A Path to Darkness
Chapter 4
The man, the only other being near the planet that he could possibly hate more than the Demon, had left. In fact, he had left him hours ago. And now, the unbearable sounds of his older boy pacing the creaking wooden floor persisted and rang in his ears like a loud gun shot, a bomb exploding, or Dean's constant way of blasting his rock music so loud that it could be heard all the way, two miles up ahead, in his truck. This was making John Winchester fret, and John Winchester was a man always quick to move; never fret. The ringing in his ears could very well be a sign that someone was talking about him; a close relative. And the fact that Dean was muttering sweet nothings to himself and himself alone, held a promise that it was probably his younger boy. Sammy, once again wasn't there; and Dean hadn't bothered to say a word about him.
"What happened to your brother?" There, that was a start.
Dean's words were slurred as he looked, a touch of relief in his eyes, at his father. "He asked me if it would be ok to drive after we went to a bar, because, I for one," Dean paused long enough to gesture widely at himself. "Had too many beers. So I let him drive me back here. And when I got out of the car," John watched, biting his lower lip, as his son took a seat in one of the two available lawn chairs. "Sam said he'd be right in, but then after I took five steps, he zoomed away."
Oh, shit.
The only thoughts crossing John's mind were that James' information was in the glove compartment in the Impala, where all of their fake ideas were.
Sammy was evidently mad at him over the 'James' incident, and had every damn reason to be; but he would not let his son go near that man, ever.
"Dean," John slowly stood up, denying the fact that with his age came the beginnings of arthritis. "We've got to go, now."
"Dad," Dean murmured, looking up at his father. "Sammy's just a little pissed; ease off, let him vent."
"I can't Dean," The father's voice was raspy and filled with worry now. "Because if your brother goes where I think he's going, he's not going to make it out alive."
"If he's going to James," Even drunk, his boy caught on quickly; too quickly. "Why would our uncle kill him?"
"Because, Dean," John started heading for the door, keys to the black truck making jingling noises in his back pocket. "That man did something to your mother that I can't bare to explain. And he threatened to do that to you and your brother. If James did that, I couldn't live with myself," And if that wasn't enough… "Screw finding that Demon, all that matters to me now is the two of you boys."
'Kill' was an evident word with much meaning; the Winchesters did it nearly every day to demons and pissed off spirits. But the fact that the word and Sammy were in the same sentence; led Dean to follow his father with zombie passion.
"Fine, dad," Dean said closing the door behind him, watching the nightfall of snowflakes flow to the ground. "Let's go get Sammy."
The darkness came upon him like a bat out of hell; full force and quick in action. Tapping his foot lightly on the break petal to slow down, Sam looked towards the piece of paper in the Impala's passenger seat. The writing on it was visibly sloppy, as if done in a quick hurry; there was no denying it belonged to his father.
"Gotta go left," Dean wasn't there to be his back seat driver, and Sam felt carrying on with his own rambles would balance the affect out. "Left," Sam squinted as he talked to himself, staring at the paper instead of keeping his eyes on the road. The Impala turned where its driver wanted it to, not comprehending or caring to which Winchester was at its wheel.
"Why are you talking to yourself, Sam?" And to carry on conversations with himself was irregular; it never happened. His brother was always there. But no, it was a piece of paper in Dean's place. Sam had given himself his own man-made order; not a creation of John's, but his. And he would go against his father's will. His father's will was for him to never set foot near James. A man, who didn't, as far as Sam knew, have a last name.
Looking up to see Georgia's early morning road paved with ice, Sam willed himself to have a headache; have another vision. He needed a mission; he had a mission, but he wanted to protect a person doing it. He wasn't himself; and with every thought zooming through his mind Sam wished more and more that the road would come to a dead end, hopefully a house. James' rental house. He could be home again.
"Hello?" This time, John's cell phone was on; and Dean shifted in the passenger seat of his father's truck to watch and observe the conversation more closely. It had been another four hours, four hours of constant searching.
"Yes," If it was Sam, John would be saying a whole hell of a lot more then two words in two minutes; and as Dean observed, his father's voice filled with more and more worry.
"Uh-huh," John swallowed hard; his eyes once peeled to the road were now locked with Dean's. "What room? We'll be right there."
John hung up the phone, not paying attention to any other duty or distraction except that.
"What's wrong, dad?" Dean watched as John's lips formed into his scared/determined look. A mission.
"Sammy," John paused, his worried eyes still locked with his oldest boy's. "Sammy's in the hospital."
Dean coughed. "Come again?"
"They say he was in an accident, Dean," John turned to face the road, his foot leaning on the gas petal a little harder. "And is in critical condition."
A/N: To my constant readers, thank you for reading! There is only one more chapter left, and then the sequel should be up in the next month or so.