The Waiting Game – pt 3.
by: sifi
--
Movement in the grasses drew Sam's attention, setting his heart clip-clopping in his chest while his lungs drew breath just a little deeper. I don't hear any cars... at least none close by... then he spotted it, a vague movement darker than the night as a large-ish black shape took wing into the velvet blue night sky. It's a little late for birds isn't it? he wondered against a small twitch in his low belly. Some things Dean might have forgotten, but Sam hadn't. The battle maidens' harbingers are ravens... alright let's not jump to conclusions now... there ARE night birds... coulda been an owl... they're nocturnal... yeah, it's probably an owl, caught itself a field mouse or something... yeah, at least that makes sense...
"Let's go..." Dean startled him out of his thoughts.
"Yeah..." Sam nodded walking side by side with his big brother back through the field, back toward the impala, "You hearing any hounds or anything yet?" he asked anxiously.
"Nuh uh..."
"I want to look up those symbols before you get your hopes up, but if some of them are what I think they are, you might just be off the hook..."
"Ya think?" he asked letting his hope shine through.
"I think... I recognized a couple of 'em... The Lucky Hand, Ingwaz – the egg, The Dog... Dean if they all represent what I think they do, then I'm thinking..."
"It might not be an accident that someone exorcised the demon on this night," Dean stopped in his tracks, his expression troubled in the darkness, "I wonder how many other deals she made that night," he sighed.
"You can't blame yourself if anyone else took her up on any offers... like you said before, the ones who make the deals, it's not like they go into it with their eyes closed, but sometimes there isn't any other visible choice."
"Seasoning up the crow for me so it goes down better?" Dean smirked.
Sam shrugged, "Mmm maybe,"
Dean shook his head but smiled, then shouldered his baby brother forward, "Anyway... I recognized those three too, and I think you're right about what they represent... but the sixty four thousand dollar question is who dunnit, those symbols are very specific," he asked only to find himself on the receiving end of an 'are you kidding?' look from his little brother.
"Yeah...okay we know ONE person who'd have a reason to do it, but how would she know? You didn't tell her, I didn't tell her... so it couldn't have been her...besides, what was done to that girl?... No... she couldn't...well she wouldn't..."
Another look, this one a little different.
He opened the gun compartment and placed his shotgun into its foam carved slot as did Sam.
"You guys share a patron... she could have found out, if he did."
"Yeah but she wouldn't do that to a host," Dean shook his head.
"Can you be so sure Dean? I mean really, the only time I've ever seen her fight anything was when I drew that bit of demonic telepath out of your head, and I gotta say, when your girl is pissed, she's scary..."
"Uh, DEMONIC telepath... and hey you jacked Jake with half a clip of consecrated rounds... so who can't be scary?" Dean countered, "...and if you recall correctly, I dead-eyed a round right thought YED's boys' skull myself..."
"He was possessed. And with Jake, it was justified! He gave in! Human eyes don't flash like that! AND he killed me, AND created the situation we're in right now!... ish... well you know what I mean..." Sam stumbled over himself.
"Yeah it was justified, and yeah I know what you mean... So do I ask her or not?"
"If it wasn't her, expect some serious pissd'osity when she finds out what you did," Sam warned smiling wryly looking at Dean over the roof of the car.
"Like I shouldn't expect that if it WAS her?" he tossed the keys into the air, letting Sam grab them.
"Good point..." Sam muttered, noting Dean's gaze over his shoulder, "What?"
"I don't know Sam... that woman in there... she was... shattered not just beat to hell, not just killed, whatever got to her, whether it was the demon working from the inside, or if it was a hunter, or if it was... jeez man, y'know I'd rather it be a hunter that did that, sure beats the prospect of some new level of the marauders' minions..."
"Me too, but on different note then, do you know ANY hunter who could split a steel door like that?" Sam asked, "Even Laura?"
"No..." Dean shook his head, "I mean even she's just a girl, close calls aside n'all, she's just... well, she's like us... she knows more than most folks so she can get out of more scrapes than most y'know?"
Sam ducked into the car snickering, "Yeah well it doesn't hurt to have a direct line to a personal deity either... you know, for those really hard-to-get-through moments..."
Dean felt his jaw drop, then his lips curled up in a grin as he batted his little brother's shoulder, "Ass hat..." he grunted sliding down into the seat, "Would you look at what I'm reduced to here? A passenger in my own freakin' car!"
Sam drove them from the bar back to the motel, one major car wreck was enough for ANY lifetime, and neither of them wanted to take the chance on Dean becoming incapacitated behind the wheel just in case they were wrong and the demon still came to collect. After all, getting Sam killed would defeat the purpose of the whole deal. And of course Sam would have to get the impala rebuilt again, Dean's sole sticking point last time was that he hadn't been able to do it himself even though Tiny had done a beautiful job.
--
"Look at these Dean... they're ALL preventatives against astral attack, and look..." he handed the book to his big brother.
"The Dog... yeah... in Native American lore stands guard and prevents spirits from attacking the living...Damnit Sammy... I don't get this... where'd the tin go? it should've been there! and I should've been hearing the damned hounds!... The sun is almost up and I'm still here!" he frowned pacing the room. "Is the other one dead? Is a new one gonna come after me? and if so, when? or is the deal null? This is gonna drive me nuts!"
"I can't believe you're complaining Dean... I mean this is... without a doubt, the biggest stroke of luck OUR family has EVER had! And you're bitching about it?! I don't get you man... are you sure you don't WANT to die cause it's starting to sound like you're disappointed that you're not pyre-wood yet," Sam challenged.
"Don't be ridiculous Sam of course I don't WANT to die... I told you that! That's funny though... pyre-wood...you got a sick sense of humor."
"Come by it naturally..." he shrugged with a wry smile, "...you don't wanna die but?"
"BUT..." Dean stopped his pacing and faced his little brother, "... it's hard to believe I could be that lucky... I mean don't get me wrong, I know I'm a lucky son of a gun, but no one's THAT lucky..." he tried to explain then watched as one side of his little brother's mouth tilted upward in a strange half smile, "What?"
"Do you think it's luck or are you afraid there's more to it?" he asked.
"What're you talking about?" Dean frowned.
"I think maybe you don't want to believe that you're worth saving too, cause if you thought that, then maybe you might have to face the fact that sometimes you're afraid too... or that maybe how things turned out for us was 'meant to be' after all?"
"Aww that's bull..."
"... No it's not bull... Come on Dean we're not kids anymore..." Sam reached into his jacket, removing a slender white envelope from the inside pocket. "I found it a couple days ago... I... uh... I didn't know what to say... still don't..." he chuckled through the mist in his eyes and shrugged.
A gentle smile spread warmth through Dean's face as he hung his head briefly, his hand reaching into his inside pocket and holding up his own letter. He'd found it in the glove compartment the day before.
"Me either..."
"Nah, we're not related..." Sam grunted.
"Look Sam there's a lot of stuff in there I know I should have told you before, but you gotta know..." his breath caught in his throat as in the distance a baleful cry came to his ears.
Wow... it really does 'drain' out of a person... Sam thought. Each man watched the color wash out of the others face. Sam bolted from the chair, rising to stand beside his brother whose eyes shot to the door.
--
The demon had been summoned bright and early, insult before the injury that was to come. Demons were bound by their own rules after all. Whatever it might have expected, a flood of holy water wasn't it. It screamed through its host, driven back into the grasses, blinded and stinging with the force of the jet coming from the child's toy being wielded.
The host was herded, backing through the weeds, tripping, stumbling, the attacker was silent, the attack was not.
Out of sight of the road, the bar, and the idea of any passers by, a shotgun was cocked and fired. The host's body screamed yet again when the salt pierced the skin almost point blank then abruptly fell silent. Heavy silver tape fell over the hosts' mouth and nose, her eyes bulged in fear. Her body shivered and bucked as a fingernail wound its way into a tiny flap of skin made by the rock salt, and began to tear out of it the symbol that would keep the demon prisoner. By the time the link was made and the tape removed the host herself was unconscious and rather purple looking, but the lungs functioned and color returned to normal.
Red eyes looked at what it had wrought, what it brought down upon itself, they pleaded first then returned once more to threats and promises of untold cruelty, to any and all with whom deals had been struck. If there had been an eye blink's worth of pity or doubt over what was about to transpire; no, even then vengeance could not stop, nor be stopped.
A little before mid day, after more than five hours in those cruel hands, the demon, sensing its end tried to focus the last of its will. This thing that had summoned it, to its ultimate frustration, could not be read. The demon had no idea which of the hundreds of deals still pending had brought this fate down on it. It did however know one thing, it had come from hell, it was going to be sent back there, but it would not go quietly. Through the pain, with its hounds nearby, it worked to focus its will one more time, to rescind every one of the deals it had made in the last ten years, and though the demon knew it would eventually claw its way out of hell to wreak its brand of havoc once again, it had no way of knowing that all the players were where they were wanted. It was 11:35 a.m.
For the second time since its capture of the crossroad demon, vengeance spoke, "Tell me."
Outside the protective barrier the hounds picked up the pace, the scent of rot and decay permeating the air as they clawed, chuffed, snarled and howled retribution.
The demon screamed, taken by surprise as slow agonizing pressure built on the hosts' legs, the strongest bones in the human body bending over the edge of the chair seat, No human can do that! Not with bare hands... it thought wondering if maybe returning to hell might not be so bad. It wailed as the bones bent like green wood beneath the skin, splintering in strips and spears that jutted upward, piercing muscle, vein and artery, unleashing a flood of vivid black to coagulate in the surface tissues. Sweat and blood had long since soaked the hosts' hair leaving it hanging in damp dark draperies, and though demons could animate near corpses, they no more enjoyed their own pain than the average human did. The chalk white, waxy sheened skin of this host coupled with the erratic tremors and gasping breaths from within its carefully shattered rib cage filled the demon with fear. To be trapped in a corpse until it rotted enough for the demon to escape would be worse than returning to hell only to claw its way back out. At least in hell, it would not be alone.
"Yes! Yes!" the demon screamed, "Deals are specific to the demons who make them! No other demon can collect!"
Dark gray ebbed and flowed inside the structure even though watch hands showed that it was now high noon.
"You step over that line my hounds will tear you to pieces!" the demon gasped delighted that there would be some level of payback.
For the third time, its killer spoke, "I think not," then swept a break in the salt line, stepping outside as momentum carried the hounds into the circle, to their master, followed by a swirling column of dark gray mottled faces that began to feed as the inner pentagon was sealed once again with just a touch more salt from a pouch hidden in the folds of the jacket.
The demon screamed, the hounds bayed, and the gray faces fed with piggish glee.
"No! Help me! You can't do this!" the demon cried, its dogs yipping in agony. At 12:03 p.m. the last thing it would ever see besides those feeding faces was the receding figure of vengeance personified.
--
Both men startled at the sudden pounding against the motel room door.
"Demons don't knock..."
"Hey whoa... easy there fellas..." laughed a familiar voice on the other side of the door, "Sorry no donuts for doggies... this is people food..." she laughed as Dean and Sam lurched together, slowly opening the door in case she was leaning against it.
"Laura?"
"Laura!" they breathed together watching her free hand frantically ruffing either of the two mastiff sized fuzzy mutts behind the ears while trying to evade their slurping tongues.
"Save the breakfast!" she called handing the carrier with the donuts and coffee to whichever of them would grab it first.
"I'm really sorry miss... they're not usually like this... honest they're good dogs..." a wiry man in jeans and a worn Van Halen t-shirt snapped leashes on their collars and pulled them away.
"Yes they are..." she laughed, "Good puppies... aren't you?" she ruffed them each again as their master regained control and dragged them away apologizing profusely.
She shook her head and entered the room, "So what's up? I got here as quickly as I could, what's wrong?" she looked from Sam to Dean, noting each mans' respective lack of color and frowned.
Dean shook his head, his eyes misty once more, "It doesn't matter... it's not important..." he stepped forward, grasped her tightly trembling, never wanting to let go. His lips captured hers and held them tender prisoner, but it couldn't be long enough.
"Dean..." Sam's soft voice came moments later, "... it does matter, we still need to know... unless you wanna go through that every time we hear..."
"Need to know what?" she leaned back.
--
"Laura..." Dean said softly, his hand resting on her shoulder as she sat at the table fingering her now cold cup of coffee, "...I couldn't let him die, I couldn't let him be dead... it wasn't supposed to be him, it was never supposed to be Sammy..." he choked.
She nodded looking from one man to the other. Her reaction nothing at all like what they'd expected.
"... but we don't have any way of knowing what happened to the demon, or whether or not another one's going to come and try to collect..." Sam sighed.
Laura nodded, "Well... about how much time he has left... none of us knows how long we have anyway so that's kinda back to square one isn't it?" she smiled, "... but I'd bet you don't have to worry about any other demons trying to collect, I mean, deals are specific to the demons who make them, no other demon can collect."
"You're sure about that?" Dean asked.
"... pretty sure," she nodded.
"Pretty sure?" Sam asked.
"Really sure," she nodded.
"Well that's a relief... I just wonder how long it'll take for her to claw her way out of hell..." Dean sighed.
"And I'm still curious about the tin... where'd it go?" Sam scratched his head.
Laura frowned, "Hmm, if you don't mind my saying... it doesn't sound like you have to worry about it coming back, at least not any time soon..." she shook her head.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked.
"Well, it sounds like whoever got their hands on the host knew what they were doing. I mean it was trapped inside the girl right? and she was dead right? Demons can't reanimate the dead for their own purposes... so..." she shrugged looking from one brother to the next.
"Well now wait a minute... we saw Meg get tossed out a 7 story window, and she didn't bitch about so much as a headache, but as soon as we exorcised the demon, her body died..." Sam argued, not noticing his big brother's cringe at the memory.
Laura rolled her head on her shoulders, her eyes flicking from Sam to Dean, then back to Sam before she shrugged, "Maybe there was a spark of life still in the body so that demon was able to keep it going...I don't know."
Sam and Dean looked at each other, acknowledging both the validity of her theory, and consequently what it meant for the host they'd come across.
"Oh man..." Dean groaned, that means that girl was killed just to trap the demon inside her indefinitely... he glanced at his girl, COULD you do something like that?
"Sweetie there's no way it could possibly be your fault, I hate to break it to you but there are other people who know about these things... some of 'em are even hunters, probably more of them like Gordon than like you boys. What happened... what was done to that girl is NOT your fault, you've got nothing to feel guilty about," she rubbed his forearm gently.
Slowly, after a moment of thought he nodded, "Yeah, you're right. So if it's trapped inside a corpse odds are it's not gonna get out of there any time soon," Dean let himself grin looking from his girl to his brother, despite his sorrow for the demon's host, for the first time in days he felt able to take a full breath. "Maybe I am that lucky after all..."
--
Reaching into the trunk for her weekend bag she pushed aside the cardboard box the strap had wound around. Exhaustion from the last 72 hours of research, tracking, and obtaining the information she needed was taking its toll. She jerked the bag free, tipping the box and its contents all through her trunk.
"Son of a bitch..." she groaned watching a handful of coins, and the brittle skull of a black cat roll out. With a furtive glance she swept them back into the tin, taking a moment to smile at the photo on the Wildlife Services badge before snapping the lid tightly closed and stuffing it back into the box until its contents could be properly dispersed.
Dropping her bag on the ground she slammed the trunk and breathed hard, her arms crossed over her chest while tears rose steadily to her eyes.
At the door to their room he watched her back and shoulders bob and hitch unsure if he should approach or not. I have to make it right... if I can...
He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders then swallowed hard with relief as she leaned back against him. His lips fell to the top of her head, "I should have told you... I'm sorry."
"Dean, I would never expect you to let any harm come to Sam...and I would never believe it was you if you didn't do EVERYTHING possible to save him, from anything..."
"So you understand?"
"Of course I understand..." she sniffed, "...but you understand this... as he is yours, you both are mine," she turned, her face angled perfectly toward his, their eyes met and held and Dean wondered at the cause of the shiver that shook him.
Her hand rose like lightning, leaving a stinging red palm print on his cheek that would have him thinking razor burn was a blessing for quite a while to come.
"I deserved that," he nodded rubbing the sting away, "... but I'd do it again... for Sam, in a heartbeat... I couldn't let him die... not like that... not when I could do something about it," he explained.
Her gaze softened beneath the tears as she nodded, her eyes touching him deep inside with the heart of her soul, "I know," she smiled, what won't we do for the ones we love?
Her breath shuddered as her palms came to rest on his chest then slid down to his hips. He drew her into himself, trembling with the thought of all he'd come so close to leaving behind, his brother, so much his own child, a woman who gave him everything she had without his needing to ask, and a future that held untold promise.
Wrapping himself around her, he was glad to be back.
--
end.
please R&R.
Thanks.
sifi.