Firefly – Chapter 28

By: Suz Mc

Sam was driving and Dean was stretched out in the backseat with Emily clutched to his chest. It was going to be a very long time before he was willing to let his child out of his arms or out of his sight. An exhausted silence had taken both of them over after Dad had evaporated from the clearing. There was too much to say, too much to think and work through when you'd had the shit scared and kicked out of you.

Dean had practically fled to the car once Dad was gone, as if he needed to set up some sort of fortress to protect Emily. He'd gotten into the backseat with her, left his nickel plated .45 on the seat beside him, and locked the doors. Sam did recon in the farm house, retrieving blades and guns and wiping away prints. Amora's demon play book was missing and he had a sneaking suspicion it was roasting inside the still smoldering wreck in the front yard. He'd found Calley's silver charm on the floor and it was carefully stored in his pocket. He hoped that wherever Calley Rail's soul was residing, she knew her daughter was safe. She deserved that much.

He'd thought about Calley, Jess, and his own mother as he scattered salt over the empty hulls of dead people. Fire always did that to him. Made him think about senseless death and finality. He tipped over one of the black bastard candles still burning on the altar on his way out, leaving cops and firemen to sort out the remnants of the bloodbath later.

As Sam had walked back through the trees, he thought Calley might be watching and he hoped she was. Maybe Dad was delivering some kind of report to her, if it worked that way. Maybe she was watching all the bastards who tried to hurt Emily burn and she could rest easy because her child was okay.

At the moment, Emily was as safe as if she were bathed in holy water and sleeping in Bobby Singer's personal panic room.

All Dean had said as he unlocked the doors and let Sam inside was, "One state over then stop." There wasn't going to be any discussion of what had happened, not tonight. Dean was going to revolve around Emily and block out anything else. The shockwaves of what he'd gone through in front of that exploding car couldn't be completely wiped away by getting Emily back. He loved her. She was part of him, body and soul now, and he'd experienced her death. He'd done that over and over with too many people he loved and he wasn't about to ever go through that again with his child.

They'd been driving for several hours and the sun would be coming up soon. Dean still had the privacy of darkness in the backseat and Sam thought maybe his brother had fallen asleep with Emily. God, he needed it. But, the moonlight caught Dean's face once when Sam looked in the rearview mirror and he was most definitely not asleep. For that second, Dean's face filled up the glass. His brow was lined and tense and his lower lip was held tight by his teeth to hold it still. He wasn't moving or making a sound but long streams of tears were running down his face. Emily's head was high enough on his chest so that his cheek was resting on her hair. He had snuggled her body inside his jacket, wrapping her up so that she was as close as he could get her.

Sam started to say something. He wanted to tell Dean not to worry about the things they'd seen. He wanted to tell Dean that Emily was going to be fine and maybe all this would go away now that Amora was gone. He wanted to tell Dean that he was a fantastic father or tell him anything to get that exhausted, pained look off his face because Dean Winchester crying was just too disturbing to deal with.

But Sam looked away from the mirror and kept his mouth shut while the car hummed down the highway so that Dean could pretend his little brother hadn't seen him have an emotional overload in the backseat on a night when they'd all just barely dodged a fatal bullet.

****

"Did you tell that bitch when we were coming, Drake?"

"No, I didn't, Lonnie."

The rusty pickup truck bounced through muddy potholes that pocked Marie Lavier's yard. The weight of ten black dog bodies kept the rough ride from rattling their teeth out but it was unpleasant at best. Drake pulled his weapon from under the seat when he caught sight of the thin wrinkled woman with skin the color of dirty burlap sitting beside a pile of burning wood. She hadn't looked away from the flames once since they came onto her property. She simply sat still, picking up tiny fragments of something from her lap and tossing them into the fire.

Lonnie looked over nervously at his partner when Drake slid his pistol into his belt and pulled his shirt down over the bulge. "What's up, man? Do we have a problem?" Lonnie pulled his own gun and checked the chamber just to be safe. "You're not planning on stiffin' this bitch are you? That ain't smart."

Drake was smarter than some shifty Hoo Doo hag and he knew when something felt wrong. He'd had a good run the past couple of days. Got the whole black dog pack. Fucked over Dean Winchester and his freaky bastard kid. He wasn't about to get run over by some old lady trying to spook him into lowering his price.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm just being careful." Drake bounced the pickup to a stop a few feet away from Marie's lawn chair, close enough to the fire so she could see the black dog bodies in the bed. He got out of the truck and walked purposefully over to the old lady. "It's been a long time, Marie. Got you the whole pack, all body parts intact, just like you said."

"You be a thorough man, through and through," the old woman cackled, slapping her leg in excitement. "I knew you be the man to get Ole Marie the sho'nuff article." Marie rose slowly from her chair, bones creaking with age. She stood one angle at a time, pushing up with her hands and straightening her thin cotton dress. Slowly, Marie navigated the ten feet between her bonfire and the stinking black dog bodies leaking inside black body bags in Drake's truck bed.

Drake fished a long neck bottle from the ice chest the old woman was using for a footrest and twisted off the top. "Marie, we're in a hurry. You mind just getting our money?"

She didn't respond, but zippered open one of the bags and fished out the tail of one of the powerful dead animals. With two fingers, she pinched the hairs on the tip of the tail and gave a quick tug. As if smelling a rose, Marie lifted the fur to her nose and inhaled deeply.

"Praise be, Child, you have done brought Marie one kick ass pile o' black dog magic!" She tucked the fur in her pocket and returned to the fire. "Now, I couldn't sleep one bit tonight if I didn't feed you boys up right and proper. Been cooking all day for my grandbabies and there's plenty. Sit right down here and after you two boys have full bellies, I'll give you your due and you can be on your way."

Lonnie was already reaching for the bowl Marie was filling for him out of a pot by the fire.

"No time. Just get our money and we'll go." Drake watched as Lonnie started stuffing his face with gumbo. It annoyed the crap out of him for Lonnie to screw up his night. All he wanted was his fucking money and then they could head to New Orleans for some ass and a good bed.

Marie's hand was shaking with age as she held out a bowl toward him and smiled a broken slit of a grin at him. "Now, boy, those New Orleans ho's gonna still be there waiting for you and a full belly give you mo' stamina," she said, handing over the bowl. "You ask me nice, Ole Marie give you some of her own special magic make you go on and on with the ladies. They be standin' in line to love you off Bourbon Street."

Drake took the bowl and held it until Marie sat down with her own and started to eat. Christ. He wasn't getting out of here until he ate this bitch's food and Lonnie was already slopped down in a chair stuffing his face so Drake relented. With a mouth full, he said, "Don't need your help in that department, Marie. Never had a complaint."

"I bet you haven't."

They sat silently for a time, the fire popping in the heavy bayou night. Burning wood couldn't quite cover the nauseating odor permeating the air around them. He'd done business with the old lady before, bringing her other noxious supplies, and she always rattled on like the crazy old bitch so it was best to humor her. Pissing off Hoo Doo hags was not a good idea. He relaxed a bit back into his chair. She was going to talk for a while and they'd drink her beer then she'd pay, just like always.

"What's been going on down here in the swamp, Marie? You must have something big brewing to need all these dogs." He took another draw from his beer and settled into eating. Marie might be a crazy bitch, but her food was good.

"Oh, I gonna be real popular with the spells I can work with these precious boys all dried up and taken apart. People be coming here for all the love and hate workin's they need. Ole Marie gonna have to get herself one of those number rolls what they got at the bakery. Always somebody doin' wrong what need to be righted or righted what need to be wronged."

"And you oblige for the right price, huh, ole girl?" One more bite and his bowl was empty. Drake looked over at Lonnie as he tossed his Styrofoam bowl onto the fire, watching it burn like he was hypnotized. Lonnie wasn't too bright.

"Well, a girl's gotta eat and have a pretty thing or two, Drake, but sometimes I works my magic just cuz something needs doing. That keeps me right with the man upstairs and keeps the down belows at bay."

He couldn't help the laugh that burst out of his stomach. "You believe in God and the Devil, Marie? You're sure looking down both barrels, aren't you?"

Marie poked at the fire with a stick and studied the flames. "Man up above and man down below tumbling around in one big ball that just roll around this earth. You best keep an eye out or that fat wad o' good and evil roll right over you." She laughed rough and loud. "That reminds me of a brand new story what you ain't never heard but you boys might find mighty interesting."

Holy crap. A story. Even the whores would be sound asleep by the time they got away from here. Drake pulled out the last drop of beer in his bottle and kept silent on the off chance the old bag would move this along. Marie grabbed another beer for him and tossed it gently into his hands then gave one to Lonnie.

"Few years back, this young man come to see ole Marie trying to save somebody he love from some damnation he done got wrapped up in. That boy so desperate it be running out his body like sweat. Much as I tried, couldn't do one thing to help that po' sad child and he went off into the night all heartsick and sorry." She got up and started walking around the flames, moving a bit more easily than before she'd finished her last beer. "Lost track of that boy, but a good old friend of mine call me and I find out the brother of that sweet, sad boy done got yanked right out of the Pit itself by the Almighty. These boys took on Ole Scratch hisself and won! Ain't that just some shit, Drake?"

Drake moved to go for the gun that was still resting behind his back, only to find his hands limp and slack in his lap. His spine was a solid, unmoving rod and his feet felt like lead fastened to the dirt. Even sound wouldn't move from his throat. Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Lonnie was silent, too. Son of a bitch.

The woman laughed up toward the moon in a hoarse howl. "You done found out Ole Marie's got more tricks than you thought, huh, boy? Don't you fret. You gonna be movin' soon enough. Jus' perk up yo' ears and listen so you understand jus' why you here all solid and still." No longer disguising her work, Marie pulled the black dog's hairs she'd stashed in her pocket, kissed the strands, and blew them into the flames, all the time whispering over the burning mass of cypress and moss. "Where was I? Oh, that's right. These boys out fightin' and protectin' all over the place, trying to set things right between what good and what evil in this world, while that raised from the dead boy trying to get his own shit together, which ain't one easy t'ing, mind you. Not but a few days ago, that boy find out that he be blessed with a beautiful little child he ain't never knowed and he as happy as a dog in the sun. But that sweet baby girl got a handmaiden of Ole Scratch right on her tail, she did. Poor child. That demon done killed her mama and her daddy doing everything he can to keep that baby safe."

Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Drake could feel the sweat pouring out of his chest as his muscles began to contract deep inside his stomach. The pressure sent blood rushing to his head, to his ears, erupting in pain inside his skull.

"He doin' a pretty good job until some low life, cock suckin', no count, ass wipe set that demon's people on him and that baby girl." Marie strolled over in front of Drake and Lonnie, leaning over to take a look at the drops of blood beginning to ooze from their noses. "That sorry gentleman be you, Drake. And I bet you weren't even sorry one bit, until right this very minute."

Lonnie managed a pitiful grunt that bubbled in his throat and earned a thump on the head from the old lady.

"But Marie's old cheri Robert done told me not thirty minutes ago that little girl child and her daddy is just fine and dandy. Made me think of my own precious grandbaby girls and what I do if somebody try to get their little blood spilt. I think I likes the idea of being able to help that boy now by sending you packin'. Couldn't help him last time around but I sho' helpin' him out this time, ain't I true?!"

He felt like his eyes were being burned from his skull as blood bubbled through his sockets. Ears. Nose. Mouth. All full of the stinging metal taste of his own blood. Marie's scratchy voice was ringing around him as she combined her storytelling with oddly phrased chants that made the pain intensify with every word.

Fucking bitch. Fucking Dean Winchester. Fucking hope you die.

"Now I speck you two will be more comfortable on the ground for this next part."

Drake saw Lonnie's chair tumble to the ground in front of the fire then felt Marie's foot dig into his own back and dump him onto the dirt. The old woman seemed to dance around them, mumbling and smiling as she worked her magic. All there was to feel was agony as his diaphragm contracted violently, sending a lava-like rush of blood and tissue erupting from his mouth onto the ground in front of him. Lonnie was heaving out his own insides beside him and there wasn't a fucking thing they could do about it.

"The ball is rollin' right over you, boys. Feel it? All you done comin' right back at you. I told you. The Big Man Up Above and the Bad Man Down Below always get their due. Ain't no runnin' from it."

At first, he felt was a soft sprinkling settling over his tortured body that felt like rain, then he felt the sting of salt pelting him harder and harder. The bitch wasn't even waiting for them to die before she started the salt and burn. Son of a bitch. He was blind now. The pain and blood smoked out his senses until there was nothing left. As the blackness took him, Drake felt the lick of flames against his skin and hands grabbing at his flesh.

***

The benefit of checking into hotels at four a.m. when you're beat to hell, filthy, and carrying an unconscious four year old is that nobody freaking cares. Dean watched Sam walk back toward the car, card key in hand, so he gathered Emily more tightly in his arms and slid out of the backseat. She hadn't moved in hours and she wasn't moving now, except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing and he'd spent the past few hours with one hand resting on her chest to be able to feel that breathing.

The room was cool and dark and Dean left it that way, finding the bed by the dim neon glow coming in through the window. Sam didn't talk, just pulled everything out of the car and piled it on the floor between the beds. Sam's eyes were slits and if his brother didn't crash soon he'd be picking his lanky ass off the floor.

"Hand me her bag then go to sleep, zombie boy."

She was still dead to the world when Dean stretched her out on the bed. Fishing around in her pink suitcase, he found one of the princess nightgowns and finagled her little body out of the white gown those monsters had dressed her in. She was so tiny his hand spanned her entire back and held her still as he slipped her own gown over her head. He tossed the last remnant of their nightmare into the corner so he could burn it later. There wasn't going to be one piece of evidence left when Emily woke up.

Sam had flopped into the other bed, bloody clothes and all, and was already snoring. Emily was snuggled against the pillow and he covered her little body with the princess blanket she liked so much. Dean poured a thick salt barrier at the door and on the window sill then joined her on the bed. They were like refugees who crossed the border into safety and collapsed in the first tent that would accept them. Dirty. Wounded. Brain blitzed and exhausted but unable to give up the battleground mindset.

Dirt and blood would come off later. Slowly, he eased Emily closer to him and kept his hand pressed against her little stomach. He had to shut off his freak out to sleep and the only way he could manage that was to keep his hand on her to be sure she didn't slip away like she almost had tonight.

Damn. He was trying to shut off his brain and go to sleep but Dad wouldn't get his face out of his head. He was rolling around there with his new smiling face saying, "See how this feels?" He thought he'd felt the worst train wreck agony possible when he'd sat by Sammy's corpse, watching him cold and dead on a soggy mattress. When he'd watched his Dad's body stuffed full of needles and shocked over and over until they gave up and let him die. This was different. With your own kid, it was different. That pain smashed and destroyed you and made you dead, too.

Happy now, Dad? I get it.

He leaned over to kiss her cheek once more. Maybe he could just hold onto her in this motel room until she was thirty and never let her out of his sight and she'd be safe. Maybe he could just follow her around like some stalker shadow everywhere she went until he died and then she'd be safe. Maybe all of a sudden life would turn into a friggin' Disney movie and they'd live happily ever after with no demons or monsters or freaky supernatural fire power being carried around in the hands of a silent pre-schooler.

When they woke up, he could handle all the loose ends, all the details. Every other problem didn't mean shit now. Emily was alive. Amora was gone for now, even if not forever. They had options now.

The first option was to fade to black in this quiet room with his kid living and breathing next to him. Best idea he'd heard in days.

TBC