CHAPTER 28

Lawrence, Kansas

January 25, 1983

The black 1976 Dodge Warlock rumbled through the small suburban neighborhood. The driver, a man the color of bleached asphalt, scanned each home and snow covered yard. He scowled at the small, dirty piece of paper in his hand. His own handwriting was a mystery to him, what the hell is that number?

STOP!

That fucking voice again. Apparently, he'd stared at the paper too long, because when he looked up there was a little blonde boy running in the middle of the street chasing a ball. Why would a kid be out in this weather, playing with a ball?

He slammed on the brakes coming to a stop mere inches from the boy's nose. He leaned out the window, "What the hell are ya' doin' runnin' out in tha' street likat?"

The boy was frozen in panic, much like the old saying, 'a deer caught in the headlights'… this situation was more like a boy caught in a truck's grill.

"Dean! Oh my god, Dean! Are you all right?"

The old man looked up to see a pretty blonde woman, with a very swollen belly, running out in the street to rescue her son. She picked up his frozen little frame and swung around, staring daggers at the gray man, "You should watch where you're going. There are kids all over the place in this neighborhood!"

"What kid wants to play outside in this damn frigid weather? Get that boy inside before he catches his death! You too!"

The pregnant woman stomped off, snow crunching beneath her overlarge boots. Must be the husband's, the man chuckled. He started rolling up his window, when a thought struck him. Rolling the window back down, he yelled, "Hey there little lady! Can you tell me where I might find the Winchester house?"

The woman set the boy down, leaning down telling him something, he scampered off inside the house. The little blonde woman stood on her sidewalk, hands on hips, "I'm Mary Winchester. Who wants to know?"

GO!

Yeah, yeah, yeah! I hear ya', the man thought.

Putting the old Dodge in gear, he deftly maneuvered the truck to the driveway. The little woman stomped through the snow covered yard to the driver's side of the truck, "Well?"

Well, isn't this my lucky day, the man thought.

He put his truck in gear, turning off the engine. He took the keys out, jangling them around as he picked a small key out of the dozens of others hanging on the chain. The man leaned over the passenger side of the truck and reached down to the floor. He grunted and groaned as he yanked the floor mat up, tossing it on the seat. He gripped the edge of the carpet and pulled, revealing the black floor beneath. A littler silver keyhole, set off center, was just waiting to be filled by the key in the man's hand. He opened the panel and pulled out a raggedy, brown package, little bigger than a shoe box. Using the back of his hand for balance on the bench seat, he bounced himself back to a normal sitting position. Taking a deep breath, he shoved the package at the woman, "Here."

She scowled at the man, but not reaching out for the package, "What is that and who are you?"

"Name's Elkins. I've been having dreams, about you and a little girl. You got a girl there?" Elkins nodded to Mary's belly.

She shook her head, rubbing a hand over her obvious baby bump, "We're not sure. Elkins? I think you may have known my parents? Would you like to come in…?"

"No. Don't have time for that." Elkins nodded, "Briefly, I knew your folks very briefly. This is for you. Like I said, I been dreamin' about you. You need this. You'll know when the time comes. When you're done… The. Second. You're. Done. Send it straight back to me. Understand me? Say it back to me."

"What is it?" Mary watched as the man scowled at her, "Okay. As soon as I'm done with it, I will send it back to you. Where's the address to send it? Mr. Elkins. Mr. Elkins!" As soon as the words left her mouth, the gray man started the engine and hauled ass out of her driveway. Sighing, she made her way into the house, Dean was at the kitchen table with some cookies. Setting the package on the counter to get her son a glass of milk to go with his cookies, she'd open the package later…


After hours of research and several laptop reboots, Sam had found something, a few things actually, that would be helpful in the summoning, in case Hecate brought any surprises with her.

Meanwhile, Dean had cloistered himself in the bathroom, while Sam clicked away on his laptop. He knew what he had to do…

click-click…click-click.

Please let this work, he thought. There was a method to his madness and if Sam knew the extent of his plan…Sam didn't need to know the extent of his plan.

Dean was sitting on the bathroom floor against the door. He'd locked the door, but the lock was one of those chintzy turn the nipple shaped mechanism blocking the tumblers in place pieces of shit. Not much protection against his giant of a brother busting down the door in the middle of… things.

Click-click…click-click

Click-click…click-click

"Fuck it." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breath and one last set of: click-click…click-clicks he depressed the transmit button and started speaking, quietly, "Mom…uh…Mary Winchester, are you there?"

He released the transmit button, blowing out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, he folded the small black box between both his hands and held it against his forehead. What the fuck am I doing?

A crackling sound and white noise brought the little black box away from his forehead. He stared at it as if he'd never seen it before. And then…

"Dean…? Is that you?"

Dean swallowed hard, his hands shaking, tears pricked his eyes as he depressed the transmit button, "Mom? How did you know?"

He heard her sobs, half crying and half laughing, "Baby, oh my baby boy. I've been dreaming about a little girl, Dean, a little brunette girl, just a slip of a thing. She said for me to be ready, that I needed to listen to … well, must be you, though that's not what she said. She said, the voice of my child would be calling from a great distance and I needed to listen, no matter what. I'm listening Dean. Talk, I don't think we have much time."

Dean's hand was shaking, his bottom lip trembling, a single tear slid down his whiskered cheek, shaking his head, disbelief and hope warring within. "How…how do I now it's you and not a crocotta? What song did you sing to me?" His voice was gravel over sandpaper.

He heard his mother laugh and his gut and heart clenched, it had been decades, an entire lifetime, since he'd heard that sound. It was music to his soul.

"Dean, I sang…uh…sing Hey, Jude to you, sweety. Before bed I always tell you angels are watching over you and I have yet to tell you to come to me, Dean. Don't forget, I come from a long line of hun-historians. I know many legends and lore on the creepy crawlies from all over the world. My son. My baby boy, I would never do anything to put you in harm's way. I promised to protect you and Sam, always, and I will, for as long as I live and beyond. Dean, please, what do you need?"

"Hunters, mom. You come from a long line of hunters." Dean sighed, he'd almost forgotten that his parents memories were wiped clean by the biggest angel douche of them all, Michael. "Sam and I, we're … uh… hunters, have been for a long time." He heard his mother gasp and could almost hear her shake her head from side to side. This wasn't the life she'd wanted for them, shit, this wasn't the life he wanted for them. Fuck!

"Mom. Mom! Listen. What's the date? It's important. What's the date?"

He heard her calm down a little as she choked out, "November. It's the second. Why?"

Shit! In all the stories told and his memory, he didn't remember a time that the event happened. Damn it! He thought he'd have more time. Shit!

"Mom, listen to me. Don't put Sammy in the nursery. You need to do a kid fake out. Do you have any dolls?"

"Dolls? Dean. I don't understand. Why are you a hunter?"

"Mom, I don't have time to get into all that. We don't have time. Listen to me. Put a doll in Sammy's crib." Dean had gone through a myriad of scenarios, relived the event hundreds, maybe thousands of times, his entire life. It had to be this way. It had to work.

"Why, Dean?"

"A demon is coming, mom. Soon. In a matter of hours. He's going to bleed into Sammy's mouth. Everything's going to change. You have to keep Sammy out of that room." How was she going to kill ol' yellow eyes though?

"Demon? No. I'm not…I don't do that any more. He can't have you. Either of you! I'll protect you. I have a gun!"

Dean sucked in a breath, a gun? No. It can't be. "A gun, mom? What kind of gun?" Dean swallowed hard, please let it be…

"It's old, with spell work on it. I think it's the Colt."

"Holy shit!"

"Don't cuss in front of your mother, Dean!"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at being chastised through time and space. How this was happening, he didn't know. Maybe this time it would be different. God, please let it be different.

"Mom, do you know how to shoot?"

"Of course."

"Good. Here's what you need to do…"