A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delayed post. CarverEdlundtheLast: I'm so happy to hear that you have been enjoying this plotline. You will be hearing more about Millie, I promise. Her part in this story is by no means done. ncsupnatfan: I'm so sorry to hear about your illness! I'm glad to hear from you, I was getting worried. As for your other review, I don't know what Gabriel will do in the long run. He doesn't like to let people know his plans, even me. Poor Cassie is having major issues, and he is likely to continue having issues for the foreseeable future. Why does Dean always lie? WHY? WHY?! *Sinks to the floor in pain*
By the way, I was thinking of writing another prequel fic, starting in the thirties and going through to the fire. It would focus on Henry, Millie, John, Mary, the Men of Letters, Samuel, Deanna, etc. Would anyone be interested?
I do not own Supernatural or its characters.
Chapter 36: The Truth Will Out
Sam sped down the road toward the bunker, not bothering with the speed limit and every so often taking his eyes off the road to glace concernedly at the child in the passenger seat. Dean was still unconscious, but Sam was fairly certain that he had reached him in time. He pulled out his phone, dialing Dean's number and putting it to his ear.
"Hey." The voice was muffled and Sam guessed his brother was eating.
"I am going to kill you."
The line went dead for a few seconds, "Literally or metaphorically? Zeke didn't give you something did he?" Sam sighed. The fact that that was a perfectly reasonable response said something about their lives. "No. The plan went a little off the rails. Dean cut one of his wrists to make an additional sigil."
Another pause, "Is he okay?"
"I think so. I tied it up to stop the bleeding and I'm on my way to you now."
"Okay, sounds good. You need a transfusion? I can have one ready. After all, we have lots of the right type, nice and fresh, still in the original handsome package. Don't even have to steal it."
"No. He's unconscious, but I think he'll be all right with some rest."
Silence, then, "I'm gonna have one waiting."
"Right. Seriously though, stop giving me heart attacks."
"It's not MY fault the kid's an idiot."
"Yeah it is."
Dean paused, "Okay, maybe it is." Sam could hear his grin through the phone, "Good thing I'm smarter now, huh?"
Sam sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes, "So, uh, how am I? You know… little me."
"Uh… yeah, you're okay. It was a premonition. Cas and I went in, got you out."
Sam wasn't sure he had heard right, "Wait. A premonition?"
"Yeah. Apparently Azazal's demon blood thing took effect sooner than we thought. About twenty-two years sooner."
Sam blinked, "Wow. So, uh, what was the premonition?" Silence from the other end, "Dean?"
Dean sounded like he was in pain, "It was of The Cage, Sammy."
He paused in shock, "The Cage? You mean-"
"Yeah."
"What was going on?"
"Sam…"
"I need to know what he saw. Please."
"Why? It's the Cage, it's all crappy."
"Yeah, well, some parts are crappier than others."
Dean paused, "I didn't really see anything. The main action seemed to be over by the time we got there." Please, please let Sam buy it. Come on…
Sam could tell he was lying. It was always obvious, but normally he found that it was better to let Dean think he was winning. He decided to let it go and find out later. He'd ask Cas. Cas was terrible at keeping secrets. "Yeah, okay. I guess it doesn't really matter. Um, look, I should focus on driving. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Okay. Tell me when you get here." Dean hung up.
Sam set down his phone, glancing worriedly at the child in the passenger seat. What did Dean think he was doing? He thought they had agreed, things had to change if they were going to break out of the cycle. Lying to each other was definitely somewhere at the top of the list. He understood, of course. Dean didn't want him to have to think about any of those memories, he was trying to protect him. The problem, of course, being that he didn't want protecting. He needed to know what his younger self had seen. The torture, in and of itself, was horrible enouph, but if Sammy had seen some of the other stuff, the stuff Lucifer had done to mess with his head…
"What the hell?" John glanced up at the man who had spoken. Bobby's gaze was fixed on a point somewhere behind him, and John turned around in an attempt to see it. Then he jumped up off the log and backed up a few steps as his eyes widened in shock.
"Hello John." Said the apparition, standing in the woods just outside the salt line.
Bobby continued to stare. "Is that-"
"Yes," John said, his voice breaking with longing and need. It was Mary, but not as he would have expected her ghost to appear, slightly child-worn wearing a bloody nightgown with over-pale skin. Rather she looked the way she had the day they met, a pretty teenager in a peasant blouse and jeans, that charm bracelet she always wore clinking on her wrist and a smile gracing her face. John stared at her, drinking in the sight like a dying man in the desert. He didn't know how she could be here, but right now he really didn't care. He started walking toward the edge of the clearing, needing to be closer, to feast his eyes on her, to touch her. He ignored Bobby's warning cry as he walked, stopping just inside the salt line, a couple of feet away from the object of his desire. He stood, barely breathing as they watched each other.
An irritating voice invaded the moment, "John, what the hell do you think you're doing? Get back here before you get your dumb ass killed."
"Will you give me a minute?" He turned his focus back to the woman in front of him, "Mary, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."
Her smile remained intact, "I know."
"You- What?" He stared at her, the smile that had seemed so kind suddenly gaining a sinister light as she stepped forward, "I know. It is your fault." He started to stumble backwards as she advanced, to his shock walking over the salt line with no apparent difficulty. She was starting to frighten him, and he held out a hand toward her, "Mary-"
"I should have walked out of there! I was supposed to have a life!" A shotgun blast sounded out, useless salt tearing at her shirt, and she threw out a hand, tossing Bobby across the campground and pinning him to a tree. The smile was gone.
John was growing desperate, "Mary, I'm sorry-"
She turned her head to look at him, seemingly furious, "And how does that help me? You can be sorry all day and it doesn't change a thing. I still burn while you run."
"I couldn't- there was no way I could get to you."
That seemed to anger her further. John felt himself lifted up into the air, his back finally colliding with rough bark. "You should have gotten me out! I died screaming. I didn't deserve that!" Her voice dropped back to a normal pitch, "Why did I die instead of you?"
"You're not Mary."
She shook her head, "Does it matter? It's what you think." She laughed slightly, "You hate yourself, John. I know. I can see what's in your mind, and it's a mess up there. It's almost sad looking at you. Well," She shrugged, "At least you won't have to worry about it much longer."
John struggled against the force pinning him to the tree, staring miserably at the thing that looked like his wife.
Sam pulled into the garage coming back, getting out and rushing around the car to open the passenger door and lift his brother out, studying him as he walked toward the exit. It was strange, he had no memory of Dean at this age, in the earliest of his memories Dean was at least seven or eight, and by that time his mask of snark and macho bravado was already mostly in place. It only slipped on very rare occasions, so it felt oddly bizarre to meet this sweet, venerable, genuine child and think 'Dean.' There were similarities, of course, one of the more worrying ones appearing to be a complete lack of hesitation about shooting someone who was threatening Sam, and he had known those other traits existed, somewhere under the brittle shell, but to see it, to have Dean beg him for affection and approval like he had at the store… he wasn't sure how to react.
The adult version met him as he walked into the children's bedroom, a worried expression on his face that only got worse as he caught sight of the child, "Crap, he looks bad."
Sam laid the boy on the bed, only now noticing the oddly pale tinge of his skin, "Yeah. Uh, you got that blood?"
Dean started to search his pockets, "Yeah, yeah." He pulled out a large syringe full of the dark liquid.
Sam looked at it, his brow furrowing, "Isn't that the syringe we use for curing demons?"
Dean glanced at it, "Uh… yeah, but don't worry, it's sterilized." Sam sighed. Dean continued, "What? You didn't think I was going to put a germy needle in my arm to get blood, did you? Ugh."
Sam stared at him, an extreme bitchface settling over his features, "No."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Dean, that thing has been inside demonized you and Crowley, I'm not putting it in a six-year-old kid! Don't we have an IV or something?"
"No. Sorry, uh, I've been meaning to make a run to the blood bank. Hadn't gotten around to it."
"Great."
Dean stared at him intently, pleadingly, "Look, we gotta do something. Don't I get a say?"
Sam looked back at the small blond figure, lying unconscious on the bed, then back at Dean's pleading face. He sighed, "Fine."
