Chapter ten
Chapter Ten
It was only the second time he’d come back to Lawrence. It had a strange kind of feel to it, like it just seemed right that Sam’s destiny would both begin and end here. The small town had always lived close to him in the back of his mind, like a dark whirlpool of misery he would never quite escape.
The air was tight around the city, feeling heavy and wet in spite of the winter cold. There was no snow on the ground, and a strange breeze blew across the landscape. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say they were in for a blizzard.
What they were really in for was much, much worse. He had to warn the few people that would believe him while there was still a chance.
He headed straight for Missouri Mosley’s house. When he rounded the corner and pulled up into the drive, she was waiting for him, bags packed and the car already loaded. Readying a second car behind her in the garage, Dean could make out the shapes of a few more people.
Jenny, he recognized, and her two kids.
He smiled. He should have known the psychic would be ready.
She was waiting for him with immense sorrow in her eyes, and when he stepped out of the Impala she pulled him in for a tight embrace. He stiffened. “Uh … hey.” He mumbled.
Missouri leaned back, breaking the hug and craning her neck to look up into his face. “Hello, Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”
“So I saw.” He answered, attempting a smile. “Guess you heard - saw - what’s comin’.”
She closed her eyes, focusing on things that Dean didn’t want to imagine. “Death,” she whispered. “Evil. Monsters rising from the dark.” Tears slipped out from underneath her eyelids and she wiped them away in frustration. “I’m so sorry, honey.” She backed away from him then, like being near him was frightening to her. “I’m sorry about Sam.”
Dean nodded tightly. Fear fluttered low in his gut. He had to ask. “Can I save him?”
She held out her hand, palm facing upwards. Her eyes grew hard with determination, like she was steeling herself for what she might see. He didn’t hesitate. He placed his hand over hers and waited.
After a long moment she broke away shivering. Sweat had broken out along her neck despite the winter chill. “I’m not going to lie to you, boy. Sam is dangerous.” She smiled a wistful smile and reached up to pat his cheek. “But you’re a Winchester, and that makes you stubborn as they come in my book. Baby, if anyone can save him, it’s you.”
He grinned. Good to know some people never change. “Thanks, Missouri.”
“You’re welcome, boy. Now go on, get movin’. Jenny left you some food in the fridge.”
Dean nodded in understanding, and then handed Missouri a scrap of paper with Bobby’s number on it. “Call Bobby Singer,” he said. “He can hook you up with the underground. They’ve got places you can hide until it’s over.”
She accepted the number. “You be careful, Dean.”
“I will Missouri, and thanks again.”
Jenny waved to him from the garage, and he waved back. He climbed back into the car and threw it in reverse.
There was nowhere left to go but home.
~*~
Dean parked the car in the garage and put a ring of salt around it, just in case. He left the door unlocked and the keys inside. If he needed to make a break for it, she’d be there waiting for him.
Hefting the sword from the backseat, he headed inside. The house was dark and quiet, and the front door was unlocked. Dean took in the living area in wonder. Jenny and her family had turned the place into a home. Pictures lined the hallways, little macaroni drawings adorned the fridge, and there was clutter around the base of the stairs. Dean felt his throat constrict. Someone had lived here. For a couple of years, someone had lived here, and they’d been happy.
He gripped the sword tightly and he felt the metal respond, heating warm inside his palms. He bowed his head, focused. “Ok,” he whispered. “What now?”
His phone rang, echoing off of the darkened walls of the house, and he nearly dropped the sword. He fumbled for the keypad. “Hello?”
“Missouri just called me. Anything you’d like to let me know?” The voice on the other end sounded pissed.
“Bobby.” Dean stood and restlessly began to pace, wearing a path into the floor near the front door.
“The hell are you doin’, boy! There ain’t no reason to stay behind and get yourself killed.” The older man insisted.
“Bobby, Sam’s comin’, man, I know he is. I gotta stop him. I’m the only one that can, and you know it.” He answered, wishing he sounded more sure of himself.
“I’m comin’ out there.” No room for argument.
“No! Wait! Bobby, no. You can’t. He’ll kill you.” Dean paused, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t - I can’t focus on Sam if I’m worried about you.” he admitted. He knew Bobby would take it just about as well as he took it from his father, but it was the truth. Talk about hindsight being 20-20.
“You sound like John.” Bobby said tightly. “It was crap then and it’s crap now. You can’t do this alone, and I’m comin’.”
“Bobby, man - you can’t” He breathed, tingles running down his spine. The sword pulsed in his hand, and the lone lamp that was on flickered from the kitchen. The impression this time was twice as strong.
Move. Move NOW.
“Give me one good reason, Dean!” Bobby yelled.
Dean turned and headed upstairs as fast as he could run. “Because. He’s already here.” He clicked the phone shut and gained the second floor. He rushed into Jenny’s room and crept up to the window.
The advance of Sam’s demons had been completely silent. Dean fought down panic at the sight of their sheer numbers. A great smoking cloud billowed over the neighborhood, blotting out the afternoon sunset. Walking forcefully down the middle of the street was a small group of demons that had human hosts. One form stood head and shoulders above the rest.
It was Sam.
Underneath the blackened sky, Dean could make out Sam gesturing, and the pillars of demonic clouds split off into every direction, blanketing the city.
Lilith’s slight form stood at Sam’s right hand. A small group remained with the pair as, satisfied, Sam turned and headed straight for the house.
Outnumbered, came the unbidden urge inside. Hide. Wait.
“Wait for what?” he growled. There was no answer, but he couldn’t deny the urgency. Cursing under his breath, he moved into the nursery. He entered the closet and pulled aside the clothes hamper. Swinging the sword’s pommel roughly, he knocked a hole in the plaster at the base of the wall. “Sorry,” he muttered. It wasn’t like the angel had made him sign an insurance form on the thing. If it got scratched, then, well. He had bigger problems.
He slid the sword into the wall space and pulled the laundry hamper firmly back in front of it. When he came out and shut the closet door, he had just enough time to step to the side before the nursery door opened and he was standing face to face with Sam.
Sam didn’t see him. He was turned to the side, ushering Lilith in carefully, holding her arm at the elbow. She saw him first and she froze, eyes wide. Sam’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with Dean.
Dean frowned. He hadn’t expected Sam to be surprised.
Sam stepped protectively in front of Lilith, one hand splayed to the side, covering her. “How did you get in here?” He demanded.
Dean was struck speechless as he looked at his brother. His presence filled the room with electricity, and Dean could almost see the crackling power running underneath his skin. He seemed taller, bigger - he carried himself at his full height, confident in a way that Dean had rarely seen Sam before. His hair was long and dark, and contrasted sharply with the white surfaces of his eyes. He emanated danger and fear, every breath purposeful and calculating.
Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
“I told you to stay away,” Sam growled. “you really should have listened.” There was no hesitation in Sam’s stance. He threw out one hand towards Dean as if to throw him to the wall, and Dean saw the air in the nursery ripple as the dark wave of power rushed forward.
He threw up his arm to cover his eyes, bracing himself against the blow that never came. It seemed like slow motion as the current diverted smoothly around him and dissipated into the air, leaving a shimmering bubble of light burning in his retinas.
He stared at Sam, and Sam stared back, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Lilith snarled and stepped forward, moving to add her own power, but Sam grabbed her and pulled her up short. “No, stop.” He hissed. “He’s done something.”
Behind Sam, the smaller group of demons began to filter into the nursery, forming a loose ring around Dean. Sam moved Lilith to the rear, as far away from Dean as possible. “I want you to leave,” he told her. “I’ll catch up soon, ok?”
Dean swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick as Sam stroked the side of her pale cheek with the tips of his fingers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Suddenly he realized what he’d been missing before. Lilith looked different.
She smiled, low and deadly, and dropped her hand to her swollen belly, clasping it around Sam’s hand that already rested there. “Alright,” she whispered. “Don’t be long.” She tossed Dean a wicked smile. “Try not to ruin his pretty face.”
“No way,” Dean rasped, ignoring her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Sam smiled then, taking in the room around him. “What, no congratulations? I’m wounded.” He put his hand over his chest in mock indignation. “This is my house, Dean. This is where I was born, and this is where my children will be born.”
Lilith smirked, ran a hand fondly through the long tangles of Sam’s hair, and whisked out of the room. A few of the demons followed her, but not nearly enough to give Dean the edge he was looking for.
Sam dropped the gentleman act the second she was gone. “I said I wouldn’t send you back to Hell, Dean.” He spat. “I never said I wouldn’t kill you. You could have fought with me. You could have had - Dean, power like you’d never believe. You could have been a powerful ally. But you threw it away.” He edged closer, looming in the dark. His voice was deep and rough with rage.
“You had to go to them.” He spat. “They want to kill me, Dean. Kill my family. Is that what you want?” Dean found himself stepping back from the intensity of Sam’s anger. He shook his head.
“I asked for a way to help you, Sammy.”
“Tell me the truth!” Sam shouted, and the window behind Dean shattered, glistening shards falling out into the unnatural smoky light. From out in the streets, Dean could hear the sound of people screaming and smell fire and ash as homes began to burn. “You made a pact, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU!”
The whole house shuddered. Dean’s heart jumped into his throat. He hadn’t been prepared for something like this. “I just want to talk, I just -“
“No. You really don’t.” Sam moved back to the door, and the demon’s circle drew closer. “You’ve done nothing but interfere. From now on, you’ll stay where I can keep an eye on you.” He relaxed, and his tone was conversational. “Also, you know where the hunters are, and you’re going to help me find them.”
Dean straightened, looked his brother in the eyes, and forcefully said, “No.”
Sam bristled but he didn’t make a move. His eyes never wavered from Dean’s, but his voice rose, powerful and commanding, as he addressed the demons at his side. “I give you free reign with the Cleric.” he said. “Be careful not to underestimate him. He is shielded from your powers. Use … other methods. Find out what I want to know.”
Suddenly Dean remembered Kyle Gray. He’d been the one. But Sam had killed him first, and suddenly Dean had been there to pick up the mantle. Everything clicked into place. Sam hadn’t sensed him. Sam’s powers couldn’t touch him. Sam couldn’t read his mind anymore. He was protected; safe.
Which meant that they had to break him if they wanted him to talk. Dean’s jaw clenched in determination, his green eyes grew storm dark. “Bring it on, you bastards.”
Dean was backed up against the wall. He could feel the call of the sword singing through his veins, just underneath his skin, but it was no use. It was too far away. The demons stepped closer, their host’s faces stretched thin; cheap veils to cover the twisted mockery of humanity underneath. He felt their evil taint pressing against his newfound immunity. They couldn’t possess him, and they couldn’t touch him with their powers.
But their snarling fangs and blackened claws said they could still rip him to pieces.
Sam was keeping his distance, maybe smart enough to realize that the rules of the game had changed. He smiled, never taking his eyes from Dean’s as he spoke. “You picked the wrong side, Winchester. “ His voice was low and smooth, flowing like mercury, sinking inside Dean, threatening to rip him apart. “I have had it with your constant lack of respect for me. It’s time you learned who’s in charge around here.”
Dean was pinned, wide open; the leering demons were too close. He was exposed, vulnerable. His heart hammered through his chest, but he damn sure wasn’t about to beg. He clamped down hard on the fear struggling to rise from the pit of his stomach. He’d been to Hell and back, and nothing they could do to him would possibly be worse than that.
“Find out what he knows.” Sam ordered. Like hunting dogs newly unleashed, the demons moved forward, jaws slavering in anticipation. “Do whatever you have to do,” Sam said coldly. “just watch getting blood on my carpet.”
Shit, SHIT.
Sam left them with one last warning. “Remember, he belongs to your Mistress. She doesn’t like other people touching her things. Mark him if you have to, but if he dies -" Sam met their glances one by one, and they all shrank back from the intensity of his gaze. “you die.”
As a group they all fell to the floor, bowed their heads and chanted in one voice, “So shall it be.”
The door slammed shut with a finality that startled Dean. Sam was gone. He couldn’t believe it. Sam was gone, Sam was GONE. Locked into the maelstrom of emotions, he forgot to take notice of the circling demons until it was too late.
One demon stepped forward in eager anticipation, holding a loosely coiled object in one hand. There was something familiar about the jaunt of her hips, the way she was smirking. The others fell in behind her, content to let her take the lead.
Dean recognized her. Anger rushed quickly to his aid, pushing a little of the crippling fear away. He rolled his eyes in a gesture of extreme annoyance. “Hiya, Meg. Long time no see. Sorry it took me so long to get to you - you were next on my list of sluts whose asses I need to kick.” He smiled slowly, giving her his most sincere fuck you grin.
The others shifted as one, affronted by his disrespect, but Meg just laughed and shook her head. “I gotta say, I missed that Winchester charm, Dean.”
“Oh yeah? No problem sweetheart, I got plenty.” He drawled easily.
“Oh, I know.” She nodded seriously, slowly uncoiling the whip and rolling her shoulders to loosen up. “See, I think you’ve got a real god complex, Dean. Think you’re the savior of mankind. Only a Winchester would be that arrogant, after all.” She smiled sweetly, enjoying the sight of Dean eyeing the whip with relish.
“Hey, awesome. You got the newsletter.”
Dean’s muscles tensed in anticipation, and he got ready, running a quick mental count. There were seven demons not including Meg. She was the only one who seemed to be armed, but that wouldn’t make much difference, and he knew it. Even without the added edge of their powers, they would still be strong.
But no way was Dean Winchester going down without a fight.
He rushed the nearest demon at the same time as the smallest one jumped for him. He swung hard, and the demon went down from his right hook. The smaller, faster one tackled him from behind, grappling for his arms as they both tilted towards the floor. He ducked low, throwing an elbow into his attacker’s ribcage, and laughed out loud at the satisfying crunch that echoed back.
The smaller demon fell away, but when Dean regained his feet another one was waiting. The glittering black eyes of the monster locked with his own, and before either of them could blink, the demon threw a powerful palm strike straight to Dean’s solar plexus.
He felt the wind leave his lungs and the delayed shock of impact filtered through as a heavy object made contact with his skull. He was dragged roughly to his feet and slammed up against the wall face-first. He struggled, but he could feel several sets of hands pinning his arms into place.
“Can’ya, thinkofa new … thing already,” he slurred, gasping for air.
Blinking hard to focus on the baby blue paint of the nursery right in front of his face, he nearly missed the sound of Meg’s soft laughter. “Why bother when the old methods work so well?” she asked.
He definitely did not miss the soft whistle of the flick of the whip as it sang through the air, licking back and forth like a viper, stretching its cords in a warm-up move. He could hear the dark edge in Meg’s satisfied voice. “You think you’re a savior, Dean? Fine. Then I’ll treat you like one.”
The first crack landed squarely between his shoulder blades, and the fabric of his jacket was ripped in two. Fire blossomed across his body and he arched violently against his captor’s hold, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out in agony.
The second stroke drew bright, welling blood from bare muscle, and a deep moan escaped his lips.
By the third lash, he was screaming.
After a full thirty seconds, darkness claimed him and he knew no more.
Chapter eleven