Thank you so much Ktoon for beta'ing for me. I really appreciate you giving your time and skills to help me.
Thank you also Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading. You make the process of editing enjoyable and insightful.
Chapter Four
When they were allowed back into Sam's room, Mary and Dean took up places on either side of the bed while Bobby pulled up a seat beside Mary.
It felt better for Mary to be back close to Sam, as if their presence could help him, though it was difficult for her to see him like this. Her strong, virile son had been reduced to this hospital bed and these machines to live.
The last time she'd seen him, before he went back to college after summer break, he'd kissed her goodbye at the airport and told her he'd see her for Christmas. He'd been happy, eager to get back to Jessica and his life in California, filled with a mixture of nerves and excitement for his senior year and the challenges it presented, like the LSAT and law school applications. He'd been positive about his life, and Mary had said goodbye with a smile.
Almost as soon as he'd disappeared from sight, Mary's thoughts had turned to the next case she and Dean had lined up—a private hire by the family of a murdered man from Texas. Mary had believed it was a human death, and she'd been thinking of how quickly they could tie it up and move onto something supernatural. As much as she enjoyed all aspects of her job and knew the necessity of the civilian cases to support and maintain their other work, she preferred the supernatural cases where she felt they were making a real difference.
She felt she could make no real difference now, though. All she could do was be there for her son, talking to him and supporting him when he woke—and he would—helping him through his terrible loss.
She was murmuring to Sam now, leaning close so that the conversation felt more private, reassuring him that she was there, that she loved him, and that everything was going to be okay. Though, she knew that reassurance was only partially true. Nothing she could do would make up for Jessica's death; she knew that from personal experience.
If she'd not had Sam and Dean after John's death, she wouldn't have been able to function at all under her overpowering grief. It was only the fact that they'd needed her that had given her something to keep going for. Dean had been in his own world of confusion and grief, not understanding why his father had suddenly disappeared from his life, and Sam had been as dependant on her as a baby can be, fussing even more because the one that had always been the best at settling him, John, was gone.
Sam had been a happy baby most of the time, but when he was tired or suffering from the colic that had been the bane of those early months, it was John's arms that he had settled in, John's voice that had soothed him. Dean had been the opposite as a baby. He'd been Mary's, always seeking her embrace and voice. After John's death, Mary had to take the place of both parents for both her boys, and that had focused her on something other than grief—that and the need to protect them.
She was stroking Sam's hair back from his face, trying not to feel the heat of his fevered skin as that made it hard for her to stay calm for him, when Bobby yawned widely and drew her attention.
She looked him over properly for the first time since they'd arrived at the hospital, and she saw that he looked terrible. He had shadows of exhaustion under his eyes and he sat heavy in his chair, as if he didn't have the energy to hold himself upright. The lines of his forehead were deep with worry. As she looked at him, she realized, as bad as this was for her now, Bobby had been living it even longer. He'd spent days with Sam, the man he loved like a son, seeing him so ill, and he'd not been able to bring him the rest of his family. It must have been torture.
"You should get some rest, Bobby," she said gently. "You look exhausted. When did you last sleep or eat?"
"I've been eating in the cafeteria here," he said, stifling another yawn. "Only when I had to leave the room," he added, as if expecting a rebuke. "I clean up in the bathroom, and I've been catching sleep in here and that family room they let us use. I'm fine."
"You're not," Dean said. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," Bobby said with forced humor.
"Get a motel for the night," Mary said. "Sleep in a real bed for a change. Shower. Eat. I'll stay with Sam."
"We will stay with Sam," Dean corrected.
"You should get some rest, too," Mary said.
Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not going anywhere until he's awake and can tell me to leave himself."
"We don't know when that will be," Bobby said.
Dean's expression became mutinous. "It's going to be soon."
"We all hope that…" Bobby started, but Dean cut him off.
"I know it. He's waking up soon." He touched Sam's arm. "He's already cooling down."
Bobby looked up at the monitor beside the bed that displayed Sam's temperature and frowned. Mary didn't look up to check what it was; she knew from Bobby's face alone that it hadn't come down.
Dean fixed his attention on Sam again, making the movement a curt denial of what he had surely seen as clearly as Mary.
"Please, Bobby," Mary said. "You need to take care of yourself."
"I'll go soon," Bobby said. "But there's something we need to talk about first."
Dean scowled at Bobby. "What are you hiding from us now?"
Mary knew he was still upset Bobby hadn't told them Sam's full condition on the phone, but, in a way, she was glad he hadn't. The drive had been hard enough, and if he'd know just how bad Sam was, Dean would have been even more reckless on the road. She had barely kept up with him as it was. Even though she had left Culver City before him, Dean had caught up and pulled ahead quickly, pushing the Impala to its limits. Mary's Jeep had a powerful engine, even better than its manufactured abilities as Bobby had tinkered under the hood, but she'd had trouble keeping pace.
She had been just as scared as Dean for Sam, but she was better at controlling it. Dean had inherited his grandfather's fiery nature. Mary had once had it, too, but she'd perfected restraint over her years of hunting.
"I'm not hiding anything," Bobby said calmly. "I've told you everything, but I think you missed some of it. I got the call when they found my number in Sam's wallet early Monday, hours after Sam was brought in. The fire happened Sunday evening."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Yeah… And?"
Mary was confused, too, and then she realized what Bobby was telling them. They'd left the Jeep and started their hike into the forest on Saturday afternoon, and they'd spent the next evening, Sunday, sharing stories of John and a beer apiece. That had been the anniversary, which meant the fire had happened the night they'd spent remembering John's life.
She gasped. "It was the same day."
"The same day as what?" Dean asked, and then Mary saw understanding dawn in his eyes. "November 2nd?"
Bobby nodded. "I'm not saying it was him. It could have been anything: a forgotten candle, a fryer fire. The building was old—it could have been an electrical fault. Sam was complaining about the furnace when he was home over the summer; that could have gone up."
"Or it could have been the demon," Mary whispered.
"That's what I was thinking," Bobby said seriously.
"Why would it come back?" Dean asked. "It's been years."
"Twenty-two years," Bobby agreed. "To the day, it was exact. And that's the part that makes me wonder, since we don't know why it came the first time, do we?"
Dean shook his head and Mary forced herself to do the same, showing no sign of her nerves or guilt.
She had never told another person about her deal. Bobby, Sam and Dean believed she had seen something that night that told her it had been the demon she had once tracked with her parents. John hadn't remembered his neck being snapped. He'd just woken up and seen Samuel lying dead with them. They had been consumed with funeral arrangements in the immediate aftermath of that night. John had shielded her by never trying to discuss it again. Mary had borne her guilt and fear alone.
She'd spent 1983 waiting for the demon to come, always aware of the risk, but the night he had come, she'd failed to protect the man she loved. John had interrupted. John had died. And Mary had always known in her heart that it wasn't just her fault because she made the deal; she should have been the one in Sam's nursery that night, too. It was her fault he had come. She should have paid the price, not John.
Why would the demon come back now? Sam couldn't have made a deal, too, could he? Though she had never known why the demon had come into her home the first time, why he had made that deal for house entry ten years before, she had thought it was over when he came in and killed John.
Sam would only have been twelve years old ten years ago, with nothing to offer a demon. And he'd known about the supernatural world that lived on the fringes back then. He wouldn't have been tricked into making a deal; he was too smart for that, too careful. He was always the most cautious of her sons. He was the one that had been most scared.
When Dean learned the truth about the world of the supernatural and hunting, it had been like a puzzle piece clicking into place for him. He had finally known why Mary and Bobby sometimes came home injured and the reason for all the strange books in the house and the places forbidden to him and Sam where they stored their weapons.
Sam, so much younger, had been more scared than anything. It had taken him time to learn that, while sometimes they came home hurt, Mary and Bobby were always better than the monsters they faced; they always won.
"What do we do if it is back?" Dean asked.
"We find a way to kill it," Mary said.
"How?" Dean asked. "It's a demon."
"There's something that might work," Mary said. "A gun."
Bobby grimaced. "The gun we don't know really exists."
There was no proof that the stories of the colt were true. It had been a tale told to Mary by her father who didn't even believe in it, but she had to hope it was real. If it wasn't, there was nothing she could do to the demon but exorcise him, and that wouldn't last long enough. If it was back now and if she was right about why it disappeared before, the longest it would last was twenty-two years.
"What gun?" Dean asked.
"Not now," she said. "We don't know if he's really back yet. We need to concentrate on Sam. When he wakes up, he can tell us what happened. Bobby could be right; it could have been a natural fire. I think it was. The date was just a coincidence."
"Do you really believe that?" Dean asked.
"I do," Mary said, holding back her doubt to keep her voice steady.
She wanted to believe it. If it had been the demon, it meant it was her fault again. If her deal had somehow brought the demon back, she had cost Jessica her life and put Sam in this hospital bed, fighting for his life. If it was natural, there was only one death she was culpable for: John's. She neededto believe it.
As much as she would like the colt to be real, for her to find it and put a bullet between the demon's eyes, to have her revenge, she didn't want to risk the people she loved. She had never heard of anything as dangerous as the demon, and she didn't want her sons anywhere near that kind of power. She had spent the years since John's death doing everything she could to never put them on a demon's radar again.
She turned back to Sam and stroked his cheek. He would wake up and tell them the story of an unattended candle, a faulty furnace, anything but a story that would tear their world apart again.
She had to hope.
So… There are some straws being clutched right now on Mary's part. I think it's natural for her to need to believe that it wasn't Azazel as she's already filled with guilt for John's death. She doesn't need Jessica's death and Sam's condition on her conscience, too.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx
