Chapter Thirteen: Black Night
"You almost done?" John's voice floated down to Sam as his son dug the end of the spade into the hard-packed earth again
"Almost," Sam panted and wiped a sleeve over his sweaty brow. He quickly checked his watch and saw it was a little after two a.m.
John had decided that Sam should be the one to exhume to body; it would be easier for John to pull him out of the grave than the other way around. And John didn't really trust his young son with a firearm.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief when the tip of the shovel clunked against the wooden lid of the casket.
"I got it!" He called up to his father.
"Finally," John muttered and knelt down to help his son up.
Once Sam had pried the lid off the casket to reveal the skeletal remains of the woman who had become a Cihuateteo, he reached out and grabbed hold of his father's outstretched hand.
The woman, Blanca Diaz, had been a nurse in a tiny hospital in Socorro, New Mexico but had died shortly after the birth of her daughter and had turned into a ghost-like creature that stole children to replace her own lost infant.
Sam peered down at the dry, brown skeleton lying in the plain wooden coffin. The remains of a white dress hung on the bones and wisps of black hair still clung to the grinning skull.
John nudged his son and handed him the can of gasoline as he began spilling salt into the open grave.
Sam took a deep breath when the wind picked up, and looked around as a screaming, keening sound rose with it.
"Dad," Sam said nervously and inched closer to his father.
"We're almost finished," John muttered in an annoyed tone.
"Dad!" Sam shouted as the image of a woman in a white dress appeared on the other side of the grave. Her long black hair floated in the wind and her skeletal face seemed to leer at the Winchesters. Eagle-clawed hands flexed in anticipation.
"Shit!" John shouted, dropping the salt on the ground and reaching for his gun filled with salt-rounds.
A loud bang! sounded and the Cihuateteo dissipated.
"The gas, Sam! Pour the gas!" John shouted at his son as he shot another round of salt at Blanca Diaz who was now standing only meters away from them.
Sam fiddled with the lid, trying to twist it off quickly.
He jumped when his father went flying into a gravestone and dropped the can, spilling accelerant on the ground.
Scrambling to pick up the canister, Sam went down on his hands and knees, knowing the gasoline was useless anyway without a spark to ignite it.
Sam yelped in pain as claws raked at his back. He grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it out behind him.
A cold hand wrapped around Sam's ankle and pulled him back.
No, no, no, Sam thought frantically as his hands swept the ground, searching for something, anything to use as a weapon.
The tips of Sam's fingers brushed something small and square and cold. A lighter! Dad's lighter!
Sam reached out as far as his hand could stretch, ignoring the spirit tugging on his leg and grinned as his fingers wrapped around the lighter.
Must have fallen from Dad's pocket when he got hit, Sam thought and flicked the lid open.
He was a few feet away from the gravesite, hopefully close enough to toss the lighter into the hole.
The grip on Sam's ankle tightened, deadly nails digging into his leg as he fought to get a flame going.
A terrible screech filled the air as a tiny spark flicked from the flint and Sam threw the lighter, praying it would land in the grave.
Sam felt the Cihuateteo release his leg and scream as flames licked at the dried bones. Looking over his shoulder, Sam saw Blanca Diaz begin burning, flames scorching her feet before moving upward, growing until she disappeared completely in a burst of sparks.
Sam lay down on his belly, exhausted but proud of himself. He actually did it!
He heard a groan from nearby and sat up, seeing John coming to. Sam's father rubbed the back of his head and stood shakily.
Sam got to his feet, brushing dust from his shirt and pants, grimacing at the blood coating the cuff of his jeans and the top of one sneaker.
SPN
John looked from his boy to the bonfire that had once been the earthly remains of a woman.
"You lost the gasoline," John snapped, pointing at the red container sitting on its side, its contents soaked up by the greedy desert soil.
He saw Sam's smile falter and disappear altogether.
John clenched his hands into fists but sighed deeply, "Goes without saying that something would happen."
Sam couldn't have one uneventful hunt, could he? Even a ghost hunt always went array somehow.
John bent down and grabbed the gas can and shovel. Sam picked up the container of salt and the gun.
Once they were back in the car, John took a cigarette from the pack in his jacket, put it in his mouth and patted his jacket pockets, "Where's my lighter?"
"Oh, uh, in the… I had to throw it in the grave," Sam's nervous voice floated up from the backseat.
John felt anger flare through him like fire. That had been his best lighter; he'd had that thing since he turned eighteen- a present from his father when he'd joined the military- and he couldn't believe his son had lost it. John shoved the cigarette back into its carton and tossed it onto the passenger seat. John didn't say anything to his son, he just wanted to get back to the motel and shower.
SPN
Sam just wanted to sleep when they returned to the motel but the way his father slammed the door told him he wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon.
Sam stood watching anxiously as his father pulled off his boots and jacket, ran a hand through his black hair and then turned to him.
Sam gulped, waiting for his Dad to start yelling at him. John didn't disappoint.
"What the fuck was that, Sam?" John asked rhetorically, "That was a rookie mistake! A mistake that could have cost somebody their life!"
"I…g-got scared," Sam stammered, knowing his father hated hearing excuses.
"You got scared," John mocked, "There's no time to be scared, Sam! Didn't I teach you that?"
"Yes," Sam answered, "But you got hurt and I- I-"
Sam couldn't help the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He was hurting from the Cihuateteo's claws and tired from a night without proper rest.
"Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about," John threatened, raising a fist in his son's face.
Sam hiccupped, trying to stop the tears but he couldn't. He wanted his brother. He wanted Dean to tell him he'd done a good job and tell his Dad to back off.
The blow sent Sam sprawling. Pain blossomed across his cheek and his cries were momentarily stifled from the shock.
Green eyes wide, Sam stared up at his father towering over him.
"I told you to shut up," John growled venomously.
"I- I'm s-sorry," Sam choked out, holding his bruised cheek.
Sam lowered his gaze as his father sneered at him with something like disgust.
"I'm sorry I spilt the gas," Sam paused as he hiccupped again, "I'm sorry I lost your lighter; it won't happen again."
"You're right, Sammy," John hissed and Sam flinched at how angry his father sounded, "It won't happen again because this is the last hunt you'll ever go on."
Sam heard his father leave the room but he didn't move. He remained where he was, sitting on the floor, wishing Dean had never left.
"Dean," Sam whispered as though his father would be able to hear him even then, "Please come back, please. Dad's so different, he's changed… I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
On hands and knees, Sam crawled across the motel room and peered up at his father's duffle bag, wondering if he had left his cell phone inside.
Shakily Sam got to his feet and carefully looked through the bag, only to find that the phone was missing.
Sam sat down between the beds and rolled up his pant leg to expose the claw marks on his ankle and shin. They weren't all that deep but they were bloody- Sam's sock had turned a deep crimson- and stung painful as he poked at them.
It was hours before Sam moved, on hands and knees again- he was just too tired to stand- and slowly made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door and peeled off his bloodstained clothes and turned on the shower.
Sam sat in the bottom of the tub and let the warm water wash over him. It ran over the painful cuts on his back and was pink as it swirled down the drain.
SPN
John sat in the dimly-lit bar, nursing a bottle of beer in a booth at the back, watching the other patrons without much interest.
Jimi Hendrix's 'The Wind Cries Mary' played from the overhead speakers and John couldn't help but think of his own Mary.
"What am I doing here?" John asked his wife quietly, "How are we supposed to go on?"
He took a gulp of beer, "Sam's too much like you… You know that? I know he tries to be a good hunter but he fails, every time."
"Tell me what to do, Mary. Please, I need some help here," John begged his wife.
He paused in his soliloquy as he motioned for the bartender to bring him another beer before continuing.
"I don't remember how to be a Dad," John muttered, "All I know is hunting."
He smiled grimly, "I could use some divine intervention here, you know."
John sighed and began peeling the label off his beer bottle, "I'll make Sam a hunter. I will, you'll see. I'll train him up and we'll avenge your death."
John's vision blurred, "I'll teach that boy a lesson he won't soon forget. He won't be such a fuck-up when I'm finished with him."
John frowned at the shredded label in his hands and downed the last of his beer. He should get back to the motel, check on Sam, and look over his son's injuries.
Standing, John flipped some bills onto the table and walked out of the bar. The familiar growl of his beloved Impala soothed John as he drove and sang the last lines of the Hendrix song under his breath, "Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past? And with his crutch, its old age, and its wisdom; it whispers no, this will be the last…"
John swallowed a lump in his throat and blinked back the prickle of tears, "And the wind cries Mary."
Author's Note:
1. Chapter title comes from a Deep Purple song of the same name.
2. Thanks to Samstuck, criminally charmed, SPN Mum, cold kagome, pottyandweezlbe89, Souless666, LeighAnnWallace, Eris-R-Renee, and Guest for reviewing.
3. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited.
4. Reviews are like hugs!