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cjmarlowePrevious Part | Master Post
Hunter, Kansas
Every time Sam saw the burned out shell of a house now he wondered if it had once been home to someone like him, someone who'd been changed when he was a baby, someone who'd lost a mother so early he couldn't even remember her. He especially thought of it as they passed through Kansas, neatly heading west and sometimes avoiding even looking in the direction of Lawrence.
They'd faced that demon, so to speak, but those scars ran too deep to be healed by a single visit.
"It's just a house fire, Sam," he heard Dean say following about an hour of silence, and Sam gazed out on some charred timbers, all that remained of what had once been a farmhouse, land gone wild around it, a tree sprouted right from what had once been a kitchen, a parlor, a bedroom. "It was a long time ago."
"So was ours," said Sam, and made it a point to stop in the next town for some much needed food and drink. Dean didn't argue, but he didn't linger either.
At the next table two girlfriends were sharing tea and cake, and when Alice told Mary that she felt like her suitor could read her mind, Sam wondered just how many more people there were out there who were just like him.
Alma, Nebraska
"Dean!" said Ellen when Dean pushed the doors open wide in front of himself and sat down at the not-yet-open bar.
"Just tell me Dad's come through. Please," said Dean. "God, at this point just lie to me if you have to."
"A few days ago," said Ellen. "Racing through like he had the devil himself on his heels, just like the two of you. I couldn't even get him to stay the night."
"Something big is going down," said Dean. "He's trying to get out to the west coast, and so are we."
"I know," said Ellen, "and he's going to beat you there. You want to tell me what's going on? Anything I should be worried about?"
"The devil's not on his heels, it's ahead of us, and we're running to catch up," said Dean. "I don't know who else should be worried. Maybe everyone. Maybe no one. Ellen, did you have a letter for him? From Jim Murphy?"
"How did you know that?" she said. "You been talking to Jim? How is he?"
"Did you read the letter?"
"No more than I read your father's journal when he left it for you," she said. "It wasn't my business and I wasn't going to make it my business."
"Good," he said, "though I'm not sure it's going to matter. Pastor Jim's dead, Ellen, and we think it was a demon that did it. Maybe the one we're hunting, maybe not. The last thing he did was send Dad that letter."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Dean," she said. "All I can say is that your father got the letter safe and sound, and whatever was in it he didn't share it with anyone here. Now if you think something's going to be coming after us here, Dean Winchester, you'd better tell me now."
"No, I don't think it is," said Dean. He couldn't be sure, but then who could? The Roadhouse, just by virtue of its existence, was a risky venture. "You don't have anything it wants."
"And what does it want, exactly? You can't just come in here and tell me Jim Murphy's dead and expect me not to be a little bit concerned, Winchester."
It wanted Sam, but Dean wasn't going to say that in a saloon full of hunters without being able to talk about why, or being able to assure them that their presence alone wasn't dangerous.
"I think Jim knew something that the demon didn't want anyone else to know," said Dean. "If nobody read it, then nobody here knows. Did Dad say anything when he came through? Anything at all?
"Nothing much, but he left someone behind in the stables."
There was only one thing that could have meant, but that was impossible.
"He left Tyr here?" said Dean incredulously. "Are you kidding me? That horse is like an extension of himself."
"Couldn't fly with him," said Ellen. "Your daddy hooked up with an aeronaut out of Cheyenne who took him over the mountains. Said if he didn't come back, to make sure Tyr got to you boys."
"That son of a bitch."
"I told him you'd been here."
"Of course you did," muttered Dean. Not that their father wasn't well aware by this point that he was fighting a losing battle against his sons. Dean wished he would just quit running and let them do this as a family, the way it should have been all along. "Joe around?"
"Out back," said Ellen, frowning at him like she could hear the 'e' on the name. "She's been talking about you."
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Dean, even though he wasn't sure it was meant as one. He wasn't sure what it meant at all. "I'm going to go see the horse, if you'll excuse me."
"I'll hope you're talking about Tyr and not my daughter," said Ellen, and Dean even managed to smile as he slipped out of the saloon. A tight smile, but a smile nonetheless.
Sure enough, he'd know that horse anywhere. Tyr recognized him as well, nuzzling Dean's hand when he reached over the wooden gate of the stall.
"Yeah, I don't understand it any better than you do, boy," he said, looking around for a treat for him. He'd have to see if Ellen kept any carrots or apples around. "We're always one step behind him, and he's in a hell of a hurry."
Tyr whinnied and Dean just patted his head some more. "I know you're fast, but I guess taking to the air is faster when there are mountains involved. But he'll be back. I promise you, he'll be back."
It was a promise he had no right to make but he did it anyway. Something big was in front of them, bigger than Chicago, bigger than New York, and he couldn't promise that any of them would walk away from it, let alone all of them.
"Dean?"
He looked over his shoulder to see Sam poking his head into the stable. "Ellen told me you were out here. Is that--?"
"Dad found alternative transportation," said Dean. As if he could understand what was being said, Tyr hung his head, letting Dean get his hand in right behind his ears. "Not your fault," Dean assured him. "You're still his best friend."
"Dad was here?"
"Dad was here," confirmed Dean, "and we're still chasing him after all these months. But we're getting closer. Ellen says he came through a few days ago."
"And left Tyr behind," said Sam, coming up behind him. "Do you think he remembers me?"
"Much like so many people I've been fortunate enough to deal with over the years," said Dean, "he'll be more likely to remember you if you offer him a treat."
"Fair enough," said Sam, grabbing an apple from the basket at the front of the stables and offering it to Tyr. But the horse didn't seem to need the bribe, taking to Sam on sight. "I guess he does remember me."
"Well, you always were pretty unforgettable," said Dean. No matter what Sam thought he and his father had done over the years before they were reunited. "We shouldn't stay. If we get back on the road, we can make some more miles before dark."
"Enough miles to make it worth missing out on the last real bed we'll see for days, and what information the Roadhouse can provide before we start the last leg?" said Sam, scratching behind Tyr's ears. "I can't believe he left him behind. I don't remember him ever leaving him behind before."
"Well this is it, Sam," said Dean. "This is the end of the road. This is what makes all those years leading up to it worthwhile. We want to be there."
"We want to be there and win," said Sam. "Dean, we can still leave at first light. Unless Ellen told you we aren't welcome."
"No," said Dean, and was still fairly sure they'd be able to claim a room for the night. "She did tell me Dad got his letter, though. I don't know if it really did have something to do with Pastor Jim's death or not, but if it did then at least the effort wasn't in vain."
"First light," said Sam, "and there'll be no stopping us from here to San Francisco. I won't even shriek like a girl when you decide to race through the rail tunnel again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sammy," said Dean. "We already lost some time with the blow-out and I just need to be there."
"You think I want to be there any less than you do, Dean?" he said. "It killed Jess. It killed Mom. It's not killing anyone else I love."
"We get there in time, right?" said Dean. "In your vision we're there right? It's not just Dad?"
"The visions aren't necessarily a completely accurate representation of the future, Dean," said Sam. But they were close. They were close enough. "Yes, we were all there."
"Then that's good enough for me," said Dean. He pet Tyr one more time, then pet Sam's shoulder, then turned for the door for of the stables. "There's someone else I need to say hello to. I'll see you inside, Sam.
Jo had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, shirt loose and untucked under her suspenders, and a cowboy hat tipped forward blocking the sunshine
"Joe?" said Dean, hands in his pockets as he approached.
She looked up and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. If Dean didn't know better, he would've thought she was the boy she wanted most people to believe she was.
"Dean Winchester," she said. "Well, I figured you'd be through again sooner or later. It's about time."
"About time," he scoffed. "We've been riding hard since New York, about time. How've you been, Joe?"
"Bout the same," she said. "You look like hell."
"Thanks, I needed to hear that," he said. He hadn't looked in a mirror in a couple of days, but he knew he had to look rough, stubble and grime and dust on top of all of it. "I'll clean up before dinner."
"That's not what I meant," she said, but Dean already knew that too. "What happened to you?"
"Too much to tell," said Dean, suddenly feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. "Too much to think about it. It's been a long few months."
"I'll say," she said, wiping her hands off on her trousers and then wiping a smudge off his cheek with her thumb. He could see the streak of dirt on it when she reached up to take her hat off. She'd kept her hair short, and Dean could imagine Ellen still wasn't too thrilled with that.
"You're spending the night," she said, her face hard as she shook her head at him.
"Last person I need to be mothered by is you, Joe Harvelle," he said, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Unless that was meant to be a proposition."
"Take a bath," she said, looking him up and down shamelessly. "Then you might find someone willing to proposition you. Right now I've got half a mind to ask you to sleep in the stables."
"Might do that anyway," he said. "It's the closest to my father I've been in months."
She nodded and her grip on her hat tightened enough that it crumpled a little under her fingers. "He was sure in a hurry when he came through here."
"Did he say anything, Joe? Anything at all?"
"Sure he said some things," she said. "He had a drink, paid up to board his horse here, asked around after air transport. He had weather reports from here clear through to San Francisco. Must've been planning that trip for a while."
"No," said Dean, shaking his head. "No, he wasn't." Not like Jo was thinking, anyway. "He was looking for something else."
Jo wasn't stupid. She'd been a hunter herself for what was probably years. "If he found omens, he wasn't talking about them," she said. But Dean didn't need to ask. If John left his horse behind and took to the air over the mountains, Dean already knew damn well what he found.
"I should do something about that bath," he said after an awkward silence, no one knowing the right words to say, "if I want anything to eat."
"I'll show you the way," said Jo, and even though he didn't need it, Dean let her.
Terrace, Utah
Harvelle's was the last real break they got, just like they'd known it would be. Dean was running them hard and still spent each night frustrated by their lack of progress, but the roads were fewer here, the terrain harder, and they were fast approaching a range of mountains they couldn't skirt around but had to face head on once again.
There was only a scrap of daylight left when they stopped, and Sam thought they would've gone longer if something hadn't been rattling in back that Dean needed to stop and take care of. The headlamps had gotten them through a lot of terrain that Sam was very sure they'd never been designed to go, but Dean just pushed forward.
"Sleep while you can," Dean muttered as he got out a lantern and some tools and opened her up.
"I might be able to help," offered Sam, but Dean barely even seemed to be listening to him.
"Hold this, then," was all he said, shoving the lantern in Sam's direction. A few months ago Sam would've complained about being told what to do like that; now he was just grateful. "But you'll only get a few hours before dawn."
"I'll get as much as you will," said Sam. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them going. "Can you see what the problem is?"
Dean grunted and didn't offer an answer, so Sam just held the lantern wherever Dean needed it, and watched as he tuned up just about everything that was within sight and reach, including a few things that Sam didn't think could possibly need it. But then, having been through the mountains once already, it was probably best to be more than ready for it, than to break down at the edge of some monumental cliff.
"What are we really chasing after, Dean?" he asked quietly, once, long past dark when his arm was getting so tired it was starting to shake. Their father, the demon, a lost life?
Dean didn't answer, but then Sam didn't really want him to.
The sky was barely beginning to lighten when they started on their way, after a short and fitful sleep, and Sam didn't ask again.
San Francisco, California
There was a kind of frustration that came from months of chasing after someone without ever quite connecting, from tearing across an entire nation knowing that however fast you went, it wasn't fast enough, from teetering right on the precipice of actually understanding what was going on without ever quite getting it, that couldn't be described. But it could be enacted, and Dean did just that when they finally arrived in San Francisco, parking by an alley and putting his fist into the first fence they came across.
"Did that help?"
"Little bit," said Dean, pulling his hand back and shaking off the pain. His knuckles would be bruised, maybe a little bloodied, but at least that meant he'd have some physical focus for his frustration. "So we're here, Sammy. We made it. Now what?"
"Now we find a place to stay while we figure out what the next move is," said Sam. He was sure Dean was looking for something more like a vision to tell them where to be and what to do, but Sam didn't have one to offer. "If we can. Do you know what today is?"
"The same as every other day for the past couple of weeks?" said Dean. "I don't know, Sam, tell me what today is."
"It's Easter Sunday," he said. "For another couple of hours, anyway." Dean pulled out his pocket watch with his good hand, and Sam gave him a moment to see the date and time for himself. They'd been so focused on their goal that the days and weeks had all piled on top of one another without them ever really stopping to count, the seasons more meaningful than any days and numbers.
And now, suddenly, months had passed and they were all but back where they started.
"Easter Sunday," repeated Dean, shaking his head. Another day that should have been significant in their lives, and another day that had almost passed them right by. "A day for resurrection. And eggs. I think I know which one we're more likely to find."
"Is that some kind of cryptic way of suggesting we find something to eat?" said Sam. "We're unlikely to find anywhere that's serving food this late and on this day."
"Maybe I was talking about resurrection," muttered Dean, shaking his hand one more time before starting back for the automobile. "Whichever it is, we're not going to find it here. This is your town, Sam, you tell me where we try to find a room."
They didn't have time to so much as open the doors, though, before a noise from further up the alley caught their attention. Just a stray, probably, or a rat, but they were both too high-strung at the moment not to give it their full attention.
It was neither.
"Boys," said John Winchester, stepping out from the shadows, shotgun over his shoulder, bloody shirt, and a face that hadn't seen a razor in weeks. "It's good to see you again."
Dean was moving forward before it even really registered with Sam that his father was really there, in the flesh, standing at the mouth of the alley with only moonlight and a single streetlamp illuminating him. He'd wondered sometimes if he'd inflated his father in his mind, if time and distance had conspired to make him larger than life. But John Winchester in person was not diminished from the man Sam remembered.
"Dad," said Dean, stopping just short of throwing his arms around the man when he reached him. "Dad, it's really you."
"I hear you've been looking for me."
"You hear we've been looking for you?" Sam blurted out. "You hear we've been looking for you?"
John looked from one boy to the other, then curled his hand around Dean's shoulder, squeezing hard. "I know I haven't made it easy on you," he said, "but I had my reasons."
"Yeah, well they were crap reasons," said Dean, his voice raw, and tipped his head forward as his father held him the only way he'd ever really learned how.
"Sam," said John after a few moments, finally letting Dean go. "It's been a long time."
"Yes, sir," said Sam, his shoulders stiff and tense as his father approached. Dean hung back and lifted his head just enough to watch the both of them warily. "A long time."
"Sam... you've done good for yourself, son," he said, the words sounding like they had a hard time coming. "I'm sorry about your--"
"Don't," said Sam, his voice feeling as raw as Dean's had sounded. "Please don't. Not now"
He didn't. He just held Sam's shoulder like he'd held Dean's, and he held on tight. And whether he thought Sam's loss was less or more or the same as his own, Sam didn't want to know.
"So where do we find these sons of bitches and how do we get rid of them?" said Dean, finally breaking the silence.
"Don't worry," said John. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet."
"I think we've seen enough of your tricks," said Sam, surprised to find his hands were trembling, but whether it was from relief or anger or some kind of complicated mix of the two he wasn't sure. "Is this a trick that's going to involve you vanishing again in the morning?"
"You boys caught me fair and square," he said, though the way it looked to Sam, his father'd caught them. And he hated that it made him suspicious, but he couldn't help it, not after everything they'd been through. "Bobby gave me a talking-to a few weeks back."
"So you were in Chicago," said Dean, his voice a lot more expressionless than Sam would have expected.
John nodded, looking away for a moment. "I know you boys don't understand why--"
"Why you decided to leave us out of the most important hunt of our lives? Leave us out of the thing that we've spent our entire lives working up to?" said Sam. He could see it in his father's eyes, the moment he wanted to remind Sam that he was the one who'd left first, but the words didn't come.
"I wanted to protect you," he said. "I thought I was. But it was made pretty clear to me that the only person I was protecting was myself."
'Why break a lifetime of habit?' Sam wanted to say, but he knew it was unfair. Whatever faults his father had, not wanting to protect his sons wasn't one of them. He'd just always had a hard time figuring out how to do that.
"Bobby has a way of making the truth plain," said Dean. "So does that mean you're staying? You're not going to try to do this without us?"
"I also had it pointed out to me that if I did this without you, I was taking away something I couldn't ever give back."
"Could've told us that a few weeks back and saved us a lot of damn trouble," said Dean. "Do you even know what we've been through, Dad?"
"It took a while for his words to sink in," admitted John. "How about we go back to the room I got a few days back and you tell me all about what I missed."
It was going to take more than a few days to catch John up with everything he'd missed in Sam's life, but at least this was a start.
He hoped.
Things were pretty quiet until morning, other than the occasional grunt for food or coffee or, in John's case, cigarettes. There was too much to be said, but nobody knew where to start now. Dean was sure Sam had some ideas, but he seemed to be sitting on them now in favor of dinner and sleep.
The two of them curled up together on the bed like they had when they were kids, while their father took a thin blanket and the floor, and when morning came - not the crack of dawn this time, because they had nowhere to be - Dean changed and cleaned and shaved and started to feel more like a human being again.
"I'm going to assume that Bobby talked to you boys about the demon," said John, running a hand over his beard in Dean's shaving mirror but leaving it be.
"He did," said Sam, "even though that's a conversation we should've had with you."
He had his camera in his hands, fussing with it, and Dean wondered if he'd snapped a shot of John to go with all of his others. Just in case.
"What's done is done," said John. "This one's different from the others. The bastard has yellow eyes, yellow like he's poisoned."
Dean remembered the description Ava had given them back in New York and nodded slowly. "Yeah, we heard something like that," he said, "but we weren't sure what it meant."
"I've been trying to find that out," said John. "Maybe with you boys here it'll go a little faster. I followed the omens here to San Francisco, but for two weeks now it's been dead quiet. Not just here, but all over."
"I don't like the sound of that," said Dean, the same time as Sam said, "No, he's here," in a flat, firm tone.
"Well, we'll find him if he is," said John after giving his son a long, slow look that Dean didn't much like.
"So that's what you've been doing for the past two weeks?" said Dean. "Holed up in here trying to smoke this bastard out?"
"Did a job out at the docks," said John. "A mogui came over on one of the boats, nasty fellow. But California's not hurting for hunters and I know what my job here is."
"Our job," said Sam. "This is about all of us."
"Well, I'm glad you've finally come to that decision," said John, tossing him a book. That, at least, was something Sam had always done. "See what you can find in there."
"Yes, sir," said Sam, but for all their hasty reconciliation, Dean could see Sam chafing under the order. He'd barely take it from Dean; taking it from Dad again was going to be a hard sell.
John hesitated a few moments, obviously trying to read him, then added a mumbled, "Thank you," that seemed to get him a lot further than the order had. "You boys are looking good."
"Better than last night, anyway," said Dean as Sam opened the cover of the book. "It's been a rough time."
"It's a rough job," said John, "and you've traveled a long way."
"Where'd you go after Chicago?" Sam demanded without looking up from the book. "As apparently you were there."
"After you were," said John, but the words didn't seem to mean much. "Here and there. Florida, Louisiana. Spent a couple weeks in Texas but that was just a wild goose chase. Then north, up to Nebraska. I hear you found Harvelle's."
"And one day I'm going to ask you what you did to Ellen Harvelle," said Dean, but from the look on his father's face when he mentioned it, now wasn't going to be that time.
"That Joe's sure growing up to be a fine hunter, just like his daddy," John said instead, pulling another book from a repurposed saddlebag he had with him.
Dean looked at Sam, then back at his father again. "You do know that Joe's... I mean, that she's...."
"A she?" said John, and finally gave him an all-too-rare grin. "Wasn't sure you boys knew that."
"Oh, Dean knows," said Sam. "Dean sure knows."
If John was curious about that, he didn't give it away. "I cut her hair," Dean said anyway. "She asked."
"That was you?" said John. "Well, I'll be. Did a good job of it, she sure seemed happy. Ellen less so. But then, Ellen never was too happy with her kid going off hunting like her father."
"You think Mom would've been?"
There was a change in the air when he said that, everything going still for a moment. When Dean took a breath he did it silently, not wanting to get in the middle of this one.
"I think your mother knows we're doing this for her," said John finally, "and I think your girlfriend does too."
Sam nodded then, and looked away. "Yes, sir," he said, turning the page of his book. Dean got up then, crossed to his own things and pulled something out of them.
"Here," he said to his father, handing the journal back to him. "I think you're going to be needing this."
John looked at the book like he hardly remembered what it was, then ran a hand lovingly over the cover and accepted it. "Thanks, Dean," he said, setting it in his lap. "Now tell me what you boys have been up to."
It was a safe topic, a necessary topic, and Dean was happy to elaborate while Sam continued with their father's research. He'd just gotten to their arrival in New York City when the sky began to darken and a flash of lightning brightened their room, and they all knew that things had begun once again.
Things weren't like they used to be, with the three of them together, which as far as Dean was concerned was a good thing. Much as he'd missed his little brother like he'd miss a part of his own self that was lost, the weeks and months and maybe years leading to Sam's decision to leave the fold had been punctuated with fights of ever-increasing volume and intensity.
Instead it was quiet, Sam reading a volume that his father had pressed into his hands, John in and out of the hotel room as one by one he gathered all the things on some arcane list he held, and Dean systematically going through ever weapon he carried with him, making sure each was in perfect working order. It had been like this for a day already, and he could only hope that the peace would hold.
The dream of finding their father again had not included an afterward, wherein they all learned to live in each other's space once again.
When every gun was cleaned, every knife sharpened, every propellant device tightened, and every flask stoppered, Dean turned his attention to Jessica's legacy.
He'd been painstakingly putting every piece in its place, mending every part that had been damaged or warped in the fire, and just days before they reached San Francisco, by the light of a fire in the mountains, he'd realized the missing piece that was meant to go in the center of the device was a series of lenses set at very particular angles. Now that they were in San Francisco, cooling their heels while they came up with a plan, it was easy to acquire what he needed, but even once they were in place Dean still wasn't sure what he had in hand.
It was almost certainly a weapon - or rather, something that could be used as a weapon, though from what he knew of Jess he wondered if she had other uses in mind. Dean was so intimately familiar with each and every piece of it now he did have some idea how it was meant to operate, on a scientific level. On a practical level, even a child could have figured it out: the button on the handle was meant to be pushed, something that likely oughtn't be tested in a hotel room.
He ended up returning it to its place in his automobile with everything else he'd just worked on, to be tested another time, in another place, when they had time for such things again.
"All right, I need to show you boys some things," said John, coming in mid-afternoon with another paper-wrapped bundle. Obviously not the things in the bundle, however; those he stashed away with the others without so much as a word about it.
"What kind of things," said Dean, wiping gun oil off his hands with an old rag, something he thought might once have been one of his good shirts.
"It's from a book called the Lesser Key of Solomon--"
"If you're talking about how to make a devil's trap, we already know," interrupted Dean. "We tried one on that demon bitch back in New York but she didn't bite."
"Well then," he said, "I guess you boys have been busy while I've been gone."
"Did we have any choice?" said Sam, closing the book he was holding. "There's no reference here to a demon with yellow eyes."
"He's real, boys, I've seen him. I've seen what he can do."
"So have we," said Sam, looking for all the world like he wished he'd closed the book harder. Maybe next he was going to find a few doors to slam, just to get his point across. "But there's nothing here that's going to help us figure out his weaknesses."
"Then we'll proceed on the assumption they're the same as any other demon," said John. Dean didn't like the sound of 'assume', but he didn't have any better ideas so he said nothing. "If we want this to happen on our own terms, we need to choose a place for him to find us. Somewhere out of the way."
They didn't have to find somewhere, though. Sam and Dean had known all along where this was going to happen.
"The old airship terminal at the edge of town," said Sam after a moment. "They abandoned it as a terminal after the hydrogen explosion of ninety-nine, but the hanger's still there."
"That's perfect," said John. "Good thinking, Sam."
Dean looked up, casual as could be, to meet Sam's eyes. Sam gave his head a sharp, short shake, but Dean just nodded in quiet argument. If there was ever a time to talk about this, it was now, before they met this demon, and not in the aftermath. And Sam knew it as well as Dean did, even if he kept his lips pressed together for a few long moments before speaking.
"I didn't think of it, Dad," he said finally. "I know we're supposed to go there."
"You know we're supposed to go there?" said John. "Did those demons tell you something back in New York?"
"No," said Sam, still looking profoundly reluctant. "I get visions sometimes."
"You get visions?" said John, looking from one son to the other as though the answer might be found in the space between them. "Was anyone ever planning on telling me this?"
"We just did," said Dean, but something told him his father wasn't entirely surprised by this news. "But I think Bobby might've beaten us to it."
"Bobby Singer never said a word to me about this," he said. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since right after you disappeared," said Dean, but Sam was shaking his head.
"No, from before you came to get me, Dean," said Sam quietly. "The first time I saw something was before you came to get me. I just didn't know it at the time. I thought it was just a nightmare."
John still looked like he was processing the information, slotting it in somewhere in the journal inside his head.
Dean had an idea just what it was Sam had seen, and what had been haunting him all these months, but he didn't say it aloud and he didn't ask. Another thing for another time, when they were at their leisure to deal with it.
"So how are we going to get them to fight on our terms?" said Dean, to prevent his father from going down that road either, or any road that led to more discussion of Sam's visions.
"You boys leave that to me," said John, never taking his eyes off Sam. "I have everything I need. We go tonight. Just make sure that trap is good and set."
"Yes, sir," said Dean, and fell back into the role he knew so well.
They were good boys, John Winchester's boys. Sometimes a handful, but if there was anyone in the whole world he wanted at his back, it wasn't any of the seasoned hunters or soldiers he'd met on the road but his own flesh and blood. Both of them.
The hangar was deserted, Easter week keeping families at home. Hell, this old hangar was probably deserted most of the time anyway, the damaged and deflated airship at the center of it covered in a layer of dust, the old repair automatons motionless, like a dozen dead soldiers propped up against the wall.
Lots of places for nasty things to crawl out from and hide, but it was big and solid and, more importantly, far from prying eyes and bystanders. It was about the best they could ask for, and the moment they stepped inside John got his boys setting things up as much as they could.
The devil's trap was painted not chalked, no taking any chances there, and hidden by an old dustcover on the concrete floor of the hangar. It was as flawless as they could make it, and between him and Dean - mostly Dean, he had to admit - the three of them were armed to the teeth, as ready as they could be for whatever was coming for them.
John knew you couldn't be prepared for everything, but they'd done all they could.
"At least the airship is on the ground this time?" he heard Sam say softly to his brother, and instantly felt another pang of regret for what they'd gone through in Chicago without him.
"We're as ready as we're going to be," said Dean as the night grew later. It had to be nearly midnight, by John's reckoning, though he didn't check his pocket watch to be sure. The time didn't matter.
"Good," said John. "Then stay that way."
And, kneeling on the floor a short distance from the trap, he took the packages from inside his duster, opening each in turn. Setting up for the summoning ritual.
"Dad?"
"I've got this all under control," he said, though control was probably a misnomer. If this worked, he wouldn't be the one in control at all. At least, not until they sprung the trap. "This won't take long."
"Dad, are you summoning him?"
"It was the only way to do this on our terms," he said. Enough with the running and enough with the chasing and enough with the damn waiting. John knew who and what this thing was now, and that was enough for John to bring the demon to him. He hoped. Because if this didn't work, the whole plan fell apart.
"Dad, that's crazy," said Sam. "You can't control a demon like this."
"I don't plan to," he said. "All I have to do is get him here."
And he blocked out any further protests as he began the ritual, wincing only as it called for his own blood, an act which, as a hunter, he always hated to perform. It was a level of vulnerability that he wouldn’t go anywhere near if he had any choice in the matter.
There was silence when he finished, complete silence. For a long time.
"I don't think it work--" began Sam, when there was a echoing creak from the back of the hangar, and a rusty door opened to allow a man to step inside. A man like any other man, looking just like what Ava described.
"Together again at last," he said, every footstep echoing in the hollow building. "I was wondering just how long that was going to take."
"Don't move," said Dean, "you son of a bitch."
"Or what, you'll shoot me?" he said, continuing his slow and steady progress forward until he stood about fifteen feet from them.
John was the one to step forward, leaving all the ritual implements where they lay on the floor, their power consumed and their usefulness passed. He wanted his revenge so badly that he ached with it; just one thing was more important.
"What do you want with my son?"
The demon smiled slowly, and blinked his eyes so they finally turned their natural, sickly yellow. As John looked into them he half expected them to start oozing pus as he watched, an outward sign of the infection he was.
"So this is Sam," said the demon, taking another step forward as though that would allow him to see the boy better. John would have shot him where he stood if he thought it would do any good. "It's been a long time, Sammy. I bet you don't remember me."
"I don't need to," said Sam, raising his water-propelling gun, hitched straight to a holy water supply strapped to his back. That, at least, was something they had in abundance. "And I don't want to."
"Kids today, so ungrateful," he said. "A well-mannered child would thank me for the gift I gave him."
"Gift?" said Sam. "What gift?"
But John already knew all too well what the demon was talking about. He'd known for longer than he wanted to admit, to himself or to his boys. His son wasn't an exception to the rule he'd discovered, much as he wished he could have been. His son hadn't escaped this demon's curse.
"Why, your visions, of course," he said. "And all the other abilities with them, but then you haven't figured that out yet, have you?"
"I don't have any other abilities," he said, "But Ava and Max--"
"Oh yes, Max," he said, clucking his tongue. "We all had such high hopes for that boy, but all for naught. Before you, Sam, he was my most promising."
"Where is he?" said Sam. "What happened to him?"
John wasn't interested in what happened to some other man's son, but he wanted to know what might befall his.
"He proved himself... not quite up to the task laid before him," said the demon, "but not to worry, we have other prospects. Including Sam here. Oh, you've developed quite well, haven't you? A few months on the road have put you back in prime fighting shape."
"All the better to defeat you with," said Sam, moving around to the side, beginning to use their slight advantage to circle him. Minus the chatter, everything was still on plan. "It seems to me we outnumber you."
"Oh, you didn't think I'd come without friends, did you?"
He raised a hand, as though summoning a friend to his side, but it wasn't people who emerged from the shadows but eerie, billowing columns of smoke. They'd all made sure they weren't vulnerable to possession - John had made sure, because he knew what he was going to do - but the demons didn't even try. They headed straight for the deactivated automatons by the wall.
"You can't--" said John, but he was wrong. He was so wrong. As his sons had discovered before him, he soon saw that humans weren't the only hosts for these creatures.
The first time John watched the dead eyes of one turn an inky black, he suddenly understood why his elder son had always hated them so much
"That's the spirit, boys," said the yellow-eyed demon as Dean turned to raise a weapon against them. "I'd hate to think I took all the fight out of you. That wouldn't be any fun at all."
"There's only one thing I need to know," said Dean, maintaining his position in their cautious rout even as he focused on the approaching automatons. "Which one of you is that bitch Meg?"
None of them had mouths with which to answer, just stiffly-jointed legs to bring them closer and smoke-black eyes to stare the way.
They were a distraction from the primary goal, but not one that could be ignored. John tried, as he slowly circled the yellow-eyed demon, trying to herd him closer to the trap they'd set, but the automatons drew ever closer and the yellow-eyed demon hardly moved.
"What do you say, Sam?" he said. "Come with us and we'll let your family go free. I think you'll discover just how much you can be appreciated--"
"Shut the hell up," said Dean and finally let loose the first volley, a splash of holy water into his chest that didn't do more than make him blink. John hadn't expected it to and, apparently, neither had Dean. It wasn't an attack, just a warning. "Sam would rather die."
"Oh, I know he would," the demon said, turning those malignant yellow eyes on Dean. "But would he let you?"
John knew without having to be told that Dean's sudden and immediate silence and immobility wasn't by choice. But he was an experienced hunter, and he had the patience to carry on. As long as Dean was still breathing, John could see this through. He circled some more, slowly, herding the yellow-eyed demon in the right direction while he still could.
But the demon-possessed automatons arrived first, moving faster than their mechanical parts should have allowed and wielding a strength that was equally enhanced, metal limbs wielded with malice. If John had thought the things were soulless before, now they looked as though they could suck yours out of you with just a look.
"Sam, be sharp!" he said, and started hauling out the arsenal to hit the onslaught. The kind of incendiary weaponry John carried had little effect on their tin and brass frames, and projectiles did nothing but slow them momentarily down, no flesh and blood bodies to tear apart. Their best weapons were still holy water and holy words, which both he and Sam flung at them with every increasing speed and volume.
What he wanted to do was fire on the damned yellow-eyed demon, but that would be short-term satisfaction against a long-term goal, and John'd had twenty years to learn patience. He was so very nearly where they needed him to be; one angered blast of holy water might've sent him away from as easily as into the trap. Better he think they were thoroughly distracted by his little automaton army, a half-dozen relentless creatures that did pose a very real threat, especially in their current form.
Maybe more of a threat than John had at first realized.
As weapons were emptied one after the other, bullets, arrows, hurtling blades with edges that would've been more effective against flesh than metal, John flung them aside, sending them skittering across the concrete floor. Another day he would have taken more care, but there was only one goal now and it was within their reach.
He ran out before Sam did, left with the dregs of a bladder of holy water and a whole lifetime's worth of determination. He thought about stripping Dean of the weapons he was in no condition to use, knew Dean wouldn't blame him for it, but the yellow-eyed demon was delighting in keeping Dean in his grasp, motionless and forced to watch his father and brother slowly overwhelmed while the demon did nothing but oversee their defeat. He was taking his time, because he knew he was winning.
He didn't think he had anything to be afraid of.
Just a few more feet and they'd have him trapped within the seal, and it might have been miles for all the good it was doing them. John had always feared it would go down this way, but damned if he wasn't going to go down fighting.
Sam's weapon supply dwindled too against the relentless tide. They'd taken out nearly a dozen physical automatons, but without ever managing a complete exorcism - impossible under these conditions - they would just slip through the cracks of the body, a cloud of oily smoke, and take on another one. There wasn't a limitless supply, but they'd chosen this location for its lack of proximity to warm bodies, and that advantage was lost the moment the first automaton opened its black eyes.
And oh, the yellow-eyed demon was amused. "It's easier when the hosts don't fight back," he said, "but I have to say it's not nearly as much fun."
Sam finally dropped his last firearm and reached for the only thing left inside his coat, that blasted sentimental device that Dean had been tinkering with the whole time they'd been in the hotel. If that was the only weapon that remained, then the only real hope they had left was the small amount of holy water John had kept in reserve to get them out.
He just didn't know if his heart could stand them walking away from this one without winning.
Sam took one last breath and pressed the button on the device, and John watched as the small bit of electrical light that the device produced was reflected and magnified and reflected and magnified again until a single beam of intense light was propelled from the device. And he watched as Sam turned from the automatons and in a last ditch effort sent that beam of light right into the yellow-eyed demon's chest.
He ignited almost instantly, both his clothes and the flesh beneath them, sending up a terrible burst of oily smoke and the scent of charred meat. Sam looked vaguely horrified at what he'd done, at what the device was capable of, but the ray had done what nothing else had: released Dean from the demon's grasp and sent the demon stumbling backwards, into the radius of the devil's trap that they had so painstakingly created in the hours before the summoning.
It somehow seemed right, even to John, that after everything Sam's Jessica had her small part in getting him there.
"You son of a bitch," said Dean as soon as he was free, drawing forth a great water-propelling canon and splashing an indecent amount of holy water on his already charred flesh.
It was at that moment the demon realized he was trapped, unable to move past the barrier, his skin still smoldering from the holy water and the astonishing light-emitting weapon.
"Now you're going to tell us everything we want to know, you yellow-eyed bastard, before we send you straight back to hell," said Dean.
Sam, shaking off the horrified shock that had frozen him, lifted the weapon again and turned against the rest of the automaton invaders, igniting them one by one until there was nothing left of them but melted, twisted metal, and nowhere for the demons to go but away as their leader stood snared in the devil's trap.
"I will get him," he said through smoking, cracked lips. "Hell can't hold me. Sam will take his rightful place with us."
"Over my dead body," said John fiercely. He'd see Sam dead before he saw him throw in with these demons, and he wasn't sorry for that.
"If it comes to that," he said, backing up a couple of steps inside the invisible circle and closing his eyes.
It started with a distant rumbling, like the passing of a train. John looked around uncertainly, but barely had time even for that before the floor rocked violently beneath them, sending Sam to his arse and barely leaving John and Dean standing. Then the wall, the roof, and everything within them started rocking and falling.
He started moving as the first cracks began to appear in the floor, shuffling, halting steps away from the demon and the devil's trap, reaching a hand out to try to help Sam to his feet again. The tiny gaps in the cement grew longer and wider until the cement finally shattered, breaching the devil's trap and releasing the demon from his prison.
The broken body crumbled as a rush of black smoke boiled out from his bleeding mouth, straight for the ceiling of the hangar and right through a widening crack.
The shaking didn't stop when he was freed, though. Instead it felt like it was growing more violent, the rumbling getting even louder. Everything around them started toppling to the cracked concrete floor.
"Earthquake!" shouted Sam, tucking the weapon away again safely and scrambling to get away from anything that might fall down on them. Including the ceiling. "Get out!"
They weren't close to the door, but even on Dean's still-weak ankle they were able to race out over the uneven concrete before the ceiling began to crumble and fall, wooden slats still full of nails piercing the deflated airship envelope.
They ran until they stumbled, tripped up by a ground that felt like it was falling out from beneath them, and finally stayed where they landed until the shaking stopped. It felt like forever, yet had likely been no more than a minute from start to finish.
The hangar was in ruins, as was every building within sight.
John suddenly felt lucky that any of them got out alive.
"There are going to be aftershocks," said Sam finally, as they struggled to their feet, still unsteady. "And Dean, your automobile...."
"Jesus, Tessa," said Dean, looking around frantically for her and finally spotting her tilting a little to the side but looking as though she'd been spared the worst. "I can't drive her till I look her over."
"No one's driving anywhere," said John. "Not yet."
They were far enough from the city to be able to see it as a whole, rather than the sum of its parts, and it was there that John's eyes were fixed.
San Francisco was burning, flames warring with sunrise to illuminate the horizon. The city was crumbling right in front of them, another victim of the yellow-eyed demon, and there was not a damn thing to do.
Another day, another disaster, but the Winchester men were still standing.
"So what now?" said Sam. "He got away."
John was silent for a few moments, eyes fixed on the horizon. "I got a letter from Jim Murphy the other day," he said finally, "tells a legend of a gun that can kill anything. It's out there somewhere."
A gun that could kill anything could kill that sonofabitch demon too, not just send him to hell, and that was exactly what John wanted to do before the demon hurt anyone else he loved.
"Come on boys," he said. "We have work to do."
Master Post
Hunter, Kansas
Every time Sam saw the burned out shell of a house now he wondered if it had once been home to someone like him, someone who'd been changed when he was a baby, someone who'd lost a mother so early he couldn't even remember her. He especially thought of it as they passed through Kansas, neatly heading west and sometimes avoiding even looking in the direction of Lawrence.
They'd faced that demon, so to speak, but those scars ran too deep to be healed by a single visit.
"It's just a house fire, Sam," he heard Dean say following about an hour of silence, and Sam gazed out on some charred timbers, all that remained of what had once been a farmhouse, land gone wild around it, a tree sprouted right from what had once been a kitchen, a parlor, a bedroom. "It was a long time ago."
"So was ours," said Sam, and made it a point to stop in the next town for some much needed food and drink. Dean didn't argue, but he didn't linger either.
At the next table two girlfriends were sharing tea and cake, and when Alice told Mary that she felt like her suitor could read her mind, Sam wondered just how many more people there were out there who were just like him.
Alma, Nebraska
"Dean!" said Ellen when Dean pushed the doors open wide in front of himself and sat down at the not-yet-open bar.
"Just tell me Dad's come through. Please," said Dean. "God, at this point just lie to me if you have to."
"A few days ago," said Ellen. "Racing through like he had the devil himself on his heels, just like the two of you. I couldn't even get him to stay the night."
"Something big is going down," said Dean. "He's trying to get out to the west coast, and so are we."
"I know," said Ellen, "and he's going to beat you there. You want to tell me what's going on? Anything I should be worried about?"
"The devil's not on his heels, it's ahead of us, and we're running to catch up," said Dean. "I don't know who else should be worried. Maybe everyone. Maybe no one. Ellen, did you have a letter for him? From Jim Murphy?"
"How did you know that?" she said. "You been talking to Jim? How is he?"
"Did you read the letter?"
"No more than I read your father's journal when he left it for you," she said. "It wasn't my business and I wasn't going to make it my business."
"Good," he said, "though I'm not sure it's going to matter. Pastor Jim's dead, Ellen, and we think it was a demon that did it. Maybe the one we're hunting, maybe not. The last thing he did was send Dad that letter."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Dean," she said. "All I can say is that your father got the letter safe and sound, and whatever was in it he didn't share it with anyone here. Now if you think something's going to be coming after us here, Dean Winchester, you'd better tell me now."
"No, I don't think it is," said Dean. He couldn't be sure, but then who could? The Roadhouse, just by virtue of its existence, was a risky venture. "You don't have anything it wants."
"And what does it want, exactly? You can't just come in here and tell me Jim Murphy's dead and expect me not to be a little bit concerned, Winchester."
It wanted Sam, but Dean wasn't going to say that in a saloon full of hunters without being able to talk about why, or being able to assure them that their presence alone wasn't dangerous.
"I think Jim knew something that the demon didn't want anyone else to know," said Dean. "If nobody read it, then nobody here knows. Did Dad say anything when he came through? Anything at all?
"Nothing much, but he left someone behind in the stables."
There was only one thing that could have meant, but that was impossible.
"He left Tyr here?" said Dean incredulously. "Are you kidding me? That horse is like an extension of himself."
"Couldn't fly with him," said Ellen. "Your daddy hooked up with an aeronaut out of Cheyenne who took him over the mountains. Said if he didn't come back, to make sure Tyr got to you boys."
"That son of a bitch."
"I told him you'd been here."
"Of course you did," muttered Dean. Not that their father wasn't well aware by this point that he was fighting a losing battle against his sons. Dean wished he would just quit running and let them do this as a family, the way it should have been all along. "Joe around?"
"Out back," said Ellen, frowning at him like she could hear the 'e' on the name. "She's been talking about you."
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Dean, even though he wasn't sure it was meant as one. He wasn't sure what it meant at all. "I'm going to go see the horse, if you'll excuse me."
"I'll hope you're talking about Tyr and not my daughter," said Ellen, and Dean even managed to smile as he slipped out of the saloon. A tight smile, but a smile nonetheless.
Sure enough, he'd know that horse anywhere. Tyr recognized him as well, nuzzling Dean's hand when he reached over the wooden gate of the stall.
"Yeah, I don't understand it any better than you do, boy," he said, looking around for a treat for him. He'd have to see if Ellen kept any carrots or apples around. "We're always one step behind him, and he's in a hell of a hurry."
Tyr whinnied and Dean just patted his head some more. "I know you're fast, but I guess taking to the air is faster when there are mountains involved. But he'll be back. I promise you, he'll be back."
It was a promise he had no right to make but he did it anyway. Something big was in front of them, bigger than Chicago, bigger than New York, and he couldn't promise that any of them would walk away from it, let alone all of them.
"Dean?"
He looked over his shoulder to see Sam poking his head into the stable. "Ellen told me you were out here. Is that--?"
"Dad found alternative transportation," said Dean. As if he could understand what was being said, Tyr hung his head, letting Dean get his hand in right behind his ears. "Not your fault," Dean assured him. "You're still his best friend."
"Dad was here?"
"Dad was here," confirmed Dean, "and we're still chasing him after all these months. But we're getting closer. Ellen says he came through a few days ago."
"And left Tyr behind," said Sam, coming up behind him. "Do you think he remembers me?"
"Much like so many people I've been fortunate enough to deal with over the years," said Dean, "he'll be more likely to remember you if you offer him a treat."
"Fair enough," said Sam, grabbing an apple from the basket at the front of the stables and offering it to Tyr. But the horse didn't seem to need the bribe, taking to Sam on sight. "I guess he does remember me."
"Well, you always were pretty unforgettable," said Dean. No matter what Sam thought he and his father had done over the years before they were reunited. "We shouldn't stay. If we get back on the road, we can make some more miles before dark."
"Enough miles to make it worth missing out on the last real bed we'll see for days, and what information the Roadhouse can provide before we start the last leg?" said Sam, scratching behind Tyr's ears. "I can't believe he left him behind. I don't remember him ever leaving him behind before."
"Well this is it, Sam," said Dean. "This is the end of the road. This is what makes all those years leading up to it worthwhile. We want to be there."
"We want to be there and win," said Sam. "Dean, we can still leave at first light. Unless Ellen told you we aren't welcome."
"No," said Dean, and was still fairly sure they'd be able to claim a room for the night. "She did tell me Dad got his letter, though. I don't know if it really did have something to do with Pastor Jim's death or not, but if it did then at least the effort wasn't in vain."
"First light," said Sam, "and there'll be no stopping us from here to San Francisco. I won't even shriek like a girl when you decide to race through the rail tunnel again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sammy," said Dean. "We already lost some time with the blow-out and I just need to be there."
"You think I want to be there any less than you do, Dean?" he said. "It killed Jess. It killed Mom. It's not killing anyone else I love."
"We get there in time, right?" said Dean. "In your vision we're there right? It's not just Dad?"
"The visions aren't necessarily a completely accurate representation of the future, Dean," said Sam. But they were close. They were close enough. "Yes, we were all there."
"Then that's good enough for me," said Dean. He pet Tyr one more time, then pet Sam's shoulder, then turned for the door for of the stables. "There's someone else I need to say hello to. I'll see you inside, Sam.
: : :
Jo had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, shirt loose and untucked under her suspenders, and a cowboy hat tipped forward blocking the sunshine
"Joe?" said Dean, hands in his pockets as he approached.
She looked up and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. If Dean didn't know better, he would've thought she was the boy she wanted most people to believe she was.
"Dean Winchester," she said. "Well, I figured you'd be through again sooner or later. It's about time."
"About time," he scoffed. "We've been riding hard since New York, about time. How've you been, Joe?"
"Bout the same," she said. "You look like hell."
"Thanks, I needed to hear that," he said. He hadn't looked in a mirror in a couple of days, but he knew he had to look rough, stubble and grime and dust on top of all of it. "I'll clean up before dinner."
"That's not what I meant," she said, but Dean already knew that too. "What happened to you?"
"Too much to tell," said Dean, suddenly feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. "Too much to think about it. It's been a long few months."
"I'll say," she said, wiping her hands off on her trousers and then wiping a smudge off his cheek with her thumb. He could see the streak of dirt on it when she reached up to take her hat off. She'd kept her hair short, and Dean could imagine Ellen still wasn't too thrilled with that.
"You're spending the night," she said, her face hard as she shook her head at him.
"Last person I need to be mothered by is you, Joe Harvelle," he said, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Unless that was meant to be a proposition."
"Take a bath," she said, looking him up and down shamelessly. "Then you might find someone willing to proposition you. Right now I've got half a mind to ask you to sleep in the stables."
"Might do that anyway," he said. "It's the closest to my father I've been in months."
She nodded and her grip on her hat tightened enough that it crumpled a little under her fingers. "He was sure in a hurry when he came through here."
"Did he say anything, Joe? Anything at all?"
"Sure he said some things," she said. "He had a drink, paid up to board his horse here, asked around after air transport. He had weather reports from here clear through to San Francisco. Must've been planning that trip for a while."
"No," said Dean, shaking his head. "No, he wasn't." Not like Jo was thinking, anyway. "He was looking for something else."
Jo wasn't stupid. She'd been a hunter herself for what was probably years. "If he found omens, he wasn't talking about them," she said. But Dean didn't need to ask. If John left his horse behind and took to the air over the mountains, Dean already knew damn well what he found.
"I should do something about that bath," he said after an awkward silence, no one knowing the right words to say, "if I want anything to eat."
"I'll show you the way," said Jo, and even though he didn't need it, Dean let her.
Terrace, Utah
Harvelle's was the last real break they got, just like they'd known it would be. Dean was running them hard and still spent each night frustrated by their lack of progress, but the roads were fewer here, the terrain harder, and they were fast approaching a range of mountains they couldn't skirt around but had to face head on once again.
There was only a scrap of daylight left when they stopped, and Sam thought they would've gone longer if something hadn't been rattling in back that Dean needed to stop and take care of. The headlamps had gotten them through a lot of terrain that Sam was very sure they'd never been designed to go, but Dean just pushed forward.
"Sleep while you can," Dean muttered as he got out a lantern and some tools and opened her up.
"I might be able to help," offered Sam, but Dean barely even seemed to be listening to him.
"Hold this, then," was all he said, shoving the lantern in Sam's direction. A few months ago Sam would've complained about being told what to do like that; now he was just grateful. "But you'll only get a few hours before dawn."
"I'll get as much as you will," said Sam. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them going. "Can you see what the problem is?"
Dean grunted and didn't offer an answer, so Sam just held the lantern wherever Dean needed it, and watched as he tuned up just about everything that was within sight and reach, including a few things that Sam didn't think could possibly need it. But then, having been through the mountains once already, it was probably best to be more than ready for it, than to break down at the edge of some monumental cliff.
"What are we really chasing after, Dean?" he asked quietly, once, long past dark when his arm was getting so tired it was starting to shake. Their father, the demon, a lost life?
Dean didn't answer, but then Sam didn't really want him to.
The sky was barely beginning to lighten when they started on their way, after a short and fitful sleep, and Sam didn't ask again.
San Francisco, California
There was a kind of frustration that came from months of chasing after someone without ever quite connecting, from tearing across an entire nation knowing that however fast you went, it wasn't fast enough, from teetering right on the precipice of actually understanding what was going on without ever quite getting it, that couldn't be described. But it could be enacted, and Dean did just that when they finally arrived in San Francisco, parking by an alley and putting his fist into the first fence they came across.
"Did that help?"
"Little bit," said Dean, pulling his hand back and shaking off the pain. His knuckles would be bruised, maybe a little bloodied, but at least that meant he'd have some physical focus for his frustration. "So we're here, Sammy. We made it. Now what?"
"Now we find a place to stay while we figure out what the next move is," said Sam. He was sure Dean was looking for something more like a vision to tell them where to be and what to do, but Sam didn't have one to offer. "If we can. Do you know what today is?"
"The same as every other day for the past couple of weeks?" said Dean. "I don't know, Sam, tell me what today is."
"It's Easter Sunday," he said. "For another couple of hours, anyway." Dean pulled out his pocket watch with his good hand, and Sam gave him a moment to see the date and time for himself. They'd been so focused on their goal that the days and weeks had all piled on top of one another without them ever really stopping to count, the seasons more meaningful than any days and numbers.
And now, suddenly, months had passed and they were all but back where they started.
"Easter Sunday," repeated Dean, shaking his head. Another day that should have been significant in their lives, and another day that had almost passed them right by. "A day for resurrection. And eggs. I think I know which one we're more likely to find."
"Is that some kind of cryptic way of suggesting we find something to eat?" said Sam. "We're unlikely to find anywhere that's serving food this late and on this day."
"Maybe I was talking about resurrection," muttered Dean, shaking his hand one more time before starting back for the automobile. "Whichever it is, we're not going to find it here. This is your town, Sam, you tell me where we try to find a room."
They didn't have time to so much as open the doors, though, before a noise from further up the alley caught their attention. Just a stray, probably, or a rat, but they were both too high-strung at the moment not to give it their full attention.
It was neither.
"Boys," said John Winchester, stepping out from the shadows, shotgun over his shoulder, bloody shirt, and a face that hadn't seen a razor in weeks. "It's good to see you again."
Dean was moving forward before it even really registered with Sam that his father was really there, in the flesh, standing at the mouth of the alley with only moonlight and a single streetlamp illuminating him. He'd wondered sometimes if he'd inflated his father in his mind, if time and distance had conspired to make him larger than life. But John Winchester in person was not diminished from the man Sam remembered.
"Dad," said Dean, stopping just short of throwing his arms around the man when he reached him. "Dad, it's really you."
"I hear you've been looking for me."
"You hear we've been looking for you?" Sam blurted out. "You hear we've been looking for you?"
John looked from one boy to the other, then curled his hand around Dean's shoulder, squeezing hard. "I know I haven't made it easy on you," he said, "but I had my reasons."
"Yeah, well they were crap reasons," said Dean, his voice raw, and tipped his head forward as his father held him the only way he'd ever really learned how.
"Sam," said John after a few moments, finally letting Dean go. "It's been a long time."
"Yes, sir," said Sam, his shoulders stiff and tense as his father approached. Dean hung back and lifted his head just enough to watch the both of them warily. "A long time."
"Sam... you've done good for yourself, son," he said, the words sounding like they had a hard time coming. "I'm sorry about your--"
"Don't," said Sam, his voice feeling as raw as Dean's had sounded. "Please don't. Not now"
He didn't. He just held Sam's shoulder like he'd held Dean's, and he held on tight. And whether he thought Sam's loss was less or more or the same as his own, Sam didn't want to know.
"So where do we find these sons of bitches and how do we get rid of them?" said Dean, finally breaking the silence.
"Don't worry," said John. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet."
"I think we've seen enough of your tricks," said Sam, surprised to find his hands were trembling, but whether it was from relief or anger or some kind of complicated mix of the two he wasn't sure. "Is this a trick that's going to involve you vanishing again in the morning?"
"You boys caught me fair and square," he said, though the way it looked to Sam, his father'd caught them. And he hated that it made him suspicious, but he couldn't help it, not after everything they'd been through. "Bobby gave me a talking-to a few weeks back."
"So you were in Chicago," said Dean, his voice a lot more expressionless than Sam would have expected.
John nodded, looking away for a moment. "I know you boys don't understand why--"
"Why you decided to leave us out of the most important hunt of our lives? Leave us out of the thing that we've spent our entire lives working up to?" said Sam. He could see it in his father's eyes, the moment he wanted to remind Sam that he was the one who'd left first, but the words didn't come.
"I wanted to protect you," he said. "I thought I was. But it was made pretty clear to me that the only person I was protecting was myself."
'Why break a lifetime of habit?' Sam wanted to say, but he knew it was unfair. Whatever faults his father had, not wanting to protect his sons wasn't one of them. He'd just always had a hard time figuring out how to do that.
"Bobby has a way of making the truth plain," said Dean. "So does that mean you're staying? You're not going to try to do this without us?"
"I also had it pointed out to me that if I did this without you, I was taking away something I couldn't ever give back."
"Could've told us that a few weeks back and saved us a lot of damn trouble," said Dean. "Do you even know what we've been through, Dad?"
"It took a while for his words to sink in," admitted John. "How about we go back to the room I got a few days back and you tell me all about what I missed."
It was going to take more than a few days to catch John up with everything he'd missed in Sam's life, but at least this was a start.
He hoped.
: : :
Things were pretty quiet until morning, other than the occasional grunt for food or coffee or, in John's case, cigarettes. There was too much to be said, but nobody knew where to start now. Dean was sure Sam had some ideas, but he seemed to be sitting on them now in favor of dinner and sleep.
The two of them curled up together on the bed like they had when they were kids, while their father took a thin blanket and the floor, and when morning came - not the crack of dawn this time, because they had nowhere to be - Dean changed and cleaned and shaved and started to feel more like a human being again.
"I'm going to assume that Bobby talked to you boys about the demon," said John, running a hand over his beard in Dean's shaving mirror but leaving it be.
"He did," said Sam, "even though that's a conversation we should've had with you."
He had his camera in his hands, fussing with it, and Dean wondered if he'd snapped a shot of John to go with all of his others. Just in case.
"What's done is done," said John. "This one's different from the others. The bastard has yellow eyes, yellow like he's poisoned."
Dean remembered the description Ava had given them back in New York and nodded slowly. "Yeah, we heard something like that," he said, "but we weren't sure what it meant."
"I've been trying to find that out," said John. "Maybe with you boys here it'll go a little faster. I followed the omens here to San Francisco, but for two weeks now it's been dead quiet. Not just here, but all over."
"I don't like the sound of that," said Dean, the same time as Sam said, "No, he's here," in a flat, firm tone.
"Well, we'll find him if he is," said John after giving his son a long, slow look that Dean didn't much like.
"So that's what you've been doing for the past two weeks?" said Dean. "Holed up in here trying to smoke this bastard out?"
"Did a job out at the docks," said John. "A mogui came over on one of the boats, nasty fellow. But California's not hurting for hunters and I know what my job here is."
"Our job," said Sam. "This is about all of us."
"Well, I'm glad you've finally come to that decision," said John, tossing him a book. That, at least, was something Sam had always done. "See what you can find in there."
"Yes, sir," said Sam, but for all their hasty reconciliation, Dean could see Sam chafing under the order. He'd barely take it from Dean; taking it from Dad again was going to be a hard sell.
John hesitated a few moments, obviously trying to read him, then added a mumbled, "Thank you," that seemed to get him a lot further than the order had. "You boys are looking good."
"Better than last night, anyway," said Dean as Sam opened the cover of the book. "It's been a rough time."
"It's a rough job," said John, "and you've traveled a long way."
"Where'd you go after Chicago?" Sam demanded without looking up from the book. "As apparently you were there."
"After you were," said John, but the words didn't seem to mean much. "Here and there. Florida, Louisiana. Spent a couple weeks in Texas but that was just a wild goose chase. Then north, up to Nebraska. I hear you found Harvelle's."
"And one day I'm going to ask you what you did to Ellen Harvelle," said Dean, but from the look on his father's face when he mentioned it, now wasn't going to be that time.
"That Joe's sure growing up to be a fine hunter, just like his daddy," John said instead, pulling another book from a repurposed saddlebag he had with him.
Dean looked at Sam, then back at his father again. "You do know that Joe's... I mean, that she's...."
"A she?" said John, and finally gave him an all-too-rare grin. "Wasn't sure you boys knew that."
"Oh, Dean knows," said Sam. "Dean sure knows."
If John was curious about that, he didn't give it away. "I cut her hair," Dean said anyway. "She asked."
"That was you?" said John. "Well, I'll be. Did a good job of it, she sure seemed happy. Ellen less so. But then, Ellen never was too happy with her kid going off hunting like her father."
"You think Mom would've been?"
There was a change in the air when he said that, everything going still for a moment. When Dean took a breath he did it silently, not wanting to get in the middle of this one.
"I think your mother knows we're doing this for her," said John finally, "and I think your girlfriend does too."
Sam nodded then, and looked away. "Yes, sir," he said, turning the page of his book. Dean got up then, crossed to his own things and pulled something out of them.
"Here," he said to his father, handing the journal back to him. "I think you're going to be needing this."
John looked at the book like he hardly remembered what it was, then ran a hand lovingly over the cover and accepted it. "Thanks, Dean," he said, setting it in his lap. "Now tell me what you boys have been up to."
It was a safe topic, a necessary topic, and Dean was happy to elaborate while Sam continued with their father's research. He'd just gotten to their arrival in New York City when the sky began to darken and a flash of lightning brightened their room, and they all knew that things had begun once again.
: : :
Things weren't like they used to be, with the three of them together, which as far as Dean was concerned was a good thing. Much as he'd missed his little brother like he'd miss a part of his own self that was lost, the weeks and months and maybe years leading to Sam's decision to leave the fold had been punctuated with fights of ever-increasing volume and intensity.
Instead it was quiet, Sam reading a volume that his father had pressed into his hands, John in and out of the hotel room as one by one he gathered all the things on some arcane list he held, and Dean systematically going through ever weapon he carried with him, making sure each was in perfect working order. It had been like this for a day already, and he could only hope that the peace would hold.
The dream of finding their father again had not included an afterward, wherein they all learned to live in each other's space once again.
When every gun was cleaned, every knife sharpened, every propellant device tightened, and every flask stoppered, Dean turned his attention to Jessica's legacy.
He'd been painstakingly putting every piece in its place, mending every part that had been damaged or warped in the fire, and just days before they reached San Francisco, by the light of a fire in the mountains, he'd realized the missing piece that was meant to go in the center of the device was a series of lenses set at very particular angles. Now that they were in San Francisco, cooling their heels while they came up with a plan, it was easy to acquire what he needed, but even once they were in place Dean still wasn't sure what he had in hand.
It was almost certainly a weapon - or rather, something that could be used as a weapon, though from what he knew of Jess he wondered if she had other uses in mind. Dean was so intimately familiar with each and every piece of it now he did have some idea how it was meant to operate, on a scientific level. On a practical level, even a child could have figured it out: the button on the handle was meant to be pushed, something that likely oughtn't be tested in a hotel room.
He ended up returning it to its place in his automobile with everything else he'd just worked on, to be tested another time, in another place, when they had time for such things again.
"All right, I need to show you boys some things," said John, coming in mid-afternoon with another paper-wrapped bundle. Obviously not the things in the bundle, however; those he stashed away with the others without so much as a word about it.
"What kind of things," said Dean, wiping gun oil off his hands with an old rag, something he thought might once have been one of his good shirts.
"It's from a book called the Lesser Key of Solomon--"
"If you're talking about how to make a devil's trap, we already know," interrupted Dean. "We tried one on that demon bitch back in New York but she didn't bite."
"Well then," he said, "I guess you boys have been busy while I've been gone."
"Did we have any choice?" said Sam, closing the book he was holding. "There's no reference here to a demon with yellow eyes."
"He's real, boys, I've seen him. I've seen what he can do."
"So have we," said Sam, looking for all the world like he wished he'd closed the book harder. Maybe next he was going to find a few doors to slam, just to get his point across. "But there's nothing here that's going to help us figure out his weaknesses."
"Then we'll proceed on the assumption they're the same as any other demon," said John. Dean didn't like the sound of 'assume', but he didn't have any better ideas so he said nothing. "If we want this to happen on our own terms, we need to choose a place for him to find us. Somewhere out of the way."
They didn't have to find somewhere, though. Sam and Dean had known all along where this was going to happen.
"The old airship terminal at the edge of town," said Sam after a moment. "They abandoned it as a terminal after the hydrogen explosion of ninety-nine, but the hanger's still there."
"That's perfect," said John. "Good thinking, Sam."
Dean looked up, casual as could be, to meet Sam's eyes. Sam gave his head a sharp, short shake, but Dean just nodded in quiet argument. If there was ever a time to talk about this, it was now, before they met this demon, and not in the aftermath. And Sam knew it as well as Dean did, even if he kept his lips pressed together for a few long moments before speaking.
"I didn't think of it, Dad," he said finally. "I know we're supposed to go there."
"You know we're supposed to go there?" said John. "Did those demons tell you something back in New York?"
"No," said Sam, still looking profoundly reluctant. "I get visions sometimes."
"You get visions?" said John, looking from one son to the other as though the answer might be found in the space between them. "Was anyone ever planning on telling me this?"
"We just did," said Dean, but something told him his father wasn't entirely surprised by this news. "But I think Bobby might've beaten us to it."
"Bobby Singer never said a word to me about this," he said. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since right after you disappeared," said Dean, but Sam was shaking his head.
"No, from before you came to get me, Dean," said Sam quietly. "The first time I saw something was before you came to get me. I just didn't know it at the time. I thought it was just a nightmare."
John still looked like he was processing the information, slotting it in somewhere in the journal inside his head.
Dean had an idea just what it was Sam had seen, and what had been haunting him all these months, but he didn't say it aloud and he didn't ask. Another thing for another time, when they were at their leisure to deal with it.
"So how are we going to get them to fight on our terms?" said Dean, to prevent his father from going down that road either, or any road that led to more discussion of Sam's visions.
"You boys leave that to me," said John, never taking his eyes off Sam. "I have everything I need. We go tonight. Just make sure that trap is good and set."
"Yes, sir," said Dean, and fell back into the role he knew so well.
: : :
They were good boys, John Winchester's boys. Sometimes a handful, but if there was anyone in the whole world he wanted at his back, it wasn't any of the seasoned hunters or soldiers he'd met on the road but his own flesh and blood. Both of them.
The hangar was deserted, Easter week keeping families at home. Hell, this old hangar was probably deserted most of the time anyway, the damaged and deflated airship at the center of it covered in a layer of dust, the old repair automatons motionless, like a dozen dead soldiers propped up against the wall.
Lots of places for nasty things to crawl out from and hide, but it was big and solid and, more importantly, far from prying eyes and bystanders. It was about the best they could ask for, and the moment they stepped inside John got his boys setting things up as much as they could.
The devil's trap was painted not chalked, no taking any chances there, and hidden by an old dustcover on the concrete floor of the hangar. It was as flawless as they could make it, and between him and Dean - mostly Dean, he had to admit - the three of them were armed to the teeth, as ready as they could be for whatever was coming for them.
John knew you couldn't be prepared for everything, but they'd done all they could.
"At least the airship is on the ground this time?" he heard Sam say softly to his brother, and instantly felt another pang of regret for what they'd gone through in Chicago without him.
"We're as ready as we're going to be," said Dean as the night grew later. It had to be nearly midnight, by John's reckoning, though he didn't check his pocket watch to be sure. The time didn't matter.
"Good," said John. "Then stay that way."
And, kneeling on the floor a short distance from the trap, he took the packages from inside his duster, opening each in turn. Setting up for the summoning ritual.
"Dad?"
"I've got this all under control," he said, though control was probably a misnomer. If this worked, he wouldn't be the one in control at all. At least, not until they sprung the trap. "This won't take long."
"Dad, are you summoning him?"
"It was the only way to do this on our terms," he said. Enough with the running and enough with the chasing and enough with the damn waiting. John knew who and what this thing was now, and that was enough for John to bring the demon to him. He hoped. Because if this didn't work, the whole plan fell apart.
"Dad, that's crazy," said Sam. "You can't control a demon like this."
"I don't plan to," he said. "All I have to do is get him here."
And he blocked out any further protests as he began the ritual, wincing only as it called for his own blood, an act which, as a hunter, he always hated to perform. It was a level of vulnerability that he wouldn’t go anywhere near if he had any choice in the matter.
There was silence when he finished, complete silence. For a long time.
"I don't think it work--" began Sam, when there was a echoing creak from the back of the hangar, and a rusty door opened to allow a man to step inside. A man like any other man, looking just like what Ava described.
"Together again at last," he said, every footstep echoing in the hollow building. "I was wondering just how long that was going to take."
"Don't move," said Dean, "you son of a bitch."
"Or what, you'll shoot me?" he said, continuing his slow and steady progress forward until he stood about fifteen feet from them.
John was the one to step forward, leaving all the ritual implements where they lay on the floor, their power consumed and their usefulness passed. He wanted his revenge so badly that he ached with it; just one thing was more important.
"What do you want with my son?"
The demon smiled slowly, and blinked his eyes so they finally turned their natural, sickly yellow. As John looked into them he half expected them to start oozing pus as he watched, an outward sign of the infection he was.
"So this is Sam," said the demon, taking another step forward as though that would allow him to see the boy better. John would have shot him where he stood if he thought it would do any good. "It's been a long time, Sammy. I bet you don't remember me."
"I don't need to," said Sam, raising his water-propelling gun, hitched straight to a holy water supply strapped to his back. That, at least, was something they had in abundance. "And I don't want to."
"Kids today, so ungrateful," he said. "A well-mannered child would thank me for the gift I gave him."
"Gift?" said Sam. "What gift?"
But John already knew all too well what the demon was talking about. He'd known for longer than he wanted to admit, to himself or to his boys. His son wasn't an exception to the rule he'd discovered, much as he wished he could have been. His son hadn't escaped this demon's curse.
"Why, your visions, of course," he said. "And all the other abilities with them, but then you haven't figured that out yet, have you?"
"I don't have any other abilities," he said, "But Ava and Max--"
"Oh yes, Max," he said, clucking his tongue. "We all had such high hopes for that boy, but all for naught. Before you, Sam, he was my most promising."
"Where is he?" said Sam. "What happened to him?"
John wasn't interested in what happened to some other man's son, but he wanted to know what might befall his.
"He proved himself... not quite up to the task laid before him," said the demon, "but not to worry, we have other prospects. Including Sam here. Oh, you've developed quite well, haven't you? A few months on the road have put you back in prime fighting shape."
"All the better to defeat you with," said Sam, moving around to the side, beginning to use their slight advantage to circle him. Minus the chatter, everything was still on plan. "It seems to me we outnumber you."
"Oh, you didn't think I'd come without friends, did you?"
He raised a hand, as though summoning a friend to his side, but it wasn't people who emerged from the shadows but eerie, billowing columns of smoke. They'd all made sure they weren't vulnerable to possession - John had made sure, because he knew what he was going to do - but the demons didn't even try. They headed straight for the deactivated automatons by the wall.
"You can't--" said John, but he was wrong. He was so wrong. As his sons had discovered before him, he soon saw that humans weren't the only hosts for these creatures.
The first time John watched the dead eyes of one turn an inky black, he suddenly understood why his elder son had always hated them so much
"That's the spirit, boys," said the yellow-eyed demon as Dean turned to raise a weapon against them. "I'd hate to think I took all the fight out of you. That wouldn't be any fun at all."
"There's only one thing I need to know," said Dean, maintaining his position in their cautious rout even as he focused on the approaching automatons. "Which one of you is that bitch Meg?"
None of them had mouths with which to answer, just stiffly-jointed legs to bring them closer and smoke-black eyes to stare the way.
They were a distraction from the primary goal, but not one that could be ignored. John tried, as he slowly circled the yellow-eyed demon, trying to herd him closer to the trap they'd set, but the automatons drew ever closer and the yellow-eyed demon hardly moved.
"What do you say, Sam?" he said. "Come with us and we'll let your family go free. I think you'll discover just how much you can be appreciated--"
"Shut the hell up," said Dean and finally let loose the first volley, a splash of holy water into his chest that didn't do more than make him blink. John hadn't expected it to and, apparently, neither had Dean. It wasn't an attack, just a warning. "Sam would rather die."
"Oh, I know he would," the demon said, turning those malignant yellow eyes on Dean. "But would he let you?"
John knew without having to be told that Dean's sudden and immediate silence and immobility wasn't by choice. But he was an experienced hunter, and he had the patience to carry on. As long as Dean was still breathing, John could see this through. He circled some more, slowly, herding the yellow-eyed demon in the right direction while he still could.
But the demon-possessed automatons arrived first, moving faster than their mechanical parts should have allowed and wielding a strength that was equally enhanced, metal limbs wielded with malice. If John had thought the things were soulless before, now they looked as though they could suck yours out of you with just a look.
"Sam, be sharp!" he said, and started hauling out the arsenal to hit the onslaught. The kind of incendiary weaponry John carried had little effect on their tin and brass frames, and projectiles did nothing but slow them momentarily down, no flesh and blood bodies to tear apart. Their best weapons were still holy water and holy words, which both he and Sam flung at them with every increasing speed and volume.
What he wanted to do was fire on the damned yellow-eyed demon, but that would be short-term satisfaction against a long-term goal, and John'd had twenty years to learn patience. He was so very nearly where they needed him to be; one angered blast of holy water might've sent him away from as easily as into the trap. Better he think they were thoroughly distracted by his little automaton army, a half-dozen relentless creatures that did pose a very real threat, especially in their current form.
Maybe more of a threat than John had at first realized.
As weapons were emptied one after the other, bullets, arrows, hurtling blades with edges that would've been more effective against flesh than metal, John flung them aside, sending them skittering across the concrete floor. Another day he would have taken more care, but there was only one goal now and it was within their reach.
He ran out before Sam did, left with the dregs of a bladder of holy water and a whole lifetime's worth of determination. He thought about stripping Dean of the weapons he was in no condition to use, knew Dean wouldn't blame him for it, but the yellow-eyed demon was delighting in keeping Dean in his grasp, motionless and forced to watch his father and brother slowly overwhelmed while the demon did nothing but oversee their defeat. He was taking his time, because he knew he was winning.
He didn't think he had anything to be afraid of.
Just a few more feet and they'd have him trapped within the seal, and it might have been miles for all the good it was doing them. John had always feared it would go down this way, but damned if he wasn't going to go down fighting.
Sam's weapon supply dwindled too against the relentless tide. They'd taken out nearly a dozen physical automatons, but without ever managing a complete exorcism - impossible under these conditions - they would just slip through the cracks of the body, a cloud of oily smoke, and take on another one. There wasn't a limitless supply, but they'd chosen this location for its lack of proximity to warm bodies, and that advantage was lost the moment the first automaton opened its black eyes.
And oh, the yellow-eyed demon was amused. "It's easier when the hosts don't fight back," he said, "but I have to say it's not nearly as much fun."
Sam finally dropped his last firearm and reached for the only thing left inside his coat, that blasted sentimental device that Dean had been tinkering with the whole time they'd been in the hotel. If that was the only weapon that remained, then the only real hope they had left was the small amount of holy water John had kept in reserve to get them out.
He just didn't know if his heart could stand them walking away from this one without winning.
Sam took one last breath and pressed the button on the device, and John watched as the small bit of electrical light that the device produced was reflected and magnified and reflected and magnified again until a single beam of intense light was propelled from the device. And he watched as Sam turned from the automatons and in a last ditch effort sent that beam of light right into the yellow-eyed demon's chest.
He ignited almost instantly, both his clothes and the flesh beneath them, sending up a terrible burst of oily smoke and the scent of charred meat. Sam looked vaguely horrified at what he'd done, at what the device was capable of, but the ray had done what nothing else had: released Dean from the demon's grasp and sent the demon stumbling backwards, into the radius of the devil's trap that they had so painstakingly created in the hours before the summoning.
It somehow seemed right, even to John, that after everything Sam's Jessica had her small part in getting him there.
"You son of a bitch," said Dean as soon as he was free, drawing forth a great water-propelling canon and splashing an indecent amount of holy water on his already charred flesh.
It was at that moment the demon realized he was trapped, unable to move past the barrier, his skin still smoldering from the holy water and the astonishing light-emitting weapon.
"Now you're going to tell us everything we want to know, you yellow-eyed bastard, before we send you straight back to hell," said Dean.
Sam, shaking off the horrified shock that had frozen him, lifted the weapon again and turned against the rest of the automaton invaders, igniting them one by one until there was nothing left of them but melted, twisted metal, and nowhere for the demons to go but away as their leader stood snared in the devil's trap.
"I will get him," he said through smoking, cracked lips. "Hell can't hold me. Sam will take his rightful place with us."
"Over my dead body," said John fiercely. He'd see Sam dead before he saw him throw in with these demons, and he wasn't sorry for that.
"If it comes to that," he said, backing up a couple of steps inside the invisible circle and closing his eyes.
It started with a distant rumbling, like the passing of a train. John looked around uncertainly, but barely had time even for that before the floor rocked violently beneath them, sending Sam to his arse and barely leaving John and Dean standing. Then the wall, the roof, and everything within them started rocking and falling.
He started moving as the first cracks began to appear in the floor, shuffling, halting steps away from the demon and the devil's trap, reaching a hand out to try to help Sam to his feet again. The tiny gaps in the cement grew longer and wider until the cement finally shattered, breaching the devil's trap and releasing the demon from his prison.
The broken body crumbled as a rush of black smoke boiled out from his bleeding mouth, straight for the ceiling of the hangar and right through a widening crack.
The shaking didn't stop when he was freed, though. Instead it felt like it was growing more violent, the rumbling getting even louder. Everything around them started toppling to the cracked concrete floor.
"Earthquake!" shouted Sam, tucking the weapon away again safely and scrambling to get away from anything that might fall down on them. Including the ceiling. "Get out!"
They weren't close to the door, but even on Dean's still-weak ankle they were able to race out over the uneven concrete before the ceiling began to crumble and fall, wooden slats still full of nails piercing the deflated airship envelope.
They ran until they stumbled, tripped up by a ground that felt like it was falling out from beneath them, and finally stayed where they landed until the shaking stopped. It felt like forever, yet had likely been no more than a minute from start to finish.
The hangar was in ruins, as was every building within sight.
John suddenly felt lucky that any of them got out alive.
"There are going to be aftershocks," said Sam finally, as they struggled to their feet, still unsteady. "And Dean, your automobile...."
"Jesus, Tessa," said Dean, looking around frantically for her and finally spotting her tilting a little to the side but looking as though she'd been spared the worst. "I can't drive her till I look her over."
"No one's driving anywhere," said John. "Not yet."
They were far enough from the city to be able to see it as a whole, rather than the sum of its parts, and it was there that John's eyes were fixed.
San Francisco was burning, flames warring with sunrise to illuminate the horizon. The city was crumbling right in front of them, another victim of the yellow-eyed demon, and there was not a damn thing to do.
Another day, another disaster, but the Winchester men were still standing.
"So what now?" said Sam. "He got away."
John was silent for a few moments, eyes fixed on the horizon. "I got a letter from Jim Murphy the other day," he said finally, "tells a legend of a gun that can kill anything. It's out there somewhere."
A gun that could kill anything could kill that sonofabitch demon too, not just send him to hell, and that was exactly what John wanted to do before the demon hurt anyone else he loved.
"Come on boys," he said. "We have work to do."
Master Post
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-06-16 06:22 pm (UTC)And yeah. Sammy's still the whole world to Dean, even if Tessa gives him a run for his money.
<3
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Date: 2009-06-17 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 06:23 pm (UTC)(Also, the Indian captain? In my head, that's totally me!)
Fantastic work!
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Date: 2009-06-17 04:53 pm (UTC)And I loved writing the airship captain. She kicked so much ass. XD
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Date: 2009-06-16 07:13 pm (UTC)I don't know if you plan any more in this universe, but if you do I hope I find out about it, because I could read another 8 parts. :)
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Date: 2009-06-17 04:54 pm (UTC)I'm writing a short missing scene type story so far, so who knows what else might come in the future. :) It's a universe I am very much invested in now.
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Date: 2009-06-16 10:05 pm (UTC)You did a brilliant job of describing our boys in the 1905 setting.
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Date: 2009-06-17 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 10:30 pm (UTC)And there was leaping off trains! And Sam bought a camera! And Dean didn't understand why he couldn't just have built Sam one! And many, many other tiny details that just made this an awesome read. <3
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Date: 2009-06-17 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 05:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 08:11 pm (UTC)You really managed to use most storylines of the show, without it ever being boring. I'm too tired to comment on more, but I've really enjoyed it.
And now I'm going to comment on the art!
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Date: 2009-06-18 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 01:51 am (UTC)I really enjoyed this fic.
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Date: 2009-06-18 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 07:06 pm (UTC)What an absolutely marvelous re-imagining of Supernatural! I love how you took the well-known elements and characters of the show and tilted them all the slightest bit to fit the Steampunk scenario. Your Jo(e) fooled me as completely as (s)he did Dean. I actually see her as a much better match for him in this 'verse than I ever did in canon, although I never had anything against the character.
I also love what you did with Jessica and how she had quite a bit in common with Dean. In a way I think their common birthday hints at this in canon but it was nice to see someone else confirm the idea. Without being the slightest bit of a Wincest 'shipper, I still think it would make sense for Sam to be attracted to a girl who possessed Dean-like characteristics, e.g. his zest for life, his technical ingenuity, et el.
Thank you so much for this terrific story. And you know, now you have to write the sequel for next year's Big Bang! ;)
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Date: 2009-06-18 11:40 pm (UTC)I've always felt like Jess was probably, at least in some ways, something familiar to Sam, something that made him feel more at home. Which in some senses means being similar to Dean. I've written a lot of different versions of Jess in a lot of different stories and they've always had at least something in common with Dean. :D
I'm so glad you enjoyed this!
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Date: 2009-06-19 04:05 am (UTC)One tiny thing: Jo's name is actually short for Joanna in canon, but if you changed it for the time period that's quite all right, just wanted to be sure you knew.
Anyway, totally fantastic piece. I would love to see more in the verse! Thanks so much for sharing. :)
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Date: 2009-06-19 05:01 am (UTC)And you're right, Jo's name was a choice for the story. I suppose it wasn't really necessary, since I was originally changing Jess's name too and then decided not to, just adding the Shakespeare reference, but it was something I decided early on and in the end just stuck with. :)
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Date: 2009-06-19 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 12:29 am (UTC)thank you for such a fantastic AU !!!
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Date: 2009-06-20 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 02:06 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2009-06-20 03:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 10:40 pm (UTC)(I guessed Jess' device was a laser--that was awesome, too, working her in like that.)
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Date: 2009-06-24 05:26 pm (UTC)And I took great delight in being able to use Jess's ray gun in the final confrontation! :D
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Date: 2009-06-23 12:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-24 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-24 05:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 08:14 pm (UTC)I lovelovelove that Jess was building a laser gun. Seriously. That's probably my favorite detail.
Great work.
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Date: 2009-06-29 09:14 pm (UTC)(And Jess's laser gun was totally one of my favourite things to work in too. XD)
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Date: 2009-06-29 07:58 pm (UTC)I've read very little steampunk, so I expected a more difficult read, but you did a great job making the story comprehensible for the inexperienced reader. I really enjoyed the little tweaks that made it an alternate-history as well as an alternate-universe story.
One teensy, tiny quibble, though . . . in part 4, when the newspaperman is sending Sam and Dean to see his former wife?
"I’m not sure I'm doing her any favors," he said, "but it's Mrs. Helen Reilly." Dean raised his eyebrows. "My ex-wife."
That form of address would actually indicate a widow rather than a divorcee. A divorced woman of the time would be referred to as "Mrs. {maiden name} Reilly." Given the amount of detail that seemed historically accurate in the story, I thought perhaps you might like to know. ( Though I'm sure that only I and Miss Manners would have noticed, and I doubt that she's reading SPN Big Bang stories on her day off. ) Hope I did not offend!
Again, FANTASTIC story that made a boring day at work much more enjoyable!
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Date: 2009-06-29 09:08 pm (UTC)And no worries, I'm not offended in the least! You're right, that detail completely slipped past me when I was writing the story. Let's just call it one of those little alternate history things. *shifty eyes*
Again, thank you so much for this wonderful comment!
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Date: 2009-06-30 05:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-30 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-30 10:47 pm (UTC)(My compliments to the artist as well! I love the style used - everyone looks amazing!)
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Date: 2009-07-04 03:57 pm (UTC)And isn't
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Date: 2009-07-02 05:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-04 03:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 06:53 am (UTC)I've got oodles of sequel ideas in my own AU - they're a bit intoxicating. I'd second the idea above to do a sequel next time. Steampunk Sam has only been briefly explored here.
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Date: 2009-07-10 12:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 08:09 am (UTC)