Summary: Castiel had another charge before Dean; one that set everything in motion and pushed Castiel towards Dean.
Chapter Title: Nightmares
Chapter Number: 2/?
Word Count: 5,219 words / 10,757 total
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language and character death : (
Characters: John Winchester, Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mike Guenther, and Kate Guenther.
Pairing: None
Spoilers: General spoilers for episodes up to the first episode of season two (not only in this chapter, for all of it).
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize from the show. I also don't own Mike and Kate Guenther. If you don't know who they are; they really are neighbors of John and Mary Winchester. John writes about them in the journal that serves as Dean and Sam's reference guide for fighting demons.
Important Note: Since this story is so easy to keep track of where I'm at since each chapter will always, or at least almost always, span the time of five days I'm going to try and keep you guys updated on where I'm at in writing the next chapter. I will the chapter and day that I am working on in my profile on here. All you have to do is look for the Charges summary in my stories section =]
Chapter Two
November 13, 1983
It's been eleven days since the fire. Eleven days since his wife was taken from him so abruptly. Eleven days. John has yet to sit down and let it all wash over him; to let it out and finally sit down and just cry. He feels like he should stay strong for the boys, but Kate keeps telling him they have her and Mike for that so he shouldn't worry about not showing any weakness in front of them. It did nothing to ease his mind: which is why he's now resting on the couch. He's not asleep, he's sure it's been twelve days since the last time he got a decent night's sleep. Each time he lets his mind go still long enough to sleep he was awoken a few hours later from the same dream.
A dream where Mary's on the ceiling of the nursery with blood dripping from her abdomen into the crib that little Sammy is still lying in. He makes to reach for her, but as soon as his hand comes out there's fire all around her. That's always when he jolts up off the couch. It takes him a while to remember that that's already happened and he's not standing in the nursery any more. He's not back at his home, but in Kate and Mike's living room with the boy's sleeping in a room down the hall.
Tonight was no different. He had awoken from the dream drenched in sweat. It had taken him two minutes to remember where he was before he fell back onto the couch and draped a hand over his eyes, his breathing slowly slipping back into its original rhythm instead of the labored gasps it had been. It had taken him all of ten seconds to decide there was no way he'd be going back to sleep that night. John's hand lifted for a moment so that he could glance across the room at the clock on the wall above the television: four in the morning. Still too early for him to even think about getting out of bed to wander around the house. He didn't want to accidentally wake up the boys.
John also didn't want to accidentally wake up Mike or Kate. He doubted he could take another heart to heart from Kate. He definitely couldn't take Mike trying to get him out of the house and back to the shop. It was the shop's fault he hadn't been sleeping in the same room as Mary that night. He wasn't sure if it would have helped anything to have him asleep in the same bed as Mary that night. She woke up for some reason and still would have even if he was there, but she might not have gotten out of bed if he had been there. Then what? Would Sammy be alright if it wasn't for Mary waking up that night?
John stood up from the couch in one fluid motion and walked down the hall to the boy's room as quietly as he could. He glanced to Dean's bed first, empty, then to Sammy's. Dean was lying in the bed with him, curled up around the small baby to protect him from things a four year old shouldn't have to worry about. Things that John should have been able to protect them from, all three of them. John stood in the doorway to the boys' room for only a moment longer before turning around and walking back into the living room. He didn't stop there. He walked to the door of the house and stepped out into the chilly night air.
John scolded himself for not thinking about bringing a jacket, but he couldn't bring himself to actually turn back around and go back inside to grab one. He shuffled down the stairs and to the middle of the yard, exactly where he had been standing when the firemen came over to give him news he had already expected. That he was a widower; Mary was gone and wouldn't be coming back. John folded his arms across his chest, gripping his sides painfully hard. His eyes were glued to the house across the street as he collapsed onto the ground and finally let the long overdue tears fall.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, in that position as everything washed over him. All John knew was that when he finally stopped crying the sun was slowly sneaking up into the morning sky. He stayed there for thirty more minutes; just staring at the half gone house he use to call a home. It wasn't until he heard the front door open behind him that he remembered where exactly he was.
"John, what are you doing?" Kate asked as she hurried towards him dressed in nothing but a white robe and her pajamas. "Get back inside! You don't want to catch a cold!" She rushed over to him and collapsed onto the ground next to him, her hands wrapping around his right arm.
"Nothing makes sense any more, Kate." John rubbed his hands roughly up his arms to try and get some heat back into them.
"Oh John, I know." Kate shifted forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, "I know."
"I want her back." John said and before he knew it, the tears were back. He felt his head being pulled towards Kate and he went with the movement without fighting with his friend. It was another hour before he stopped again, by then he was sure Mike and at least Dean would be up and running around the house. Not running. Dean hardly ever did anything more than stumble across the carpet anymore and he barely did that. Usually he'd sit in front of the TV with some kids show on, but he only paid the show half the attention he would have if it was a normal day with Mary still alive.
November 17, 1983
John was leaning against a counter in the kitchen next to the fridge. Dean and Kate had already eaten and left the room; leaving him with Mike, who he suspected was trying to get up the courage to actually talk to him. Either that or was going over whatever he wanted to say in his head so he didn't make the mistake of saying the wrong thing to John. A task he doubted his friend would be able to do. Everything had begun to upset him lately. He was getting more and more irritated over little things with the passing of each day that Mary's case went unsolved. He could tell that Mike was getting frustrated with his attitude, but he had yet to say a thing to him. Until now. Mike was staring at him as he continued to chew on the eggs that Kate had made for all of them earlier. John hadn't bothered to try and eat them while Dean only picked at them.
"You wanna talk?" Mike asked when he finally finished the food on his plate and dropped his fork on the table beside his cup of coffee.
"No." John said abruptly. He shifted his weight to his left foot and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes glued to the floor. He could still feel Mike watching him; he could sense that the man was trying his hardest to be understanding, but he was barely reigning in his anger.
"Too bad." Mike grabbed the napkin from the table, where his fork had been sitting when he first started eating, and wiped at his mouth. He stood up from the table and walked his dishes over to the sink and placed them on top of the dishes that had already been placed there, Kate would get to them later. "You're talking." Mike turned around and leaned against the sink, facing John and standing in the exact same stance as the other male.
Neither of them spoke for the longest time. If it wasn't for the fact that Mike was still standing there watching him, John would have thought he had given up on getting him to talk. But he was still standing there, staring at him. He was waiting and John had a feeling he'd stand there waiting all day until he got something out of the man. John desperately wanted Mike to give up on him. The only thing he wanted to talk about was how Mary got on the ceiling that night and how the fire seemed to leap out at him to get him away from her. He couldn't bring that up with Mike; he'd think John mad. At the same time, John should talk to someone about it and he was pretty sure the only person that would even begin to understand him was standing a foot away waiting for him to open his mouth. John let out a short huff of breath and raised his hands to rub at his tired eyes. He walked over to the table, thinking it better to be sitting down for this particular conversation. Mike followed his lead, sitting down in the seat closest to him.
"Look, John, I'm really sorry about what happened. Her death; it wasn't your fault. It was probably faulty wiring." Mike, John guessed, was trying to ease his pain, but it didn't make him feel any better. It wasn't any different to think Mary's death was some freak accident or to think it was due to faulty wiring. She was still gone; he wasn't getting her back. How she died didn't matter to him at this point. He had other concerns; other worries. John placed his hands in his lap and began fiddling with his fingers.
"Mike, when I went into the nursery that night." John paused and raised his hand to run it through his much too long hair, "There was blood in Sammy's crib and when I looked up to see where it was coming from. Mike; Mary, she was on the ceiling." John looked up from staring at the floor to look at Mike. He didn't notice anything different in his expression or eyes. Mike was still just listening to him, but he was sure that Mike thought he was talking to sleep deprived and traumatized man.
"And when I went to get her down; the entire ceiling burst into flames." John continued telling his story, not bothering to stop and check if Mike wasn't mentally telling himself to get John checked into a facility. Right then, he just wanted it all to be said. Maybe then he could get the much needed sleep that everyone knew he was going without lately. "I grabbed Sammy out of the crib and gave him to Dean in the hallway. And when I tried to go back into the room; the flames, it was like the leapt out at me." John finished it there. He wasn't sure if Mike was even paying attention to him anymore.
It took Mike a long time to say anything. He just sat there in the kitchen with John in silence: to make sure John was done talking or to figure out what he was going to say, John wasn't sure. "How long has it been since the last time you had a good night's sleep?" Mike quietly asked. He had his eyes trained on John, as if he thought the man would crack at any moment.
John sighed. He already knew that this was how it was going to be. That's why he hadn't decided to tell the fireman that particular part of the story. "I don't know. Since a couple days before the fire, I guess." John said.
"Now, you listen to me John. You're gonna get through this, for the boys." Mike was saying, but John wasn't paying much attention any more. Mike had lost his chance to have John listen to him when he decided that John had left his sanity in the house with Mary when it all went up in flames. "Now, I need you to go get some sleep. It'll all make better sense when you wake up." John didn't count on it, but he didn't bother to argue his point with the mechanic. Instead, he stood up from the table and walked towards the living to try and get a few more hours of sleep. He wasn't sure if it had been him finally getting it all off his chest or that the sleep deprivation had finally gotten to him, but as soon as John's head hit the pillow lying on the couch, he was out.
John slept through lunch and almost through dinner, but Kate managed to coax him out of his slumber by the sweet smell of food that he hadn't been able to eat much of in a while. His stomach growled in appreciation when the smell of homemade lasagna blew past his nose. He groggily rolled off the couch and walked into the kitchen where everyone was just now sitting down for dinner. John stared at the food being set down on the table before sitting down in the empty chair; he had decided if it wasn't for the fact that Kate made such delicious meals, he probably wouldn't have been eating at all these past few days.
For the most part, everyone ate in silence. Only speaking when they needed something passed to them. John watched Dean as he slid his food around the plate, only occasionally lifting the fork to his mouth to take a bite. He needed to talk to Dean about that and get him to start eating regularly again; but before he opened his mouth to say something, Dean slid out of his chair and left the room to go find Sammy, who John supposed was fast asleep in his crib by now. Mike finished up behind Dean rather quickly, leaving Kate and John at the table alone. He was beginning to dislike these little meetings. He was sure that this meant it was Kate's turn to talk to him.
"John, I'm really sorry about what happened to Mary." Kate said quietly from her side of the table. John was already starting to hate those words. They had been saying it a lot lately. That or they tried to tell him that it her death was because of faulty wiring. It didn't mean anything to John; it wouldn't change his way of thinking. Not until Mary's case was closed would he start to let those words finally sink in. "I think that you should talk to someone about this." John inaudible huff at her trying to sugar coat saying that she thought he was crazy. He had already guessed that Mike would have talked to her about what they had said that morning after breakfast. He just hadn't thought she'd be the one to bring it back up. John definitely hadn't thought she'd suggest he go talk to a shrink about it.
John was glaring at the food in his plate, no longer eating any of it. He didn't need to talk to anyone about this. He hadn't talked to anyone about what he had gone through when he was in the Marines during Nam. John knew he could get through this alone; he just needed a little more time. It wasn't as if any amount of sleep or talking would change what he saw that night.
November 26, 1983
It had been twenty-four days since the fire. The police hadn't come up with anything new on her case and didn't even know if it was classified as a crime yet. John was sitting in a chair outside of the office of the head investigator on Mary's case, waiting for him to get done with whatever he was doing so that he could go in. The man had called him down to the police station that morning to ask him more questions about the second of November. John was hoping that it was also to tell him they had found out more about what had happened. As soon as the detective walked out of the room, John knew that that wasn't the case. His entire demeanor said he didn't have anything new to tell him about Mary.
"Come on in Mr. Winchester." Detective Marsters held the door open so that John could walk in the room in front of him. John seated himself in the right seat in front of the desk and waited for Marsters to say whatever it was he was going to say. "So, here's the thing Mr. Winchester. I called you here today to go over a few questions." The man said. He didn't wait for John to say anything before diving straight into the questions. "Where were you the night of the fire?" he asked.
John's head shot up as he narrowed his gaze at the detective. "I told you before. I was in the living room." He said, anger clear in his tone.
Marsters ignored his first comment in favor of continuing with the questions he needed to ask. "Why were you in the living room?" his gaze was trained on John, probably trying to pick up on any little body movement that would tell him something about John that the man wasn't coming right out and asking.
"We had fought. She went to bed early. I fell asleep in the living room watching TV." John was calm as he spoke, but with each new question he only grew angrier. The questions the detective was asking were all questions he had heard from him and the other cops before. They weren't getting anywhere on her case so they kept going back over what they already knew, as if it would make John feel better in knowing they hadn't completely given up on ever finding anything out about the fire and Mary's death.
"So, you were fighting?" Marsters began to tap his fingers on the desk in front of him, further aggravating John. John only nodded his head in response, not trusting himself not to blow up at the man sitting in front of him. "About?" Marsters shifted around in his chair and brought his right leg up to cross over the other.
"About work." John said in a huff. He was gripping the end of the arm of the chair he was sitting on. "She was mad that I had to stay late at my job so much recently." He didn't bother to elaborate any further than that; the entire conversation wasn't going the way John had wanted it to. It was as if they had all come up with the conclusion that John had been the one that had started the fire that night. That John had been the one that had killed his wife.
Marsters gave a nod of his head. "And the boys were there any problems with them?" John's eyes stayed glued to the fingers of the detective as they continued to tap against the top of his desk. He desperately wanted to get out of the police department; away from Marsters and the other cops they seemed to be fine with blaming the entire crime on him instead of hunting the real criminal. "Is that all?" John asked. He let his eyes look up from the man's hand to his eyes and at the nod he received he stood up out of the chair and stormed out of the building to head back home to his two sons.
November 30, 1983
John jolted awake at four in the morning that night from the same dream he had been having for a month now. Mary pressed flat against the ceiling with blood dripping from her abdomen. He can't save her no matter how hard he tries and ends up losing her once again. He had actually managed to get it somewhat under control for a while, but as soon as he had to stop by the police station on the twenty-seventh the dreams had come back full force. John slid off the couch and stretched his arms over his head. Right then, he felt like he had had a dark dream a week back that he couldn't remember if it was dream or if it had actually happened.
John dropped his hands to his side and walked towards the front door to slip on his hoes before walking out of the house to get some fresh air. It had been almost a month since Mary had passed, but he still couldn't sleep. The entire concept felt like a distant memory; one that he was beginning to doubt if he'd ever be able to experience again. He groaned as he stepped out into the chilly night air, automatically regretting the fact that he had once again went outside without a jacket. He rubbed his hands roughly against his arms to create some friction. The act only helped a little and after a while he gave up in favor of shoving his freezing hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms, a pair that really weren't thick enough to protect him from the cold.
The house was still half gone. He hadn't bothered to get anyone to rebuild it yet. Mike and Kate had yet to complain even once about having them around. He wasn't judging how long he should stay by that. However, it did help that Kate had made it clear she didn't want him and the boys staying in some lousy motel. Kate had told him several times that was really no trouble, she was glad to help him take care of the boys while he got over his wife's passing. Something he doubted he'd ever truly be able to get over.
John stumbled across Mike and Kate's yard, across the street, and to the place he had called home since three months before Dean was born. He took in a deep breath as he came to the door and slowly turned the knob to push the door open. It would be the first time he had stepped into the house since November second. He drew in another deep breath before taking the first few steps into the house. He closed the door behind quietly behind him even though there really was no point in it.
It had been nearly a month, but the entire home still smelt faintly of smoke. With each new step he took, John could feel his body shaking even more. No matter what he tried to do to stop his trembles, he couldn't. He walked around the living room, letting his fingers glide across the cool wood of their couch side table. Dust had already settled there, mixed in with the soot from the holes in the ceiling from the nursery. His eyes immediately traveled up the wall to the ceiling there. If he glanced through the holes in the floor he could see the night sky, but he refused to let his gaze go there. He walked out of the room and to the next, the kitchen.
"What the hell are you doing in my home?" John growled out as soon as his eyes landed on a man wearing a suit; a man whose green eyes he remembered from the night of the fire. He hadn't known who the man was that night and he still didn't know who he was now. Until now, until this man showed up inside his home, he had basically shoved him out of his mind. He didn't bother letting the man speak before the next question of his rolled roughly off his tongue in a deep growl, "And who the hell are you?"
The man turned so that he was facing John, his heading cocking to the side with narrowed eyes in what seemed like slight confusion.
"John, I-"
"And how the hell do you know who I am?" John shouted. He took the steps forward it took to get him across the kitchen, curled his fists into the man's shirt, and slammed him roughly into the oven he had been standing in front of. He wasn't sure if he even wanted the man to answer his questions. Any answers he gave him, John was sure he'd only hear that this man had something to do with Mary's death. He didn't know how this man was connected to the fire; but he believed that this man, who was currently staring at him with curious eyes, had something to do with his wife's death.
"You would not believe me now, even if I told you."
"Try me." John growled out.
The man let out a huff of air. "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord." John scoffed at his answer and pulled him back a little before slamming him more roughly against the oven. Castiel didn't cry out in pain, didn't even flinch from the impact.
"Get out of my home!" John growled and tossed Castiel towards the exit of the house. The man barely even stumbled across the floor of the kitchen before he left John standing in the room alone. John turned around and slid down the front of the oven to collapse on to the ground. He stared at the wall in front of him. When his thoughts turned back to Mary, he burst into tears.
December 4, 1983
John felt like he was back in the marines. He couldn't sleep. Not straight through the night; not anymore. The smallest noise would jostle him from his slumber. If he tried, then it would take hours for him to fall back asleep, but most nights he didn't. Most nights he'd get up off the couch and find his way back to Dean and Sammy's room. He'd stand in the doorway for a few minutes before quietly walking into the room and sliding down the wall opposite their bed; watching them sleep in the crib that was almost too small for the two of them.
No matter if he'd start out thinking about Mary; his thoughts would drift back to Castiel, the man that had been in his house four nights back. He knew the guy had been lying when he told him he was an angel; what he didn't know was why the guy had lied to him in the first place if it wasn't for the fact that he had something to do with Mary's death. Every so often John would hear something; a whispering sound that was almost as if it was it was whispering his name, whispering their names.
It all kept John up for almost the entire night; forcing him to keep an eye on his sons and to never once leave their sides. He only drifted off to sleep once; at around six in the morning. It wasn't even an hour later when he was awoken by the familiar tug of Dean's hand on his sleeve. John blinked awake and offered his oldest son a soft smile; he reached out to Dean and pulled him onto his lap to wrap his right arm tightly around Dean's shoulders and placed his left hand on the back of Dean's neck. "Hey." He whispered, to keep from waking Sam who was still asleep in the crib, and kissed the top of his sons head.
Dean didn't respond to him, instead he burrowed his head into John's chest and curled his fingers into the fabric of his dad's shirt. It had been a long time since Dean had spoken to anyone, since the night of the fire when he had called John's name out in the hallway before he had been handed Sam. John tried on several occasions to coax the boy back into talking to him; to say anything to him or even Kate or Mike. So far, there was nothing. He'd tried to talk him into tossing the ball around the yard, but Dean had simply shaken his head no and went back to whatever he had been doing at the time.
John dropped his hand from Dean's neck and wrapped it under his legs. He used the wall behind him to stand up and carried Dean into the kitchen to find that he had apparently missed when Kate had woken up to go into the kitchen to cook breakfast for a lot of people who had yet to eat a full meal she prepared for them.
"John! You look absolutely exhausted!" Kate shook her head and sent him a glare. She threw the spatula down on the counter and walked over to John to take Dean from his arms. She placed him down in one of the chairs around the table and pointed to the chair next to him. "Sit." She commanded; when he didn't move to sit down, she sent him a glare and jabbed her finger into his chest. "John! You're not going to be any good to those boys of yours if you don't get enough sleep!" she was almost growling at him now, so he gave a nod of his head and collapsed into the chair next to Dean.
John knew all of this already; his state of paranoia just wasn't letting him get the sleep he so desperately needed. He'd drift off every so often and get a couple hours of sleep, but he'd wake up at the slightest sound that was made. Even when that sound was just Kate moving dishes around in the kitchen. For the most part, she tried to do this as quietly as she could but still always managed to wake him up. Kate had once told him to take cold medicine to see if it would help. The only thing it had done was make the nightmares seem more vivid then they already had been. A feat that John hadn't been sure they could cross.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Kate asked. She was back to cooking the breakfast on the stove. Mike walked into the kitchen and sat down before John had the chance to answer, but he managed to catch the question his wife had asked and now was waiting for an answer from John as well.
"Yes." It wasn't exactly a lie. She only asked if he had any sleep last night. An hour, though it wasn't much, was still some sleep. He knew from the look she was giving him that she didn't believe him for one second but wasn't going to say anything about it for now. At least, she wasn't going to in front of Dean. John decided to change the subject. "I kept hearing things last night, it sounded like someone whispering." He said.
"Must have been the wind." Mike shrugged it off almost as soon as it was out of John's mouth. John hadn't remembered it being windy the night before. Though it was close to winter time now; it was windy almost every day. But still, it hadn't sounded like the wind. Not to John. Mike had come to pass off everything he had said lately; claiming that it was only the chatter of a grieving widower. John had never felt so angry towards his friends as he had then.
