Disclaimer: The Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke and I will be forever grateful to him for sharing them with us. I hope he doesn't mind me borrowing them from time to time; I promise to return them as I found them.

And I know the rule. If I break them, I buy them.

Father and Son

Chapter 5

"John, thank God." Caleb said when he heard his friend's voice. "Are you and Dean all right?"

"We're fine." John glanced at his son, pacing in front of the window in their room. "What do you know about what's going on here?"

"I just found out – look, I never would have sent you there unprepared if I'd known –"

"Known what, Caleb?"

Dean stopped pacing and looked at his father. He was frustrated that he could only hear one side of the conversation and watched as John rubbed his forehead. That was never a good sign.

"Dad?" Dean prompted as soon as John hung up the phone.

"This is big, Dean. It's way bigger than the haunting Caleb originally thought it was."

"I thought he had changed his mind about that before we even got here."

John nodded. "He had his suspicions. Two or three kids die every ten years; patterns like that are rarely random hauntings. I can't believe --"

Dean watched as John stood up and began to pace. "Dad, what is it?"

"Societies all over the world practiced ritual sacrifices for good crops. Old man Border was doing the same thing. We don't know who or what he made the sacrifices to, but there were other people in town involved in it, too. Jackson didn't approve of what his father was doing; Caleb thinks he killed his father. You were probably right that the two of them were fighting it out in the house when we were there."

"So what about the people in the cemetery tonight?"

John shook his head. "Based on what Caleb found out, Border's farm pretty much sustained the town for a while. Jackson wouldn't continue with it and looks like he was murdered. So we've got two pissed off ghosts and a group of old men performing some kind of ritual in the cemetery. Caleb is pretty sure those are the same people who were originally involved with Border; they're trying to put his spirit back in his body."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and flopped down on the bed. "You said those guys were old, but come on! They would have to be, what, at least 80 to be the same people who were involved with Border. Were they that old? And putting the spirit back in his body? Is that even possible?"

John shrugged. "Rumor has it."

"For what reason?"

"To make him stronger so he can fight something worse or get information he knows."

"What? I don't get it."

"Okay." John stopped pacing and sat on the bed opposite his son. "Border was involved in ritual sacrifice for crop success. Jackson doesn't approve and killed him. That pisses the old man off and he sticks around the house. The people Border were involved with want Jackson to continue with the sacrifices, but he doesn't, and they kill him. He's pissed off and sticks around the house, too. Those people in the cemetery could very well have been that old; I couldn't really tell. But whatever they were feeding hasn't been fed in a while and it's probably not real happy about that."

"But what about the deaths every ten years?"

"The theory is that they're still killing people for whatever it is, but only Border knew how to do the whole thing. They're killing kids, but they don't know what to do next, so the deaths are meaningless. But if they manage to reanimate Border—"

"Reanimate? Dad –"

"Dean, anything is possible. With the right ingredients and under the right circumstances, everything can be done. And if they reanimate him, he'll be able to finish the job after they kill the kids."

"So it's time to make another sacrifice?" Dean guessed.

"Seems so."

"But if they're so old –"

"Maybe they're scared that they'll end up somewhere they don't want to be when they die. That whatever they've let down will take its revenge then. They're probably afraid of running out of time."

"We've been involved in some weird stuff before, but this – this is crazy." Dean scratched his head. "What if they – reanimate – him tonight?"

John shook his head. "It can only be done at certain times of the month. There are some preparatory things they have to do first and Caleb thinks that's what we saw tonight."

"So what do we do?"

"Same thing we were going to do. Salt and burn the bones. Purify the house for good measure; maybe burn it down."

"Tonight?"

"Are you up for it?"

Dean nodded. "Sure."

"What about the thing they were making the sacrifices to?"

John looked at him. "Caleb is working on that."

The cemetery was empty when the Winchesters returned and there was no evidence anything had happened earlier. John handed Dean a shovel from the trunk and caught sight of his son's hands and the cuts they hadn't yet talked about. He pulled a couple of pairs of gloves from the trunk.

"Your hands all right?" John asked.

"Fine." Dean said, putting the gloves in a back pocket of his jeans. He started toward the graves.

"Dean?"

He turned to face his father. John saw none of the anger from earlier, nor did he see excitement about the job. His son's face held no expression, but he recognized the deliberate mask Dean wore because it was so similar to the one he had most of the time. But Dean's eyes could rarely lie and when John saw pain in them, he felt a pang of guilt.

"Be careful, okay? I know you're probably still sore from --"

Dean held up a hand. "I'm okay, Dad."

John nodded.

They each worked on one grave, knowing this would be their only chance to salt and burn the bones. Despite having done this countless times before, it still took time to dig far enough down to reach the coffins. Neither Winchester spoke as they dug; each had their own things to think about.

But when they were done, they stood side by side, exhausted and watching the bones burn. When they were sure the job was complete, John put a hand around his son's shoulders. Dean felt a sudden flash of anger, but also a certain amount of comfort. No matter what happened between John and Sam, Dean still loved his father and still needed his love and approval. He was never sure how much of either he had, but yearned for moments of closeness like this one.

"Let's go." John said quietly.

"Are we going to the house?" Dean asked when they were back at the car.

"It's almost dawn. Why don't we save that for later and get some sleep?"

Dean nodded. Even though he told John he was fine, he was still hurting from being slammed up against the wall and the hours of digging hadn't done his sore muscles a whole lot of good. He would never admit it, but all he wanted was a comfortable bed. The one at the motel would have to do.

TBC