Deal Come Due

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"We're wasting time!"

"Would you hold still for a second?"

"No, we're wasting time! That demon's still out there! He could go after that family!"

"Yeah, he might. But right now, you're my priority."

"Dean, I'm serious."

Dean sighed. He wondered if, and when, he would ever win an argument with this woman.

He'd already managed to stop the bleeding from the cut in her scalp, and bandaged it with a thin strip of gauze, but he was worried that she might have a concussion. Which had prompted him to suggest a trip to the hospital – something Lisa had immediately refused.

"They need our help," she said, "They don't know how to fight this thing. You told me that the only thing Clayton's gun is going to do is piss the demon off."

Dean chuckled. Lisa frowned at him.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothing," said Dean, "It's just... you sound like a Hunter."

"Good thing one of us does," said Lisa, "Now are we going or not?"

"Alright, alright!"

Dean scooted around to the driver's door and got in. He fired up the engine.

"But if you pass out, I'm not lifting a finger," he warned.

"Just drive," said Lisa.

Dean nodded, clicked the car into gear and took off. They hit the road running out of town, towards the Clayton farmhouse. Dean kept glancing over at Lisa. She clicked her tongue at him.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"I know," said Dean, "I just… I wanted to say thanks. I wouldn't have been able to dig myself out of there without your help. You, er… you saved my life."

"Don't worry about it," said Lisa.

"What happened?" asked Dean, "How did you get rid of him?"

"The holy water in the juice bottle. And you said it wouldn't work."

"I never said that."

"You said it was the most ridiculous idea you'd ever heard!"

"Yeah, well… it was…" Dean spluttered, "At the time."

Lisa smiled.

"Did he say anything?" asked Dean, "Before you vaporised him."

Lisa didn't answer, and Dean threw a glance her way. She was staring straight ahead – her jaw was clenched, and she appeared to be running the encounter over in her head.

"He said… some things…" said Lisa, eventually, "About you, and me… and my parents."

"Your parents?"

"I think he killed them."

"What?"

"That's what he said."

Now Dean went quiet.

The coincidences were starting to pile up. So much so that he couldn't think of them as coincidences anymore.

"How old were you when they died?" asked Dean, "You said you were little, so…?"

"I was three," said Lisa.

"And this was in…?"

"1983."

"November, 1983?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

Dean gripped the wheel even harder. Lisa saw the tension racking up in his body.

"What?" she asked, "Do you know something about this?"

"You said you were from Lawrence," said Dean, "Well… I'm from Lawrence too. That's where my mom died. November 1983."

"You think they're connected?"

"Yeah," said Dean, "I just don't know how… or why."

"So that's what he meant…" she whispered.

"What?"

Dean turned to look at her again. She was biting at her bottom lip, deep in thought.

"I don't really understand it," she said, "But… the demon said I was… marked for you. That I felt it while we were separated all these years."

"Felt what?"

"An emptiness."

"And have you?"

"God, Dean, how am I supposed to know? We just met! Didn't we?"

"That's what I thought," said Dean, "But I can't remember much from back then. I was four years old when we took off."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," said Lisa, "It's making my head hurt."

"Okay," said Dean, as gently as possible, "We're here anyway."

Dean spun the wheel, and banked up onto the curb and into the Clayton's driveway. He pulled up right next to the steps and they got out.

Dean was the first to the door, and he banged on it, calling out: "Mr Clayton! Mr Clayton, open up!"

Seconds later, he heard someone approaching and stepped back, gripping the bottle of holy water in his jacket pocket. But it was John Clayton who opened the door.

"Officers?" he said, obviously taken aback by their appearance, "What are you doing here? What happened?"

"We need to talk to you," said Dean, stepping forward and shoving his way into the house, "And your wife. Where is she?"

"John?"

Dean turned and glanced up the stairs. There was the woman from the photographs. Blonde, pretty, and by all appearances, completely healthy.

"Tina Clayton?" said Dean.

"That's my wife, Maggie," said Clayton, trying to step between Dean and his wife, "Tina died. I told you that."

"Yeah, I know what you told us," said Dean, "And I also know it was a lie."

"Dean, calm down," said Lisa, "Mr. Clayton… we know. Everything."

By this time, Clayton's wife had come down the stairs. She stood behind her husband, and touched his arm.

"How did you find out?" she asked.

"Maggie, no!"

John looked panicked, and swung round, hoping to appeal to his wife, but her gaze was fixed on Dean and Lisa – steady, and unafraid.

Dean gestured at his grime-covered clothes, "We kinda… dug up your grave," he said.

"You did what?" John looked furious, almost ready to go for the shotgun again.

Lisa put a hand to his chest, stopping him.

"It was the only way we could be sure," she said, "The only way we could help you."

"Help us with what?"

"We think you know," said Dean, "Now… tell us about the day your wife died."

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"You hear people say things, like… 'It was the worst day of my life', but they don't really know what they're talking about," said John.

They'd moved into the living room, and Dean and Lisa sat in the same place they had on their previous visit. Only this time, Tina Clayton was perched on the arm of her husband's chair. They were always touching, and Lisa suspected John would have pulled her onto his lap if he could.

"The day Tina died… I died," he said, "Sounds melodramatic, and maybe it is, but that's how I felt. We'd been married three years when she got sick. The doctors did everything they could, but I sat in that hospital room day after day, just…. watching her waste away. Afterward, all I could think about was what could have been…"

He faltered a little, and she rubbed his arm. He glanced up at her, seeming to draw strength from her mere presence.

"We planned a life together, and it all just… went away," said John, "No kids, no future… no nothing."

"What happened?" asked Dean.

"I started drinking," said John, "A lot. There's this bar outside town… Johnson's… I went there 'most every night. And I was a lousy drunk. Crying in front of everybody, but they were nice about it. 'Specially this one woman…"

"Who was she?" asked Lisa.

"She never gave me her name. But she seemed to… understand, you know? She just… listened. I told her about Tina. About what happened. About… how I wished I could bring her back."

"And let me guess…" said Dean, "One day, she told you she could make it happen."

"I thought she was joking," said John, "I mean… that's crazy right? Anyway, I was pretty drunk at the time, so I said hell, if she could do it…"

John sighed, and ran a hand through his thinning hair. He looked gaunt, and tired.

"What did she want in return?" asked Dean.

"Nothing. Least… nothing specific. She said she'd be back in ten years… that she'd collect then. When I got home… Tina was here. Alive. Like it never… I was just so happy."

"I don't even remember it," said Tina, "I remember the hospital, and then I woke up on the couch. John didn't want to tell me what happened at first, but… I got it out of him."

"What was done, was done," said John, "And we got on with our lives. Most days I wouldn't even think about the woman in the bar… about what she said, until…"

"Until the stranger showed up," said Dean.

John nodded, "Their eyes were the same," he said.

"You told me there was nothing strange about his eyes," said Dean.

"What was I gonna tell you?" asked John, "That they glowed yellow? I thought you were regular cops."

"Well, we're not cops," said Dean, "Cops wouldn't know how to handle this."

"And you do?" Tina Clayton's voice was filled with sudden hope.

"First things first," said Dean, "You need to get you and your family outta here. Where are your kids?"

"They're staying with my parents," said John, "Over in the next county. Except for the baby. She still needs her mother."

"Why didn't you go with them?" asked Lisa, looking at Tina.

"I wouldn't leave John to face the thing alone," said Tina, "I know my priority should be my kids, but… he brought me back from the dead. I can't leave his side now."

"Yeah, well, you won't have to," said Dean, "You're all leaving."

"It'll find us," said John, "The woman, she told me… she told me that when she came, she could find me. Anywhere. She said I could run to the ends of the earth, and it wouldn't help."

"I know some things you don't," said Dean, "Like how to hide from demons."

"Demons?" John grabbed his wife's hand, "Is that…? Is that what she was? A demon?"

"Yes, and you made a deal with her," said Dean, "She – it – has come to collect."

"What can we do?"

"I have what we need in my car," said Dean, "Don't worry, the demon's not collecting anything. Not today. Not on my watch."

"Thank you," said Tina, "I don't know why you're helping us, but… thank you."

"Thank us if you live through this," said Dean.

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"How are these going to help again?"

"What?"

Dean was on his back in the Clayton's garage underneath their car. John Clayton got on his knees and watched as Dean finished drawing on the undercarriage with a white-out pen.

"I said… how is this going to help?" asked John.

"They're Stygian symbols," said Dean, gripping the runner underneath the doors and pulling himself out, "A demon won't be able to track you. But you gotta drive straight to your parents' house, and then get them, and the kids, in this car. Go to a motel, preferably over the state line. Do not stop. Not for anything. When you get there…"

"I put those, um… what did you call them? Hex bags? I put them on the windowsills, and I draw salt lines on the windows and doors."

"Exactly," said Dean, "You have to get off this thing's radar, or it will come after you. Your family's life depends on it."

"I won't forget," said John.

"Neither will I."

Tina appeared in the doorway, carrying her baby, all bundled up against the chill creeping in from outside. Dean heard a distant rumble of thunder. The storm wasn't far off.

"Get going," said Dean, "We don't know when the demon will be back."

"What are you going to do?" asked John.

"We'll stay here," said Dean, "Hopefully the demon will show."

"You're going to fight it?"

"I'm going to try," said Dean, "Where's Lisa?"

"Upstairs washing up," said Tina.

"Okay, drive safe," said Dean.

He watched the family pull out the driveway, and disappear down the road. He went upstairs, and found Lisa in the master bedroom. She was dressed in the clothes she was wearing that morning. Dean glanced down at the tattered remnants of his suit, and figured he'd better change too.

"They're gone," said Dean, "They should be safe."

"You're not sure?"

"I can't be sure," said Dean, "But I got those symbols from my dad's journal, and he usually knows what he's talking about."

"Do you think he's checked in yet?" asked Lisa.

"I don't know," said Dean, "And I can't afford to go check. Chances are, the demon's coming here. I want to greet him."

"I want to meet your dad," said Lisa.

"Why?"

"Because maybe he has some answers," she said, "Maybe he knows what happened to my parents."

Dean hadn't considered the possibility, but it made sense. Lawrence was a small town, and if there was a connection between Lisa's parents and his mom… then John Winchester might know about it.

"What exactly did the demon say?" asked Dean.

"He said we were soulmates," said Lisa.

"Soulmates?" Dean was surprised.

"I know," said Lisa, "There's no such thing"

"You really believe that?" asked Dean.

"Don't you?" she countered.

"I dunno…" Dean shrugged. He passed her, and flopped down on the bed, "My dad always said he and my mom were meant for each other. I think… that's why he went a little crazy after she died. Like John Clayton… he couldn't handle it. But instead of trying to bring her back, he decided to find the thing that killed her."

"I guess… these are questions we can answer later," said Lisa, sitting down beside him, "Right now, we should get ready. If the demon pitches…"

"He will," said Dean, "Sooner or later."

She turned, and stared out the window - where the first drops of rain splattered against the glass.

"It's going to be a long night..." she muttered.

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