A/N: THANKS FOR ALL THE GREAT REVIEWS – YOU GUYS REALLY PUT ME IN A GREAT MOOD TO WRITE – KEEP UP THE GREAT REVIEWS, AND HOPEFULLY I'LL KEEP UP WITH GREAT, SPEEDY UPDATES.
O.O.O.O.O.
Chapter Twenty – What If
Amy felt a cold compress on her forehead. Her brown eyes opened slowly, hesitating to open them fully due to the light. She could hear Isabella's voice in the background; Izzy was the one to turn the lights down, due to Amy's reaction.
The person touching her forehead was obviously Michael. She saw his large eyes first then his subtle face looking intently into hers. He moved the damp towel from her face and examined gently, "You're okay."
She was in her bed and propped up on three pillows. Amy sat up more but Michael motioned for her to relax.
"You fainted," Michael explained. "Izzy found you on the floor…with all this…stuff…" He motioned to the séance materials on the floor. He looked at her worriedly and said seriously: "You also had a nosebleed."
Amy looked down at her white tank top. Yes, there were remains of a nosebleed.
"Damn…" Amy groaned. "I really liked this top."
"Amy," Izzy groaned. The black-haired beauty crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.
"I'm fine," Amy laughed. She looked from Isabella to Michael. "Thanks for the help Doc. I'm fine."
"What the hell were you doing?" Isabella asked sadly. "I've never seen you do this kinda stuff before." It was obvious her voodoo-experience had made Isabella uncomfortable around this sort of thing.
Amy cocked her head to the side gently and explained tenderly, "I was just doing a séance."
"Séance?" Michael raised an incredulous eyebrow.
She nodded plainly. "I was trying to contact John Winchester…" She shook her head. "That's all I remember."
"You just passed out? For no reason?" Izzy asked.
Amy shrugged. "I remember thinking the séance didn't work…then I woke up here…"
"Why the nosebleed?" Isabella asked Michael.
The doctor looked at Amy and tried to explain: "Mental strain – but considering she was doing a spell…hard to say."
"It's not the first nosebleed," Amy grinned. "It usually happens when I tap into some strong psychic power. In this case, I was trying to use that sixth-sense-thing of mine to help the séance…guess it didn't work."
"May I advise some bed rest?" Michael said seriously. "And no more séances or any of this other stuff. It's obvious this stuff is hurting you…" He narrowed his eyes at her and sat down on the edge of her bed. Michael put his hand over Amy's and said, "I also want you to see a neurologist…just to make sure that pretty head of yours is okay."
"I'm fine," Amy smiled. "Don't worry."
O.O.O.O.O.
It was about family. It was about blood. It was about the connection that had existed for centuries…
Grace Lineman, the architect of the Lighthouse of Grace, had been married to a blacksmith named Nicholas Hannigan. They had two sons: Arnold Hannigan – Sailor – Missing after boat never returned to harbor; Mitchell Hannigan – Reverend.
Sam grinned to himself over the connection between everything. That's how it was possible for the Colt to be protected…Cimaruta was strong between families…between blood…
The car ride lifted their spirits as the engine revved at Dean's pressure to the gas. He was speeding along an old highway that didn't seem to have a steady speed limit.
The Lion's Cliffs were now only fifteen minutes away.
They were so close…
Sam envisioned himself holding the revolver…the Colt…in his hands…
Pointing it at the Demon's fearful face…
"The church…on the cliffs…" Sam sighed, shaking his head and revealing a crooked, relieved smile. "That's it…it's there…"
"Don't get too ahead of yourself Sammy boy," Dean grinned, tapping his fingers on his leg. He got off the highway and finally turned into another street in town. "Hell, we might find another clue."
"This hunt's almost over Dean…" Sam sighed, closing his eyes. "And if the Demon's still here…we can kill it now."
"Too bad we have no idea on how to find it…or summon it…" Dean rolled his eyes mockingly. "'Guess…when we find the Colt…we can just go running around screaming 'Demon' or something…"
Sam knew well enough this was Dean's mechanism for coping with the what if: What if there was another clue…what if the Colt was already gone…
Dean: "'Don't want to dampen your fun, Sammy…we just gotta keep a clear head…think logically 'bout this…"
O.O.O.O.O.
Amy sat up in bed leaning against the backboard of her bed. She had removed her blood-stained top and put on an over-sized black T-shirt. She relaxed and stared out the open window.
Isabella – after showing Michael out – returned to Amy's bedroom and stared at her friend for a moment. The actress-to-be sat down on the edge of the bed and widened her eyes, as if expected to hear something. "So?"
Amy shrugged. "So?"
Rolling her eyes and playfully smacking Amy's leg from underneath the covers, the twenty-two-year-old asked, "So what was with the séance?"
Her eyes fell back to the open window. Amy, saddened by the previous event, turned back to her roommate and explained: "I was trying to connect with Dean and Sam's father…" Her eyes looked down at her hands folded in her laps. "I failed…" Amy whispered pitifully. "It didn't work…" she shook her head tearfully. "I…" her voice trembled "I really am losing my power…" The twenty-seven-year-old fought the urge to weep. Izzy was ready with open arms. Amy continued: "I thought that with my power…and the séance…there had to be a sure-way to get into contact…but it didn't work…" She looked up at Isabella and admitted slowly, "I…I'm not meant for this kind of life anymore…"
Isabella stared at Amy and reached over gently to place her hand over hers. "Don't say that…" she comforted. "You're just going through a psychic-dry-spell or something…it'll pass…don't let this stuff with Dean make you iffy about everything else…"
"Izzy…" Amy whispered sadly, "They told me I was a part of this…Dean's dead mother…Sam's dead girlfriend…they told me I would help…that I would somehow lead Sam to his ultimate destiny…that I was meant to be a part of this…but…" She shook her hand angrily. "What…what if I've already done my part…somehow…during the last year…what if I already did what I was supposed to do…and now they're on their own…maybe I meant to go back to the old life…professor…date normal guys…have a devil-may-care attitude about the supernatural world…"
"No…" Isabella fought softly. "You play an important part in this…you saved me, remember? You all did…and I know you've done a lot of good…don't lose hope so fast, Amy…please…"
The older woman shook her head and sobbed. Isabella reached over to place her hand on the crying female's shoulder. Both women sat in silence for a minute – Amy crying, Isabella fighting the urge to cry…
O.O.O.O.O.
Hannigan was the reverend to a small church near on the Lion's Cliffs. Its occupants were usually lower-class people who walked from the nearby village. The church had been designed by his mother.
The car had to be parked in a parking lot across the street while Dean and Sam trekked across sand and stone. They each carried a black duffel bag in hand – carrying weapons – and were sure they each had a gun well-hidden in their jackets.
They were ready for anything.
Their walk included going up a narrow path along a steep hill. There were more rocks than grass and the sun was getting low again. The sky was turning orange and darkness was only a couple of hours away.
O.O.O.O.O.
Fifteen minutes passed after their rocky trail when Dean and Sam finally appeared on the top of Lion's Cliffs.
There was an old sign to mark the location. In the distance was a small white church with a white cross on top. It looked old – even from far away – and appeared that no one had entered in years. Dean and Sam had learned that the place was marked a historic district. No one was allowed inside.
O.O.O.O.O.
Dean used a hammer to break through the metal lock on the single wooden door of the church. The lock, broken, fell at their feet and Sam shook his head. He hated to break things while Dean couldn't care less.
Sam turned to see that familiar, wide grin as Dean successfully stuck the hammer back into his bag and opened the door.
"You know, there are always other alternatives to enter locked places…" Sam reminded.
Shrugging, the twenty-seven-year-old hunter grinned and said: "I like the funner, quicker routes. C'mon."
They entered the church unnoticed and Sam was careful to close the door behind them.
The church had the basic structure: perfectly square, both sides of the church had a dozen rows of pews, and in front was an old pulpit and there were seats in the farther back where the choir sat.
The place was clean, but old. The pews looked fragile and the pulpit could topple over any moment. Light streamed in through the old, foggy windows. No need for flashlights, indeed.
Sam looked around and found there could be a dozen places to look. He removed the cross-key necklace from inside his shirt and stared down at it slowly. Dean had the silver Cimaruta-blessed stone in the pocket of his leather jacket. He reached inside, without Sam seeing, and rubbed it with his index finger. For luck, Dean hoped.
"Let's look around," Dean ordered. "And you try and get one of those psychic vibes."
"It's not a light switch Dean," Sam complained as he moved through the pews with ease. He called: "I can't just turn it off and on."
"Well then start touching stuff…you touched the cross and it sent you a vision…just keep doing that…" Dean called back. He was walking toward the pulpit. Going to where Hannigan would have been…
Dean walked around the black pulpit and saw dust covering the surface. There were spider webs in all corners and a small shelf inside that contained an old Bible. There was a large, rectangular-sized maroon carpet where the reverend would have been standing.
Reaching in, Dean wiped the dust off the cover and flipped it opened. To his dismay, he didn't find another Cimaruta sign. It was just a regular, useless bible.
"So preacher-man…" Dean thought aloud. "We're here…August Colt wanted to be buried next to a cemetery…we're next to the Cemetery of Soliders…August Colt is here…" He looked around blankly, seeing Sam search the pews carefully. "So…" Dean whispered aloud, "where would you bury a body…"
Dean looked back at the pulpit. He stood there, positioning himself where Hannigan would have been…
His eyes glanced down at the maroon carpet beneath his feet. Kneeling down, Dean reached for the corner of the carpet and flipped it over…
Dust attacked his eyes and throat and Dean coughed and shielded his eyes from the cloud of dirt.
"Find something?" Sam called from across the church.
Recovering from the dust, Dean wiped his eyes and looked down.
"I think so…" Dean called.
Interested, Sam went to where Dean was and saw that his older brother had uncovered a door beneath the carpet.
To anyone not looking carefully, they would have just seen planks of wood beneath them to create the platform…
Dean and Sam knew better…
The disguise was perfect. Dean and Sam worked side-by-side to uncover the right lift and soon enough…
A secret door in the floor opened…
Dean looked down the old stairway and bobbed his head approvingly.
O.O.O.O.O.
Sam climbed down first and Dean followed. Now was the time a flashlight was needed.
Dean turned the contraption on and followed the circle of light.
The basement was cluttered with more chairs and tables – similar to attic back at St. Catherine's.
"We need to be looking for a body…" Dean said aloud. "Where would you put a body here…"
"There…" Sam pointed.
Even that had surprised Dean. Everything seemed to be happening so fast.
Everything was happening quickly…soon the Colt would be in their hands…
To Dean's surprise, he found what Sam had found.
The basement floor was not made of wood – but of dirt.
And around one of the desks, in the dirt, was a cross stuck into the ground.
O.O.O.O.O.
They dug for an hour with the shovels they had luckily brought.
Nothing could describe what they were feeling. Their Da Vinci Code-style scavenger hunt had come to an abrupt halt. The Colt was just a few feet beneath them…
What if it all ended here…Sam thought. His hope made him dig deeper, faster…What if we could kill him tonight…We could use the other bullets to finish off its kids…and any other supernatural thing we face…what if we could finally live a normal life…
What if…
Sam caught Dean's attention. His younger brother was digging more vigorously than himself.
Dean wanted this just as much as Sam…
What if the Colt is really here…what if we could kill the bastard soon…what if…after twenty-plus years of hunting…we could end all this…what if we killed the Demon…would Dad's soul be spared…what if Dad was in hell…could he be given Heaven…or better…be brought back…
What if…
O.O.O.O.O.
A shadow emerged in front of the church's door. The setting sun showed the figure in the door. A small, female hand reached for the door handle…
O.O.O.O.O.
The shovel had hit something…
Finally…
Dean took an uneasy breath and locked eyes with Sam.
At the exact same time Dean and Sam dropped to their knees in the grave and began to use their hands to uncover the earth and to find the wooden box.
Sweaty and dirty again, the boys cared for nothing else but to find their buried treasure…
So much was going through their heads – similar and different things – but each with an ultimate goal: to end the war…
The coffin was found.
The old wood was still intact – some cracks – but still sturdy.
Sam reached over their hole and pulled a crowbar out from one of the duffel bags. He handed the crowbar to Dean who was excitedly ready.
"This is it…" Dean grinned, bringing the crowbar to one of the cracks on his side. He laughed and said, "I've never been so happy digging up a dude's body."
Sam smiled, wiping the sweat away from his upper lip with his wrist, and waited as Dean noisily shoved the crowbar into one of the cracks and forced the lid opened…
It swung opened suddenly – to Dean's surprise – and the older Winchester almost fell back…
There…with dead hands folded across its chest…lay the corpse of August Colt…
And squeezed in between his chest and hands…August Colt grasped a wooden box…
Big enough for a revolver and forty bullets…
O.O.O.O.O.
The figure that had entered was followed by more shadows. The lingering silhouettes approached the pulpit…seeing the opened door in the floor…
O.O.O.O.O.
The corpse was slightly close to skeleton-form. There still remained that distinctive dead odor and blackened-greenish flesh. The body was not attired in the proper funeral ware – instead, the corpse was dressed in old brown pants and a red shirt with a black vest. August Colt's mouth was closed and his eyelids were shut tight. His bony hands were crossed over his chest, protecting the wooden box…
Dean reached in carefully – afraid that a sudden movement would make the box instantly disappear. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath…
Taking the box respectfully from the corpse's dead hands, Dean carefully handed it over to Sam and stared back at the corpse.
Thank you, August Colt…Dean thought.
Sam knelt down beside Dean. The two brothers looked at one another – dirty, sweaty, hopeful faces – and Sam studied the wooden box carefully…
The box's wood was thick and strong. It would probably take an hour's worth of banging and hammering to get the thing opened. "It's locked…" Sam noted. But the keyhole was not a regular keyhole…
He removed the cross-key from inside his shirt and stared at the end of it…
Sam took the key, stuck it into the large lock, and opened the box…
The revolver was almost an exact replica of the first one. It was solid black with the same pentagram symbol in the handle. The gun rested in a bed of soft red velvet. Underneath the gun were four rows of bullets – ten in each – and none had been used…
Sam reached for the handle carefully…he lifted it from the box…and let out the first breath since the coffin had been opened…
"Dean…" Sam gasped, holding the weapon in his hand.
Dean shook his head in disbelief. His eyes grew wide. "Holy-"
Both stopped speaking. Stopped breathing…
Each heard the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back. The click! had been loud enough to distract them from their overpowering joy…
They each looked up from the pit – Sam was ready to use the gun, but it was useless – Dean and Sam looked up into the faces of the five male hunters who had saved them before…
Stan, Murph, Vin, Aaron and Hawk crowded around the hole with guns pointed at them.
"Dean!" a weak voice called.
Dean, raising his hands in defense, then saw Michelle approach the hole too…
But her gun was pointed at them…but at Jo's head…
The girl had her hands bound around her back and struggled slightly in Michelle's grasp.
Jo had a deep gash on her forehead and a bloody lip.
"Hey there boys…" Michelle greeted.
Sam's eyes grew wide…Michelle reeled the hammer back on her own gun…still pointed at Jo…
"How 'bout we discuss us a trade?" Michelle grinned.
O.O.O.O.O.
A/N: Sorry it took me a while to update. And sorry if this chapter seemed…blah…I feel like I'm rushing with the story…and honestly…I AM. I'm excited about my next story and the ones coming after that…ideas are just raining down on me…so I can't wait to start the next story…and "Dreadful Journey" is almost at its end. So please leave comments/feedback! And thanks again for all of your great reviews!
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