Well his is the final stretch for this story folks. Its seems such a long time since I sat in the auditorium of the first Vancouver Con, having done a road trip with a good friend to get there, and speculated how and what John knew about Sam. This was where I decided to write this story.

It doesn't resolve the situation for John and the boys, in fact it just adds more pressure onto John but we all know how it turns out.

I have a few other completed stories about the Winchesters that I will post in due course but in the meantime, thank you to all those who have read and a double thank you to those who reviewed.

I would like to know what everyone thought if you would like to leave a few words I would be very grateful. Thanks again.

Steffs

XXXXXXXXXX

The cicadas sounded louder out here in the open, their creaking filling the space at the roads intersection. John glancing around calculated the length and breadth of the metalled expanse beneath his feet, roughly judging the centre.

Bobby Singer had managed to persuade him that a full on conjuration was definitely not a good idea particularly when you're not sure what the hell you are summoning. John had reluctantly given him that one. It made too much sense for him to ignore and besides he still had no idea how to kill the thing even if he did come face to face.

This here, standing in the middle of a crossroads, was a compromise. Call it a recon exercise - John understood that. Bobby had reluctantly come up with the suggestion when John had refused to reconsider abandoning the idea of a convocation altogether. He needed information on Demons and where best to get that information? Well probably not a demon but as the 'Intel' on Demons in Bobby's books was entirely underwhelming he had nowhere else to go.

Bobby had reluctantly spent another day pouring over each scrap of folklore he could find. A lot of the lore as far as John could make out seemed to be mixed in with heavy doses of superstition and archaic belief, most of it contradicted itself and some made no sense at all. Grumbling and muttering Bobby kept up a general undertone mentioning more than once the stupidity of the whole enterprise but he kept reading. John carefully avoided direct confrontation only asking questions when he needed clarification.

Several of the elder hunter's missals described assorted types of ritual for various levels of summoning. Crossroad Demons seemed to be somewhat down the chain of command requiring basic preparation and minimal protection. Bobby had cautioned John not to be complacent. These Demons might be of a lesser kind than Yellow-eyes but that did not mean they were 'friendly' or easily handled.

Marking the approximate centre of the crossroads John retraced his steps to the Impala glancing down at his watch. It was two hours till sunset he had plenty of time. Raising the trunk lid he reached in and pulled out a tin of paint. Levering off the lid with his knife John used a stick to stir and then to paint a large circle encompassing the whole of the crossroad. He then drew a second circle within the outer circle and painted on the symbols that Bobby had scribed on a piece of paper. John had no idea what the marks meant individually but Bobby had told him that they would snare the demon within its confines.

"It's a Devil's Trap." Bobby'd said by way of an explanation but when John had looked at him blankly he'd gone on to tell him that if a Demon walked into it then it couldn't get out unless John released it. John had then paused regarding Bobby with a doubting eye and had asked how Bobby knew it worked. The hunter had replied that John really didn't want to know but to be assured that it did.

He ruffled the vegetation on the verge so that it hid the painted track but didn't affect the density or break the lines. The deep colour of the tracks almost matched the hue of the road and John was confident that in the ensuing twilight they would only be seen if you were looking, carefully. No point in setting a trap if the prey was alerted to its presence before it was ensnared.

The circle and symbols were a negotiation ploy as well as a safety precaution. Bobby had pointed out that no demon was going to give John information willingly not unless it could see an advantage for itself and as the idea was to gain intel on Yellow-eyes then John had to have some leverage.

Finishing his task John unscrewing his flask poured the milky coffee into the cup and smiled. The one time he could do with a thick black coffee he got milk. Sipping the contents he leaned against the Impala watching the shadows merge as the sun set below the tree-line. He fiddled with the container letting his fingers tap on the sleek metal shell, the thrill of excitement tinged with apprehension knotting in his stomach. Part of him feared the confrontation but another part welcomed the action he was sick of sitting on his backside pouring over books. He needed to do something and this was it.

John took a deep breath and strode into the centre of the crossroads. Crouching he dug a small hole before pulling a small tobacco tin from his jacket. He checked the contents. Graveyard dirt, Cat bone, several dried herbs and a photo of himself taken especially.

It wasn't until Bobby had listed this last item that John realised that he didn't have a photo of himself or the boys, driving licence and fake ID's notwithstanding. He had nothing, not even from before when Mary had been positively snap happy. Everything had gone up in smoke, literally. The thought had weighed on him heavily and it, coupled with Bobby's criticism had hurt but the man was right his sons deserved a life and after this he was going make sure they got one.

Firstly both boys were going attended school regularly, training could take a back seat and fit around their education and then he would try to spend as much time doing father son stuff as he could.

This last resolve was going be hard. There was nothing he would have liked more than to take his sons to a ball game or to sit down and help them construct those models that Sammy was so keen on but saving someone's life took precedence. It was important and he knew that Dean and Sammy, now he knew about his Dad's 'job', understood that.

John buried the small tin, pulling the dirt from the edges of the hole to cover the bright metallic picture of a naked woman on the lid. Goodness only knew why Bobby Singer even owned such a thing.

Standing John circled slowly staring in turn down the black line of each road as it vanished into the growing darkness. The breeze so evident earlier had dropped and an uncomfortable silence surrounded him.

"Bloody Hell! Can't a man get a haircut without some moron getting on the blower…"

There was no rush of wind, no crack of electricity, no footstep only the faint odour of sulphur. A figure had appeared, shorter than John, sartorially dressed in a dark suit with an equally dark shirt and tie. The white paper cape around his shoulders was the only discordant note in his outward aspect. Brushing at the loose black hairs sending them cascading to the ground the demon tore off the light mantel. Crushing the paper in his hands he threw it to one side before tugging at his rumpled jacket smoothing the creases and picking off minutiae flotsam. Finally satisfied with his appearance he lifted his head up to face John.

"Well, well what have we here?"

John swallowed and stood his ground. He could feel the twitch of his eyelid as he kept his gaze on the demon fascinated that this thing in front of him looked so ordinary. There was nothing 'demonic' about the figure, nothing to set him apart from every suited dick John had ever encountered. The guy wouldn't have looked out of place in a bank boardroom or a lawyer's office.

"Cat got your tongue, usually it's about now that they either run a mile or start begging for something."

The demon moved forward further into the trap, confident, assured, not at all abashed by John's silence.

"Hang on a minute, don't I know you?"

It was mocking him, faking its memory loss and John's blood ran cold. This thing, this demonic creature knew him, just like Yellow-eyes.

"Winchester….John Winchester. Oh excuse me while I take this in."

Grinning, elbow resting on a folded arm, the hand stroking its thumb and forefinger along opposite sides of its chin, the demon viewed him, looking him up and down like he was some kind of exhibit.

"It's not often I get to meet a bona fide celebrity." Then in mock horror the demon slapped his forehead. "But where are my manners," and it held out its hand to John in greeting. "Crowley…crossroads demon…King of Crossroad Demons actually but whose counting."

In complete contrast to the tight tension inside him, John outwardly remained impassive, ignoring the proffered hand. The demon, Crowley, was well inside the circle of the Devil's Trap and John had all night.

"What is it you want John? Fame, riches….a beautiful new wife?"

That hurt. John took a deep breath struggling not to rush in and beat the creature to a bloody pulp.

"I want information." John's voice steady and low and he stood his ground, body flooding, shaking with adrenaline. In front of him stood someone, something that could give him answers he'd been seeking for so long.

Crowley laughed. "Didn't your mother tell you 'I want never gets.'"

"Did that Yellow-eyed sonofabitch kill my wife."

"John, John there's no need for name calling, we're not going to fall out over a little misunderstanding, are we? After all it's all water under the bridge." Crowley walked towards him holding his arms wide in mock supplication. "Let bygones be bygones, no hard feelings and no harm done."

"Mary was my wife."

"I know, tragic and so unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?" John was suddenly confused. Crowley had called Mary's death unnecessary like it was nothing, like it didn't matter.

"Well it needn't have happened. You know wrong place wrong time."

It was so offhand that John found it difficult to comprehend. Mary's death had been the single most … the profoundest thing that had ever happened to him. It damn near killed him and it had set him on a path that he wouldn't, couldn't turn from.

"If only you hadn't fallen asleep in front of that TV." Crowley was taunting him. "If only it had been you that had gone into little Sammy's nursery. You can feel guilty for the rest of your life but it doesn't change the fact that nobody needed to have died if Yellow-eyes had been left to mark little Sammy as his own unhindered."

"What do you mean? Why would a demon target my family?"

"Now target is a loaded word… You could say 'interest' no 'invested' might be better. I do so love the English Language it's so expressive don't you think?" Crowley face brightened with a wide smile.

Slowly John backed away.

"Where are you going? And here was I thinking we were bonding, sharing."

Cold seeped into John's body. This was wrong, so wrong he was going to get nothing useful from this demon. All it wanted to do was mock him, lie to him.

"I want nothing from you."

"MORON." The shout of anger and derision hammered John. "Of course you want something from me. That's why you're here isn't it. That's why you summoned me. You want, need, to know who killed your perfect wife so you can carry out your pathetic little revenge. Well here's telling you for free John, Mary meant nothing in the scheme of things. She was irrelevant."

John lost it. "DON'T YOU SAY THAT." He forgot all Bobby's warnings, the fact that demons lie that they manipulate and let the words fill him with rage but despite the searing anger boiling inside him he still had the presence of mind to step outside the trap's lines. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO EVEN SPEAK HER NAME."

Crowley followed him advancing, clearly finished with the taunts and mockery and ready to dispense with this irritating human. John stepped back again praying that the elder hunter's trap would hold.

It was like the demon had slammed into an invisible barrier. For a moment it looked surprised and then angry.

"What did you do?"

John allowed himself a smile. He had himself back under control and now he had the upper hand. "A little precaution."

"A Devil's Trap you drew a bloody Devil's Trap." Crowley gazed around, now seeing the painted lines. I gotta hold it to you John that was a good move but sorry to disappoint you it won't hold."

"It'll hold long enough." Drawing his journal from his inside jacket pocket John opened it at a page of scrawled writing. Bobby had copied the Ritual Roman down phonetically for him. All he had to do was read. "Preacipio tibi. Quicomque es spiritus iummunde…"

"Hey, hey let's not do anything stupid…"

John stopped reading but didn't close the journal. "Did the yellow eyed demon kill Mary."

There was silence as he watched Crowley's inner struggle. Then he'd waited long enough. "Et omnibus sociis…"

"All right, all right. Yes…"

John felt a surge of triumph. Paydirt!

"…but I'm surprised at you John." The smooth charm had returned and Crowley pulled again straightening his rumpled jacket. "I'd have thought you'd have been more worried about little Sammy."

Mind racing John tried to formulate a reply. This was a distraction he was sure of it. The demon was trying to deflect him, he'd taken on board Crowley's earlier comment about Sammy being marked but he'd dismissed it as trying to divert his attention from the Yellow Eyed sonofabitch and Mary. What other possible motive could the demon have to bring Sam into the mix but then Yellow-eyes had told him to look after Sam.

Still suspicious John spoke, "What about Sammy?" He didn't buy into this, not yet, but on the other hand he couldn't dismiss it like he had before and the Demon in front of him knew that.

"Oh no John it's not that easy. See as I said before…Crossroad Demon… We don't give out Luncheon Vouchers."

"From where I'm standing you don't have much choice." John deliberately tilted his head and looked pointedly down at the painted arc on the road. "I hold all the cards."

Sighing Crowley threw up his hands.

"John, John what can I say I'm all heart…"

John was pleased to see that the demon's cocky confidence seemed somewhat deflated but he wasn't about to become bosom buddies. He held his ground and waited as Crowley continued.

"…suffice it to say that Yellow-eyes has big plans for your boy."

A large splash thumped onto the open page of John's journal, smudging the ink. Others joined it wetting the page, dissolving the words from its lines. Further splashes bombarded the ground leaving overlapping craters in the dust. Drops gathered on grass stems and flower heads bending the slim stalks till the overloaded blossoms drooped to the floor.

The rain continued pounding down soaking the two motionless figures. Each knew that the Devil's Trap was being washed away. Crowley only had to wait but John prompted by a growing fear had to ask one last question.

"What plans?"

Grinning, superiority restored Crowley swaggered towards John.

"You had your chance John and you blew it…." Crowley turned as if to walk away but then reconsidered." "…but I will do you a deal."

"No." The word was out fast, no hesitancy, no consideration. No way would John even contemplate a deal with this thing.

"Don't be too hasty there John. You don't know the terms."

"Nothing you could offer would make me deal."

"What not even Sammy's life?"

The patter of drops continued in the silence between the man and the demon. John's resolve was weakening and Crowley knew it. He'd gauged John's vulnerability and hit it smack on.

"This is a one time offer John." Crowley was serious now all the bravado, the charm school grin, the bold effrontery was gone. "I'll guarantee to protect Sam, make sure he's safe from …Supernatural harm anyway. In return you give me your soul."

John snorted derisively.

"As I said don't be too hasty John. Don't forget this is Sammy's safety, his humanity we're talking about. I can keep Yellow-eyes away from him. I can put a spoke in the wheel of his plans. Isn't that worth your soul…and because I'm in a generous mood. I'll give you ten years before I collect. That's ten years John. You can watch your boy grow up."

To say that John wasn't tempted wouldn't be true. The thought that his six-year old was in danger and how he'd felt when Sammy had gone missing was almost enough to break him but deep down inside he couldn't do it. He couldn't be beholden to some …some…Demon. It went against everything he held close and besides how could he know that what Crowley said was true.

"No."

Crowley didn't seem displeased or affronted. He remained sanguine and assured, waving a farewell

"Well John it would appear that our business is done." He looked around checking that the trap's circle had been broken. "Enjoy having a monster in the fami..." The last syllables were lost as the demon disappeared the Cheshire Cat grin lingering in John's mind taunting him.

XXXXXXXX

For long moments John stared into the dark, the rain flattening his pepper-salt hair dripping down onto his jacket in a patter of small detonations. Eventually forcing himself to move he quickly and efficiently expunged any evidence of his activity, packing the trunk, rearranging the interior to accommodate the wrapped half empty paint pot before climbing into the driving seat and roaring the Impala's engine into life.

The car ran swiftly in the dark John gripping, white knuckling the wheel holding his body so tight that he could hardly breathe. He drove heedless of direction; two hours, four hours the car eating up the black asphalt beneath its sleek chassis with a constant thrumming vibration.

What the hell had he done …or not done? Shock rebounded through him. Sammy, all this had something to with Sammy? John had been so intent on finding Mary's killer that it had never occurred to him that she had not been the target. In the silence of the car the revelation that his youngest son somehow featured in a demon's plans sunk into his stunned brain crowding in on him with its full import.

John shook his head trying to think clearly. How could he believe Crowley, a demon? The creature had every reason to lie. It was trapped it would have said anything to free itself but trying to reassure his doubt with these rationalisations utterly failed. John couldn't discount or discredit the demon's words because deep down, God help him, he believed them.

Sammy, Sammy, SAMMY… the name seemed to pulse inside his head, thundering, pounding. A dizzying, whirling nausea made him swallow. Wrenching the steering wheel John pulled off the road onto the grassy verge the Impala barely lurching to a stop before he'd the door open and was down on his knees retching violently.

Bile burned his throat and coated his tongue as his stomach continued to convulse long after its contents had been disgorged.

In pain both physically and mentally John rocked back and forth moaning and crying oblivious to his surroundings. His body's shivering escalating into a tremble and then to a shaking heaving shudder. He couldn't stop. Everything he'd held down, pushed down rose overwhelming him. He cried for Mary, cried for his sons hiccupping breaths uncontrollably as his emotions rushed up pouring out in a scalding, relentless surge.

Time meant nothing as he remained kneeling next to the Impala lost in his wretchedness. Thoughts came and went hurling themselves around his mind, twisting and crashing, splintering into incomprehensibility. Anger ripped through him turned inward in disgust at his own inability, his inadequacy. His fist smashed into the door again, and again and again. Smashing, beating his frustration into the dark metal panel.

Sharp, acute pain penetrated his torment brought him back and he collapsed down exhausted.

He must have slept because he had no recollection of the day breaking but when he open his eyes the light lanced pain into his already aching head. A cool breeze travelling his sweat and rain saturated skin made him shiver and he realised he was still kneeling, curled forward, arms clutched tightly around his middle.

Leaning heavily into the body of the car he took comfort, the feel of its strength and solidity at his side grounding him in his despair.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He'd discovered who, or more like, what had killed his wife but far from him being able to work towards closure a great gaping ravine had opened up and Sammy was on the other side. John's mind struggled he couldn't comprehend what the yellow-eyed sonofabitch wanted with his son. Why Sam and where was Dean in all of this? Did it have plans for him as well? The questions went round and round getting more and more tangled but there was no resolution only more unanswerable dilemmas.

Slowly, stiffly John pulled himself up clinging, keeping contact with the Impala. He felt, needed its presence. If he let go he knew he would be lost sucked into the whirlwind of thought and anxiety that played around him.

What was he supposed to do?

The morning sun warmed his face as he leant back against the curving side of his vehicle. Eyes closed John reigned in his fear and cleared his mind. The anger still burned inside with ferocious intensity but he was calmer now his brain assimilating and digesting, working through the possibilities.

In reality this new information, this revelation changed nothing. He'd just add finding out about the demon's plans for his son into the equation; essentially though his mission remained the same.

Ganking the sonofabitch that'd killed his wife stayed at the top of his list only now there were two reasons to expunge it from existence.

It didn't matter what the dick wanted with his son because it wasn't going to live long enough to see any of its plans come to fruition.

XXXXXXXXX

Bobby heard the Impala before he saw it.

"Hold onto your brother Dean and stay put."

He brushed aside Sam's protests with a meaningful stare at Dean who grabbed at his brother to stop him running out to meet their father.

"Just wait Sammy let Bobby check things out."

His voice was a little tremulous but Bobby knew Dean understood. Bobby wanted to judge what state their Dad was in before he let them out but the hunter never got the chance as he reached for the screen door it was pulled back violently and John filled the doorframe.

"Get your stuff together boys we're leaving."

"Hold on John…" Bobby stood in front of the hunter hand up in disapproval.

"DEAN…" John barked at his still immobile eldest. The scraping of chair legs and the footsteps on the stair treads told Bobby both boys had obeyed. He was glad because now he could confront the sonofabitch idjit in front of him.

"What happened?"

"None of your goddamned business."

"Christo."

"I'm not a damned Demon Singer."

The lack of a flinch confirmed that much but that didn't stop Bobby wanting to find some holy water just to be extra sure. However, John looked like he was bristling for a fight and Bobby decided that discretion was the better part of valour but he did hold his ground, he wasn't going to let the man intimidate him. Something had obviously gone down and John Winchester wasn't leaving until Bobby had gotten the lowdown. He at least deserved that for his trouble.

"John…" He stopped as the hunter pushed past him. "JOHN…" He followed the man into the study. "Tell me… you at least owe…."

"I don't owe you squat."

So help him Bobby punched. John went down sprawled on the threadbare carpet, bleeding from a split lip.

"Now let's damn well calm down before I have to knock your idjit head through that wall."

John made no attempt to get up and Bobby was glad because his knuckles stung like crazy. It was a long time since he'd had to bare-fist anyone.

"What the hell happened out there?"

Slowly John pushed himself up to sitting, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before smiling wryly.

"You pack a good punch."

"Sure do … now stop avoiding the issue or there'll be more where that came from. Tell me what the hell…"

John held his hand out and warily Bobby pulled him to his feet.

"The Demon came…"

"And?" Bobby waited in anticipation.

"And nothing."

"What? You did a dance and it left?"

John laughed at that. "No …it told me what I wanted to know."

"And?"

"I was right. The Yellow-eyed sonofabitch killed Mary."

"Again…And?" That wasn't all there was Bobby was goddamned sure that John was holding something back.

"And nothing…"

"Nothing about how or why it came after Sam?" Bobby thought he detected a slight tremor in the hunter's façade.

"Nothing about Sam."

The man was lying. He was good but Bobby had seen enough liars in his time to detect even the slightest untruth but he wasn't going to push. A man like John Winchester wasn't going to crumble under pressure and he obviously had his reasons for not wanting to tell Bobby the whole thing.

However, one thing was for sure he was going to make sure that those boys were gonna be okay before he let John out of his sight with them. Bobby liked the two Winchesters, sure they were funny looking kids but he'd begun to make inroads with them. Dean had dropped his reserve and Bobby had glimpsed underneath the surface to the empathy and care that the boy gave his brother. When he dropped his sullenness Dean had a warmth and a smile that was very attractive. Bobby was in no doubt that the elder sibling was gonna break a few hearts when he got a little older.

Sam was precocious, more outgoing than his sibling but there was a seriousness too, way beyond his six years, that left the young boy sitting contemplatively alone for hours at a time. Bobby had also found a kindred spirit, a connection with the boy. Sam loved books and languages as much as the hunter and he was good too, a natural.

In the last week when Bobby wasn't under the car with one brother he'd been instructing the other in the intricacies of Latin and Ancient Sumerian and it had felt good. Like living again and so Bobby was damned if he was going to let John Winchester drag his young sons all over without good reason. Those boys needed stability and a good home.

"So what now?" Ever pragmatic Bobby regarded John with his steeliest gaze. "You gonna hit the road again with no plan, no preparation." It was foolhardy and impetuous and he wanted John to see that. Bobby was no fool he knew he couldn't stop the man taking his sons and disappearing into the dust but he had to try and instil some sense into the situation. "Those boys need a home."

Hunting was a difficult life and John Winchester was going to get himself and his two boys killed if he continued to allow his anger and his grief to drive him.

"They got one, with me."

"All I ask John is that you take a small amount of time and think about things."

"I have thought about things Bobby, I've thought of nothing else. I am gonna find something that will destroy that sonofabitch and then I am gonna track its hide down and kill it before it can get anywhere near any of my family again."

There was nothing more Bobby could say as John practically threw the boys into the car shoving their gear in with them along with his own before he turned to look up at the man on the porch.

John Winchester hesitated then spoke.

"Thanks."

There was a moment of silence and then John dropped his eyes before slipping into the front seat and starting the engine.

Bobby leaning on the white post by the steps up to his back door watched the road for long minutes after the Impala had disappeared from sight. He only roused when a wet nose sniffed into his hand. Looking down Bobby scratched behind the dogs ears.

"What you doin' mutt? Ain't gonna do no good standin' around lookin' like a lost weekend." Bobby opened the screen door. "It sure is gonna be quiet around here …"

The door banged behind him.

THE END.