Firefly – Chapter 25
By: Suz Mc
Dean had been able to occupy his mind over the past miles, focusing on battle plans and home invasion tactics, until they'd hit a detour that interrupted his momentum. Sam was standing just outside the car, trying to pull directions out of some Centennial local. They were now in the same town as Emily, within just a few miles of finding her and getting her back. And, even though he was hacked off at his brother for the Sammy Knows Best crap, thanks to him, no one could say squat about Dean being her father.
If he could get her back.
It was the first time he'd entertained the "if" during his hours of silent prep and planning. That one word was enough to get that hollow feeling cranking in his chest again. John Winchester had a terrific directive when it came to that issue. Never picture failure, only victory. God, he could be such a tool sometimes. Dean wondered if that DNA test was going to give him the ability to spout bullshit like that and think it made sense.
They needed more time, more backup, better intel, more and better everything.
Never picture failure. Yeah. He'd like to picture a case of tazer grenades in the back of his trunk and about a battalion of hunters to back them up. Maybe he couldn't make those things show up, but there was one lifeline he could make a grab for and all it required was digging out his long buried humility.
Dean closed his eyes, trying to isolate his mind away from the fear, away from Sam, away from everything except what he wanted to say. When he was ready, he opened his eyes and looked upward.
"Okay, I know you and I have had our differences and I'm sorry for most of those. Really, seriously, I am. But we seemed to have reached an understanding and I'm glad you let me help out with that Apocalypse deal." He thought better of it and decided to rephrase his opening statement to the Almighty. "Okay, that's not exactly true because it was a major pain in the ass, but I am glad it worked out and Lucifer isn't the new American Idol. Anyway, I understand your deal about us taking care of our own sandbox down here and the free will business comes with a price. I get all of that. I wouldn't ask you for a thing for myself. Yankin' me out of the pit pretty much meets the quota of help I'm due. Oh, and thanks for that, by the way. "
He was rambling and sounded like a fucking idiot. Get to the point, Winchester.
"Emily's just a little girl, she doesn't deserve to die. It can't serve any bigger picture for that little girl, for my little girl to die. I don't expect you to jam some huge spooky hand down into that house and deposit her on the seat here, but if you decided that was the way to go, you wouldn't get any complaints from me. All I'm asking is that you give me the break I need to save her. I'll do the work. I'll do whatever I have to do, if you'll just give me one edge, one opening. I swear to Go--, I mean, well, YOU, that I won't waste it."
He stopped for a second, scrambling for the words, hoping he was worthy of some notice. "I'm not going to make some lame promises to you about becoming celibate or showing up in church every Sunday because I really don't think you care much about that stuff. Anyhow, you and I both know I couldn't keep those kinds of vows. What I can tell you is that Emily will know right and wrong. I'll do my best to be a good dad and let her grow up knowing I love her and she matters. Just, please, help me and Sam save her."
There was no sign, no parting of the clouds or earthquake to signal that anyone outside of the Impala had heard his prayer. Emily didn't appear in the backseat. Dean noticed Sam walking back toward the car and added a quick, "Amen," to his request.
"Go back to the last four way stop and take a left," Sam said, climbing back into the car. "Follow that road for five miles and we'll be there."
Dean put away the begging father that had just been inside him. The soldier was the one who would get this done. Never picture failure. He could do that. Dean popped a u-turn and headed back toward the intersection, picturing victory and a pyramid of dead demon groupies.***
The Impala was tucked neatly inside a curtain of trees, giving them the chance to arm themselves in privacy. There would be a half mile trek and crawl through the forest and brush to get to the wood frame house, but it was the best chance they had to go in undetected. Sam grabbed one last item from his jacket pocket and went to the back of the car to join his brother
Dean stood over the open trunk, making decisions about what to carry and what to leave behind. Every move was efficient and driven as he slipped the clip on his .45 and shoved it back in place then took a quick slide of his finger down a knife blade before sheathing it in his belt. He stuffed his pockets with extra ammo and a flask of holy water and then fit his sawed off into a long pouch in the lining of his jacket.
Sam went about his own business, arming himself and checking off the details. They knew what they were facing. Fanatical humans could be savage in battle because most of them were freaking willing to die. It was hard to fight someone whose self preservation skills were taking a backseat to their worship. But the humans could be dealt with because they died by conventional means no matter how high they were on demonic devotion. The demon was going to be another problem altogether.
"Sam?" Dean's voice was the way it always was before a battle, steady and determined.
"Yeah?"
"I need to make something clear before we pull the trigger on this deal." He was still shoving ammo into the loops on his belt and into his pocket, not taking time away from the prep for the conversation. "I'm going to kill them all. Humans, demons, all of 'em. You, me, and Emily are the only people walking out of there alive."
What Dean wanted was a slaughter, pure and simple. It was one thing to commit to killing when you were fighting a battle, but another to declare every human life in a building null and void without giving them the chance to switch sides. Civilians would call it bloodthirsty. Dean would call it covering your ass.
Dean stopped his obsessive armament grab and looked Sam straight in the eye. "I mean it. I won't leave one loose end that can come for her later. Understand? I'm wastin' them all." He didn't look away and assume an answer. Dean was going to demand a commitment from him.
"I'll kill the ones you miss." Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to acknowledge everything Dean was feeling. "We'll get her back."
Dean didn't back away from the touch like he normally did, just kept his eyes locked on Sam's. "Promise me something else."
"Anything." The second the word passed his lips, Sam knew he'd overshot the promise. Promising Dean "anything" without first seeing what you were promising was generally not a good idea.
In an uncharacteristically intimate move, Dean put his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder. It was like one of those corny "go on without me" gestures from the movies. "If you have to choose between us, choose her."
"Don't start that crap now," Sam said, yanking his hand away, trying to break the moment.
Dean held firm to Sam's shoulder. "I mean it, Sammy. Swear it, right now."
"It's not going to be like that, Dean, so shut up."
"Swear it." Dean's hand had a choke hold on his arm and he wasn't going to let go until he'd extracted that vow out of his flesh, if necessary.
"Okay."
"Say it."
"Jesus, Dean! Okay, I swear that I will save Emily over your sorry ass. Happy?"
"Totally," Dean said, letting go of his bruising grip on Sam's shoulder. Dean turned to head into the woods, but Sam stopped him.
"Wait, before we go, take this." Sam pulled the small silver charm he'd ripped from around Lindsey Deaton's neck out of his pocket. His brother took it carefully from Sam's palm, struggling to get a grip on the tiny protective icon with his large fingers. "If you can touch Amora with it, she's history, and she can't touch you if you have it on you."
"Thanks." Dean took a look at his watch. "We've got a little over an hour. Let's go."
Dean moved out, dialing down his customary stomp to move carefully through the brush. Everything in the surrounding landscape seemed to take on a brittle, angry feeling. Every stray limb scratched and the ground seemed to pop up uneven clods to stumble over. The air was heavy and choking, anticipating the bloodbath to come. It was like nature could feel the unspeakable acts that were being celebrated just a few meters away. Nature fought against demonic presence. Nature could be a bitch, but it hated demon bitches even more.
It took every inch of Sam's long stride to keep up with Dean as he covered the half mile in record time. When they got close enough to see the house, Dean dropped to one knee, yanking out the binoculars stuffed in his pocket. He scanned carefully, trying to get an accurate count and assess the building before he handed them to Sam.
"They've only got two outside and I'm guessing ten on the inside from the shadows I'm seeing," Dean said, watching the two sentries pass each other and keep walking the perimeter.
"These old houses usually have a common floor plan," Sam said, pointing toward the front of the building. "One big room across the front, another large room on the side, kitchen across the back and two or three bedrooms on the other side with a hallway between them."
The house was alive with movement in the main room. Shades were pulled to hide what they were doing, but every room was bright with lights, illuminating the furious preparations. Several vehicles were littering the front yard and Sam recognized the silver rental that had driven away with Lindsey Deaton inside.
"We can't go in with guns blazing if we don't know where she is." Dean was watching the men circle the house, counting how long it took them to make the full lap.
"My guess is she's in one of the bedrooms. These freaks are generally really dramatic about entrances with their rituals. They're not going to have her in the room while they set up the altar." Sam pulled the binoculars back to his eyes. "See that cellar entrance?"
There were bars on the windows, making them useless entry points, but a small pair of wooden doors located toward the back corner of the house looked promising. They were held shut by a heavy metal padlock which meant absolutely nothing to Sam Winchester and the set of lock picks warming up his pocket.
Dean took another magnified look and said, "Give me five to take them both out and have that door open when I get there." Without another word, he moved out.
Sam watched, scanning the scene for any new targets, while Dean began his killing spree. By now, Sam had watched Dean kill so many times, so many things, that it had lost its shock value. Now, he watched with the fascination one would use to admire an athlete. John Winchester had taught Dean the basics of killing, but he'd perfected it to an art. Sam had tried, but he could never make the leap to ruthless on a regular basis. Tonight, he would.
Dean moved from cover to cover across the yard, making his way to a nearby tree that stretched out beside the house. The prey soon ambled by, his shotgun tracking back and forth as if it was going to save his clueless ass. Dean moved from behind his cover in the perfect moment of opportunity that would put him on the man's back with no chance that he could respond. In an instant, the sentry's throat was cut and he was a lifeless pile stashed in the bushes and Dean was gone around the other side of the house.
That was Sam's cue to move in and he followed his brother's path toward the cellar doors. Working a job meant doing your job and not cluttering your brain with excess emotions and details. Sam did his job and opened the lock. Dean came around the corner, just in time to snatch open one side of the doors and take the lead moving down the stairs. Sam followed, closing the doors quietly behind them.
They both had guns ready, but until it was absolutely necessary, silent weapons were going to be the order of the day. Sam hoped they could pull off this scoop and run with Emily and leave the bastards wondering where she was as they drove away.
When Dean was confident that they were alone, he pointed toward the door leading into the house. "Okay, you watch the hall, I'll check the rooms. We find her, we get her out, and then I come back."
"Wait a minute," Sam said in a harsh whisper. "How 'bout we get us all out and run like hell?"
"I told you, they all die, Sam." He pointed toward the door with his gun. "Move."
Now was not the time to adjust Dean's mindset. Once Dean had Emily in his arms, Sam would have a better chance of convincing him to stay out and stay safe.
Dean was moving and Sam was following, like always. One handed, Dean pushed the door open, ready to fire if he met resistance. One inch at a time, he eased the door open and snaked his head out through the opening. It was clear and he signaled for Sam to follow.
They fell into a familiar pattern of movement. Dean on point, looking ahead, Sam at his back covering their escape. The first two rooms came up empty and Dean moved on to the far end of the hall, the dangerous end closest to the front of the house and the crowd that wanted to murder Emily. Sam watched as Dean pushed open the door, his entire focus on what he saw inside.
After his brother disappeared, Sam jacked up all of his senses to guard both ends of the long hallway from the middle, hoping Dean was going to pop quickly out of the door with Emily in his arms and they could get the hell out of this nuthouse.
Things rarely went that easily, but he could hope.
***
Dean heard a male voice talking low and smooth as he eased the door open. There was a small lamp on the bedside table, casting a dim glow around the bed in the center of the room. He processed the details quickly, adjusting his movements toward the red-haired target hovering over Emily where her hands were tied to the bedpost.
The man was hunched over her tiny body, one hand tangled roughly in her hair and the other gently stroking the outline of her cheek. She was paralyzed, eyes wide with nauseating panic.
"You are a sweet little one, aren't you?" the man whispered, pulling her face closer. "Let me see just how sweet you are." His hand skimmed along her tiny body as he moved to sit down on the bed.
No motion was wasted as Dean descended on the man, wrapping one hand tightly over his putrid mouth and yanking him back against the Bowie knife grasped firmly in his fist. He buried the blade to the hilt, imprinting his knuckles into the man's flesh. The sickening monster struggled against the furious hand holding in his screams and Dean felt a familiar rush of excitement he hadn't let himself feel since the days of Alistair and the rack. He wanted to feel that thrill as this bastard wriggled out the last seconds of his life on Dean's knife.
The man's knees buckled, but Dean held him upright by his face and the shard of metal he'd rammed into his back. Keeping his voice to a growling whisper, Dean put his lips to the dying bastard's ear.
"They have a special wing for fucked up pervs like you in the pit." He twisted the knife to prepare for the coup de gras. "Your kind always screams the loudest." With that, Dean pulled the blade sideways, enjoying the feel of slicing his prey's spinal cord in two.
The body crumbled into a lifeless hunk of flesh and bone in Dean's grasp and he laid it soundlessly on the floor, and then shoved it underneath the bed. He wiped his blade clean on his victim's shirt, bloodlust and rage still pounding in his ears.
He shut off the killer inside as he focused on Emily where she cowered on the bed.
"It's okay, Cutie Pie," he whispered, reaching out to her. The little girl's entire body flinched and she struggled to get away. She looked even smaller than before, dressed in a snow white nightgown and bare feet. The gauze bandage on her arm was soaked in blood where someone had reopened her wound. Emily was desperately pulling her wrists against her bonds.
Dean forced calmness into his voice and eased himself down onto the edge of the bed. "It's me. It's Daddy. I'm here now, Emily. It's okay."
Large, brown eyes settled on him and she stopped retreating. Emily's entire face crumbled into tears and silent sobbing, as she accepted the fact he was really there, as if she'd thought he couldn't possibly be anyone but another monster coming after her.
"Hold still while I cut you loose, Sweetie," he said, slicing through the rope holding her. The second the bonds fell away, she rushed up into his arms and tangled around his neck, her shuddering body trying to climb inside his jacket to hide.
Careful of the deadly blade in his hand, Dean wrapped her closely to his chest, trying to ease the violent shaking in his child's body. Her terror was so big, so completely overwhelming, he felt the shockwaves of it travel into his own body.
"It's okay. I gotcha. It's okay." He kissed her forehead and breathed in the soft, little girl smell of her against his cheek. She was alive and she was going to stay alive. He'd killed three of them and that meant there were only about ten of those bastards standing between them and freedom. He probably wouldn't have to kill them all since Sammy was no slouch at killing when necessary.
He got to his feet, balancing his new burden firmly against his chest. Dean kept his voice to a whisper and said, "Emily, I need you to look at me." He switched the knife to his other hand and tipped up Emily's chin with his fingers. "We're getting out of here, but you have to do what I say, okay?"
Her eyes were raw and swollen from crying and her lip trembled as if she were freezing to death, but she nodded and latched her full attention on him. She was going to believe every word he said, do everything he said, because at this moment, Daddy was God and could do anything. For a split second, he remembered looking at some enormous, God-like man and thinking the same thing. The difference was, now he knew Daddy wasn't God. Daddy had just been a guy trying to figure things out as he went and hiding it pretty damn well behind his God impersonation.
Dean held Emily's face with his hand, trying to do his own best God impersonation. "Good girl. I want you to hold on tight to me and don't let go." She immediately obeyed, fastening her grip more tightly around his neck, clinging to him with the rest of her tiny body. Gently, he pressed her face against his shirt. "Close your eyes and don't look until I tell you it's okay."
He was more than likely going to have to kill his way out of this torture chamber and maybe he could keep some of Emily's little girl sanity intact if she didn't see the slaughter.
The door began to move inward and Dean stepped behind it, raising his knife to strike once again. Long fingers gripped the edge of the doorway and Dean stood down when he recognized Sam's hand.
"Here." Dean whispered the single word and waited for Sam to get into the room and close the door.
"We're still good. These idiots are way too excited about their demon debutante ball to notice their sentries are gone." Sam took a long look at Emily clinging to Dean's chest and rested his hand on her back. Her body jerked as if he'd delivered an electric shock and he withdrew. "Is she okay?"
"I don't know." Dean tightened his grip on Emily. "We gotta get out of here."
"Back the way we came. You first. I got your back."
Sam carefully looked through a crack in the door and motioned Dean forward. Back to back, they made their way down the hallway that led to their escape route. There was a great deal of noisy activity in the main room on the other side of the house and it was serving to cover their escape. They were almost to the middle of the hall when a surprised face greeted them.
The man skidded to a stop at the hall's entrance and had his open mouth silenced as Dean's knife flew through the air and planted itself in his chest. He slammed to the floor, knees making a crack that echoed against the plank walls. He'd used the knife on the off chance that they could still get out without the mob finding them.
The report of Sam's 9mm put that false hope to rest.
TBC