Hunter of the Shadows Book 3

Enemy at the Door.

Chapter 24

NB: only two chapters left after this one, folks!

Now…

"I see," says Bobby, shaggy eyebrows almost disappearing through his sparse hairline. "That sure was one hell of a claim on John's part."

Pastor Jim looks thoughtful. "Be honest. Do you believe it?" he asks of the boys.

Dean shrugs. "I'm sort of caught half way in and out on that one."

"It's certainly not impossible, I guess," Sam replies, slowly. "But werewolf lore trumps human every time." He smiles, serenely. "While Dean was out cold, Tobius and I had a talk. The upshot is I've got the family I never knew I wanted, and that's all I'll ever need."

"Sappy Bitch," Dean grumbles and nudges his brotherson with an elbow, but his eyes twinkle with fond amusement.

"Button it, Jerk," says Sam with equal humour.

After a few more good-natured insults are exchanged, Dean's face turns serious and his eyes settle on the camera.

"I guess you guys want to know what happened to Crowley," he shakes his head, now a little angry. "Truth is, so do we. We've got… questions we'd like to ask that lowlife sonofabitch…"

Then…

Dave was spot on when he'd told us that Sam was in for weeks of agony. The new arm was growing slowly, in short, painful spurts every few days or so and Sammy's fever spiked each time: that infamous, useful, werewolf healing process taken to extremes.

Trouble was, Sam needed lots of fuel to help the re-growth but the pain dulled his appetite to the point where eating often made him puke. Even the powerful meds administered by the doc, extra healing mojo offered by Bobby, psychic pain intervention by Missouri… none of it could match the sheer unadulterated agony that Sam went through with each and every growth period.

I'm not kidding you when I say that sometimes it was possible to hear it; the bone, muscle and skin tissues all regenerating. Sam would writhe in pain, his hair damp with sweat; tears poured down his face, and he'd bite down hard on his tongue to keep from screaming. All the while the bandaged limb made the most horrible and disgusting noises: crackling, squelching, tearing… and the blood. There was just so much of it. I think the animal skins were changed out around ten times a day during those periods, and Sam's sleep pants and tee-shirts had to be washed and dried just as many times. In fact, when Tobius requested a couple more sets Marcus himself, with Castiel accompanying him, took a trip into the nearest town. They returned several hours later with around fifty sets of soft, warm sleep clothes. Just for Sam.

Nevertheless, the laundry service was still working over time to keep up, and regularly sent runners to deliver the freshly laundered bedding and clothes. Their eyes often bugged right out of their heads at the sheer mountain of blood stained laundry they took away with them.

Those troubled days passed by slowly, but we hardly had to leave Sam's side unless we were ordered out on a hunt by the Pack doctor for the sake of our health. Even then, we always waited until the kid was asleep and made sure Bobby and Jim, the Werebears, or Lucas and Vicky were watching over him.

Sammy had to take his changes slowly because it was so painful. By the time he made it to wolf form he'd be lying panting and exhausted on the bed, and that's where he would stay. My heart broke every time, seeing that space where his furry left forward limb should have been.

In spite of it all, the subject of Crowley was never far from our thoughts, and some nights, when he was feeling up to it, Sam and I would lie there awake, quietly discussing it.

Several times Sammy and I asked about the demon, tried to find out what they were going to do about Crowley, but we were just told that things were 'in hand'.

John was secured in a Devil's trap awaiting judgment, we were safe and weren't to worry ourselves about it.

As you can imagine, that went down like a lead fart since we don't like being kept in the dark about anything, and we were half tempted to find out on our own. However, Sam was barely strong enough to walk let alone conduct an investigation around the Pack grounds, and I wasn't about to leave him all alone.

Even Tobius was being cagey about it all, and refused to comment. Several times he'd reluctantly left us in Marcus' sleeping quarters when summoned to the Council Chambers, and was often gone long into the night. No matter how much we badgered and harassed him on his return, he maintained a troubled silence.

In the mean time, food was brought to us personally by Missouri; Bobby slept on Marcus' couch in the study next door, refusing to leave us in case he was needed for anything – 'anything at all, just ask. I mean it, ya idgits!' – and he was often joined by Lucas, Vicky and the three pups: Arthur, Matthew and Logan.

Pastor Jim Murphy, by special Pack dispensation, was allowed to visit the underground archives to bring Sam some reading material for when he was awake. The kid soaked it all up like a sponge, but then he loves that kind of stuff. I guess it was also something to take his mind off the pain.

Lenore very occasionally dropped by. We didn't really know her all that well, 'cos we'd only really met her a few times, but she was a trusted ally to our pack and old friends with Tobius.

Turned out that, in spite of her often austere and solemn appearance, she had a great sense of humour, was a big fan of Buffy, and had a mischievous side to her that we never would have guessed at. She jumped straight into the prank wars, by targeting Sire, Marcus and Castiel whenever the opportunity arose. Water bucket above the door, whoopee cushions, fake dog turd, cling film on the toilet… you name it.

Like I said, her visits were very occasional. Sam suspected, correctly as it happened, that most of her time was spent organising and directing the hunting parties in order to catch Crowley.

Tobius and I slept, watched TV, hovered, mother-henned, nagged and generally drove Sammy out of his mind in between the growth spurts, just trying to get him to eat, but while they were happening, well, there wasn't much we could do for him. We just curled up on the bed in wolf form, one of us either side of him, gently licked away at his sweat and tears, and reassured the kid that he wasn't alone.

More time passed and Sam's painful healing continued on its not-so-merry way and, eventually, we did find out what was going on with John and Crowley.

I guess the others didn't want to bother or worry us, given what Sam was going through at the time, but a couple days after Sam's second painful growth period, I overheard a conversation between Bobby, Missouri and Pastor Jim, right outside our door. I was just coming back from the bathroom after a shower, when I stopped and heard soft voices coming from Marcus' study.

Actually, conversation was probably an underestimation. It was more of an argument.

"I think we should deal with this," Pastor Jim was saying, calmly. "Tobius, Sam and Dean have enough on their plates."

"I see what you're saying," groused Bobby, obviously not seeing it at all. "But those boys have a right to be there!"

"It's not fair to expect that of them," Jim insisted, a little more forcefully this time. "This was their friend you're talking about, not to mention the demon…"

"Exactly! And let's not forget that this was their own personal battle!" Bobby said, heatedly. "What right have we got to take this away from them? They ain't kids. They're fully grown men, now, no matter what Marcus says about Pack lore." Then added, grumbling: "Shoulda told 'em what was going on in the first damn place."

There was a pause before someone sighed.

"He's right, Jim," Cook agreed, kindly. "Tragic though it will be for them, they need this kind of closure. Lord only knows where else they'll find it, given what happened with Crowley…"

At that point I swung open the door and scowled at all three of them.

"Exactly what did happen with Crowley?" I asked. In the room behind me I heard a rustling noise as Sam sat up in bed.

Missouri, Bobby and Jim exchanged nervous glances, but it was Missouri who spoke up.

"Honey, come and sit down," she said, gently. Eyes quickly glancing over my shoulder at Sam, she gestured for me to join them in the lounge, but I shook my head.

"No, you come and sit down in our room, and you explain to us both just what the hell that was all about?" I demanded.

Turning away without another word, and ignoring the looks the three of them gave each other, I winked at Sam who appeared worried and tired, clutching at his sore stump.

Dean? He asked, anxiously. Everything ok?

Nothing to worry about, Sam, I reassured him with a quick grin, then dumped myself down beside him on the bed. Just that it seems these guys have some news for us. Sounded important.

"Uh… ok," Sam replied, sounding uncertain. He nervously watched as the two human hunters and Cook filed into the room, and all three sat down looking a little guilty.

This time, it was Bobby who filled us in.

"Captain Byrnes was discovered outside the main doors around an hour post-battle, still alive but only just," Singer informed us, eyebrows drawn down in anger and sadness. "Poor bastard passed away not long after."

He hadn't met the guy, but he'd obviously heard about his courage and sacrifice in the line of duty. The late Captain had earned Bobby Singer's highest degree of respect.

"The silver had passed deep into his blood stream and he only lived long enough to leave a message from Crowley, all scrunched up in his hand."

It was a poem, just like the one received via an arrow to the chest by the young guard before the battle began.

A really bad poem.

Not this time and not this place,

Not this wolf and not this face.

You'll not see me coming, but you'll hear my dance,

Forever more, dear Alphas, I'll seek my chance.

Sad thing was, it turned out the Captain hadn't been possessed by John Winchester after all. Crowley used him as bait, sure, and drugged the poor guy with Sleepworm, hence the weird eyes I'd seen from the balcony. But it was just an ordinary Sleepworm spirit. The Captain was Crowley's decoy to divert suspicion away from the real demon host: Cornelius.

Apparently, after disabling cannon and taking out its' crew, the sabotage squad ran into a squad of Type Ones on reconnaissance and, after a brief skirmish that ended the life of Sergeant Fisher, Captain Byrnes was taken prisoner. The other two NLSUs, as we found out towards the end of the battle, had been on Crowley's side all along.

As for Crowley himself, he'd last been seen by Bobby Singer and Jim Murphy outside the main doors. Apparently, the little rat never even made it onto Pack grounds during the battle. He stayed well back and out of harms way, and as soon as it looked like his army was losing, he ran for it. Several vamps and Type Twos took off in pursuit, but the bastard was too fast for them and disappeared into the Canadian wilderness.

Regular, heavily armed, hunting parties had been sent out after him ever since, but no one had yet caught wind of him. The entire Pack ground was on high alert, with strengthened Devil's traps and protection sigils, courtesy of Bobby.

Lenore of the passive Florida vamp nest had joined the War Council temporarily in order to consult with the Alpha on security matters and was, in fact, in command of the squad guarding John Winchester.

The damaged walls and buildings were being rapidly repaired and reinforced. The NLSU, Longbow, Crossbow and guards divisions, all of whom had taken heavy losses during the battle, had taken on five hundred brand new eager trainees, almost tripling the original number.

There's nothing like a war to inspire a call to the colours, as Bobby had rather cynically remarked at this point, earning a furious glare from Cook.

"Life doesn't always have to be about fightin'," she told him, curtly.

Bobby eyed her with some respect, but judging by the look on her face she still didn't like his response:

"Yes." He replied, simply. "It does."

Can't really argue with either of them, 'cos they're both right...

But the security measures didn't stop there.

Missouri and Dave introduced random Sleepworm testing of the Pack, and stringent testing of all newcomers or those who had been off the Grounds for any length of time.

Marcus wasn't taking any chances of a repeat performance from Crowley.

"Whether or not we've really seen the last of Crowley is up for discussion," said Pastor Jim. "But his ridiculous poem suggests that after he's licked his wounds and reassessed his situation, he'll be back someday."

Sam's simple reaction was met with raised eyebrows.

Let him. He nodded with grim satisfaction. We'll be ready.

I smothered a proud grin, but fully agreed.

Then there came the nasty business of John.

"What are they planning to do with him?" asked Sam, frowning.

Bobby and Jim wanted to send him back to hell where he belonged, but Missouri had other ideas.

"You send him down there and he'll just bide his time before popping right back up again," she said, hotly, just as Jim and Bobby both began shaking their heads.

"What do you propose we do?" asked the priest, sounding a little frustrated. "Keep him imprisoned inside a devil's trap for the rest of eternity?"

Sam and I glanced at each other. Neither of us liked that idea.

"Any other options?" Sam asked, looking from one to the other.

"No, but we can bind him with Sleepworm," said Missouri. "And keep him under lock and key that way. This place has plenty of empty vaults and I know Bobby here has some virtually foolproof locking spells and curses that could hold him."

That didn't feel right either. Even if John couldn't get himself out, there was always the possibility that someone could find their way in. And what if Crowley did one day re-emerge, and came back? Supposing he realised that his former partner in crime was being held here? With those two on the loose and working together, it wouldn't take much to start that shit all over again.

I wanted Sam to feel safe, but if John Winchester ever got free he'd hunt us down. This time, Sammy only lost an arm; next time we might not be so lucky.

"What's going on in here?" said Tobius, jovially, and peered inside the open bedroom door. "Not interrupting anything are we?"

Three familiar figures crowded round behind him.

"These guys were just trying to figure out what to do with John," said Sam, and gestured to Bobby, Jim and Missouri. "They can't seem to agree."

Smile fading, Tobius stared at his grandson, no doubt noting Sam's pale face and haunted eyes. After a second or two, Sire nodded and entered the room to come and sit beside us both on the bed.

Castiel, Marcus and Lenore followed on silently but hovered in the background.

Tobius grasped Sam's good hand, and rubbed my shoulder.

"What do you think should be done with him?" he asked us, quietly, then tilted his head in question.

Sam bit his lip and stared down at his lap, while I just watched him.

This was Sam's call to make, and make it he did.

He looked up with a determined expression on his face.

"There's no question," he said. "We can't afford to show mercy to demons. We can't send him back, but we can't risk trying to hold him."

I frowned. "Then what?"

Sam's smile was grim. "Aren't you forgetting what did this?"

He pointed to his stump, and it finally dawned on me what he was getting at.

"Of course…" I breathed, while Sire nodded in agreement.

"So far as we can figure out, it outright killed Azazel back at Mont Noir," said Sam, and shrugged. "That was a high level demon and John was in his employ, so it must follow that the same sword could be used to put John Winchester down. Permanently."

And to think, I'd been prepared to destroy that damn thing once and for all, but Sam's injury had kind of distracted me. Last time I'd seen it, Marcus had picked it up off the balcony and locked it away in a steel safe in his study.

So all was fine, except…

"Sammy," I said, gently, and cupped the side of his neck. "You realise what this means, right?"

I know he's not stupid. He knew exactly what I was talking about, but I needed him to tell me straight that he understood what was going on. Kid had spent days drugged up to the eyeballs on pain meds, and I didn't want to screw him up anymore than he already was.

Sam's eyes glistened with moisture, but he stubbornly blinked back his tears.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, hoarsely. "I'm not ok with this, but Cornelius is dead and he deserves to be laid to rest like the warrior he was, and with the proper Pack honours. He can't ever have that with John locked down inside of him."

I nodded and touched my forehead to his.

"Ok, dude," I told him. "I'm with you on this."

A grim task lay ahead of us, and we had to be strong for each other. For Cornelius.

"If you'll permit me," Castiel suddenly spoke up from the back of the room. "I would be happy to assist you in this matter."

"No," Sam answered sharply, but softened his tone when Castiel looked a little shocked and offended. "I mean, thank you for the offer, but no. This is something Dean and I need to do. Alone."

He was right. This was our grisly honour.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Missouri and Bobby nod their agreement, whereas Pastor Jim just looked sad. I could understand where the priest was coming from, and I was touched by his protectiveness, but Missouri had been right when she said we needed closure.

Castiel hesitated, then bowed his head. "As you wish, my nephews."

An awkward silence followed where everyone contemplated what was coming. I don't think there was a person in that room who wouldn't have given their eye teeth in order to take our place.

Marcus cleared his throat and asked the dreaded question.

"When would you…?" but he was interrupted almost straight away.

"How about now?" Sam asked, and started throwing back the blankets.

"Sam…" I began, shocked, but like Marcus I didn't get very far.

"It's a good a time as any, Dean" he replied, staring at me sadly. "The sooner we can get this over with, the sooner Cornelius can go home."

He slipped out of bed and held out his one remaining hand. "C'mon," he said. "It's not fair to keep him like that…"

Grumbling, I allowed him to tug me to my feet.

We argued over it all the way to the dungeon cell, deep beneath the Council Chambers, where an iron reinforced devil's trap kept John Winchester imprisoned.

Dave, Lucas and Vicky were summoned along the way.

The Home Pack Alpha and his Lady hugged us tightly, tears in their eyes, and remained silent, as though speaking would be too much for them. They'd lost an excellent Pack Beta and close friend in Cornelius, so their hearts had to be breaking more so than ours. This was the tortured pup they had rescued from a human hunter and watched grow into a fine young wolf. He was like a son to them.

Sam proudly kept his head up, footsteps mostly firm and even. Though every now and then he faltered, his face pale with pain and fatigue, he kept moving onwards.

I carried the sword at my side, not willing to let go of it once Marcus had retrieved it from the safe and handed it over to me, but I offered it to Lucas nonetheless. He had been Cornelius' Alpha, after all, but the older wolf shook his head.

I'm sorry, and he sniffed, barely holding on to his composure, but I just can't do it.

I understood. If it had been Sam, I'm not sure I could have done this either.

By the time we got to the Council Chambers, I noticed Sam's bandage had leaked a small amount of blood. Another burst of healing was on its way.

"Sammy, you sure you wanna do this right now?" I asked him, quietly so no one else could hear.

Sam blew out a quick breath, and I knew he was already in a good deal of pain.

"I have to," he replied, with a stubborn tilt of the head. "I want John to see this. I want him to know that he didn't break me, that nothing he says or does can hurt me. Not anymore."

But that wasn't entirely true, and we both knew it. John's death would equate to watching Cornelius die, but that was the least we could do.

I gazed at Sam for a moment. "Yeah, ok."

As we moved inside the building and Castiel led the way to the dungeon cells, Tobius and I flanked Sam, not helping or touching him at his request, but ready to catch him just in case. Marcus, Missouri and the Doc marched quietly along behind us, with Lenore, Bobby and Pastor Jim following on.

Castiel approached a set of iron double doors emblazoned with the Pack motif, and raised the wolf-shaped knocker three times, slow and loud.

"Halt! Who goes there!"An authoritative voice called out from behind the doors.

"Castiel, Pack Beta, in the presence of our Lord Alpha and His Grace the Duke of Aquitaine and Normandy." Castiel informed the guard, smartly, then added a little uncertainly "Er… and guests."

There came a few loud clanks, and the doors slowly opened up.

The guard bowed his head respectfully as we were herded inside by the Pack Beta.

Castiel took us straight to the vault containing John's holding cell.

"We'll take it from here," Sam turned and announced to all present. "Please. If Dean and I are going to do this, I would rather we were left alone."

Before anyone could protest, Lenore, of all people, stepped forward and regarded Sam and me closely. Then she nodded.

"As you wish," said the vamp. "But your safety is paramount, so I must insist that I remain outside the door, along with Missouri. Just in case."

There was some quiet grumbling but everyone saw the sense in it. A strong vamp with no emotional tie to John or Cornelius, and Missouri who could offer Sam psychic back up, would make the strongest security force while we faced the demon.

"Dad?" I turned to Tobius, but he shook his head.

"No. It's not my place," he answered. "This is for you boys to decide."

As Sam and I moved on through to the vault, we gazed up at the dark oak and iron door and waited nervously for entry to be granted. The door was massive but had a tiny hatchway, presumably to serve food and drink, but something told me that it hadn't been opened in a while. After everything that had happened, the guards probably preferred to bring prisoner meals down here under the protection of a heavily armed security detail.

Finally, the door opened, and we saw him.

The demon should have been pretty irate by now. He'd been down here for nearly a week, chained to a tough, wrought iron chair, and his only company were the angry occupants of the neighbouring cells, most of who were either former Pack elders, or captured new born Type Ones, all of them glaring at us in silent fury as we stumbled on by. Most were awaiting trial, but some had already opted for the fifty year sentence. Only a few had chosen to begin a new life with a new pack on the other side of the globe, and they had been shipped out of the country a few days ago with little fuss or ceremony.

But John just sat there, coolly smirking at us as we entered his cell.

"Wondered how long it would be before I saw you again," he said with a snort. "Just can't keep away from me, can ya boys?"

A long tongue flickered out and ran over parched lips with a gross slurping noise and he appraised us with those black eyes and a mocking grin.

"You wanna taste of this flesh? S'real sweet," John suddenly bit down hard on Cornelius' lower lip and took out a chunk, devouring the flesh like it was a gourmet meal.

Sam snarled and I had to hold him back.

Easy Sammy. He's just trying to get to you.

I couldn't blame the kid. It was sickening, watching this monster treat Cornelius like he was nothing.

"Whasamatter Sammy?" said John in a sing song voice. "Don't you like werewolf meat? That's a shame. Seems to me like you've eaten every other kind there is." He dropped the smile and Cornelius' handsome face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Or maybe that's too much like cannibalism to you." The demon tilted his head forward and stared right at Sam. "Or maybe you'd prefer to suck his co…"

"That's enough!" I said, sharply, before Sam could lose his cool completely, then I stepped forward, standing right on the edge of the devil's trap. "You know why we're here."

It wasn't a question and John knew it. He sighed dramatically, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know," John regarded me with a steady gaze and when he spoke again his tone was softened considerably. "But you can't do it, Dean, and you know that too. I was your father, once. We did everything together. Hunting, hustling pool…" he gave out a small chuckle. "We even shared a love of the same music. Remember, Dean?"

I glared at him without saying a word.

But yeah, sure, I remembered.

I remembered how we used to laugh and joke quietly in front of the TV long after Sammy had gone to bed, and how John would share his cheap bourbon with me even though I was underage, and tell me what a great hunter I was, and how we were gonna have to train Sammy, get him out of his stupid studies and toughen him up.

I remember riding shotgun, singing along with him in the car, while Sam stayed in the back seat, quiet and alone, never joining in, nose stuck in a book or staring out the back window with a bored and disinterested expression on his face. Looking back, I could recognise how Sammy was left out, kept to the sidelines, how John sometimes treated him like he wasn't a part of the family.

I remember John telling me the kid was too soft, too sensitive, how Sammy needed a firm hand…

And that's about the time that I recalled the sight of a skinny young kid, with misshapen limbs, and a dislocated shoulder. I remember I barely recognised him, after only six months apart. He was covered in scars and bruises, limping from a broken leg that hadn't healed properly, staring right at me with those sad and lonely puppy dog eyes as though he wasn't sure I was real.

I can still sometimes feel that warm, shaking body, all skin and jutting bones, falling into my arms and clinging on tight. I can still see the tears in his bruised eyes, gazing out of a thin, malnourished face.

And what I remember the most: this was what John had done to him.

When John was still human.

I could have ranted and screamed at the demon John had become, told him that no real human would have done that to a mere child, that a real human with a real heart would have loved Sammy regardless of his origins.

Just like I did, still do, and always will.

But that, I'm afraid, would have been a waste of time, effort and breath.

So instead, I nodded. "You're wrong; I could do it. But I won't. 'Cos it's not my play to call."

John frowned, obviously confused. "Then what are you here for?"

I didn't answer, just turned to Sam and held out the sword.

"He's all yours," I told him. "Have at it."

TBC...

Thank you soooo much for all your support, not only with this chapter, but also your advice with my boss.

He actually apologised to me today. Made me feel a lot better about it all.

Cheers my darlings. Only a few chapters away from the end...

Love ST xxx

PS. Recently, I encountered a fic where the author hadn't supplied a Season 7 spoiler alert. Now, I like to think that I wasn't nasty about it, but when I pointed out to them that I hadn't seen any of Season 7 because it hadn't yet aired over here, so would they mind stating a spoiler warning in future, I was politely told that if I wanted to avoid spoilers then don't read their fics. I found this rather upsetting, since I was an avid and loyal reader, always trying to leave reviews for this author's stories whenever I had the time. Basically, I took this to mean that my reviews actually meant very little to them. I have since decided never to leave another review for this person.

I think most authors in this fandom are pretty considerate like that, and obviously mistakes happen, but is a spoiler alert really too much to ask?

So, I would like to send out a BIG THANKYOU to all the authors on this site who have the decency and consideration to post spoiler warnings with their fics. You've all saved me from a lot of disappointment. (Hugs you all.)