Meeting of minds, breaking of hearts

Chapter 2 – A hunt of my own

Dean twisted and rolled into a protective ball as he felt his ribs grind under the vicious onslaught. The pain was unbearable, and yet, at the same time it was a kind of comfort…at least he could still feel something. And on some level he believed he deserved it, maybe that's why he couldn't get his arms and legs to work, maybe that's why he couldn't fight back.

The attacker never uttered a single word, just continued slamming with his boot, causing as much unrelenting damage as he could while Dean did nothing to defend himself, while he just stared at the wet sidewalk and took his punishment. He never knew what made it all stop, hell; he didn't know why it started in the first place…but it did stop. And then there was the sound of running feet though puddles, and a deep, ground out voice speaking to him real close to his face, then strong hands on his chest and shoulder.

"Up you get, son, can you walk?" Dean struggled to open sticky eyes at the sound of the gruff voice. It didn't sound like John, and once the face swam into focus he found himself staring at a stranger, older than his father by a good ten years but equally strong and confident.

The man cupped Dean's cheek in one rough hand and gently straightened his head, peering at him in the eyes and letting out a barked laugh. "Well, you sure look like a Winchester to me."

At the mention of his name, Dean straightened against the wall and appraised the stranger more thoroughly. His face appeared haggard and wrinkled, making him look like he'd been dragged through life rather than lived it, but his eyes shone piercing blue with a rare intensity, and it was obvious this man knew Dean.

"Come on, son; let's get you out of here before he comes back with friends. I'm not as young as I used to be, not sure I could fight off more than one." He hooked one arm round Dean's waist and grabbed his belt, linking the other arm over his shoulder.

The ground buckled slightly for Dean as a wave of vertigo hit him when he rose to his feet, but he'd had worse. "Do I know you?" His words sounded slurred, but now, it was as much due to a split lip and swollen jaw as it was to the alcohol.

Blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight, the stranger at his side gave a wide grin and continued to walk them both towards the roadside, back to his truck. "Well, I guess you do now."

ooooo

Dean sat propped on the bed roll and watched Jacob throw another log on the fire. He followed the embers with his eyes as they rose in a mushroom cloud of sparks into the inky sky. As the hissing and popping as the flames took hold, the smell of warm aromatic pine wafting on the smoke was almost hypnotic.

"Here." Jacob popped the lid off a bottle of beer and handed it to Dean who took it and immediately downed a generous gulp, feeling better all the time. The deep cut on his cheek was barely throbbing anymore and the beer and painkiller cocktail was filling the space left by Jack nicely.

The deserted camp-site had no actual tents, just bed-rolls and a fire, but did have brewed coffee and beer in abundance. Not usually one for camping, Dean couldn't help feeling that this he could get used to. He moved slightly as his ribs ached, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was near to impossible so he just eased back on the thin roll Jacob had provided and let the beer do its work.

"So, you're a hunter then." Dean had already noticed the thin line of salt and the cats' eye shells littering the ground.

Jacob grinned slyly, raising a creased brow. "What gave it away?" He paused and considered the younger man staring back. "Never did meet your daddy, but his reputation I have heard of, and I've met you before…" He pointed at Dean with the neck of his bottle. "…few years back now, when you and your brother were staying at Caleb's."

Dean shook his head slowly and downed another mouthful of brew, still scanning each feature of Jacobs face for any hint of recognition. He spoke slowly. "Don't remember you."

Letting out a hearty, loud laugh, Jacob almost choked on his beer. "That daddy of yours sure has made you suspicious, hasn't he? Where is he anyway?"

Unsure of what to tell the older man, Dean took another gulp, using the time to think before sidestepping the question. "He's on a hunt…So, what are you doing out here?"

Another sly grin. "On a hunt of my own." Jacob appraised Dean over the top of the brown bottle dangling from his fingers, and couldn't help but notice the sudden instinctual interest in the young hunter's eyes.

"Oh?"

"Yeah…too old for it if I'm honest, but I've been hunting this thing a long while now, and I'm so close I can taste it."

The look of hunger in the old man's eyes was magnetic and Dean felt himself drawn forwards like a moth to a flame. "So what are you hunting exactly?"

"Ever heard of the 'Consecro', Dean?" Again Jacob's eyes burned through him, with a heat born of passion.

"Can't say I have, but it sounds mean." Another hearty laugh from Jacob and with all the beer and remnants of Jack, Dean couldn't help but laugh too.

"It means 'Sanctified' in Latin; it's the name of a book."

Dean furrowed his brow in mock disbelief and reached for the next bottle. "You're hunting a book?"

"In a way." The smile on the older man's face gave way to another emotion all together as he focused his eyes on the fire. "This book had a job to do. It was the first ever devils trap and it holds demons like birds in a cage, only they're in a slow, painful everlasting torment. Truest hell for demons you might say. There's at least one in there that's a mean, sorry son of a bitch."

"Why would you want a book that traps demons? Why not just exorcise them and send them back to hell?" Dean was confused either by the beer, the story or both, he wasn't sure.

Jacob leaned forwards, his eyes glazing over as he spoke. "Why would I just send them back home? Send 'em to where they came from anyway? What kind a hell is that for them?" Dean couldn't help feeling admiration for the deep hatred in his voice. "What hunter wouldn't want a cell for demons boy? Think!"

He watched as the older man's expression morphed from hatred into vengeance, it was a sickeningly familiar look. The desire for retribution painted across the old man's craggy features was the same as John's, and Dean had seen it on his fathers face many times before. "Sounds dangerous."

"Ain't everything in our world? Besides as long as the trap remain unbroken, it can't get out." He chuckled to himself. "You probably wouldn't want to be there if it ever did."

"No. Probably not."

Jacob watched Dean pensively till he caught his eye. "You know, I could do with some help on this one, these old bones…" He patted his arm. "…they're not as quick as they used to be. Course, only if your daddy wouldn't object. I don't want you getting into any trouble."

The slight frown on Dean's face may have been missed by most, but Jacob was watching for it. "No trouble. I'll help, besides, I guess I owe you."

The silence was deafening as both men sat staring into the flames. Every so often, a leaf caught in the smoke and twisted in the hot air, married to the drifting sparks floating upwards, and Jacob couldn't help the slight grin once again playing across his lips; this had played out like clockwork.

ooooo

John pulled up by the side of the road and flipped open his phone, a deep frown creasing his face at the name on the screen. There'd been no sign of Dean in any of the bars and diners he'd tried, and he'd just decided to head back to the motel and wait it out when he'd heard the tone.

He answered gruffly; no time for small talk. "Singer, what do you want?"

Bobby was equally curt. "I ain't phoning to socialise, John, so listen up. Had a call from a friend, tells me you and your boys may be in trouble and not know it. You heard of a hunter named Jacob Hearn?"

John racked his brain for any memory. "I know of him. Hasn't he been tied up hunting some kind of relic?"

"Yeah. A book. A pretty damned dangerous book by all accounts, and now he thinks he's found it. Recon he's planning on stealing it from some collector."

"So, what's this got to do with me?"

"I'm getting to that. Are the boys with you?"

Even on the phone, the urgency in Bobby's tone was tangible and John paused, unsure of exactly how much to tell his old friend. No one knew Sam was at Stanford and he was happy to keep it that way for the time being. "Sam's not here but I know where he is and he's safe. Dean's around, but he's been gone most of the day.

"In that case, Winchester, you'd better listen good, cos there's something you need to know."

ooooo

The following morning, Jacob followed Dean's instructions, pulling up one block away from the motel and turned to his passenger. "You ain't changed your mind, have you son?"

Dean didn't meet his eyes. "No. I just have some, family business, to deal with; I can meet you somewhere later tonight."

Jacob smiled, nodding his head slowly. "You know the disused railway station on the west side of town? There's a bridge about a mile along the tracks heading south, meet me there at ten, then we'll head out."

Dean nodded, and after a pause followed by a deep breath, he climbed from the truck and with a resigned droop to his shoulders, he headed back to the motel room and his father.

Twisting in his seat, Jacob watched him go, waiting till he was out of earshot before reaching deep into his coat pocket and dragging out his mobile phone. The number was on speed dial and took only a second to connect. He spoke quietly, not wanting to be overheard. "Stanley…yeah, it's tonight…no, he's the perfect candidate, knew he would be…Yeah, I'll bring him to you…and Stanley, next time I ask you to give someone a scare beating, don't half kill'em, if the kid weren't a Winchester we wouldn't have our patsy right about now."

Jacob closed his phone with a snap and glanced once more at the vanishing figure in the distance, then slowly, he started up the engine and pulled back onto the road. He had preparations to make.

TBC