A/N: Thanks to all who have reviewed! Notes, disclaimers, etc. posted in the prologue!

Chapter 3

Dean brought the car to a stop, and they stepped out onto the gravel driveway. Unconsciously, the boys mirrored each other, shoulders squared and faces lined with resolve as they exited the car and cautiously approached the house. Dean took point, as always, with Sam just a step behind. Their fists were clenched, jaws too, and their backs unnaturally straight. This was it: the culmination of their years of training and fighting and searching. Today, the last piece of the puzzle dropped into place. Today, they would face the first evil. Today, they would avenge Mary and Jess' deaths.

The first step, though, was entering the house and facing their father. Sam swallowed in apprehension, uncertain what his reception would be. Would his father embrace him or push him away? Would he be treated as a son or simply the third piece of the Winchester triangle, no more and no less than a hunter? Would there be forgiveness for leaving the family and denying his birthright? The questions churned in his mind.

For Dean, the thought process was simpler. Dad had left him (hell, didn't everyone, sooner or later?) but John had had his reasons, and Dean trusted him implicitly. And that trust had paid off. John had managed to zero in on the exact prey they were seeking. If it had been a little hard for Dean to accept in the beginning - not knowing where John was or why he'd left - it was understandable now. The ends justify the means. John had raised him well, the loyal soldier, through and through.

John opened the door before Dean put his hand on the knob, pulling it wide as he welcomed his sons. There were no hugs, no words of pride or apology. He simply said their names. "Dean. Sam. You made good time. Come in."

The room was sparse and had an air of long disuse. Dust coated the floorboards and obscured the windows. There was a single table, scattered with notes, and a few folding chairs. John gestured vaguely to the chairs and all three men sat, sons facing their father. He looked at the floor for a long moment before speaking. Sam could feel the knot of tension in his chest tighten. Even Dean seemed anxious. But they waited, motionless, for their father to lead.

"Here's the plan." With those three words, John side-stepped every painful issue that had been stewing in the months since Dean had seen him and the years since Sam had had him in his life.

John tread carefully, walking a fine edge between deceit and honesty, knowing he would have to play both sides in order for this to work. "Sam is the focal point."

Sam felt the blood drain from his face and numbness spread through his veins. His greatest fear, realized in an instant and revealed by the one person from whom it would hurt the most. Distantly, he heard Dean's objection and challenge - What are you talking about? That's not possible! - but to him, it confirmed his worst nightmares. His vision dimmed for a moment, his hearing faded, and then John was speaking again.

"Enough, Dean! Hear me out. I've researched this in any every way I could, followed every lead. This demon, it's attracted to extrasensory power. Psychic abilities. Telekinesis."

He paused, composing himself and steeling his resolve. "It's not Sam's fault." His heart ached with those words, nearly breaking him as he looked into the eyes of his oldest son, knowing they were lies . . .

John couldn't bring himself to look at Sam, though. He wasn't quite strong enough for that. "But he's the catalyst. I finally figured that out. Every time this demon has struck, that has been the harbinger."

"So what does that mean?" Dean's posture was still defensive, and he'd brought his chair closer to Sam's, as though to protect him from their father's words.

"We'll use him as bait."

"What? NO!"

For the first time - possibly ever - Sam's jaw dropped in shock as he watched his brother openly defy their father. Dean stood, knocking his chair back in his haste, denial written into the rigid lines of his body.

John, for his part, looked unfazed. The anger Sam expected wasn't there. He looked . . . resigned. He'd obviously expected Dean's reaction. "It's the only way. Nothing else will bring it into the open. We need him."

"No. No way! It's too dangerous!"

"Now, Dean you listen to - "

"It's okay." Sam's quiet determination silenced the other two voices instantly. "I'll do it."

He brought a hand up as Dean started to protest. "Dean, you said it yourself. Dad knows what he's doing. If this is the only way, then it's the only way. We have to do this."

Dean just looked at him, feeling a helplessness and confusion that he didn't know how to rectify. He hadn't expected things to go like this, hadn't expected John's plan to be one that put Sam in immediate danger. Their job was to protect Sam, not expose him, certainly not to use him as - I will not call him bait!

"I need to do this, Dean. For Mom. For Jess. For us." The last word was so quiet that it was practically a whisper. "It'll be alright," he swung his head back to his father, "won't it, Dad?"

"It will be if we follow the plan." John leveled his gaze at Dean, willing his son to once again take up the mantle of soldier.

Dean struggled for a moment, for the first time unsure. But when in doubt, he could only fall back on instinct. In this case, it said to trust his father, and that, if John had a plan, it must be the right one. Slowly, he sat down again, ready to hear the rest of what John had to say. At the same time, though, he moved his chair directly next to his brother's, now separated from Sam by the merest of inches.

John read the nonverbal cue as he was meant to, and for him, another aspect of the plan started to fall into place. He'd envisioned two scenarios for Dean, and now it was looking like one was far more likely than the other.

Dean sat squarely now, ready for direction. "So what are we looking at?"

John almost smiled at his son's ability to focus. "It's a demon, but not one that's bound to human flesh. It can move in and out of anything and everything it pleases. It's hard to track down--it never stays in one place long. But it's drawn to power - power like Sam's. I've searched long and hard for the rite to banish it, and I think I've found it."

John's lie was elaborate, too detailed to be fabricated. His heart pounded as he gauged his sons for their reaction.

Dean looked pensive. There were no words to describe the mix of emotions on Sam's face.

"What do we do?" Dean asked, meeting his father's eyes with resolve.

"We have to make it believe Sam is our sacrifice--that we're giving it what it craves. With the right set up, it won't be able to resist such an opportunity."

"And what is the set up?" Dean was still doing all the talking, while Sam just listened, absorbing the information.

"We'll have to prepare the room. I have the steps laid out." John waved at some of the papers scattered on the table. "And Sam has to be alone."

"We can't just leave him alone in a room--"

"It's the only way to draw it out." John's voice was sharp. He took a deep breath. Dean was already unhappy with the plan, and John knew the next detail could send his oldest son into rebellion.

"And Sam must be bound--completely vulnerable."

Dean opened his mouth to protest. It was Sam who cut him off. "And where will you be?"

John glanced at Sam, unable to make eye contact. "Dean and I will be on the other side of the house. As soon as it shows up, we'll be there."

Dean was clearly uneasy, but he was still listening. "How do we kill it?"

"I've found an exorcism I think will work."

Dean shook his head slowly, chewing on his lip.

John continued. "There are a lot of details to take place. We have to gather supplies, make preparations. It has to be tonight."

Dean's eyes trained on his father with vigor. "Why tonight?"

"Timing is everything," John said. He turned his eyes to Sam with a piercing stare. "If it catches on to our ruse, we'll all be lost."

"Then we better get to work."

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John's notes were detailed and specific. Together, the three men scattered the herbs and talismans in patterns throughout the room. There was blood from an animal sacrifice that was placed in three shallow bowls. The bowls formed a circle around the chair where Sam would be bound.

John sent Dean to get the candles, steeling himself for a last conversation with Sam.

The boy knelt on the floor, repositioning one of the bowls so that it was precisely aligned with the others.

"Are you ready for this, Sam?"

John managed not to flinch as he felt his youngest son's steady gaze. For a moment, he was sure that Sam had seen through him - his precognitive abilities telling him what was to come and giving him time to turn the tables on his father. But all John saw was the absolute trust that Sam had exhibited earlier in the day.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

John purposefully ignored the raw need he saw in Sam's eyes. He had no words to comfort his son. There were no fatherly feelings left in him. All he saw was the demon that had destroyed his family. He turned away, returning to their preparations.

"Dad?"

He stilled, this time not facing his son.

"I just wanted to say that I - I'm sorry. For everything."

He held his breath. Is Sam admitting - ? But Sam continued before he could finish the thought.

"For leaving and for being so . . . angry. All those years. I understand now, I really do. And I'm glad this will finally be over."

John squeezed his eyes shut, squelching a sudden and overwhelming feeling of regret. This didn't change anything. There was no turning back.

John spoke slowly, controlled. "I'm glad, too, Sam."

They continued the rest of their preparations in silence.