CHAPTER 11

ON THE RUN

"So...ah...how'd it go?" Sam shot a nervous glance over at Bobby as he poured strong black coffee into a thick mug.

Bobby grunted. "It didn't. She never showed."

Sam relaxed, grateful to have avoided what was sure to be an awkward conversation. He set the mug in front of Bobby, then moved to his own seat, wrapping long fingers around his still-warm tea. "So now what?"

Bobby shrugged. "Hit the books, I guess. See if we can figure out how to get her to show up."

Sam sipped his tea. "I could -"

Bobby slapped his cup down, sloshing hot liquid onto the table and his hand. "No, you can't! We already had this conversation, Sam!" He shook his hand out, wincing. "Try not to irritate me first thing in the mornin', ya idjit."

"Yeah. Sorry." Sam popped his laptop open, a familiar defense for him whenever he felt the need to retreat from humanity. "I'll see what I can dig up about luring a succubus."

"You do that," the older man growled, and his scowl disappeared behind a giant white mug.

"I hope you don't mind," Dean apologized to a stunned Caroline from his position at her stove. "I woke up craving bacon and pancakes."

She turned questioning eyes on John, who shrugged around his first coffee of the morning. "He likes to cook. Good at it, too."

The teapot whistled, and Dean nodded her to a seat.

"Man, you've got a lotta types of tea up there." He poured carefully into the mug he'd set before her. "I just picked the one that was the emptiest. Figured that meant you liked it the most."

She smiled as she watched him, noting that he kept his eyes averted from both her and his father. "Why, thank you. Brains as well as beauty. You are a dangerous one."

His smile faltered and he turned away.

She shot an embarrassed and apologetic look to John, who was glaring at her. "I'm impressed that you know how to actually brew tea, as opposed to dropping a bag into a cup of hot water. I could have sworn you told me you were a coffee man."

Dean shrugged. "Bobby and Sam like it, so I learned how."

She nodded, holding her cup to her lips and blowing on it. "Not a lot of people would go to that kind of trouble for something they didn't also enjoy." She sipped her tea, eyes closing, a pleased hum rippling the steam rising from her mug. "This is delicious."

Dean slid a plate in front of her, then passed one to his father. The generous stack of pancakes before her was obscured by a crush of blueberries and sliced strawberries. Her look of surprise returned. Dean sat at a spot midway between his father and his counselor, and she could feel his eyes on her.

She carefully cut a triangular section from the pile of 'cakes, being sure to spear a blueberry as well as a slice of pancake with her fork. She slid the bite into her mouth, then closed her eyes and moaned.

Dean smiled. "Found some agave syrup in your cupboard."

She chewed slowly, savoring each flavor. "And pecans."

Dean nodded, chewing happily. "And pecans. Sam likes his that way, too."

She looked over at John. "What are yours?"

"Maple and bacon infused," and his grin was wolfish. "Told ya he can cook."

She reloaded her fork. "Keep this up and I'll never let you leave!" She chewed happily. "I can't even remember the last time anyone made me breakfast, and outside of a restaurant, it's never been like this!"

Dean chuckled. "We eat at a lot of diners." He kept his eyes on his food as he talked. "Bobby taught me some basics, and now I just kinda pay attention when we get something that tastes better than we expected. Sometimes the cook'll answer my questions, other times it's just trial-and-error 'til I get it figured out."

Caroline shook her head, once again humming happily. "You are a treasure, Dean Winchester. A rare and precious treasure."

Even with his head angled towards his plate, the reddening of his ears made it obvious that he blushed at that.

John ate deliberately, eyes flicking from one to the other, knowing that something was going on but not yet entirely clear about what that thing was.

Caroline leaned toward the young chef. "What are yours?"

Dean glanced at her, eyes bright. "Peanut butter and bacon. With maple syrup."

Her eyes widened, her mouth forming into an 'O'. "I would never have thought of that!"

"Wanna try it?"

She nodded eagerly.

She's acting like a school girl, John observed, eyes narrowing, and felt a tick of jealousy flare through him.

Dean collected a bite, careful to include a small piece of bacon and run it through the melted peanut butter mixed with syrup pooling on his plate. He leaned toward the older woman, hand cupped beneath his fork to catch any drips, and bit his lip as he watched hers close over his offering.

"Mmmmm...That is really good."

Dean sat back, returning his attention to his plate. "Yep. 'S like Heaven in your mouth."

The little shit's trying to charm her into letting him leave! John shook his head as he raised his fork to his mouth. The taste exploded on his tongue and he closed his eyes, tempted to moan in pleasure himself. He opened his eyes in time to catch Dean watching him, Mona Lisa curl to his lips. Damnit! He's doin' it to me, too! Son of a bitch is good!

"You got any plans today, Kid?" Can't wait to hear this!

Dean glanced up, looking away again immediately. "Well...I...I was hoping...since Zell fixed me and everything...that we could train." His eyes shot to his father once more, then back to his plate.

Is that nervousness real, or is he still playin' me? John scrutinized his son, noting the fine tremor in the hand holding the fork. No, he's really that nervous. What's he afraid of?

"What did you have in mind? A little target practice? Conditioning? Grappling?"

"All of it?" Once more his eyes flicked to his father's, then away. "Just feel like…" He shrugged.

"You'd like to stay sharp?" Caroline offered.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Always room to improve, too."

John took a moment to finish chewing. "Wouldn't think a guy who took down a freakin' ghoul bare-handed would see much need to improve, Dean-o."

Dean blushed, fidgeting with his fork. "We should probably go back there, make sure there aren't more of them and stuff."

John looked to Caroline. "Well, Doc? What's the verdict? Can I steal him for a day?"

Caroline closed her eyes around her final bite of ambrosia. "Mmmmm…." She opened them to smile at her patient. "Yeah, I think he's earned a break from me."

Dean visibly relaxed, eyes smiling into first Caroline's, then John's. "Awesome. Thanks."

Sam and Bobby combined their research findings over lunch.

"Looks like a pretty standard summoning spell," Sam offered.

Bobby grunted. "A pentagram and three protective circles. To keep the succubus in, or other things out, I wonder?"

Sam leaned over, studying the sigils. "Looks like a little of both, actually." He went back to his own research. "I don't know, Bobby." He shook his head. "I don't think this is a great idea."

"Whatcha mean?" The older man had a lot of respect for his young counterpart's intelligence, including his instincts. He leaned in, wanting to see what had caught Sam's attention.

"Well, look," Sam began, pointing to his laptop screen. "This wording is pretty vague. If not for the insertion of a name, you could be summoning any demon."

"Huh." Bobby went back to the books he had open in front of him. "Guess that explains the three protective barriers. If we're puttin' out a general call to get demon attention, then trying to pull just the one we want into the circle, makes sense to keep the others out."

"Especially since Meridiana may not be popular with her own kind."

Bobby cocked an eyebrow at him. "Whaddaya mean by that?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "You said she was known for helping people. That isn't how 'Cubi normally behave, so I gotta assume she's a bit of an outsider with her own kind."

"Huh." Bobby shook his head on a smile. "You are one of the smartest idjits I ever met, Sam Winchester."

Sam choked on the bite of stir fry he'd just taken, chuckling while his eyes watered. "Uh, thanks, Uncle Bobby. I think."

The older man grinned, clapping the other on the back. "Don't talk with yer mouth full, Sam. Might choke."

Dean realized, a little surprised, that he was enjoying the hike out of the woods. They'd cleaned up the mess in the cave - well, enough to make it look like the work of a wild animal; they would put in an anonymous call to the authorities to make sure the bodies were recovered. They hadn't found any signs of more ghouls, and the best part, from Dean's perspective, was that they hadn't talked about anything...awkward… all day.

He'd actually gone minutes at a time without thinking about it at all.

Dean tossed the weapons bag into the bed of his dad's truck before settling into the passenger seat. "Where we gonna train?"

John gave him a rare, dimple-enhanced smile. "You'll see."

Dean raised his eyebrows. He's got a surprise he thinks I'll like. I'll be damned. The young man couldn't remember the last time he and his father had shared a moment like that.

John must have been thinking the same thing, because he cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was about to say something that bordered on sentimental. "I been thinkin'..." he shifted in his seat, another sign that he was uncomfortable with his topic. "We oughta cut back a bit on the hunting. I mean, I know it's me that's doin' it, that's pushin' us so hard, so I guess it's really me that needs to cut back. But I should just make sure we get to do more than just hunt, you know? We used to have fun together, all three of us. Been a long time since we just…" his voice trailed off.

"Yeah." Dean worried his lower lip with his teeth. He tried to remember the last time they'd all just laughed together about something, and couldn't come up with anything. He chuckled. "Be fun to kick Sammy's ass again."

John shook his head, but the dimples were still on display. "At what?"

"Sparring, grappling, shooting…."

John's rolling laugh kindled a warm glow in Dean's chest that he hadn't felt in way too long. "One of these days he's gonna win, Dean-o. Then where will you be?"

Dean chuckled. "By that time I'll be ready for a nursing home or a grave, so no worries."

John's teeth flashed. "Such a cocky bastard." He pulled up in front of what looked to be an old factory of some sort. "Good thing I'm here to keep ya humble." He threw a wicked grin and a wink at Dean as he turned off the truck. "We're here."

Dean's gaze swept over the building. "For what? An exorcism? Place looks haunted." His voice sounded skeptical.

John's smile never faltered. He retrieved a duffel bag from behind his seat before motioning with his head. "C'mon. You'll like it. Trust me."

Dean whistled in appreciation at the space that spread out before them. Grappling mats, heavy bags, speed bags, free weights, and open space with unfinished hardwood floors littered with jump ropes and other random equipment.

No chrome, no weight machines. The walls were unpainted, the floors bare wood. Ceiling beams were exposed. The lights were fluorescent, set in twelve-foot ceilings, and the single clock on the wall was protected by a wire cage.

A boxing ring stood in the far corner of the room.

Dean whistled long and low, scanning the few human occupants, all engrossed in what they were doing, faces serious.

"Not a single pair of Spandex pants or terry cloth wristbands to be found."

John chuckled. "Knew you'd like it."

"Damn. It's like freakin' Heaven for hunters!"

"Shh." John glanced around. "The owner's a guy I've worked with a time or two, but it's a fight gym. Mixed martial arts, mostly, but some just box or grapple, not both." He paused, head tilted as he considered his son. "They're lookin' for someone to help teach a women's self defense class."

Dean stilled, inhaling long and deep through his nose, holding it for a slow count of three, then blowing it out slowly through pursed lips. He nodded, almost to himself. "Mabye."

John bent to the duffel, pulling out a pair of bag gloves. He slapped them against Dean's shin. "I'm thinking speed bag, jump rope, heavy bag, ropes - " he gestured to the thick, knotted ropes suspended from the ceiling - "hand targets, grappling...hit the ring when it's open, and repeat it all until we can't walk."

Dean laughed. "Oh, yeah! I like the sound of that!"

And if the professional fighters and hopefuls snuck looks at the two Winchesters as they trained, father and son had the grace to pretend not to notice.

Three protective circles meant that the only place in the house that was large enough for their little experiment was the panic room in the basement.

"You sure it's not too warded?" Sam asked, a question he'd repeated enough that Bobby straightened from the sigils he was drawing to plant his fists on his hips and glare at the younger man.

"Right, right. Sorry," Sam mumbled, returning his focus to his own symbol rendition. "I'm just…"

"Worried. Yeah, I get it. But at worst, it'll just prevent everything from getting in, including Meridiana. Then we just start takin' wards down one at a time, tryin' until we get Meridiana here." He stretched his back a bit before returning to his work. "This is safer, so quit frettin'."

Sam nodded. "Think she'll tell us anything?"

Bobby shrugged. "Probably. Maybe even without meanin' to, ya know? Just like any FBI interrogation we've ever faked. Sometimes what they don't say tells ya more than what they do."

Sam sighed.

"I know it still makes ya nervous, Sam, but I been doin' this a long time, and I'm still kickin' around. It'll be fine."

"Yeah," he agreed, brushing long hair out of his eyes, but he sounded unconvinced.

They finished their preparations in silence.

A lustful moan passed Dean's succulent lips as he stepped into Caroline's kitchen. His father's broad back obscured his view, so the younger man stopped, inhaling noisily instead. "Is that steak I smell?"

Caroline's laugh tinkled in simple joy. "John told me what he planned; I assumed you'd need some protein."

The man under discussion dropped onto a bar stool. "Damn, woman! I'd kiss you if the boy weren't watchin'." He winked at Dean, who answered with a laugh.

"You don't, I will, old man!"

Caroline turned to face them, meat fork raised in mock defensiveness. "Don't either of you dare!" She lowered the implement on a slow, seductive grin. "Until after you've showered, that is." She dropped a wink that somehow managed to encompass both men before turning back to the stove, leaving father and son speechless.

John called first dibs on the shower. When he returned, hair slicked back and smelling of cologne, Dean yawned, wincing his way through a few stretches, and announced his intention to go straight to bed after supper. Which, he decided on his third soap-and-rinse cycle, wasn't such a bad idea, whether he needed to get out of his father's way or not.

Clean, dry, and comfortable in sweats and a t-shirt, he returned to the kitchen to see his father and Caroline already seated, waiting for him.

"So, how was your day?" Caroline inquired, her tone expressing more than a merely clinical interest.

"Almost as good as this steak." Dean closed his eyes, pleasure radiating from him.

John chuckled, agreeing. "Yeah. We need to do more of that." He slanted a glance at his son, noting that the look of rapture still blinded the boy, and rolled his shoulders with a grimace towards Caroline, mouthing "But not too soon."

She choked on a laugh, coughing into her fist to cover it. "Where did you go again?"

"Old gym on the far side of town. Heard about it from a guy I know - a hunter. They train fighters, professionals as well as up-and-comers. 'S got a nice, serious feel to it."

Dean nodded. "They had everything from heavy bags to ropes and grappling mats. It was awesome." He used a forkful of baked potato to cleanse his palate after some green beans, and followed that with another piece of steak. "Good thing Zell healed me. I'd've hated to miss out on that."

John sobered. "Yeah...Still makes me uncomfortable."

Dean regretted bringing it up. "Lore says Meridiana helps people."

"And the lore never leads us astray," John snorted, dripping sarcasm.

"Lynne hasn't hurt me yet. Hell, she's healed me twice!" Dean sipped the beer he'd snagged from the refrigerator earlier. "Doesn't make sense to do that if she wants to kill me or something."

"Unless she has plans that she needs you alive for."

Dean looked up, interested. "Like what?"

John rolled his eyes as he spread his hands slightly. "How the hell should I know? Make you a slave, capture you and sell you to the highest bidder, use you to learn about hunters so she can take a bunch of us out. I can think of things."

Dean focused on his food, chin low, face hot. Doesn't trust me not to get taken.

One on each side they half carry, half drag him into the house.

"Succubi are known for their ability to seduce whomever they choose," Caroline offered. "I suspect that no one is immune. Didn't you say that Meridiana...ah...'visited'….Bobby?"

"Yeah. Damn fool said it wasn't the first time, either. Guess she used to 'visit' pretty regularly before he and his wife got together." John snorted in disgust.

"Judge not, John Winchester," Caroline chided. "For all you know, I could be a succubus."

John coughed into the Branton's he'd been sipping, and Dean laughed out loud, sending a mental thank you her way.

Caroline winked at him, picking up on his unspoken gratitude. "And she never hurt Bobby?"

John frowned, considering that. "No, she didn't."

Dean nodded to himself, attention only partially diverted from his food. "I thought they were supposed to, like, feed on their - " he stopped 'victims' before it left his lips " - partners' energy, but I was stronger after Zell, not weaker."

John set his utensils down, fastening cold eyes on his son. "The first time you were in a coma for days, Dean. Besides, what's your point? You gonna tell me I should just let her at you whenever the mood strikes her?"

Dean felt his cheeks and ears burn. His hands stilled, but his eyes remained on his plate.

Caroline sat quietly, observing.

"I asked you a question, Boy." John's voice was louder, harsh.

Caroline's lips tightened.

"No, Sir."

"'No, Sir,' what?"

"No, Sir, you shouldn't just let her at me." His voice was so quiet, the words barely carried across the otherwise silent room.

"Then what's your point, Dean?"

He cleared his throat softly. "Just that...we haven't done much of anything for a month now. And maybe that's her end-game."

John sat back, anger fading to surprised thoughtfulness. "Huh. Hadn't thought of that." He straightened, cutting a bite of steak for himself. "Makes a whole lot of sense. I'll give Bobby a ring later, talk it over with him. See if they want us out of action because somethin' else is brewin'." He filled his mouth, glancing at his son. "Finish your food, Dean."

He waited until Dean picked up his fork before turning to Caroline. "So, did you enjoy having your home back for a few hours?"

Dean read the undertone when John offered Caroline his son's assistance with clean-up while the two of them retired to the other room for an after-dinner drink. They're gonna talk about me. He resisted an almost overwhelming urge to eavesdrop, forcing himself to finish the dishes and wipe the counters down efficiently before retreating to the room he shared with his father. He replayed the table conversation, chiding himself for letting it happen. Day was almost too perfect. Shoulda known I'd fuck it up somehow.

Closing the door firmly but quietly, he stretched out on the bed, slid a pair of headphones on, and drifted off with James Hetfield crooning in his ears.

"So, what was your impression of your day at the gym? How was Dean?"

"He said 'no' to grappling."

"Is that unusual?" Caroline cradled a mug of tea in her hands.

"Yeah, sure as hell is. Grappling used to be his favorite thing. Long arms and legs, wiry, fast: he's good at it, and he knows it."

"And grappling is, what? Wrestling?"

John nodded. "Yeah."

"So the goal is…"

"When we're practicing?"

Caroline spread her hands, an "interpret it as you will" gesture.

"In practice it's to get your opponent to tap, but in application it's to gain control of your attacker."

"And you accomplish that through…."

"Choke holds, arm bars, stuff like that."

"Hmmm." She sipped her tea, eyes thoughtful. "During practice, do you tap when you are rendered helpless?"

John shrugged. "Pretty much. Yeah. It's like a checkmate in chess: you've got no moves left."

Caroline nodded, face somber. "He can't tolerate feeling helpless yet. Or risking that feeling."

Ice chinked against glass as John drained his bourbon. "I hate it that he's going through this."

They were silent as he added more whiskey to his tumbler.

"He's doing extremely well, John," she offered.

He snorted. "Sure. Only tried to kill himself outright twice, not counting taking off alone at night with no weapons, practically inviting some monster to take him out."

"And yet, when faced with death, he fought. Not only fought, but won."

John leaned his back into the inviting leather couch, pushing his breath out hard, willing the residual fear to be carried away with it. "Still can't believe that. I don't know anyone else who's fought a ghoul bare-handed and won. Bare-handed and injured, for Christ's sake." He drained his glass, leaning forward to refill it.

Caroline nodded. "He is very impressive, and his will to live is strong. He can beat this, John. He will beat this." She paused, loath to interject any negativity into what had so far been a surprisingly good day, yet feeling duty-bound to address the incident at the dinner table. At least he's starting out in a good mood. But she had seen first hand how quickly the hunter's mood could change. And Dean is somewhere in the house. But would he step in if John threatened her? It was an interesting question - one that she hoped to never learn the answer to.

"Your interaction with Dean about the succubus tonight: would you say that is fairly typical of your conversations with him when you are angry with him?"

John looked startled. "I wasn't angry with him."

"You certainly seemed so to me. To Dean, as well, judging from his reaction."

John shook his head, waving a hand dismissively.

Caroline began ticking off points: "You raised your voice and deepened it; you leaned toward him; you glared at him; you called him 'Boy'; you expressed displeasure at what was merely an observation on his part. Those were all threatening and domineering actions. Dean, in turn, stopped eating, dropped his eyes, addressed you as 'Sir', and lowered his voice, all signs of submission. Or fear."

John glowered at her. "In case you haven't noticed, he has a habit of putting himself in harm's way."

"And by inciting fear, you hope to prevent that?"

John shook his head, eyes averted, muscle in his jaw contracting. "I wasn't trying to scare him."

"And yet you were extremely intimidating."

John shifted, huffing out a disgusted breath.

"When you first came to me, John, it was because you had injured Dean badly in a fit of rage."

John looked down at his hands as if seeing the battered knuckles and remembering how he had damaged them.

"I know that right now Dean's situation takes precedence, but we can't lose site of our other goal. What I saw tonight could easily have escalated, and likely would have had Dean not responded to you the way that he did. His submissiveness diffused the situation. But at what cost?"

John chewed on his lower lip, refusing to meet her gaze.

"It appears that he needs to be on guard at all times, choosing his words carefully, unable to openly express opinions or curiosity, at least about certain topics. Is that really how you want your relationship with your son to be?"

"He can say whatever he wants."

"And risk your anger, which we know can become violent, often with little warning."

Despite the bowed head, Caroline saw the man's jaw clench, felt the tension building in him.

"I also don't think that frightening him away from dangerous situations makes a lot of sense. He's been hunting long enough that I have to assume that he realizes when his proposed actions will put him at increased risk of injury, yet he will still take what you consider unnecessary risks. Clearly he sees them as necessary. Is that because he's trying to heed your command to always put Sam first?"

"Not always." The hunter's voice was gruff, forced from him in reluctantly as he felt compelled to come to his own defense.

"If you demanding that he not take excessive risks actually works, it tells me that he is more afraid of the harm you will inflict on him than he is of whatever monster is being discussed at the time."

John exploded from the couch and Caroline flinched back. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, turning away. He ran both hands through his hair, gripping his skull for a moment as he contemplated the ceiling. He exhaled loudly, then tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He paced over to Caroline's fireplace, and she wondered whether he was staring at the framed portrait hanging above it or his own reflection in the glass.

He hunched his shoulders, resting his forehead on the mantelpiece. "What do you want me to do?"

His voice and posture screamed 'defeat'.

Rising, Caroline crossed to the hunter slowly, knowing that he heard her approach, giving him time to react.

He remained motionless.

She rested her palm on his shoulder, feeling the strength and tension there.

"He needs you now, John, probably more than he ever has before. He needs to know that you value his intelligence, his judgement, his strength. So talk to him, calmly. Ask his opinions. Let him give you input on how a hunt should go. Recognize when you are becoming defensive or intimidating, and reign it in."

His shoulders rose on a deep inhale, falling as his breath left him in a heavy sigh. "Mary would kill me if she knew how badly I'd fucked that boy up." His voice was heavy with shame.

Caroline rolled her lips between her teeth, closing her eyes, feeling his pain wash over her. "You haven't 'fucked him up', John. He idolizes you, and you've kept him alive, made him strong. You haven't been perfect, but who has? And you are here, trying to get better." She paused. "Mary would love you for that."

He turned, startling her, and dropped to his knees. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he buried his head in her stomach, silent tears bleeding into her shirt.

Bobby lay on a thin mattress, arms and legs spread out on the points of the pentagram. He'd insisted to a dubious (but grateful) Sam that nowhere in the lore did it state that he had to disrobe for this summoning to work, but he had traded his usual jeans and flannel for a more comfortable pair of sweats and perfectly aged t-shirt.

He repeated the words of the incantation, eyes closed, enjoying the texture of the ancient syllables on his tongue and the confident reverberation of his voice in his chest.

The last vowel faded into silence.

A soft breeze caressed his face, skimming over the stubble like the hands of a lover.

"Meridiana?" he questioned quietly, eyes still closed.

A heavy weight dropped onto his chest and icy fingers wrapped around his throat.

"Yesssss," came the sibilant whisper, and the old hunter's eyes snapped open, mouth following suit, desperate to warn Sam.

His face reddened in the relative silence as the demon effectively stole her summoner's breath.