Chapter Three
With a groan, Bobby pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch, his phone blaring at him from his desk across the room. He'd fallen asleep last night, having pulled yet another all nighter, finding information for the hunters on on the field. A bottle of beer lay discarded on the floor, a small puddle of the brown liquid underneath it, staining the dusty rug. Bobby eased himself up for the couch and stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders. Carefully making his way through the pile of books stacked on the floor, he grabs the cell phone and stares at the caller ID, hoping for one name in particular.
Dean Winchester.
The name brought a frown to Bobby's face. Dean had been missing for...for longer than he should have been. Years ago, Bobby had gotten a distressed call from Dean, the calling having disconnected before he could get a location out of the boy. Since then, Bobby's been using every resource he had to find him, quietly asking hunters to keep an eye out, ask around and see what anyone had seen or heard. Even though it had almost been six years since Dean went missing, he still hadn't let up on the search. A few hunters were displeased with his continued belief that Dean was still alive after all this time, but they hadn't refused to help Bobby; after all, Bobby helped them all the time without asking for anything in return.
In the six years that Dean had been gone, the only thing left of him was the Impala, which Bobby had stumbled across five and a half years ago in the woods of Lawerence, Kansas while on a hunt with Rufus. The car was a mess. The windows were shattered, glass littering the seats; the seats themselves torn to shreds, as if a bear had gotten its paws on them. The trunk was the only part untouched besides for a few dents in the car. Dean's weapons were all there, even his favorite gun, abandoned. Rufus had helped him bring the car back to Sioux Falls, both of them too afraid to ask the question that was burning holes in their minds.
Why had Dean been in Lawerence, Kansas?
The Winchesters hadn't been back there since Mary's death, John unable to handle the painful memories, Dean blocking out the pain, and Sam too young to even remember his mother. Even when there were hunts in the area, John had never been able to bring himself there, unable to make himself cross into the city lines.
Rufus had tried to convince Bobby to call John and alert him of what they found, but Bobby had been adamant in his refusal. He knew John Winchester. That son of a bitch would never give up the hunt for the yellow eyed demon, not even if his son's life was on the line. He'd stop at nothing. Ever since Mary's death, John's existence had become one of constant obsession and hatred. All he cared about now was getting revenge. And, with the way that John was, it wouldn't surprise Bobby if he found some way to place the blame on Dean for his disappearance, or even death.
And so, Dean's disappearance remained a well kept secret, even after the Impala mysteriously vanished one night a few months ago. And, Bobby had reasoned, if John actually gave a shit about his son, he would have noticed that Dean was missing within the first few weeks of it happened. It had been almost six years now. Clearly, Dean's life fell on Bobby's shoulders. Not that he minded.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he looked at the unknown number on the phone. He answered with a gruff hello, crossing his fingers, hoping Dean's voice would filter through.
"Bobby?" John Winchester said gravely into the phone.
A slow, creeping rage filled Bobby's body. He and John had not spoken in...Christ, how long had it been? The boys had been kids then. A decade or so? There had been a disagreement over John's parenting style, and John was incredibly defensive about his love for his sons, even though literal minutes before the fight, John had nearly wrung Dean's neck for not running laps and instead choosing to play catch with Bobby. "Why the hell are you calling me?"
"This ain't the time, Bobby," John said urgently, voice dropping lower. "I need your help."
"Just like you needed my help all those years ago, watching those boys so you could go off and throw yourself into danger on a wild goose chase?" Bobby sneered. He heard John take in a breath, but he plowed on before the other man could get a word in. "It's always the same shit with you, Winchester, every god damn time. It's always about you, and your have cocked plans for revenge on a monster that you can't even catch. Always abandoning your kids, always taking, taking, taking, but never able to give anything to anybody other than disappointment and regret."
Immediately on the defensive, John snaps, "You think you could do better than me? You don't even have any kids!"
"I might as well!" Bobby roared. "All the time I spent, watching those boys, taking care of them, you spent unraveling all my work, trying your damnedest to turn them into soldiers, people you can control and dispose of when they no longer were useful to you." Unable to stop the next sentence from coming out, he demanded, "Do you even know where your sons are? If they're even alive? Or do they no longer serve a purpose for you?"
The moment that followed was filled with the sound of Bobby's breathing, his breath coming in angry pants. John did not respond for a long time, and then there was a click, signifying the end of the call.
"Good riddance," Bobby murmured, tossing the phone no the couch and picking up a book.
He had work to do.
A faint beeping noise drew Sam out of his deep slumber, his face scrunching up at the disruption. His eyelids felt ike they were glued together, and as they fluttered in an attempt to pry themselves open, he mumbled, "Jess, turn the alarm off."
The beeping continued, and a new sound entered the fold, this one being a rustle of clothing, followed by a rough hand on his arm. Sam jumped, finally managing to pry his eyes open, vision slowly focusing on his father, who looked like he had spent the night in that ridiculously hard hospital chair. Wait...hospital chair? Sam's head turned, taking in his surroundings. The scratchy sheets against his skin, the being of the monitor, the IV in his arms, and the straps around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the bed. The monitor began to beep faster as he recalled what happened before he was forced to go to sleep.
"Sammy," John whispered, voice breaking as he watched his son break down for the second time in less than twenty four hours. Tears spilled out of Sam's eyes, and he began to sob brokenly. John. in an incredibly rare moment of affection, wrapped his son in a hug. Sam clung to him as best as he could without the use of his arms, feeling as if his very soul had been ripped from his body.
"Sammy," John repeated, pulling back a bit. "Sammy, I need to know what happened."
Sam shook his head back and forth, unable to make the words come out. He didn't want to say it, was tired of the image circling around and around in his head, like something straight from a horror movie. Only it wasn't. It was his life. And he had dreamed about it, had known, deep know, that it would happen, and he still did nothing! It was his fault they were dead. The thought brought on a new round of hysterics. John didn't push him anymore, instead wrapping a hand around his younger son's wrist, his touch an anchor that would keep Sam on Earth and not disappear too much into his head.
The fight had left Sam. As much as he hated being tied down, he did not struggle against the bonds. What was the point? What was the point of anything anymore? How could he move on from this? His body sagged against the mattress, exhausted. His sobs slowly quieted, and the tears were nothing but an occasional trickle out of the corner of his eyes.
John said, "I know...I know you don't want to talk about it right now. But people want to talk to you. They need to know what happened. Can you do that?"
John watched his son struggle with an internal battle. He had asked himself that very same question many years ago, looking in the mirror, asking himself if he was ready to talk to the police about what happened, if he was ready to rip that wound open even more. He knew that Sam would never fully recover from this experience, seeing as how he himself was still suffering over Mary's death. Seeing the one you love on the ceiling, dead eyes staring down at you...it changes a man.
"Where's the Impala?" Sam asked suddenly, eyes sharp and focused intensely on his father. John noticed that Sam had avoided the subject of talking to the police.
"Missing, just like Dean."
"I saw it last night."
John stared at him. "What?"
"I saw the Impala last night."
"Sam," John said slowly. "The Impala is no where near Palo Alto. Last night was -."
"I know what I saw!" Sam's voice was borderline a yell, a weird look in his eye. "The Impala was on my street last night and there was a guy standing next to it, okay? I know what I saw. I saw it. I swear I saw it." Sam's voice broke at the end, and he crumpled in on himself once more, mouth shutting with an audible click. John sighed and pressed the button that would call the nurse.
A few minutes later, the nurse strode in, a police officer standing outside the door, waiting to come in.
"How are you feeling, Samuel?" The nurse asked. "Any nausea, dizziness, drowsiness?"
"I'm fine," Sam said.
"You're not fine."
"You're right," Sam sneered. "I'd be a lot better if you didn't have me tied down like an animal!"
"Last night you attacked the paramedics, and earlier this morning, you lashed out again. Now, whether those were purposeful acts of violence or shock induced, it does not change the face that you have proven yourself to be a danger to yourself and those around you. We will take the restraints off once we are absolutely certain that you break anyone else's nose."
With a barely restrained growl, Sam looked away, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw began to twinge.
The nurse checked his vitals, the cuffs around his limbs, and once she gave the all clear, the police officer stepped into the room. He and the nurse talked quietly for a moment before she stepped out, closing the door behind her. The officer pulled up another plastic chair besides Sam's bed.
"Mr. Winchester," the officer begins. "My name is Jeffrey Morgan. I'd like to offer you my condolences."
"Thank you," Sam said quietly. "Are you here to ask me what happened?"
"Yes, if you're up for it," Officer Morgan replied. "If at any time you want to stop, if you fee like you're getting stressed, you just say the word. May I start?" Sam nodded, and Morgan asked, "Where were you when the house caught fire?"
"I had gone out for a run," Sam murmured.
"How far did you run?"
"I don't remember," Sam sighed. "I usually run the expanse of the neighborhood, but that night my stomach and head were hurting a lot, so I stopped to rest in the park. That's when I..."
"That's when you what?"
"It felt like the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up," Sam whispered. "And I turned around, and I saw the fire and smoke. And I ran back, and I just kept hoping that it wasn't my house."
Morgan wrote in his notepad, nodding his head. He paused for a moment before looking up at Sam again. The man seemed exhausted, as if last night's events had drained his very soul of energy and left him as an empty shell of a person. Officer Morgan didn't think that Sam would do anything to hurt his family, but he couldn't rule anything out until he was absolutely sure. But that didn't mean that he didn't have any other leads after speaking to the neighbors, firefighters, and Jessica's family over the phone.
"Sam," Morgan said gently. "Were you aware that Jessica was going to leave you?"
Sam reeled back as if he'd been slapped, and John's fist clenched from where it was resting on the railing of the bed. Sam's face paled before flushing in anger. "How dare you-"
"Sam," Morgan interjected. "Jessica's mother told us herself that Jessica was planning to leave you that night and take Emily. The fire response team also found two bags in the house filled with clothes and money. Jessica's car keys were also on the floor by the front door."
A new pain ripped through Sam's chest. The officer looked at him in pity. "No," Sam whispered. "Jess...why would she?"
His heart rate began to speed up to dangerous levels, and he began to fight against the restraints. Officer Morgan attempted to calm him down but to no avail. The nurse and a few others hurried in at the sound of Sam's monitor beeping wildly and they ushered John and Officer Morgan out of the room. The last night John saw before they closed the door was Sam throwing his head back and screaming into the air.
After managing to ditch Officer Morgan, John had slipped out of the hospital and slipped into his truck, heading back to Sam's house. Or, what remained of it. He parked his car across the street from Sam's house, staring at the charred remains. There, it was easy to forget that any time had passed; it felt like it was the night of Mary's death all over again.
John had wanted his relationship with Sam to be better, but Jesus, this was not something he wanted them to bond over. Two men losing everything to a demon with a vendetta.
Shaking his head, John stepped out of his truck and was prepared to head across the street to investigate the house when a faint whispered call caught his attention. He turned his head, and to his right, a girl, about sixteen years old, was peering at him from over the white picket fence. He took a hesitant step forward. "Yes?" he asked.
"I," the girl looked threw a glance over John's shoulder, and he followed her gaze to the burnt house. "We can't talk out here. Follow me."
John paused, watching her dash to the garage and open the door. She waved frantically at him to come, but warning bells were blaring in his head. Casually looking around, he allowed himself to move forward, following her. She closed the door behind him and turned on a tiny desk lamp that rested on a rickety table. Her blonde hair shimmered, and John watched as she plugged a camera into a laptop and scrolled through the files.
"What is this?" John asked. "And who are you?"
"I'm Lacy," she responded. "I'm not supposed to know this, but I've been listening to the firefighters and cops talking. The said that the fire wasn't a gas leak like they expected. Someone started it." She clicked on a video file and made it full screen on her computer. She moved over a bit so John could see. "I was practicing my cheer routine out on the front lawn yesterday for hours, and I didn't think anything of what I saw on the footage, not until after the fire."
She pressed play. For a while, it was just her flipping around and waving her pompoms around, chanting cheer after cheering, a typical cheerleader smile on her face. The sound of her cheers were soon drowned out, though, when the familiar roaring of an engine blared through the speakers. Lacy's mouth moved, her arms still striking poses, paying no mind to the shiny, 67' Chevy Impala that passed behind her. John's heart raced and he almost knocked Lacy over as his hand flew out to press down on the mousepad, slowing the video down and rewinding it.
John leaned in close, and as the Impala rolled by, the person driving it turned to face the camera. John nearly slammed the pause button, eyes wide, unable to breath as Dean's face stared back at him.
"Do you know him?" Lacy asked. "I've seen him around before."
"What?" John's head spun to face her. "What did you just say?"
"I've seen him before," she said. "He's been around this neighborhood a few times, he never stops or talks to anyone, he'll just drive through or just walk." She eased John's hands away from the laptop and skipped ahead in the video. "That car drove by Mr. Winchester's house a few times during the day, but it isn't until later that things get...weird." She pressed play.
The scene now was darker, like the sun was setting and the streetlights were beginning to come on. Sam's car was parked in front of one of the garage doors, the other vacant. John assumed that Jess's car had been on the inside. On the lawn, Lacy was still practicing her routine, occasionally stopping to take sips of water and do stretches. As she worked herself down into a split, shadows moved behind the curtains of Sam's house, those shadows being Jessica and Sam in the kitchen.
A man then sauntered into the frame, his leather jacket gleaming. He took his sweet old time getting close to the house, staring at the tall shadow that could only be Sam. He stood there for what seemed like forever, never moving, absolutely still. Suddenly, he turned and Dean's face once again appeared on screen. Dean went back the way he came, leaving the camera's range. Lacy skipped the video forward again and this time she wasn't in the shot. She stopped when Sam locked the door behind him, running gear on as he made his way down the driveway. As Sam paused at the end of the driveway, a strange look on his face, Dean seemingly appeared on the side of the house, leaning against the wall and waiting until Sam disappeared down the street before he took the stairs two at a time to knock on the front door.
Dean there was for only a moment before he took off around the house. A faint banging noise filtered through, and just a few minutes later, John could hear the muffled screams of Jessica and Emily Moore.
"I had accidentally left my camera on the ledge of my porch, and it was still recording when I went out t get it. After the fire happened, I watched it, and I tried to tell the police that it was a hit," Lacy said, not nothing John's distress. "But they told me that it was disrespectful to joke about what happened to the Winchester family. I even tried to show them the video but my mom told them that I was a troublemaker. But I know what I saw! You believe me, don't you?"
"Yeah," John's voice was unsteady as he replied. "I believe you." The video continued, and John could see that Lacy was right. The fire was impossible to classify as a gas leak, especially since the first flames happened upstairs in what John now knew to be the master bedroom. "Can I have this video?"
"Sure," Lacy said. "Just...don't tell my mom I gave it to you."
Lacy unplugged the camera and pressed it into his hand. John let himself out of her garage, Lacy trailing after him. Climbing into his truck, he made sure Lacy made it inside her house before pulling off.