The Changing Lights of the Rainbow

Chapter 9

"Why can't I go with you?" Sam whined, upset because they had an entire week from school and he was going to spend it alone in a motel room while his brother and dad went hunting.

"Because its not safe, you know that"

"But, you were hunting when you were my age! Will you talk to him for me, please, Dean!"

"I'll try, okay? But I can't promise anything, you know he's pretty set on keeping you safe."

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, pouting like the child he was. His dad had made it clear that he was not going with them. He wasn't old enough, it was too dangerous. Dean gave his brother a look of apology as he followed his dad out the door.

"Make sure you fix the salt lines, and lock the door when we leave" Dean reminded him.

Sam gave an eye roll as a response.

Dean was becoming a teenager. He acted like a grown adult, but at 14 years old, what boy didn't think they were grown. Dean had enough training to hunt with the best. What he didn't know, he easily figured out on his own. He was going home to his brother, that wasn't even a question. He would make sure of that.

He enjoyed hunting the baddies. He felt a sense of release. All the years of pinned up energy and emotions had an outlet, and he used every bit of it that he could. His anger, for the way his life had gone, was taken out on the creatures they hunted. Dad would never dream of letting him hunt alone, he said it was too dangerous, but as he grew older he would let him take the lead, make decisions on his own. But, for now, he had to follow his dad's exact orders. That wasn't a problem, he had spent his entire life following his orders exactly as they were given.

He enjoyed the power of the gun in his hands, the feel of a knife twisting inside a creature's body. He enjoyed the howling screams as the creatures died before his eyes. The blood, was riveting, made Dean feel alive. He would never hurt a human, he wasn't evil, he only enjoyed the fact that he was saving people, and killing the evil at the same time.

This creature they were hunting, the one Dad insisted was too dangerous for Sam to join them, wasn't at all what Dean had expected. When Dad said they were hunting a spirit, he figured it was your normal run of the mill, salt and burn, type of spirit. The type that would rattle chains in the attic and keep new people from moving into the home it possessed. They would figure out the identity, find where they were buried, and destroy the bones. Then they would make their way back to Sammy. Dean could imagine him sitting on the edge of the bed, his arms folded across his chest, pouting because he was left alone, again.

Only, that's not at all the way the hunt went. Even John wasn't expecting the outcome to be so horrifying. The spirit, ended up being a group of spirits. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, it was a cult, they had all died together in a mass suicide.

"They drank the kool-aid" Dean joked, "you never drink the kool-aid at a party"

John just chuckled at his son's sense of hummer. He was a completely different kid when he was hunting. When he's stuck in a motel or cheap apartment he's quiet and keeps to himself, but when he's in the wilderness, hunting, he's more opened and free.

Once they had identified the names of the cult members, they realized they were actually all related, and buried together in the same area.

"So, like the dad had a baby with his daughter and mom had one with her son?" Dean questioned, finding the whole thing disgusting.

"Yep, and according to the records the dad/husband was married to all the women who were his 'wives' and he even married some of the girls that were born before he married their moms."

"That's just gross!"

"It happens, Dean. It's not the idea situation, and usually they end just like this one did, but it happens. It's never a good thing. In situations like this, not only is everyone involved abused in every way imaginable, raped, but they lack the capability to think for themselves too. They usually end up worshiping the man who is the head of the family, he presents himself as a god, and the family is his followers."

"So, we gonna torch him first, so he's not in the way?"

"You got it, son! The leader goes first, once he's gone, the others won't put up much of a fight."

"Why would they put up a fight, won't they be free after he's gone?"

"It doesn't work that way. He's worked himself into their brains. His way of thinking is their way of thinking. They only know what he's brainwashed them to know, and the kids, well they've never known any different. It's sad really. They will defend him, even after death."

"Yeah, I would defend you, and Sammy, even after I died, if I had to, you know."

John just grinned and ruffed up Dean's hair, "Let's just hope you never have to."

"Yeah" Dean said with a grin

It didn't take them long to find the area the family was buried. They located the leader's name etched into a small stone at the head of his grave. "Jeremy Jacobs, loving father and husband to the many". The thought of what it said made Dean's stomach turn.

He was more than happy to start digging his grave, he wanted to torch this son of a bitch and set the others free. His shovel dug into the soft dirt, scooping it away a little at a time. John stayed watch, salt gun in hand, ready to repel any spirit that may try to stop them.

It all seemed quiet, too quiet. There wasn't a sound. Not even a bird bug made a sound. They had learned that means something evil was around. They both had their guard up, ready to defend themselves against whatever was hiding in the shadows. Dean continued to dig, until his shovel hit something hard.

"I think I found him" he shouted to his dad as he forced the tip of the shovel down, splitting the wooden box that was buried beneath the ground.

The bones of what was once a living, breathing, human being, was the only thing left as a reminder of his evil while he lived.

John made his way to Dean, "good job, son. Now, let's torch him."

Dean grinned as he climbed out of the grave. John sat the gun on the ground while he started pouring the salt over the bones. Without warning, the winds picked up, and Dean was thrown across the make shift graveyard and slammed into a tree.

His body slumped to the ground with a thud, and groan of pain. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the sudden pain to leave. He heard his dad yell and his eyes flew opened just in time to see him pinned against another tree. The force of the spirit was holding him against the tree. He was struggling, trying to free himself. He kept eying Dean, trying to make sure he was okay.

Dean crawled across the ground, trying not to make a sound. He made his way to the grave and poured the lighter fluid on the bones before the spirit even knew he had moved.

Releasing his force against John, he redirected his attention to the boy. Suddenly, Dean collapsed to the ground. He wrapped his hands around his own throat, trying to pry away the pressure that seemed to be cutting off his air supply. Again, he was forced into the air, and slammed against another tree. He wasn't able to make a sound of pain this time, he couldn't even take a breath of air. His lungs were burning, his face felt hot, and cold, at the same time. The pressure wrapped around his throat felt tighter by the second.

His vision blurred, doubled, then turned black. He could have sworn, before everything went blank, he had seen several figures around him. It felt like there were several people there. He had a sensation that felt like a punch to the gut, another that was like a kick to his ribs. They struck, several times. He couldn't see anymore, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Then, without his knowledge, his shovel was thrown toward him, the point of it striking him in his head, leaving a gash that poured blood on the ground around him.

John had managed to make his way back to the grave once the spirits were occupied with his son. His heart wrenched. The only thing he wanted to do was protect his boy, save him from the vicious attack. But, he knew if he went for Dean he would be fighting a loosing battle. He needed to rid them of the spirits in order to be completely safe. He threw the box of matches into the grave. The spirit of their first attacker went up in flames with the bones.

John then picked up his gun, shooting rounds of rock salt into the other spirits. Making them leave his son. John quickly made his way to the lifeless pile on the ground. His heart skipped a beat until he found the faint pulse pushing blood through Dean's veins. He took his shirt off, tying it around Dean's head, placing pressure over the gash. After being sure he was breathing, he lifted him and carried him to the next grave. He knew they had a job to do, and it needed to be done. He couldn't bare the thought of having his son too far from him, and would stop his digging to check on him. He didn't wake, but kept a steady heartbeat and respiratory rate. John dug the graves of the adult women, the ones who were the original mothers and wives, first. He kept his shotgun loaded and ready. After shooting the spirits a few more times, they seemed to weaken, perhaps they realized their leader was gone. John managed to get the job done, every grave was dug, salted, and burned. He didn't bother filling them in. Any other time he would have, but he needed to take care of his son, besides no one ever came out this way, no one visited the graves, he figured no one would even care, and if they did, he would be long gone by then.

He lifted Dean in his arms. His body was limp in his grip, carefully he laid his boy in the back seat, then quickly returned for the shovels and other items they had used. He made it back to the motel in record time. It was only an hour away, and he made it in a little over 30 minutes. He was never so thankful there weren't any cops waiting to pull him over.

"Dad! What happened?"

Sam was clearly upset as he carried in his older brother. He appeared lifeless.

"Get me some warm water and clean dressings for his head" John commanded.

Usually, Sam would have an attitude and argue about doing what his dad asked of him, but this time was different, this time it was for Dean.

John removed his jacket and shirt. His back was covered in a colorful rainbow of bruises from hitting the thick tree trunks. His ribs and stomach were red from the brutal attack to the areas.

Sam returned with the items and sat beside his brother,

"Dean? Can you hear me? You gotta be all right." Sam sounded so sad, and so lost, without his big brother responding to him. "Is he going to be okay?" Sam directed his question to his dad.

"He's tough, he'll be just fine. Sam, I need you to pack our things"

"Why?"

"We're going to Bobby's." John wasn't even looking at his youngest son, he was busy cleaning the wound on Dean's head, putting fresh bandages on it, trying to get the bleeding to stop. Not only did he have the gash on his head, but he had a large lump on the back of it too.

"We're moving? Again? Why do we gotta go?" Sam started his regular pouting

"Because there's no way in hell your brother is going to be able to attend school like this, and unless you want the officials to get involved and take you boys away, then we gotta move to a new school. And, besides, Bobby can help me with your brother. I don't know about you, but I would like to see him wake up, and be okay. Unless you don't care about that, and only want to care about your school."

Sam stuck out his lower lip. That was a low blow, even for John, but he was exhausted, he had a long hard night of digging graves, plus being attacked, and now having to worry about taking care of Dean. He didn't have the patients for Sam's childish behavior.

"FINE!" Sam shouted as he started packing their things.

John just huffed, taking a closer look at Dean's injuries. The gash on his head was deep. He wasn't sure the shovel didn't hit his skull. Bobby would know more than he did. He needed to get him there, get him the help he needed.

"I don't know why you can't just take him to a hospital, like normal people do, that's what they're there for, you know" Sam was still pouting and trying to fight with his dad.

"Yeah? And how the hell are you going to explain something like this? 'you see, doctor, there was a group of ghosts who attacked us, then they threw a shovel into his skull' I don't think that's going to go over too well, do you?"

"Well, its better than letting him lay there and die!"

"He's not dying, he's just knocked unconscious."

"When's he gonna wake up?"

"I don't know. Now, would you please do what I told you to do, so we can get Dean to Bobby's. He'll be able to get better care there."

"Yeah, whatever. I hate this family!"

"Sam, I'm only going to say this nicely one time… would you please just stop? Shut your mouth for once in your life. I don't have the patients or the energy for your arguing right now. I'm exhausted and on edge, and, I've gotta make sure your brother stays alive."

"I thought you said he wasn't dying?"

"SAM!"

"Sorry"

Sam dropped his head, finished the packing and followed his dad out the door. John laid Dean in the back seat, Sam piled in beside him, placing his brother's head in his lap. He wasn't going to let his big brother be too far away from him, not when Dad just said he had to make sure he stayed alive. Sam was scared, but Dad didn't like anyone showing emotions, so it came out more as anger. Anger was accepted, so it was what most of his emotions came out as, this was no different. Inside, Sam was screaming. He was screaming for his brother to wake up, to be okay.

The ride seemed too long, yet short at the same time. John didn't waist anytime getting Dean out of the car.

"Sam, go bang on his door, get him woke up, hurry"

Sam did as he was told, he ran up to Bobby's front door, banging on it with his little fists. He saw a light flick on, and a grumpy voice, "yeah yeah, I hear ya, who is it?"

"Uncle Bobby! We need your help, hurry, please, it's Dean!"

Bobby unlocked the door and flung it opened. There stood a scared little boy, tears threatening to drip from his eyes, and behind him, John was making his way up the steps with his oldest son in his arms. His body was limp, his arms and legs hanging toward the ground, his head carefully cradled against John's chest.

"Balls! What in the hell happened?"

John quickly told Bobby the basics, and laid Dean on the couch, allowing Bobby to take over. John was beyond exhausted, beyond stressed. He didn't think he'd be able to handle much more. He paced the floor as Bobby stitched the boy's head, stopping the blood loss. He wrapped his body in bandage to help with any broken ribs.

"He just needs to sleep it off. He has a pretty nasty bump on his head, and it looks like that shovel chipped his skull, but that should be fine, might hurt like a bitch when he wakes up, but so will that nasty gash, and I'm sure he has a few broken ribs."

John sighed, "How long do you think before he wakes?"

"I'd say no time tonight, so why don't you and little bit go upstairs and get you some shut eye, I'll stay with him for now"

John thanked Bobby, knowing he needed to rest before he passed out himself, and shuffled Sammy upstairs. Of course, he didn't go without putting in his thoughts about leaving his brother, but John wasn't going to hear it, not tonight. It had been a long enough night and all he wanted to do was sleep.