Disclaimer: See Chapter One
A/N: Well, we're getting through it – almost at the end. Again, I tip my hat to MAZ101 who had more red and er's in this chapter than I think any other. When we do meet one day, I will give you a balloon. You lift me up. Oh, and I had this story written before the "Levee" episode. So any mirrored parts are just coincidences.
Chapter Ten: Misery and Gin
The demon blood had hit the spot.
He wasn't an addict. He wasn't. He wasn't doing it – he wasn't using it – because he wanted to. He did it because he needed to. It was a means to an end. Simple. Black and white. It made him strong and stronger. It made him fast and faster. It made him better and best.
He wasn't an addict.
Still, the demon blood didn't just hit the spot. It turned him on. Drinking it absorbed through his stomach, into his tissues and spread into his veins. It was a warming sensation that gave him the power to do anything he put his mind to. So he came across as hardened. He came across as different. As changed. Those were just labels. They didn't mean anything. He had saved more lives with this newfound use for his curse than he had ever saved before with Dean. That meant something. That was tangible. That was the reward for what was happening to him. For what he was doing to himself. For what he was becoming.
He wasn't an addict.
The blood made him feel more alive than he had ever felt before. All he asked in return was to be successful in his revenge. Let the shit hit the fan Sam Winchester style. When that finally happened, he was willing to pay the final price. His life. Lilith dead. One major badass monster wiped off the face of the earth. That was paybacks he was willing to bank on. The demon blood, the lies, the metamorphosis. That would make it all worthwhile.
He wasn't an addict. He wasn't. He was in pain. He had lost everything. Everyone. And it was his fault. He was to blame. So he found a purpose and he found a way to serve it. The thing was, he hadn't banked on his brother's return from Hell. And now that he had Dean at his side again, he couldn't help himself. The pain was still there and the taste for revenge was thick in his mouth.
But he wasn't an addict. He had just fought his affliction for so long it became his escape to everyday living until his escape became his habit.
Sam walked up the hill with hunched shoulders and a heavy heart.
It would have been faster to get up the damn thing if it hadn't been for the rain. It would have been easier if his brother was there with him. Of course, he would never admit that.
The minimal light was darkening in the rain and Sam lost his footing as he neared the gravesite. His hand clumsily fell in front of him and caught on a grassy patch, his knee bending and sinking into the mud. He felt his back pull with the motion and swore under his breath as the pain lit on fire.
Over the rain spilling down, he heard a thump nearby and his body instantly froze. Sam's fingers gripped and re-gripped the sawed-off as he carefully rolled his body up to a vertical position. Then he blinked.
The recently dug grave of Valentina Mondalvo was just up ahead, dirt loosely packed down, tombstone drenched from the falling water. Problem was, there was no Valentina.
The ghostly figure dressed so formally in blue wasn't anywhere to be seen.
Sam's upper torso turned to the left and to the right. He squinted through the gray clouds, droplets falling from his eyelashes.
"What the hell?" He asked to no one but himself.
It didn't feel right. He strained as far as he could see, looking into the air, looking for something that wasn't there.
But it was. He could feel it. The air around him was like a gel, hard to catch his breath, full of an invisible substance that he couldn't see, but that he could sense. It seemed to move with him. If Sam turned to the right, it went left. If he took a step forward, it crept behind.
He frowned. It remained still. It was waiting.
Sam sucked in a breath and, feeling a little silly, he called into the coming night, "Val?"
The air rotated in front of him. Vapors climbed and swirled into a thick of nothingness. A sharp, strained giggle echoed around him and the whim of a baby's cry chased it. Sam's eyes toggled back and forth, searching for the source. He raised the shotgun and aimed dead ahead.
The pitter-patter of small feet on wet ground splashed near him and Sam turned to his right. It sounded like it was running away from him, not towards. He circled around, trying to follow the noise, trying to focus on anything up on the damn hill.
"Val?" He called again with a shake of his head, because the last time had worked out so well.
The hairs on his neck pricked away from his skin. He didn't notice the change in temperature until he felt the weighted tug on his jacket. Sam's head whipped to his right and before he had time to react, he was on his back staring up at gray skies with yellow eyes.
-0-
May, 1996
Her eyes poured into him.
John shoved away from the counter of the bar and he found himself wedged in between a vegetative girl in a wheelchair and his boys. His arms spread away from his body and he pressed back in protection, secluding them from Ramona's sight.
Ben and Jeff were moving to his left. Ben was shuffling toward his daughter while Jeff hung back behind, both unable to hide the pure shock on their faces.
"Ramona?" Ben spoke softly. His hands stretched wide, like he was approaching a wild animal.
It was Ramona, though, who held John's attention. She was sitting in the shiny chair, her body rigid and her bony arms shaking as her contracted hands tightened into unyielding fists. Her head was erect, pulled away from the leather and her eyes were dark and round.
John watched as Ben bent low, trying to steal Ramona's fascination from Sam to himself. He waved a hand through her line of sight, he snapped his fingers in front of her nose. She stayed glued to what stood beyond John.
"Hey, Ramona, baby?" Ben reached up and placed two fingers aside the girl's face and pulled.
She didn't even blink. Her lips parted, dry and pink, and her jaw started moving in slow motion.
Ben silently startled at the action. He dropped his hand and scooted away, almost in terrorized awe. His chin dipped down and his head turned slightly, catching John out of his periphery. "I don't understand-"
"Truth."
Ben's eyes swung to the girl and John felt both his sons at his back, peeking over his shoulder. Jeff was grasping the counter on his left, surely it was the only thing that was keeping the man from falling to the ground.
Ramona stared straight ahead. She didn't flinch as her father touched her again, this time clutching her taut hands in his. "What is it? What truth?" he asked.
She didn't respond.
Ben rubbed one of her small fists against the stubble of his chin. "Hey, honey. I'm here. Look here." He tried again to bring her face to his, but her muscles resisted. "It's Daddy." He hitched in a breath and shifted his heavy load underneath his feet. "It's Benny. Look at me, Conchita."
There was an audible crack of cartilage as Ramona's neck cracked to the right, her tendons stretching against her tan skin. She opened her mouth and at first, only silent gasps hit the air.
Ben pulled back, cowering away from her as she lurched in short thrusts, her body quivering in the chair.
A hum started low in her throat. Her mouth gaped open as the notes hit the air, a sad lullaby rising in waves over the music punching out the jukebox. Her mouth twitched timidly into a half smile, her eyes watching her surroundings.
John took a step back, feeling his sons snug against him. Dean wobbled on one leg, most of his weight on Sam's shoulder. He felt his own energy surge down his arms, fiercely bracing his boys against any threat.
Dark eyes hooked back in John's direction and he felt Sam's breath on the back of his hairline. Thick accented words started playing in a loop around and around the passages of John's mind.
El pequeño.
Sam's breath was warm against his skin.
Your boy.
He could feel the fear there.
He is okay?
The power.
Is he different?
And the curse.
Ramona's chest unnaturally fell to her lap and she inhaled a ghastly wheeze. When it escaped her this time, the small room filled with her screams.
-0-
March, 2009
It certainly wasn't the first time Dean had found himself staring down the barrel of a .45. Oddly enough, he hoped it wouldn't be his last, either.
He hated being on this end of the equation. He had let his guard down and had trusted old friends when he knew damn good and well who his friends were. He hated that it was him and Sam against everyone. He hated that it all rested on his shoulders. The world's fate balanced on him. He hated it so much, he almost hated himself.
I can't do it. It's too big.
Thank God for Sam.
Then you guys are screwed.
Sam gave him a purpose.
I'm not a hero.
Dean's eyes were steeled. His hands clenched at his sides and muscles bounced and bunched all over his body. He could feel his chest lurch forward in frustration, but Big Ben was no novice when it came to using guns. Right now, though, Ben's face wasn't as confident. It was swarming with emotions and actually looked more frightened than anything.
"Where's Sam?" Ben swallowed hard as the lights in the bar flickered back on and Dean caught the shake at the end of the barrel. Eyes stayed locked on one another and Dean couldn't help but crack a smile as he watched a fat bead of sweat roll down the man's temple.
"Put the gun down," Dean grit out.
That made Ben grin. "Boy, who do you think is asking the questions around here?" The .45 pointed closer to Dean's face as Ben and his stomach pressed Dean back against the wall. "Jeff, check him."
Jeff was half way out the door with Ramona. He turned and looked at his brother and then at Dean. He held a quiet inside him that was battling with the need to get his niece out of the tavern, but knowing he was instead going to park her and do as Ben asked.
Jeff turned the wheelchair so that they could see Ramona and pushed the brakes down. He flipped his long hair out of his face and hesitantly dragged himself over to the two men.
Dean stilled. His head turned away as Jeff patted him down, checking pockets, dipping his fingers into his boots until he came away with Dean's Colt and Bowie knife.
Dean's eyes landed on Ramona. First time in a long time. Her body mechanics hadn't changed much since he'd seen her last: her hands were balled, her head was tilted awkwardly back, her right foot was pulled sharply inward. Still, she looked different. Older. Grown up. Beautiful, really.
"You know," Jeff's spoke calmly as he traveled the length of Dean's body, "all you got to do is just answer him. We don't want to hurt you."
"That's all? And you won't hurt me?" Dean almost laughed as he shook his head. "Why're you suddenly so interested in my brother?"
Jeff placed Dean's weapons on a small table and slowly backed away.
Ben cocked a graying eyebrow. "Don't blame us for this. We gave you boys a shot."
Dean's smile disappeared. His eyes narrowed at the large man. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"We gave you two days." His left hand raised, flashing two chubby fingers. "You two do some half-ass salt and burn. Then what? You tear down the goddamn dividing post and burn a car?" His face screwed into a rainbow of red. "I didn't think you were amateurs."
"Well," Dean exaggerated a huff, "I've been called a lot of things-"
"So because of your incompetence, we have to finish it."
Dean tried to make sense of that, wondering if the hit he'd taken to his head yesterday was muddling him up. "And how exactly do you plan on finishing things?"
"Dean!" The door to the bar swung open hard, the wind blowing in with it. Sam's tall form raced into the tavern, skidding to a confused stop as his eyes quickly assessed the situation.
Dean's eyes widened at the sight of his brother dashing into the room. He felt his body flinch, felt words of warning stick in his throat. Run, Sam, Run! But the feeling chased away just as fast when he saw Sam's right hand fly to the back of his waistband, his Glock clutched in his hand before Big Ben ever had a chance to register a thought.
"Put the gun down." It was an order. Not many people would have disregarded such a tone, but Ben did.
"Why?" He goaded. "You're not going to shoot me."
Sam rolled his head once, his shoulders squared, his aim chosen. "Let my brother go."
Ben blinked. His eyes stayed with his target, but Dean could see him wavering, questioning how well he knew Sam. What was he actually capable of? His gaze drilled into Dean, searching for the answers but Sam's brother had none to offer. He didn't know how that story ended yet.
"So what?" Ben licked his lips. "This is just gonna be a three-way stand-off? If I shoot Dean, you shoot me?"
"I'm not aiming at you, dipshit."
Dean couldn't help himself. Out of his periphery, he and Ben both stole a look over to Jeff. His hands were held up for everyone to see and he had a sick look on his face.
"You touch one hair on my brother's head," Sam continued, "and I'll put your brother down."
There was a rattle from behind them. The silver wheelchair was moving back and forth, dark hair bobbled against the headrest and started to pull away, a rigid neck taking on more weight.
Ben's eyes flickered to the sight and then straight ahead again. Dean knew there wasn't much fight left in him. "Well, what do you wanna do?" the big man asked.
Sam inched closer to the trio, his Glock steady on Jeff. "I didn't start this, man. Let Dean go and then you tell us what the hell is going on."
Dean could feel the silent fear rolling off Ben. The man had his gaze fixed but his head was racing through thoughts and scenarios, wishing he had a card to play but knowing Sam would have an Ace tucked away.
"Dean." Sam ticked his head back, gesturing his brother to walk towards him.
The .45 didn't look so intimidating anymore. Dean shifted his weight under him, testing waters and when it seemed safe enough, he started to slide to his left.
Ben blinked long and slow like he was just waking up to the nightmarish reality around him. His round, sweaty face frowned into a collection of deep lined wrinkles and without a word, the butt of the gun smacked across Dean's forehead.
His vision jammed with flashes of white and the pain tunneled from his head to his shoulder. Dean's eyebrow tweaked momentarily and his arms flailed from his sides as he attempted to keep himself from falling backwards. His hearing buzzed like a bad TV set until the deafening shot from Sam's gun silenced his ears again.
Ben's shoulders jerked and he turned around to Sam. "What the fuck?" Ben bellowed. Then he stopped and just stared, not able to bring himself to look behind him.
Sam tilted his arm and clicked the hammer back again. This time he pointed directly at Ben. A scream sounded from Ramona as the wheelchair shifted into overdrive. The woman's long body rocked the chair hard, it's wheel locked in place, taking the pressure as she fidgeted wildly.
"Sam!" Dean yelled. "What's wrong with you?"
But the look Sam threw him sent chills down Dean's spine and wasn't he getting tired of that goddamn feeling. His brother walked a tightrope these days. All it took was one slip of the foot and the world would come crashing down. Leaving Dean alone and desperate. He was getting pretty tired of that feeling, too.
"Ben."
Big Ben's head whipped to his right, his neck craning from the strain. Dean followed. Both sets of eyes landed on a very much alive Jeff Timmons, a bullet hole wedged an inch in the wall to the left of his head.
"Aw, God!" Ben exclaimed, the revolver falling effortlessly from his hand, resonating in a clang clang on the wood below.
Dean scooted away from the wall, scooping up the abandoned gun and gathering up his confiscated weapons off the tabletop. He ignored the happy, almost joyful sounds that were blubbering out of the larger man. He pretended not to notice the way Jeff leaned into his older brother, hands on his shoulders, behind his back. He had already forgotten that Ben had repeated how he'd thought he'd lost Jeff and he was turning away from all of the shit when Jeff told Ben he wasn't ever going anywhere.
Dean had his own family to deal with in that bar. He slipped his Colt back between his waistband as he staggered the few steps to Sam. He tried to keep a straight, somber face as he approached him. Sam hadn't killed anyone. He had just fired a warning shot and it worked. Mission accomplished. Everyone safe and happy.
Apparently, Sam hadn't gotten the memo.
Dean brushed by Sam's shoulder and he heard a relieved sigh escape his brother. But Sam kept the hammer pulled back and the barrel steady on the joyful brothers.
"Sam?" Dean tried.
The gun stayed where it was, though, and Sam didn't look over. He just stared ahead, his eyes hot and empty. Dean wondered what exactly Sam was seeing in front of him.
"Get Ramona," Sam ordered and Dean stole a look over at the wheelchair. The sound of the gunshot must have calmed her, the chair was still again. Her dark hair was sticking up in a mess of wild tufts all around her head.
Then his gaze swung to the bartenders. They were still clinging to one another, but they had broken away from the hug. Now they were just gripping fingers into biceps and palms rubbing the back of necks.
Sam's shoulders rolled and his face winced in pain. Dean noticed a faint pinky color starting to show itself on the collar of his shirt. Dean blinked. Sam's coat covered the rest of his back so unless he could get Sam to take it off, Dean had no idea how badly his brother's blood was seeping through.
"Sam, I can take the gun," Dean offered. He placed his hand on his brother's back and pressed down gently between his shoulder blades. He could feel warmth radiating through the rain soaked coat. What he really watched was the aching constriction waving across Sam's profile. "Let me take it, man."
Sam answered with a jab of his elbow and he swallowed hard, ignoring Dean and addressing the brothers. "Sit down."
Ben and Jeff broke apart, looking first at Sam, then at the gun. Ben's hand yanked on Jeff's arm and pulled him the few steps to a small table where they sat down in unison.
The rocking started back up with the wheelchair.
"Sorry, fellas," Ben's droopy gaze fell to the table. Shame or defeat, Dean wasn't quite sure.
"What was that about?" Dean demanded. He inched closer to his brother, showing the men that the Winchesters were standing together in this. Maybe only one had a gun drawn on them but, dammit, they were in this together.
Ben and Jeff exchanged silent looks at one another following them up with a series of head ticks and eyebrow raises.
"Oh, come on!" Dean yelled. He leaned closer to the men, his palms resting on their table. "You either tell us or we make you tell us."
The brothers looked away, picking imaginary spots in the bar to stare at. Dean watched them as Ramona and her chair banged out a nice thumping pattern on the wood floor. She was making odd noises, grunts and moans but the screaming had stopped.
"It's about what it's been about for weeks now," Jeff tried to explain. "Getting rid of... you know who."
Dean pulled back. "Of Val?"
Jeff nodded. "Well, yeah."
Dean frowned. His hand came up in gesture. "But you were asking about Sam. You pulled a gun on me. How is that helping us helping you get rid of Val?"
Jeff dropped his gaze and looked over at Big Ben. The large man was closed off to the bar, his arms hugging his body, his legs smashed close together, even his stomach seemed to be more compact. If that were possible. "The night you showed up, she came to me," he mumbled.
"Came to you..." Dean's hand rolled in a get on with it motion.
Ben squirmed on the small chair. "Came to me. In a dream, I guess. Told me that she'd leave us alone if I... killed Sam." He glanced up again and tried not to look guilty, but he wasn't pulling it off very well. "But I thought I should at least give you boys a chance to get her first."
"Well, gees, guys," Dean swayed, "thanks for the head start. Next time, why don't you just shoot us in the knee caps first."
"Truth," Ramona's voice cut through the air like a blade even though it was barely a whisper. The men stilled and watched her writhe in the chair. Her body shook with rigidity, her hands clenched tighter fists. Her eyes enlarged and fell upon Sam and she leaned forward, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth. "Truth."
Sam looked at Dean and Dean looked back. He wanted to put his hand out again, wanted to give Sam some warmth, some reassurance but he was afraid that would seem weak. Instead, Dean tried to offer him a smile, but Sam looked away before it ever hit his cheeks.
"What is she talking about?" Sam demanded, the gun still held on the men at the table.
Ben lifted a hand in question. "How would I know?"
Sam shook his head. His eyes had went from hot to dangerous. "You better start talking, old man."
Big Ben seemed to let that sink in for a few seconds. He kept his gaze on Sam, watching for an out, for a tell that he was joking, but Sam didn't give up one. Ben's forehead glistened with peppered beads of sweat and he licked his lips nervously. The rhythmic drone of Ramona's voice rose and fell in the musty room. "Truth. Truth."
"Ramona!" Ben shouted. "Jesus, shut-up a minute, will ya?"
Ben's shoulders sank and his body fell forward as his air released. Almost twenty years had passed without Ramona saying anything and now she was babbling the same word over and over again and all the big guy could do was tell her to shut-up.
"Ben." Sam ordered again and his voice had lowered, no longer holding any leeway to it. It was a threatening tone that lately shook Dean to his core.
"First get me a bottle, would ya?" Ben asked, raising his droopy lids. "Let me have a drink and then, then I'll tell ya whatcha need to know."
Sam nodded and Dean walked to the bar, grabbing at the first bottle his fingers snagged, along with two glasses. He turned on his heels to return back, his eyes snapping over to Ramona. Her entire being was fixed on the back of Sam's head, her chest pulled close to her lap as she kept mumbling "Truth" over and over.
You said it, sister, Dean thought. She wasn't the only one who was in need of the truth being spilled until they were drowning in it.
Dean slid the bottle and the glasses over to the men and joined his brother again. Ben's hand shook as he poured the clear liquid into both glasses. He pushed one glass to Jeff and he took the other. One drink down and he wiped the back of his mouth. "Why don't you grab yourself a glass and sit with us?" He suggested to Dean. He didn't bother looking at Sam or the gun.
Dean shook his head. "No. I'm good."
Big Ben wrapped an arm around the bottle and looked back at his glass. "Then why don't you boys take off and leave me to my misery and Gin."
"Talk." Sam kept his stance and his pace, over Ben's diversions, over Ramona's voice, over the pounding of Dean's heart. Sam appeared cool. Cold.
Ben took another drink. "You know everything. You boys don't get it. I'm having a baby. I want a life with Gina. But I still have a life with Ramona and when they're together, things don't mix well. What's gonna happen when the baby comes? How am I gonna keep everybody safe? I can't lose..." His voice stopped abruptly, his droopy lids filling with tears. "Val never did like Sam."
"Why?" Sam demanded.
A shrug answered him and Sam took a step forward, causing Ramona to wail.
"I don't know," Ben insisted. "I know that she thought you smelled like Angel, like how she thought Angel smelled." Ramona's cries continued. "She thought he smelled like sulfur."
"Sulfur?" Sam backed up a step.
"Yeah," Ben went on, watching the boys. "Didn't your dad ever tell you any of that?"
Dean and Sam shared a quick glance. "Not completely," Dean supplied.
"Well, Sam and Angel had the same birthday. Sam month, day, and year. And Val always thought something had happened to Angel when he was a baby. She didn't know what it was, but she thought something had changed him. She found sulfur in his nursery. No matter how many times we washed the sheets or bathed him, she still thought she could smell sulfur. Hell, I smelled him. He smelled like a baby to me. Then she said she thought his eyes were different. Sometimes they were brown and other times she said they would flash yellow." Ben stopped talking and was waiting for one of the brothers to say something, but Dean and Sam were just staring at him. "Your daddy never told you this?"
Dean broke out of his daze and waved his arm in front of him. "Dad wasn't always the best at telling the whole picture."
Sam lowered the gun and his eyes fell to the floor. Dean leaned in, closing the gap between them. "What do you think?"
Sam was shaking his head in aggravation or anger or both.
"She was just crazy."
Dean heard the words, but he could tell by the look on Sam's face that he had felt them.
"What?" Sam growled.
"Val," Ben answered. "It was all crazy, freak-show talk." He placed two fingers to the side of his skull and slowly thumped.
Dean's arm extended in front of Sam before his brother propelled into the large man. He heard the chairs screech as both men pushed away from Sam's lurching body. "Sam! Let it go!" Dean yelled. "Let it go!"
Sam turned away from his brother and pushed his hair out of his eyes, out of his face. Dean watched his body seethe, watched his back expand as Sam gulped in enough air to fill his gills and then Dean felt his heart tense as Sam's gaze locked with Ramona.
"Truth," she chanted.
Sam's head jerked over his shoulder, air heaving from his chest. "It's not Val."
"What?" Ben and Jeff asked together.
Sam took a step towards the young woman. Dean could see his profile soften and his mouth drew up into a smile. He approached her quaking body carefully, easily, cautiously.
"It's not Val haunting the place." Sam nodded to Ramona and bent down closer to her, his knee bending in front of the wheelchair. "It's Angel."
Ramona suddenly shrieked and plummeted her body to his. Her fists untangled into long fingers and she wrapped her right hand around his nose and mouth as her left hand gripped the back of his head. Her face screwed tight as her body shook with force and her lips pushed together and firmly spoke: "Truth."
Translations: El pequeño: The little one.
A/N: Thanks so much for your words and reviews. They are greatly appreciated. Two more chapters and we'll see if the boys can lay this hunt to bed!
Misery and Gin performed by Merle Haggard