** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.
PART FOUR NOTES: And we're back for with the next installment! Thanks to those of you who marked this story for tracking. It's always nice to know when people would like to see more. Huge thanks go to Jack and Lyn for their amazing, super-speed beta work. You both were life-savers! Any remaining mistakes are purely mine as I tend to fiddle up until the very last minute. And I mean that literally this time. (vbg) As always, any and all feedback is appreciated.
Part Four
THEN...
"Would you have any objections to answering a few more of mine in return?" The bowl was rapidly emptying. She wanted to ask for a second helping, but doubted her long abused system could handle it. Her stomach was already uncomfortably full.
"Whatever we can," Jo said, her voice the gentlest Veronica had heard it. The tone failed to comfort her. Despite the need to know what had happened to her world, the burning in her gut to find out the truth, she doubted it would make her feel any better. She'd learned that the hard way over the years. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss. Too bad she'd never been able to just leave it at the idiom.
NOW...
Well, this was going to be fun, Dean thought to himself, leaning back against the counter. Too bad his idea of fun had been stretched quite a bit toward the masochistic over the years. Veronica glanced back and forth between him and Jo. He returned the look evenly. He didn't want any part of the coming conversation, but he knew she deserved to learn why her world had vanished under a cloud of black smoke and pain. She'd more than earned it after surviving so long in the camps.
Dean was reminded of her experience every time their eyes met. While her reappearance in the kitchen had stunned him for a split second, all the soap in the world couldn't hide the devastation her soul cried out against. The promised blonde hair was almost white, the pale, pale color a shade darker than Jo's, setting the incredible blue of her eyes off even more. Her features, though far too thin for both her face and his tastes, were more than pretty enough that he'd have taken a shot at her in the old days. And he'd be willing to bet there was a knock-out body just waiting for a few good meals to show itself. Well, that was if he bet on anything anymore.
Yet it wasn't anything physical that kept pulling his eyes back to her. Jo was just as beautiful, even more so with her gentle curves and confidence. No, it was that peek behind the hidden door in her eyes, the spark she'd thrown at him back at the truck when he'd cut her arm open. She wasn't dead inside, not by a long shot, and that kind of strength called to him, injured and beaten down though it might be.
And he needed to start paying attention to the conversation. He had secrets of his own to protect and he couldn't do that if he didn't know just how much Jo was giving her. He'd known Jo longer than almost anyone else still living. She wouldn't betray him, but he wouldn't put anything past her if she thought it was in his best interest. Unfortunately, their concepts of Dean's best interests had clashed more often than not since he'd clawed his way back top-side.
"Dean already told me that demons were real and a whole bunch of things I could use to test for the regular strength ones. He didn't go into much detail about the super-charged ones. Just that it was better to not get close enough to attempt the tests." Veronica's succinct summary drew an unexpected smile from his lips. He hadn't been too sure she'd absorbed anything in the truck. Exhaustion had been clear to read in every blink of her eyes. He made a mental note to not underestimate her recall capability in the future. "But I need to know why more than I need to know what. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume demons have been around for a long time. Why then? What was so special about May 2012 that made them go all 'Exorcist' on us?"
"You're right about that part. Demons have been around as long as humans have been. There's always been a struggle between demons and hunters. They do their best to take over, corrupt and kill as many people as they can before we send their asses back to Hell."
"I guess Hollywood got it right for once." The attempt at humor didn't make it past the words. Something floated through her oh-so-expressive eyes, the blue darkening for an eye blink.
Dean's own eyes narrowed the slightest bit at the sight. There was a story behind that look. With a mental slap he pulled himself up. He wanted no part in Veronica's past. He had enough of his own troubles to deal with. He was only there to see what information she could give him about the camps. He wasn't going to pass up such a golden opportunity.
Jo was nodding, the cup of coffee she'd poured earlier making a trip up to her mouth. Dean was fairly certain it was more than a bit cold, but he didn't call her on the stalling tactic. She was performing the brunt of this little operation. "Mostly, but it's not as easy to get out of Hell as they portray it. Demons can be summoned. Some of them hitch a ride after a more powerful demon who's lucky enough to find a crack to squeeze through."
"But that's not what happened, was it? Those might account for, what, a couple dozen possessions in a year? What's behind door number three?" She was quicker on the uptake than Dean had given her credit for. Another little fact to tuck away in the Veronica, Veronica Mars file.
"Exactly. Except it's not a door, it's a gate. A Devil's Gate, a literal doorway to Hell." If he'd thought Jo would pull her punches he'd have been wrong. She was giving it to Veronica with both barrels. If he hadn't known any better he'd have sworn Jo was testing the other woman, pushing to see just what she could take. Yet there was no reason for it he could see. Jo continued, never looking away from the other woman. "They can only be opened under very specific circumstances with very specific tools." He noticed she failed to add the very specific people bit.
"Someone opened a Devil's Gate. Someone let the demons escape. Why? Why would anyone want that?"
Dean could see the grief and misery rise up in her eyes at the thought. If he'd lost everything and everyone he'd ever known to someone else's asinine mistake, he'd be more than a little pissed as well. He'd lost enough of his life to demons. But trying to explain how any good could come out of the mess was going to take a much better spin doctor than him.
Leaning forward, Jo clasped her hands around her arms, nails digging in so hard he could see little red half moons forming. "I don't think it was to let demons out. I think it was to let a soul escape." It was all conjecture on their part, combined with the little bits of information he'd pulled from demons he'd caught. He and Jo had gone over and over the possibilities. If it had been a demon, why hadn't any of them taken credit? Why had it stayed open for a week before locking down tighter than Fort Knox again? Why had it remained closed if they knew how to do it? There were more than enough demons running around top-side to take over most of the known world. Surely such a huge accomplishment was worth a couple of bragging rights.
There was only one logical possibility Dean could come up with and it wasn't a demon. Jo agreed with him, despite the lack of evidence. Only one person would be stupid, and crazy, enough to risk releasing a horde of demons on the off chance that one particular soul would be hanging around the Devil's Gate. Just because their father had lucked out didn't mean a repeat performance was guaranteed. If Dean ever managed to find his brother it was the first question on his list.
"Soul? As in a human soul? People really go to Hell?" Veronica sounded as horrified as Dean had felt when the hellhound was ripping into him.
"Sometimes. Most of them deserve it. They sell their souls in exchange for power or wealth or fame. But there are others." He noticed the studious way Jo avoided looking in his direction. They'd gone around and around on this one. If he could have stopped Sam, he would have in a heartbeat. An eternity in Hell was far less painful than the knowledge of the damage his release had done. The price of his freedom had been too high.
"Others? What about them?"
"There are others who are so desperate, they offer their very souls to save someone they love. It's a selfless act, Veronica, but it carries the same cost."
Her expression was more thoughtful than angry, the disbelief shoved aside in favor of logic. Dean had to admit he was glad to see it. He couldn't deal with a weeping and wailing woman at the moment. A pissed off one would be hard enough as it was. Jo was ripping open every wound he had. "So no matter what the reason they go to Hell? That doesn't seem exactly equal."
"These people made deals with demons, whether they knew it or not. There's always only one price, no matter the reason."
"Do you have any confirmation that's what actually happened? You said you thought the Gate was opened to let someone out. That's not proof." Veronica sounded more than a little like a TV show detective, her face and eyes intent.
"No, it's not," Dean said, speaking up for the first time. "But when every demon tells me the exact same story even I start to get the idea." And that was as far as he was going down that road voluntarily. He wanted to see what she came up with on her own.
Veronica looked back and forth between them, her blue eyes almost shining as she worked the pieces through in her head. "The demons told you it wasn't one of them. And I'm going to guess they took advantage of the moment anyway."
"Yahtzee." Apparently the intelligence he thought he'd seen hadn't been a mirage after all. He nodded, pushing away from the counter and moving to Jo's side. "We think they managed to force it open much longer than it was supposed to be."
"It was open almost a week before some hunters were able to close it again," Jo said quietly. "We're still not sure how many came through."
Sitting back in her chair, Veronica shook her head slowly. "I'd be more surprised if any of them were still in Hell. A week? That had to be worse than Walmart on Black Friday."
He stifled a bark of laughter at the comparison. Veronica was also hiding away a little black humor of her own. Despite his insistence to dump her with Jo and high tail it after his brother's invisible trail, he had the feeling she was going to grow on him. "Well, we have sent more than a few back with our regards. I'm always looking to add to their numbers."
"Like the three from the van this morning? You killed them. Yet exactly how does a knife kill a demon? I saw one take a shotgun blast to the chest then get up and rip the poor guy's head off. No little knife can do that much damage." If her expression was anything to go by, she was more curious than suspicious. Dean wasn't sure whether to scare the shit out of her or just give her the basics. It wasn't as if she was going after them herself, not with Jo around to nail her feet to the floor if she got any wild ideas.
"You're right. It's not just a knife," he said, finally deciding the smallest truth was the best route. "So don't start thinking you can grab any old piece of metal and protect yourself. All that'll get you is dead." A yawn cracked open his jaw unexpectedly and he fought it, joints creaking in protest.
"And that's your cue, Dean. Go to sleep, please. Veronica will be here in the morning." Jo sent a pointed look in the other woman's direction.
Veronica nodded quickly, face full of something he thought was supposed to reassure him. "I'll answer anything you want to know. Tomorrow. Okay, later today," she added with a shrug.
His lips quirked up slightly at the display of humor. He was almost disappointed he wouldn't be around to see her grow back into the personality she'd been before the demons took over. "Fine. I'm out." He didn't wait around to see if Jo was going to add any more stipulations. She tended to take the full mile when he gave her an inch. It was one of the reasons he didn't stay very long or very often. He'd put up with the mothering from Bobby and Sam because they were family. And while he considered Jo his closest friend-his only friend really-their relationship had complications enough. He didn't want to add to them.
He heard the murmur of female voices as he climbed the stairs, but didn't strain to pick out specifics. Both women were probably starved for company not of the male variety. Who was he to begrudge them? If it hadn't been for him there would never have been a need for them to ever know of the other's existence. As soon as the thought was out he scrambled for the door in his mind, but it was too late. He hurried down the darkened hallway. All he had to do was get into the room Jo called his. Then the memories could overwhelm to their little sadist heart's content. He barely made it.
The quiet click of the latch heralded the rush of heat on his skin, the sticky, clammy feel of his own sweat and blood making itself known with every movement. The knife clenched in his fist dripped ichor, vile black and crimson. Each droplet let out a little hiss as it struck the ground, a disturbing trail of breadcrumbs any demon not even worth the name would be able to follow. But he didn't have time to hide his tracks.
A Devil's Gate had opened and all of Hell had felt the shock wave.
Even the lowly human soul standing over a rack he'd once been tortured upon.
Hell was grief and pain and exhaustion. The absolute absence of goodness. Only the fleeting vengeance of inflicting on others what had been done to him for years bore a tinge of pleasure. Yet when the Gate shook, his soul quivered in response, yearning for the feel of the sun's kiss on his face, the sound of wind and not endless screams burning his eardrums. Demons in every direction had frozen, incorporeal noses twitching like dogs after a juicy steak. He'd never experienced its like in almost five centuries. When the ground beneath him shuddered, a howl of triumph cleared the throats of demon and hounds alike. As one they turned and flew.
Dean gripped his knife as he stood over the soul, frozen for a split second of indecision. This would be his only chance. If he didn't make it in time... There were no words for what would happen to him. His hand tightened as his lips drew back, baring his comically inadequate teeth. He'd been tortured before. Devil's Gates didn't open every day.
He sliced through the restraints on the soul, leaving her to fate and her own sense of self-preservation. Then he was running, weaving like a drunken basketball player between demons. He felt hands close on him and slashed without looking, eyes focused only on the faintest of lights he could see in the distance. Shrieks fell in his wake and he was free again. The black cloud rimmed with purple hid the spot of white like a veil before letting it shine through again. Blood and ichor dripped from the knife, leaving a trail behind him. He didn't care. The light was getting brighter.
Back in Wyoming the Gate had only been open for a short time. He doubted he'd have much longer to make it. He had no illusions it was going to get any easier as he moved closer to freedom.
Transparent tendrils tugged at his ankles, trying to bring him to his knees. He jumped, swinging the knife with all of his strength. Liquid heat slapped his chest, burning where it touched uncovered skin. The tendrils disappeared and he ran. The light pulsed, growing brighter as if it could sense his approach. Anything that got between him and the light was removed in the most expedient manner. If it backed off after one slash he left it alone, but some of them were more persistent, taking multiple swings. Each delay caused his chest to constrict. Damn it, he had to make it.
Suddenly he could smell grass, dirt, clean scents from his memories. He froze, heart racing with adrenaline and not a little fear. The light was blinding in its intensity and he never saw the claw aimed at his head. He felt it slice its way down the side of his face and throat, a burning, shrieking agony he couldn't shove to the back of his awareness. The knife clattered when it hit the ground as he collapsed to his knees. Blood splattered over his hands, across the knife, the bright cherry red illuminated by the pure white light pouring through the Gate.
"Where do you think you're going, Winchester?"
It was a voice he'd hear in his nightmares for eternity, gravel grinding over concrete, and it scoured his eardrums, the tiny bones protesting the abuse. He clenched his jaw instinctively and nearly passed out from the added spike of pain. He forced his fingers back around the bone handle of the knife, keeping the movement as small as possible. The smell of freedom was so close. "What's it to you? Alistair get tired of you kissing his ass?"
"Cute. I thought we'd wiped that smart mouth out of you a couple centuries ago." It chuckled, smoke puffing from its nostrils. Dean never had found out what the hell it was or even what to call it, just that it was a denizen of Hell, was bound to Alistair and couldn't step a single cloven-hoof on Earth. It was also one of the most inventive torturers Alistair had in his stable. "Don't worry though. I never leave a job unfinished."
Looking up, he met the purple-rimmed black eyes steadily. If there was one thing he'd learned in his years under this monster's knife, it was to never telegraph. It was a lesson it would soon learn to regret. "Funny thing, neither do I." Without warning he lunged to his feet, face, throat and thighs all screaming in tandem. The knife he'd been given by Alistair himself sank hilt-deep into the demon's throat. Acid blood spurted over his hand, splashing up and burning into the open wound that was the side of his face and neck. He screamed, his eyes whiting out for a terrifying moment. He landed on the ground with a spine jarring thump, his chest aching from the demon's double-fisted shove to his sternum. Gasping in air, he scrambled around the demon, numb hand wrapped tight around the knife. The weapon was the only thing he was taking with him out of the Pit.
It shrieked behind him, wordless noises of pain and fury, a gurgle in the sound that brought a grim smile to his lips. Couldn't happen to a nicer demon, he thought as his right hand cleared the threshold of the Gate. The light intensified exponentially with every inch of mass he pushed through. Numbness filled each cell as he struggled to his feet. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he was blessedly free of pain. Even the wound covering most of the right side of his face was silent. He would have been worried except the feel of grass between his toes commanded far too much attention. Cool, damp and absolutely perfect.
There was one final shout from the demon where it stood trapped in the doorway, providing an unintentional roadblock for the next rush of demons. But Dean didn't care. He was standing on Earth once again. He knew he should be running far away, as fast as he could, yet he couldn't force a muscle to move. The light enveloped him, soothing but for a pinprick of pain in his left shoulder.
And then he woke choking in the darkness.
The air was no longer the sweet, clean scent of forest and trees and dirt. It was decaying wood, mold and dried blood. His hand protested the stranglehold he had on the knife, the familiar grooves calming him as nothing else could have at that moment. His arms were stacked one over the other on his chest. Carefully, he felt around his body, stifling a yelp when something sharp stabbed into the meat of his thumb. What the hell? Another few moments confirmed his growing dismay. Surrounded by rotting wood, lying horizontal, completely in the dark. He was lying in his own damn coffin.
Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, Dean shook off the memories. His skin was clammy with sweat, his eyes leaking wetness down his cheeks. He allowed himself one more minute to enjoy the simple pleasure of respiration then pushed to his feet. His muscles shook as if he'd tried to bench press his beloved Impala. His clothes were soaked with perspiration. He hadn't experienced a full-on flashback in months. It was something he was sure he could live without ever again. Another two measured breaths and he locked the wall back up. With luck it would stay that way this time.
He quickly gathered what he needed for a shower and slipped into the bathroom. He doubted he'd sleep after his return to Funsville, but at least he could lie down clean for a little while. Maybe the nightmares would leave off their relentless chase for once.
cont.
