Off the Grid
A Supernatural/Dark Angel Crossover
Sequel to 'A Few Dozen Good Soldiers'
Summary- John's got an army of genetically enhanced super soldiers. Now what?
'Home Base'
John hadn't been back to the old Campbell Ranch house in years. Once they'd raided the Manticore facility it had been difficult, and John wasn't quite sure how they'd managed the trek with fifty odd young kids, but they'd piled the clones into the hidden cars and scattered to better throw off possible pursuit. The six children squeezed into his car didn't make a sound of discomfort and aside from the initial hesitation brought on by the idea of splitting up hadn't shown much emotion at all during the winding trip from Wyoming through South Dakota, Nebraska, and on to Kansas. It was the one state he and his boys had avoided like plague.
John swallowed as he pulled up to the old house that tugged on his heart. Countless times he'd pulled up to the two story structure to pick her up before the night she came running out with tears pouring down her cheeks. Mary's house. He hadn't been back to it since then. They'd gotten married, bought an entirely new house with a mortgage they could barely afford, and tried to forget. He'd once tried to sell the thing and be rid of the memory forever but Mary had looked at him like he'd just told her they couldn't have kids. He never sold it even after the demon took her away. He was willing to bet it was the demon that took her parents too: it seemed like the kind of thing that bastard would do. Legally, the house now belonged to Dean. He was old enough.
The Winchester patriarch opened the car door and absently made a quick motion with his hands to let the little brats know they could get out. "Dad." Dean slammed the door of Robert Singers old truck and stalked over, hands in pockets, and surveyed the area like he had been trained. That bubble of pride welled up in John's chest as he looked over his twenty-one year old. Dean's eyes drifted over to the mailbox jutting out just over the iron fence. "Bit of a fixer-upper." Weeds had taken over the yard and vines had completely covered the massive tree turning it into some kind of mutated living basket.
"It was your mothers." He responded and stepped up to the fence. It was a good fence that could probably keep demons out but he'd have Dean and Sam lay down salt anyway. Tomorrow the clones, and he really needed to think up some names for them, could check the perimeter to see if there were any breaks. He hadn't been back in almost thirty years; moronic drunk civilians might have taken some off for scrap or just done plain vandalism.
"Mom's?" Dean's eyes widened as he unlatched the fence and stared at the house, walking up to the front door as if he was making some kind of sacred pilgrimage. John sighed. Yes, he knew exactly what his son was feeling if not thinking. His wife had become some kind of holy martyr to his eldest.
"Damn it, John. What were you thinking?" Bobby growled softly as he walked up, one hand running through his hair. "I already got enough gray hairs from watching two of your boys."
"Thanks for that." John muttered as he stepped up to follow Dean who had his handgun out, just in case, ready to check the house for threats. John didn't have any doubts that if the boy found squatters they'd soon be running for the highway. Or at least he thought that until the boy froze at the front door and dropped to his knees shivering. "Dean!"
Was it a ghost? The spirit of his wife's murdered parents protecting the old home from perceived intruders? "Damn it." He ran up the stairs while reaching in his coat pocket for the bag of salt he always kept handy. One could never have enough salt, blood pressure be damned. Bobby was right behind him and John absently noticed Sam hanging back by the fence, expression strained, while he took his son by the arm. "Dean, stay with me."
"I can feel it, Dad." Dean whispered. "It feels good. It feels... right."
John grabbed his boy by the arm and shuffled him back down the porch. Dean started fighting him. "No, Dad. You don't get it. This place is moms, it's ours."
John yelled out orders. "Shotgun, now!" Sam was scrambling for the sawed off even as Bobby shoved open the old wooden door, and was that iron plating on the back?
Dean refused to budge past the gate. He hung on to the feeling of soft hands caressing his face stubbornly and would not let himself be dragged beyond the barrier. The Hunter in him scowled and called for caution and protective measures but he didn't care. The not caring in itself should have been warning enough.
"Do you think he's got the shakes?" One of the kids whispered to their leader, a little blonde girl.
"Gig got the shakes and he didn't come back. Not ever."
Sam spared the little clones a dubious look before going to stand by his brother while Bobby and John moved through the house in a practiced pattern checking for enemy occupants. "Dean, you okay?"
"I"m good, Sam." Dean smiled and rubbed his brothers head affectionately as another shiver rippled through his body. "This is a... a good place. Her place. I'll be fine."
He wouldn't know the effect his words had on the clones for several years.
It quickly became apparent that the old Campbell residence wasn't a normal house. Little things he wouldn't have noticed before life as a Hunter stood out glaringly obvious. There were iron fixtures, and only iron fixtures, on the wall including the light switches. The kitchen closet was stocked with old cans of vegetables, well sealed jars of homemade preserves, and more salt than any housewife in her right mind would use. He could recognize protective runes in impossible to erase childish crayon wall drawings.
John swallowed thickly as memories of Mary floated up, her painting with clear water along the windowsill and laughing it off. Why didn't you tell me?
"John! You need to come look at this!" Bobby shouted from the basement. The ex-marine ripped his eyes away from the half painted over scribbles and ran back to the kitchen and down the open basement door.
"Bobby?"
"Do you have any idea what this is?" Singer gestured with his gun to the bright red symbols decorating the middle of the far wall. "I've only heard of them in rumors."
"And?"
"If I'm right, and I'll bet my demonology collection I am, this is a blood ward. They were presumably used by Hunter families and strengthened by each generation. Families that old kept to themselves, didn't trust Hunters that got into it from personal experience, so I've never actually seen an example of one. So long as someone of the bloodline is on the territory it'll keep out just about any evil thing. What does get through..." Bobby trailed off. The only thing John could think of was the coroners report for his dead parents in law. Snapped neck. Knife wound bleeding out. Police report claimed a struggle and non-standard weaponry had been found nearby presumed to belong to the killer. Now John was sure that hadn't been the case.
Bobby continued softly as if sensing the emotional conflict in his friend. "This here, it's a concealment spell. The old families were a paranoid bunch, more so than us sometimes, so I'm guessing this keeps people from really noticing the house and grounds unless they know exactly what they're looking for. Since it's tied to the wards I wouldn't be surprised if it eventually had enough strength to block out satellites."
"It can do all that?"
"Possibly. I've never actually seen these in action, only read about them in old journals. We haven't seen any spirit evidence, John, no cold spots. No nothing. My best guess is that if this is Mary's house, and he's her first born, the wards detected that and are just waking up. They're tied through him now."
John placed a hand over the dark symbols on the wall, watched them flare in warning, and smiled tiredly. A tear trickled down his cheek. You never stop watching out for us, do you Mary? You always said you wanted more kids.
End.