Peer Pressure part II….the conclusion
The next morning Dean felt himself being shaken by his father.
"Get up son," John said before leaving the room.
Dean slowly climbed out of bed; he was stiff from staying in the same position all night. Every time he went to move the pain reminded him his choices of comfort were relatively few. He shuffled into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He decided he looked terrible and didn't see any change coming anytime soon. He splashed some water on his face and got dressed as fast as his sore body would allow. He cautiously took the steps one at a time and found Sam at the table finishing his cereal.
"Finish up Sam," John commanded.
"All done sir," Sam responded taking his half full bowl of cereal over to the sink. He grabbed his backpack and gave Dean a supportive look.
John slammed down a bowl and cereal on the table for Dean, "eat while I call the school."
John disappeared for several minutes allowing Dean to eat in peace and standing up.
John reappeared and told Dean to go into the living room and find a seat on the couch. Dean put his bowl in the sink and gulped at the thought of sitting anywhere, but the couch sure beat a lot of places. Dean eased himself down gently and waited for John.
A minute later John entered with a two ibuprofens and a glass of orange juice, "take these it will take the edge off."
John had yet to make eye contact with his eldest son but he found a seat across from him and began his story. "I know I was hard on you last night son. Part of me is sorry for that but part of me isn't. The rules of this household are very clear and you completely disregarded them on every level and I cannot tolerate that. I count on you a lot, I know that; maybe I shouldn't have such high expectations but I do. Let me tell you a story from when I was your age. My aunt, uncle and cousin came to visit once my job that evening was to watch my cousin who was 4 at the time. She was a typical busy preschooler that I trailed around for hours. By the time we finished dinner I decided I was done with the whole babysitting thing. I put her in front of the TV and called one of my friends I was so engrossed in my conversation that I hadn't even noticed she had left the house. Apparently she walked straight to the neighbor's backyard and fell right into their pool. Thankfully Mrs. Girard was home and heard the splash she got Gretchen out of the pool and brought her back home. She didn't know how to swim and would have drowned if someone hadn't stepped up and done the job that had been assigned to me. I won't lie to you Dean I was never an angel; I got into my fair share of trouble as a kid but this was something on a higher level. My dad gave me the coldest look I had ever received. He grabbed me and hauled me into my bedroom and believe it or not hit me even harder than I did you last night. At first I was only angry; angry at my father for the brutal punishment; angry at Gretchen for doing what a 4 year old is going to do and angry that I had the responsibility of watching her in the first place. I finally realized that she had been my responsibility and no matter what I thought about it was my job to do. She could have died because I didn't feel like doing my job. Fair or not it was my job and I failed. To this day I can still feel the sting of those blows and it reminds me that life's not fair but we all have to live up to our responsibility like it or not. Son, I don't expect you to be perfect, I expect you to make mistakes but choose those mistakes wisely. Make this the punishment that you will recall during tough decisions. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir. I'm sorry I really am," Dean said as the tears resurfaced.
John went over to his wayward son and placed his arm around him and pulled him close.
"I know you are son I know you are. Watching Sam, doing your job at school and being honest with me as well as making smart choices are what I expect of you and what you need to deliver. You have broken more rules in the last weeks than I can count and I know that will be changing."
With that said John got up and walked into the kitchen so his son didn't see the tears falling from his eyes. Oh how he hated what had taken place last night; it was something he never wanted to happen. His heart had ached all night for Dean and his physical pain. There was truth to what he told Dean; the punishment he received at that age had far reaching consequences and may have even been what steered him into the life that he lived today; responsibility and putting others first.
It was later that day when Dean finally filled his father in on the hand/ghost situation going on in the basement.
"Would you have told me about this if I hadn't caught you?"
"I don't know."
"You have to help people first, hunting things and saving people is the family business one that I hope that you will continue. Now let's be a team here instead of adversaries and take care of this situation before anybody else gets hurt."
John and Dean pulled up to the library and began their research. John spoke with the older librarian about the history of the museum while Dean began reading a pamphlet about the museum.
"The building has been a storage facility for many years before it became the museum. Who knows what has come and gone from there since it opened. You need to talk to your fellow delinquents and see what the local take on the situation. Research is very important in this business," John explained.
Dean nodded enthusiastically happy to be back in his father's good graces.
Dean was still moving slowly as the two Winchesters entered the front door of the museum.
"You okay buddy?" John asked.
"Yeah Dad, I'm fine," Dean lied.
"Make the discomfort mean something," John told him.
Discomfort nothing it was pain pure and simple. John found the guide and began his questioning as Dean meandered through the exhibits with the EMF detector hidden under his jacket. He was so excited to have this responsibility; he was really a part of the action. Despite his aches and pains he couldn't help but wear a smile.
Dean glanced over towards his dad who had plastered his best smile and was…Dean searched his brain for the word…flirting yeah flirting with the woman. That made Dean's smile even wider. He was seeing the old man live and in action; this was so cool. Dean wandered over to some tables and looked at the information plaque; embalming table – used to hold the body for the embalmer to place fluids inside the body cavity. Yuck Dean thought, but as he stood there he noted that the EMF meter began to hum. He stepped back putting more distance between him and the table and the meter calmed down. It was the table; the table was part of the story. He looked towards his dad and slowly made his way over there hoping that his interruption wouldn't be a problem.
"Dad," Dean said quietly. "I have to ask you something."
"Is this your little boy? He is adorable; looks just like you," the woman gushed.
Dean stood there taking it all in filing his dad's actions away deep in his brain.
"What's up dude?" John asked.
Dean motioned for him to bend down so he could whisper his findings into this ear.
"Where did that table come from?" John asked the guide after hearing Dean's report.
"That was shipped to us from a warehouse around 200 miles from here. It was used in the Civil War. In fact it has a spooky story that goes with it," she said.
"Oh really; how thrilling can you bring some excitement to boring mans life?" John said pouring it on.
"I shouldn't but…" the guide looked around and then leaned in; "there was hand that came in the same shipment."
"No," John gasped.
"It looked kind of mummified; the story was that since embalming was still new in the 1860's that the doctor practiced on a soldier's amputated arm," she whispered.
"What did you do with it?" John asked.
"We sent it back of course; we have no place for things like that."
"Was the table always up here on display?" John continued.
"No we kept in the basement for quite a while and actually the arm was down there too until we could get the proper packaging to return it. The post office is rather picky about things like that," she finished.
"When was the arm mailed back?" John asked.
"Hmmm I don't really recall," she answered.
"Thank you for your time," John smiled and waved Dean over towards the exit.
"What are we going to do now Dad?" Dean asked enthusiastically.
"Right now we are going to pick up your brother and then I think you need to call up some of your hoodlum friends and see what the rumors are flying with the basement dwellers. I am going to have to figure out who this poor armless soldier was and where he was buried," John explained.
John finished frying up the hamburgers as Dean hung up the phone. He had already told John about the teens that had suffered the illness and bruising that he had heard about earlier.
"Taylor said that the things she heard about was noises and boxes falling on their own plus a couple of people saying they've seen a foggy figure; but they don't hang around long enough to get a better picture."
Sam was sitting at the table trying hard to focus on the math paper in front him and ignoring the conversation that was being held by the remainder of his family. He hated the topics that were brought up at the dinner table.
As the three men finished their burgers and as John began to clear the table Dean asked him what the plans were for tomorrow.
"I have some serious research to do and I think you'll be okay at school. I'll make sure you get some ibuprofen before you go. If you really don't think you can make it through the day have the school call me and I'll come get you," John told him as he began to fill the sink with soapy water.
Dean nodded. He really didn't want to go back to school the next day, but he wanted to show his dad how tough he was; that he could handle it.
John tried to tuck Sam in but his recently independent 9 year old wouldn't allow it.
"I'm not a baby Dad," Sam claimed.
"I know your not and the fact that you took care of yourself all this time without any problems shows me how mature you are. Sammy I know that you aren't thrilled with what I do but I hope you can understand it. I want you to know that you can come to me and ask questions and share your fears; but don't expect me to give you answers that I don't have. I won't lie to you son and sometimes the truth might be harder to take," John said softly as he kneeled next to his son's bed.
"I just wish…" Sam tried before his tears took over.
"I know son, me too," John told him wishing himself that his beloved Mary was still alive and their lives were as mundane as everyone else's. He brushed Sam's hair off his forehead and as the boy sat up he took him into his arms and just held the sobbing child. They lost so very much that night in 1983; more than John or his sons could ever completely grasp.
Dean was most definitely uncomfortable as he was stuck sitting at the hard school issued desks. His so called friends showed minimal concern about his well being. Another lesson learned he thought. He walked Sam home after school and Sam sat down while Dean stood and each did their homework. Sam was proud of his A grade on a science paper and Dean was proud he fought his way through the day without having to call in his dad.
John came home with a pizza and several books. "I believe the answer lies in that basement and 200 miles away."
Sam cocked his head and then left the room. A moment later the TV clicked on and cartoon noises could be heard.
"How can the answers be in two places?" Dean asked.
"It's only a theory but I think it is worth looking into."
The next evening Dean peeked though the window and slid the latch over and slipped through dropping to the box that had been pushed underneath the window. He looked around and spotted Shay and Taylor in a lip lock by the old furnace.
"What brings you here? Did your dad unlock your chains already?" Taylor giggled.
"Have you seen anything weird tonight? Is anything out of place or different?" Dean prodded.
"What are you talking about?" Shay asked.
The couple jumped about 10 feet as they heard the door upstairs swing open and heavy footfalls on the steps. They nearly knocked each other down trying to get to the window. Dean standing next to the box that was used as a step kicked it several feet away.
"What are you doing?" Taylor asked in astonishment.
John grabbed each one by the collar and turned them around so they faced him.
"I need some answers and I want the truth," he boomed in his best Marine Corps voice.
"I told Dean everything I know. I've never seen the ghost just a flash in the corner once or twice," Taylor whimpered all her bravado gone.
"Which corner?" John demanded.
Both the kids pointed towards the far corner. John released them and shook his head as they scrambled out the window.
By the time he turned around Dean was already in the corner looking around. "What am I looking for Dad?"
"If I'm thinking correctly we are looking for a box that is addressed and ready to go but was never sent out."
"They never sent the hand back?" Dean asked his mouth open with astonishment.
"That's what I'm thinking," John answered as he shone the flashlight in a wide arc.
Dean took a deep breath and dove into a pile of boxes. John wasn't sure to be proud or terrified. "Be careful son we don't know what might be in there supernatural or otherwise."
"I think I found it Dad," an excited Dean said holding up a nondescript box. Just as he began to wade through the remaining items that littered the floor the EMF meter in Johns pocket began to hum. John reached out and grabbed Dean pulling him close box and all. He led the boy to the window and pushed him up ordering him back to the car. Risking further punishment Dean stayed by the window and saw John turn and face the spirit of the armless soldier.
"Go Dean; now!" John yelled as he saw his son hovering at the window.
Dean did as he was told and joined Sammy in the car.
"What happened and what is that?" Sam asked.
Dean hadn't even realized that he was still holding the box that most likely held the severed arm that was at the center of this whole haunting. "Dad's battling a ghost," Dean said breathlessly.
"No way" Sam said.
"Way," Dean replied.
John arrived back to the car disheveled and breathless. The first thing he did was check on his sons to make sure they were okay.
"I still have the box Dad," Dean said as he held the box up, setting it on top of the front seat near John's head.
John took the box and checked the labels; satisfied that it was what he was looking for he complimented Dean on finding it and Sam on waiting patiently in the car. As a reward they headed off to get ice cream.
John waited until Sam was sound asleep upstairs before he placed the box on the table.
"Can I see Dad?" Dean asked hopefully peering towards the box.
"I suppose since you helped procure it it's only fair that you get to be a part of this," John told him.
John pulled his knife from his pocket and began slicing through the tape. With the flaps now free he slowly pulled them back to reveal the remnants of a human forearm and hand.
"Ewww," Dean said.
"Yeah exactly what I was thinking; if you have any hope of going with me tomorrow then you need to go to bed right now," John told his eldest son.
"Where are we going?" Dean asked unable to contain his excitement.
"To reunite this arm and its owner," John explained.
The next morning John watched his youngest son climb the steps to the front door of the school. He spent many a night thinking about their relationship and what he could do to repair what was already broken. Dean having downed his morning ibuprofen was feeling pretty good and was mapping out the route that they planned on taking. Dean remained alert for about ½ hour and then his eyelids closed and slipped into unconsciousness for the rest of the drive. John could only smile at his son's peaceful moment.
John had spent much of the previous day and night researching who this arm and hand could have belonged to. He had it narrowed down to a specific area and hoped that he could figure out the details when he got there.
Dean stretched as he climbed out of the Impala. "Where are we?" he asked.
"We are at a small Civil War battle field. It was really more of a skirmish but a doctor had been passing through on his way south and stopped to help the wounded on both sides. This is where I believe the owner of our body part was killed and buried. We just need to find out exactly where."
There was a very small building that was unmanned but contained numerous pamphlets and what John was looking for; grave markers. The area was quiet and the grave was off the road a ways it looked as though he would be able to finish this project in time to pick Sammy up from school.
He opened the Impalas trunk and lifted out two shovels. "Do you want to carry the shovel or the box?" John asked.
Dean's eyes were so bright they could have lit up Yankee Stadium. "I've got the box," he said picking it up and traipsing after John.
After walking for several minutes they came to the small graveyard on John's makeshift map. "I believe it is this one right here. Matthew Grant 1845 – 1863."
"How do you know Dad?" Dean asked.
"Lots and lots of research and phone calls. I called a local historian who told me that after this young man lost his arm he led a charge against the Confederates bleeding from what was left of his arm. He was killed in the battle probably what he wanted after losing his arm; but he died a hero," John explained.
Dean set the box down and took the shovel that his father offered. John stood and smiled as his son began to break away at the dirt. "What are you smiling at Dad?" Dean wondered.
"Your first grave desecration – you have no idea how proud I am at this moment," John beamed.
Dean worked hard the sweat pouring off his forehead he had no idea at the time that this would be the first of many grave diggings that he would be involved in. John let the boy take a break and finished up the task.
"We're there buddy; look," John said as he pointed at a piece of white bone showing through the dirt.
"No coffin?" Dean asked.
"No, too many bodies and not enough time just dump and run. At least he was more than a few feet down. Many bodies were in shallow graves and would be unearthed by animals or heavy rains."
John took a close look at the unearthed remains and indeed it was missing its right arm and hand. "This is the one."
"Why aren't we going to salt and burn the bones Dad?" Dean asked earnestly.
"Not this time; right now we are going to leave him what is rightly his and hope that takes care of his earthy wanderings. If this doesn't work we will find out and come back to salt and burn."
Dean nodded understanding that John only wanted to do what was needed and become no more involved than necessary in defiling this soldier's body. They were just finishing up when a sound nearby made them both snap to attention. The two Winchesters had a sudden moment of panic but John quickly recovered.
The Conservation Officer strode up with confidence and demanded to know what was going on. John had already leaned down and told Dean to just follow his lead.
"Good afternoon sir, my name is John Kelly and this is my son Ian who I just found digging at this grave. Something about a stupid double dare," John lied.
Dean remained rooted with shovel in hand hoping he could pull of this charade.
"Why are there two shovels?" the officer questioned.
"He was here with a buddy. The boy took off as soon as he saw me, but I know who he is and will be calling his parents after I take care of my own problem," John continued as he gave Dean a cold, harsh look.
"Is this true young man?" the man asked looking directly at Dean.
Dean looked up and did his best to find the terrified look that his face held only a few days ago. "Yes sir, my friend and I were bet that we wouldn't dig up a body."
"Who's your buddy?" the officer asked.
Without missing a beat Dean said, "Sam Singer."
John hadn't realized he was holding his breath until the smile cracked through. "Like I said officer I will take care of this you have nothing to worry about it won't happen again. They didn't get far that I can tell, just disrupted the topsoil."
"I do not want to see you or any of your buddies out this way again am I understood?" the officer asked.
"Yes sir no problem," Dean responded contritely.
"I will take care of this," John assured.
"Pheww that was a close one," Dean said as he collapsed in the front seat of the car.
"You did great son just great," John said as he glanced at the clock. "We're going to have to hurry if we are going to make it in time to get Sammy from school."
"How will we know if it worked?" Dean asked.
"We'll know if it didn't and then we'll come back and finish the job. I'm in no hurry and since this ghost doesn't seem to be too vengeful we can afford to give it some time."
Dean nodded and began to look at the passing scenery.
John looked over to his young son and though he had been rehearsing his speech for a couple of days he wasn't sure if he was ready to deliver it. "Dean you've helped me out quite a bit on this hunt and have been training for a couple of years now so I was just wondering what you thought about the life of hunting?"
"I love it; the excitement of doing stuff in secret of knowing things other people don't; its awesome Dad it really really is."
"I'm glad you feel that way; I thought you might. But I want to be honest with you about this lifestyle because there is a lot to it. It is all consuming you will not have the life that most people have; you will most likely not have a family or many friends outside the hunting world. There are no awards or rewards other than knowing you've saved lives; lives that didn't even know they were in danger. You will get no gratitude only attitude and you will get pissed off and pissed on all in the same moment. It is thankless, dangerous work with no pay. The evil will follow you and the law will be right behind it; but you will know in your heart that…that…." John started to choke up.
"That you helped somebody and that they won't die like Mom did," Dean offered.
"Yeah," John managed to choke out. "Saving one family member can save an entire family."
"It's our destiny," Dean said as he tried to keep the tears in.
John was forced to pull over until he could regain his composure and stop embracing his son.
Sammy came out of the school and looked in vain for the Impala. He sighed in disgust as he stomped down the stairs mumbling to himself. "I knew they wouldn't be back in time," he thought. "Hunting is just so much more important than everything," Sam told himself. He got home and made himself a snack and began his homework. Dean gets in big trouble and then gets to go off with Dad it just isn't fair. Not that Sam was all that interested in hunting; the Black Dog incident set him back quite a bit. Keeping it from John was tougher than he thought it would be but he had managed. Dean's personality was just so different and couldn't understand what the big deal was over their little excursion.
Homework done Sam sat in front of the TV and began to doze off. Maybe he should do something to get his fathers attention he thought then he could get some time with the old man too. Maybe he should come clean about what happened over the summer with the Black Dog and tell John he was the one who shot it; that would make him proud for sure.
Sam put up his hand and folded his fingers in the shape of a gun; 'pow pow' he said shooting into the air. He flipped himself over the couch and continued his mock assault. "Bam, bam, bam." Sam continued as he rolled across the floor over to the staircase. He ducked and covered all the way up the stairs until he found himself in John's bedroom. Sam stood up and looked around the forbidden room with interest. Before he even knew what hit him he was rummaging through the closet and under the bed. He wasn't looking for anything in particular he was just looking and that's when he found it; a sawed off shotgun that he had seen Dean with once. It looked just his size too he thought as he picked up admiring its curves. He wasn't as fond as guns and other weapons as his father and brother but as they say if you can't beat 'em join 'em. He aimed the gun at the wall and knowing his father never left a loaded gun unattended where there would be children present he pulled the trigger. Before Sam could even say pow there was boom that left his ears ringing and a huge hole in the drywall between the bedroom and the hallway. He was a dead man.
John and Dean were pulling into the driveway listening to AC/DC's Highway to Hell on the radio when John heard a tremendous noise come from the house. He threw the car into park and ran to the door fumbling with his keys at the lock. Finally inside he began to scream for his youngest. "Sammy! Sammy where are you? Answer me, Sammy! Dean help me look for your brother," John ordered.
John ran down to the basement while Dean went upstairs. "Sammy are you okay?" Dean asked as he could see his brother through the hole in the wall. "Holy crap what happened little brother?"
"I didn't think it was loaded," Sam said with a very shaky voice.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked again.
"Yeah until Dad sees this," he answered.
John was flying up the stairs but stopped dead as he saw the new porthole in the hallway wall. "What the hell?"
"I, I just…and it went off…I didn't know…I'm sorry…I didn't think," Sam stammered.
John ran over to Sam who had closed his eyes waiting for John's explosion but felt only his fathers arms around him. He could feel John's heart pounding beneath his shirt. John finally released his boy and began pacing the room running his fingers through his hair as he did. Dean was busy peering through the hole and running his fingers around its fringes.
"Dean go downstairs and make yourself something to eat," John ordered.
"Yes sir," Dean said and quickly made his way to the kitchen hoping that his father didn't have the same punishment in mind for Sam that Dean had received only days ago.
"Start talking son and make sense this time," John commanded.
Sam drew in a deep breath and explained that he had been feeling neglected and his little game that placed the gun in his hands and how he was sure it wasn't loaded.
"So this…this incident, John said as he pointed to the hole, happened because you are feeling left out."
"I guess so," Sam said hanging his head.
"I suppose there is some truth in your argument, but somehow shooting a hole in the wall is not the best way to address it. I should have never left a loaded gun out, but you should have never picked it up or pulled the trigger. You have to handle every weapon as though it is loaded. Thank God you didn't point it at yourself or someone else. Thank God it is Bingo night and all the neighbors are at the Bingo Hall and didn't hear your little escapade. I'm just thankful that you're safe and I am sorry that I haven't been here for you, but you know when I have a hunt that it takes up most of my time," John explained.
"I know and I hate it. I just want my life to be like my friend's no hunts, no moving all the time just normal."
"I wish I could give that to you, but that isn't our life and I'm afraid it won't ever be."
Sam just sat and stared at the new hole in the wall. "I'll help fix it," he offered.
"Okay, that sounds fair. Look Sammy I know I'm not the father you want or that you deserve but…." His voice trailed off. He finished the sentence in his head; he wasn't the father they wanted but he was the father they needed, the father that would keep them alive.
As John sat on the bed lost in his thoughts Sam went over and sat in his lap. "Just not as hard as Dean's punishment," Sam requested with tears forming in his big brown eyes.
"Okay son, I can do that," John promised.
John had spent much of the evening thinking about how he was taking his sons childhood away and hating himself for it. But before he beat himself up too much for it he knew it was the only way they would ever reach adulthood. He carried those feelings with him into his dreams.
John woke up from a deep sleep knowing someone was in the room with him. This was why he kept a loaded shotgun under the bed. He stayed absolutely still hoping he could figure out what was with him and how best to take care of it.
"Daddy are you awake?" Sammy asked in hushed tones.
"What's up buddy?" John said as the relief flooded from him.
"I had a dream 'bout Mom. I was crying and she couldn't get into to me. Can I sleep with you for a little while?" Sam asked.
John lifted up the edge of blanket inviting Sam to join him. As his son snuggled against him he felt as though Sam's dreams and emotions would just break his heart, but you can't break what has already been broken.