I missed Jared and Jensen by TWO freakin' hours!!!!! If I had gotten there two hours earlier, I would have had an excellent view of them filming a bar scene for 2.19 - whatever that one is - because the bar has a glass front. I did get to watch them filming background scenes though... But I am sooo depressed now... I need to find some cheer me up fics to read!!
Hope you like the chapter anyways!
Close Encounters
Hazel eyes held an apology but before Dean could comprehend, the red was back and the hunter was being thrown through the air.
Dean heard his father shout his name, and then his head struck something hard and he was out.
His last thought was that they'd failed….His father would have to kill Sammy.
Chapter 29
Sam was in hell. Trapped inside the darkest places of his mind; shrouded by evil, oppressed by hatred.
The wraith was old and powerful – not bound by anything except its own whim and need for destruction. He could hear raspy whispering, verbally taunting and poking at his consciousness.
Mine…mine…
For reasons beyond the young hunter's comprehension, this ancient evil had been drawn to him and leeched itself onto the strength of his very soul.
Sam fought hard. He was a Winchester after all and that is what they did.
He cursed…
Screamed…
Bargained…
Begged…
Cried.
All to no avail.
The wraith still prickled and picked at him. Metaphysically shredding his 'light' and delighting in the pain it wrenched from his torture.
But for one brief moment the wraith, distracted by an outside influence, relaxed its hold—
That was all Sam needed.
Tearing his body from its grip, the teen flung his eyes open and saw Dean.
Hope flared! Dean – and Dad! They were both here!
But then he felt the power, like something ripped from his very lungs and had only a moment to try to warn…
Then the moment was gone.
And so was Sam.
…
"Shit!" The black book fell from his fingers as John flew to Dean's side and dropped heavily to his knees as the younger man's body hit the far wall and then bonelessly slid down into a heap.
Behind him Sammy was no longer writhing, just whimpering.
Whimpering wasn't a threat.
"Dean!" the man barked, hoping to order his son back to consciousness even as his calloused hands triaged Dean's scalp with surprising gentleness.
He winced when he found the rapidly rising lump. At least it wasn't bleeding. It wasn't much but right now John would take what he could.
Things were rapidly spiraling out of control….
John's analytical mind quickly ran scenarios but found no solutions.
"Damnit," he muttered, scrubbing his beard and exhaling loudly. This was not good. Not good at all.
Things were bad enough with Sammy being possessed, but now Dean was unconscious too?
Placing a hand on Dean's chest, the hunter consoled himself with the steady rise and fall of his older son's breathing, torn between two boys who both desperately needed him.
The idea of losing either was not acceptable to the man. They were what he fought for….
"Okay," the hunter stated, his decision made.
John stood and moved towards the barricaded basement door. He needed help.
Swallowing his pride, the hunter pulled the chair away….
His family came first.
…
Fenton Hardy stiffened when the door opened and John stood at the top of the stairs. He tried to read what had happened from the look on the man's face but couldn't. The hunter was as guarded as ever.
So the detective was surprised when John gruffly stated, "I need help." And was even more shocked when he looked directly at Fenton. "Yours…please."
For one moment the sleuth debated playing the hard ass but backed down. Instinctively he knew that this man was not one to easily ask anything of anyone. Let alone Fenton.
So instead he just sent Frank a look – silently putting his oldest in charge – and then nodded at John.
"As long as you're not planning on shooting me," he deadpanned, already moving towards the stairs.
John cleared his throat awkwardly and then rasped back. "Not right this second."
"Good," Fenton stated and followed the other man into the kitchen. "You owe me for a kitchen door, by the way," he added casually. Seeing Dean, he instantly moved towards the younger man. "What happened?"
"I don't have time to explain," John insisted, reaching down and picking up the black book. He held it out to Fenton. "How's your Latin?"
Fenton gave the other man a disbelieving look even as practiced fingers checked Dean's breathing. He was well versed in emergency first aid. "Excuse me?"
"Look. Here's the deal," the hunter explained quickly, "I need you to read the ritual while I make sure Sam doesn't get out of the restraints or circle of salt."
The man was decidedly crazy.
Opening his mouth to protest, Fenton was relieved to feel Dean stirring beneath his fingers. "My Latin sucks," he admitted, hoping to bring John to his senses about this or at least be the one 'restraining' the kid. Then he could exert some sort of control over Sam's safety. "I'll take guard duty."
"Too bad," John countered, his dark eyes cold, "no one touches Sammy except me or Dean."
Fenton was slightly taken aback by the possessive protectiveness in the other man's tone. It did a lot to alleviate any linger concerns he had about where this man's priorities might lie. He still figured John was crazy – but 'protective father' crazy, the detective could deal with.
"Fine," he conceded and took the book John was offering. He glanced over the text. "This isn't Latin—"
"Ancient Latin," John qualified. "It holds more power over old evil."
"Of course," Fenton humored.
"D-Dad," Dean's weak voice drew both men's attention to him. The detective moved aside to let John in as the hunter immediately crouched down.
"It's okay, son," John said, offering a brief smile.
"Sammy?" Dean tried to push himself up into a more concrete sitting position, wincing as he did so. His eyes sought out his brother.
"He'll be fine," the hunter assured his son and then glanced at Fenton, "We've got it covered."
The younger Winchester scrunched up his face – a mixture of pain, no doubt from a pounding headache, and confusion, most likely over the apparent buddy-hood that had sprung up between the two men during his unconsciousness…. "He's a cop," Dean managed as if that would somehow affect their 'relationship'.
"Ex-cop," Fenton found himself defending, as if being an officer of the law was a bad thing.
John gave him an odd look and then sighed and addressed his son again. "Well, no one's perfect." He stood up. "Stay here," he ordered Dean and then moved towards Sam.
Fenton rose also and hoped ancient Latin wasn't too different from what he'd learned in school…and then he shook his head. What was he thinking? It didn't matter since none of this was for real anyway…
'Humor the nutcase', he told himself and followed John's lead.
TBC
