Minutes to Midnight
Prologue:
6 Months AgoA howl ruptured the still, night air - a lonely cry pushing through the silence, pleading for an answer that would not come. The soft light of the waning moon shed a sombre glow over the black pick-up as it made its way down the long, dirt road: tires crunching over the path as they hastily spat up gravel and dust. The truck slowed to a stop in front of a small, wooden house surrounded by chunks of metal and beat up car parts strewn unceremoniously about the yard. The air was sticky and suffocating, and a thick, sullen fog had gathered low to the ground, the grass and soil struggling to breath: drowning in a misery of which they could not escape.
The door slammed shut and a pair of well-worn shoes landed solidly in the dirt. After a small hesitation, they stepped forward in silence, muffled by the wet grass. All that could be seen of the man was a sharp outline created by the light of the moon. He was just over six feet and in his rough, callused hands he carried a small object, no bigger then a coin. It glistened in the moonlight before he quickly wrapped it in a red, silk cloth and placed it carefully in to one of his deep pockets.
The wind began to pick up as the mysterious man reached for the front door and lifted his hand to knock. But as his fist swung forward to collide with the wooden frame he realized that the door was already slightly ajar. He lowered his hand swiftly to his back pocket and pulled out a small gun, he held it out in front of him with two hands and nudged the door open. He waited. The door bumped softly against the inside wall and bounced forward again, swinging softly on its hinges. The man leaned forward slightly and his head turned as his eyes swept across the dimly lit room.
A soft click echoed in the man's ear as a gun was cocked and he could feel the thin mouth of the barrel pressing dangerously against the back of his head.
"Drop your weapon," A gruff voice said.
The pistol clattered noisily to the floor.
The man holding the rifle extended his foot and kicked the gun, sending it careening across the rough, wooden floor.
"Now, turn around, slowly," The voice continued.
Taking care not to make any sudden movements, the first man turned to face the second. There was a small silence and then both men erupted in immense laughter. Laughter that forced their mouths open wide and caused them to rock back and forth, their shoulders shuddering in merriment.
"John Winchester, are you trying to kill me!?" The man exclaimed. He lowered his gun, dropped it on a nearby table and headed towards the kitchen.
John chuckled and bent to pick up his fallen pistol.
"I believe you were the one with the gun, Bobby." He called through the house. John straightened up and followed Bobby in to the kitchen where he took a seat next to a huge stack of books. Memories he thought to be lost flooded back to him as he looked over the room. It had never really changed, the wood had begun to age but the house was still scattered with all kinds of books collected over the long years.
"Yeah, well, sorry about that." Bobby answered. "Can I get you a beer?"
"Do you have to ask?" Came the reply.
Bobby walked out of view and the clinking of beer bottles could be heard as he rummaged through the cabinets. He returned carrying a beer in each hand and a large grin slapped on his face.
"So, what's with the extra security?" asked John.
"Oh well, you know, I managed to hunt down a nest last week and I've been keeping watch in case anyone is looking for vengeance.
John nodded: he knew you had to take extra precautions when hunting the supernatural beings that could hold a grudge. He eased back in his chair and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. Bobby observed John: he looked tired almost, like he was carrying a huge burden on his shoulders. His beard was thick and tangled, his hair looked unwashed while his clothes gave off a musty smell. John took a long swig from his bottle as Bobby eyed him warily.
"Listen, it's great that you're here John, and I don't want this to come off the wrong way but the last time I saw you, you were knee deep in this demon business. What changed? Are you in some kind of trouble, do you need help?" Bobby said.
"Nothing like that Bobby, I'm still in the middle of this thing but I would never take you with me. No, this is something different." John sat up in his chair and the mood instantly became more serious, he looked Bobby straight in the eye. "Bobby, this is about The Telos," He finished ominously.
John watched as Bobby's eyes widened, fear flashed in his eyes and his mouth dropped open slightly. A small shiver made it's way quickly down Bobby's spine. Then he recovered and he took a deep drink of beer. The Telos? This was the last thing he had expected to hear when John Winchester had shown up at his door, and yet, he was not incredibly surprised. It seemed to him that when a Winchester was involved, there were no surprises.
"I thought it was only a myth, you're telling me that… that it's real?" Bobby whispered.
John leaned in, "Oh, it's real all right." He reached deep into his pockets, feeling the soft leather graze his hand as he pulled out his makeshift package and placed it delicately in the middle of the table.
Bobby stared intently at the small, silk cloth – almost as if he was willing it to move or glow or do something significant. His eyes flicked back up to meet John's: "This… this is it then?" he pointed at the red lump.
John nodded simply, "That's it."
Bobby reluctantly bent forward, carefully nudging the cloth with his finger until a thick, silver ring was unveiled. The faded silver glinted in the light from the hanging lamp above: the ring was extremely old. Bobby couldn't even make a guess at how long it had been around. He reached for it to get a closer look but John immediately pushed his hands away.
"You don't want to do that," He said.
Bobby didn't bother to ask why not, because after a few moments the details of the legend came back to him and he was astounded at his foolishness. The ring was a simple band covered with small scratches and on the outside, the metal had been worked to create strange symbols etched smoothly into the frame. There had always been speculation as to what the symbols represented but still, they remained unclear.
The wind outside rattled the window frame and Bobby jumped a little.
"You know the legend right?" asked John.
Bobby nodded.
"It's all true." John confirmed, almost light-heartedly, as if he could barely believe it himself.
Bobby took a deep breath and struggled to come up with the right words.
"Well then you are in trouble," Bobby decided. "I have no idea how I can help but whatever you need, just say the word. What are you doing with this thing anyway John, it could kill you."
John chuckled, "Don't worry Bobby, I knew what I was getting into when I took it. Now, I do need you to do something for me. I'm going after The Demon." John held up his hands to stop Bobby from protesting.
"You're not going to stop me," John continued. "I'm doing this no matter what you say. But there's a chance I won't make it and if I don't, I need you to give this to Dean." He nodded towards the lone object resting on the tabletop. "And this too," He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket addressed to Dean and tossed it next to the ring.
Bobby looked at John like he was insane. "No way!" He yelled. "You think I'm just going to dump this on Dean! He doesn't deserve this John, you can't put this on him! Did you even think of the consequences? Dean won't know what the hell to do with this thing. What if he dies John, do you want that on you!?" Bobby's face was turning red and the veins in his forehead were pulsing in frustration.
John looked down, staring at his hands. "He can handle it." He said in a brusque, choked voice.
"And what if he can't, huh? What happens then?"
"Damn it, Bobby!" John stood up in his rage, sending his chair tumbling violently to the floor. "He's my son, don't you think I know what the consequences are!? I know he doesn't deserve this, I know he might not make it, but this thing has got to be protected!"
They were both standing now.
"So you're willing to sacrifice Dean's life for protecting this piece of junk?" Bobby exclaimed.
"Believe me Bobby, I don't like it. I hate it. But someone has to do this, you know the cost if they don't. Now, I've put enough in it for a while, but it won't hold out forever." John referred to the ring. "If I'm not back for it in a month, promise me you'll give it to Dean as soon as possible."
There was a long silence, only interrupted by the sound of the rafters creaking under the pressure of the strong wind.
"Promise me," John repeated through gritted teeth. He stared at Bobby: his friend could not let him down, not when so much depended on this decision.
Bobby's mind was going a mile a minute, but eventually he came to the same conclusion as John. The safety of the many outweighed the danger for the one. Even if it was Dean.
"I promise," he answered reluctantly.
John heaved a deep sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxed and he leaned over to right his chair.
"Thank you," He said.
The legs scraped gently across the floor as he tucked the chair under the table, preparing to leave.
"You know, you could stay here for the night," offered Bobby.
"Thanks, but I have a lot of work to do," John replied as he made his way to the door. Bobby nodded and followed, the floor groaning each time his feet touched the ground.
John swung the door open sending a rush of cool wind into the warm cabin – flinging itself into any crack or corner. He stepped forward, the moon shining on his tall figure.
"Keep it safe," Was all he said before turning and slinking out of the moonlight and into the dark shadows that awaited.