Title: Ghost of Apologies
Pairing: None
Spoilers: All of season 2, but mainly for In My Time of Dying and All Hell Breaks Loose Part II.
Warning: I kill characters. Two of them. Which is funny, since I don't normally like deathfic. Eh.
Disclaimer: stamps feet Why don't I own them? Why? Oh, well, they belong to Kripke and Co. I'm not making any money off of them. sigh
A/N: Well, when I rewatched In My Time of Dying I was struck by an idea. What happened if John didn't make the deal? This is the result.
Dean placed his hand in Death's fingers as her other hand traced up his cheek. He was letting go. Dying. For a moment, panic welled in his gut; this wasn't right. He should fight, fight to stay with Sammy. Death smiled gently, her wide eyes full of compassion as everything began to fade away.
"I promise you this Dean, you can wait for him," Death whispered, her voice just as tender as before.
John couldn't take it. Sam's eyes followed him reproachfully everywhere he went. The few times they would speak always ended in disaster. Sam would never forgive John for Dean's death, John had accepted that. However, hadn't Sam forced him to promise not to hunt the Demon until Dean recovered?
He was aware of the irony that because his eldest son had fallen because of the Demon, Sam was cemented in this life. He would wait and hunt until the Yellow Eyed Demon was gone, no more talk of leaving for school or normalcy. John couldn't suppress a grin at that, who knew this was what it would take to light a fire under his youngest?
"What are you going to do, dad?" Sam demanded again. There was a glazed look that refused to leave Sam's eyes. John would start them out easy; see how all of this was going to affect Sam, to see how they would work as a team.
"I figured we'd start out small. First we'll talk to Bobby and Ash, start them looking for where we might find the Demon. That all right by you?" John said, the last question laced with sarcasm.
"I'd rather do some researching on my own," Sam grumbled. He wasn't ready to push it yet. His dad was all he had left. Sam needed proof that John was sorry that Dean was gone. Needed something to help fill the hole that was left behind.
"Maybe later. I need to see that you can take care of yourself, maybe run you through some weapons drills," John replied easily.
"Whatever," Sam mumbled and stumbled out of the room. They were staying at Bobby's in the back rooms. When he wasn't back there moping, John knew that Sam was out at the corpse of the Impala. Sam had some fool minded idea to fix it back up, but John had made certain to forbid it.
Once they released Dean's body, John made a pyre down by the creek. It was a final send off for both Dean and the Impala as John burned both corpses together. John carried Dean down there himself; he gruffly refused all offers of help. Sam was there, more muted anger being silently directed at his father. The last vestiges of Dean were burning now; John had let his eldest son keep the ring and amulet. He knew Sam had wanted them, but it just didn't seem right.
He wasn't trying to set his youngest against him. It was just so hard to connect with Sam, to understand what his son was thinking. He knew what his youngest might become. John had been debating on warning Dean, telling Dean that he might have to take care of Sam in a different way. For that reason alone, John was glad that Dean was dead. It wouldn't be right of him to ask Dean to kill Sam. John knew with a bone deep certainty that would be the one order that Dean wouldn't be able to follow.
It was time for the Winchester men to get back out there. John promised himself that this time he would find a way to talk to Sam, to have them be a family.
After a few months, with tensions rising and the hunts in short supply, John cut Sam loose. Bobby had come across an older corvette that was cheap enough and in decent enough shape for Sam. Sam had pretty much refused everything that Bobby had found until he started picking older cars. It amazed John that Bobby understood Sam better than he did. It pissed him off as well.
John had been hoping to keep a closer tab on Sam, just in case. But they worked out a check in schedule that made it seem like Sam would be keeping in touch for information and to keep track of John. It bit at John's pride a bit, but Bobby had insisted that was the only way Sam would agree. As much as it galled John, he gave into it and drove off with a fairly clear conscious.
It cut at John a little that it was easier to hunt without his boy along. Everything had seemed so easy with Dean. John grimaced at the thought, grief flushed through him. He'd see that Demon dead, make it pay for taking away so much of his family.
Time passed and one day John realized it had been close to six months since he and Sam had met face to face. John was thinking about having them meet up, try working together again. Surely there had to be a way to fix things? Sam couldn't hate him forever, could he?
Just as the sun went down, John's phone rang, its harsh warble shaking him out of his thoughts. The display said 'Rdhse'; hopefully Ash had something for him.
"Yeah," he answered, knowing that whoever was calling would recognize his voice.
"John? You got time to talk?" Ellen asked. She sounded a little breathless, her voice pitched low.
"Whatcha got?"
"When was the last time you talked to Sam?" Ellen sounded nervous now. John wiped one hand over his eyes while he thought about it. It was probably close to two weeks ago that they'd talked, had quite the row as well. John had been pissed enough to maintain the icy silence that was between them. That last part he kept to himself, but told Ellen the rest.
"We've gotten some reports. There've been some problems in the area that Sam was last. We think he might be in trouble," Ellen said carefully. She'd been dealing with the Winchesters for long enough to know their temper. Plus, it never sat well with her, helping John. He'd lost enough though, lost a son. Ellen was at least grateful that she still had Jo, no matter how headstrong the girl might be.
"Just tell me it straight," John demanded, gruffness masking the worry.
"There have been a string of killings, all leading toward Wyoming. Some of them are hunters, John, good men. Ash has been trying to get a hold of Sam, but he isn't answering his cell. Last we heard from him, he was in Oregon. We lost contact with him after that. There was some demon activity in the area near River Grove and Sam said he was going to check it out. Since then all other demonic activity has stopped, except for a fairly high concentration of them around an area in Wyoming," Ellen finished; there was a sliver of fear in her voice, but mostly worry.
"Let me guess, the killings start in Oregon?"
"Yeah, yeah they do."
"Can you have Ash send me where in Wyoming things are acting up?" John asked, weary now and certain that Sam was behind this. That he would have to take care of it.
"Sure, I'll have him forward it all to you. But John? It seems to be centered around one area. I'm not sure why and Ash is looking into it. Take care, all right?" Ellen said. John grunted something that might be interpreted as an affirmative and hung up. He never said goodbye. Ellen stared at the phone, listening to the dial tone and wondering what went wrong.
Bobby looked up at John and shook his head. There were books and maps strewn across the heavy table that Bobby kept for research. Both men were holding onto dark beer bottles, nursing the alcohol.
"You still got the Colt?" Bobby inquired, his eyes shrewd. John gave a terse nod but didn't offer any other information about it. As soon as there was a knock on the door, John hustled into the back room but left the door cracked open. He wanted to be able to hear what was going on.
There were muffled men's voices; Bobby's the lower of the two. John closed his eyes for a minute and thought about his boys. Thought about them before their lives had been forever altered by Mary's death. Thought about all the hopes and dreams he had had for both of them. John said a prayer; he prayed that Mary might forgive him for what he had done to their sons. That Mary might understand what he had to do, why he had to follow this path. John didn't really believe that she would hear him and if she did? He was certain she would never understand or forgive. Ghosts don't offer absolution, no matter how often you apologize.
"Wanna beer?" Bobby asked, his good ole boy drawl strong. There wasn't an answer John could hear, but there was the clink of a bottle cap hitting the table, so the answer must have been yes.
"Been drinking a lot?" the other man asked, most likely gesturing toward the several bottles that he and John had gone through.
"Helps me get through the rough patches," Bobby answered, falsely bright. For a moment there was no sound and then a roar of pain and anger.
"Holy water, you son of a bitch. Y'don't con a con man," Bobby growled out. John bit back a chuckle, holy water in the beer. That never ceased to be funny.
John walked out when Bobby sounded the all clear. Apparently the demon was alone. On one hand he was pleased, that would make this easier. On the other? It showed that they were damn cocky and the loss of this one probably wouldn't make much of a difference. The only thing it would do would be to demoralize John, something he didn't plan on letting show.
"Should've known you'd…" Sam started, his eyes pure black, only to fall silent as John shot him between the eyes. His head jerked back and for a moment John thought it really would be that easy.
"Nice way to say 'hello', Daddy," Sam finished once his body stopped twitching.
"That was blessed silver. How're you still in there?" John demanded, his voice low and gravelly.
"You didn't expect me to disappear in a puff of smoke did you? Awww, you did. So sorry to disappoint," the thing in Sam's body said. It bared its teeth at John in a parody of a grin.
"What went wrong?" John shot the question at Bobby even though his eyes never left Sam. The thing that had become Sam.
"I don't know, not yet. Gimme a minute," Bobby growled, sneaking into the devil's trap to cut away at the thick cotton shirt Sam was wearing. Sure enough, there was a brand high on Sam's forearm, red raw flesh in a circle that had a line almost bisecting it.
"Dammit, it created a binding link," Bobby cursed as he took a step back. The Sam-thing grinned; its black eyes gleamed with maliciousness. John yanked Bobby out of the circle, out of the reach of the creature that was once his son.
John's eyes cast around the room. The demon was struggling to get free, it could probably break the ropes but the Key of Solomon should hold it. John, however, wasn't a man to take chances.
"Grab his arm," John commanded. Bobby lunged out and grabbed the arm that Sam so recently freed and stretched it out. As quickly as he could, John snatched the poker out of the fire and placed the cherry hot tip against the brand on Sam's arm. There was a screech of pain followed by the unmistakable stench of roasting flesh. Then, finally, the black cloud of the demon billowed out and remained trapped in the Seal.
John and Bobby worked in tandem to exorcise the demon, sending it back to the pit of hell. Afterward John refused to look at the limp form of his youngest. Bobby carried Sam outside and set the pyre. John sat by the fire and drank.
Two days later they were at the cowboy graveyard that Samuel Colt had been trying to protect with his enormous devil's trap. John and Bobby had alerted several other hunters and they had rendezvoused near the northern-most church. Only three other men had agreed to come; Gordon, Shawn, and Tim. Hopefully they would be enough to stop the Demon and to avert an apocalypse.
They had spread out after entering the tiny cemetery, uncertain as to what the Demon would want here. But then it had become as clear as day, dead in the center of the bone yard there was a devil's gate. Colt hadn't been protecting anything; he'd been sealing it in. They'd all been so stupid.
Just as Tim was trying to figure out the locking mechanism on the gate, a slim young woman walked through the iron gates of the cemetery and straight to John Winchester. Her dark hair reached her shoulders and her face still carried and innocence and a softness that made John hesitate.
"Well, well, I see you brought what I needed with you. He was right," the woman announced, her voice held an ugly edge to it.
"What would that be?" John asked as he offered her a grin. None of the others seemed to be taking her seriously but John had a suspicion that she was one of the chosen children. Sam had never manifested any signs of his ability around John and now John had to wonder if that wasn't something his son deliberately hid from him.
"The Colt. Give it to me," the woman commanded and for a moment the depths of her eyes glowed a sickly sulfur yellow. Without thinking about it John handed the Colt over. Somehow that seemed wrong, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.
"John, what the hell are you doin'?" someone called out, but it was distant and he didn't have the will to answer.
"Stay there and watch me," she commanded and John's eyes riveted to the woman. She looked familiar somehow, like he should know her. The thought drifted away as he watched her walk toward the devil's gate.
The others drew their guns and aimed at her. With a flick of her wrist, Tim and Shawn went flying. Shawn landed against a headstone with a crack, then lay limply. Tim fell at an awkward angle with his neck obviously snapped.
"John, I want you to get your other gun and put it against your head," the girl demanded sweetly. Slowly, as if moving underwater, John felt the tip of his pistol rest coolly against his temple. Bobby gasped, Gordon glared, and the girl laughed. John felt his mouth stretch into a smile, if she was happy he must have done well.
Without further ado, she stepped up to the stone and iron doors. The woman placed a reverent hand on the door before sliding the Colt into the lock. There was the turning of gears and the circular pattern on the lock began to whirl around. From the depths of the gate came the loud metallic clang of bolt sliding open.
There was a sound like thunder, like the earth cracking, and then the doors swung open. The woman stood before the devil's gate with her arms spread as if she were welcoming an old friend. Plumes of black smoke vomited out, splitting wide around the woman. John watched silently as Gordon snuck behind the woman and snapped her neck, too little too late. Bobby was pulling the Colt from the lock; he knew they would need it before too long.
As if a switch had been thrown, John leapt up and ran with Bobby and Gordon toward the doors of the devil's gate. The men threw their weight against the heavy stone doors, struggling to close them before a second wave of demons could arrive. As it was, only dead souls dragged their ghostly forms from the gate yet their spiritual presence made it hard to move the stone doors. Slowly, inch by inch, the gateway to hell began to swing close.
John was sweating from the exertion, his muscles felt like they were going to give out by the time the devil's gate clanged shut, the lock sealing itself. With a groan he turned and leaned his back against the cold stone, resting. Just as he was about to shut his eyes, movement caught John's attention and he whipped his head to the left.
Standing there was the Yellow Eyed Demon. He was wearing an unfamiliar face, a tall man with narrow eyes and short, dark hair. He had a slight frown marring his features as he stared at the limp body of the woman. John would know those swirling yellow eyes anywhere. He knew what they meant.
"Johnny, I'm a little vexed that you have managed to dispatch my general. Ava was to lead the demons in this war. I guess I'm just going to have to do it myself," the Demon said, his bright eyes locked on John.
"Glad to disappoint you," John managed to wheeze. Bobby and Gordon were easing around trying to flank the bastard and John wanted its attention all on him. Bobby had the Colt, if he could just make sure that he could get a shot off. One bullet was left, but one was all it would take. Then this would all be over.
"I know what you're thinking, Johnny-boy. However, I don't think it's going to work," the Demon grinned before making a small shooing motion with both hands. Gordon and Bobby were suddenly pinned to the ground, the Colt falling out of Bobby's numb hands.
"Now sit down, John. Let's have a chat," the Demon commanded. Once again John found himself mastered by a force beyond his control. As docile as a lamb John found himself sitting in the dirt, his attention raptly on the creature in front of him.
"What did you want?" John managed to grind out; it was so hard to not just sit limply and wait for orders.
"I'm sorely disappointed in you. I gave you ample opportunity to bargain with me for your boy, Dean. He would have managed to save Sammy instead of blowing a hole in his head. You really are a nurturing father type," the Demon laughed. The sound bruised the air and made John flinch.
"Sam was… possessed," John growled in his defense, forcing the words out.
"Possessed, sure, but not lost. He was in there the whole time, pleading for his daddy to save him. His despair, John, it was so sweet. I could have feasted on that forever. It was almost as tasty as Dean's. He kept waiting for you to call someone, anyone, to try to help him. Guess some people just aren't cut out to be parents," the Demon mocked. John tried not to listen; everyone knew that demon's lied. It had to be lies. Had to.
The Demon sauntered over and leaned over John, placing its lips near John's ear. Its hissing whisper telling John how it had known his wife, how she had welcomed the Demon with open arms as a relief from her brutish, boorish husband. The Demon pointed out the flaws John had made with his children, how he had warped them. John was damned, he knew it. He didn't need this creature to point out the mistakes he'd made.
As the Demon continued to torment John, it missed the outline of a ghost heading toward it. John couldn't see it either; his eyes were shut tight as if that would help to silence the damning words. Invisible arms wrapped around the demon from behind, pulling a black smoke form out of the man who hosted it.
In that moment, John was free from the bonds the Demon had placed on him. He scrambled forward on hands and knees, his fingers grasping for the Colt. Just as the cloud of smoke was heading back toward the body, John's fingers curled around the handle. He watched, dumbfounded, as the Demon reinhabited the body and made it stand.
John's hands were trembling, they should be firm, but John didn't have time to steady them. He rose to his knees to aim the gun, hoped the shot would be true, and pulled the trigger. Much to his surprise, the bullet slammed into the demon's shoulder. Its yellow eyes widened with shock as it stared at John, unable to fathom how this had happened. Everything had been planned, every last detail. Now, this.
As if time had stopped, the Demon took forever to fall. Shocks of electricity swam over its skin, sending light through the body until its bones were illuminated. The body hit the ground with a dull thud and a wisp of smoke trailed from the corpse's mouth and nose, the last remnants of the thing that had decimated John's family.
Disbelieving, John glanced to the side to see the ghost that had helped him materialize. Sam. It was Sam. His son glared at him, his visage unforgiving. John hadn't thought that death would make him and Sam see eye to eye.
Sam's ghost was mouthing words at him, as if he couldn't bring himself far enough into this world to speak. He enunciated clearly, so John had no doubt why Sam had helped him. For Dean.
The boys had always been inseparable, at least until Sam had gone away to college. Once Sam had rejoined Dean on the hunt their bond had grown even closer. There was no room for John between them; he had been shut out of his own family. It had annoyed him, but not enough for him to lose both of his children. Not like this. Surely Sam didn't think John had wanted things to end this way? He didn't, he would never want that. Tears rolled down John's cheeks unheeded. Please, he wanted to say, please forgive me Sammy.
The was a flaw, a flash of light and Sam was gone. Moved on, gone to whatever lies ahead for all mortals.
"It's done. I'm going to start looking for the demons that got out," Gordon told him, uncaring of what had just passed. John gave a nod, didn't bother to watch the other hunter leave.
"He's at peace now," Bobby offered, unsure of what else to say. He placed a hand on John's shoulder to offer comfort, contact with the human world.
"I know. He'll never forgive me," John managed to say. He took several deep breaths to compose himself and then began to walk out of the graveyard. His tread was heavy and Bobby followed curious how his friend was going to recover from this.
When they reached their trucks, Bobby took a risk. He laid his hand on John's arm to get his attention. Once John was looking at him, Bobby took a breath to get his thoughts in order.
"It was worth it, John. You're boys; they were good men, strong men. It wasn't right that you had to lose 'em both, but their together again. They'd want that, at least," Bobby told his friend.
"I don't know. I almost wish they were here, even if I couldn't be," John finally responded. "The Demon told me, I was supposed to trade my soul for Dean, then Dean would have saved Sammy. Dean would have done it."
Bobby, with undue awkwardness, patted John on the shoulder. It would take time for John to recover from this; perhaps the knowledge would always be like a wound to him. Only time would tell.
"I don't think it was worth it," John finally whispered before getting into his truck and driving away.
Death hadn't lied. Dean had watched and waited dispassionately as his father and brother had fought, had hated each other. When Sam had died, something had flared in Dean. His wait was over, he could finally move on.
But Sam had stayed; a restless spirit that had followed their father, his anger wasn't strong enough to manifest itself yet. So Dean continued to wait, he had been promised. Dean wished that Tessa would come back and explain why she or another Reaper hadn't gone to collect Sam, to tell Sam that Dean was waiting.
Dean was unaware of time, yet he was restless. He waited, watching, wanting to know what Sam was going to do. Then he saw the Demon and his father, knew that things were hopeless. Heard the taunts that the Demon said and Dean knew some of it for the truth. He and Sam should have had more time. He was at peace knowing that his brother would be here soon, continuing there would have been full of strife. Here, there wouldn't be any more pain.
Sam was incandescent after the Demon was killed. He delivered his last message to their father and Dean felt pride well within him. Not even death could keep them apart. Tessa was there, beckoning to Sam, leading him to Dean.
In the darkness of death, the brothers met again. Without the fears from before weighing him down, Dean greeted his brother with a hug. With Sam wrapped in his embrace Dean began to move forward again, into the promise that was beyond the dark. Together, with Sam, he learned what was waiting.