Title: The woods are lovely, dark and deep
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester had begun to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It's all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Thanks: To the fabulous duck-torturing TraSan who tracks down itinerant tenses in between writing wonderful fic of her own.
Author's Notes: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter and my lack of reply to reviews. I returned from the folk festival (which was utterly wonderful) to find I had no internet. After several phone calls to my ISP Tiscali in which I attempted to persuade them that Yes, being a full-time programmer and having a Computer Science degree, I was entirely sure there wasn't a problem with my router or computer then they must have a line problem. Also that given one of my local friends using Tiscali had also lost internet access at exactly the same time, the odds of some router suicide pact going on were low so could they please sort their line out!!
Finally got internet access back late on Thursday just in time to pack up and go for a family holiday in the Lake District which was brilliant too, even if I needed a holiday again afterwards to recover from the parents.
Excuses over, I will try to be more punctual and try to reply to all the lovely people that have reviewed this fic so far.
Chapter 10
The minute the trio walked into the roadhouse, it became evident that they'd missed out a rather concrete step in the plan. Namely telling the two dozen odd hunters currently inside that 'No, Dean wasn't dead.' This flaw quickly became clear as two dozen guns were cocked and Dean found himself staring down at the two dozen barrels.
Jo and Bobby almost bumped each other out of the way as they moved to stand in front of him. Dean scowled at that, at such a clear sign that both of them believed he was incapable of looking after himself.
"Put the damn guns down," Jo called out in a strident voice, more than an echo of her mother's commanding tones present.
The hunters glanced between themselves but only two or three actually lowered their aim and even then they looked wary. It was a hunter seated at the bar, all lean muscle and harsh angles, that declared himself the spokesperson, "Sorry, Jo, but that guy is a dead ringer for Dean Winchester and we ain't taking no chances with that demon of a brother about."
"My brother is not a demon," Dean protested and immediately realised that was exactly the wrong thing to say as the few that had lowered their guns raised them back up again and the expressions turned from wary suspicion to angry hatred.
"Jo, Bobby, get out of the way." The spokesperson said.
"So you can shoot him? Hell no!" If anything, Jo crowded herself more against Dean, leaving no space for an opportunistic shot, "Would y'all put your guns down and listen?"
The spokesperson looked around the room and smirked as the guns didn't even twitch, "I think we've got a vote for no here. Step away, Jo. I respected your mother and I don't want to have to shoot you." The unspoken 'But I will' was clear.
"Your finger even twitches on that trigger and you'll be dead before the signal makes it from your pea-sized brain to your wimpy trigger finger," Bobby stated, not even bothering to reach for his own gun, just using his reputation as a battering ram.
"You protecting zombies now, Bobby Singer?" The spokesperson asked, "'cos that doesn't fit what I've heard about you."
"Well, I heard nothing whatsoever 'bout you so what say we stand on my reputation and put the damn guns down." Bobby stared forcefully before adding, "Oh, and Dean's not a zombie." As if it was just a casual afterthought.
A few guns wavered that time but none actually lowered, just a few indecisive looks passed between the group, "We'll hear you out but you stand right there."
"You'll hear me out in my own bar?" Jo snit.
"Later, girl," Bobby said, "Here's the deal. Dean here ain't dead, obviously. Just been real sick for a while. He ain't got nothing to do with what his brother has been up to but he's also our best chance at stopping him. Now put your damn guns down. Next gun I see pointed at Dean gets snapped in half."
Half the guns went down on pure instinct just from the tone of Bobby's voice, the others lowered more slowly but remained at the ready. Jo started the walk towards the bar and Bobby motioned Dean to precede him, keeping Dean sandwiched between the two of them to make a shot more awkward. Dean would complain later when there wasn't a room full of people ready to shoot him.
The tension in the room was still palpable, everyone waiting for something to happen or an excuse to start shooting. Jo ordered three beers off the barman, a man Dean didn't recognise, who nervously placed them in front of the trio, forgetting to pop the lids off until Jo rolled her eyes and motioned for the bottle opener.
"Should you be drinking that on your meds?" Bobby eyed the sweating bottle in front of Dean.
Dean scowled, apparently having a gun pointed at you invalided Bobby's promise not to baby him, "If I have an adverse reaction, it'll just save these hunters or my brother the trouble of killing me." Dean defiantly took a swig, wincing a little at the taste. It would take him a while to get accustomed to beer again.
"What meds?" Jo asked in irritated worry and Dean groaned, he really didn't feel like running through the litany of just how fucked up Dean Winchester was again. He could see Bobby opening his mouth to explain and just wanted to sink below the bar.
Fortunately Dean was saved from the sympathetic explanation by Ash sauntered out of his room into the bar. Or rather he sauntered out, took one look around, settled his eyes on Dean, called out "Hey man," frowned, said "Damn, of course," turned around, muttered "That's really going to fuck with my spreadsheets," and headed back into his room.
Jo and Bobby's mirrored shocked expressions were so amusing that Dean couldn't help laughing. When they turned to look at Dean, the laughter only grew until Dean had to lean his head on the bar because it felt like his body couldn't support him anymore. He had a feeling toppling back off his stool would be just enough to provoke one of these hunters into shooting him. That wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact Bobby would probably get himself shot trying to defend him and if this world was going all to hell, it sure as hell needed Bobby Singer in its corner.
He felt Bobby's warm hand resting on his back, rubbing, "Dean? You alright? You having a seizure?"
That just made Dean laugh harder. After all, if he was having a seizure, how the hell would he answer that one, "No," He finally choked out, "Just the two of you," He lifted his head again, leaning back against the support Bobby's hand still offered, "It was just comical."
Jo and Bobby just glanced between each other in a 'Has he gone over the edge?' manner and that was almost enough to set Dean off again. Everything was just so damn funny, it was so damn funny because if it wasn't, Dean had a feeling he'd be a whimpering mess on the floor and Winchesters were never whimpering messes.
Ash was once again Dean's saviour from awkward explanations as he staggered out of his room, rolls of paper looped over his arms. He made his way straight for the trio and glared at Dean, "Do you have any idea how much you messed up my calculations?" He grouched. "Seriously, I even doubted myself once, briefly."
"Sorry for not being dead," Dean said offhandly, turning on the stool slowly and taking another gulp from the beer to ease the roughness in his throat from the laughter.
"Eh, you being dead threw everything off. You being alive, now that makes sense," Ash showed one of the common eccentricities of genius, talking complete bollocks and expecting everyone to have a clue what you are talking about.
"Glad you think so. If you persuade the rest of the people in the room, I'd be grateful." Dean had to make a concerted effort not to slur or stutter. Showing weakness in a room full of hunters is about as sensible as sticking your arm in a lion's throat and yelling bite me. As it is, he still could hear some but hoped they'd just put it down to not handling his beer well.
Ash glanced around the room of wary hunters, only just seeming to notice the rest of the people there, "Huh," He said before glancing to one of the empty tables. "Come over here so I can spread my work out."
Dean felt Bobby's arms move to help him off the stool and deliberately shoved himself off, determined to show some independence. It wasn't his best idea as his right knee attempted to buckle and he only saved himself from a tumble by hooking an arm onto the stool. He shifted away from Bobby's arms trying to help him out and then again when Jo tried the same, using the strength of arms to push himself back up to his knees and then locking his legs to half-stagger over to the table Ash had indicated. He didn't care how it looked at that point, he just wanted the relief of a chair with a back to lean against.
He saw Ash watching him all the way over and the genius smirked as Dean sunk down into one of the wooden chairs, "Man, you are fucked up." He stated but somehow from Ash it didn't carry much of a sting. "Take a look at this." Ash unrolled one of the charts.
It looked like a hell of a lot of squiggles to Dean, interspersed with the occasional red dot. He tried to find some common point of reference to connect this bizarre diagram with anything he'd seen before but failed miserably and just glanced to Ash, "What the hell is it?"
Ash blinked and looked down, "Oh, upside-down." Ash turned the graph around and gestured as if suddenly it would make perfect sense.
Dean frowned at the picture and waited for something to coalesce from the chaos. He paused and glanced down at a patch of symbols and dots that seemed vaguely similar, "This." He pointed, making sure to use his stiff right hand so things didn't seem too amiss, "Looks familiar. Like the symbol Meg used."
"Really?" Ash sounded like Dean had just handed him a basket of Christmas candy or rather with Ash, Christmas beer and hash, "I'd been trying to figure out this one. All of them seem to be grouped into symbols. This one is from early Judaism, this is modern Sikhism."
"Why the hell would the demon be forming religious symbols all over the place?" Dean complained, stuttering a little in his haste, "What are all these dots anyway?"
"Cluster graph based on geological location, type of attack, number of victims, a load of different factors. Let me tell you, the algorithm that put this together, best work I've done so far." Ash was immune to humility, "As for the religious symbols, I've got a theory." Ash pulled out a sheet of tracing paper and overlaid it on the map and handing a pencil to Dean to draw out the Zoroastrian symbol.
Dean gripped the pencil, trying to force his fingers to assume the position that had always seemed natural before. He had to be careful not to rip through the tracing paper as he linked up the dots into a simulacrum of the one Meg had splattered in blood from the tattered remains of a girl's body, "Well?" He prompted Ash once he'd finished.
"The demon has taken a leaf out of Christianity's book," Ash said, looking over the new symbol, "Christianity wanted to wipe out the pagans so it took over their festivals. They took Samhain and made it All Soul's day. They took Imbolc and made it St Brigid's day. They took Yule and Saturnalia and made it Christmas." Ash tapped the various symbols, "The demon is trying to steal our protection away. You said that the demon's brat managed to waltz straight into hallowed ground and kill your dad's friend, right?"
Dean winced a little at the memory of Pastor Jim. The gentle religious man who'd been the first of his father's friends to fall at Meg's hands, "Yeah. Dad never figured out how she did that." Of course, there hadn't exactly been much time to talk about it.
"The demon has been doing this for years. He takes what isn't his, the special kids, the symbols and makes them his. He's playing the long con and frankly, we're a bit screwed. We got some serious catch-up to play." Ash pulled out another chart, "Recognise anything on this one?"
Dean heard the scrape of chairs as Jo and Bobby joined them, leaning over to look at the chart. Dean scanned the mass of dots and squiggles, waiting for something to jump out at him like before. "Wait," He said and then lifted a hand and moved over a series of seven dots that just seemed to stand out beyond the rest, "Shit, it's Orion."
"The hunter?" Jo asked, peering closer until she could see the pattern, "But that's just a constellation. There's nothing there to claim." It was obvious those two and probably most of the bar within hearing range had been listening in to Dean and Ash's conversation.
"Bastards taunting us," Bobby spat out, "Thinks we are too dumb to find this so he's leaving something like this out in the open."
Ash overlaid tracing paper again and gestured to Dean to draw it out, a crinkled frown of concentration on his face, "It's more than that. Just taunting us with our patron isn't enough, he's a cocky bastard. He marches into people's homes and steals their babies. He pins women to the ceiling, that's just showmanship. He must have left us as clue somewhere here, probably close to Orion, expecting that we'd never find it."
Shadows cast on the paper alerted Dean to the fact several other hunters from the bar had now joined them, leaning over the seats to try and see what they could. There was silence for long moments, nothing but the inhale and exhale of breath as everyone scoured for the clue.
Dean leant back on his chair with a sigh, "Can't see anything." He rubbed at his eyes which were starting to droop. He hated how much simple things still tired him despite the fact it was a long time since his accident.
Ash nodded, "Me neither but that doesn't mean I don't know it's there. There's just patterns where it should be, just got to track it down. I need more beer," He said, snagging his hand around the beer that used to be Dean's and pouring it down his throat, "Sorry, man, but you did still owe me."
"This one kind of looks like a daisy," one of the hunters ventured from over Dean's shoulder.
Bobby snorted, "Maybe the hippies had it right. Flower power will save the day."
Unfortunately that one suggestion seemed to open the floodgates for all sorts of ridiculous suggestions until half the bar was crowded around the table.
"That's it," Bobby finally roared, "I don't think the demonic takeover is going to be defeated with houmous. Ash, can you run off some copies off this for the rest of the bar and each group appoint a spokesperson to bring the sensible ideas over to this table, okay?" Dean almost expected the hunters in the bar to salute, a good portion of them were ex-military.
Eventually just Ash, Dean, Jo and Bobby were left on the original table pouring over the map. Dean was glad at least the atmosphere was one of cooperation now and not the cooperating to shoot Dean Winchester dead kind as it had been earlier. Dean tried to refocus on the map but his vision was starting to get a little fuzzy and his brain kept seeing the daisies and bunnies and rifles that the rest of the hunters had been suggesting.
Dean paused and tried to re-focus on the area of the rifle. His father had never owned the rifle that was their namesake, claiming it was just too corny but Dean had spent hours pouring over photos of the internet about them a few times, proud of it. The grouping of dots did look a lot like the images he had seen from the slightly rugged look to the distinctive butt. He glanced to see if either of the other three had noticed his attention and was relieved they hadn't.
This was something he needed to puzzle out on his own. The long barrel of the Winchester was pointing upwards and away from Orion which was a relief. The demon would have loved to taunt him about the Winchester line being the destruction of the hunters. He would have liked to think it meant that the Winchester line would be the destruction of the demon but seeing as the only Winchester currently both alive and on the side of the angels was him and he'd be lucky to go one round with a pixie, that was unlikely to be the truth.
Dean kept the image in mind as he searched the vicinity for anything else that might give more of a clue to the significance of the rifle. Maybe the rifle was just another symbol that the demon was trying to claim as his own. He'd done a damn good job so far of making people fear and distrust Winchesters. Dean wanted to believe it was something deeper than that though. The demon had been his family's crusade for so long that it ending with a whimper like this seemed too hard to think about.
After that, it became hard to think at all and Dean could feel his head sagging towards the table, yanking it and himself back into consciousness before it hit the table. It didn't go unnoticed for long and Bobby practically lifted him up and carried him into the backroom of the roadhouse, practically for all that he let Dean's legs drag across the ground in a semblance of walking. When Bobby laid Dean out on the bed and draped the blanket over him, it didn't take long to fall asleep.
When Dean woke up to a gun pointed at his head, he didn't panic. Frankly at this point, he'd be more worried about waking up in an empty room with nothing abnormal going on at all. If the Buddhist theory of Karma really did pan out then the Winchesters should be living the life of riley by now.
The woman holding the gun didn't appear particularly threatening. She had the hard muscles and aged eyes that all hunters did but that was nothing Dean hadn't faced a few dozen times before. What was far more frightening was that the gun quivered in her hand. 'Ooops, slipped' was not a guts and glory Winchester way to go.
"Morning," Dean slurred, lifting a hand slowly to rub against his sleep-spattered eyes, "I usually prefer coffee, black, no sugar."
"Your brother killed my sister," The woman hissed at him, tracking each of his movements with the gun.
"And a blue-eyed boy took my baby away but you don't see me packing," Dean grouched. He hated mornings to begin with and this wasn't just making things worse.
"How can you joke about this?" The woman continues to hiss and Dean was beginning to wonder if that snake demon was back with new tricks.
He shoved himself a bit higher on the bed, keeping the blanket mostly covering him. No point in giving the woman a free show, "Your sister a hunter?"
"Yeah," The woman sounded a little uncertain.
"But you weren't." Dean said, it was all beginning to make sense now. Hell, he was a Winchester, what he didn't know about wanting vengeance wasn't worth knowing.
"I've learnt." She snapped but she still sounded uncertain, Dean's questions getting her on edge.
"Not well enough," Dean snapped back, "Your sister would kick your ass if she saw you here pointing a gun at a fellow hunter 'cos he happened to share a bloodline with someone who got snared in the demon's schemes. You take one peek at the darkness out there and you judge me?" Dean lowered his voice to a snarl, "You know, Bobby threatened to break the gun of the next person to point a gun at me. Get out of here now and maybe I won't tell him."
The girl, and Dean can tell now in the creepy morning light from the window that she's no older than eighteen or nineteen, squeaks and the gun shakes a little more, "My sister…"
"Is dead," Dean states bluntly, "And shooting me isn't gonna make her any less dead. In fact, it would prolly just make you more dead 'cos there's a few people here kinda like me, God only knows why." Dean saw her waver and glance towards the door, "Not to mention my evil brother who seems determined to kill me for my own good and might be a bit miffed if someone else gets there first."
The girl backed towards the door, closed her hand around the handle and opened, still holding the gun unsteadily on Dean. With one final whimper, she backed out and closed the door. Dean breathed out a sigh of relief and sagged back on the pillows, "Good fucking morning to you too," He muttered to the ceiling.
He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep now so he reluctantly pulled himself out of his blankets, stretching to try and re-awaken his muscles which were currently responding belatedly to the adrenalin rush fight-or-flight response by twitching like crazy. For a moment he worried he was going to have another seizure but the muscles settled down. Dean swung out of bed, grabbing the bottle of painkillers and the anti-seizure medicine and palming a couple of pills.
The kitchen was empty which was a blessing. Dean poured a glass of orange juice which was about all he felt he could stomach and knocked back the pills, waiting for the residual pain to fade back to the background hum he could deal with. As the pain receded, so did the queasy unsettled feeling in his stomach and he let himself rest against the back of the chair, eyes keeping watch on the door in case of any more surprise visitors.
Unfortunately Dean wasn't able to be alone for long as Jo slouched in through the doorway, yawning and dressed in a loose pair of flannel pajamas. It was then that Dean felt rather self-conscious about being just dressed in his boxers. It wasn't a problem with his body being on show, Dean was proud of his body even if it had seen better days. The problem was the maze of scars from the witches' slice and dice and the bullet hole from Sam's first murder attempt (And boy, they didn't cover that in the children's books Dean used to read his little brother) along with the surgical scars from the repairs.
Dean pondered whether slinking out of the kitchen unnoticed was an option but Jo soon removed that option when her bleary brown eyes focused on the intruder. For a moment Dean saw her pause to reach for a weapon and then relax when she saw it was just Dean. Just Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that. "You left any OJ?"
The carton had seemed kind of light when he'd finished pouring, Dean guiltily recalled, and he held up his half-empty glass, "Share?" He offered.
Jo just crinkled her nose, "Ew, boy germs," and tugged open the fridge, pulling out the bottle of milk and pouring herself a glass instead, settling at the table opposite Dean. It was possible to pinpoint the exact moment she spotted all of Dean's scars as her eyes widened and she let out an involuntary gasp.
"I know. I'm so handsome I can barely believe it myself." Dean quipped half-heartedly.
Jo seemed to catch the drift as she glanced down into her milk, a hint of blush across her cheeks, "Sorry."
"It's not your fault. Women can't help reacting to someone who looks this good."
Jo scowled at him then though it was a kind of sleepy scowl, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards, not quite clued up on the expression the rest of her was trying to convey, "You make it really hard to be sympathetic."
Dean just tilted up a brow as if to say 'Well, duh.' "So, did our hunter think-tank solve the mystery of the symbols last night?"
"Depends," Jo smirked, "Is it a viable theory that the demon can be defeated by houmous-wielding flower-child bunnies?"
Dean winced at that image, disturbing the mental peace he often sought for, "Guessing I didn't miss much."
"You missed Ash's inspirational pep talk," Jo said.
"Let me guess. 'Hurry up and work this shit out then we can get stoned and party?'" Dean tried to mimic Ash's voice but his brain had enough trouble with regular language, let alone someone else's accents, he could manage the half-addled slur without much difficulty.
"You missed out 'get laid.'" Jo said with a chuckle, "Ash was very explicit about getting laid and I mean, very explicit. I'm never letting him drink that much beer again."
"'M almost sorry I missed that." Dean cracked his jaw in a yawn, trying to shake the residues of sleep away as he polished off what was left of his orange juice, "Any hot water left?"
"Probably," Jo answered, "It's just the four of us staying here. I haven't showered yet, Ash doesn't shower, Bobby probably doesn't know how to shower so that just leaves you."
Dean nodded and was just heading out of the doorway when he paused, "I thought I saw a girl in the hallway this morning. Short, late teens, kinda pissy."
Jo frowned, "Sounds like Esme. She's been haunting around here lately since her sister died." At Dean's startled expression, Jo amended, "I don't mean genuine haunting. She's still alive, even if I think she wishes she was a ghost sometimes. Don't let her bother you, she's nasty to everyone that has the audacity to be alive when her sister ain't. Seriously needs to get over herself."
"You're telling me," Dean mumbled, "Okay. I'll hit the shower, see you later."
Dean stepped into the shower and relished the feel of hot water scalding against his skin. What Jo had said about Bobby and showers wasn't strictly true but when you live out in the middle of nowhere, hot water isn't always a top priority and Dean had adjusted to the fact he either showered in ten minutes or got a sudden chilly wake-up. Dean was hoping the shower in a place more commonly inhabited by two women would be slightly better.
He grabbed the nearest shampoo bottle and sniffed at the lid before replacing it, too floral. The next two were dismissed for being too girly and too sweet in turn and Dean was wondering exactly how many bottles of shampoo Jo owned before he came to one which smelled a little musky. That'd do. He squeezed a generous bottle of the globular brown into his palm and then worked it through his too long hair. He really needed to ask about a haircut. He wasn't about to let Bobby anywhere near his hair, Ash was not the best person to consult on haircuts. Jo? Jo would do.
Hair done, he searched the shower gel racks. The closest to suitable he could come was one that'd probably leave him smelling like an after-eight but it was infinitely preferable to smelling like the perfume counter of a department store. His right arm ached after he had finished scrubbing away the day's worth of sweat and dirt but he was determined to stop favouring the left as Bobby had insinuated.
If he was going to protect Sammy like he'd always sworn, he'd need both arms strong and functioning. And that was just to stop his little brother killing him first.
A/N: The houmous is, of course, a reference to Buffy. I need to write a Crack!Fic one of these days about the Winchester boys and Oz.
The shower scene is mostly gratuitous but I'm sure most of you aren't complaining