Chapter 11
The afternoon rolled into evening. As the sky darkened, Sam volunteered to get takeout. Dean and Sarah watched from the porch as the Impala took a left at the end of the driveway and drove out of sight.
"So what's next?" Sarah asked Dean.
"We're going to interview the farmer and the local vet," Dean said. "Hopefully we can track down the demon, and then get rid of it." He sighed ruefully. "One down, four bazillion to go."
"You make it sound so easy," Sarah said.
Dean shrugged. "I don't know if easy is the right word, but it's pretty straightforward."
Sarah studied her nephew. He was slumped in the Adirondack chair, his booted feet propped on the railing, eyes closed. They were emotionally drained, but they found themselves more peaceful. Sarah's confession had somehow absolved her of the guilt she'd been carrying for more than twenty years, and Sam and Dean were feeling a little grateful that, in their small circle of family, they'd discovered someone new.
It was too late for childhood, but not too late to know one another as adults. Unless, of course, Dean went to Hell in less than a year.
"Dean."
"Yeah."
"You need to let Sam help you."
Dean tipped his head back and opened an eye. "Come again?"
"You need to let him help you get out of this deal."
Dean drew a long breath. "He can't," he began, but Sarah was vehemently shaking her head.
"You listen to me," she said, her voice quiet but stern. "Losing my big sister was the worst thing that ever happened to me. She was my anchor and my compass. She was the place I always went, my safe spot. I am spending the rest of my life missing that – to this day." She stretched out her hand to grip her nephew's arm. "Dean. You are that for Sam. If there is a way, any way at all, to get you out of this, you need to try. And you have to let your brother try, too, because if the deal sticks, he needs to know he did everything he could. It's the only way he'll be able to go on without you."
Dean was astounded. "I … I didn't think of that," he whispered.
"Well. Now you have." Sarah patted Dean's arm and let go. "And one more thing?"
"What's that?" he asked, a little warily.
"Quit swiping the pot out of my greenhouse. You want some, ask. I have a private stash."
Dean stared at her for a moment, and then began to laugh. He laughed until tears stood in his eyes, pretending they were from mirth and not fear.
The following morning, Sarah was bundling the last of the smudge sticks into boxes when Sam and Dean crossed through the living room, dressed in suits.
"Wow," Sarah said. "You clean up nicely."
Dean gave a little bow. "Agents Perry and Tyler, at your service," he said.
"Do people fall for that? Has no one ever heard of Aerosmith?"
"You'd be surprised," Sam said. "People don't really listen. They just see the badge."
Dean pulled at his collar. "Let's go," he said. "The sooner we go, the sooner we come back, and the sooner I'm out of this monkey suit."
Sarah spent the morning finishing her weekly orders. She was almost done packing her SUV with boxes when a mail truck pulled into the driveway. She shaded her eyes and watched as it stopped halfway up, well past the mailbox, and Marion Swainer, the postmistress Sam and Dean had met their first day, stepped out.
"Hey!" Sarah called. "What brings you by?"
"Oh, I thought I might do a pickup," Marion answered. "I was driving by anyway."
Sarah smiled. "I'm almost done but thank you. It'll be less work for me to follow you to town. I just have to get your vase together."
Marion walked up the driveway, passing Sarah to look in the back of her car. "It's no bother. Besides, I wanted to ask – I'm curious. Who were those handsome young men?"
Sarah hesitated a split second, and then said, "I went to college with their mother. She died a long time ago, and they wanted to connect. That's all. They're nice kids. Joe and Steven, their names are."
"Are they still here?"
"Nope. Fed them dinner and sent them on their way."
Marion took another step. "Surely there's more to that story, Sarah."
Sarah drew in her breath sharply. A long-ago conversation hit her memory with the force of a blow. Marion, my goodness, please call me Sarah. Oh, no, you're Miss C. the flower lady. You'll always be Miss C. to me.
She took a step backward, down the driveway toward the street, and said, "You're not Marion."
Marion's eyes flashed black. "Well, now who else would I be?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Sarah took another step, this time moving toward the sage patch on her left.
"You can throw all the pretty flowers you want at me. It won't make any difference. I have some more questions." The Marion-thing advanced, forcing Sarah further into the sage. "You know, those nephews of yours are famous. My boss would have given quite a bit to work with them, especially Sam. But, alas, they killed him. Did you know that? Did you know they're murderers?"
"Get out of here," Sarah commanded.
"Where are they?"
Sarah stooped and felt on the ground. Her hand closed around a rubber hose. She straightened up and pulled it through her hands until she held the nozzle, never taking her eyes off Marion.
The demon snorted and advanced further. Sarah raised her hands, closing them both around the hose's nozzle as if it were a pistol.
"This isn't the Wizard of Oz, girl," the demon growled in Marion's voice. "Water isn't going to melt me."
"It might if it's blessed," Sarah answered grimly, and sprayed water at the demon's face.
She heard the Impala pull into the driveway behind her, the boys shouting. The Marion-thing howled. Her skin bubbled on her face. Horrified, Sarah eased up on the flow, and the demon lunged at her, snarling.
"I'm sorry!" Sarah shrieked, and opened the nozzle full force.
"Sarah! GET DOWN!"
Sarah didn't think; she dropped, even as Sam's hand was pushing her to the ground. She lost the hose and covered her head, risking a peek above her. Sam was on one knee next to her, his left hand clamped on her shoulder, his right hand extended toward Marion.
"Nos eiciam vos de nobis, quicumque haec legis!" Sam roared. "Et spiritus immudni, omnis sataanica potestates, omnes infernales impletis!"
Marion's head wrenched back, and black smoke billowed from her mouth. It hung in the air a moment, and then shattered into a vile explosion of sparks and sulfur. All the plants within a 15-foot radius immediately blackened and died. Sam and Marion collapsed at the same moment.
Sarah pulled at her younger nephew. "Sam? Are you all right?"
Sam struggled to his knees, breathing hard, shaking his head. He swiped a hand across his nose and left a smear of blood.
"The fuck was that?" Dean bellowed behind them. "Did you kill it? How did you kill it?"
Dean dropped on his other side, but Sam was leaning against Sarah. Even though he was double her weight, Sarah wrapped her arms around his chest and held on tightly. "Okay," she said, trying to calm her rabbiting heart. "We've got you. You're okay."
Dean laid a hand on the back of Sam's neck. "Easy, Sammy."
Sarah rested a cheek against Sam's back, still murmuring comforting nonsense. "It's okay, Sam. Breathe. You're all right." She hadn't had him in her arms since he was two years old – younger than that when he'd been comfortable enough to seek solace with her. He was shaking under her touch.
They stayed that way until Sam pulled back, palming a hand over his face. He took a deep breath. "Shit. Was that holy water?"
Sarah nodded.
"That's inspired," Dean said in admiration. "That's something my dad would have done. You're a hunter."
"I'm not really," Sarah corrected. "But I thought if I was shipping this stuff to people who believed in the power, it was an added assurance. I have a well. I had Father Leary bless it, and the stream that feeds it. I figured it couldn't hurt." She gestured toward Marion, who was starting to stir. "Will she be all right?"
"I've got her." Dean shook his head. "At the very least, you're a badass."
"Auntie Badass," Sarah said weakly. "I kind of like the sound of that."
Her heart was beginning to slow. Dean was helping Marion sit up, telling her she'd come to offer help to Sarah and fainted. Marion gestured to the withered plants and Dean shrugged, "I dunno. Boll weevils or some shit." Sarah giggled a little, trying to calm the hysteria that was welling within her.
Sam stood and held out a hand, helping his aunt to her feet. He looked at her with serious eyes. "I wish my dad had let us have you," he murmured, and pulled her into a hug when she lost her battle on her emotions and burst into tears.