Thanks to all my reviewers! You guys really do keep me going! This chapter finally gives you some answers about why Sam's gone all kinds of crazy. Also, John's my boy, so I can't leave him out in a lurch! He's there too and of course, Bryson, even though the little guy's suffering he's slowly coming back! I have no idea if Little Ridge Montana is a place, I made it up.
Hope you'll forgive me for this!
Enjoy!
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John Winchester was only thankful there hadn't been many state police on the highway as he booked it all the way to Little Ridge, Montana. It also helped that he knew the back roads of the country inside and out but still, every now and then the cops found him.
He'd managed to make it all the way only being pulled over once for speeding. He didn't get angry with the officer, he couldn't afford to and truth be told, bottoming out the truck probably wasn't the safest way to drive. He'd taken the ticket, driven the speed limit for maybe another half hour, then once again pressed on the gas.
The phone call he'd gotten from Missouri had, as Dean put it, 'spooked' him, it spooked him good. It had also confused the hell out of him but one thing was for sure, he had to get to his boys and soon.
When Missouri called John had been sitting in a motel room half doing research and half ready to pick up the phone and ream out his sons. He got the message of their 'vacation' not minutes after they left it and couldn't believe nor understand why they'd do such a thing. As far as he had been aware, up to that point, Sam was fighting and hunting better and more efficient then he had been in his life. According to Dean's updates the two of them were just purging the country side of all it's evil and having a good time doing it.
The first time John had gotten a message from Dean that said, 'Dad, Sammy's kicking ass, you'd be proud of him. Bagged a 'Geist and a Shtriga in one day almost single handedly! No injuries what so ever!' he had been elated. Sam was finally accepting what their family was fated to do. Since that message, only more and more positive ones came through. John actually started being impressed that his boys were moving faster then he was across country.
But now things were different and all those messages of Sam's cudos didn't seem like such a good thing. He saw Missouri's number on his phone that day and picked it up, curious to know what she wanted.
"John," she said very gravely. "The boys need you, Sam needs you." At first John wasn't sure what to think, the way the older woman's voice sounded, he was sure it was some sort of trick. But then Missouri had cleared her throat and said, "Boy so help me if you keep thinking I'm not me! We don't have time for this!" So John had dutifully shut up and listened.
"Okay Missouri, what's going on?" he asked.
"I spoke with the Summers earlier today, there's something wrong with the Sprite's. They've apparently been acting strange since you boys left but now they've started going into hiding. Fewer of them are hanging around the house if at all," Missouri explained. "But a day ago three of them came to the Summers house and asked where Bryson was."
"Bryson?" John had asked. "We left him with them when we left the forest."
"Not according to the Sprites, John," Missouri replied. "They say the tall one took him."
"Sam?"
"I don't know but…" When Missouri had trailed of John was immediately concerned. The old woman held nothing back, ever and to have her suddenly rendered silent was very unsettling.
"Missouri, what is it?" he pried. The woman had taken a deep breath and John braced himself.
"I can't read Sam anymore John," she replied. "It's like… there's some sort of… wall that's shutting me out. I have no idea what's going on but I've had this feeling for a while now and it's gotten much stronger recently. Now with the Sprite's… John I think Dean is in danger." Now the confusion had returned and John shook his head.
"Wait… Dean? You mean Sam don't you?" he asked.
"No sugar, I mean Dean," Missouri had replied. "I'm sensing all sorts of wrong from those two boys."
That's when John had started packing. It was at the first pit stop that he'd called Dean to see if the boys were alright. More importantly he wanted to make sure Sam was still as okay as he had been when they'd gone their separate ways.
Dean's phone call however only added to the panic in the fathers heart. He trusted Missouri but he trusted Dean even more when it came to matter's of how Sam was acting. Since they were young John had always seen a special connection between the boys. Dean would always be there to rescue Sam and Sam would always be reason for Dean to stay calm under pressure. John had always been a little jealous of the two but in later years when Sam had decided to be the rebel son, he was grateful for the boys relationship. Dean had almost become a translator between the two of them. He was the one man in the family who was fluent in both 'Sam-ese' and 'Dad-glish.'
So when Dean actually admitted to John that Sam was acting strange, he grew twice as concerned and only drove faster.
Now John skidded his truck to a halt on the gravel driveway in front of the cottage. The old woman at the house had been surprisingly welcoming to John after she found out who's father he was. She happily gave up the right cabin number and soon John was moving again.
The truck barely stopped before John ripped the keys out of the ignition and ran up the steps and knocked on the door.
"Boys it's your father, open up," John ordered. When there was no response he tried knocking again. "Come on Dean, Sam, open this door right now!" he exclaimed. Though his words lacked conviction, really he just wanted to know that the only thing he had left of Mary's, wasn't hurt or worse.
He was raising his hand to knock again when the door clicked and slowly started to swing open.
"It's about time! What…?" John had ducked in the door but stopped short at the sight before him. His body went numb all of a sudden and seemed to shut down as he looked at the destroyed room and then to the individual lying on the floor. "Son?" John squeaked.
"I'm sorry this happened." Startled John spun around to face the voice that spoke to him.
"Bryson?" he exclaimed. Bryson smiled sadly and nodded. The Sprite looked in much rougher condition then John had last seen him in but that didn't matter. What mattered was what the hell had happened to his son and who was responsible. "What happened?" John asked his mouth barely able to form the words.
Bryson flew over to the body and landed next to it, eyeing it warily.
"There was a fight and… Sam was… changed…" he struggled. Small tears dripped from his eyes before he once again took flight and landed on the table next to John. "I didn't know what to do so I… I just…" John shook his head cutting the Sprite off and then moving closer to his son on the floor.
"Why is he tied down? And what the hell is this dust all around him?" he asked.
"Because he shot me in the head." John spun around, once again nearly having a heart attack, to face Dean who was coming out of a bedroom holding his head.
"Dean!" Bryson squealed. "God I'm good!" John looked incredulously from the Sprite, who was pumping his tiny fists in victory, to his youngest son, tied up, dusted and placed in the middle of a demon trap and then to Dean.
"He shot you in the head?" John asked. Dean nodded and moved his hand away from his head, revealing and angry red mark right between his eyes. Instantly concerned John got to his oldest sons side and looked at it. "This is a direct hit, how…?"
"Bryson, dad," Dean replied. "Sam did shot me and I was dead but Tinkerboy came through for us again. Don't know how he did it, but he did." John was horrified but elated at the same time. His son had been killed but by the grace of god, he'd been saved once again.
"We Sprite's can do amazing things when our lives depend on it," Bryson said. Clearly the little Sprite's strength was waning as he slowly sank down to his knees on the table. "Dean saved me from that box and from Sam, it meant my life that he survived so I… I gave it all I had. I'm a little tired now though."
Both Dean and John moved closer to the Sprite as he started to fall backward off the table. John was quick to react and caught Bryson before he fell to the floor. Clearly what ever the Sprite had done to save Dean had taken a lot out of the little guy, as had the sparkling dust that lay around Sam on the floor.
"Is he…?" Dean asked. John shook his head, the Sprite was pale but his tiny chest still rose and fell with life.
"He's still alive, I just think he needs some rest," he replied. Dean snorted.
"Him and me both." Once again John found himself looking to his son on the floor.
"Okay Dean, I'm going to need one hell of an explanation," he sighed.
"And you'll get one," Dean replied. Then he moved toward Sam on the floor, "Let's just tie him up and dust him in his bedroom. I don't want him to get free but that doesn't mean he can't have a bed." John nodded and after placing Bryson carefully on a couch with a blanket, he moved to help Dean.
A half hour later, John sat incredulously across from his eldest son and Bryson. The Sprite woke up moments ago and was now sipping on some water Dean had just brought him.
"So… he's possessed?" John asked.
"Don't think so," Dean replied. "I mean, it's not like any kind of possession I've ever seen before. He seemed perfectly aware of what he was doing the whole time just… confused as to why he was doing it. Kinda like he had a weird semi-split personality." John sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
"The same eyes we saw that night in the forest you say?" he asked. Dean nodded,
"Accept this time his hair went white and his skin went gold," he added. Then he to let out a deep breath and shook his head, "Dad this is like nothing, nothing we've ever dealt with before. I mean, Sam's hunting has improved, you'd think if it was some kind of demon that he'd stop hunting or try and kill me but he hasn't. If anything he's been protecting me more then I have him. Aside from a few indiscretions that weren't so good, he's not showing any evil, demonic behavior."
"HE PUT ME IN A BOX FOR THREE MONTHS AND TORTURED ME!" Bryson suddenly exclaimed. A pathetic barely visible pathetic angry poof of dust came from his wings. Both Dean and John jumped slightly, surprised that one Sprite could get so loud.
"I know Brys, and I'm not saying that's okay," Dean replied. "I'm just saying… hell I don't know what I'm saying… this is nine kinds of crazy."
"It is," John agreed but then he looked at the Sprite, "But I'd like to know why he needed you Bryson. What do you have to do with all this?" All of a sudden Bryson seemed once again quieted as he looked down into the thimble that was his cup. John raised an eyebrow and looked at Dean who sighed.
"Bryson's afraid to tell us what he knows because he's afraid of Sam trying to kill him," Dean explained.
"Sam wouldn't do that," John said.
"Just like he wouldn't shoot Dean in the head... OH WAIT? HE DID!" Bryson replied. John frowned but knew the Sprite had a point, one that was undeniably made clear by the red mark that still remained on his eldest sons forehead.
"Okay, fair enough, but Bryson you met Sam before this all started happening… sort of anyway. You know he's an okay person and that something is really wrong with him right now," John said.
"Exactly," Dean added. "If you know something that can help us get him back to normal then I'm sure he'll feel horrible for what he did to you."
"You don't get it, do you?" Bryson exclaimed. He tossed his little thimble and it hit the coffee table with a clank. Then the Sprite tried to stand but his still weakened condition caused him to stumble into Dean's awaiting hand.
"No we don't Bryson, that's why we need you to explain it to us," Dean said. He helped the Sprite sit back down and wrapped a nearby blanket around his tiny shoulders. John held back his smile at the sight of his son acting like a concerned parent toward the Sprite. And more so at the fact that Bryson now looked like a pissed off child. A child that was so wrapped up in a blanket only his head stuck out.
It was the same way Mary would get Sam and Dean to calm down when they were very small. The babies would be wailing like there was no tomorrow and Mary would scoop them up, wrap them tightly in a blanket so they couldn't move and hold them until they were quiet or asleep. Dean may not realize it but at that moment he reminded John so much of Mary it hurt.
But that was a conversation for another time. What mattered now was finding out what was going on with Sam.
"Bryson, Dean and I will protect you but we need to know how to do it properly," John asked. "What's gotten into Sam?" Bryson was quiet for a moment but then he looked up at John and held eye contact.
"Nothing's gotten into Sam, John," Bryson said. "It's what's getting out that's the problem." John raised a curious wary eyebrow as he looked from Dean back to the Sprite. Dean bore a similar look of confusion.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. Bryson sighed and sunk lower into his blanket almost so his mouth was covered.
"Lunar Sprite's have an ancient text called the 'Bitle,'" he began.
"Bitle? Don't you mean bible?" Dean asked. Bryson shook his head furiously.
"No I don't," he replied. "The Bitle is similar in some ways to the bible but it's in regards to the supernatural on earth and it makes the bible look like a new release."
"That old huh?" Dean asked. Bryson nodded.
"How come I've never heard of it?" John asked. He was pretty sure that he had his hands on any and all texts and other things, regarding the supernatural. It was hard to believe something that sounded so important wouldn't be part of his repertoire.
"Do you really think we'd be dumb enough to let humans get a hold of something so precious to us? Good and evil supernatural, both sides protect it's stories with their lives," Bryson replied.
"So how many copies of it are there in the world?" Dean asked. Now Bryson was starting to look annoyed as he glared up at Dean.
"You really expect me to answer that human after what you're brother did to me?" he snapped. Then he sighed and shook his head, "The Bitle is in various forms so it can't be tracked down but Lunar Sprites are some of the few that actually have a parchment bound copy."
"So this Bitle, what does it have to do with Sam?" John asked. Bryson's face fell once again into one of fear and concern.
"In the Bitle, it tells of a power so great it was the essence of the Universe itself. It had control over all the beings that you would call supernatural and held them in balance. Before the earth and the stars were created this power was already formulating beasts and demons and sprites into existence," Bryson explained. John and Dean looked at each other then back to the Sprite.
"So it was a dark power?" Dean asked.
"Wrong again," Bryson sighed. "Man, you guys have the patience of a humming bird. Can I just finish please?" John pursed his lips but sat back in his chair while Dean folded his arms across his chest.
"Go ahead," John said calmly.
"This power wasn't classifiable. It was so powerful that it created so many different types of beings, human's included but eventually there was too many. The power began to get conflicted over which being meant more to it. Soon enough, good and evil were born of this power when it split in two, or as your bible says, god and the devil. The earth was created to look like paradise but evil let loose on it. The Bitle believed however that one day the powers of good and evil would reunite itself in one being, one entity and once again take control of the stars," Bryson explained. Then he looked between the two men, "I told you Sam wasn't human, I meant it. I saw a good power in him that's never been seen by the supernatural before."
"But how does that explain what's going on with him now?" Dean asked. "If he's so good why does he seem so confused?"
"Because he's not so good Dean," Bryson replied. "At least not anymore. That demon, the ancient one that attacked your family and wanted to possess Sam for his powers."
"The one Sam killed," John said.
"Sort of," Bryson mumbled. John felt his heart race at the prospect that the demon wasn't dead. Clearly this bothered Dean as well as the middle Winchester sat stiff as a board.
"That bastards dead Bryson, we'd know if he wasn't," Dean exclaimed.
"It is gone, don't worry," Bryson replied quickly. "But it was one of the original evils to come from the power's split. By dieing inside Sam, who had powers of untold good nature, it left a residual essence." John sighed as everything was finally starting to make sense… and scare him.
"Melding the good and evil back together," he said. Dean's head snapped toward his father then back to Bryson with an incredulous look on his face.
"Is that true?" he asked. "My brother is the most powerful being on earth right now?"
"No," Bryson said. "In the Universe known and unknown." Dean stood up and shook his head.
"This is insane," he said as he began to pace. "Sure Sam's gotten better at hunting and maybe he's done some not so great things but an all powerful being? I'm not buying it. He hasn't done any force field raising or people tossing or car lifting or surviving a car crash, how is that all powerful?"
"You shot him in the chest Dean, he was barely down thirty seconds before he was right back up again," Bryson dead-panned. Now it was John's turn to get to his feet and glare at his son.
"You shot your brother in the chest?" he exclaimed.
"It was an accident!" Dean exclaimed.
"It's also not his fault," Bryson piped up. "But now we answer why I'm here." John quieted and sat back down as did Dean, the two of them had gotten so worked up over Sam that they'd actually forgotten John's original question.
"Why?" Dean asked.
"My dust," Bryson explained. "Sprite dust as a calming compound in it. I don't know if you noticed but the only time Sam goes 'incredible hulk' on us is when he's upset or angry. Sam grabbed me because that night in the woods the power almost fully integrated itself inside him, it was the Sprite dust that kept the two separate inside him and helped him get a hold of the conflicting emotions and thoughts. The power still isn't completely integrated because Sam's being huffing my dust all this time. That said, he's needing more and more, more and more often and even with the dust in his system…"
"He's starting to lose the ability to tell right from wrong," Dean sighed. "So what happens when the powers fully come together?" John didn't like it in the least when the Sprite bit his bottom lip and looked away from them both.
"You loose Sam forever," Bryson said quietly. "And eventually, humanity loses the planet."
"You're essentially saying my son has the power to cause the apocalypse," John replied.
"I'm saying your son is and will be the apocalypse, John. His body will loose control of what's inside it and he'll transform into a monster that no one, no thing can stop. He'll have an unquenchable appetite for anarchy because the boundaries of good and evil will be non-existent for him," Bryson said. John took a deep breath and shook his head.
"Jesus," he whispered. "What do we do? I mean… we have to be able to do something. Christ this is my son we're talking about!" It didn't go unnoticed that Dean had paled considerable taking in the information the small Sprite was giving them. John felt bad for Dean because he knew a revelation that Sam was going to die and take the world with him wasn't something the brother could comprehend. Dena was hurting alright, but that would have to wait until after they saved Sam.
"That's where that comes in," Bryson said. John followed the Sprite's finger to a metal rod that was sticking out of the fire. The end of the poker was already red hot and glowing. He turned back to the Sprite and frowned.
"That better not be what I think it is," he said.
"Too bad, it is," Bryson replied. "John I have no idea how to stop Sam from destroying the world. My dust is just temporary and I can't keep giving up the amount he needs, I've barely been surviving as is. That poker has a brand on it, it's a pentagram cross highbred symbol that will keep both powers separate and at bay much better then the occasional dust huff will."
"But that sounds like it's still temporary," John said. Bryson opened his mouth to reply but Dean folded his arms again.
"We are NOT branding my little brother," he hissed. "I don't care what else we have to do but we are not going anywhere near Sammy with that thing."
"Dean the alternative means my death," Bryson said sadly. "I know it's cruel to do that to Sam but… is my life really worth so little to you? After all that I've done?" Even John felt the emotion of guilt run off his first born. Dean was good at hiding his emotions but the innocent, sad look of a tiny blue Sprite seemed to be just the thing to break down the tough exterior.
With a sigh, Dean moved closer to Bryson and smiled weakly.
"I do owe you a lot," he replied. "And I don't want you to die but isn't there any other way?" Bryson shook his head and looked back to John.
"The brand will last longer, long enough for the others to find us and bring the text," he explained. "Your son is borderline omnipotent John, the brand will heal as though it had never been there with in days."
"And the other Sprites, they're coming?" John asked. Bryson looked bashfully at the floor.
"I don't have enough energy to call them," he said quietly. "But if one of you let the Summers know they'd be able to get the others here." John looked at Dean who stared back, clearly the choice was John's at this point as the lost look on Dean's face just hadn't gone away.
"Okay, I'll do it," he said. "Dean, will you call Missouri and ask her too get in touch with the Summers?"
"Not like I could sit around to watch this anyway," Dean replied. He pulled out his cell phone and headed out the door without another word. John shook his head in exasperation.
"Dean doesn't know what to think," Bryson suddenly said. "He's conflicted between hunting and banishing harmful evils and protecting Sam."
"It's always been that way with him," John said. "But it's never been this… extreme." He was about to stand up and reach for the poker when Bryson cleared his throat nervously.
"John uh… there's one more thing," he said. Warily John looked at the small Sprite and remained seated.
"What?" he asked.
"If there's nothing in the text that can help Sam… you have to be prepared for what comes next," Bryson said.
"That being?" John asked.
"Lunar Sprites are good beings but we're also self preserving. My people can't allow ourselves or our world to just be destroyed," Bryson said. Finally the Sprite slipped from his blanket and managed the short flight over to John's side. He looked up at the man, "No one in good conscience let those powers reunite fully a permanent solution has to come one way or another." John ran the words through in his head several times before looking back down at the Sprite and frowning.
"You mean…"
"If Sam isn't saved, he has to die," Bryson said. "And I'm sure he'd just as soon get killed mercifully by his own family then by a mob of pissed off Sprites." John's mind reeled, since when did Sprite's become an angry mob? Even though he knew what Bryson was saying made sense and it was in the best interest of mankind and supernatural alike, John just couldn't accept it.
He had been hunting since his sweet Mary had died. He'd faced evil, he'd faced dangerous humans, he'd face non-believers and he'd faced times when he believed his death was eminent. But nothing, nothing prepared him for this truth. The truth that his son would most likely not see this through to the end.
"No," John said. His mind was simply blocking out the reality of his situation.
"Yes," Bryson replied. Then tenderly added, "A last resort, of course."
"No," John said again this time much firmer. "I wont murder my own flesh and blood."
"Even if it means the rest of your kind will be lost in his place?" Bryson asked. "I know it's difficult but be realistic."
"I am," John replied. "It wont come to that, we'll get the Bitle and we'll save Sam."
"I hope so," Bryson replied. He looked away pensively, "I hope so." John watched the Sprite for a moment and wondered how horrible it had been for Bryson over the past few months. He also wondered if Sam actually realized what was going on and how it was effecting his brother.
John had never seen Dean so, dejected and sad, almost as though in loosing his brother, Dean was loosing himself as well. That and having shot one another within minutes of each blast couldn't have gone over well with Dean.
When Dean was eleven he had almost accidentally shot Sam while cleaning a gun. John had seen the possible mistake coming and had intervened before the gun even went off but the emotional damage had been done. It took four weeks before Dean would even touch a gun again and another month before he'd get with in twenty feet of his brother with a weapon unless absolutely necessary.
The idea that they had both shot each other with out hesitation no doubt was making Dean feel physically ill. But more so that Sam had shot him again. The long established trust between the boys was breaking apart, John could see it and was very worried.
Not worried enough to neglect the task at hand however, he stood up and pulled the branding iron from the fire. Then slowly he pushed open the bedroom door to his youngest Son's room. Sam was awake and as far as John could tell, looking completely normal. It was disturbing to see Sam's hands and feet tied to the bed as was it odd to have him covered in a fine sheen of dust. For a moment, John wondered just how close Bryson was to death if he'd given off this much of the powder.
Sam's eyes grew wide as he laid eyes on the thing in his father's hand as he furiously started to struggle weakly against his binds. Clearly he had no strength either, thanks to the dust.
"Dad, no! No!" he wailed. "Please, god, no!"
"This is for Dean, son," John replied. Sam's eyes filled with tears and he stopped struggling.
"I killed him," Sam sniffed. "I… killed him?" John was momentarily stunned by his sons confusion about the matter.
"He's not dead Sam, Bryson saved him," John said. "But we need to do this so we can help you okay? Just don't fight me on this, I'm sorry." He approached the bed and lifted his sons shirt, this would hurt them both.
"Dad no, please… wait… WAIT!" John sucked in a deep breath and pressed the hot metal symbol to his son's tender flesh.
Dean closed his eyes and tried to block out the blood curdling scream that echoed through the thick log walls of the cabin. Even sitting on the hood of the Impala away from the front door, his brother's screams were clear as day.
"I'm sorry Sammy," he said quietly to himself. He'd just finished filling Missouri in and had gotten her word she'd talk to the Summers. Now he sat waiting for the screaming to end before he went back inside.
Truthfully, when he'd woken up that afternoon and heard his father's voice in the cabin he was elated. But then reality had come rushing back to him and for several moments he'd been to stunned to move. He had shot Sam and Sam, in turn, had shot him in the head. In the head. It wasn't a disabling shot, it was a kill shot and if Bryson hadn't been there… Well Dean only thanked all the powers that be that the Sprite had been there.
But what hurt worse was knowing Sam had been suffering a great deal in the past few months and hadn't trusted Dean or felt comfortable enough to ask him for help. After all the things they'd done together and fought against, Sam couldn't bring such a serious problem to his brother's attention. Which only made Dean wonder more if the two of them really still knew each other. They weren't toddlers, sharing the bathtub anymore. They weren't kids that walked with each other to and from school. They were grown men, men who had grown apart and apparently brother's who'd become estranged.
Dean sighed as the screaming finally stopped and placed his cell phone back in his pocket. You could spend almost your entire life with someone, they could change right before your very eyes and you'd never notice it until one day, something like this happens.
Sam wasn't little Sammy screaming bloody murder for the Nair in his shampoo or the permanent marker on his face the first time he got drunk. No, Sammy was now Sam, grown up, psychic, powerful being, college educated, bringer of the apocalypse, Sam Winchester.
And at that moment, something inside Dean died just a little.
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TBC
Sniff! Poor Dean! Well at least he's alive huh? Had you fooled for a few seconds at the beginning I hope! Snicker, snicker, snicker.
Anyway, here's your appetizer for the next chapter;
… Dean was still feeling bad about the conversation they had earlier. He knew Sam was probably more scared then anyone else at the moment and powerless and angry or not, Dean had a responsibility to sooth his little brother's nerves. That in mind Dean got up from the table and nodded to his father.
"I'm going to go talk to him," he said.
"Be careful," John said barely looking up from the text in front of him. Dean nodded and headed toward his brother's room. He put his hand on the door and began to open it.
"Sam can I come in?" he asked. When he received no answer he figured Sam was still upset at him and doing the silent treatment thing. Dean started to push the door open more. "Come on Sam, I just want to…"
He froze dead in his tracks, his heart stopped and his mind shut down. Rope debris lay everywhere and the window was wide open. But the worst thing was the small Sprite, struggling to breath on the bed, horrifically missing his left wing. It took several seconds for Dean to react but finally the adrenaline surged through him.
"DAD!" he yelled.
Oh man, I'm horrible!… the beast has been set free… you knew it had to happen at some point! But was dear Bryson caught in the crossfire? Stay tuned! Read and review!