Title: Endings & Beginnings Chapter 6 of 7
Author: Gillian Middleton
Characters: Sam & Dean
Rating: G
Total word count: 5100
Warning: A baby story. Angst.
Summary: Alternate universe story - Dean & Sam search for help against the coming demon.

But All Endings Are Also Beginnings

Part Six

By Gillian Middleton

"Lydia Morgan," Sam mused. "Morgan Fishing & Hunting Lodge. Is it just me, or are you getting that whole Walton family vibe here?" He indicated and turned into the gas station, then chuckled and pointed at the sign. "Morgan's Gas & Go. These guys have got a monopoly."

Dean climbed out of the car and stretched tired muscles, then shivered in the frigid air. He opened the door and unbuckled Maddy from her carrier, making sure her wooly hat was pulled down over her ears. "As long as they have a bathroom," he said wearily.

"Maddy's gonna need a car seat soon, she's getting too big for that carrier," Sam pointed out, lifting her from Dean's arms and sitting her up high against his shoulder. The baby clutched at his hair with mittened hands, and Sam gathered her little blanket around her more securely.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, pushing his fears for the future away. They'd driven through the night and the better part of that day, and every inch of the way Dean was aware of the minutes and the hours ticking away like a clock in his head. The temperature had dropped the further south they traveled, and now the radio was warning of a January storm to rival the Blizzard of '96. Dean had struggled to keep Maddy warm against him in the front seat, before finally giving in and tucking her into her carrier around dawn, sitting back in there with her to feed and change her while Sam drove. Even now, safe as she was in Sam's arms, it was difficult not to be next to her, one hand touching her, keeping her safe.

Dean filled up the tank and then Sam led the way into the store and headed to the counter. The interior of the store was toasty warm and Dean felt his nose tingle as his flesh warmed rapidly. His heart seemed to be beating a mile a minute in his chest. This was where they found out if they'd just driven hundreds of miles for nothing.

"Hi," Sam said, giving one of his dimpled smiles to the young man behind the counter. The guy lowered his hotrod magazine.

"Just the gas?"

"Thanks." Sam handed over the cash. "Uh, we're looking for a Lydia Morgan, do you know her?"

The young man smiled. "You'll have to be a bit more particular than that. We've got three Lydia Morgan's around here now, and two who used to be Morgan before they got married."

"This one would be quite elderly," Dean said. "Like in her eighties?"

"Oh, Mamaw Morgan?" the young man said. "You're on the right road anyways."

"You mean she's still alive?" Dean asked, allowing himself a glimmer of hope.

"Mamaw? Hell, they'll have to kill her with an axe. Her mother lived to be a hundred and three, and they say her grandmother was older then that when she passed on. Mamaw ain't going anywhere any time soon."

Sam shot Dean a hopeful glance. "I don't suppose you have a map of the mountain?"

"Sure." The man pulled out a folded brochure and opened it up. "The lodge is real popular this time of the year, especially now they have a ski board run, so the road's been plowed this morning." He traced a finger along the map, then peered out through the frosty window at the car. "Sweet ride. But you boys are gonna need snow chains if you want to drive up to Mamaw's. It's not so bad now, but the forecast is predicting a heavy fall by tonight." He looked from Sam to Dean. "We rent 'em out here, if you need 'em."

888

Dean took over the wheel for the slow drive up the mountain, and without a word Sam climbed into the backseat next to Maddy. Dean nodded at him gratefully. Despite their worry and Sam's grief, the last few months had been the best Dean could remember in years. Dean could admit now how much he'd missed Sam while they'd been apart. It didn't matter who else he'd been with, what he'd done to fill the empty days, it had been as lonely as hell without him. Even Maddy, who'd brought him back to life, hadn't been able to change that.

Sam loved Maddy too, and Dean took comfort in that. Once Jennifer had walked out Dean had had Maddy to himself, and preferred it that way. He'd been taking care of her by himself pretty much since she'd been born anyway. But now he was sharing her with Sam, and it surprised him how easy it had been, how quickly Sam had taken to it.

It was even easier for Dean, of course. It wasn't that long ago he'd been taking care of Sammy. Maddy was smaller, and a girl, but it wasn't that different. Food goes in one end, comes out the other. Keep all the bits in between clean and warm. It was common sense mostly.

"The storm's getting worse," Sam said uneasily. Dean glanced at him in the mirror, saw him gazing worriedly out into the snowy trees. "I hope this woman can help us, because I don't think we're gonna be driving back down this mountain any time soon."

It took half an hour to climb the winding road, but the mail box was just where the guy at the gas station had indicated, and Dean turned down the narrow track and pulled up carefully in front of the house.

It actually looked more like a log cabin, but huge and sprawling, with a wide deck on the front. They were peering through the windows at the house when the front door opened and a bulky figure emerged, a coat around her shoulders and a bright scarf over her head and knotted beneath her chin.

"Well, don't just sit there!" she called, flapping her arms. "Come on in out of the cold!"

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam and pushed open the door, huddling into his layers of clothes. Sam handed him Maddy and Dean pulled the blanket up over her head and tucked her into the crook of his shoulder.

"Get that young'en in out of the weather, it's snowin' like a big dog out here," the woman scolded, holding a hand out in welcome as Dean climbed the wooden stairs. "It's nice and warm in Mamaw's kitchen, you boys come on in."

Dean and Sam stamped their feet on the mat inside the door, while the old lady fastened it closed behind them. She pulled off the woolen scarf wrapped around her head and surveyed them with bright eyes.

"The Winchester boys, ain't it?"

Sam gaped and the little old lady chuckled. Her hair was as white as the snow she brushed off her shoulders, and her skin was tanned and lined. She looked ancient, but there was still a wiry strength in her hands as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on a hook by the door.

"You're a psychic?" Dean asked, too tired and strung out to think of a more polite way too ask.

The old lady laughed again. "Lord love you, no. That's a burden I'd never want."

Sam quirked a rueful smile.

"Now you let me take that young'en," she said, and Dean looked over at Sam again, who shrugged.

"Don't you worry," the old lady said. "I'll take good care of her while you boys take those jackets off. Don't want the damp gettin' into your bones, do you?"

Dean reluctantly handed Maddy over, watching closely as Mamaw pulled the blanket back and exposed Maddy's face. The baby rubbed her eyes and wriggled, unhappy with the close swaddling in the warm cabin. "Oh, look at them little apple cheeks," Mamaw crooned. She pulled the blanket away and slipped off Maddy's woolly hat, ruffling her blonde hair. "You must be ready to wriggle those toes of yours, after that long drive, yes?" Mamaw cooed. "Yes?"

Dean hung his jacket on a peg next to Sam's and followed Mamaw into her kitchen. Pots simmered on a huge stove that radiated warmth through the room. Dean felt the tense set of his shoulders relax a little in the cozy atmosphere.

"Ma'am?" Sam said politely. "How did you know we were coming?"

"Well, that's no trick," Mamaw said, settling back into a chair at the table, Maddy on her ample lap. "Most everyone on this mountain is kin to old Mamaw. I had a dozen calls the minute your wheels set on my road."

"But how did you know our name?" Dean asked, sitting down at the well-scrubbed old table. Sam sat next to him and held his hands out to the warmth of the stove. His knuckles locked chafed and raw from the cold weather.

"That was the clever part," Mamaw said complacently. "My great grandson, down at the gas station? He called and told me you was coming, raving about that shiny car of yours. Course I remembered right off that same car sitting in my drive, oh, must be twenty years ago now." Mamaw laid a kiss on Maddy's soft curls and the baby craned her neck and smiled happily up at her. "I guessed you were John Winchester's boys, and I was right, wasn't I?" Her birdlike eyes sparkled and Sam smiled at her.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, then frowned. "I thought you didn't have a phone?"

Mamaw chuckled. "It's 2005, son. Everybody has a phone."

Sam smirked at Dean and Mamaw wrinkled her nose. "Although, come to think of it, I didn't have one back when your daddy came calling. I was a lot younger then. My grandchildren fuss over me something terrible now." She smiled, seeming quite pleased with the idea. Then she sobered a little. "I heared your daddy passed on. I was right sorry about it. He was a good man."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said sadly.

"Now," Mamaw said, a little more briskly. "None of that ma'am stuff! You call me Mamaw, same as everybody else. That means Granny to you outsiders."

"I'm Sam," Sam said. "That's my brother Dean. And that's Dean's daughter, Maddy."

"She's sure got her daddy's eyes." Mamaw nodded. "And her granddaddy's dimple too, not that I got to see it much." Mamaw nodded to the cups and saucers laid out on the table. "There's hot tea in the pot, it's getting stewed just sitting there. Pour us a cup, will you, Sam?"

Sam obliged, pouring steaming tea into the rose-patterned cups. Dean watched as Maddy sat contentedly on the old lady's lap, long little fingers fiddling with her row of woven bangles. He'd never seen his daughter take to anyone as quickly as she had to Mamaw Morgan. Except for her Uncle Sammy.

"Now what brings you boys up my mountain in this terrible weather?" Mamaw said, nodding thanks when Sam laid her tea cup next to her.

"If you knew our dad, then you know why," Dean said.

Mamaw nodded. "It's a demon then," she said shrewdly, and Dean couldn't help huffing a small chuckle. This little white haired old lady in her apron smock with bright daisies stitched on it, sitting in her kitchen with a cup of tea and a baby on her lap. Talking so matter-of-factly about demons.

Mamaw's eyes twinkled. "I know what you're thinking," she accused cheerfully. "Old Mamaw looks like she's fit for no more'n bakin' biscuits and puttin' up preserves, right?"

"No, ma'am," Dean said respectfully. "I know better than to judge a book by its cover." He looked around the large room, at the hand painted tiles and the stiff gingham curtains. "You just don't look like any demon hunter I've ever met."

"Lord love you," Mamaw chuckled. "I don't hunts 'em, son. I just sends 'em back to hell where they belong." She smiled at him kindly. "Now, tell me about this demon. You boys been huntin' all your life, this must be a bad'un if you need old Mamaw's help?"

"It's not just any demon," Sam said. "It's the demon that killed our mother twenty-two years ago. And my girlfriend two months ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Mamaw said gently. "But how do you know it's a demon, Sam? Your dad sure didn't when he come here all them years ago."

Sam took a deep breath and launched into his story. Mamaw listened carefully, nodding her snowy white head and patting Maddy gently. When Sam was done she looked at him closely, her curious, birdlike eyes bright.

"You never had dreams like that afore, Sam?"

Sam shook his head and Mamaw nodded again, face thoughtful. "When your daddy come to me twenty year ago, he asked me then if'n I thought it coulda been a demon that come that night."

Sam leaned forward in his chair. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't know." Mamaw lifted one hand in a helpless gesture. "I told him I'd never heared anythin' like it afore. But now..." She heaved herself to her feet and held Maddy out to Dean.

"Take your girl, Dean. I want you to see something."

Dean accepted Maddy back into his arms and followed the old lady out of the room and into a long dim hall. Sam's footsteps faltered and Dean looked back over his shoulder curiously. Sam was looking around the hall, from the old black & white photographs on the walls to the vase of dried flowers on the small hall table.

"I keep this room redd up for visitors," Mamaw said, pushing open a door. Dean caught only a glimpse of the room's interior before Sam was catching his arm with a hand like a claw.

"This is it," Sam said numbly and Dean looked from his brother's shocked face to Mamaw's nodding head. "This is the room from my vision."

"I thought it might be," she said.

And inside Dean's head the clock ticked louder.

888

Mamaw bustled around the stove, stirring a pot and adding a pinch of salt.

Sam sat back at the table, his face distracted.

"Give the baby to Sam, Dean," Mamaw ordered briskly. "He looks like he needs somethin' to hold onto."

Dean eased Maddy into the crook of his arm and Sam blinked up at him, his face still dazed and pale. And then he took Maddy and sat her on his lap, her fair curls resting against his chest. "It's okay, Sam," Dean said quietly. "We knew it was coming, right?"

"Lay those bowls on the table, son," Mamaw ordered, nodding to a huge old dresser bristling with china. Dean laid out four bowls and took his own seat at the table as Mamaw placed a steaming pan on an old iron trivet and lifted the lid. "Mamaw's Golden Apple Oatmeal," she said, picking up bowls and ladling out heaped helpings. "Perfect for this weather. It's nice and sweet and good for shock too. You boys look like your eyes are gonna swaller your faces."

Dean obediently picked up a spoon, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Outside the snow fell thickly, cutting off their only means of escape, even if they'd been inclined to run. Dean's instinct was to pack his family back in the car and leave this place behind them. He caught Sam's eyes and saw the same look there, followed by regretful resignation. Running wouldn't solve anything. They'd been running their whole lives and this thing had still found them when they least expected it.

Mamaw handed Sam a spoon and nodded towards the baby on his lap. "Why don't you see if Maddy wants some, Sam," she said gently. "Blow on it first, mind, don't want to burn her."

Dean watched as Sam scooped up a spoonful of the warm oatmeal and blew on it gently. His brother's face grew less distracted as Maddy's little tongue came out and she smacked her lips thoughtfully around the warm treat. Sam even smiled a little as Maddy accepted a morsel from the end of the spoon and gummed it happily. Dean met Mamaw's eyes gratefully, acknowledging the clever distraction.

Sam really did look like he was suffering from shock, his skin was pale and his eyes looked huge and glazed. Dean wondered if some part of Sam had doubted this second vision. Had he half-wondered, half-hoped he was wrong this time? Seeing the very site of his dream must have dashed that possibility once and for all.

Dean tried to hold onto his own hope.

"You boys have sure brought a heap o' trouble to my doorstep," Mamaw said, spooning up her own oatmeal and chewing appreciatively.

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "We didn't have anywhere else to-"

"Don't you fret about it," she interrupted, waving her hand airily. "My family, we've had the knowin' of demons and the like for five generations, and that's just about as far back as anyone can count. It's a gift passed down through the family, although, truth to tell, there's some as calls it a curse." She nodded at Sam perceptively. "Reckon you've learnt that for yourself, son. Hm?"

Sam nodded, scraping the spoon around Maddy's mouth to collect stray oatmeal. "It seemed as if it was," he admitted. "But then I thought that if we could change things... If we could stop it from happening then maybe it was a gift after all." He shook his head. "But now I don't know. If I hadn't had the vision, we wouldn't be here. And here is where it's coming."

"And is it comin' because you came here?" Mamaw seemed to finish his thought, and Sam stared at her blankly for a moment, and then nodded. "Put it from your mind, son. This thing was gunnin' for your family long before you had these visions. Who knows why demons do what they do? For all I knows about 'em, and I knows a lot, I don't know that."

"Then you can help us?" Dean asked, searching her lined old face.

"I don't have much choice," she returned. "I've faced demons, son. I can face any demon there is. But the price of that is havin' to face any demon there is. It might be a gift, but it don't come for free. There's always a price, and that's the one we pay."

Dean absorbed this, stirring his spoon through his untouched oatmeal, watching the steam rise and curl over the china bowl. "Can you kill it?"

Mamaw shook her head. "No. This isn't one of them shades of a demon, them puffs of smoke and darkness what pour into a man and dance him around like a puppet. This is a demon walking the earth his own self, powerful and full of evil. There's ways of killing such things, so I've heared. But I don't have the knowin' of it."

Dean closed his eyes, then opened them again as Mamaw reached out and slapped the back of his hand.

"Take that tragic look offa your face," she ordered. "I can't kill it, but I can surely send it back to hell. And that's a firm promise."

Sam looked hopeful. "You can exorcise it?"

Mamaw nodded, face creasing in a broad smile. "Lord love you, son. That's what I do. I started learning the rites at my Meemaw's knee, when I wasn't much bigger'n that young'en you're holdin' there. I know a rite for every day of the year, and I've no doubt, with the good Lord's help, I'll know the one that'll work on your demon the minute I sets eyes on it."

The certainty in her sweet old voice was so strong that Dean felt hope stir in his own breast.

"You sound very sure," he said.

Mamaw nodded. "Pride is a sin," she confided, eyes twinkling. "But I always thought false modesty was a darn fool game to play as well. Don't you worry, boys, I can send it back to hell where it belongs, that ain't what worries me."

"What does?" Sam asked.

"Summat this powerful," Mamaw said slowly. "It ain't gonna stay where I send it. The damn thing'll claw its way back, I guarantee. I'm not solvin' your problem, boys, so much as givin' you a bit of breathin' time."

"Time to find a way to kill it," Dean said, mind racing. "How much time?"

Mamaw shrugged expressively. "I don't know. Could be five years. Could be twenty. I just don't know. Mebbe I can tell you more when I've faced it. And that brings me to my biggest concern." She scraped the last of her oatmeal from her bowl and pushed it away.

"What concern?"

"Well, a body that's possessed, there's no problem cornering it, trapping it in place with the right words or symbols. Even holy water stops the poor, pathetic creatures in their tracks. But a really and truly demon... It ain't just gonna lie there and wait politely while I speak the words at it."

Dean looked at Maddy sitting happily on Sam's lap. She'd given up on the oatmeal and Sam had handed her the spoon, which she was gumming busily. It was terrifying to think what a demon might do to something so small and fragile, especially one enraged by an exorcism.

"What do we do?" Dean asked numbly.

Mamaw shrugged again. "I'm gonna have to think on that," she admitted. "I ain't never faced one so powerful afore, and especially not right here in my own home." She rubbed at her chin for a moment or two, then glanced at their untouched bowls and frowned. "You boys need to eat," she chided. "And then get some rest. You'll be no good to me or your girl there if you collapse."

"I don't think I can go into that room," Sam admitted and Mamaw nodded her understanding.

"Don't worry, son. I'll redd up my room for you. We've got hours till sunset, and you boys look like you haven't had a proper sleep in a month of Sundays."

"Feels like it too," Sam admitted, then took up a scoop of oatmeal and tasted it. A surprised smile flashed across his face. "This is good," he said.

Mamaw stood up and tapped his arm smartly. "Don't sound so surprised. Dean, you finish that bowl up as well, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dean tried a spoonful and thought it probably would taste pretty good, if it weren't for the taste of ashes in his mouth.

888

Dean lay Maddy down in the center of the bed and laid a folded cloth on her chest to prop her bottle on. Eager little hands caught the sides of the bottle as Dean pressed the teat to her lips, and she half closed her eyes blissfully as she suckled.

"She's grown so much just in the last few months," Sam said wistfully, settling down on his side next to her.

Dean lay down on her other side, sighing a little as he stretched out on the warm comforter. "You should have seen me with her the first time I picked her up. I was scared to touch her, she was so small."

"Yeah?" Sam laid his hand gently on Maddy's round little belly, long fingers rising and falling with her breathing. Dean couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"You would have been able to pick her up with one hand," he mused.

Sam smiled, stroking Maddy's tummy as she contentedly fed. "Hey, Dean? Do you think she has Dad's dimple?"

Dean studied the way Sammy's own dimple creased in and out when he smiled. "Yeah, I see Dad in her sometimes. Mom too. And you, Sammy."

Sam looked down at Maddy's face, as if looking for himself in her.

"I didn't really think about that for a long time," Dean admitted. "That she was a part of all of us, her whole family. Not even after she was born."

"What changed?" Sam murmured.

Dean looked away from his brother's curious eyes, not really wanting to look back at the man he'd been back then. "I don't know," he admitted. "There wasn't this one moment of revelation or anything. Just taking care of her every day. The way she needed me so much. I guess I just realized... she was mine. I mean, I made this person, how weird is that? Mom and Dad's granddaughter, your niece. My daughter."

"You're lucky," Sam said, and it might have sounded trite if anyone else had said it. But Sam didn't say things he didn't mean, it was one of the things you had to love about the man. When it came to his family, he didn't hide anything.

"Yeah," Dean acknowledged, finally. "I am. I have been."

Time was ticking away again, and he was suddenly aware of all the things he hadn't said yet, the kinds of things you always mean to say and never quite get out. How much he'd missed his brother when they were apart. How good it had been to be side by side with him through this. How sorry he was about Jessica.

Words built up within him, but, as usual, he couldn't get them out. Instead he lifted his hand and laid it on Sam's where it rested on Maddy. Sam's eyes met his and they said he understood, just as he and Sam had always understood one another, down deep where it counted. The last three Winchesters lay there, connected, as the snow piled up outside the windows and the remains of the day drifted away.

888

When Dean remembered it later the memory was clear but disjointed. Fragments of recollection interspersed with pain.

The first thing he felt was Sammy's hand snatched out from under his own, and he opened his eyes to see his brother slam against the wall, and slump, head at an angle. The next thing he felt was himself flying backwards, hitting the wall hard, breath forced from his body.

His clearest memory was of those eyes, just as Sam had described them, yellow-green, vile, pure evil gazing coolly at him. The force pinning Dean to the wall was like a giant hand, mashing him backwards, and he was gasping for breath against its weight. The room seemed to swing wildly, and with horror Dean realised he was being forced up the wall, every bump and ridge in the wood grazing against his skin as the floor grew further away. Then he was looking down on the bed and, for the first time, Dean was aware of sound in the room.

Maddy was crying. His daughter was screaming, and now Dean was above the bed and he could see her alone in the center of the covers, legs kicking angrily, little arms outstretched. Dean tried to call her name, every instinct he possessed telling him to reach for her, but he couldn't move his arms. He could feel himself growing faint from lack of oxygen and Maddy's face swum out of focus as tears filled his eyes. Dean understood that he was dying, just as his mother had died, pinned, helpless, a figure of horror in a rictus of pain against the ceiling.

As life flickered out of him his last prayer was that Maddy wouldn't remember this.

And then a breath of air seemed to flood him, a white light beat against his eyelids, and the sound of Latin being chanted filled his ears. Dean opened his eyes to the sight of his brother crawling across the bed, picking Maddy up, pressing her against him. Hope filled him for Maddy's sake, because Sam was there, and Sam would carry her to safety as Dean had once carried him, closing a circle, fulfilling some twisted form of destiny. There was a kind of peace in that thought, and, as the sound of Latin filled his ears Dean looked down as Sam looked up, wishing he could move against the pressure, wishing he could make his brother understand that it was all right, that Dean could go on to Dad, to Mom. So long as he knew the two people he loved with all his heart were safe and together.

But Sam did not gaze up at him in horror for more than a moment. Sam was clambering to his feet, stretching out one arm, Maddy under his other arm like a rag doll, her shrieks vying with that chanting and the wind rushing through Dean's ears.

There was blood on Sam's face, and Dean understood that it was his blood, dripping down onto his brother's skin. He wanted to tell Sam to run, to take Maddy out of here, to get to safety. But he still had no voice and Sam did not falter. His big hand wrapped around Dean's arm and he was pulling, hanging from Dean, his face set with grim determination. For a moment it seemed hopeless, futile, foolish even. And then, amazingly, Dean felt his arm released from the pressure, and his shoulder, screaming in protest, was dragged away from the wall. Sam was hanging on for grim death, Maddy under his arm, his other hand like a claw on Dean's arm as he used his own weight to try to drag Dean down off the ceiling to the bed below.

From the corner of Dean's eye he could see a brilliant orange tongue of flame billowing around him and pain seared through his back. The edges of his vision grew dark, and then the world swung wildly again as the pressure against him finally vanished and Sam's weight pulled him down, bouncing against tangled limbs and the mattress below.

Something was screaming, and it wasn't him, Dean understood it wasn't anything remotely human. He forced his eyes open against the pain of Sam's hand beating out the flames on his back and that last moment became fixed in his mind, the horror of it eclipsing all that had come before. The demon was only feet away from them, writhing in fire, blackened and red, teeth, horns, flared yellow eyes. The Latin grew louder then stopped, there was a moment of stillness broken by his own harsh breaths, by Maddy's cries, by Sam's frantic calling of his name.

Then the demon lifted a scaly arm, pointed two fingers over Dean's shoulder.

"This is not over," it croaked.

"Gloria Patris!" someone cried, and with an inrush of sound and light and air... the demon was gone.

Dean lost consciousness at last.

Continued in Part Seven