I am so so so so SOOOOOOOOO sorry it has taken me so long to get this posted.I have no excuse except that I lost all inspiration for this fic. Not to fear, this WILL be finished. I won't promise when, but it will get done. I already have it planned out. I dont know if there are even people out there still reading this, but for those who have stuck by it, I thank you.
Ok I know yall have waited long enough without me ramblin on. Enjoy!
PS This is unbeta'd. Sorry!
Disclaimer: Not. mine.Chapter 10
UPDATE! I have made a slight edit to this chapter. Originally, it said that John took the boys to Sunnydale, but to fit with the timeline I had to fix that.
John Winchester was not a forgiving man. Generally speaking, you piss him off once (which is not hard to do), and he stays mad at you for the rest of your life, which is a bit of a problem for someone who is never going to die. Angel and John had crossed paths before, a long time ago.
It had been a hard year that year—it was the first year without Sammy with them— so when John heard of a rash of killings in a little town in California, he went, despite the unsaid hunter rule that that town was to be left alone. So he sent Dean on an easy salt-and-burn by himself, and he went to the Hellmouth. Many things happened there that John would rather forget. But one vivid detail stood out in his mind. The face of the thing he was currently aiming at.
John knew that shooting Angel would make no difference. He wasn't one of the best hunters around for nothing. Regardless of that, he felt inclined to do it just for the hell of it. Then, he remembered why he was there. Pain so sharp shot through his heart that he almost winced at the imagined physical pain. In fact, he might have winced if he hadn't been facing one of his most hated enemies. Well, enemy not so much, but definitely hated.
As soon as John had gotten the heartbreaking message left by his eldest on his cell, he abandoned (temporarily of course) his hunt and raced to LA. Luckily he hadn't been far, so he arrived soon after he left. The speeds he went would have put Earnhardt to shame. When he had realized, exactly where Dean's message said he was, his panic and fear had increased. His son was in the company of a vampire that held a grudge against John. And with Sammy….gone, Dean was all that was left, and damned if he was going to let some vampire take his last son away, especially since he believed that it was no accident that Angel was involved in this mess. Maybe even he was involved in Sam's death.
The moment John pointed his gun at Angel, everybody froze. The AI crew didn't want to set the volatile stranger off. John and Angel stared at one another, anger radiating from their eyes. The tension grew and grew until the very air seemed to hold its breath waiting for the next action on anyone's part.
Gunn was the first to break the silence. He had been around guns almost his entire life, and he knew how to act around them and people wielding them. "Fred," he spoke quietly, trying to get the young Texan's attention, which had never wavered from the gun pointed at her friend/hero's face. "Fred," he spoke sharply. This time her gaze drifted from the gun to her boyfriend's face. But Fred's gaze wasn't the only one to transfer to Gunn's relatively calm face. Dark, almost black, eyes bored into Gunn. Gunn continued to keep eye contact with the stranger, but he continued speaking to Fred. "Fred, come over here. Slowly," he directed, emphasizing the 'slowly' part.
As Fred began to move, slowly like Gunn told her to, John kept his eyes on the once-street thug. Gunn and he continued to stare each other down until an abrupt movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze to the source of the movement, which happened to be Wesley. He had made an unconscious jerk as Fred had passed close to the gunman. As his attention shifted the Wesley, Fred had taken the chance of speeding up until she was safely behind Gunn. One thing Gunn felt grateful was that this guy was obviously comfortable with guns. His aim had never wavered. While hating that the steady gaze was directed to his friend's head, a steady gun was better than frantic. Angel had not moved once, staring at John. His face still held anger but that anger was now mixed with surprise, of sorts, with a dash of confusion.
"John, put the goddam gun down, wouldja?" a harassed voice sounded from the door. Everyone in the lobby jerked with surprise at the unexpected entrance of a new player. The AI crew looked to the door, wondering who had entered their domain now. He was, apparently, a friend of the gun-man. He looked to be middle-aged, maybe a little older, with gray-ish hair and wore jeans, a hunting jacket and a trucker hat to complete the ensemble. The man was scowling as he took in the situation in the lobby of the hotel.
There was another moment of tense silence before a click that seemed as loud as an explosion in the quiet room, followed by the lowering of the gun that had everyone on edge. A sigh escaped the black-haired man as he tucked the gun into the back of pants. He turned to glare at the grizzled man and growled at him, "I thought you were going to stay out there, Bobby."
Bobby, however, seemed unfazed by the glare or hard words. He just rolled his eyes and came to stand beside his fuming friend. "I ain't one of your boys, John. You can't order me around," he shot back. Internally, he winced at the now out-of-date use of plural 'boys", but John seemed too annoyed to catch the slip. "Now be a good boy and introduce me to your friends," he drawled out, sarcasm tipping the words.
John just continued to glare not at all pleased with Bobby's presence and remarks. He knew he shouldn't have called the other hunter into this. But while John was ignoring Bobby's words, Bobby was ignoring John's glare. He turned to the still confused crew and scowling vampire. They all had bemused expressions on their faces. Bobby took in the darkly-clothed, spiky-haired, large man in front of him. He spoke to him first, "You must be Angelus."
"Angel," corrected the brunette to the left and a little behind the vampire. Bobby's surprised/confused gaze traveled to her at her response. In reply to his unspoken question of "Do what now?" she followed up with an explanation. "His name is Angel."
"Oh," Bobby uttered, before rubbing his face with his hand. "I always heard Angelus. You are the vamp with a soul right?" Bobby questioned, hoping that there wasn't some mix-up.
John finally decided to join the conversation. "They only call him that when he is bad. When he is 'good' he goes by Angel." Anyone who heard John could hear his disbelief at the thought of Angel being good.
"Right…" Bobby trailed off. Once again, silence encompassed the room, only of a more awkward kind.
After several unsuccessful nudges to Angel's back to get him to break the silence, Cordelia finally decided to do so herself. She stuck her hand out to the man named Bobby. "I'm Cordelia Chase. I see you know Angel; the black guy is Charles Gunn. Call him Gunn, or he gets cranky. The girl is Fred Burkle, and…"
Here she was interrupted by the white guy as he stepped forward with his hand also outstretched. "Wesley-Wyndom Price," he introduced himself, with an English accent. "You must be a hunter," he continued conversationally.
Bobby shook each hand as it was proffered. "Bobby Singer," he threw out as a way of introduction. "My friend here is John Winchester," Bobby explained. At his name, John, who had noticeably calmed down, nodded to the group as a whole, still not feeling like speaking to them. "But how did you know we were hunters?" Bobby asked, more curious than anything. John, however, was suspicious like he always was but especially more about a group of people who hang around a vampire.
"It was mostly evident through your use of Angel's previous name. Only scholarly types that have read of him, hunters, and the Watcher's Council call him that. As a former Watcher myself, I knew you were not a part of the Council, and since, pardon the assumption, you two hardly seem the scholarly type per se, that left only hunters. Not to mention your clothes suggest that route of deduction as well," Wesley explained without seeming to take a breath.
Bobby just stared at the Englishman for a moment, a mix of amazement and amusement on his face. "That obvious, huh?" Bobby said dryly, once he had collected himself. That produced a few chuckles.
"So what can we do for you gentlemen?" Wesley offered imperiously, the previous gun incident seemingly forgotten.
"I want my son back," John joined the conversation once again, his voice low and dangerous.
"Oh dear. Has he been kidnapped? Well, you have come to the right place. We here at Angel Investigations…" Wesley began the company spiel, only to be interrupted by John's gravelly voice.
"No," he spat out. The word was directed to Wesley but his attention was solely on Angel. Once again, John's hard gaze was boring into Angel; this time, attempting to convey something to the immortal private eye. Eventually, realization crept into Angel's eyes at John's words and expression.
"Shit!" Angel exclaimed. "I knew that something wasn't…" Here he trailed off, searching past events with an enlightened outlook and seeing them in a much clearer lens.
However, the rest of the team was still lost. "Angel?" Fred queried. "What is it?"
"Dean," Angel practically growled out.
Even as John tensed up at Angel's utterance of his remaining son's name, Cordy spoke up for everyone still left in the dark. "Huh? What about Dean?"
"Where is he?" John demanded, without giving Angel a chance to answer the brunette's question. Her knowledge of Dean only proved that there was something going on between his son and these people. At his question, understanding dawned throughout the room, and chaos erupted at that realization. Everyone began to speak at once, questioning and demanding in John's case. Bobby was the only one to stay quiet. He stepped back to watch the scene in amusement.
"Wait!" Cordelia called over the din. "Wait! You mean Dean is your son?" Cordelia asked incredulously once she had John's attention.
"Yes," he replied curtly. "Now where is he?"
Cordelia just looked at Angel, who once again had a smirk plastered on his face. "I'm sorry," Angel replied smoothly. "There is no Dean Winchester here."
"Dammit Angel, you tell me where my son is or so help me God…"
"So help you God what?" Angel sneered. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"
"Cut the crap," Bobby snapped, loosing his friendly demeanor. "Tell us where the boy is or us and every other hunter we know will be after your sorry ass."
Angel continued to sneer, encompassing both Bobby and John in his glare, seemingly uncaring that he was about to be immersed in a free-for-all in the hunting community. Cordelia huffed, annoyed, and stepped in front of Angel. "I'll show you where he is," she said, a glare thrown over her shoulder at Angel that clearly said "What the hell is your problem?" and "We will be talking about this."
John looked at the friendly brunette and gave her a small smile of thanks, the first smile to have graced his face in the whole half-hour they had known each other. "Follow me," she said and began to walk up the stairs turning right at the junction. Bobby and John followed her eagerly. For John it had been too long since he last saw his son, and the thought that Dean was his last son at all sent sharp pains through his heart. As he followed the pretty brunette in front of him—he was sure that Dean had at least thought of hitting on her, that was just Dean— he tried to think of what he was going to say to his eldest: why he had left, where he had been, and, most importantly, what about Sammy. But before he could think of one thing to tell his bound-to-be distraught son, he heard a breathless "Dad" sound down the hall. It was almost a sigh in its aching longing and lost tone. He looked up and there before him was his oldest, and now only, son staring at him as if he had seen a ghost, figuratively speaking.