A/N: And here it is, the last and final chapter (I know I said it wasn't but heck, it was too short so I just squished the two together). *tear* It's been a long year. I had no idea when I started this that it would end up being so long. It's heart-wrenching to say goodbye to this.
To my reviewers – you are the light of my universe. I love you all and respect you greatly for offering me your input, thoughts, opinions, and support throughout this entire process. You weren't afraid to call me out on stuff you didn't like, you weren't afraid to question my methods, and you certainly weren't afraid to clearly express the best and worst parts of this learning process. To all of you, thank you to the ends of the earth! I send love to you all! Without you, this story wouldn't be here. I hope you continue with me to the sequel.
To my readers – all of you are awesome. I can only hope that this story touched your heart; that it made you laugh, made you cry, and at times, made you want to kill something (or more specifically, me :P). Thank you for reading this. It was written for the enjoyment of others, and I sincerely hope that I accomplished that. Most of all, thank you for joining me on this roller coaster ride of an experience – through the laughs, the fights, the whumpage, the tears, the hatred, the bruises, the plot bunnies, the crazy children, the writer's block, all of it.
To those of you who favorite and alerted this story, thank you. Each one made me smile and feel immensely loved. I hope that this work of fiction held up to your expectations. It means a lot, guys.
And last but not least, greatest thanks to KG and Moppy – you were my inspiration when those plot bunnies attacked with a vengeance. I couldn't have done it without you. :D
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters belong to Eric Kripke. My characters belong to me. Steal them and die, people.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The End of the Road
Salvation, Iowa
July 30, 2006
Rosie was safe at long last, their most recent brush with death leaving the brothers' lungs half-filled with smoke and shaking from the shock of the aftermath. Dean's shoulder ached from the force he'd been forced to exert to propel his little brother away from that damn house. Sam had been determined to go back in there and kill the thing.
"Let me in there! I don't care, Dean!"
"WELL I DO!"
Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of images assaulting his mind. The image of the demon silhouetted in flame, that unearthly laugh echoing through the air, would be burned on his eyelids forever. An involuntary shiver coaxed his hair to stand on end, even as he shoved the image away, returning his attention to the cell phone in his hand.
"Something happened," Dean growled, resisting the urge to launch the phone across the room. He glanced to the bed where Sam sat immobile staring at the opposite wall. "Did you hear me? Something happened."
"You should have let me at it, Dean," Sam said darkly, leg bouncing restlessly up and down.
In that moment he would have cheerfully strangled his brother. How could he so conveniently forget his wife and kid when the Demon was involved Dean would never, ever understand. It was beyond his realm of comprehension.
"Sam, I wanna waste it. I do, okay? But it's not worth dying over!"
"What?" Sam repeated, shocked.
"I mean it!" Dean thundered, one finger raised threateningly. "If hunting this demon means you getting yourself killed I hope we never find the damn thing!"
Which, inevitably, opened a whole new can of worms. "How can you say that, Dean?" Sam exploded, leaping off the bed.
"I meant what I said, Sam," Dean yelled back. "This isn't worth dying over. You said it yourself. They're dead, and no matter what we do, they will never come back!"
Sam seized his older brother by the shoulders and threw him back against the wall. "Don't you say that! Not you! You don't get to say that!"
"Like hell I don't!" Dean shoved his brother back, hard, leaving them faced off in the center of the room. "I lost my mom and my best friend, Sam! So, yeah, I get to say that! Because you know what? MOM WOULDN'T WANT YOU TO GET YOURSELF KILLED! Damn it, you SAW her spirit in that house, Sam! She used her energy to kill the thing, protecting YOU!"
"You're blaming this on ME?" Sam growled. He glared at his brother, fury dancing in his eyes.
"Of course not," Dean replied, anger evaporating instantly. "I'm trying to get you to see reason. How does it help us for you to rush in guns blazing and get yourself shot and killed?"
Sam threaded his hands through his hair, gripping tightly on the dark strands as he slowly released a breath. "Okay, I hear you," he said under his breath. "Call dad again."
"He's not picking up," Dean announced later, phone bouncing in his hand. "We can't do this alone. We need help."
"Yeah, we do," Sam agreed tiredly, collapsing back onto the bed.
Three hours later the car was packed, motel paid for, and the Impala on the road, the fight between the brothers momentarily forgotten.
"Where are we going?" Sam wondered after a while, not quite sure what direction Dean was taking them in.
"Sioux Falls, South Dakota," Dean replied, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "We're going to see Bobby."
"Oh, boy. You think he'll try to shoot us?"
"I sure as hell hope not…"
Salvation, Iowa
July 30, 2006
Noah felt himself waking slowly, dragged out of a morphine-induced slumber against his will much as he had been put into said slumber against his will. The discomfort hit him like a ton of bricks. His incision site felt fine, only throbbed a little, but the rest of his body was aching like a mother effing bitch. Damn, he hated morphine, period. He hoped the little bastard who had pinned him down to administer it accidentally tripped over his foot and impaled himself on a scalpel. It could happen.
Dragging his eyes open took some effort but he managed. All he could see was a blurry, too-white ceiling and a blob of tan and yellow that could only be his partner's face.
"Hey, man," Michael said, relief in his voice. "How do you feel?"
He grunted in response to his partner's stupid question and attempted to rub some of the blurriness out of his eyes. Again with the hating morphine complaint. It threw his internal body systems out of whack for days.
"You le' 'em gimme that," he accused groggily, managing to glare up at Michael through his clearing vision. He could see his features now; his partner had the sense to at least look abashed.
"You were in pain." Oh, great. Michael was sporting his you're-an-idiot-and-don't-know-better-so-you-need-to-be-babysat-like-a-three-year-old voice. Peachy.
Surprisingly, there was no pain as he cleared his throat and vigorously rubbed his face with his right hand. The blurry vision had cleared but the aching limbs remained. "I hate morphine, Michael," he reminded his friend, strength back in his voice. "You should have made them give me something, anything, else."
"Sorry," Michael mumbled. "I was too tired to think straight last night. I won't forget again."
"Good," he grunted, studying the room. The outside was still dark. "What time is it?"
"Four thirty."
"Christ."
The hospital room was plain, with the typical gray floors and white walls, chairs shoved up against the wall with one of the two chairs at his beside occupied by his partner. Michael looked like hell – his face was pale, drawn, and ragged, eyes bleary and a little bloodshot. Noah was touched that Michael cared enough about him to be this worried. There was a cot under the window that was currently occupied by his good-for-nothing asshole of a little brother, Cole, who was sleeping facing the wall with his back facing them. He found it strange that his brother was sill in a Kevlar vest and hiking gear.
Noah remembered then. "He is so dead," he growled, glaring daggers at his younger sibling's back. "I'll kill the ruddy bastard myself." When Michael looked poised to argue, he lifted a finger in his face. "Nuh-uh. You fed me to the wolves with the morphine. AssCole is mine."
Michael didn't look to happy about it, but agreed with a short nod.
"You look like shit, Michael. Go home and sleep," said Noah firmly.
"Right," Michael agreed drolly, "because I can totally just sprout wings and fly from here to Denver." He was chuckling lightly by the end of his sentence.
"Are you wearing the same clothes from the raid?" Noah demanded, sitting up to study his partner's pants. "You are! Jesus, Mike, eew." His razor-sharp gaze settled on Michael's bare hands. "At least you had the common sense enough to wipe the blood off."
A strangled sob from Michael made Noah's gaze snap up in surprise. Whoa – Michael was crying. Noah suddenly felt immensely awkward as he watched two fat tears trail down his partner's face. Thankfully, he buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook. Not sure what else to do, Noah squeezed his shoulder tightly in one hand.
"You scared me," Michael choked out. "I thought the bullet went through your heart, Noah, I really did. I thought you were dead, right there under my hands." He drew his shaking hands away from his face, staring down at them, looking so lost it nearly broke Noah's heart. "I can still feel your blood leaking out between my hands. There was so much of it…"
"Michael, look at me," Noah commanded harshly, shaking his friend's shoulder roughly. Those bluer-than-blue eyes fixed on him. "Good. Now breathe. In and out, in and out, there you go. Just breathe." Over the course of about a minute Michael slowly pulled himself together. "I'm fine, Michael. The bullet wasn't even close to my heart. You hear me? I'm fine. Consider it payback for your possum play last winter."
Michael laughed shakily and ran his hands down his face. "Fine," he agreed. "We're even."
"Good."
Comfortable silence descended upon the room as Noah gently poked and prodded at the area around his bandage. His tissues were incredibly sore, but other than the actual wound and the fact his arm was strapped tightly to his side in a sling, no bones were broken or anything major injured. He'd been shot enough times to know the soreness was compliments of the bullet that had torn through layers of muscle tissue.
The doctor arrived and Michael scooted backwards to be out of his way. He winced when the bandage was removed, but Noah assured him it only looked terrible and really didn't hurt all that bad. Movement behind him prompted him to turn and stare coldly at Cole, who was rubbing his hands over the two o'clock shadow on his face.
Cole's face paled at the sight of the wound as he jumped to his feet and lunged to his brother's bedside, completely ignoring the doctor. "Shit," he exclaimed. "What the hell is that?"
Noah raised an eyebrow. "It's a hole in my body made by a bullet," he replied coolly, prompting a weak smile out of Michael. The room fell silent again while the doctor re-bandaged the wound and gave Noah instructions on the following weeks. It was clear from his tone he didn't agree with Noah transferring to Cheyenne. Too bad for him the FBI Agent had made up his mind and wouldn't change it. The irritated doctor stalked off to leave them in silence.
"So, Cole," Michael said conversationally, meeting Noah's eyes. Noah nodded, head tilting downwards the slightest fraction. "Care to tell us what the Conclave wanted you to do in Montana?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Cole said flatly, face devoid of emotion as he took a small step backwards towards the door.
Michael moved faster than Cole could see and clamped down on his arm, slapping an iron bracelet around his wrist. Dread settled over Cole when he figured out that he couldn't teleport. "Oh, no you don't," he said conversationally, twisting the boy's wrist in a well-used arresting control technique, getting Cole on the ground gritting his teeth in pain. "Talk fast or I break it." To prove his point, he increased the pressure until Cole cried out in pain.
"Alright, alright," Cole gasped, attempting to twist away to no avail. Damn the pure iron bracelet preventing his teleportation. "I was ordered by Brad Newbern to follow Paige if she should leave Wyoming. So I followed her up to Montana. John Newbern hoped that she would shed light on the recent disappearance of Constance Brennan." He gasped and clenched his teeth at the ache in his wrist increased, Michael's thumb painful pressure on the knuckle of his ring finger, index and middle fingers preventing him from moving his thumb. "The wall had two words carved into it, Salvation and AZAZ. I called you to warn you. That's all that happened, I swear."
"Why did the Conclave order you to get information on Constance?" Michael demanded.
"I don't know," Cole bit out.
Michael pressed harder as Cole yelped, attempting to twist away. "I said no lies, Cole," he reminded the kid conversationally.
"Okay, okay, okay!" Cole cried, writhing until Michael decreased the pressure yet again. He panted from the exertion on his helpless wrist. "The Conclave wants to know where she is. Brad was…worried about her."
Noah motioned for Michael to let his brother go. "Come sit, Cole," he said calmly. "Take that bracelet, off, though, and I won't hold Michael back next time. Don't look at me like that. Do you really think you possess the only brain in our family? Dad figured it out right after the first time you teleported. He surmised correctly that something pure corrupts your ability." He snapped his fingers at the chair. "Come sit down, damn you, we have a lot to talk about."
Cole skirted around Michael to the opposite side of the bed, glaring at the blonde with mistrust shining in his eyes. He sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, fingers kneading his now-sore wrist.
"There are a few things you need to get through that ridiculously thick head of yours, little brother," Noah began, plumping his pillows impatiently with his good hand. "First off, Connie IS NOT EVIL."
"And I should believe you why?" Cole bit out, bitter sarcasm dripping from each word.
Michael sat across the bed from him, watching Noah inhale deeply and exhale through his nose, no doubt searching for patience. "Start slow," he suggested mildly, rubbing his eyes. It seemed his headache was back tenfold. He made a mental note to avoid passing out at his partner's beside with his head at such an awkward angle next time.
"Constance Brennan and her family have done more for us in this world than you could possibly wrap your narrow little mind around, Cole," Noah began diplomatically, clinging to any remaining semblance of patience he possessed. "She has protected us at every turn, through thick and thin, whether we wanted it or not. I don't know why she does this, but I speculate she is trying to make up for the part of her she wishes never existed."
"What part?" Cole asked, listening now, fingers stilling on his wrist. His narrowed eyes were blue slits focused on his older brother. "What are you talking about?"
"You see, dear brother," Noah continued as if never interrupted, "Connie is not, entirely, human. She was conceived while her father was possessed by a demon, a demon I speculated then moved to her mother's body to remain dormant during the pregnancy. When she was born, the demon tried to kill her for being a girl instead of a boy. William Brennan acted quickly to save his child and banish the demon, whisking her away to hallowed ground until the Brotherhood could decide what was to be done of her.
"And so she was raised with her human side dominant, while the demon side whirled within her, giving unimaginable powers such as teleportation, time travel, mind control, you name it, Connie can probably do it. But it is the demon who 'fathered' her that she is trying to make up for." Noah took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Mostly because that demon has been the cause of so much pain." His unfathomable blue eyes bored into Cole's. "Think long and hard, little brother, and it will come to you."
Michael and Noah watched as confusion marred his brow, eyes churning with suppressed emotions. His lips were pursed tight in thought while he sifted around in his mind for all the demons they had ever come across. It was no secret when his mind dawned upon the horrible truth, all arrogance and confidence melting away to blooming shock and horror, eyes going wide as his jaw dropped open to fit his lips into a round O of disbelief.
"Yes, Cole," said Noah, softly. "Connie's father is the Yellow-Eyed Demon."
Somewhere near Sioux Falls, South Dakota
August 1, 2006
John shifted in the seat of the Impala, doing his best to ignore the pain flashing through him with each and every movement, particularly in the bullet hole in his leg. He was both proud and disappointed at Sam. While he didn't exactly want to die, he knew Sam should have taken that shot, should have killed the damn thing while he had the chance.
Sam must have heard him, because he glanced over, taking stock of his bloody face and spreading blood stain on the seat. His fingers tightened convulsively on the steering wheel, eyes not even daring to glance in the back seat at Dean's prone, half-conscious, and bleeding form, lest the panic start to rise again.
Dean watched this from the back seat, too in pain to intercede in their conversation. He was bruised and battered, both inside and outside, from the Demons' treatment. Had it meant what it said, that his family did not need him as much as he needed them? He didn't think so, but then… they'd abandoned him, hadn't they? He slumped against the window, too exhausted to think such thoughts, eyes fluttering shut as he willed them closer to the hospital.
"Look, just hold on, alright?" Sam said, forcing the nervous crack from his voice as he sensed his brother's breathing deepen and slow. Please let him be asleep, please let him be asleep… "The hospital is ten minutes away."
He didn't give a damn where the hospital was. All that mattered was the Demon – it had lived, and could very well be hunting them right now. Hell, it probably was hunting them right now.
"I'm surprised at you, Sammy," John growled. "I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing this thing comes first, before me, before EVERYTHING."
"No, sir," said Sam softly. His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror to see his brother with blood trickling down his chin, pain filling his green eyes. Not before you, not before my brother, not before my family, he added silently, not daring to voice his opinion aloud. "Not before everything."
John opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Sam's rising voice.
"Look," he all but shouted, "we still got the Colt, we still got the one bullet left." He inhaled sharply, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest. Something warm was tickling his cheek. When he swept his hand across it, it came away stained red with his own blood. For the time being, he ignored that. All his energy was currently occupied trying to get his father to see reason. "We just have to start over, alright? We already found the demon once, we c––"
Sam's words stopped abruptly as a great force struck the Impala, slamming his head into the glass, the force crushing his nose. The tinkling of shattered glass and the scream of metal deafened him, cut off all rational thought, as he was hurtled sideways, disoriented by the conflicting sounds and feels. A warm flow of blood oozed down his face as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. The car was utterly silent now, no longer sliding across the turf.
Images of his family flashed before his eyes – Ally, laughing at a silly joke, Ally, slapping him as he made fun of her taste in movies, Levi, curling into his side while they watched a movie in Dean's living room, safe and content and happy…Jess, her white dress flowing around her as she beckoned him closer.
Silence, deafening, overwhelming. He knew he should care, knew he should call out, do something, but the edges of his vision were fading.
And with that silence came the blessed darkness of unconsciousness.
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
August 1, 2006
Bobby Singer hurried across his book-strewn living room towards his cell phone, resting on his desk. He snatched it up, juggling for a moment with the heavy demonology textbook and the phone before flipping it open and balancing the book on his hand, lifting the phone to his ear.
"Singer," he grunted, wondering who in God's name would be calling him now. He'd already gotten his ass chewed out by John Newbern and Tony Baraldi and really was not looking forward to getting his ass chewed out again. Someone his age was supposed to do the ass-chewing, not the other way around.
"Bobby…it's me."
He froze, mouth opening and closing in shock, nearly dropping the book from his now-shaking hand. "I haven't heart from ya in quite some time," he said softly. "Why ya callin' me now?"
"I need help, Bobby."
Of course. It was always that. First with the Conclave, then the Winchester boys. Next, it would be the freakin' Loch Ness Monster. "Anything," he agreed warily.
"I wouldn't be so quick to say that…"
"Why? What's wrong, Firecracker?"
A tired laugh came over the line. "You haven't called me that since I was little."
"Well, ya ain't lit my kitchen on fire since you were little, neither," he informed matter-of-factly, warmth infusing his tone at the memory. "That was you, always playing with fire."
"I don't think I can play with fire anymore, Bobby. This time it's going to burn me."
"How can I help?"
"I need you to get a message to the Conclave for me."
Bobby's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why can't ya tell 'em yourself?"
"Too dangerous. Do you trust me?"
He was offended it had even been suggested otherwise. "Of course," he huffed gruffly. With my life, he added silently.
"Tell them this, word for word. Word for word, Bobby."
"Word for word," he echoed. "Okay, alright. Do ya want me to swear it on a goddamn stack of bibles? Jesus…"
"Blessed is he who sacrifices his own life's blood, and for this his soul is sacred, free from the wrath of damnation. Tell them that, Bobby, exactly, word for word. When it happens, they will know of what I speak."
"Wait– " Bobby pleaded.
The line went dead, but not before he heard what sounded like a faint but muffled sob in the background.
Bobby stared down at the phone, eyebrows a deep V of concern.
"Well, this can't be good," he grunted.
He really hated drama.
Somewhere outside Sioux Falls, South Dakota
August 1, 2006
Crunching metal faded to a dull buzz of nothing within his mind. Dean floated, weightless, the sharp pinpricks of pain ebbing away until he couldn't feel a thing, suspended in an odd sort of part-animation. The black slowly started fading to white, until that white was blinding him and he blinked furiously against it, squinting to protect his eyes as the light soothed to a sort of pulsing white glow.
He sat up as feeling returned in part to his body. For a long moment he stared down at the surface he was sitting on, watching as grass cropped up as if by magic and color suddenly exploded with such intensity he nearly had a heart attack. A blue sky with white fluffy clouds and the golden yellow orb of the sun suspended above him met his gaze, mountains rising to spar with the skyline, sloping down to gentle hills and the flat grassy field he was seated in.
Slowly, he got to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt of his jeans. He would know this place blindfolded – he was standing in the south field of his ranch, currently uninhabited. Far in the distance of west field he could see the cattle grazing, dirt stirring up as their hooves kicked it around.
"Hello?" he called out, trying to piece it together in his mind. How did he get from the impala in Ohio to here, Thunder Creek? There was no way he slept that much, Sam would have woken him up and forced him to drive by now. Plus, why the heck would they stick him smack in the middle of south field in broad daylight? It didn't add up, leading him to conclude that he was one of two things: dead or dreaming. And as this didn't exactly fit his picture of 'heaven' – he doubted he'd even go to heaven – he decided this was some sort of weird dream.
There was no answer to his yell, only the warmth of a soft breeze on his face that rustled the grass at his feet.
"Anyone?" he yelled, louder. He blinked, and suddenly, he was in a park he'd never seen before. People were everywhere, enjoying the sunlight. Unable to stop himself, he waved his hands in front of their faces and shouted, but to no avail.
"If they could hear you, they would reply, you know," a familiar voice jokingly scolded.
Dean spun, eyes going wide as his mouth dropped. There in the shadow of a giant oak tree stood Christopher John Newbern, decked out in leather jacket, jeans, and combat boots, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
"Chris?" he breathed.
"Hey, Dean," Chris replied easily. "Long time, no see."
"Am I dead?"
His best friend chuckled, amusement twinkling in his dark blue eyes. "Of course not," he said. "Why would you think that?"
"Am I in hell?" he elaborated.
Chris cocked an eyebrow. "Now, Dean, why in the world do you think you'd be in hell?" he wondered.
"Because that's where you are."
"Am I?" Impish grin in place now, Chris looked smug and amused, lips tilted into a playful smirk, head tilted slightly to the side to appraise him.
It was Dean's turn to furrow his brow. "You sold your soul to save Paige," he reminded his friend, surprised by how surreal this whole dream seemed. "That puts you in hell." Chris was smiling a secretive little smile. "Doesn't it?" he prodded, suddenly not sure. Didn't it? He couldn't really remember.
A shrug was his only answer.
"Think about it for a second, Dean. Does this look like hell to you?" Chris said calmly, sweeping his hand to their surroundings, gaze resting especially on the giggling children playing on the playground.
"No." Dean crossed his arms and studied his friend. "So, what, this is heaven?"
"Nope." Chris' lips popped on the P.
He waited for Chris to explain himself.
"I was in hell," Chris said after a long pause, shifting from foot to foot as he struggled to word his story.
"Was?" Dean repeated, eyes going wide again.
"I was there for, maybe, a day." Chris puffed out a breath and stared up at the white fluffy clouds dotting the sky. "Then everything went black. I woke up, and I was here." He waved his hand again to encompass their surroundings.
Dean was positive this was the strangest conversation he'd ever had, and with his dead best friend to boot. "Where exactly is 'here'?" he wondered.
"I'm not exactly sure." Chris shrugged again and smiled faintly. "I call it between. I'm not alive, exactly. People can't hear me or see me. But I'm not dead, either. I was brought here by someone. I've been here for months, waiting on the verdict of the powers that be." His blue eyes briefly flicked back to the sky before resting on Dean again.
"Powers that be… like heaven?"
Chris pursed his lips and shrugged. "Can't say."
"How did I get here?"
"You were in a car accident, Dean," he said gently. Dean blinked, and they were on the highway he last remembered driving on, listening to his dad and brother argue. A semi truck has smashed into the Impala. Fury arced through Dean at the sight of his beloved car smashed to bits. That anger faded slightly when he noticed his own body slumped, bleeding and unconscious, against the rear window, and his dad and little brother unconscious in the front seat. Sirens blared in the distance, the flickering red-and-blue lights drawing nearer.
Chris reached out to clasp his shoulder. "You are in a state of half-awareness, brought here the same way I was brought here. The people cannot see us or hear us. We're trapped halfway between life and death and unable to do a damn thing about it."
Another blink, and he was standing on his porch in Wyoming. Paige was in the swing with Jace in her arms, rocking gently while she watched Levi, Sammy, Owen, and Brody playing with the water hose and screaming in laughter in the fading dusk.
"She can't hear us?" Dean asked for clarification.
"No, Dean," Chris said quietly, slinging an arm over Dean's shoulders. "I've been here since I died." He silently searched for a way to explain, brow furrowing as he thought, mind honing in on a possible reference. "Have you ever seen Ghost?"
"With Patrick Swayze?" Dean had seen it once with Paige, back before they'd gotten married. He remembered he'd liked it.
The dark-haired man nodded solemnly. Dean nodded that he had seen it. "I've learned, over time, how to communicate with people who cannot see me or hear me." His eyes rested on his little sister. "My presence creates comforting warmth. Since my death, I've done this for you, my sister, my dad, my wife, my children…everyone pained by my loss I have comforted the only way I know how. For that one moment, I can make it seem as though I am not lost… because I'm not. I'm right here."
Dean silently studied his friend for a long moment. "You figured out how to communicate," he said slowly, letting that sink into his mind. "You made it so Paige can hear you in her mind, so that Jared dreams about you, so that Pete saw you in that operating room. Anyone else?"
"My dad," Chris admitted with a faint smile. "I've been funneling my happiest memories at him, flinging them at him, really. It makes him feel less lonely, focusing on the good times we shared and not the pain he feels at losing his oldest son." Sadness echoed from his sapphire blue eyes. "My little siblings need him now more than ever. He can't spend time dwelling over me when he had a life to live."
"And Amy?"
"As much as I can," he admitted, pain flashing through his eyes now. "It killed me that she had to have Christopher alone, that I wasn't there to be with her." He sighed heavily. "I love my family, Dean. At the time, the choice to save my baby sister had no pause whatsoever. But if the same were to happen now, if I had to choose between my wife and kids and my parents and siblings… how do you choose? How do you live with that pain?"
"What's dead is dead, Chris," Dean said faintly, quoting Brad Newbern's favorite line. "You acted impulsively because you love her. Nobody blames you. Hell, if it wasn't for you, I never would have met her. She never would have taught me what it means to love." He waved his hand at the house, eyes softening at the image of his wife and child rocking quietly together on the swing, staring into each other's eyes. "Look at that, Chris." He waited for Chris to do so, face softening at the image. "If it weren't for you, she never would have gotten that. Sammy and Jace never would have been born. I never would have moved to start the adoption process with Owen and Brody, hell, Owen and Brody likely would have died that night."
The conversation seemed to leave Chris enervated, his shoulders slumping as if in defeat or exhaustion. Dean understood his inner conflict. The eldest sibling was expected to protect, to guard, to look after. Never did their parents think to possibly allow them a moment of peace just to be a kid. In the hunting world, that wasn't a reality. And both knew that JB and Owen would be expected to upkeep the tradition – The Big Brother Protector Who Kicks Ass of All Who Threaten Baby Siblings.
"Do you regret it?" Dean wondered quietly.
"No." Chris' voice was absolutely certain. "Not a damn bit." His face softened as he watched his sister and nephew before catching Dean's gaze again. "It was worth it." His lip curled into an amused smile.
Dean sank to the porch, sliding his back against the wall until he was seated with his knees pulled up to his chest. Chris sat opposite him, leaning against the porch railing.
"I don't understand," he admitted.
"About what?" Chris wondered, mimicking his position. Dean had a sense of déjà vu, and suddenly, the year of pain and guilt melted away and it was him and Chris again, talking about whatever. He had his best friend back. Even if it was some sort of OOBE, but he wasn't quite sure that was the case.
"How are we here, exactly?"
Chris picked at the frayed end of his jeans, looking very much like a little boy, lower lip jutted out in thought. "I'm not exactly sure," he hedged, "of what I'm allowed to tell you." He glanced up at Dean briefly, and then back down to his jeans. "I know how I got here, but I'm not sure how you got here." He puffed out a frustrated breath, grimacing in distaste. "Months I've been here, Dean. Following you guys around. The person who brought me here assured me the 'powers that be' are deciding whether or not I'm worth the trouble to put back into my body."
An involuntary thump of Dean's heart followed his words. "Back in your body," he said slowly. "Like…resurrected? Is that even possible?"
A short, harsh laugh escaped his best friend. "Oh, you have no idea, Dean," he said, voice devoid of emotion. "You would have trouble comprehending the powers in this world. They're so much vaster than we ever could have imagined."
"I don't suppose you'll tell me?" Dean wondered, turning his head to watch Paige crooning at their infant son. He wondered if she could feel their presence. A large part of him hoped she could.
"Suppose not," Chris replied. "All I know is I'm stuck here until something happens."
Dean's body started to tingle, from his fingertips up to his shoulders and down through his chest.
A sad, wry smile curved Chris' lips. "That'll be them trying to resuscitate you," he said quietly, climbing to his feet as the sun set over the mountains behind them. "You have to go now, Dean."
"Chris, I don't want to go," he protested, grasping his friend's hand. "I don't want to leave you again."
"I'm never alone, Dean," Chris assured him. "Besides, my sister needs you. Promise me to hold on. You have to fight, Dean."
It felt like Dean was being pulled backwards, slowly, away from his friend as everything went darker, Chris at the end of the hallway with a halo of light enveloping him.
"Do not worry about me, brother," Chris assured him, lifting a hand in farewell. "You will not remember this meeting."
"I want to," Dean said forcefully, fighting the tingle enveloping him as his vision began to fade.
Chris smiled, suddenly his usual bright, cheerful self, the Chris that Dean remembered vividly. "Don't worry, Dean," he called, growing smaller and smaller as Dean was pulled further away. "I will see you soon."
"What does that mean?" he yelled in frustration, thrashing mentally against the force drawing him back, away from his friend.
The last thing he heard was Chris' hearty laugh, and then nothing – just a black void of emptiness, sucking away memory.
It was as Chris had said.
He remembered nothing.
Chris watched his best friend's form disappear, sadness enveloping him again. He turned to watch Paige call her sons and nephew indoors to dinner, peace enveloping him. Amy's truck halted in the driveway and his munchkins jumped out, excited for the annual movie night.
He was patient, he could bide his time.
And so, as always, he watched and waited and enveloped those he loved with his comforting presence.
Soon, God willing… he could die, and finally, be at peace.
Thunder Creek, WY
August 1, 2006
There was no exhaustion like the gripping, complete bone-tired feeling Paige felt when she woke from her restless night. Jared had returned home late last night to be with his wife, leaving her alone in the giant house. Owen had woken up at one AM with a fever, Sammy two hours after that, and the both of them had proceeded to cry all night long. Between that, Brody's diaper disaster at four this morning, and the baby's constant unhappy cry all night, she had barely slept a wink. Not even boot camp had made her this tired. It had not been a good night.
Noah's stitches had been torn, so they'd held him all day on the 31st just in case something else went wrong. Instead of transferring him yesterday he would be transferred at noon today. To top it all off, now her throat was scratchy, too. She hoped beyond hope that her giant glass of orange juice and vitamins would help fend off sickness.
Rubbing bleary eyes, she stumbled across the hall to Brody's nursery. The one-year-old was up as usual, bouncing up and down happily as soon as she entered the room.
"Mama, mama, mama," Brody chanted (mama being one of his two word vocabulary), arms straight up in the air.
Paige scooped him up and snuggled him close, running her hand over his short, velvet-soft sun-bleached blonde hair. "Morning, baby B," she greeted him with a yawn, rubbing his back.
Breakfast was much easier to make for two, and Brody certainly enjoyed being able to sit on her hip and alter between snuggling and wanting to help. Usually Sammy was in his current spot. They enjoyed the breakfast together, the scene nostalgically reminding her of the time when it was only Sammy in her life. It was almost hard to remember life without her four boys at this point.
The kitchen door opening drew her attention from her thoughts. Jared sauntered into the kitchen, a deep frown on his face as he kicked off his boots and glanced quickly under all surfaces.
"Morning," she greeted him with a huge yawn, scooping oatmeal into Brody's mouth as she tried to coach him the proper way to hold a spoon.
"Where in the world is everyone?" he wondered. "It's quiet as a tomb in here. It's never quiet in here."
"Owen and Sammy are sick, too sick to get out of bed. Dean's hunting, the dogs are in the fields with the hands, and the baby is asleep for now," she explained, punctuating it with another huge yawn.
"You look like death warmed over," he remarked as he pulled a chair towards him, straddling it backwards to rest his arms across the top. "Sleep okay?"
"Sleep?" she sighed, rubbing her. A faint smiled tugged at her lips. "What sleep?"
"Ah, one of those days, huh?"
"The very one," she agreed tiredly.
Jared leaned forward to drop a kiss to the top of her head. "Noah's being transferred to Cheyenne by eleven forty-five today. Apparently, he threatened life and limb if they made him wait any longer."
"I told him I'd go and get him," Paige said, clearing the dishes. "I was going to call Amy and ask her to watch the boys while I make the drive to Cheyenne, but then they got sick." She paused to wipe the oatmeal from Brody's face and hands. "I was thinking I'd call Lisa. Elliot took Abby to go visit her mom and Lisa gets off work in twenty minutes."
Jared grinned and tweaked her nose. "Better he gets picked up by you, instead of Amanda." They shared a laugh over Noah's younger sister, who had a reputation for ripping men three times her size to bits with her words or fists. Or knives. "He'll be a happy camper. From Mandy he'd get nothing but a whale-sized ass-chewing."
Paige laughed. "He was very relieved," she admitted. "I couldn't give him the cold shoulder when I could practically feel the puppy dog eyes through the phone."
"I'll come over when I'm done with the fences," he promised, eyes serious. "I miss hanging out with you, cos." Winking rakishly, he waggled his eyebrows. "I'll bring Rachel, and we can all beat up on Noah together. God knows even with one arm, it'll take the three of us."
"Okay," she agreed, rolling her eyes but grinning nonetheless. A moment of silence passed in which they only stared at each other, conveying things with their own secret language. The bond between them would remain unbreakable, thanks to their time in the Tank. Perhaps the only good thing that came out of said Tank.
Jared hugged her tightly. "We'll talk later," he promised. "I'll see you when you get back with Thunder Creek's resident Bullet Magnet."
Mock-shoving him out the door, Paige laughed and waved him off, watching him vault to his gelding's back and disappear towards the fields. The next few hours were a blur of dealing with sick and sniffling children, one very unhappy baby, and a bubbly one-year-old content to chew on crayons, nearly giving her a freakin' heart attack. Wax was not good for the digestive system.
Lisa arrived, waving off her thanks as she accepted Brody without complaint.
"Go get Noah," she said, smiling warmly. "Give him hell for me."
"Will do," Paige promised, hugging her and lifting Jace's car seat. She thanked her cousin's wife profusely and waved goodbye, loading her son into the suburban. By nine fifteen she was on the road for Cheyenne. It was nearly ninety degrees out, a hot day to be sure. She was glad she wasn't in the fields.
Jace dozed the entire drive, thankfully, as the endless fields rolled by. Before she knew it, she was pulling into Cheyenne Regional Medical Center's parking lot and maneuvering into a parking spot. She hefted the car seat and clipped it in place on the stroller, keeping the cover up so Jace would stay asleep. She then hurried across the parking lot to the hospital, looming six stories above her. A brief smile flashed at the JOHN B. NEWBERN II CARDIOLOGY WING. Hoorah for grandpa, she thought sarcastically.
The woman at the nurse's station was friendly and smiled warmly upon her approach.
"Can I help you?" she said politely.
"I'm looking for Noah Clayborne," she said, leaning against the counter and using one hand to rock the stroller forwards and backwards to keep her son asleep. "He was transferred from Cheyenne this morning."
"Ah. You mean the sexy as hell FBI Agent?"
Paige blinked. "Uh…yeah," she hedged, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Trust Noah to have half the hospital swooning within an hour of his arrival.
"Room 307."
"Thanks," Paige said, shoving the nurse from her thoughts as she hurried down the hall of the recovery wing. Raised voices met her ears before she was even halfway down the hallway. She easily picked out Noah and Cole's voices, as well as a third deep voice that was Agent Daniels, the man she'd spoken to on the phone.
"Noah, you got SHOT! You're off the fucking case until you recover, goddamn it!" Daniels was shouting. "Don't even TRY to argue with me, or I'll shoot you myself!"
"Damn it, Daniels, it's just a flesh wound! Besides, we both know me and Michael are the best at this," Noah shot back angrily.
"No freakin' way, Noah," Michael's voice cut in harshly, agreeing with Daniels.
"Oh, sure, side with him," Noah growled viciously. He sounded like a surly five-year-old. Granted, a pissed-off six-foot-eight five-year-old, but still…
"Boys, play nice," she suggested as she swung the stroller into Noah's room just in time to see Noah's fist half-raised in preparation to strike Corey in the face. Noah froze and lowered it quickly as soon as she entered the room.
Noah's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He was standing in only drawstring pants and white socks, arm in a sling and shoulder heavily bandaged. Before she could greet him he dragged her into a one-armed bear hug and proceeded to squeeze the breath right out of her.
"I adore you," he said cheerfully, relief evident in his tired voice, a deep rumble beneath her ear. She wrapped her arms carefully around his waist and squeezed gently before stepping away, fearful of hurting his shoulder.
"And I'm pissed at you," Paige said, wiping her eyes.
"Worried about me?" he teased, eyes sparkling as a grin tugged at his lips.
"No."
"Then what are the tears for?"
"Yes," she amended, rolling her eyes. "Someone has to worry about you, seeing as you don't worry about yourself, idiot." Her eyes took in his pale complexion and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Deciding to give him the cold shoulder for scaring her, she turned to Agent Daniels and introduced herself.
"We've met before," Daniel said, shaking her hand. He was middle-aged, about six foot, with brown hair and sharp brown eyes set in a serious face that rarely smiled. Small wonder, considering his job, she thought.
"Where's Cole?" Paige wondered, glancing around the room.
"Fled," Noah remarked, rolling his eyes. "Couldn't grow a pair to face someone a half a foot shorter than him." He sniffed, offended. "Let the record show I no longer consider myself related to him."
Paige rolled her eyes. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah, they released me twenty minutes ago." Noah scratched his chin. "Please tell me you brought the SUV."
"Of course," she remarked, watching him heft his bag onto his good shoulder, refusing the offers of help from his partner and boss. "I assume you have strict orders to rest?"
"I – " Noah was cut off by his boss before he could finish.
"And to take his pain meds," Daniels cut in. A sigh threatened to escape when he recognized the stubborn look on the agent's face. It was impossible to bargain with Noah when he decided to be stubborn as hell like this.
"Noah doesn't take morphine," Paige said as she pulled the now-awake Jace from his car seat, settling him into her arms, crooning down at him. "It makes him as cranky as a bear and gives him a splitting headache."
Daniels noted with interest that Noah seemed pleased as punch she was sticking up for him, his expression almost smug. Her next words made him grimace, however.
"He will be resting," Paige assured the senior agent, glancing up from Jace to meet his eyes. "If I have to tranquilize him and handcuff him to the bed frame myself, so be it."
Noah rolled his eyes, disgruntled. "I'll behave," he grumbled.
"Well, good. Because I'm sticking you with Ally, and she's miss Dragon Pregnant Woman right now," Paige said cheerfully, winking at him. Noah was looking at her like she'd just proposed he walked stark naked down main street in the middle of a blizzard.
Daniels chuckled at his Agent's expression, the chuckle turning into a laugh when Noah turned a murderous glare upon him. "I like this girl," he remarked, gesturing at Paige.
"They you'd love my sister," Noah muttered under his breath. "Shut up," he added in his boss' general direction. "Can we go, please? Before he says something I want to really kill him for?"
"Stand down, tiger," Paige suggested, bouncing Jace as she dug around in her diaper bag for his pacifier.
"Let me," Noah said, stepping closer. Before she could protest, he expertly lifted the baby from her arms and nestled him in a cradle against his massive chest. In the crook of his arm, the baby seemed to partly disappear. Paige smiled gently at the sight.
"What?" he wondered, noting her expression.
"You need to get married and have kids, Noah Clayborne," Paige informed him as she stuck the pacifier in Jace's mouth.
Daniels looked between the two, trying to pinpoint the depth of their relationship. It seemed close. Noah didn't take orders from just anybody, and to get such a shocked reaction from him, he would quite like to meet this Ally person. He turned to Michael. "I've never seen him like this," he whispered, watching Noah perch on the edge of the bed, cooing down at the baby.
"Jace is his godson," Michael explained, typing furiously on his cell phone. "We gotta get back to the team. The signs are cropping up in Lincoln, Nebraska now."
"Right."
The group said their goodbyes, Michael and Corey hurrying off to Cheyenne airport for a direct flight to Nebraska, while Noah and Paige loaded Jace in the car and headed back to Thunder Creek.
Noah Clayborne, resident Bullet Magnet, had never been so happy to be home.
Thunder Creek, WY
August 5, 2006
Paige nestled Jace in her arms and stirred the pasta sauce slowly, tasting it occasionally, one ear listening for any cries of pain or anger from the living room. Jace was awake but quiet, sucking on his pacifier, big blue eyes staring up at her. She planted a tender kiss on his soft forehead and buckled him into his bouncer, returning to the stove to cover the sauce. Noah and Ally were coming over tonight, and she was making Noah's favorite to make him happier, as an olive branch for sticking the injured agent with the heavily pregnant, short-tempered Ally. This way, however, Ally was keeping Noah on his toes and Noah was there just in case Ally started going into labor or something.
A loud cry from the living room claimed her attention. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried into the room just in time to see Sammy yank Brody's bear out of his grasp.
The one-year-old screamed louder, hands gripping the edge of the port-a-crib as he jumped up and down, fat tears streaming down his face. Paige snagged Sammy's arm and pulled him around to face her, wearing her Mom glare in full force.
"You give your brother back his bear this instant," she said threateningly. Sammy opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent when she lifted a finger. "Now," she repeated forcefully.
"Buh mommy," Sammy whined, lip wobbling. He reluctantly handed the bear back to Brody, who clutched it in his arms and laid down, rubbing his face into the soft fur as he dropped into nap-time.
"Go sit," Paige ordered, pointing to the time-out chair. "That's the third time this morning you've bugged him. I told you to leave him alone, and you didn't. Go."
Sammy pouted but plunked into the chair, eyes downcast. He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders to enhance the "I'm so pitiful" act. His feet swung childishly from the tall chair, furthering the image. Paige forced herself not to smile. Her boy was a masterful actor, that much was for sure.
Owen was intent on his Lego tower, tongue sticking partway out of his mouth. He didn't glance up when she sat beside him.
"What are you building?" she asked, ruffling his blonde hair.
"Wayne tower," Owen replied solemnly. Before the most recent hunt, Dean had bought him a Batman comic, and it had been his absolute favorite ever since. He scooted over slightly so she could help. "Mommy, when is daddy coming home?"
"As soon as he can, sweetheart," she promised, kissing the crown of his head. Worry swelled within her, worry that she squashed down slightly so Owen would not pick up on it. Dean had not called in days, which was unheard of. Something had happened, she could feel it, but had no way of reaching him. The Conclave had already realized all three of Sam, Dean, and John's cell phones had been shut down.
"How come Uncle Noah can't move his arm?"
Paige sighed and sat up, pulling the boy into her lap. "Uncle Noah's job is dangerous, buddy," she explained. "He got hurt."
Owen's wide eyes were full of concern. "Did a bad guy get him?" he whispered fearfully.
"Yeah, buddy. Sometimes the good guys get hurt, too."
"Have you gotten hurt, mommy?"
"A few times, bud."
He pondered that for a moment, studying her. Since she was fine, he was convinced Noah would be fine, too. "He'll be okay, right?" he asked, just to be sure.
"He'll be fine, bud. It will just take him a while to get better, that's all." She smiled at him. "He'll be throwin' that football with you again before you know it."
Placated, Owen nodded, picking at the edge of his shirt.
Paige smiled, noting the same nervous habit as Dean. "What's bothering you, Owen?"
"Is daddy going to go away like Johnny's daddy did?" he whispered. Owen glanced up at her, biting his lip. "Johnny says he woke up one day and his daddy wasn't there no more and his mommy said he went on a vacation with Jesus."
"Daddy's not going on a vacation with Jesus anytime soon, Owen," Paige said confidently. I hope, she silently added. She hugged him tightly, tucking his head under her chin.
"Will Uncle Chris ever come back from his vacation?"
Paige smiled against the top of his head. Oh, from the mouths of babes. Such innocence. "Maybe," she hedged, squeezing him again before letting him go. "Keep building your tower. I've got to go stir the sauce." Owen smiled up at her. "I'm making Uncle Noah's favorite meat sauce for the pasta."
"Awesome," he grinned, fears forgotten.
"Sammy, you can get up, now," Paige called as she stood and brushed her pants off. Sammy beamed at the news and raced over, diving down onto the carpet next to Owen.
"I help?" he said hopefully.
Owen sighed. "Sure, Sammy," he said, handing the younger boy a Lego. "Put it there…"
Their voices faded as she headed back to the kitchen, allowing her worry to surface now that Owen couldn't see. Dean should have called by now. He always called by now, or called to let her know he wouldn't be able to call very night. He never, ever kept silent like this. All she could hope was that he wouldn't make a liar out of her. The look on Owen's face if she had to tell him his daddy had gone on a vacation with Jesus was one she couldn't bear to see.
I'm not technically with Jesus, you know, a familiar voice quipped suddenly.
Paige jumped and squeaked, hand flying to hear heart. The voice infused her with warmth as it always did. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the voice to disappear.
Not a figment of your imagination here, Paige, Chris said softly. And for the record, Jesus isn't around very often. Not as far as I've been able to figure out, anyway.
You're in hell, what do you care? Of course he's not there.
Not exactly.
What do you mean, 'not exactly'? You sold your damn idiot soul to save me! she fumed.
Chris' voice had nothing to say to that.
Ar-Aren't you? she stammered.
I'll be around.
The warmth of his presence faded, and somehow, she felt more alone than ever.
Thunder Creek, WY
August 5, 2006
Ally & Sam's House
Ally ambled down the stairs, cradling her expansive stomach. Thirty-two weeks in, and at least two more to go… she sighed heavily and carefully made her way down the stairs, freezing in the doorway to the kitchen.
Standing with his broad-shouldered back to her, shirtless and rippling in his muscular glory, with drawstring pants so low on slim hips she could see the dimples in his lower back, stood Noah freakin' Clayborne.
Lovely. So it hadn't been a dream when Paige dumped the injured FBI Agent at her house to act as babysitter. "What the hell are you doing here?" she blurted without thinking. He spun to face her, boggling her mind with a long moment of extreme visual overload.
With his frame was impossibly tall and broad shouldered, with thick biceps and abs she could clean laundry on, Noah Clayborne possessed the body men envied, women lusted after, and artists longed to capture in masterpieces such as David. There was a light dusting of golden hair over his expansive chest, disappearing into his waist line, his pants so low she could see the creases of his sex lines and… Jesus, new train of thought, Baraldi!
Noah enjoyed the attention, leaning back against the counter. He winked at her when she finally met his eyes again. "Well, g'mornin' to you too, darlin'," he drawled, usual sexy smirk firmly in place.
Ally noticed the heavy bandage for the first time, a spot of blood dotting the gauze where she assumed the incision wound was. His sling was gone. She glared at him, not having the energy to fight until she had a cup of coffee. She poured herself a cup from the pot beside him, studiously ignoring the warmth radiating from his arm, only an inch from her own.
Her glare turned murderous when he plucked the cup out of her grasp halfway to her mouth and replaced it smoothly with his own.
"Decaf," he explained, eyes twinkling.
"And you're here, why?" she demanded, taking a sip. It irritated her that it was sweetened exactly the way she liked it. Damn him and his damn photographic memory...
His blonde eyebrows shot up his forehead. She envied him – she'd always wanted to be able to do that. "I can't stop by to visit a friend?" he purred, winking.
"At six in the morning?" she retorted, ignoring the way his voice did weird things to her joints. Turned them to water, to be precise.
Noah chuckled, a deep rich sound, and held up his good hand in surrender. "Orders from the Barracuda," he said, caving, not daring to poke the Dragon's temper with a stick at this hour. "But you didn't hear that from me."
Ally expelled a weary breath and rolled her eyes, taking another sip of coffee. It was so like Paige to stick her with a babysitter even when she didn't want one. Especially when she didn't want one. Over the rim of the cup she studied Noah's chest, in particular, his left shoulder, bruised and heavily bandaged.
"How's the shoulder?" she asked.
Noah shrugged – carefully and with one shoulder – and offered her a half-smile. "I wish I was with my team helping them hunt this demon," he admitted. "The idea I'm not there to watch their backs really makes me uneasy. Corey, however, is determined to keep my here at your mercy until I recover."
Ally's heart rate quickened at the mention of the Demon, the same Demon her own husband was currently hunting.
"Paige said the wall in Connie's house was carved with two words – Salvation and AZAZ. Any idea what they mean?"
Noah leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee, lost in thought while he hunted for an answer. "Salvation could mean anything," he said finally. "I think, though, that Connie was trying to give us a message."
"How so?"
"Salvation, Iowa," Noah said simply. "My team was called out in response to a local hunter's observation that there were signs of rising demonic presence and demonic signs like sulfur and electrical storms." He absently swirled the liquid around in his cup, staring down into the little mini-whirlpool. "I think Connie was coming to warn us the Demon was coming, but someone got to her first."
Ally shivered at the thought. "Oh my God," she choked, squeezing her eyes shut.
"God has nothing to do with it," Noah muttered darkly, pulling her gently into his good side. "Besides, she has to be fine, otherwise Paige would be freaking out."
"Paige knows something?"
"You seem surprised," he mused with a faint grin. "She always knows something. She's not telling, though, and I'm not pressing. It's probably not something I want to know, anyway."
Ally sighed and pulled from his embrace to lower into the nearest chair, almost moaning in relief as the pressure on her feet reduced. "Noah, do you know where my husband is?" she whispered.
Her directness didn't startle him, he was long used to it by this point. Before she could protest he dropped into the chair opposite her and settled his coffee mug on the table. In one swift move and using only one hand, he swept her feet into his lap. "Last I heard," he said conversationally, "he and Dean were in Salvation with John."
Gasping, Ally gripped the edge of the table tightly in her hands as his expert thumbs kneaded her feet with firm, gentle pressure, massaging away the aches and pains pregnancy created on her poor feet. "Doesn't that hurt your left hand?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"Not if I don't lift my arm," Noah said cheerfully. He watched her with an amused grin, holding her calves hostage between his thighs. She acted like no one had ever done this before. It dawned on him then that, probably , nobody had done this before.
"Is there anything you aren't perfect at?" Ally snapped irritably, relaxing completely to his touch, folding her hands over her belly. The massage was heavenly.
"A few things," he said vaguely, scooting his chair closer to work on her calves. "Hasn't Sam ever given you a massage before?"
Ally silently shook her head.
He privately thought Sam was both a jackass and a prude. Who didn't comfort their pregnant wife when it was half their fault she was in this situation in the first place? An asshole, that's who.
"Dean does," Ally mumbled absently.
A smile tugged at the corner of Noah's lips. "Of course," he agreed. "The two of them can't keep their hands off each other, even after four kids."
She laughed at that, a sound that warmed Noah's heart. "True," she agreed. "But then again, they're very…" she trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Nauseatingly adorable?" he offered. "Loving? Oohey-gooey? Lovey-dovey?"
"I don't know. They're just them." Ally shook her head and closed her eyes. "Do you remember when Dean first came here?"
Noah chuckled, moving her feet to one side to get better access to her upper calves, infused with so many knots it made his calves hurt just to work on them.
"I do," he said, focusing on her legs, "He came swaggering in like he owned the place and hit on Paige the second he saw her, nevermind the fact she was up to her elbows in mud." He grinned at the memory. "Man, she hated him. At first."
"Didn't she shove him in a water trough?"
"Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten about that," he grinned, moving back to her feet. "Dean and Chris clicked right away, though. One day with him and I was won over, too, especially after he spent the whole night in the arena with Donas to get Donas used to his presence. I was shocked to hell when I walked out the next morning to find him on Donas' back, walking around the arena calm as you please." He laughed richly, shaking his head. "Paige was pissed."
"It was sure fun watching them dance around each other." Ally shifted and wiggled her toes. "We took bets on whether they'd get together or not." She wrinkled her nose. "I voted against them. I've never been happier to be proven wrong." She cracked an eye open to study him. "What was your vote?"
Those perfect lips titled into a crooked smile. "For them all the way," he admitted instantly. "Don't feel bad, Al. Half the town did. You weren't around Dean as much as us guys. In six months he went from hitting on every woman he could see to doing absolutely anything and everything he could think of to make her smile." He shrugged and sat back, folding his arms. He didn't move her feet. Neither did she.
"Do you believe in soul mates, Noah?" Ally blurted out suddenly. She blushed pink when both his eyebrows shot up.
"Hello, random," he teased. She was being serious, though, so he reconsidered his answer. "Yes and no," he said hesitantly. "Do I think Paige and Dean are? Yeah, maybe. I think it's rare to find someone you click with so well, though. I think it worked so well for them because they were best friends first."
Ally mulled that over, starting slightly when one of the babies gave a hard kick. All at once, she slammed back to reality as her baby seemed to be saying What about dad, mom? "Sam should have called by now, Noah," she said quietly.
Noah sighed. "I'll call Daniels, see what he can find out."
"Thanks, Noah," she sighed, relieved. "For that and the massage. It was wonderful."
"Oh, I'm wonderful all over," he teased, waggling his eyebrows and smirking. He winked playfully.
Ally blushed scarlet. "Noah!" she protested, laughter bubbling up over her shock. "You are shameless!"
"You betcha," he agreed, standing and depositing her feet on his chair. "I'll go call Daniels. Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go?" she snorted, rolling her eyes. She was dozing off when Noah re-appeared, shaking her shoulder gently. "What's the deal?" she murmured sleepily.
"Sweetheart, look at me," Noah said gently, resting his hands on her shoulders. Wide brown eyes fixed on him. "Daniels managed to get a hold of John Winchester though one of his many phones. He, Sam, and Dean were in a car accident."
Ally's heart constricted as she started to hyperventilate, hands clutching his large wrists. Noah's clear blue eyes kept her grounded as the panic slowly subsided.
"John isn't sure about the boys, he was unconscious for four days due to his injuries. He'd only just woken up. He was blocked from a phone, that's why he didn't call."
Noah was startled when she went suddenly pale and gasped, her back arching. "What's wrong?" he demanded, quickly scanning her from head to toe.
"Noah, I need you to take me to the hospital," she said slowly and calmly, her grip like a vice on his wrists. "I just had a contraction."
It was Noah's turn to go pale, eyes going wide. He sucked in a deep breath.
"Oh, shit."
Paige forced herself to remain calm while she drove, thoughts whirling around inside her head. Noah's voice had been panicked as he announced that firstly, Ally was going into labor and secondly, her husband was in a coma at the hospital, and holy shit I don't know what do, they've stopped her labor but Pete is really worried and I'm freaking out because I've never done this before!
Maybe a long time ago, say before she knew about her husband, his panic would have been funny. This situation, however, was anything but. While she wanted to be with Ally, her contractions had stopped and she was stable, just being held at the hospital for observation and refusing to let Noah leave her side. Currently, Paige had her own problems: Dean, in the hospital. Dean, in a coma. Dean, barely holding on to life. It was her worst nightmare come to life.
Which found her in the car on the road to Amy's, with her sons and Levi in the car, to drop them off for a few nights while she flew to South Dakota to be with Dean and Sam.
"How long do we gotta stay with Auntie Amy?" Owen asked from the back seat. In the rearview mirror, she could see him leaning against Sammy's car seat.
"Just for a little while," Paige replied gently, proud of herself for keeping her emotions under control. Panicking was for later, not now, not when her boys could see her. "I have to go to Iowa to see daddy. He got hurt and he's in the hospital getting better, and needs mommy to be with him."
"How come we can't go, too?"
"Little kids aren't allowed in the part of the hospital they have your daddy, Owen."
"Jace gets to go!" he whined.
"Owen Michael, that's enough whining." Paige gave him a stern look in the rearview mirror as she turned onto Amy's drive, the gravel crunching under the tires as she pulled up to the Newbern family ranch house. She could see JB riding Titan bareback in the corral.
Amy hurried out of the house, Chris perched on her hip, grabbing Paige in a one-armed hug.
"Are you okay?" she said worriedly, green eyes earnest. "Noah just called, said Ally had a labor scare and is at the hospital and that Dean and Sam got in an accident and are at a hospital in South Dakota."
Paige hugged her back and confirmed the information. "I'm sorry to dump them on you like this, it seems like all I ever do nowadays," she said. "But I'm barely holding it together here, Ame." She forced back the tears. "I'm sorry, Ame. Thank you for watching them, though, I appreciate it."
"I'm your sister," Amy said gently with a warm smile. "You don't have to ask." She put her hand on Paige's shoulder. "Dean's strong, Paige. He'll be okay. I know he will."
With a deep breath, Paige forced back the tears and nodded. "Boys," she said to her sons, pulling them into hugs, and Levi, too. "Be good for Auntie Amy, okay? Be nice to your cousins and do what Amy tells you."
Paige kissed them all goodbye again, waved, hopped into the suburban, and drove away with Jace. Owen watched her tail lights disappear and looked down at his little brothers, slinging his arms over their slender shoulders.
He was their Protector now.
The soft breeze blew in his face, reminding him of times spent in the fields upon a horse's back at a full gallop, arms thrown wide in freedom. He opened his eyes to gaze at his personal savior, the question in his eyes easy to see.
"Why now?"
"There is a time for everything," his companion replied gravely. "Over time you will see what was stopped from being put into motion, but now is not that time. You told me once that you wished to find a way out of this place. Now, you have it."
He stuffed his hands in his pocket, lips pursed in impatience. "Yes, I know," he said darkly. "But why this way, and why now? Why when all of this is happening?"
"You play a bigger part in this than you realize. Pay attention, listen closely, learn, and above all, trust no one save family."
Stubbornly, he refused to move.
"He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation," his companion said simply.
"What does Psalm 24:4,5 have to do with this?"
"Stop being so stubborn and listen to your own mind. Your heart knows the path. It will not fail you."
"Wait!" he called as everything started to fade. "Will I see you again?"
"Perhaps, my friend," his companion replied warmly, a detached voice in the increasing darkness. "One day."
Hospital somewhere near Sioux Falls, South Dakota
August 5, 2006
Paige sat numbly in the hospital waiting room, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Dean was in surgery after a deadly car crash. Ally's was stabilizing at Thunder Creek Memorial, having gone into premature labor a month early, while her husband was here getting checked by the doctors. Noah was shot, and at the moment, healing from the hole in his shoulder. Connie was missing, location unknown, her secret weighing down on Paige with incredible, crushing force, darkened by the knowledge that her friend and old hunting partner could very well be dead.
Her world was collapsing around her ears.
Was this how Dean had felt when she was on the brink of death?
It felt horrible. Her chest was tight, constricted, and she couldn't draw a deep breath.
There was one thing keeping her from falling to pieces then and there, and he was currently sleeping with his face nestled into his blanket. A small, weak smile graced her lips as she looked down at her sleeping one-month-old son. It felt good, to have him so near.
The waiting room was chaos. She had settled herself in the corner, away from all other people, ignoring the curious looks as people studied the pretty blonde woman silently cradling a blanket-swathed infant.
It was too crushing, this atmosphere of death and sickness. She stood to stretch her legs, deciding a walk around the park across the street would do her good. Dean wasn't going to be out of surgery for hours, that much the nurses had assured her point-blank, thoughtfully tacking on the brutal "if the lives that long" to the end of the sentence, with about as much emotional sympathy as a rabid pit bull.
Jace stirred slightly, shifting in the blanket. She lifted him a little higher, smiling as he snuggled into her, oblivious to the dangers surrounding him and the fact that if Dean didn't get his stubborn ass act together, he might very well grow up without a father.
"He'll be okay, Jace," she whispered, brushing her lips over his downy forehead, breathing in his sweet baby sent. "Your daddy's tough, like you."
The doors opened with a soft whoosh and she skillfully weaved through the people bustling to and from the hospital, stroller being guided by one hand while the other arm held her son. She wasn't the only one headed for the park. It was a gorgeous day outside, not a cloud in sight, the sun warm and welcoming while children frolicked in the grass and on the playground and young couples sprawled on picnic blankets, making out like teenagers.
She settled onto a park bench, facing the hospital, and leaned back, inhaling the fresh air. Hospital air had always tasted stale to her, probably because she hated them so much. Thus far, they'd come to represent everything she was afraid of, discounting the births of her children, that is.
Time stretched on as she watched the people moving about their daily business. She settled Jace into his car seat, pulling the cover over to block the sun from waking him. She pulled out a book and desperately tried to get hold of her emotions again – she couldn't fall apart now, not when Dean needed her, and especially not when she didn't even know the extent of his condition.
A familiar prickle tickled the back of her neck. She glanced up from her book and froze, shock slamming into her with full force as her eyes went wide as saucers. The book fell to the grass with a soft thump.
Dark hair. Devilish blue eyes. A rakish grin and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The stubborn cleft in his chin, the sweet dimple in his cheek, the brush of his silky hair onto his forehead. Confident, standing there as if everything was perfectly normal, hands tucked into the pockets of his black trench coat, towering over her but smiling softly, patiently waiting for her to recover.
"Hey, baby girl."
"Oh my God," she breathed, choking on the words as a tear slid down her cheeks. "Christo," she breathed, almost silently, his lips curving into a small smile.
Those blue eyes stared back at her, nothing flickering in them at the mention of God. No demon.
Just a man.
But not just any man.
"Chris?"
E/N: That's all for now, folks. You probably hate me right now, but that's okay. I can deal with that.
Don't worry. I'm not leaving you hanging for too long. This story will have a sequel, never fear. Several, actually; my plan is to go through all six seasons, God help me.
I will post a teaser for the next story soon as the next chapter (so expect it if you've alerted this story) along with the date I will be creating the sequel and posting the first chapter. Don't worry, the wait won't be too long. Keep an eye out for it if you're interested: it's going to be called Fight the Good Fight. To those of you who don't know, it's named for an awesomely epic song by Triumph. :)
As always, and for the final time in this story,
REVIEWS=LOVE
Seriously, guys. Give me some love here! I've gotten barely any in the last few chapters.
Review=messaged teaser for sequel. Seriously!
Unless you want me to kill of a kid… or Noah... maybe that will get your attention… *sigh*