As Dark Clouds Loom Part 2- May 2005
Timeline: This story takes place over the spring and summer of 2005, right before the pilot episode (which takes place in October 2005). Sam is away at school and the rest of the Winchesters are on the road. Adam is 17 years old.
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At this point, Adam figured he was never gonna get used to the unsettling feeling that ghosts hunts brought him. Even after years of Dad's intensive training, years of dealing crap that only exists in people's nightmares, seeing things appear and then disappear in front of him still made his stomach drop in terror.
He was standing in the middle of an empty room in the pitch black. One hand on a sawed-off shotgun filled with salt rounds and the other on a flashlight. Dad was on his left watching his weaker side making Adam aware of just how much he missed having Dean with them on this hunt. He always felt safer sandwiched protectively between the two of them.
In the dark, the room was filled with the sounds of distant conversations and lively old-timey music. There was nothing in front of him, but if Adam closed his eyes he knew he would picture himself at some kind of fancy dinner party, glasses clinking in celebration, and people's warm laughter filling the room. Adam turned on the flashlight and as soon as the beam of light burst forth the sound ceased. It was as if someone had pushed pause on the cd or popped the tape from the cassette deck. He clicked the light off and the party resumed, never any louder, never any closer but still seemingly all around him.
It was creepy.
And annoying.
"Dad…" Adam whispered, "How are we gonna find him?"
John shushed him and motioned for Adam to follow, leading him further into the old house.
The house had recently been renovated, brought back its former glory, and was intended to be used as a wedding and events venue. Unfortunately, the new events in the house were bringing out the old ghosts and after two young brides were attacked the Winchesters appeared on the scene to tackle the problem. They were searching for the old homeowner, a Gatsby esque man who threw lavish parties during the height of the Great Depression. He apparently didn't appreciate the new events that he wasn't invited to. Dad also suspected that the ghostly party-goers people had reported hearing might be trapped in the house by the owner, preventing them from seeking their eternal rest.
Adam followed his father deeper into the house, the sounds of distant music and silverware clinking following them.
"You ready?" John said in a low hushed tone, not turning back to look at him.
"Yes sir," Adam replied, nodding even though John couldn't see him.
He'd set the trap like he'd been told: edged one of the side rooms in salt all except the entrance. They planned to herd all the ghosts into the room, separate the owner, and deal with him. Dad said that if they took care of the homeowner the other ghosts would likely be released as well. Adam really hoped that was the case, cause he dreaded the thought of digging up however many graves for salt and burns it would take to clean out the house.
"On my mark…" John whispered and Adam took a breath to steady himself, squashing the fear in his chest and trying to control the adrenaline burning through his veins.
The last thought that went through Adam's head was 'Oh shit.'
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Dad stomped out of the house, Adam trailing behind him seething.
"Too close Adam, too close!" Dad was grumbling as Adam followed him down the white stone stairs from the home's large back porch.
"I got him Dad!" he said, shoving his flashlight into his pocket and rushing to keep up with his father.
John just shook his head in frustration, not looking back at his son.
"How can you be mad? It worked! We trapped him!" Adam protested indignantly.
John reached the back of his large black truck and opened the tailgate, letting it fall open loudly, the sound echoing off the large trees surrounding the property. The old house sat a mile off the main road, with sprawling manicured acres surrounding it; they had no fear of being heard.
"Are you kidding? You have no idea how close you came, Adam!"
"I did not!" Adam argued, the adrenaline of the hunt still strumming through him, making him careless of his father's anger.
"Reckless!" John shouted, slamming his shotgun down on the tailgate.
"Trap the ghost! Get the ghost!" Adam shouted in return, "Done! Why are you pissed?"
"You watch the mouth with me boy!" John snarled at him.
"Why? I'm not saying anything!" Adam barked, coming to stand across from his father putting his own gun on the tailgate.
"You know damn well what you were told to do in there!" John growled turning to face his son.
"Yeah! And I did it! It wasn't your way, but it got done!" Adam snapped, "Why are you being a hard-ass?"
The slap was hard and unexpected, echoing in the dark. Adam's hands flew up to cover his nose instinctively, the sharp pain making his eyes water. He pressed a knuckle under and felt a trickle of warm blood.
Heavy silence lingered between them. Adam's heart pounded and he grit his teeth in frustration, ignoring the pain in his face, not daring to speak.
"You were this close to getting an iron poker to the back of the head Adam. I told you to stay outside the room, not to go in! We didn't need bait to get them in the damn room! And we sure as hell didn't need you in there with 50 spirits!"
"I trapped him, Dad," Adam said, wiping his nose then wiping the blood on his jeans making a small stain appear in the darkness, "That's what matters."
"That's not what matters!" Dad said forcefully, "I'm not teaching you this shit so you can run in and sacrifice yourself! I'm teaching you so you can protect yourself! So you can stay alive Goddammit!"
Adam wanted to argue more, but his nose throbbed. He scowled.
What would Dean do?
Dean would shut his trap and save his ass. He would probably agree that he'd been reckless, even if he didn't think he had been. Dean didn't care who was right or wrong. He only cared that the job got done and everyone came out alive.
But what would Sam do?
Sam would argue. Sam wouldn't let Dad just walk all over him like this. Sam would prove that he wasn't wrong, that he hadn't been careless or reckless and it was because of him that the job was done and they both came out alive.
So...what was Adam gonna do?
He bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully for a moment.
"The job is done Dad," he said bitterly, "That's what we are here for. To do a job. Why does it matter how it got done?"
Adam could practically feel his father's rage steaming off him.
"It matters Adam. It fucking matters," he said roughly, "I'm not gonna let you hunt half-assed like this. We make a plan. You follow the plan. End of story."
"The plan wasn't working Dad!" Adam implored, feeling his own rage build.
"You didn't let it work boy!" John snapped pointing at him, "You ran in! You put yourself in danger!"
"I was already in danger!" Adam yelled. "Hunting is dangerous, boy. Life or death," he mocked, sneering at his father.
Suddenly he was lifted up and off the gravel as Dad fisted a handful of his t-shirt, nearly choking him.
"You're just asking for the belt aren't you, boy?" he asked lowly crowding Adam.
Adam's heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn't stop the sneer growing on his face, "I. Did. My. Job," he ground out, trying not to let his voice shake.
"The hell you did," Dad said, shaking him a little.
"All this training Dad? Training so I can protect myself?" Adam ground out, knowing he was playing with fire, but too far gone to pull back, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Protect me from what? Ghosts? Cause you brought me here tonight Dad!"
John shoved him then, hard enough that he fell back into the gravel, scraping his hands as he caught himself.
"Get up." John ordered, glaring at him.
Adam didn't argue but stood, brushing small rocks from his hands, his stomach twisting with equal parts fury and fear.
"Get over here," Dad demanded, nodding to the tailgate.
Adam's pulse raced. He swallowed thickly.
"You can't…" he said, "I'm 17..."
"I won't say it again," and Adam watched as his father reached down and opened his belt buckle, pulling the leather through the loops.
Adam's breath caught in his chest. He shouldn't have been surprised. None of the Winchesters had ever questioned their father and not ended up tasting leather.
Adam took a small step toward the tailgate. Dad reached out and grabbed him, pulling him the rest of the way and cracking his head against the metal when he pushed Adam down. Adam felt his eyes fill with tears, more from frustration than anything else.
"This isn't fair," he protested quietly.
"You're gonna learn Adam," Dad said behind him, "You're gonna learn to watch your mouth. To follow orders. And do as you're fucking told."
The first lash came hard and hot, unforgiving against his ass, Dad's strength behind it.
"Fuck!" he yelped, arching uncontrollably.
"You and that mouth kid!" Dad snapped, bringing another lash against him, hard enough that Adam knew he'd see welts in the mirror tomorrow.
Again and again the leather came down against him. Adam struggled to breathe, the belt pushing the air from his lungs.
Dad was pissed. Every lash painted his rage on Adam. He wasn't holding back. Adam had met Dad's belt more than once in his time with the family, but this was different. There was no break between the strokes, no time for Adam to contemplate his punishment. These were not the measured blows his father normally dealt out when Adam fucked up. This was different.
Another stroke caught him and Adam bent further into the tailgate, trying in vain to twist away, grabbing for a handhold to keep upright.
"Dad!" he yelled.
The belt bit into him again and he cried out, shame flooding him. He usually tried to stay quiet when he was being punished, tried to be tough and stoic like his brothers.
Another hit came and another behind it, rapid-fire. Adam choked, tears spilling over. God, it hurt.
"Dad…" he cried out, ashamed of the tears in his voice.
The belt hit him again. Again. Again.
Adam wasn't even sure he was breathing.
Again it came. White. Hot. Throbbing. Aching.
"Dad…please…" he begged finally, "Please."
It took a moment for Adam to realize the beating had stopped. That Dad stood behind him, breathing hard but otherwise not moving. Adam didn't move right away either, trying to find his own breath.
He pushed himself off the tailgate of the truck slowly, gently, afraid to move too much. He faced his father, wiping his cheeks trying to clear the tears that wouldn't stop.
Dad's face was sharp and solemn in the darkness.
"There's no room for error in what we do son," he said seriously, "You might think you got the job done, but you came close to getting seriously injured. I'm not gonna let you get yourself hurt cause you can't follow orders. And I'm sure as shit not gonna let you talk to me like you did tonight, you understand me?"
"Yes sir," Adam submitted, hating the quiver in his voice.
"Get in the truck." He ordered, threading his belt back through the loops of his jeans.
Adam didn't need to be told twice, he wiped his eyes again and stiffly walked to the cab of the truck, opening the squeaking door and getting in without looking back.
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John sighed as he watched the truck door close. He walked back around to the tailgate, tucking their shotguns inside the truck and closing it, turning the lock.
He leaned back on the bumper and stared out into the darkness, feeling drained.
He might not have to wait for demons to kill him. His damn sons were gonna do the job first.
What the hell am I doing?
John shook his head in defeat.
Adam was right. John was the one who'd brought him here tonight, who'd brought him into danger. The training had all started when the boys were young as a way for them to learn to protect themselves. As John learned more, he taught them more. As he began hunting he taught them those skills. Eventually, he figured he needed to take them on real hunts. He knew from his own military training that practice meant nothing in comparison to real battle experience. After what happened to Mary, and then Kate...the war against evil wasn't theoretical and his boys needed to test their mettle in real situations. At least that's how he justified it.
I could have been a lawyer, he thought shaking his head, all this rationalizing and justifying.
The thought immediately brought up an image of Sam, first his easy smile then the dark scowl painted on his face on that last night when they had screamed at each other.
John grit his teeth and pushed away the memories, stomping down on the unease that rose when he thought of his middle son.
He stood up from the bumper and rubbed a hand roughly over his face, trying to get control of himself. This hunt was supposed to be easy, a chance for Adam and John to work together, a chance for John to see how Adam functioned under pressure and if his training was paying off.
To that end, John could at least say the hunt was a success. Adam's skill had improved. He was fast and efficient. He had his brothers' perfect aim, but also their haste in the heat of the moment, a skill he'd no doubt picked up from Dean.
He had to get control of the boys' recklessness. They needed to be smart and calculating in hunting, not rushed and self-sacrificing. Hunting was more than shooting to kill, it was research and cunning, it was planning and execution. If John had learned anything in his decades-long hunt of the evil bastard that killed his wife it was the importance of the long game. He could feel the anticipation humming beneath him most days, especially now when he was getting close. But he kept that eagerness locked uptight. He wouldn't let it push him into the wrong move. He knew he was only getting one chance and he wouldn't waste it. John's fists curled unconsciously at the thought.
So close, he thought staring into the dark trees at the edge of the property.
John took a breath to calm himself, shaking out his fists and leveling his temper. He turned to double-check the lock on the truck tailgate, glancing into the cab at the slumped figure leaning against the window.
Guilt twisted in his gut, but he pushed it away. Adam needed the lesson, in more ways than one. He'd remember it, John was sure. As sure as he remembered his own stepfather's lessons, ones that made him think before he spoke and pause before rushed through work.
John sighed again and walked to the cab, dreading the tense, silent ride back to the motel that awaited him. Adam wouldn't speak to him again tonight, possibly not for a few days. That was his way. A lot like Sam actually. Dean had always bounced back from punishment quickly, taking the lesson in stride, but Sam would be surly and brooding for days after John belted him, all angry eyes and sullen shoulders. It was a little endearing how similar the boys could be at times.
John opened the truck door and slid in, not bothering to look at Adam, trying to give the kid some peace after the unpleasantness between them. Sam would have glared at him, maybe even challenged him again bringing up John's temper and starting another fight. Dean would have looked over at him with soft eyes begging forgiveness and apologize. Adam just stared ahead, a tear-stained cheek leaned against the window. Maybe the boys weren't so alike after all.
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