Chapter 9

There was nothing they could do, the demon had already disappeared, and the damage was done. After the emergency services arrived, the Winchesters returned to their motel. Neither of them was much in the mood for conversation, or for sleep. So Sam, more to avoid thinking than out of zeal, returned to his laptop and searched for the next town on the demon's agenda, although, as it had only just left, it was unlikely to be having any effect on another town yet. Dean, also restless, paced up and down for a while, then tried to sleep, and failed, and sat fidgeting, lost in his thoughts. Early in the morning, he went out, mumbling an incomprehensible excuse to Sam on his way out the door.

Somehow, a late-working journalist had recorded last night's incident in time for the new edition of the local paper. Dean picked up a copy, and took it unread back to the motel. He wasn't sure whether or not he really wanted to read it.

Sam had finally given up on the laptop and pushed it away. He was sitting slumped, resting his elbows on the table, and he didn't even look up when Dean re-entered the room and lowered himself down opposite.

Dean's chest was hurting more than it had in over a week; he guessed the smoke hadn't helped. He put the newspaper down in front of him, and, although he had come to the conclusion that he really didn't want to know what it had to say, his eye was drawn to it, and once he started to read it, he couldn't look away.

'House fire kills three'

'A resident has been arrested by the police following a fire, believed to be deliberate, which killed his wife and six-month old baby. Roger Alresford, 32, seemed to be in shock after he was pulled from his burning house by a stranger, who was not available for interview. However, after the blaze was extinguished, it was found that Mr Alresford's wife, Mandy, 29, had a stomach wound which she did not receive in the fire. The body of their daughter, Amy, has not yet been recovered. In addition, a third body was discovered in the ruins: that of an unidentified man, whom Alresford claimed not to recognise. 'I don't know who he was, or how he got there,' he protested when questioned. This man was not killed in the fire, but had sustained a wound to the throat, possibly as much as a day before the fire started.

'A neighbour, Elizabeth Formarks, 30, commented 'I'm shocked, but I always found Roger a little odd. My Aaron (also 6 months old) always cries when he's nearby… I don't see who else could have done it; he was the only one in the house.'

'Alresford is currently being held at the local police station, and his behaviour has apparently been quiet and co-operative, though a police spokesman commented: 'he's unresponsive, and if we can get him to talk, he denies everything and starts talking nonsense.'

'As for the mysterious body, the police are requesting help from anybody who thinks they can identify him: please report to the police station.'

Dean pushed the paper away violently. The emphatic movement got through to Sam, and he looked up to find his brother pale and trembling.

'What?'

Dean waved a hand weakly in the direction of the article, and Sam picked it up. After a few moments, Dean found his voice, although it was hoarse and shaky.

'They found a third body in that house, Sam… an "unidentified man"'

Sam just looked confused. 'That's weird,' was his only comment. His face showed sympathy for the man who had been arrested, and the painful knowledge that the man was living in an authentic hell from which they couldn't save him . Dean searched his brother's eyes, but saw only pity, no trace of the dread which was gnawing away at his own insides. He realised that he had never told Sam about the phone call; Sam had no reason to suppose… to fear…

'We need to go to the morgue… see this… body.' He barely whispered the last word.

Sam looked surprised at his urgent tone. He shrugged. 'Ok, if you think it'll help us work out where it's going…'

Dean said nothing, snatched the car keys off the bed and headed straight out the door. Sam picked up his jacket and hurried after him.

Sam knew better than to ask, but he worried as Dean drove to the morgue, speeding along the roads and taking corners with a reckless vehemence. His face was rigid and unreadable, and he wouldn't say a word. It was obvious to Sam that there was something he didn't know about, causing Dean's panic, but he resolved not to ask – something told him that all would be made clear when they arrived at their destination.

Striding up to the reception desk, flashing an ID – he hadn't checked which one it was, so he flashed it quickly – Dean immediately made it clear that he wouldn't put up with any time-wasting.

'I need to see the body from the Alresford house,' he stated abruptly. The middle aged woman behind the desk hesitated, but Dean raised an impatient eyebrow at her, and she gave up.

'Room 18. That way.'

Dean set off, and Sam scurried along after him, down the corridor, round the corner, through the door.

Something collapsed inside Dean when he lifted the cloth covering the dead man's face. Despite his suspicions, he had spent the drive trying to convince himself that he might not be right. He had held on to the hope that he was wrong, but now the truth was right in front of him, and he had nothing to hold on to. He staggered back and leaned heavily against the wall of the bare little room.

Sam had stopped in the doorway without even closing the door. He stepped forward as if in a trance, and the sprung door slammed loudly.

'Oh my God… but you knew…how did you know?' he asked, whispering.

Sorry Sam. I should have warned you. I thought I could protect you from this.

Sam walked slowly towards the body, eyes fixed on the familiar face, frozen and alien in death. Unsurprisingly, he was pale, and the wound on his neck had faded from the vivid red of blood to a hideous, angry purple. His mouth was slightly open in his slack face, so he looked mildly surprised about something. His eyelids were drooping but not closed, so the glint of an empty dark eye could be seen through his eyelashes. IN many ways, his face was stuck in an expression so different from any he had ever worn in life that he could be another person.

'How did you know?' Sam repeated, not letting Dean avoid the question. After a pause, Sam turned and fixed his brother with a stare, and Dean reluctantly volunteered an answer.

'He called. You were asleep. Gave me that website. But he sounded like he was freaking out… I never heard him sound so freaked… Like he was saying goodbye.'

Sam digested the information as Dean lapsed back into stunned silence. Various reactions clamoured for attention. Sympathy, for the burden Dean had carried alone. Sadness, because after all, John had at least called to say goodbye. Envy, because he hadn't been the one to hear it. And anger. Anger won.

'Why the hell did you wait until now to tell me?'

Because I didn't want you to worry.

Because I couldn't have that conversation.

Because we needed to focus.

Because there's nothing we could have done.

Because, if I told you it had happened, how could I pretend that it hadn't?

He shrugged. Shook his head. Words wouldn't come.

Sam turned abruptly away from him, to their father's body, and gently closed his cold eyelids with two fingers. A scrap of paper caught his eye, poking subtly out of one of the pockets in John's jacket. He frowned. Their dad carried a varied selection of objects on his person, but they rarely included notes.

'Dean'

Sam pulled the note carefully from the pocket and spread it out for both of them to read. The handwriting was unfamiliar – not John's. It was short:

Alton, West Virginia. Ropley family. We'll finish this.

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'You know it's a trap'

Yes, of course it's a trap.

Dean only grunted. He glanced away from the road to find Sam still watching him earnestly.

'Well?'

'Yes, probably.'

Sam wasn't satisfied. 'You're just gonna go where it tells us to go?'

Silence.

'What about Dad, we just leave him in that morgue?'

He's dead, Sammy, what else can we do?

More silence.

'Dean!'

Sighing in exasperation, Dean pulled over and turned to look at his brother. 'Look, what do you suggest? If you have a plan, I'd love to hear it, because, honestly? I'm drawing a blank.'

Sam sat thinking for a moment with his mouth hanging open.

'I… just don't think it makes sense, going to West Virginia. It wasn't Dad's writing. We'd be playing into its hands.'

Dean nodded. He agreed, but he had nothing else to go on; West Virginia seemed as good a place to go as any other. He would have given almost anything to have somebody tell him what he should do. Sam expected him to know where they were going, but he had never felt so lost. He was willing to follow any instructions he was offered, even if they appeared to come from the enemy.

'Ok, Sam… we'll go in this direction until we find a motel. Then you can get on your computer and check your weather reports, and tell me where we're going next. But… just keep an eye on Alton, West Virginia for me, ok?'

Sam's sullen expression dissolved into sad acceptance. 'Alright.' He had a concerned look in his eyes – Dean hoped he hadn't allowed his helplessness to be heard in his voice.

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The motel was small, dirty and cheap, decorated in grim colours and disturbing patterns that seemed to swirl when Dean looked at them out of the corners of his eyes. Sam was absorbed in his research, face lit strangely by the luminous computer screen, bright in the dingy room. Dean was once again idle, waiting, sleepless, left to dwell on thoughts he would rather avoid.

His father was dead. The lifeless face was there every time he closed his eyes, so denial was no longer an option, but he still struggled to feel anything as pure and easy as grief. He was shocked to find a part of him was relieved. In some ways, having seen the body and knowing for certain was better than the agony of wondering what might have happened. And it was a relief to tell Sam, because hiding things from him was exhausting.

There was a nagging claw of guilt in the back of his mind, whispering to him that he should have tried harder, that, despite his efforts, the family was pulling itself apart. And there was guilt for not telling Sam the truth earlier, letting him unprepared into the room where their father's body lay. He was worried that Sam wouldn't trust him in future. And he felt directionless; now he and Sam were just two travellers with no connection to anyone else. If they died fighting this demon, who would know? Who would care? It would be easy to sink into despair.

And yet, beneath it all, there was a slow-burning anger directed at the demon; a desire for revenge which gave him a purpose to hold on to. For the moment it was buried, and he just felt numb, but he knew that, when he next came face to face with the demon, it would surface.

Dean couldn't say for certain whether he slept that night or not. Grubby morning sunlight was filtering through the grey curtains by the time Sam broke the silence.

'Dean – there's been an electrical storm.'

'Where?'

Sam took a deep breath. 'Alton, West Virginia'

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I have no idea if there is a town called Alton in West Virginia. Anything 'factual' in this story is entirely made up. Most of the names of people and places in these last few chapters have been names of towns around the city of Winchester in England. One chapter and an epilogue to go. Hope you liked. Please review!