Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and being so quick to answer the random questions I've been sending you lately. It's much appreciated. Thank you also Gredelina1 for keeping me going with support and positivity. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam walked under his own power back to Missouri's house. John and Dean walked at his sides, bracketing him as if they expected him to drop any moment. It wasn't a completely unrealistic worry. He felt wrecked. The combination of the vision and the strangulation had exhausted him, and each breath he drew in burned his abused windpipe. He knew they thought he was stupid for insisting on going with them, but he had needed to be there for himself. He had to make something good come of his visions. Otherwise they were just a painful curse.
As they walked down the street, Sam turned back to the house and said in a rasping voice, "It is over, isn't it, Missouri?"
She glanced back at him. "I believe it is. Why? Have you seen something else?"
Sam shook his head. "It's just a feeling."
"You've been through a lot," she said, turning and continuing along the street.
When they got to her house, Missouri walked ahead up the path, her gait a little unsteady, and unlocked her door for them. In her hands was the box Jenny had given them upon leaving, after she'd reacted to the kitchen table impaled with knives and the holes gouged in her walls.
The knives had scared Sam. The way he saw it, the lamp cord would have been a better end than being stabbed by one of them. He couldn't believe Dean had made it out of there alive. He knew that if it had been him that had been in the kitchen, he would have been killed. He wouldn't have been fast enough to dodge them or quick-thinking enough to use the table as a shield. He would have attempted to run.
John and Dean were right; he wasn't a hunter. He didn't have their instincts. He had barely turned to see what the noise was when the lamp had fallen before the cord was around his neck. The fear he had felt in those moments, as life was being choked out of him, was matched only by the fear he'd felt when he'd thought he was losing Jessica after Brady's attack. He hadn't been able to call for help, and when help had come, it had been somehow worse. Seeing Dean's desperate attempts to save him had been heartbreaking because Sam had been certain it was too late for him. He'd thought Dean was going to be forced to watch him die.
They entered Missouri's house and followed her into the living room.
"Sit down, Sam," John instructed, and Sam obeyed without complaint.
Missouri set the box down on the table and walked back into the kitchen. Dean sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders were brushing and John sat opposite.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the ER and get checked out?" John asked, repeating the question both he and Dean had asked at the house.
"I'm sure," Sam said, his voice hoarse.
Missouri came back with an icepack in her hands. She handed it to Sam and said, "Hold this on it. It will help."
Sam took it and brought it to his throat. The cold made him shudder at first as it touched the tender skin, but then it soothed as it leached feeling from the area.
"Thanks," he said.
Missouri nodded and took a seat. "So, let's see what you've got here," she said.
John leaned forward and opened the small wooden box. His eyes lit up as he took out an old and battered baseball. "This was mine," he said. "Before the war, I was on a local team. I got a home run in our league's final game and they gave me the game ball." He looked at Dean. "You remember me telling you about that?"
"Yeah," Dean said with a look of wondering realization. "You used to pretend the hits I got were homeruns. Even if they only made a few feet."
John nodded. "This was the ball."
He picked out a pile of glossy photographs and rubbed his thumb over one of them with a wistful smile before holding it out to Dean. Dean sucked in a breath and showed the photo to Sam. It was a family shot of John, Mary and a young Dean. In Mary's arms was a baby that Sam realized must be him. "She looks so happy," he said, not aware that he was speaking the thought aloud until he heard it.
"She was," John said. "We all were. She loved you boys so much."
Sam felt his eyes burn as he looked at his young self, safely enclosed in his mother's arms with his father behind and his brother beside him. It seemed grossly unfair that he would never remember her. He would only ever have these images of his mother to hold on to.
He thought of Jenny and her family. They had saved them tonight, protected them. Because of what they had done, Sari and Ritchie would have their mother with them. Jenny wouldn't be a memory for Sari as Mary was for Dean or an image captured on paper like she would have been for Ritchie.
He shuddered again. He felt an omnipresent pressure settle over him. He found it hard to draw a breath, but he knew it had nothing to do with his injuries.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, looking at him with concern.
"I don't know," Sam said. "Something feels wrong." He looked to Missouri and she answered his unasked question.
"It's over, Sam. I can feel nothing from that house anymore.
"Are you sure?" he asked again.
"It feels that way at first," Dean said knowledgably. "Even when it's tough, like it was tonight, it still feels like it was too easy. You have to learn to let it go."
Sam nodded but he still felt that shade of wrongness.
"It's natural to feel something wrong," John said. "You went through something terrible tonight. Maybe you should get some sleep."
"There are beds made up for you upstairs," Missouri said. "You'll feel better in the morning."
"Yeah, maybe," Sam said. "I'll go out and call Jess and then I'll head up."
He set down the icepack and stood. He walked out the door but hesitated before closing it as he heard Dean speak. "He's okay, right?"
"He was almost choked to death tonight by a lamp," John replied. "He's going to be jumpy for a while."
The door clicked closed and Sam scowled. This wasn't just a side effect of trauma, he was sure.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial. Jessica answered after only one ring, as if she had been sitting beside the phone waiting for the call.
"Sam? Are you okay? What's happening?"
"I'm fine," he said hoarsely.
"What's wrong with your voice? Have you been crying? Have you been hurt?"
"I was choked by a lamp," he said unthinkingly.
"You were what?" she shouted.
Sam held the phone away from his ear. "It's okay, Jess. I'm fine now." Though was he? He felt as if there was a heavy weight on his chest. Not the weight of a delayed injury, but the weight of foreboding.
He started walking along the path and onto the street. "We found the woman in my dream…" he started. As he walked, he told her everything that had happened, from meeting Jenny to the plumber's mangled hand and his vision of Ritchie. He skated over the details of his strangulation and finished with the box of mementoes Jenny had given them, giving detail to the photograph of him in Mary's arms.
"So, it's over," she asked. "You're coming home now?"
"I think so," he said doubtfully
"Why wouldn't you?" she asked. "We're going to Mom and Dad's."
"I don't know, Jess," he said, turning the corner and realizing his feet had led him back to Jenny's street. "I'm probably going to look a little scary for a while. I think I should…"
He trailed off as he sucked in a painful breath. There was movement at an upstairs window of the house. For a moment he thought it was the dream transplanting itself into his waking mind, but as he jogged closer he saw Jenny's eyes fix on him. The scream he had been unable to see clearly in his dream was his name mingled with a cry for help.
"Jess, call John," he said tersely "Tell him it's happening again."
"What's happening?" Jessica asked, panicked.
"I've got to go," Sam said, and without another word he ended the call and stuffed the phone back into his pocket as he ran toward the house.
He tried the door, but Jenny had locked it. He stepped back and kicked the door. It didn't budge and he growled his anger, stepping back and kicking it again. This time the lock gave way and the door flew open. He could hear screaming, Jenny begging him for help. He raced toward the sound, shouting her name. He came to the bedroom he'd been attacked in and rattled the handle.
"Jenny!" he shouted.
"I can't get out!" she screamed.
"Stand back."
He gave her a moment to obey before shoving his shoulder at the door. It didn't budge and he pulled back and kicked it instead. It flew open and he raced inside. Jenny was cowering by the window and he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Get out!" he shouted in her face.
"The kids!"
"I'll get them," he shouted back at her, each word causing his throat to burn painfully.
"No, I…"
"Protect them by protecting yourself! Don't leave them alone!"
He saw the anguish on her face but he didn't look to see if she would obey. He ran back into the hall and busted down the next door. Ritchie was in his crib, standing and gripping the sides. His face fell as he saw Sam and he began to cry. Sam snatched him out of the crib and carried him back out of the room.
He almost ran into Jenny as she stood rattling a door on the other side of the hall. "Take him," Sam said, thrusting him into her arms. "Get him out."
"Sari!"
"I'll get her!"
This time she obeyed. She ran to the stairs, Ritchie's wails echoing behind them.
He didn't bother to try the door, having seen Jenny's failure. He just kicked at the lock and the door flew back. A wave of heat hit him and he staggered back a couple steps before mastering himself. The room was in flames that almost completely surrounded the bed Sari cowered on, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin, screaming.
Sam pushed himself forward, into the heat, and lifted her from the bed. She clung to him with a fierce grip. "Close your eyes," he commanded.
He turned them and stepped through the flames that seemed to be seeking them out. The hallway was mercifully free of fire and he coursed down the stairs and into the hall. "You're okay," he was chanting. "You're fine."
He got almost to the door when he felt something grab his leg. He dropped Sari as he was pulled flat on his stomach.
"Run!" he bellowed agonizingly.
He felt himself skidding backwards as he was yanked across on the floor. He collided hard with a table and the hold on him released. He scrambled to his feet and tried to head back towards the door, but an invisible force shoved him into a wall.
Unable to move an inch, he could merely watch as a flaming figure appeared in front of him and walked towards him.
John was looking at the photographs that Jenny had found in the basement. His beloved Mary's face captured on camera, beaming with happiness as she held her boys and stood with John. His eyes stung.
"You really think Sam will be okay?" Dean asked.
John looked up. "He'll be fine. He just needs to rest. Jess will help him."
Dean nodded but didn't look completely comforted.
John's phone buzzed in his pocket. He was expecting a call from Jim, whom they'd left very suddenly when Sam had called, but it was Jessica's name displayed on the screen
He answered with a frown. "Jess? I thought you were talking to Sam."
"It's happening again!" she said quickly. "Sam needs you."
John lurched to his feet. "What's happening? What did he say?" He waved Dean into silence as he demanded to know what was being said.
"It's happening! That's all he said!" He could hear the tears in her voice. "You have to help him, John!"
John thrust the phone into Missouri's hand and ran for the door, shouting for Dean over his shoulder. He went straight to the trunk and popped it open. He grabbed a salt-loaded shotgun and ax, and then shoved his .45 into the back of his pants. Dean appeared beside him and began grabbing things as well.
John set off at a run down the street, swerving around the corner and bolting to his old house. Jenny was on the lawn, her children in her arms and her terrified eyes fixed on the door. Sam was nowhere in sight.
"Jenny!" he shouted. "Where's Sam?"
"Something got him," Sari said tearfully.
He turned to Jenny, demanding information with his glare alone.
"He got us out," she said weakly. "I don't know what happened though. Sari ran out but then the door slammed closed. The house is on fire!"
John looked up at the second floor window and saw flames reflected on the glass.
Dean rushed past them and ran at the door. He shoved at it but it didn't move, even though the lock was clearly broken already. He stepped back and aimed a kick to the side of the lock, but the door merely rattled.
"Move," John said curtly, raising the ax.
Dean lurched out to the way and watched John with tortured eyes as he swung the ax at the door. The wood split and John ripped the ax free and swung again. It took five strikes until the wood was weakened enough to kick the rest free and squeeze inside. Dean rushed ahead of him, shouting Sam's name. He could hear no response though and John's heart chilled with fear. He was terrified that this time they were too late.
"Sam!" There was panic in Dean's voice, and John ran after him into the kitchen. Sam seemed to be pinned to the wall, his hands held flat at his sides and his head twisted to the side. There was a figure of fire standing in the middle of the room.
John raised his shotgun as Dean did the same at his side.
"No!" Sam said, his voice barely audible. "Don't!"
John hesitated. "Why?"
"Because know who it is. I can see her now."
John's gaze moved from Sam to the fiery figure and he saw the flames withdraw and the form coalesce into the familiar but impossible face of his beloved wife.
"Mary," he breathed, the shotgun lowering automatically.
She smiled at him, but her mesmerizing eyes whose power if not color Sam had inherited were sad. "John."
Tears spilled down his cheeks and his throat closed. He struggled to force out the words he had said to her so many times in dreams. "I'm sorry." He was apologizing for all his failures: for not saving her, for letting Sam be taken and for stealing Dean's childhood.
"I know," she said, casting him another smile before walking toward Dean and saying his name with adoration.
His eyes were wet and his expression stunned as he looked at her. "Mom," he said in a moan.
She seemed to drag her eyes from Dean's face and approached Sam slowly where he was still pinned to the wall. John wondered what she saw there. Was she searching for the features of a baby in a man's face, or did she see the red and bruising neck from the injury John had failed to protect him from?
"Sam," she said gently, her face wearing the same adoring smile she had held for Dean.
"Mom," he rasped, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Her smile faded. "I'm sorry."
Sam frowned. "For what?"
She didn't answer. She cast him one last look of longing before turning and looking up at the ceiling. "You get out of my house. And let go of my son."
Flames erupted around her again, and John barely formed a protest and cry of her name before the fire spread and consumed her. The flames roared up to the ceiling and disappeared. Sam fell away from the wall and Dean rushed at him, supporting him as he sagged.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked urgently.
Sam nodded and looked over Dean's shoulder to John. "Now it's over."
John and Dean were in the house, dousing the last of the flames in Sari's bedroom, and Sam and Missouri were sitting on the front porch. Sam had tried to help them, but they'd sent him out, brooking no argument. Sam knew that he'd scared them enough for one day already, so he acquiesced.
Sam felt tired and sore, but Missouri looked worse. Dean said she'd been pinned to a wall in the basement by a table, and it looked as though she was still suffering from it. Her smile was soft as she looked at Sam though. "How are you feeling, honey?" she asked gently.
Sam touched his neck gingerly. "I've been better."
"I'm sure you have, but that's not what I meant. You went through something today."
Sam shrugged. "I'm okay, I guess. I'd rather not do it again any time soon, but it wasn't all bad."
He was thinking of his mother. He would go through it all again if he gave him another chance to see her face. She had been impossibly more beautiful than he'd seen in photographs. Ink and paper hadn't captured that light in her eyes, the power they held. She was incredible, and Sam felt blessed to have seen her. He now had a real memory of her to treasure, the memory of her saving his life.
There was one part he didn't treasure though.
"Missouri, when she was here, could you read her like you can us?"
"Her mind you mean?"
Sam nodded.
"No, I couldn't. She wasn't here the way you are." She bit her lip. "She apologized to you."
"Yes," Sam said quietly. "I don't understand why."
That was the one thing that marred the memory. What could she had felt the need to apologize for? Why couldn't Sam have reassured her? He should have told her that there was no need for forgiveness, no matter what she thought she had done, because she was his mother and he loved her so much. He couldn't ever blame her for anything.
"I don't know why she said she was sorry," Missouri said. "I wish I did. You're not the only one that needs to know. I do know this though. She would never have done anything to hurt you intentionally. She loved you boys more than anything. I would see her walking around with you in your stroller and Dean running around the pair of you, and I could read her then. She was so happy with you, so proud of what she had. She would have given anything for you." She turned to the door. "All of you."
John and Dean came out, soot smudged and tired but nodding in response to Missouri's words.
"Do you know why she apologized, Dad?" Sam asked.
John came down the steps and sat down beside Sam as Dean moved to stand in front of them. "I don't. I have been thinking about it ever since, and I can think of no reason for her to apologize to any of us for anything. Perhaps she was apologizing for not being here. God knows we all need her."
"Maybe," Dean said thoughtfully, though Sam knew him well enough to know he wasn't convinced. "Whatever it was, it wasn't her fault," he said.
John nodded decisively. "Of course not. Your mom would never hurt any of us on purpose." He turned to Missouri. "She's gone now, isn't she?"
Missouri looked sad as she answered, "Yes. There's no spirits left in that house at all anymore. Their fight canceled out each other's energy."
"So where is she?" Sam asked, his eyes darting between his father and Missouri for an answer.
"Heaven," Missouri said confidently. "There is nowhere else someone like her can belong."
"She's at peace then," Dean said.
Missouri nodded. "She is. You don't need to worry about her anymore. Your mother will be happy now."
John wiped a hand over his face. "Good. She deserves to be happy again."
Sam smiled. He thought so too. His mother had saved his life, and he would never be able to repay her for that, but he had more to treasure from the night than continued life. He had a true memory of his mother now. The way she had looked at him, the look in her eyes.
Sam knew without a doubt that she had loved him now.
So… Some big stuff happening in this one. I knew I needed to have the 'Home' scenario in this story to serve the visions plot. With that realization came the fact Mary would be there, too. I knew I needed John, Dean and Sam to see her again, especially now they're family again. It was important to me that Sam see his mom and John be able to say sorry to her. Hope it came off okay.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx