2: character: Dividend by disanddat
2: character: Dividend by disanddat
So, scratch possible method of exorcism number five off the list, John told himself as he looked down at the limp body before him. Not that sending that thrice-damned demon inside the woman back to hell wasn’t a victory… but if the host body didn’t survive, well… then this ritual wasn’t going to help Sammy.
John had to consciously work at unlocking his fingers, and even then, he was clumsy enough that his journal fell to the metal deck with a dull thud. Ashes puffed up at the impact, sending the dusty remains of burnt angelica root and duranatite shavings wafting about his feet. John’s ribs ached. There was a chance that the demon had cracked one of them when she’d thrown him against the bulkhead back near the entrance. Warmth trickled out one of his ears and his half-clogged head made it hard to find his balance for a few seconds.
There wasn’t any time to waste on recovery. Not yet. John needed to store the woman’s body into a status chamber as soon as possible. He didn’t want her organs degrading.
PsyCorps might be a plague on the greater portion of mankind, but the demon parasites took damned fine care of their host bodies. The woman on the deck was worth a small fortune in credits at the body shop on Pirainn Six if he could get it there while she was still viable for harvest.
Some mother or father, somewhere in the galaxy, might want to lay claim on the remains of their long-lost child, but then again… if they knew anything about the way things worked, they had likely written their child off the day after she left for training. If the exorcism had worked a little better, she could have gone home, but it didn’t. That was just fate. It was over for this woman, but it wasn’t too late for Sammy. John needed the credits her body parts would provide to keep his boy safe.
Staggering slightly, he bent to catch at one quickly cooling leg. Dragging the body, he pulled it away from the intricate web of nearly invisible markings that decorated the walls, deck and ceiling of this part of his blocky ship. Her uniform snagged on one of the ridges where her attempts to escape the ritual had gouged up the flooring. John made a mental note to smooth and re-etch this section of the corridor later. The salt circle was broken, the fine grains scattered, as the body crossed it.
Five times now he’d lured a member of the Corps down into the belly of his ship, giving them the impression that they were going to be the one to take down John Winchester. Five times he’d exposed himself to possible capture, he’d bloodied the deck of his ship, he’d risked leaving Dean alone to fight for Sam… but all five times it had paid off. Each time John had been able to refine the rite of expelling the demons just a little more. Sooner or later he was going to find just the right combination of words, chemicals and symbols. Sooner or later he was going find the way to free his son.
The toe of his heavy boot caught on a metal ring in the floor. John hadn’t realized he’d staggered so far so fast. Splatters of blood hit the patterned metal as John bent to heave up the trap door. His nose was bleeding too. Strange, he hadn’t noticed the taste. Maybe he’d become too accustomed to having blood on his tongue.
Muscles protested as John shoved the trap door the rest of the way open. It hit the decking and the resounding metallic clang sent a spike of pain lancing through his head. John meant to descend just a few steps and then gather up the body but his heel missed the edge of the third step and he slid. Landing hard, John cursed. His knee was going to be aching for days. Worst of all, he didn’t even dare pause to catch his breath, not yet.
Ignoring possible damage to the woman’s skull, John ended up dragging her down the stairs. Not many of the backwater places John dealt with had the tech to harvest brains anyway. He wouldn’t get any more than ‘meat’ value for what was above her neck, so no big loss.
It wasn’t until she was tucked in, hooked up and closed inside the pod that John dared to just sit quietly and catch his breath. The body needed to be completely hidden from the internal sensors of the ship before John dared to reactivate the ship’s on-board computer systems. “Wake up, computer. Security code CSG 8R3. Activate.”
Dragging himself back upright by leaning on the status chamber, John rose. He half crawled up the steps to return to the corridor. Securing the trap door after him took what felt like forever, but he wasn’t comfortable leaving it unlocked even though he was the only one on the ship.
All the lights were back up to full power and a faint hum filled the ship, telling John the computer was back on-line and ready to accept orders. John shuffled down the hallway and into the small med bay so he could dig through the drawers. “Computer, lock us up tight and put in a request for clearance to leave.”
John wanted nothing to do with the kind of AI system that Dean used. He didn’t dare become attached to any one ship, to any one computer system. John needed to be able to walk away from or destroy his vessel at any moment. Most of all, John didn’t want even a faint echo of someone he cared about watching over him and maybe seeing just how far he’d drifted into the dark during this quest for information and credits.
When this was over, and it would be someday… it had to be… John didn’t want to risk the smallest chance of Sammy ever finding out just what John had done to bring him back. When this was over the first damned thing John was going to do was auto pilot his ship into a sun and wipe out all the evidence of blood, desperation and death that clung to it.
“Destination, sir?” The ship asked in an obviously synthesized voice.
“The Pirainn system,” John provided before stuffing a wad of gauze into his nose.
“You received two messages from Dean Winchester, one message from Robert Singer and five messages from Station since disabling the operating system.” The ship spoke in a bland monotone. John knew he had to be imagining the pointed hint of accusation as he decided to ignore more of Dean’s messages. He couldn’t talk to Dean. Not while there was a corpse on board, not until John had credits to transfer and some bit of information to distract Dean from asking what John had been doing for the last twenty-four days.
“Send my apologies to station and tell them we’ve been having repair issues. Store Dean’s messages with the others. Send a recorded transmission to Bobby saying I’ll get back to him tomorrow.” Best Bobby didn’t see or hear John either, not until John got cleaned up and cooled down. He might sense John had been up to something, something even more illegal than usual. “The path from Corridor 3b back to the docking port needs sanitizing. Put a ‘bot on the job. Tell it to salvage the salt first… and no records of the clean up.” His orders were muffled and nasal, but the computer had managed to understand him even with a broken nose in the past. It should manage.
A mirror pulled down from the ceiling. John winced. He looked like crap. The entire left side of his face was darkening to purple and green. Fuck, but he was tired and sore… but it was no more than he deserved. He’d failed his boys. He’d thought he was raising them right, preparing them for the worst horrors that this life could throw at a man, but he’d screwed up. He’d taught them too much, but at the same time, not nearly enough… and Sammy had paid the price. Now John had to make it right, no matter what the cost to himself or anyone outside the family, physically, mentally or morally… John was going to get Sammy free and give him back to Dean.
“Computer. Send a message to Doctor Burton Tyler… settlement Kwan on Pirainn Six. Tell him John Winchester has merchandise to sell.”
So, scratch possible method of exorcism number five off the list, John told himself as he looked down at the limp body before him. Not that sending that thrice-damned demon inside the woman back to hell wasn’t a victory… but if the host body didn’t survive, well… then this ritual wasn’t going to help Sammy.
John had to consciously work at unlocking his fingers, and even then, he was clumsy enough that his journal fell to the metal deck with a dull thud. Ashes puffed up at the impact, sending the dusty remains of burnt angelica root and duranatite shavings wafting about his feet. John’s ribs ached. There was a chance that the demon had cracked one of them when she’d thrown him against the bulkhead back near the entrance. Warmth trickled out one of his ears and his half-clogged head made it hard to find his balance for a few seconds.
There wasn’t any time to waste on recovery. Not yet. John needed to store the woman’s body into a status chamber as soon as possible. He didn’t want her organs degrading.
PsyCorps might be a plague on the greater portion of mankind, but the demon parasites took damned fine care of their host bodies. The woman on the deck was worth a small fortune in credits at the body shop on Pirainn Six if he could get it there while she was still viable for harvest.
Some mother or father, somewhere in the galaxy, might want to lay claim on the remains of their long-lost child, but then again… if they knew anything about the way things worked, they had likely written their child off the day after she left for training. If the exorcism had worked a little better, she could have gone home, but it didn’t. That was just fate. It was over for this woman, but it wasn’t too late for Sammy. John needed the credits her body parts would provide to keep his boy safe.
Staggering slightly, he bent to catch at one quickly cooling leg. Dragging the body, he pulled it away from the intricate web of nearly invisible markings that decorated the walls, deck and ceiling of this part of his blocky ship. Her uniform snagged on one of the ridges where her attempts to escape the ritual had gouged up the flooring. John made a mental note to smooth and re-etch this section of the corridor later. The salt circle was broken, the fine grains scattered, as the body crossed it.
Five times now he’d lured a member of the Corps down into the belly of his ship, giving them the impression that they were going to be the one to take down John Winchester. Five times he’d exposed himself to possible capture, he’d bloodied the deck of his ship, he’d risked leaving Dean alone to fight for Sam… but all five times it had paid off. Each time John had been able to refine the rite of expelling the demons just a little more. Sooner or later he was going to find just the right combination of words, chemicals and symbols. Sooner or later he was going find the way to free his son.
The toe of his heavy boot caught on a metal ring in the floor. John hadn’t realized he’d staggered so far so fast. Splatters of blood hit the patterned metal as John bent to heave up the trap door. His nose was bleeding too. Strange, he hadn’t noticed the taste. Maybe he’d become too accustomed to having blood on his tongue.
Muscles protested as John shoved the trap door the rest of the way open. It hit the decking and the resounding metallic clang sent a spike of pain lancing through his head. John meant to descend just a few steps and then gather up the body but his heel missed the edge of the third step and he slid. Landing hard, John cursed. His knee was going to be aching for days. Worst of all, he didn’t even dare pause to catch his breath, not yet.
Ignoring possible damage to the woman’s skull, John ended up dragging her down the stairs. Not many of the backwater places John dealt with had the tech to harvest brains anyway. He wouldn’t get any more than ‘meat’ value for what was above her neck, so no big loss.
It wasn’t until she was tucked in, hooked up and closed inside the pod that John dared to just sit quietly and catch his breath. The body needed to be completely hidden from the internal sensors of the ship before John dared to reactivate the ship’s on-board computer systems. “Wake up, computer. Security code CSG 8R3. Activate.”
Dragging himself back upright by leaning on the status chamber, John rose. He half crawled up the steps to return to the corridor. Securing the trap door after him took what felt like forever, but he wasn’t comfortable leaving it unlocked even though he was the only one on the ship.
All the lights were back up to full power and a faint hum filled the ship, telling John the computer was back on-line and ready to accept orders. John shuffled down the hallway and into the small med bay so he could dig through the drawers. “Computer, lock us up tight and put in a request for clearance to leave.”
John wanted nothing to do with the kind of AI system that Dean used. He didn’t dare become attached to any one ship, to any one computer system. John needed to be able to walk away from or destroy his vessel at any moment. Most of all, John didn’t want even a faint echo of someone he cared about watching over him and maybe seeing just how far he’d drifted into the dark during this quest for information and credits.
When this was over, and it would be someday… it had to be… John didn’t want to risk the smallest chance of Sammy ever finding out just what John had done to bring him back. When this was over the first damned thing John was going to do was auto pilot his ship into a sun and wipe out all the evidence of blood, desperation and death that clung to it.
“Destination, sir?” The ship asked in an obviously synthesized voice.
“The Pirainn system,” John provided before stuffing a wad of gauze into his nose.
“You received two messages from Dean Winchester, one message from Robert Singer and five messages from Station since disabling the operating system.” The ship spoke in a bland monotone. John knew he had to be imagining the pointed hint of accusation as he decided to ignore more of Dean’s messages. He couldn’t talk to Dean. Not while there was a corpse on board, not until John had credits to transfer and some bit of information to distract Dean from asking what John had been doing for the last twenty-four days.
“Send my apologies to station and tell them we’ve been having repair issues. Store Dean’s messages with the others. Send a recorded transmission to Bobby saying I’ll get back to him tomorrow.” Best Bobby didn’t see or hear John either, not until John got cleaned up and cooled down. He might sense John had been up to something, something even more illegal than usual. “The path from Corridor 3b back to the docking port needs sanitizing. Put a ‘bot on the job. Tell it to salvage the salt first… and no records of the clean up.” His orders were muffled and nasal, but the computer had managed to understand him even with a broken nose in the past. It should manage.
A mirror pulled down from the ceiling. John winced. He looked like crap. The entire left side of his face was darkening to purple and green. Fuck, but he was tired and sore… but it was no more than he deserved. He’d failed his boys. He’d thought he was raising them right, preparing them for the worst horrors that this life could throw at a man, but he’d screwed up. He’d taught them too much, but at the same time, not nearly enough… and Sammy had paid the price. Now John had to make it right, no matter what the cost to himself or anyone outside the family, physically, mentally or morally… John was going to get Sammy free and give him back to Dean.
“Computer. Send a message to Doctor Burton Tyler… settlement Kwan on Pirainn Six. Tell him John Winchester has merchandise to sell.”