Chapter 10: I will Wade Through the Fire and Smoke like Sunlight Through the Haze

The gentle yet demanding thud at the door set John on edge. Snatching his handgun off the bed, he flipped the safety off and skulked towards the door. "You got the wrong room," barked John at the door, leveling the gun at chest height should anything force its way in.

"It's me, Dad, open up," came the muffled reply.

It was a voice out of the past and not anything John expected to hear. It should have made him feel at ease, elated, not cause him to grip his gun tighter while shaking off a shudder of distress. Slowly he unlatched the chain on the door, it wasn't going to stop anything that wanted in anyways. He cracked the door wide enough to get a look at what stood on the other side. His ears hadn't deceived him; it wasn't wishful thinking or alcohol-fuelled hallucination. "Sammy," he croaked. The name had become unfamiliar and cumbersome from disuse. "Shouldn't you be at college?"

Sam pushed the door open, forcefully moving past John to avoid answering the slight challenge in the old man's question. "It's nice to see you too, Dad." Walking into the half-a-star motel room was like stepping into the past. The rooms were all the same, just the wallpaper changed. He could draw the layout and the Winchester occupation of it with his eyes closed.

Sam really was insane. To most people, it would be because he claimed to hunt the monsters that hid under the bed, but to those knew the Winchesters, it was because he somehow still expected his father to change. It was the same song stuck on repeat and Sam expected to hear something new each time the track began. Dean was counting on him. Sam couldn't change John, but he could try harder to fit his father's mold; put on a new song and force everyone to listen to something new. He turned to extend an olive branch, forge a battle pact to ride off under the same war banner to save Dean, only to be met with a face full of water, holy water. "What the hell?"

John stood there, hand out-stretched with the now empty flask, waiting. Nothing happened beyond irritation pulling at Sam's eyes. "Can't be too careful." It wasn't an apology, more of a declaration of fact that Sam should have known.

Sam wiped the water off his face with his sleeve; the innate need to go toe to toe with

John overriding everything else. "Not like you don't trust me or anything." The sarcastic retort said nothing and everything at the same time. Underneath the offended brush off was the unresolved tension of John's lack of faith in him. Between the family secret when he was younger and taking care of Dean while he chased after the demon, John clearly didn't trust Sam to go off on his own, to taste a normal life and return in one piece. Hell, he didn't trust him to want to take revenge against the thing that had been ravaging his brother for the last ten years.

"What are you doing here?" snapped John, anything but warm and inviting. He had enough on his plate, without whatever his youngest was going to bring, and Sam couldn't be there. He'd lost one son, he couldn't allow the other to be within reach of the demon.

"I found Dean." The statement was cold, void of any feeling of betrayal Sam felt both on his and Dean's behalf. "Bobby came and got me, told me..."

"He shouldn't have done that!" interrupted John, slamming the door closed and storming over to place his weapon on the bed.

"What? He shouldn't have left Dean to rot in some clinic while you go on some kamikaze mission?" Sam's anger was emphasized with grandiose hand gestures.

"No, gotten you involved," John corrected, taking a step towards his irate son. Clearly neither was going to back down. He just wished Sam could see the bigger picture, that he wanted to protect them as much as he could.

"He's my brother, Dad, my brother. Besides, I did this to him, I deserve the chance to try and do something right." He needed to make it right. Dean had always looked out for him, put himself between Sam and the metaphorical bullet and this time Sam had been the one to fire the gun. He needed to help Dean. He needed his father to tell him everything was going to be alright, that like when they were children, dad could make it alright again. He needed John to be able to save Dean, because clearly Sam was unable.

John had been so busy trying to fix things while dodging Sam's anger at him all the time, he never noticed that Sam had been feeling guilty. "You didn't do this to Dean."

"Yes, I did!" Bobby's revelation had made his guilt pretty clear. Dean's blood was solely on his hands in this one. Ten years...

John pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache starting to form behind his eyes. Straightening Sam out was important but like most things, there wasn't enough time to fight evil and morally support his boys. Still, time or not, he might not have another chance after tomorrow night and Sam deserved to be absolved. "Sam, it was the demon. Something went wrong in the exorcism. I didn't account for something. It wasn't your fault."

"It is," insisted Sam. It was hard to think, let alone say, and have to confess it to John Winchester of all people. "I made it so the exorcism wouldn't work."

John's face softened. "You were ten years old Sam, you couldn't have done anything. What are you talking about?"

"I cast a spell." His voice trembled slightly and his eyes refused to meet his father's. He braced himself for the righteous fury that should rain down upon him, that intimidating John Winchester swagger that sent many a grown man quivering in fear.

His brain stuttered to a halt. Sam had, spoken English words but John's brain refused to comprehend the meaning behind them. Surely they didn't mean what he thought they meant. "You what?"

"A spell to lock a demon in someone," clarified Sam in the face of his father's disbelief.

"You cast a spell," repeated John, in numb disbelief. "Trap a demon in a person?" Sam nodded silently. "On your brother?" It was getting hard to breath, as the room tilted and swayed. His hand searched blindly for the bed behind him as he lowered himself down.

There was too much to think about at Sam's implication. John acknowledged he often left the boys to their own devices when they were young. There were many things the boys got up to when he was off hunting that he didn't know about but he still did his fatherly duty to find out. He knew about the Playboy Dean had stolen from the corner store and hid under the cardboard bottom of his duffle bag. He was even pretty sure it was the same one he used to explain the finer points of being interested in girls to Sammy years later. He knew about Sam's 'pet' frog that had travelled with them from Minnesota to Tuscan during the summer of eighty-six, Dean sneaking out for his fumbling first kiss on top of the campground playground when he was ten. Hell, he knew about Sam's forged field trip form to go on an overnight trip out of town to see a once in a lifetime art exhibition while John was out of town; even dragged Dean back from his late night foray into the New York music scene. But, one delving into witchcraft? How had he missed that? He'd tried so hard to keep his boys safe, now one had started down a dark and dangerous path and the other trapped with a demon... Oh god.

Sam shattered his father's silence. "Dad, Dean's going to be here..."

"Why'd you bring your brother here?" demanded John. All the things the demon needed to hurt him, everything John loved in one place for easy pickings.

"I didn't! That's what I'm trying to tell you." Guilt slipped away under the crushing weight of anger. Here Sam was, trying to bear his soul, apologise and explain to someone who could comprehend and his dad was focusing on the wrong things.

"I left your brother so he wouldn't be in harm's way and..." ranted John.

Sam took the aggressive step toward his father, closing the distance between them and in an all too familiar dance. "And did you ever stop to think that while you're here to get revenge, that thing might want it too?"

John glared daggers at his son using every bit of strength he had to keep from throwing punches. He'd never beat his kids, saved his fists for more appropriate targets but god damn Sam knew how to push everyone of his buttons.

"That's why I'm here, Dad. That thing has had a hold on Dean this whole time and it finally gained complete control over him yesterday. The demon's in control and it's on its way here, just like you predicted."

"Oh, I'm already here."

Both men turned their heads towards the door, time coming to a shocking standstill between heartbeats. "Dean," they said in unison.

Dean tilted his head, a toothy grin crawling across his face. He raised his hand, a force slamming into both Winchesters staring slack-jawed at him. He let out a satisfied chuckle as both men flew across the room, slamming hard against the wall to crumple boneless on the floor in a shower of plaster and splinters. He looked at his prey, unconscious on the floor. "I love family reunions."

He heaved Sam's dead weight over his shoulder like it was nothing. Whistling like he was simply taking the trash out to knock some mundane chore off a to-do list, he made his way to the Impala that Sam had so thoughtfully parked near the door. Swiping the keys out of his burden's pocket, Dean popped the trunk before dropping Sam, none too gently, in. He used the rope lying in the truck so conveniently provided to fasten Sam's feet and wrists, smiling as the rope pulled painfully tight. John received the same treatment right after, barely fitting in the cramped space with his son. "Now the fun can begin." The slamming of the trunk punctuated his gloating.