacrifice of a whole city could be for any one of them.” The skull said.
Harry pointed to Sanya. “You said the priest was told who his Horsemen was by a complete stranger. Was there a name? Maybe we can ask them for some input.” He turned to the counter in the kitchen and picked up a pad of paper and a pencil.
“According to the priest, the man called himself Dean,” the Russian said.
Harry froze.
Michael noticed and frowned at him. “Something wrong?”
“Was there a last name?” the wizard demanded.
Sanya glanced at the paper. “No, all it says is that he had a brother who arrived with him. His name was Sam. They were friends of the first group of outsiders that came into the town the day before.”
Harry grabbed the briefing from the Knight’s hands and started to read himself. He flipped back several pages and started from the beginning. Halfway through the second page his shoulders dropped and his expression sobered.
“Ellen and Joanna Harvelle.” The wizard dropped the paper. “They were in River Pass when the first Horsemen appeared. And so were the Winchester brothers.”
Michael and Sanya shared a look before turning their attention back to Harry. “Do you know who they are?”
Harry nodded slowly as he came around the end of the couch and took a seat, staring down at the stacks of files and the pictures from all the locations listed. He sighed and flicked the paper in his hand onto the floor, letting it land where ever it wanted. “Harvelle and her daughter were in Carthage.”
Michael perked up. “Did they survive?”
“No.” Harry whispered. “They died killing a pack of Hellhounds from the looks of it.” He looked up at the former Knight. “The priests at St. Mary’s were attacked by something with the teeth and claws of a big dog.”
Sanya leaned forward. “Harry, if those where hellhounds…then that means whatever was in Carthage is now here in Chicago.”
-----
Since he was not limited to the use of cars and distance to find Dean, Castiel could search the whole city just by taking flight and trying to deduce where his charge would seek solace from his inner turmoil. Sam was right in pointing out many of the bars would be closed due to the holiday that was taking place. Dean had also, shockingly, left his car behind, further limiting the scope of their search.
Castiel figured Dean had decided for once to escape through public transportation.
So it was no surprise to the seraphim when he found his hunter on the El, stone cold sober.
Dean ignored him as the angel took a seat next to him. In turn, Castiel sat back and kept his eyes trained ahead, starting out the adjacent window and watching a wintered Chicago flash by. Their car was for the most part vacant save a bum who was looking for a place to sleep on such a chilly night and the officers patrolling the train didn’t have the heart to kick him out on Thanksgiving.
He wasn’t sure which part of the city he was in, but Dean at this point could have cared less. He knew it was impossible to hide from his brother or the angel and they would eventually find him or wait till he came back to the motel.
The former happened first.
“Your brother is looking for you,” Castiel said, staring out the window in front of him.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean growled.
“Sam is very worried about you,” the angel tried again. “You may not be aware of it, but his pain for what happened runs just as deep as yours.”
Dean shook his head, snorting in disbelief. “You know, I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Castiel lowered his head. “If you choose to express yourself Dean, you will overcome your guilt and find the peace you are seeking.”
At this the hunter shot to his feet and paced a little ways down the cabin. He grabbed a hold of a rail and squeezed until his knuckles turned white.
“Violence is not the release that you need.” Castiel amended.
Dean turned on him, furious. “They are dead, Cas! They are dead because of me! Because of Sam! Ellen and Jo!” He all but roared. “They died trying to save the god damn world!”
Castiel stared at him. “Yes they did,” he replied gravely. “And they will be rewarded for their noble sacrifice.”
“Shut up.” Dean ordered. “Just shut your friggin’ mouth!”
The angel raised his head in challenge but sat back in his seat and watched as the hunter paced, like a tiger in a cage. He had seen his charge confronted with a multitude of trials, one in particular the confrontation with his former master from Hell. This was no different. Dean was riddled with overwhelming guilt. Doubt had eclipsed the hunter and driven him right to the very edge. From where the angel sat, he could see within the mind of his charge and could see him calculating. Was this the end? Was this the future that Zachariah promised happening? Should he just give in now and not have to bear the loss of his brother or Robert Singer? Had he finally become his father? Did he let Jo and Ellen die like John Winchester had William?
And then there was the pain that surged like a swollen river beneath the frozen surface of his guilt and anger.
“I failed,” Dean ground out.
Castiel pulled himself back from Dean’s mind and regarded his charge with rapt attention. “Your guilt stems from a failure that neither you, your brother, nor I were aware of,” he said. “Dean, you must understand that you alone are not the only one burden with the loss of the Harvelles. And while you will not freely admit it to your brother or I, your pain cuts deeper than ours only because you realized too late that you had fallen in love…and had been for sometime.”
“I put a detonator in her hand, Cas,” Dean whispered. “I made the bomb that blew her and her mother to Hell.”
Castiel stood up and came to stand before Dean, their eyes meeting.
“You believe that the guilt is yours and yours alone to bear,” the seraphim informed. “You have been too preoccupied in blaming yourself for something that was beyond all of our control to prevent. You have not taken the time to notice that your brother feels equally as responsible for Ellen and Joanna’s deaths. Your friend Robert Singer blames himself for not being able to assist you when you needed him the most.”
Dean stared at Castiel, his resolve starting to weaken. “What about you then?” he demanded.
The angel’s jaw tightened. “I flung myself carelessly back into the search for my Father so that we would not suffer the deaths of what remains of our friends and family. For my recklessness brought on by guilt, I may have cost us our only chance at preventing the end of the world.”
Dean swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, no longer intending to stare his angel down. Castiel waited, swaying back and forth with the movement of the train while Dean gripped a poll for balance.
It wasn’t until the train came to a stop at the next station that Dean looked up.
“Cas?” Dean murmured.
“Yes, Dean?” the angel replied.
“I’m…lost. Can you give me a lift back to the motel?”
Castiel reached up with two fingers and pressed them to Dean’s forehead.
-----
By the time Dean had recovered enough to face his brother, he called Sam’s cell to bring him back to the motel. When Sam didn’t answer, Dean checked his phone again and found several voice messages waiting for him. He scoffed a little and began to listen to his brother’s frustrated calls. His humor drained as the last of the messages began to play.
After activating the GPS in Sam’s phone, Castiel whisked them both across the distance and dropped them about a block and a half from were the signal originated from. Dean guessed that he had only been twenty minutes behind his brother’s message and it was apparently enough for the whole world to just go to hell.
The Impala sat quietly at a stop light with a half dozen police officers standing around it, taking photographs of the car and surrounding areas. Another group of officers were spread out across the street, scanning the tracks in the snow and contacting patrol cars over their radios.
Sam was nowhere in sight.
“No,” Dean choked out in numb horror. He took a step forward towards the scene.
Castiel reached out, taking a hold of Dean’s coat sleeve. “Dean, we should leave.”
The hunter remained still, even when an officer looked up from opening the trunk of the Impala and found the two of them standing there in the middle of the snow-covered street.
“Dean!” Castiel pressed.
“Sam…”
The angel stepped in front of his charge. “If they have not found the weapons cache yet, they are going to find it eventually. We must leave Dean. You are no good to your brother if you have been arrested and charged for carrying illegal weapons and false identification.”
Dean snapped his gaze from the Impala and the approaching uniform and cast mortified eyes on the seraphim.
Castiel flew them away, leaving the officer that was coming for them blinking owlishly at the spot they had just been standing in. He would have just passed it off as a figment of his imagination if he hadn’t walked up to the spot and found two sets of shoe prints…that neither came nor went from where they appeared.
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Bob stared at him from the mantel of the fire place, his eye lights flickering like those of the candles collected around him. The evening chill had forced Harry out of his lab and now he stood pacing his small apartment with Sanya and Michael keeping watch from the couch.
The skull said nothing to otherwise prove the wizard wrong.
Harry felt something clench in the pit of his stomach. He dragged a hand back through his hair with a grimace and kept pacing in frustration.
Michael looked up from where he sat, his chin rested on his clasped hands and leaning against his knees. “You are certain of this, spirit?”
“The facts speak for themselves. The ritual in Carthage was the summoning of a Horsemen,” the skull reported. “The files you brought me about River Pass only confirm my findings.”
Sanya flipped slowly through the report, reading over the account that had been given by a priest caught in the thick of an all out war among the citizens of the Colorado town. The Knight confessed that he have been coming from River Pass to give these documents to Father Forthill for safe keeping, being the closest priest of the sacred Order that the Knights of the Cross answered to.
He had also been sent to Chicago because someone in Vatican City found out that the White Council had stuck its nose into Carthage and wanted to collect the notes from the lead investigator for comparison. Apparently they were too far behind the ball to collect any creditable evidence from the scene to conduct their own.
“There was a Horsemen in River Pass?” Harry asked.
“Yes. According to the priest, a man and his brother that arrived in the town shortly after the fighting broke out identified the Horsemen from specific signs that had been seen by the locals days earlier. Revelations 8:10.”
Michael looked down at the other files on the floor between them, warming in the light from the fireplace. “What about the other files, spirit?” he asked.
“More proof that the Apocalypse has started.” Bob replied.
Harry stopped pacing and leaned over the back of his couch. “What kind of proof?”
“Someone broke sixty six of the six hundred Seals to release Lucifer from Hell.”
Harry pointed at the rubber band bound folder. “There were only sixty four cases recorded. You’re off by two.”
“The first and the last Seals are the most important,” Bob explained. “Whatever you do, you have to break one specific Seal first and wrap up with the last one. If there are Horsemen walking the earth, then you can bet the farm that all sixty six were broken.”
Harry shook his head. “What are they then? If there are specific ones, why isn’t there a record of them being broken?”
Michael sighed as he stared into the fire from his seat. “The first Seal,” he began, “is broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell.”
The wizard’s eyes narrowed at him in confusion. “Wait,” he said. “How does that make any sense? If you’re a righteous man, isn’t impossible to end up downstairs?” Harry pointed to the floor.
“I am unsure myself as to how it might happen,” the former Knight confessed. “But it is not beyond the realm of possibility. It is a Seal.”
“What’s the last?” Harry asked.
“The first demon is the last Seal,” Michael said, pulling his gaze from the fire. “Lilith must be slain to complete the cycle.” He reached out and picked up the contents of a file titled ILLCHESTER, MD and held up a picture taken of a ruined monastery. The building and everything around it for a mile had been blown sky high and in the epicenter of the blast was a hole.
“St. Mary’s Convent,” he said. “In 1972, a priest murdered eight sisters of the order.” Michael picked up a scan of a newspaper clipping. “Father Lethne denied responsibility, claiming he was possessed by a demon named Azazel. Church records say that Azazel was given specific directions to find a special child and to free Lilith from the Pit to begin breaking the Seals.”
Bob let out a whistle. “Azazel, leader of the Grigori. Guess old habits die hard,” he muttered.
“Did the Denarians have anything to do with this?” Harry asked. “Nicodemus and his buddies?”
“Several of the Seals broken outside of North America were handled by the Denarians,” Sanya informed. “I collected the accounts of their destruction while in Africa, Europe, and Asia…but nobody knew for sure what was happened until the priest from River Pass contacted the Order.”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “Okay…so…who as the power to raise a Horsemen?”
“Denarians,” Sanya and Michael said together.
“Do we have any idea which one?” the wizard asked.
“Nothing specific,” Bob announced to the room. “The Horsemen in themselves are always bad news. The sacrifice of a whole city could be for any one of them.” The skull said.
Harry pointed to Sanya. “You said the priest was told who his Horsemen was by a complete stranger. Was there a name? Maybe we can ask them for some input.” He turned to the counter in the kitchen and picked up a pad of paper and a pencil.
“According to the priest, the man called himself Dean,” the Russian said.
Harry froze.
Michael noticed and frowned at him. “Something wrong?”
“Was there a last name?” the wizard demanded.
Sanya glanced at the paper. “No, all it says is that he had a brother who arrived with him. His name was Sam. They were friends of the first group of outsiders that came into the town the day before.”
Harry grabbed the briefing from the Knight’s hands and started to read himself. He flipped back several pages and started from the beginning. Halfway through the second page his shoulders dropped and his expression sobered.
“Ellen and Joanna Harvelle.” The wizard dropped the paper. “They were in River Pass when the first Horsemen appeared. And so were the Winchester brothers.”
Michael and Sanya shared a look before turning their attention back to Harry. “Do you know who they are?”
Harry nodded slowly as he came around the end of the couch and took a seat, staring down at the stacks of files and the pictures from all the locations listed. He sighed and flicked the paper in his hand onto the floor, letting it land where ever it wanted. “Harvelle and her daughter were in Carthage.”
Michael perked up. “Did they survive?”
“No.” Harry whispered. “They died killing a pack of Hellhounds from the looks of it.” He looked up at the former Knight. “The priests at St. Mary’s were attacked by something with the teeth and claws of a big dog.”
Sanya leaned forward. “Harry, if those where hellhounds…then that means whatever was in Carthage is now here in Chicago.”
-----
Since he was not limited to the use of cars and distance to find Dean, Castiel could search the whole city just by taking flight and trying to deduce where his charge would seek solace from his inner turmoil. Sam was right in pointing out many of the bars would be closed due to the holiday that was taking place. Dean had also, shockingly, left his car behind, further limiting the scope of their search.
Castiel figured Dean had decided for once to escape through public transportation.
So it was no surprise to the seraphim when he found his hunter on the El, stone cold sober.
Dean ignored him as the angel took a seat next to him. In turn, Castiel sat back and kept his eyes trained ahead, starting out the adjacent window and watching a wintered Chicago flash by. Their car was for the most part vacant save a bum who was looking for a place to sleep on such a chilly night and the officers patrolling the train didn’t have the heart to kick him out on Thanksgiving.
He wasn’t sure which part of the city he was in, but Dean at this point could have cared less. He knew it was impossible to hide from his brother or the angel and they would eventually find him or wait till he came back to the motel.
The former happened first.
“Your brother is looking for you,” Castiel said, staring out the window in front of him.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean growled.
“Sam is very worried about you,” the angel tried again. “You may not be aware of it, but his pain for what happened runs just as deep as yours.”
Dean shook his head, snorting in disbelief. “You know, I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Castiel lowered his head. “If you choose to express yourself Dean, you will overcome your guilt and find the peace you are seeking.”
At this the hunter shot to his feet and paced a little ways down the cabin. He grabbed a hold of a rail and squeezed until his knuckles turned white.
“Violence is not the release that you need.” Castiel amended.
Dean turned on him, furious. “They are dead, Cas! They are dead because of me! Because of Sam! Ellen and Jo!” He all but roared. “They died trying to save the god damn world!”
Castiel stared at him. “Yes they did,” he replied gravely. “And they will be rewarded for their noble sacrifice.”
“Shut up.” Dean ordered. “Just shut your friggin’ mouth!”
The angel raised his head in challenge but sat back in his seat and watched as the hunter paced, like a tiger in a cage. He had seen his charge confronted with a multitude of trials, one in particular the confrontation with his former master from Hell. This was no different. Dean was riddled with overwhelming guilt. Doubt had eclipsed the hunter and driven him right to the very edge. From where the angel sat, he could see within the mind of his charge and could see him calculating. Was this the end? Was this the future that Zachariah promised happening? Should he just give in now and not have to bear the loss of his brother or Robert Singer? Had he finally become his father? Did he let Jo and Ellen die like John Winchester had William?
And then there was the pain that surged like a swollen river beneath the frozen surface of his guilt and anger.
“I failed,” Dean ground out.
Castiel pulled himself back from Dean’s mind and regarded his charge with rapt attention. “Your guilt stems from a failure that neither you, your brother, nor I were aware of,” he said. “Dean, you must understand that you alone are not the only one burden with the loss of the Harvelles. And while you will not freely admit it to your brother or I, your pain cuts deeper than ours only because you realized too late that you had fallen in love…and had been for sometime.”
“I put a detonator in her hand, Cas,” Dean whispered. “I made the bomb that blew her and her mother to Hell.”
Castiel stood up and came to stand before Dean, their eyes meeting.
“You believe that the guilt is yours and yours alone to bear,” the seraphim informed. “You have been too preoccupied in blaming yourself for something that was beyond all of our control to prevent. You have not taken the time to notice that your brother feels equally as responsible for Ellen and Joanna’s deaths. Your friend Robert Singer blames himself for not being able to assist you when you needed him the most.”
Dean stared at Castiel, his resolve starting to weaken. “What about you then?” he demanded.
The angel’s jaw tightened. “I flung myself carelessly back into the search for my Father so that we would not suffer the deaths of what remains of our friends and family. For my recklessness brought on by guilt, I may have cost us our only chance at preventing the end of the world.”
Dean swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, no longer intending to stare his angel down. Castiel waited, swaying back and forth with the movement of the train while Dean gripped a poll for balance.
It wasn’t until the train came to a stop at the next station that Dean looked up.
“Cas?” Dean murmured.
“Yes, Dean?” the angel replied.
“I’m…lost. Can you give me a lift back to the motel?”
Castiel reached up with two fingers and pressed them to Dean’s forehead.
-----
By the time Dean had recovered enough to face his brother, he called Sam’s cell to bring him back to the motel. When Sam didn’t answer, Dean checked his phone again and found several voice messages waiting for him. He scoffed a little and began to listen to his brother’s frustrated calls. His humor drained as the last of the messages began to play.
After activating the GPS in Sam’s phone, Castiel whisked them both across the distance and dropped them about a block and a half from were the signal originated from. Dean guessed that he had only been twenty minutes behind his brother’s message and it was apparently enough for the whole world to just go to hell.
The Impala sat quietly at a stop light with a half dozen police officers standing around it, taking photographs of the car and surrounding areas. Another group of officers were spread out across the street, scanning the tracks in the snow and contacting patrol cars over their radios.
Sam was nowhere in sight.
“No,” Dean choked out in numb horror. He took a step forward towards the scene.
Castiel reached out, taking a hold of Dean’s coat sleeve. “Dean, we should leave.”
The hunter remained still, even when an officer looked up from opening the trunk of the Impala and found the two of them standing there in the middle of the snow-covered street.
“Dean!” Castiel pressed.
“Sam…”
The angel stepped in front of his charge. “If they have not found the weapons cache yet, they are going to find it eventually. We must leave Dean. You are no good to your brother if you have been arrested and charged for carrying illegal weapons and false identification.”
Dean snapped his gaze from the Impala and the approaching uniform and cast mortified eyes on the seraphim.
Castiel flew them away, leaving the officer that was coming for them blinking owlishly at the spot they had just been standing in. He would have just passed it off as a figment of his imagination if he hadn’t walked up to the spot and found two sets of shoe prints…that neither came nor went from where they appeared.
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