Thanks for reviewing, the story's almost hit the 100 mark! Sorry it's taken me a little longer than usual to update. Homeowrk in every class but Chem and Study Hall. Not much fun. Anyway, here's lucky chapter 13!
Daniel Elkins didn't answer the door when Sam knocked, which worried the hunter more than anything else possibly could have. He knocked again, calling out the man's name. When nothing happened, he backed up, ready to bust down the door, but a small tug on the bag of his jacket stopped him.
"You don't have to," the six-year-old said softly, "it's open."
"How do you know that?" Sam asked.
The boy glanced back at Dean, who was standing back by a pine tree and seemed to be inspecting something etched into the bark. "I dunno," the boy shrugged, "I just know."
"Well, if you're sure. Go get them. We'll head in and have a look around."
The boy nodded and headed off to the tree. Sam pushed the door gently open and could have sworn he heard his brother congratulate the younger of the two boys for something, though he wasn't sure what.
"Ladies first," Dean announced, pushing Sam through the doorway and into the house.
Sam turned as he stumbled, scowling, into the cabin, but didn't say anything. The small house was in shambles, like someone had tried to break in. There was no salt by the doors and windows, as there would be in a few years, and Elkins was still nowhere to be found.
"Looks like no one's home," Dean muttered, ushering the two small boys into the cabin and taking a look around, "don't suppose you remember where he kept the gun."
"You think we should steal it?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged. "We'll leave a note. He'll understand."
Shaking his head, Sam led the way into one of the cabin's few rooms, looking around for anything suspicious. He walked up to a section of false wood paneling on one wall, running his fingers over it, tracing a nearly-invisible line. "That safe's hidden back here," he muttered, opening the panel to reveal a steel door with a combination lock on it.
"It's gonna take forever to crack that thing," the ten-year-old moaned, eying the safe.
"Not necessarily," Dean whispered, bending down by the boy's little brother and whispering something in the kid's ear.
Sam watched as the safe door began to bend and buckle. He stumbled back a few steps, nearly tripping on a pile of dusty books, as the door flew open, revealing an ornate wooden box. "How the hell?" he asked, walking slowly back up to the safe and peering inside.
"Kids," Dean explained, coming to stand beside him, "are more in tune with whatever cosmic forces are out there. That's why our boy here's a mind reader as well as a visionary and spoon-bender. The abilities tapered off around puberty and you blocked the memory of them out. See, I can figure things out. I'm not stupid."
"How'd you know?" Sam hissed at his brother as they pulled the box carefully out of the safe and the kids joined them.
Dean shrugged. "He told me, didn't you, slugger?" He ruffled the boy's shaggy hair. "Now, let's pop this sucker open and see what's inside."
Together, the adults opened the box, both expecting to find an antique Colt and five or six bullets. What they found was an empty case that had obviously once held the prized gun and magical bullets.
"Where is it?" Sammy asked, standing on his tiptoes to see into the box.
"It's gone," Sam replied, "someone took it. Elkins?"
"Dude," Dean began, pointing to a corner of the room, "I don't think it was Elkins."
The body of the vampire hunter was slumped over in the corner, blood still dripping from his mouth. His grey shirt was covered in the crimson liquid, as if his heart had burst through his skin. Unfortunately, Sam recognized the injuries all too well. They were eerily similar to the ones his big brother had sustained in their last encounter with the demon that had taken their mother.
Just as Sam was about to point out the nature of the man's injuries, something clinked onto the table behind him. It sounded like something big, heavy, and metal being set lightly on the wood.
"What the hell?" Sam muttered as he and the rest of the group whirled around.
John Winchester stood in the middle of the room, hand resting on an old table on which he'd set the loaded Colt. He smiled as his eyes turned a sickly shade of yellow. "Daddy's home," he sneered as adults and children went flying through the room to connect with the walls.
He'd hit his head. That was the first thing that Dean Winchester was aware of. It was a dull pain, really nothing compared to some of the injuries he'd sustained in the past. The second thing he was aware of was the noise, like a soft whisper, over and over in his mind. He was sure it was a memory, his little brother's voice.
"Daddy got turned into a yellow-eyed monster. Don't let him kill us. Please, don't let him kill us."
But it wasn't a memory, because the boy hadn't asked for protection when he was safe in the motel room, he had just stated the facts. And that was when Dean realized that he hadn't hit his head. The odd pain was his brother's fault, the little psychic six-year-old who didn't know who else to turn to. Of course, the kid had wormed his way into Dean's head.
"I won't," Dean moaned, trying to turn his head to find the kid, "just stop, please. It hurts." The noise in his mind died down as he spotted the kids, pinned by an invisible force to the opposite wall, staring at him with pleading eyes. Sam was pinned up next to him. The demon was nowhere to be seen.
"Jake got to it first. He told it where to find the gun," Sam muttered, "it tricked us."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, so why isn't it gloating?"
As if on cue, the demon wandered back into the room. "You know, boys," it said, grinning with John's mouth, "I thought you'd be smarter than this. I mean, after everything my son told me, I figured you'd put up more of a fight. Still, though, it'll be fun to kill the four of you. Or is it two? This whole time travel thing's a real pain in the ass, you know."
"Why?" Sam asked, "why kill the kids? Why kill us? Jake must have told you what you did in the future. Must have explained that our father's dead and we're no closer to finding you than we were the night mom died. So why do this?"
The demon smirked, walking up to Sam and facing him. "Because it's fun," it breathed, "because I want these kids to see you die. I want them to know that their lives will never amount to anything."
"You're wrong," the ten-year-old called out, "we'll get out. We'll find a way to send you right on back to Hell!"
Still grinning maniacally, the demon turned to face the boy, scooting him up the wall so it could meet his hazel eyes with its own yellow ones. "Cocky," it said coolly, "I like that in a victim. You wanna know a secret kid? Your brother isn't the only one that can see the future. I can, too. And you know what I see about you? You're gonna die alone. No one in the world to care or mourn. No one will even know you're gone."
"That's impossible," Dean shouted out, desperate to tear the demon away from the already-fragile boy he knew he had been, "if you're going to kill us all together, then he won't be dying alone."
The Big Bad turned again, its smile fading, to face Dean. "He will, because I'm going to make him watch you and your brother, and little Sammy there die. Then, I'm gonna take him out into the woods, and slaughter him. As he lays dying, I'll walk away. I don't want to watch pathetic scum like that die. It seems a total waste that he was even allowed to roam this Earth."
It turned on its heels back towards the children, who were watching with bated breath. "You here that, son?" it asked, staring straight at the elder of the two, "I don't even care enough to watch you die. I never cared. Not about you, anyway."
"Stop it," Sammy yelled, the sound echoing through their heads, "you don't mean it and you're not my dad!"
"Little snot," the demon hissed, turning its yellow gaze on the small boy, "you'll pay." It approached the child, intent upon killing him, wanting badly to taste his young blood. But that would have to wait. He would have to weaken the boy's will first. "You little freak. No one normal could ever want a freak like you, you know that, right? You'll never get that house and that family and that dog you want. No apple pie for Sammy."
The boy didn't hear the scathing words, he was too busy listening to the instructions racing through his mind. He nodded slightly, a sign that he'd heard the plan, that he understood what he had to do. He knew it would tear his family apart, but it was the only way left.
"Boys," Dean announced, glancing over at his brother and nodding as if they had a plan, "close your eyes."
The Colt flew off the table it had been resting on, floating in midair as the demon turned to face it. Yellow eyes flashed towards the tall man it had pinned to the wall as the trigger was pulled by an invisible force and a bullet that could kill anything raced through John Winchester's brain.
The hunter's body shuddered for a moment as a bolt of electricity went through it. Finally, John's limp form fell to the ground and the group fell to the floor with a thud.
Dean was the first one up. He staggered to his feet and stepped over the body, grabbing both children by the shoulders and leading them, eyes still closed, out of the room.
Sam just stared down at his father as the gun fell from the air and clattered onto the floor. He hadn't done that, hadn't made the gun float, hadn't pulled the trigger, but he'd recognized the little voice in his head begging him not to tell his brother. Even if he wasn't sure how, Sam was sure he'd done it. A six-year-old freak had just murdered his father.