Summary: Castiel had another charge before Dean; one that set everything in motion and pushed Castiel towards Dean.
Chapter Title: Devil Fire
Chapter Number: 3/?
Word Count: 4,487 words / 15,244 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: Technically I already have a beta, but her schedule is just as hectic as mine is the semester so if anyone is up to the task of beta reading my story and annoying me until I get the next chapter typed up I'd really appreciate it! Perks? You get to read the next chapter before anyone else : ) Downfalls? You might have to do more nagging then actual beta reading…
I have decided that I absolutely despise days when I have to stay at school until ten o'clock at night when my classes start at eight in the morning and end at twelve noon. I had so much downtime between my last class and my review session for psychology, psych club, and then one of my school's traditions that I was able to crank out all of this… Though I suppose that makes the readers that actually enjoy this story very happy. This will more than likely be one of very few weeks that I'll be able to crank out more than one chapter a week.
Chapter Three
December 7, 1983
John was furious. It had been over a month since the investigation into his wife's death had started and the police had yet to get anywhere resembling close to what had happened that night. They had stopped by Mike and Kate's house to ask him more questions. The same questions he had answered for them over a million times before. He had yelled at Marsters and his goons as soon as they showed up on the doorstep and asked the first question. The investigation was going nowhere. John was beginning to think that it never would get solved; not with the current officers in charge. They weren't doing anything new for her case; nothing that would bring him a step closer to finding out what had happened to Mary. To finding out if that guy that had been in their home that day had something to do with her death. He doubted they even knew who the guy was or that he had even been there the night of the fire.
Where were you when the fire started? John had glared at Marsters as soon as the question was asked. He had told the man exactly where he had been that night, why he had been there, and any other questions about him being in the living room that night.
How was your marriage? Another question John was tired of answering. He had told them that Mary hadn't liked how much he had been working lately, but it couldn't be helped. She wouldn't yell to the point that he actually stopped working the extra hours; they had needed the money after Sammy was born. Other than that, there was never any fighting between them. Their marriage was rocky at times, but neither one of them would take their anger to the next level as the cops thought they had. He would have never hurt Mary. He'd never hurt the boys by hurting her. John would have never done what they were accusing him of.
How was your relationship with the boys? John had shifted uncomfortably at the question. The only reason it was being asked in the first place was because the fire had started in the nursery. Directly above Sammy's bed where Mary had been pressed against the ceiling; but he had grabbed Sammy out of the room and told Dean to get him out of the house. If the plan was to kill the baby, then why had he gotten them both out of the house and away from the flames? John didn't get why the police officers sitting in front of him were wasting so much time on him when they could be out there trying to find the real murderer.
Did I remember anything else about that night? They didn't care. They kept asking him useless questions he had answered thousands of times before. John answered the questions in the exact manner he had every other time they had been asked. None of his answers changed and after a while of asking him questions they finally left him alone. And alone was right. By the time they had left the boys had been tucked into bed for the night. Mike and Kate had already left the room to get ready for bed. He was sitting in the living room with a cold beer in his hands with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
His thoughts kept him thinking about the one thing he didn't want to; Mary's death, and how the cops weren't doing a damn thing in the means of solving exactly what had happened on November second. Thirty-five days and they still couldn't even tell him if the cause had been due to faulty wiring. Thirty-five days and they were still telling him that they couldn't pinpoint the exact origin of the fire due to the damage. Thirty-five days later and John had all but given up on ever finding out what really happened to his wife.
John downed the beer propped in his hand and stood up to walk back into the kitchen to grab another. He came back into the living room a few minutes later, the next one already opened. He downed half of this one before he caught site of the journal he hadn't written in in three days. He reached for it and dragged it into his lap. He wasn't sure why he wanted to write down all that had happened that day, but he was sure that if it was down on paper then it wouldn't be running constantly through his mind. With each new sentence written he swallowed another large gulp from the beer in his hand until it was gone and he was confusing his words and the spelling of them. It didn't take him long to finish it off and he went back into the kitchen to grab his next.
Three paragraphs into his journal, he passed out mid-sentence.
December 8, 1983
The light from the sun woke John up the next morning. It bore into his eyes, threatening to cause the man to vomit right then and there. John let out a low groan before rolling off the couch. He couldn't hear the boys up, but he wasn't trying too hard to locate them. He needed something for the pounding headache he was experiencing right then. He stumbled forward until he reached the kitchen; the boys weren't in sight and neither was Kate. Mike was sitting there at the table and looked up as soon as he realized that it was John making his way to the kitchen cabinet where he knew the pain medication was kept.
"We need to talk John." John halted in his movements for only a moment before he was back to rummage through the cabinets until his finger tips glided across the lid of the bottle he was looking for. He stumbled to get the cap off, but managed to after a few seconds. He popped two pills into his mouth and swallowed, chasing it down with a glass of water he poured for himself. When he turned around to face Mike, the man was still staring at him expectantly. John didn't want this right now; he didn't need it. One more heart to heart was going to drive him insane, even if the two were just trying to help him.
John didn't say any of this to Mike. He was sure the man would have treated this conversation as he had the last few. It didn't matter to him if John didn't want to talk about it; it wasn't up to him. Mike was going to get him to talk even if it meant sitting quietly in the kitchen for five days straight. He was pretty sure if it came down to unmitigated will power, Mike would eventually come out as the victor. John placed the bottle of pills back into the cabinet and turned around to walk over to the table and sit down opposite Mike. If he was going to lose anyway, he definitely wouldn't be the first to talk.
"John; it's been a month." John mentally added the and six days that Mike conveniently left out. He was sure that Mike wouldn't have appreciated being interrupted for that. "You need to get over this, for the boys sake. They need you to go back to work and to look after them, John." Mike was tapping his fingers on the table nervously, as if he was sure John would jump across the table at him for even saying that. He would have been right on a normal occasion, but his sleep deprived state and hangover only allowed him to sit in the seat across from Mike and take whatever the man decided to throw his way.
John had known there was a hidden agenda behind this talk before Mike had even opened his mouth. He wanted John to go back to work at the garage, not for the boys' sake but for the shops'. It didn't matter that he wasn't over Mary's death. It didn't even matter that in his emotional and physical state he'd more than likely snap at every customer that came into the place. All that mattered was that the shop always made more business when the two of them were there, working side by side to get the cars out of there faster. "No." John said calmly. At Mike's raised brow he continued, "My wife's dead Mike. She's not coming back. I can't go back to work."
Mike was either angry at him or frustrated at the fact that John couldn't see that his behavior was affecting more people than just himself. "John, you need to go back to the shop! It'll get your minds off of things." He said, in that annoying tone that people adapted when they were trying to console a two year old.
"Mary's dead, Mike! Going back to work isn't going to get my mind off of that!" John shouted, slamming his hands on the table. He was sure now, if only because no noises were coming from any part of the house, that he and Mike were the only ones in the house. He let his anger get the better of him as soon as he realized this. "You know what; you can have the fucking shop Mike. I'm not going back to it." He basically growled out before letting the chair squeal loudly against the wood floor as he stood up to leave the room.
Mike was staring at him in surprise. He had stopped cold in his tracks as if he was unable to move any longer. John was getting ready to leave the kitchen; to leave Mike sitting there by himself, but before he could even take a step towards the living room Mike spoke up once more. "You're going to throw away your life's work over this?" Mike snapped.
John didn't even know how the man could ask him that. His wife was gone; there was no way in hell he wanted to go back to work. He didn't even want to see the place that had caused them to fight that night. The place that had been the reason he had been in the living room that night instead of asleep in bed next to the beautiful blond woman he had been in love with since he got back from Vietnam. "Yes." John snapped right back, with more anger then he had originally intended.
"You can't do this John!" Mike tried to argue with him over it, but before he continued John interrupted him.
"Watch me." John stormed out of the room, grabbed his jacket and left the house. He glanced up and down the street he had been living on for four years now. He had already decided the night before that if he wanted anything done in Mary's investigation he'd have to do it himself. The cops were good for nothing more than to ask him worthless questions and he seriously doubted Mike or Kate would help him. Especially not Mike, not after the conversation they had just had.
John pushed his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and shrugged it on. He didn't know where to begin. Which house to go to first. He wasn't even sure if anyone would be awake or home at this hour, but he started out anyways. He knocked on each door of the houses on the street; trying to get any information on November second that they could give him.
Three hours and he had gotten about as far as the cops had. Most people hadn't even answered their doors to his knocks. They didn't want to face a grieving man. Either that or they didn't want to face the man they assumed had killed his wife. John was standing in front of Kate and Mike's house, but he didn't go inside. Instead he seated himself on the porch steps and stared at the house across the street. He needed to get someone to fix it back up; to get it looking the exact way it had been before the fire. But he wasn't even sure if he wanted to stay in the house anymore. They had lived there for four years. Four years with Mary and the boys. All that it offered now was a few pictures that had survived the fire and some cooking supplies.
John rubbed at his face to get rid of the sleep that was clouding his thoughts. He let out a frustrated sigh. Dropping his hands, he patted the pockets of the jacket he was wearing to find the familiar feel of his keys. He stood up from the porch steps and walked over to his car, a black '67 Chevy Impala. The doors squeaked in protest when he tried to open it, but he barely noticed after the five years he has had her. He shoved the keys into the hole and turned it until the engine roared to life. It took thirty minutes to get to the closest library, but at this point he didn't care as long as he could find something that would tell him what could have been the cause of the fire that night. He hopped out of the Impala as soon as he pulled into the parking lot and took the key out of the keyhole. He pocketed them back into his jacket and headed inside of the building.
Hardly anyone was there that Thursday, which was how he wanted it. He went straight to the librarian's desk and asked where the section on fires was. She typed away at her computer and after five minutes of getting the page to load up, she pointed him in the direction of the books he was searching for. John gave a quick nod of thanks before heading in that direction. He let his fingertips glide across the spine of the books as he searched the shelf for what he wanted. It didn't take him long to have a pile of books scattered recklessly over one of the tables in the back of the library, far off to the left so that no one would bother him.
John searched through the books as he tried to boot up one of the computers that the library had. It was pretty old, and took even longer then the librarians had trying to find the books he had wanted to look through, but it eventually came on and let him on the internet. He searched old police files, trying to find case that occurred in Lawrence, Kansas that had a similar MO to Mary's death. He was sure someone had been in his house the night of the fire and he was going to find out who it was. He didn't know what he'd do when he found the man, but he was pretty sure the police officers that suspected him of murdering Mary would have a new case against him.
December 11, 1983
Mary's standing in front of him, in the nursery, with a smile on her face as she watches over baby Sammy asleep in the crib. John takes a step forward, a smile growing on his face. She's right there in front of him, smiling like nothing wrong had happened to her. She looks so real. So life like. John wants to reach out and touch her; to see if it was a dream or reality. So he does. He reaches out to her. It happens in a flash. She's back on the ceiling screaming out in agony as fire erupts around her. John screams out for her; reaches out to try and save Mary, but nothing changes.
John jolts awake once again from the same nightmare that had been plaguing his nightmares since the night after the fire. However, this night wasn't like the others. He could feel something, someone watching him. As if they were mocking him. He glanced around the room quickly, but found nothing out of the ordinary. It was the middle of the night; everyone else in the house was fast asleep. He desperately wishes that he could join them all in the blissful sleep they managed to slip into so easily. John rolled off the couch and made his way to the room he found himself going to at least once every night. He told himself it was to protect them; to watch over them and make sure nothing happened to them while they slept, but he knew it was as much for him as it was for them.
Sam and Dean were passed out in the crib still. They had both managed to be able to sleep throughout the night now that Dean started out sleeping in the crib, wrapping his arms securely around his younger brother in a very protective embrace. John wished that they didn't have to go through any of this, wished that Mary was still alive so that they wouldn't feel so afraid of the world around them. The both of them were too young for any of this. He knew that Dean would probably always remember the fire; his mother's death. However, Sammy would grow up without knowing Mary. He'd grow up without any memory of his mother, good or bad.
John would have started crying because of that but he managed to hold back. He was afraid that if he started then he wouldn't be able to hold back and then the boys would wake up from their nightmare free sleep. He wanted everything to go back to normal. He wanted his wife back so that Dean and Sam could lead a normal childhood instead of the one they were being forced to go through now.
It didn't take much more twists and turns from his thoughts to bring him back to thinking about the man that had been inside his house a week and a half ago. Castiel. He had told John he was an angel, but if he was then why hadn't he tried to save Mary that night instead of just standing on the side lines while the firemen rushed into the building. There was no way that guy could have been an angel. John didn't believe in them anymore. He didn't believe in anything anymore. What kind of a person would take Mary away from her family? No God John could ever put his faith in.
John let his exhaustion get the better of him after a while. He passed out on the floor of Dean and Sam's room. It was noon when he woke up again. He used the wall behind him to push himself onto his feet. This time he didn't bother with lunch or even going into the kitchen. He grabbed his jacket off the hook near the door and walked out of the house. John glanced down both sides of the streets before running across the road to his old home. The door creaked open when he turned the knob and gave it a slight push. Glancing around the room he found it in the exact same shape it had been the first night he had come back into the building. The smell of smoke was still faintly there, even after all this time. He was certain that wasn't going to change until someone rebuilt the nursery and other rooms with fire damage. John took a deep breath before he gathered up his courage and began to search the house for old photos he wanted to keep and any toy that the firemen had salvaged from the debris.
December 13, 1983
John was back at the library. He had hit a new found boost of energy that morning when he had called the cops and found out that they had yet again come up with nothing new on Mary's case. They had all the forensics back, but had found nothing of importance in the debris that had been left behind in the fire. It was all more than just a little frustrating. At least now he had found a means to channel his frustrations instead of taking them out on Mike. He was currently digging through the rest of the books on fires that he hadn't had a chance to look through during his last library visit. He wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for and most of the information was coming at him in blurs.
John was startled out of his research when the librarian, whose name was Amber, walked up to his table and cleared her throat. She gave him a sweet smile and handed him a roll of what he assumed was some type of film. "I found this; I don't know if it's exactly what you're looking for but it could help." He stared at the thing in his hands for a long moment before looking up at her.
"I don't know how to use this." He said, causing the woman to smile at him and wave him into a room. Amber talked him through how to use the microfiche and they searched through each roll separately. They only bothered the other when they found something interesting about fires or old cases that seemed to fit the MO of his wife's murder. A lot of the images on the microfiche were blurred and barely recognizable, but it all had helped him a little. On occasion they'd stop looking through the microfiche and get back to flipping through pages in books.
Neither of them had come up with anything that perfectly fit what had happened to Mary. John was losing hope that they ever would. He went back to the shelves after all the books in his stack were thoroughly searched. His fingers trailed over the spines of the books, directly below the titles, as he walked down the row of books. He stopped in his tracks when his fingers landed on a certain book. It was farfetched and he didn't even know why he'd ever pick the book up, but at this point it couldn't hurt.
John grabbed the book from the shelf and flipped it open. He sat down on the floor right there and began to read the book in his hands. It was a book on strange phenomenon's that couldn't happen. The further he read the more crazy it all sounded. There was no such thing as an evil entity. There was no such thing as angels. John stood back up and pushed the book roughly back into its place. The only reason he was even beginning to give into believing in such nonsense was because no one was giving him a real explanation as to how the fire had started. It was leaving his brain free to consider things he wouldn't normally even let himself think about.
John walked back to where Amber was sitting at the table they had been researching at for a few hours now and began to close the books he had been looking through. "I think I'm done for the day, Amber." He whispered.
"Ok." Amber nodded and began to close her books as well, "Don't worry about those, I'll put them back."
"Are you sure?" John asked quietly, unsure if he really should leave all of this to the librarian.
"Yeah, it's a slow day so I've got nothing better to do." Amber offered him a smile before she began to gather the small ones into her arms and walk back to where they had gotten them all from.
"Thank you then." John said, and left shortly after to return to Mike and Kate's house where Dean and Sammy would be waiting for him.
December 14, 1983
John jolted awake five minutes after he had fallen asleep drenched in cold sweat. He looked around the room quickly. He could feel the presence again. The one that had been mocking him a few days back for not being able to protect his family. It caused a shiver to run up his spine as he thought about something being in the room with him, watching him. It made John's thoughts jump back to the last book he had read in the library; the book that had talked about fires that had no real explanation. He remembered it saying that some people believed that fires could be started by strange entities; ones that he didn't believe in. Ones that he shouldn't believe in, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. It would have explained everything if it was true. If there really were these entities that could control fire, start them without being in the room.
John violently shook his head no, trying to read himself of the thoughts. Those things, they were just fairy-tales. Evil monsters that can control fires to hurt people don't really exist. He sighed and tossed his legs over the side of the couch. A pause. But then, the fire hadn't seemed all that natural to begin with. When he had reached out to get Mary off the ceiling, it had leapt at him. The fire had tried to keep him from getting to her, as if it was suppose to kill her. It had taken John a while, but he had convinced himself that Mary hadn't been on the ceiling that night. He had imagined the whole thing, but now he wasn't so sure. Everyone else thought he was crazy, even her family thought he had lost it after her death.
Now he's sure that there was something in Sammy's nursery that night that had killed Mary. Killed his wife.
John spent the entire night thinking about this and got up off the couch before Mike and Kate were up. He left the house and slipped into the driver's seat of the Impala. He needed more information on these things before he started searching. He needed to find out any information he possibly could, which meant he needed to go book shopping. Fifteen minutes of driving and he arrived at a book store that he knowingly held books on anything he could ever imagine that could be linked to the book he had found in the library. An hour later and he walked out of the store with five books on demons and mysterious fires.
Before he went back to Mike and Kate's, he stopped by a gun store. He bought two new pistols and a shotgun to replace the gun the firemen had retrieved from his house. It was old and he was sure it wouldn't work anymore and he wasn't going to risk Dean and Sammy's safety by trusting in something from his days in the marines. He left the guns in the trunk of the car, but brought the books inside and immediately began reading up on them all.
