THE DEVIL'S BOUNTY
A.N. Hello to anyone thinking of reading this, welcome to my last Supernatural fic. My first ever fic was a short one off entitled HANG ON. I have, I hope, brought things full circle by referring back to the occurrences in that story, within this one. It seemed appropriate.
When I lost the impetus to write creatively, (in any form, not just these fanfics. Believe me, I'm still a supernatural girl), the following story was already near to completion. So, rather than leave it hanging around on my laptop, I've forced myself to complete it by way of saying goodbyeand thank you to anyone and everyone who has ever taken the time to read anything of mine, to anyone kind enough to have put my name on their author alert or favourites list and, especially, to those of you who have become the familiar names I always love to hear from and chat to - You know who you are my friends :) It's been a fun ride, but my stop's due shortly. Chick xxxx
PROLOGUE
...
Dean is still adjusting since his unexpected return from Hell, trying to regain his role on earth, and deal with the guilt which he has carried back with him. Being together again, it's what they both wanted, but the brothers are struggling to re-connect. Sam is happy he has his brother back, he is. It's just, there have been some changes, and Sam wants to keep hold of them. Bobby opens up his home once again to the boys he loves as if they were his own sons. He gives them the space that the brother's need in order to work things out between them, and he watches, worried, seeing how hard it is for the pair to re-unite. Under the same roof, they each do their own thing until, once again, they learn their lesson the hard way. They are stronger together. Separated, they each immediately become easier targets; and Hell would like Dean Winchester back.
xxxxXXXxxxx
Chapter 1
...
Some people seem to be, as they say, born lucky. Whilst others wonder just what it was that they did in a previous existence that was so terribly wrong, it had led to bad luck dogging their every footstep throughout this one? Some people turn out to be multi talented, multi skilled geniuses who lead humanity forward, on to the next big thing; or, alternatively, they are the brilliant minds with the talent to recognise the global screw up the next big thing will be, and try to warn the rest of us. Then there are their counter parts, those people whom, without the impact of any neurological or developmental disability, manage entirely of their own accord, to be the blunt knife that resides way down in the depths of the box, the sandwich that got left behind at the picnic. There are those that do, and those that think, those with aspirations, and those who haven't the foggiest what the word means, and would never consider trying to find out. There are the doormats, who wait to be walked on, by those who love to walk. There are those who spend their lives running, and those who are prepared to stand and be counted. There are lovers of self, and those filled with self hate. The doubters and the believers. The confident and the painfully shy. Those who manage to avoid any kind of trouble throughout their entire lives; and those who, with almost monotonous regularity, just keep walking smack bang into the centre of it, even when they are happily minding their own business.
Dean Winchester? Well, he had the misfortune to be one of the latter.
This man was the kind who would look at you whilst wearing an innocent who me? expression, his green eyes open wide, and swear to you that, when not actively hunting, during which the very nature of the game meant that one had to expect some minor issues on occasion; he never, ever, actively sought out trouble. Dean Winchester would insist to you that it was, in fact, trouble which consistently set out to find him. Right at this very moment, he would be the first to acknowledge that he was stood, metaphorically speaking, right up to his chin in one huge stinky, mountainous pile of it, and with no one to watch his back.
"Hey! You three. If there's gonna be trouble, take it outside or I'm calling the cops. You hear me?"
Dean took a quick glance at the other customers in the bar. They were all silent, watching, waiting, none of them moving to stand at Dean's side. He had no friends in this place. He focused on the barman who was holding up his mobile as though it was a weapon, reinforcing his threat to dial 911. Dean looked the man directly in the eye's, hoping the guy would see that Dean was actually being serious, no matter what the light hearted tone might suggest.
"Go right ahead friend. Please. Make that call. Really, I think it's an excellent idea.!"
The barman shook his head.
"Not unless I hav'ta. I got customers here I gotta think about. You three take your problem outside an' we're all good. If not..."
The barman jiggled his phone for emphasis. Dean rolled his eyes.
"I'm a customer dude. An' I'd seriously appreciate that call."
The barman stayed motionless. Dean sighed and swept his eyes once more over the silent patrons.
"Anyone here got a problem with the law, please make your way immediately and calmly to the exit. Thank you."
"Winchester...You've entertained these good folk long enough. Now, I'd advise you to do what the nice man asked an' step outside. You wouldn't want any of these innocent bystanders to get hurt, accidental like...Would you?"
Dean looked to the barman one last time.
"Thanks for the help dude. Any time you need me to return the favour, you just ask, ok?"
He was pleased to see that the barman at least had the good grace to look away in embarrassment. In resignation, Dean began to walk towards the exit, his two antagonists falling into step, one either side of him. Dean immediately felt like he had shrunk. He figured his escorts had to be at least 6'10" each. Taking a swift glance up at each one of them, he mentally he marked one as Red, in view of the red stubble on his head. As to the second, broader one, Dean considered the wavy, white blond hair hanging nearly down to the guy's shoulders, and sensibly threw out Norma Jean, in favour of sticking with Titch. Of course, naming the over-sized would be trolls didn't alter his situation, but at least in his own mind he could now differentiate between the pair for himself.
From under the peak of his ever present baseball cap Bobby surreptitiously glanced over to where Sam sat, supposedly reading an old compendium devoted to stories and "eyewitness accounts" of the wild hunt. Bobby continued to, unobtrusively, look up now and again, noting how long the young hunter sat with the book open at the same page. Eventually, Bobby closed his own book and put it to one side. Picking up his tumbler of whisky, Bobby slowly sipped the liquor whilst openly watching Sam. Despite Bobby now not hiding the fact that he was observing the boy, Sam neither noticed or reacted. Bobby frowned slightly.
"Penny for 'em."
Blinking hard, as though tearing himself back from some other plain, Sam looked towards Bobby in confusion.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
Bobby shuffled in the old, overstuffed armchair.
"You were miles away kid. I was offering a penny for whatever it is that's got you zoning out like that."
Sam attempted a denial, insisting he was simply interested in the contents of the book he held.
"Don't give that bullcrap kid...You've been on that same page over twenty minutes now, an' I know you ain't such a slow reader. So c'mon, what's wrong?"
Sam gazed at Bobby. To anyone who knew no better, looking at the older hunter, with his battered baseball cap, plaid work shirt, grubby tee, baggy jeans and hair that would appreciate a visit to the barbers, it would be easy to under-estimate the man. Those who didn't know him well would overlook how astute he was, forget his years of experience as a hunter. They would assume his fist couldn't come at you with the power of a sledgehammer, and they would be likely to give little credit to the quiet intelligence and vast breadth of knowledge behind those keen, observant eyes. Within the hunter's community, no one survived to be Bobby's age if they weren't extremely good at the job. By the standards of Joe Public, Bobby nowhere near qualified as elderly. But by Hunters' standards? Bobby was damn near venerable. Looking across at him now, Sam knew he had to form an answer that satisfied Bobby, or the man would never let things rest. Sam sighed.
"I'm not sure myself Bobby...I don't really think I know how to explain it."
"How about you stick to plain English? You know, make sure my old brain can keep up."
"Ok...Well...It's Dean...He's, not himself. He's...different"
"Sam. I hate pointin' out the blatantly bloody obvious but, your brother's not long since back from Hell. You know the place? Fiery pit of eternal damnation an' all? I'm not claimin' to be any great expert here, but I imagine that kinda experience's gonna change a person. Has he told you anythin' about what he went through downstairs?"
"No. I ask, he says he can't remember."
"You believe him?"
"Yes...No...Crap. I dunno Bobby. And I hear what you're saying. I do, but, it feels like something more. He's not the same. He seems more...Vulnerable, more needy, since he came back. He's...Weaker? Or, maybe I'm wrong. I know I've changed. I had four months of surviving without him Bobby, surviving, not goin' under. I was on my own, and becoming stronger for it. Before? I used to wish every day that I could be like him, that I could be that fast, be that good. Now though? I think... I think the time without him did something to me, did me good. Now, I think I'm the better hunter. I think...No...I know I'm faster, more focused, more...Powerful than Dean is. Bottom line? He left, and I managed without him. I worry about him Bobby...Really worry. And there's things Iwannaknow...Like, how the crap did he get out? And, more importantly, how do I help him get back to normal?" The pair locked eyes with each other, and Bobby could clearly see the turmoil that raged within the young man.
" So ... Why didn't you go out with him this evenin' like he asked?"
Sam shrugged his shoulders.
"I dunno...I guess I just figured he needed some time alone, you know? Time to get the old Dean back, to find himself again. Does that make any sense?"
Bobby looked thoughtful.
"I guess. But, I'm wonderin', is that what Dean wanted? Or did he want to go out with his brother? Try to re-connect, convince himself all this' real? That it's not just some dream he's havin' about bein' back topside again? Did you even think about that?...Sam?"
Sam turned his face from Bobby's questioning gaze, unable to maintain eye contact any longer. His voice, when he could finally speak, was soft, tremulous and uncertain.
"No Bobby. I didn't. I never thought about that possibility, and you know what? You're right. I should have gone with him."
Sam stood up and reached for his jacket.
"Here lad, you'll need these."
Sam caught the car keys that Bobby threw to him.
"They're for the brown Ford Sedan parked in front of the workshop."
Sam paused to look at the man who was so much like a father to himself and his brother, and threw the man a warm and genuine smile.
"Thanks Bobby...For everything."
"Go on idjit...Get outta here, and make sure you don't wake me when you both get back tonight. I need my beauty sleep, unlike you two."
Sam's smile grew broader and he turned, leaving Bobby alone, setting out to join his brother at the bar Dean had said he was heading for.
xxxxXXXxxxx