Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mary unlocked her room and they trailed in, Clark bringing up the rear, drawn by the promise of a beer.
Sam knew Mary had persuaded him to come with them as she wanted to keep an eye on him after his head injury. She had tried to persuade both him and Sam to go to the hospital to get checked out, but they'd refused.
Sam felt physically fine now that it was over, though he was exhausted. He thought the nosebleed that worried Mary so much had just been the strain of using his powers for an extended period of time against such a strong force. He was more worried about Clark's head injury.
Well, that and what Mary had said, but he was trying to ignore that worry, not wanting to face what it might mean.
He put the box of things he'd brought out of the house down on the bed and then went into the bathroom to wash away the blood from his face that he hadn't gotten off with the towelettes in the Impala. His complexion wasn't reassuring, he was pale and his eyes ringed with dark shadows. He could see why Mary was stressed, but a hospital was the last thing he wanted. What could he even tell them to explain their concerns? He had no external injuries to excuse the nosebleed and headache he'd suffered. He'd be told to take it easy for a few days and watch out for more nosebleeds. He was too tired to care about reassuring his family to go.
He washed his face and dried it on the scratchy motel towel then went back into the room. Clark was sitting on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand and a look of awkwardness on his face.
Sam understood the feeling. The air was tense with unspoken words. Sam wondered if Dean was also trying not to think about what Mary had said to John, or if he was still consumed with what they had undergone and seen—their father.
It had been incredible to Sam. He now had actual memories of his father's face and voice that were his. He had finally heard the warmth in his father's voice, had seen the sparkle in his eye and knew what his frown looked like. It was a gift that had been over too soon.
"Let's look at your chest, Sam," Mary said.
"It's fine," Sam huffed tiredly.
"Then you won't mind showing us," Dean said, a slight smile curling his lips.
Sam unbuttoned his shirt and looked down at the small wound on his chest as Mary took the first aid kit from her bag and gestured for him to sit on the bed. There was crusted blood around the cut that made it look worse than it was, but it was shallow and Sam knew it was just going to sting to shower for a few days. He'd been incredibly lucky. If his power hadn't presented at that exact moment, he would be dead. He owed Clark his life—and his brother's—for training him.
It had been hard to keep the pipe away from himself, but surprisingly easy to do it to save Dean. His need to protect his brother had overpowered everything else. He had been terrified he would slip and Dean would be killed, and that fear had given him strength. He thought if he tried now, he would be able to do anything with telekinesis.
"It's not so bad," Mary said, peering at his chest.
Sam knew she was speaking to Dean more than him, as he had an occluded view from his place at the table, and he heard Dean sigh with relief.
Mary cleaned around the wound with antiseptic that stung and then covered it with a small, white dressing.
"There," she said, patting his shoulder. "Good as new."
"Thanks, Mom," Sam said automatically, buttoning his shirt.
She smiled and him and kissed his cheek. "I love you."
Sam smiled back, pushing aside the questions that sprung to his mind at her words. He knew he was going to need to ask them, even if only so he could ever sleep again, but he wasn't ready. In that moment, they were all okay, relieved at their survival and still feeling the aftershocks of the trauma and joy of seeing John. He didn't want to bring pain into that.
"Is it over, Clark?" he asked.
All eyes fixed on Clark and he took a moment to answer. "It's over. The poltergeist is gone, as is the other spirit that was there." He narrowed his eyes at Sam. "You already know that part though, don't you? Who was it?"
"It was our dad," Dean said quietly. "He was a ghost. He came and somehow made the poltergeist go."
Clark nodded and took a swig of his beer. For once, there was no antagonism in him as he interacted with Dean. He was restrained, kind. Sam was grateful for it. Dean was already dealing with too much. He didn't need more dumped on top.
"Why didn't we hear about attacks at the house?" Sam asked. "There had to have been more than those two kids."
"Maybe not," Clark said. "Your father's spirit could have been protecting people all that time."
Mary wiped at her eyes and she nodded. "That sounds like John."
"Why didn't we know Dad was a ghost though, Mom?" Dean asked. "We should have realized. We spent all these years hunting things and he was there alone."
Sam thought the question was pulled from him without his own volition, because he would never usually open such a personal topic with Clark there listening.
Mary sighed and sank down on the chair opposite him. "I never imagined he could be," she said. "There was nothing to tether him, no body. He was attached to something else. The house maybe."
"I imagine it was something in the house," Clark said quietly. "When he canceled out the poltergeist, he broke the tether. He would have moved on."
"To Heaven?" Sam asked hopefully.
There was expectant silence as Clark considered his answer, and when it came, it was carefully worded. "Spirits have to go somewhere. I don't know if that's heaven or not, but it's somewhere. He's not canceled out entirely. He is somewhere."
"It's Heaven," Mary said confidently. "No one deserves it more than your father."
Dean looked reassured, and he smiled for a moment before his expression became curious. "What did you bring out, Sammy?"
Sam pulled the box toward him and opened it. Mary gasped and lifted out the race track box with an awed look on her face. "I thought this had burned! Dean, it was your Christmas present that year. Your father hid it and I never knew where." She held it out and Dean took it.
"I remember this," he said in an awed voice. "I got one for my birthday."
Mary nodded, beaming at him. "You and your dad would play with it for hours. This is new track so you could make it even bigger. I think John wanted it for himself as much as he wanted you to have it."
Dean ran his hand over the surface of the box and blinked quickly. "Wow."
"There's photos, too," Sam said, lifting them out and handing them to Mary. She stifled a sob and wiped at her eyes. "I thought we had all the ones that survived. Look, Sam, this is the day you came home from the hospital."
Sam took the photograph and saw Dean sitting on a brown armchair with a bundle of blankets on his lap. A baby was vaguely discernable, its head resting in the crook of Dean's elbow, but that didn't hold his attention. It was Dean that entranced him. He was so happy. His young face was creased into a wide smile and his eyes were lit with pride.
He handed it to Dean who smiled down at it. "I remember that, too. Dad told me I was the big brother and it was a special job." He grinned at Sam. "I was really excited until you showed what a noisy pain in the ass you could be."
Sam forced a smile for him.
Mary took the tiny softball shirt out of the box and gasped. "Sam! Your father brought this for you himself!" She stroked the front, her eyes wet.
Sam took it from her and gasped as the outline blurred and he felt the prickle on his arm.
"Go ahead, Sam," Clark said.
Sam frowned at him. "How do you know?"
Clark smiled. "You can't miss an aura that bright. You can do it. You don't need help."
Sam considered a moment before taking a deep breath and allowing himself to sink into the vision. Clark was right; he didn't need help. It was so close and real that it was as if it was reaching for him, too.
He was standing in a blue painted nursery with a wooden cot and changing station against the walls and white rug on the floor. In the cot was a baby gurgling and standing over it was his father.
"Don't tell your mom I showed you, Sammy, but look what your daddy got you for Christmas."
He held the outfit over the cot, and the baby kicked its legs and blew a spit bubble.
"Knew you'd like it," John said with a smile. "Won't be long and we can get that mitt on you."
His eyes moved to a shelf where Sam spotted a tiny catcher's mitt sitting beside a porcelain angel.
Sam's lips curled into a blissful smile as he took in the scene. This was a gift he'd never imagined, even more than seeing his father in his old house. This was a slice of his life as it had been before the demon came. He was seeing his father with his younger self, and there was no mistaking the love in John's eyes as he looked down at him.
There was movement at the door and John quickly turned, stuffing the shirt behind him.
Mary came in and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
John's expression formed into one of innocence. "Just talking to my boy."
Mary pulled his arm from behind his back and she scowled as she saw the bundle of fabric in his hand. "John," she sighed. "It's a Christmas present. He's not supposed to see it till Christmas."
John grinned. "Don't be mad. I just wanted him to get a taste of what's to come. I think he understands me. He's smart."
Mary smiled fondly. "Of course he is. He takes after his father. Which makes it worse. You're spoiling the surprise."
John's frown became a smile. "Then let's put him in it now. It's his birthday after all."
Mary rolled her eyes. "I already told you, you don't celebrate six-month birthdays. It's only a little longer to wait. Besides, you're out of time. You're due at the garage in five minutes."
John sighed. "Back to the grindstone, Sammy. Your mom is a hard taskmaster."
Mary patted his cheek. "Yeah, I'm cruel."
John kissed her and said, "I'm going, I'm going. I'll be home before Dean goes to bed."
"You'd better," she said. "He's hard to settle unless he's said goodnight to you."
John kissed her again, tickled the baby's stomach, making him gurgle, and then headed out of the room.
Mary came to stand over the cot and said, "Your daddy's hopeless, Sammy. But that's why we love him, right?"
She reached in and lifted Sam out and into her arms, saying, "Let's go wake your brother." She carried Sam's young self out of the room, and then he as an adult pulled himself out of the memory with a gasp.
He felt all eyes on him and he quickly wiped at the tears on his face. He had just experienced the most amazing thing, and it was breaking his heart because he knew now he had to ask the question that scared him. Before the end of the same day he'd just witnessed, the demon would come into his nursery and his father would be killed.
He had to know how that had happened.
"What did you see, Sammy?" Dean asked curiously, his smile expectant.
Sam shook his head and turned to Clark who was watching him cautiously. "Can you give us a minute, Clark?" he said. "I need to talk to my mom."
Clark got up without a word and walked to the door. He opened it and then turned back and looked at Mary. His expression solemn, he said, "It's time, Mary," and then left, letting the door swing closed behind him.
Sam looked at his mother, seeing past her worried face and concentrated on the glow that surrounded her. It was muddy pink still, a little darker, and he knew that it wasn't immaturity now.
"Sit down, Mom," he said firmly.
"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked as Mary took the seat across from him.
Sam didn't answer. Instead, he fixed his eyes on his mother and said, "I have to know, we have to know, what you meant when you were talking to Dad. You said it was your fault, your debt. Why?"
Mary seemed to crumple. Her shoulders sagged and her back bowed. Her face creased into lines of sadness, and as she wiped a hand over her forehead, Sam saw it was shaking.
"Mom?" Dean said, concern etched into his brow. "What's wrong?"
"I can't…" Mary said weakly. "I…"
"You don't have to do anything," Dean said quickly. "Does she, Sam?"
Sam didn't answer. He waited until Mary looked at him and he nodded to her.
"I will tell you, but I need you to stay and listen to it all. Please, let me finish before you say anything," she begged. "I need you to understand. And whatever you think or feel, remember I love you both more than anything in the world. And I loved your father. I never would have let him be hurt if I'd known."
Sam's heart began to hammer against his ribs, and he wanted to stop her before she said anything else, before something between them could break, but he forced himself not to retract his question. "I'll listen."
Dean reached across the table and cupped Mary's hand between his own and said, "It's okay, Mom. Whatever's happened, we'll understand."
Mary smiled sadly and then fixed her attention on her hand where it was held between Dean's and said, "I've been hiding something from you. I never told another soul what I did, not even Bobby. I have kept this secret for thirty-two years because I was scared and then ashamed." She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek. "Exactly ten years before you were born, Sam, I made a deal with a demon."
Dean's hands withdrew to his lap and he stared at his mother, stricken.
Sam felt numb. The words should shock him to his core, his mother had made a deal, but he felt nothing. It was the way he'd felt after he woke in the hospital. He knew how he should feel, but there was nothing there. His neutral expression didn't even flicker.
"The deal was for your father's life. It was the yellow-eyed demon. He'd possessed my father and killed John, snapped his neck, and he'd already killed my mom. I was alone. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. The Demon told me he would bring John back if I made a deal. He didn't want my soul. He wanted permission, that's all. He told me if I let him come into my house in ten years and didn't interrupt, no one would be hurt." She stifled a sob. "I thought I had to do it. I could see my whole life ahead of me, my family gone, John dead, and I couldn't bear it. I made the deal."
"But Dad interrupted," Dean said in a dead voice.
"Yes," she sobbed, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "When ten years passed and Sam was born safe, I thought it would be okay. Weeks went by, and then months, and I believed it had come and gone, done what it wanted and left without being interrupted. I thought we were safe. But then I heard your father that night, and I knew it was there. I had killed him with my deal."
Dean turned away from her, his eyes filled with tears and his hands shaking on his lap.
"Do you know what it did to me?" Sam asked tonelessly.
"To you?" Dean asked with concern.
Sam nodded. "It did something to me. Clark says there's something in me that is blocking my powers. It's in my blood. The demon did something to me."
"No!" Mary said, stricken. "It can't have. It's just grief. It didn't do anything to you."
Sam shrugged. "It came for something. I am different. It had to have been the demon."
"Sammy…" Dean said, getting to his feet and putting a hand on his shoulder. Sam dodged away from the touch and Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy?"
"It doesn't matter," Sam said getting to his feet and making for the door.
Dean rounded on Mary, fury on his features. "Look at him!" he growled. "Look what you've done!"
"I'm sorry," Mary sobbed.
"Are you?" Sam asked mildly. "I can't tell."
"I am," Mary said through her tears. "I loved your father so much, and I would have died for him if I could. Without that deal I would have lost him ten years earlier. I would never have had you and Dean. I shouldn't have hidden it from you, I know that now, but I made the deal for a reason. It gave me ten extra years with John, and it gave me the sons I love. For your life, for both of your lives, it was worth it."
"And Sammy?" Dean asked. "Is it worth what happened to him, what that demon did? Is it worth the pain he's in now?"
"I'm not in pain," Sam said dully. "I'm not anything."
Dean's face paled. "You don't feel again?"
Sam shrugged. "No."
Dean rounded on his mother and his hands fisted. "Look at him! Look what your lies did. Why did you have to tell us? We didn't need to know."
"I couldn't lie anymore," she cried.
"Why not?" Sam asked with no emotion in his voice. "You've lied to us all our lives. Why does it matter now?"
Mary covered her face and sobbed into her hands.
Dean grabbed Sam's arm and towed him out of the room. "Come on, Sammy," he growled. "Let's get out of here."
Sam allowed himself to be led out and into their room where he sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as Dean paced up and down, his hand clenching and relaxing as he breathed hard through his nose.
"The hell with this!" he snapped eventually. "Let's get out of here. There's a bar around the corner."
"I don't want to drink," Sam said. "You go."
"I'm not leaving you here alone!"
"You should," Sam said calmly. "I want you to."
He didn't truly care if Dean was there or not, but he knew Dean needed to get away, to drink and think in peace.
Dean stared at him for a moment and then said, "Okay, Sammy, I'll take my phone. If you want me for anything, anything at all, call."
"I will."
Dean hesitated a moment before pulling open the door and striding out of it. Sam watched it close behind him and he sighed. In a way, it was a relief to feel nothing, as he thought feeling these things the way Dean was would be too painful to handle, but he also knew it was wrong to be like this again. That should matter to him. What if it affected his powers? He needed to train them if nothing else. That felt like it mattered, like it was the only thing that mattered.
He drew a breath and fixed his eyes on a book on the table. He reached out his mind and lifted it. It was harder than it had been to hold back the pipe because of his exhaustion, but he could do it. It hurt less that it had before, too.
He relaxed his grip and the book dropped back to the table. He just stared at it for a moment, noting the aura around it, and then nodded to himself. He still had telekinetic abilities, and from the tingle in his arm, he thought he had visions, too.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let himself sink into it. It was easier than ever before. Apparently, it was easy to be calm when you felt nothing.
He was in the cemetery again, looking at the graves spread out in front of him. He was close to the entrance, and in front of him were two figures leaning against each other as they walked across the grass. It was Elizabeth and Michael, and in Elizabeth's hand was a small bouquet of flowers.
Sam followed them to the grave and watched as Elizabeth lifted a wilted bouquet and replaced it with fresh. They weren't speaking, but Michael was rubbing her back comfortingly, and Sam thought they didn't need words anymore.
He looked around the other graves, wondering if there was going to be danger in this one that he hadn't seen before. He knew that he should be worried, but he didn't feel it. He was still numb.
He saw a shape beside a tree in the distance, and he squinted at it, trying to make it out. The sun was too bright though, and as he lifted his hand to shield his eyes, the figure came into focus.
He started jogging forward without thought, drawn to the person he'd seen. As he grew closer, he realized she was wearing the same clothes from his dream, and her hair was spread around her face the exact same way.
"Jessica?" he gasped, a flood of emotion rushing through him so intense it made him heady.
She stared straight through him, tears on her cheeks, and Sam looked back to see what she was looking at. It was her parents, her mother in her father's arms and his face buried in her hair.
Sam turned back to Jessica and reached for her, wanting to comfort as the waves of love and sadness swept through him, but before he could make contact, there was a loud thud and laughter, and he was blinking back to awareness in his and Dean's room, hearing the sounds of the people in the next room. His head was pounding, but it didn't seem to matter.
The numbness that had protected him from his mother's confession was gone, but he didn't feel anger toward her. He felt nothing toward her at all in that moment. He was consumed with Jessica.
He had seen her. She had been there, watching her parents. She was dead, he knew, he'd seen her burn and then watched her body being buried in the ground, but she had been there, watching her parents mourn.
She couldn't be alive, that was impossible, but could she still be there? He had no idea how his visions really worked, what else he was capable of seeing, but after an encounter with one ghost of someone he loved that night, he thought there was a possibility of another.
Was it possible she was there, waiting for him, that she had been waiting for weeks for him to come?
He had to know.
He got to his feet and grabbed his duffel from under the bed and began to stuff his clothes into it. He went into the bathroom to grab his wash kit and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed with color and his eyes bright. He had not seen himself looking like this for weeks, not since the day Jessica died.
This was how he looked with hope.
So… The secret is out at last and Sam has something new to cling to.
This is where this part of the story ends, but there is more to come in Another Last Goodbye which will follow soon.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx