Note: This chapter has been edited from it's original form for compliance with the M rating on FanFiction. For the full, MA version of this chapter please visit this same story on Archive of Our Own. The story title and chapter title are the same. The author name is DeepLittleSOB. The link to my Dashboard is in my profile.
July 27th, 2008
He squeezes his eyes shut and waits… and waits… and nothing happens. It's been the exact same for fucking years now. He already refused the daily, sickeningly tempting offer and this is where Alistair is supposed to get pissed and start carving. Dean shuts his eyes to avoid the horrific scene he knows is about to unfurl. This time though, the disaster never starts. Scared to do so, he slowly opens his eyes to see what is causing the hold up. His brain freezes, ceases to work momentarily, when he sees. His dad is standing in front of him, less than an inch separating their faces, black eyes boring into his. Not again, please not this again. As much as he's tried to play this one off as nothing, deep down it still hurt every time it's replayed.
"Hi son," John greets calmly.
"Alistair!" Dean shouts as loud as his voice will allow him to go. In a flash, the demon appears standing next to John, his arm draped around the legendary man's shoulder.
"Losing that creative edge, are we?" Dean asks Alistair with more confidence than he actually has. "I've seen this episode before. You're in reruns, dude. That's just lazy."
"No no no, Dean. This is Must See TV. You haven't watched this one, not yet," Alistair smirks and with a snap of his fingers, John is no longer tucked under his arm. He's on his own rack, strapped down straight across from, and in full view of, Dean. "And I am far from losing my creative edge, my friend. I still have plenty of storyline still floating around up here," he smiles while pointing his favorite razor at his own temple.
"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters as his fears begin to take over. He's about to watch the exact horror that his father actually went through for decades. The same torment he experienced because he couldn't accept Dean's death. He's going to have to witness everything his father, his very own flesh and blood dad felt and went through so that Dean could live. How does he hold out, stay on the rack, for this? The guilt he's already experienced on Earth was hard enough. This right now is practically impossible.
"Dean, please," John pleads to his son, his formerly black eyes returning to their usual color and his voice shaking with fear. "Son, don't let this happen to me. Not again."
Dean closes his eyes to avoid it all, but his lids are suddenly forced wide open by an unseen force.
"Nope, no easy way out of this one, kiddo. You're gonna watch this, all of this… unless, of course, you decide to jump off that rack there?" Alistair asks hopefully. "You want to get down, Dean? Save your father from revisiting his tour of duty in hell?"
"Please, Dean. Just say yes. You have to help me," John cries out, tears streaking his face. Dean pauses for a moment, confused by his father's words. After a quick contemplation, he actually smiles as John's pleas sink in and looks over to Alistair.
"Didn't I already answer you today, or is your mind going with your old age? Shove it up your ass, Alistair!" he defiantly says. He knows for a fact that his father would never ask him to give in, ever. He'd tell him to hold on, be strong, and never give in, not even to help himself. He also has a vague recollection of his father using those exact words and they now echo in his head. Don't give in son. Hang on. Come out the other end. Alistair is not on his A-game today and that makes Dean happy for the first time in more years than he can count.
"As you wish, Hot Shot," the demon says while winking at him. The way he uses that nickname unnerves Dean. It makes him worry about what he knows and what else this demon will use against him. Shit.
"What'll it be, Joe?" Lizzy asks the now familiar face sitting on the other side of the bar and tapping his fingers on the bar top along to 'Got Me Floatin''. Bartending suited her quite well, come to find out. Her easy-to-talk-to nature paired with a really good push up bra helped haul in the tips, too. Hell, after just a few weeks she's even got regulars.
"The usual," Joe says, smiling while looking down her shirt.
"Hey, eyes up here scumbag," Lizzy says while smiling, ribbing her favorite over-tipper, and heading over to fill a rocks glass with ice.
"Then don't be parading those things around like that, Lizzy. I mean really, you didn't give me much of a fighting chance," Joe laughs while taking a seat. "So unfair."
"All the better to steal your hard earned money with, my dear," Lizzy giggles a little before pulling the Jameson bottle from the shelves and pouring a hefty amount of whiskey into the glass. Hey, he was a man after her own heart when it came to choice of drinks. She drops the glass onto a coaster in front of Joe. "Better day today than yesterday I hope?" she asks, starting the simple banter that always seems to ease her mind and help her pretend she was alright. When talking like this to people who don't know her story, she didn't have to keep Lou and Dean at the forefront of her brain. It made living easier and it gave her a break from crying and lamenting her crumbled life.
"A little," Joe tells her while taking sip. "The ex is actually letting me have the kids this weekend."
"Excellent!" Lizzy grins, happy for the man. "Though I guess I won't be seeing much of you for a few days then." She makes an exaggerated pouty face.
"My wallet is excited for that," Joe jokes. "Can't wait to see those kids. They're my whole fucking life, you know?"
"Not really," she says honestly.
"You will. Someday, you'll get it."
"Eh, we'll see about that," Lizzy comments, still not being able think about that kind of future for herself. "Holler if you need anything, Joe." She leaves him be to serve a few other waiting customers. The usuals where all over the map, from barflies to younger people to couples who left their kids with a babysitter for a night to themselves. Always someone new to talk to everyday. She enjoys the job and she finds herself smiling and actually meaning it every great now and then.
"What can I get ya?" Lizzy asks before really looking at the customer waiting for service.
"Lizzy!" the female voice calls with total surprise. Lizzy looks up and recognizes the face staring back immediately.
"Jenny!" Lizzy smiles brightly. "Oh my God!" She runs around the bar to greet her old high school friend properly, which for her is to barrel straight into the woman at full speed and hug her entirely too tightly. "It's been fucking years!"
"I know!" says Jenny, backing away enough to speak face to face again. "The last time I saw you was…" She stops there.
"Mom and Dad's funeral," Lizzy finishes for her, knowing Jenny didn't want to say it. She keeps her smile on her face. "Yeah, that was, like, six years ago now."
"I know," Jenny says. "That's far too long. What have you been up to? You practically disappeared after everything."
"Yeah, well," Lizzy starts to explain while walking back around the bar. She is still working after all. "Had a real hard time processing everything. I just really needed to leave and takes some time to figure out how to move past it all."
"I can understand that."
"Yeah. Being around here was just too tough for a very long time."
"Well I missed you while you were gone," Jenny says. "You and Lou. Is she back too! God, I'd love to see her again!"
Lizzy leans her elbows onto the bar top and does what she can to keep the internal sadness hidden. She knew if she stayed around the area she'd have to go through this conversation at least a few times since there were still familiar faces around. Still doesn't make it any easier though. "Uh, well, a few months back Lou and I got into a car accident. It was pretty bad. Really bad, honestly."
"Oh God," Jenny knits her forehead with what Lizzy tells her. "Is she…"
Lizzy simply shakes her head to confirm jenny's suspicions, unable to verbally answer. A crying bartender is no one's idea of a good time and this is supposed to be the place that gave her a break from all that.
"Oh, Lizzy," Jenny starts while bringing a hand to her mouth but doesn't know how to finish the sentence. They were in the same group of friends all through high school. Jenny knew just how close the two were and Lizzy watches as the pools begin collecting on the rims of her bottom eyelids.
"It's ok," Lizzy lies, trying to avoid the emotional display. Once Jenny starts she knows she'll follow. She attempts to change the subject while clearing her throat to will away the lump in it. "So what's new with you? I see something super sparkly practically blinding my vision." She nods at her old friend's hand and the gleaming diamond adorning it.
"Oh yeah…" Jenny starts as she looks away momentarily to gather herself, having taken the cue from Lizzy that now was not the time to cry. "Ah, big news. Remember Jim?"
"You're still together?" Lizzy asks with a hint excitement. They were high school sweethearts way back when. "That's excellent, Jenny. Congrats!"
"Oh yeah, we're planning a wedding and dealing with the fixer upper we just bought at the same time. That fucking house will be the end of us, though!"
"How so?" Lizzy asks, busing herself with emptying the clean glasses from the dishwasher.
"Uh, just problem after problem. We tear down one wall and then everything goes to shit. And I know we have rats or something because I can hear them in the walls, but no exterminators can find the damn things. The whole place is just weird."
"Huh," Lizzy says, her spidey senses tingling (as Dean would put it). "Hey, give me your number. I want to catch up with you, and soon." More like she wants to help her friend with a possible angry spirit problem.
They exchange numbers quickly and agree to call each other the next day. It would be so nice to have a friend, a person to talk to for once, and Lizzy hopes this wasn't an empty promise. She still needs help now and then concerning the loss of Lou and Jenny could be the person to give her that. Plus, she just missed Jenny anyways.
"Here, first one's on the house," Lizzy says while cracking and dropping a Smirnoff Ice bottle in front of Jenny.
"Gross, Liz," Jenny complains. "I'm not in high school anymore. I don't drink this shit now."
Lizzy just winks at her long lost friend before walking away to check on Joe.
"What the fuck're you doin' here?" Bobby asks downtrodden to the man standing on his front doorstep.
"Need your help," Rufus responds quickly while pushing past Bobby and letting himself into the house, pulling something from his back pocket wrapped in an old cloth as he does.
"Great," Bobby sarcastically laments, shutting the door and following his old acquaintance into his study. He wishes he hadn't drank so much today. He would probably be more useful if he wasn't so buzzed, but he just had to stumble upon those baseball gloves today. Fucking memories, they're going to kill him.
"Get that fireplace going?" Rufus asks as he opens the cloth, revealing the small wooden carved statue inside it.
"Sure, but you better start explainin' what the hell's goin' on here," Bobby tells him while walking over to the fireplace to toss some logs onto the grate.
"Cursed object," Rufus spills quickly. "Witch planted it on me, fucking bitch."
"Ja' kill her?" Bobby asks, reaching out to inspect the small statue.
"Bobbyyyy," Rufus draw out his name. "Of course I did! Not letting her get away with those kinda cheap ass shenanigans! Ah! Don't!" Rufus shouts at Bobby as he swats his hand away. "You touch it, you get cursed too."
"Too?"
"Yeah, too!" Rufus starts unfolding a piece of paper from his inside coat pocket and looks up at Bobby with annoyance. "Stop lookin' at me like that!"
"Losin' yer touch in your old age, huh?" Bobby jabs with a grin.
"Not losin' so much that I can't still kick your ass! Now make yourself useful and get me some vervain, lavender, and chicory root." Rufus reaches up high onto one of the shelves in the study to grab the gold bowl he needed, dropping it onto the large wooden desk.
"Which you want first, a fire or the herbs? Can't have both at once!" Bobby explains, highly agitated by Rufus' demeanor and demanding tone.
"Herbs. I'll do the fire," Rufus says while bending down to get the logs lit. "Move Bobby, only got so much time!"
"Fucking Christ," Bobby grumbles while heading into the kitchen, quickly lifting the false bottom to the utensil drawer to grab the needed ingredients. He runs back into the study and dumps them into the gold bowl on the desk. "How's that fire comin'?"
Rufus squeezes the bottle of lighter fluid in his hand and coats the small flames in the liquid, causing it to grow tremendously, flames stretching out past the confines of the brick.
"Good now," Rufus quips, while picking up the previously folded paper once more.
"Don't burn my damn house down," Bobby grumbles.
"Chill out, old timer," Rufus fires back before beginning to read from the page. "Terminus is vomica , solvo meus animus , attero vomica super meus caput capitis."
Rufus places the wooden idol into the bowl and uses a knife from his back pocket to slice into his palm, wincing with the pain as he does. Then he lets a few drops fall onto the statue, picks up the bowl and turns to the now roaring fire. "Fucking witches, man," he mumbles before dumping the contents into the flames, turning them a bright and glowing green briefly before petering out completely.
"Ok…" Bobby starts once everything was over. "So what was the curse?"
"Twenty-four hours before a real nasty, violent death."
"Oh, so nothin' too big or bad," Bobby comments with levity. "Well, it's been good seeing you and all, Rufus, but I've got some things to get to." He wants Rufus out. No need for the guy to see him in such a depressing state and he would like to keep drinking without being judged every sip.
"Like drink yourself into a stupor?" Rufus asks as he looks around the house for the first time since arriving. "Jesus, Bobby. There are more empty booze bottles here than in a dive bar's dumpster. Uh, and the cheap shit too. How do you drink this swill?"
"Like this," Bobby responds while taking a sip of the glass he'd been working on before his friend arrived. "Works just as well as the good shit."
"And tastes about a million times worse. What the hell's going on here, Bobby?"
"Been a rough coupla' months," Bobby says, downing the rest of his liquor and heading into the kitchen for more. Rufus follows close behind, growing more worried about his old friend as he does.
"Man, I know it hurts, hurts real bad, but this is no way to deal with your pain. I should know!"
"Should you?" Bobby challenges, as if Rufus couldn't understand, before realizing what he just said. If anyone understands the horrific loss of loved ones it's the hunter standing right in front of him. "Rufus, I'm sorry. I didn't…"
"Remember?" Rufus finishes with wide eyes, appalled at what the man in front of him just said. "How the fuck did you forget? I know that feeling of losing someone real well, so do you! Now instead of insulting me and being a general pain in my ass when I need your help, maybe you should sober the fuck up and do something productive!"
Rufus turns to head for the front door, fists balled up at his sides as he does, when Bobby attempts to stop him. He never meant to insult the man so badly; he just let his own misery get the best of him.
"Rufus, stop," Bobby says once he catches up and tries to stop him by grabbing his shoulder. Bad idea on Bobby's part as the anger Rufus had growing in him takes over. He turns quickly and punches him square in the mouth. Bobby bends over at the waist, holding his mouth as his lip begins to bleed.
"What the hell!" Bobby cries out with pain and anger.
"You need to get your shit together," Rufus darkly warns. "You're on a course that'll fucking kill you." Rufus pauses as he watches Bobby stand back up. "But what the fuck do I care, right? I wouldn't know what it's like to be in your shoes apparently."
Rufus tugs the door behind him with force, the sound echoing loudly before it grows quiet in the house once more. Bobby is left with his utter embarrassment, disappointment in himself, and sheer sadness. How pathetic. Thank God his boys couldn't see him now.
He's been doing this for about a month now, the shame of the path he chooses to take for vengeance never letting up for a second the entire time. Guilt is a hell of a feeling, but Sam's desperate need for revenge for what happened, and is still happening, to Dean topples it completely. It's a slippery slope, he knows it, but the woman screaming his name in pleasure really helps make the descent much, much easier... even if she is a demon.
The idea of banging a demon never really settled fully with him, but the over the top sex drive he goes through most of the times he fuels up makes it impossible not to go along with it. And then every time it's over, he feels wrong, unclean, and guilty as hell. God, if Lizzy or Bobby ever knew what he was up to, they'd kill him.
"Wow," Ruby comments while rolling over and looking up at the tall frame still standing at the edge of the bed. "You're getting kinkier. I like it." She winks.
Sam just glares with agitation at her and walks to the bathroom. Taking a shower sounded like an excellent idea suddenly.
"Don't be so damn enthusiastic, Sam. You might give a girl a big head," Ruby rolls her eyes. Sam still doesn't answer, just shuts the door to the bathroom and turns on the water to the shower. As the steam fills the room he looks in the mirror and swears he doesn't recognize the person looking back. He should call Lizzy, talk to her, get some help from someone who honestly cares about him. But how does he tell her this? And no matter how much she tries, she can't truly understand him or fully give him the help he needs. She isn't Lou. It really isn't the same talking to her instead.
Fuck, what the hell is he doing?