Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all that you ladies do. It's much appreciated.
Chapter Six
"Does my hair look okay?" Marie asked, turning her head from side to side in the mirror propped up on the shaving basin, searching for any long strands that had escaped her pins and the hat.
Peter looked up at his wife from the bowie knife he was running the whetstone along and appraised her carefully. He knew this was important, as they were not some fly-by-night outfit. They were progressives and this was the reenactment of the Battle of Fort Wilcox. They weren't going to be the ones messing up with Marie's hair slipping from its cap at the wrong moment. Once the battle started it was fair game. She would be one of the brave women who defied convention and rules and fought alongside their men.
"It's just fine," he said. "You look good."
She smiled her appreciation and smoothed down the front of her blue coat.
Around them was a bustle of activity. The truly dedicated, Peter and Marie among them, had slept the night before under the stars, wanting to fully immerse themselves in the experience. Others still, those playing the part of officers, had pitched tents and slept on rope cots. The rest of the troops arrived over the morning, joining friends in their preparations.
Franklin Pryce, their Union general for the day, moved to the center of the field and blew a whistle. Silence fell over the group as he called to them all in his deep bass voice. "Union! Fall into line."
Peter got to his feet and slid the knife into the sheaf on his belt. "Ready, dear?"
Marie picked up her rifle and nodded.
There was movement all around them as people stood. Couples separated in their roles—soldiers and nurses, surgeons and observers—said their farewells and moved into place along the lines of their army. Peter and Marie were on the front line, given their position by seniority earned through years of reenactments. They would be among the first to fight.
Though they stood among friends, neither of them broke character to speak other than to recite familiar lines about their upcoming victory. They looked across the field at their grey uniformed enemy and adrenaline began to pulse through veins in anticipation of a good time.
They had no idea of what was to come.
General Pryce moved to stand at the end of the line, his gaudy uniform a target and rallying point for the forces. Wilkins, the enemy general, walked into the very center so he could be heard despite his rather reedy voice, and shouted, "We are here to honor and remember. Do your duty. Fight. And keep your…" He trailed off as a man from the Confederate side broke ranks and ran toward him with his arms raised.
It was clearly not an attack, which would have been frowned upon, but Marie didn't know why someone would have broken character to interrupt at this crucial moment. It was a short man, and when he reached the general they saw that he barely came to the general's shoulder.
Murmuring broke out, and Peter spoke in a whisper. "What do you think's wrong?"
The Confederate soldier gestured Wilkins down as if he wanted to whisper something to him, and then the horror began. The man whipped his hand across the general's neck and Marie saw the flash of a small blade. Then the blood came. Marie had grown up on a farm and had done more than her share of pig slaughtering, but even she was sickened when she saw the blood gush from the wound and down the general's uniform.
For a moment there was no sound other than the general's gurgles as he tried to draw breath through his ruined windpipe, and then one woman screamed. As if it was permission to react, people began to scream, shout, run both toward and away from the wounded man. Marie stood undecided for a moment; she had been a nurse before the children were born, and she knew she should help, but she also knew with a wound that bad the only help she could give was a hand to hold as he died.
Peter made the decision for her. He pulled on her arm and dragged her toward the trees that created the south border of the field, the way they'd passed through to get to the battlefield.
They had to get out of there. The children, the grandchildren, needed them.
They were into the trees when Marie saw the smoke. Her first thought was that someone had set a fire, but then she realized that it wasn't smoke of a natural sort. It was shaped like a swarm of insects, but it was big and there seemed to be shapes in the smoke, separate pieces. One of the clouds of smoke came right at her, blinding her, and then she felt her mouth being forced open somehow and she choked as it forced its way down her throat.
Then everything changed again. She lost control of her body. She tried to run, but her legs refused to move. She wasn't even breathing right. She had been gasping, trying to draw breath into lungs that felt empty, but now her breaths came steady. Her heart was still beating quickly, but now it was as if she was excited, not scared out of her mind.
"Come on, Marie!" Peter shouted, tugging on her arm but unable to make her move other than to jostle her. "We have to get out of here!"
She tried to speak, to tell him she couldn't, but her jaw remained closed. He turned back to look at her and his mouth dropped open and his skin leeched of color. "Your eyes!"
"Pretty, right?" Marie said, though she had no control of it. Her hand reached out to his belt and she tugged him forward. There was a second's confusion as Marie tried to make sense of what was happening, but then the bowie knife was out of its sheaf and in her hand.
Marie tried harder than ever to stop herself, to take control of her movements, but she could do nothing but watch, feeling her heart increasing its pace and her lips curving into a wide smile as her hand brought the knife up to Peter's throat and thrust it into him. She felt the knife jar as it reached bone and then the warmth as the blood splashed over her hand where it held the handle of the knife. Inside her own mind, she screamed, but there was no sound anyone could hear.
Then a voice whispered to her, "Thanks for the loaner," and the smoke was pouring out of her again. As the last of it left her, she fell to her knees, her screams now freeing from her lips. "Peter!" she cried. "Oh God! Peter!" Her hands fluttered uselessly over the wound, but she knew there was no saving him. He had died before he even hit the ground.
She had just murdered her own husband.
Dean was in the bar, talking with Ellen as he restocked the fridges and Ellen wiped a cloth along the top of the counter. Their topic of conversation was purposely light. They didn't talk about Lucifer or the apocalypse; they discussed the rise in trade the past couple nights as hunter congregated in the bar to discuss and try to makes sense of the sudden rise in demon activity. Ellen was saying she might have to get staff in to help her if it carried on when Sam came into the room with a phone in his hand held out to Dean. "You left this in the bedroom," he said, "Bobby called. I didn't get to it in time."
At that moment, the phone rang again and Dean answered. "Bobby?"
"Dean, please tell me you're in Texas or you've got that angel hanging around with you right now."
"No. We're home, and Cas isn't here. What's wrong?"
"Had a call from a hunter named Garth. He's in Texas and all hell's breaking loose at a Civil War reenactment. Says it's demons. I'm the other end of the country, and I can't leave this job without people dying. You boys have to get there. It's Fort Wilcox, Houston."
"We'll find a way," Dean said. "Don't worry."
"You be damn careful. Both of you."
"Always are," Dean said. "I'll call you when I can." He ended the call and raised his eyes heavenward. "Castiel. Got a problem. We're at The Roadhouse. Please hurry."
"What's going on?" Sam asked.
"Demons in Texas causing a riot. Some hunter named Garth clued Bobby in, but he can't get there."
Sam nodded, turned on his heel and jogged out of the bar through the front door. Dean heard the creak of the trunk opening.
At that moment there was a rustling sound and Castiel appeared. "Hello, Dean."
"Cas, you've got to get us to Fort Wilcox in Texas. There are demons causing all kinds of trouble. I think it's really bad."
Castiel nodded. "Of course."
Sam came back into the bar, a duffel slung over his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked. Dean nodded and Sam turned to Cas. "Get us out of here."
Ellen called, "Wait!" but they were already gone.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and the next moment they were standing in woodland. Sam dropped the duffel and bent to open it. He took out two flasks of holy water and stowed them in each of his shirt pockets. He tucked his Taurus in the back of his pants and picked out a can of salt. "Here, Dean," he said, throwing him the demon knife.
Dean caught it automatically, and then the reality caught up with him. "What about you?"
"I won't be unarmed," Sam said, tapping his forehead.
"Sam…" Dean started, but Sam spoke over him. "It's not like I can start another apocalypse, Dean."
That wasn't remotely what Dean had been thinking. His worry had been for Sam physically. Using his powers was hard on him. "You'll hurt yourself," he said.
Sam shook his head. "I'll be careful." A scream rent the air, and Sam jerked as if electrocuted. "No time. Tool up and hurry." He set off away from them at a run.
Dean hurried to fill his pockets with weapons and then he threw the still half-full duffel to Castiel and ran after Sam.
He was barely two hundred yards ahead when he came to a woman bent over the body of a man. Instinctively, he turned to Castiel and said, "Go with Sam. Keep him safe," and then he gently addressed the woman. "You need to get out of here."
"I killed him," she moaned in response. "I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop. The smoke made me do it."
"The smoke!" Dean understood at once. She had been possessed. "Christo!" he said loudly.
She looked up at him but her eyes remained a dull, bloodshot brown. "I killed him."
Hating what he was doing, Dean got to his feet and left the distraught woman behind, continuing in the direction Sam had gone. He came to a large field that was crowded with people running in all directions. There were bodies on the ground, some abandoned and others with people, loved ones surely, trying to rouse them or just crying over them. Some of the bodies weren't yet corpses. They still moaned and cried out in pain.
Dean had never felt more torn. He wanted to help but at the same time he needed to speak to Sam and Castiel before they could start killing.
He spotted them on the other side of the field with a gangly man with dark hair. He sprinted towards them in time to see the man throwing his arms up and saying, "They are innocents. They are my friends!"
"All demon hosts are innocent," Castiel argued.
"He's right," Sam said, drawing stunned looks from both men. Sam turned to Dean. "Keep the knife holstered unless you have to use it. Cas, keep your smiting to yourself. We're getting as many of these people out of here as we can."
The tall man looked relieved, but Castiel seemed annoyed. "Then what are we going to do? We cannot exorcise them when they aren't staying close enough to be affected by the exorcism."
Sam considered for a moment, looking out at the chaos, and then said. "Get them inside. Is there somewhere, Garth?"
"Yes. The visitors center on the other side of the fort."
Sam nodded. "Get them in there. Salt the windows and doors. Lay traps outside. There's paint in that duffel. Get as many inside as you can."
"What are you going to do?" Garth asked.
"Something safer. Something that I will kill you for if you tell another soul about. Understand?"
Garth nodded jerkily. "Okay." He took the proffered duffel from Castiel and set off running.
Sam fixed his eyes on Dean, possibly seeing the arguments brewing in his eyes. "Dean, these are innocent people I can help. I have to help them. Understand?" There was a plea in his voice for Dean to understand, and he did, though he hated the risk it posed to Sam. He nodded.
"Good," Sam said. "Now get to work."
He set off and Dean fought the urge to chase after him, to watch over him; instead, he ran at the first fleeing person he saw. "Come with me!" he commanded. Mercifully, she obeyed. She gripped his hand and they made for the back of the fort.
The visitors center was a redbrick building about the size of an average house. The heavy wood doors were closed, and Dean dragged them open and thrust the woman inside. "Stay in here!" he ordered. "Don't leave no matter what happens, understand?"
Garth was inside too, shaking thick lines of salt along the windows and the door. He glanced at the woman as she went inside and said, "It's okay. We'll take care of you."
"What's happening?" she asked. "Why are people doing this?"
Garth exchanged a look with Dean and Dean shook his head. This woman's life was already changed irrevocably; she didn't need to know it was because of denizens of Hell.
Castiel appeared at that moment, half carrying a young girl who was sobbing uncontrollably and had a large stain of blood on her white nurse's uniform. "It is not hers," Castiel said. "Her mother was killed."
Dean nodded, regretting the death but relieved there was one less person who was mortally injured, and threw himself back into the fray to get someone else to safety.
Sam made for the first demon he saw, a man with dark red hair and bloodstained hands, but before he could even try to get a grip on the demon's core, it was smoking out into the air. The man dropped to his knees and looked at his bloody hands. "Oh, God," he moaned. "What have I done?"
Sam could do nothing for him. His problem was going to take years of therapy to get through, assuming he didn't die that day. He could try to stack the odds in his favor for survival though. Grabbed the collar of the man's uniform, he dragged him upright and said, "Other side of the fort. There's a safe place and people to help you." When the man just stared blankly at him, Sam shook him roughly. "There are people that love you. Do it for them."
The man nodded jerkily, and when Sam released him, he ran in the direction of the fort.
Even as Sam watched, another demon smoked out of its host and joined the swarm above their heads and another poured into the mouth of a woman who was running toward the trees. Sam saw Dean run past and grab a young girl, she had to be late teens, and drag her toward the fort. Momentarily relieved, Sam took a breath and then sucked it in sharply as he saw a young man pursuing Dean and his rescue. He had a knife in his hand and his eyes were black.
Sam took off after him. The hours spent running the back roads of The Roadhouse paid off. He shouted, "Get her out of here, Dean!" and then launched himself at the young man, catching him around the waist and tackling him to the ground. The demon fought and clawed, but for all its strength, Sam was much bigger and he had the upper hand. He pinned him to the floor with a knee and all his weight on the demon's chest, and searched for the demon's core. It was easy and familiar, easier than it had ever been before, to grip the corrupted thing that was the demon and draw it out. It seemed Lilith had honed his powers in a way they hadn't been before, even though there was no blood left in him. The smoke drifted to the ground and the boy opened blue eyes and promptly burst into tears. "Please don't hurt me," he rasped, his voice constricted by Sam's weight on him.
Sam got quickly to his feet again and pulled the kid up. He moaned in pain, and Sam guessed he would be dealing with a few sore ribs from Sam's attack. He was alive though, and judging from the lack of blood on him, not a murderer.
"There's a safe place," Sam said. "Other side of the fort. Get there and stay there."
Sam turned away and searched the field with his eyes. There were fewer people now, Dean and Castiel were doing their part, but he thought there were also more bodies than there had been before. Even as he watched, a middle-aged man sunk a knife into the back of another fleeing man. The injured man dropped with a cry of pain, and Sam ran toward him. The demon saw him coming and tried to smoke out, but Sam was too fast. He clenched his fist and the demon cried out in pain. Without giving it a moment to recover, Sam drew up his arm and pulled the demon from its host.
He fell into a rhythm. He would find a demon, pin it, exorcise it, send the hosts to Dean if they made it and close their eyes if they didn't. He sometimes saw Dean and Castiel running across the field, towards and away from the fort, as they helped people get to safety. Sam felt a little better whenever he saw them, knowing they were still there and fighting.
In the back of his mind the question teased—why were they doing this? He didn't think it was just apocalyptic high jinks. It felt too controlled and planned for that. The demons were organized. There were only two ways in and out of the fort park, through the forest ahead or the main gate behind, and they were both blocked by demons. And no matter how many of the demons that were guarding the forest Sam took out, there was always another one waiting overhead to replace it.
At some point his head started hurting, and with each exorcism the blood began to flow from his nose a little more, from a trickle to a stream, but he wiped away the blood and pushed away the pain and found another demon he could deal with.
He was staggering away from yet another exorcised demon, exhausted beyond belief but still determined, when he noticed the man standing at the front of the fort. He was average height, wearing a black suit, and when Sam got closer he saw wire-rimmed spectacles and close cropped graying hair. He smiled at Sam, and then turned and walked into the fort.
Sam broke into a graceless run after him, certain that this demon was the reason behind the chaos and massacre. He passed through the stone arch that would once have held gates and then through another into the cool building.
The charity that maintained the fort had recreated one room to look as it would have in the days the fort was active. There were maps spread across a dark wood table and weapons leaning against the wall. High backed chairs were positioned around the table, and it was in one of these that the black-suited man sat.
"Hello, Sam," he said with unexpected familiarity.
Sam didn't bother to reply with words. He just raised a shaky hand and reached for the demon's core.
There was nothing there.
He could sense tremendous power and darkness, but there was no demonic core for him to get a grip on.
The man tittered. "I'm not a demon."
"Then what the hell are you?" Sam asked.
"I… I am your number one fan, Sam Winchester. Thanks to you, I have purpose again. You wouldn't believe how tiring it gets going from one battle to another with no other reason than spilled blood."
Sam frowned. "Still not making anything clearer."
The man smiled. "I will make it easy for you. I can see you're not working at full capacity right now. Exorcising dry will do that to you. Okay… I am one of four. The apocalypse is our time to shine. My steed is red and I am well traveled and almost always occupied by my namesake."
Sam shook his head, trying to think through the pain and tiredness that clouded his mind. Steed… Four… Apocalypse… "Oh no," he groaned.
"By Jove, I think he's got it!"
"War?" Sam sighed, hoping against hope he was wrong.
"Spot on."
Sam grimaced. He was face to face with an actual horseman of the apocalypse. There was no way he was coming out of this intact. "This is all because of you!" he accused. "All the demons killing."
"In way, yes. This is my welcoming committee. The big man himself arranged it as a treat for me. It's not strictly my taste. I prefer to make humans kill of their own accord, but that can wait." He raised a hand and tapped the gold ring on his finger. "You wouldn't believe the things I have planned."
"In there," Dean said, pushing another man into the now crowded visitors center. Garth received him and began to speak reassuringly to the man, promising he'd be okay. The problem was none of them could guarantee that. Even if Sam exorcised every demon that was in the forest, some of these people had committed murders when possessed. Though it wasn't their fault, they faced a lifetime of trauma if not jail. It was so screwed up it was beyond belief.
He turned away and ran for the field again. There were still people that needed saving, fewer than there had been, but still some. Most of them were either safe in the visitors center or dead. He didn't know how many people had died for this, but every one was one too many.
He got to the field and made for a woman that was bowed over a man, her hands pressed against a gaping stomach wound. She looked up at Dean and said in a shocky voice, "It's stopped bleeding. That's good right?"
Dean knelt and pressed fingers to the throat of the man. There was no thrum of life in return, not that he had really expected one. The wide, glazed eyes were proof enough. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "He's gone."
Tears spilled from her eyes and she gasped, "No!"
"I'm sorry," Dean said again. "You can let him go now."
"I can't!"
"You can," he said gently. "I need to get you somewhere safe. There's a place and there's lots of other people that can help you."
He took her wrists and gently prized her hands away from the wound. She allowed him to do it and let him help her to her feet. He began to lead her toward the fort but suddenly his vision was blocked by a cloud of black smoke. It poured into the mouth of the woman. Dean started chanting the Latin exorcism so fast his words were a hiss, but it was too late. The demon's black eyes were fixed on him and she was reaching into her belt for the knife sheathed there.
Dean did the only thing he could; he ran. He saw Castiel on the opposite side of the field and he ran towards him, getting to his side before he realized the demon wasn't following him. She was standing where Dean had left her, the drawn knife held at her side, head tilted to the side. She needed to be exorcised. Dean's eyes roved the field looking for Sam, but his tall, longhaired form was nowhere in sight. He had been there. Each time Dean had been on the field he had checked on Sam and he'd seen him working every time. Where had he gone now?
"Where is Sam?" he asked Castiel intensely.
"What? Oh." Castiel's eyes roved the field and then settled on the fort. "Come with me." He gave Dean no choice in the matter, though Dean would never have protested. He gripped Dean's wrist and dragged him along until they were both sprinting. They weren't the only ones running. The possessed woman Dean had helped before was running at the fort from one direction while a middle-aged man ran from the other. Dean tried to run faster, his lungs burning, but the demons made it through the stone arch before him.
They were just at the arch when Dean heard a groan of pain that was unmistakably Sam and the meaty sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
"Sam!"
Dean saw the tail of the man's uniform coat whipping through a door and then it slammed shut in Dean's face. He shoved at it with his shoulder, but it didn't budge. Castiel pushed him aside and, using one hand, shoved it open. They burst into the room in time to see the woman Dean had tried to help throwing back her head and the black smoke pouring out of her as Sam lowered his fisting and shaking hand.
There were people in the room. The woman Sam had exorcised and three men. Two of the men had the stunned look of civilians, but the third, a man in a black suit and glasses, didn't look like a civilian. He looked calm and confident in the situation. Dean would have bet the Impala that he was a demon.
It was Sam that held Dean's gaze though. Dean was shocked by the sight of his brother. He looked awful. He had one hand on the wall, as if holding himself up against it, and though he had wiped it away, there was a smear of blood across his upper lip. His eyes were darkly shadowed and his skin pale. Dean had known this was a risk, letting him exorcise, but he hadn't expected it to have taken this high a toll on him.
"Sammy," Dean breathed.
"It's War, Dean," Sam groaned. "War!"
"Sure as hell is," the man said, "and Sammy here is my captain."
Sam scowled at him. "I'm nothing to you."
The man shook his head indulgently. "The time for games is over, Sam. Let's show your brother what he's dealing with."
Sam looked at him, lips parted with confusion and shallow breaths, and Dean looked back, and then something awful happened. Sam's eyes turned demon black. Dean staggered back and Castiel stepped forward, his blade dropping into his hand.
"Sammy, no," Dean moaned as Castiel hissed, "Demon!"
Sam blinked black eyes and then he laughed. "Is that all you've got?" he asked.
The man chortled, leaning over the table with his hands clasped on the edge. "Hear how he speaks to you, Castiel. Teach him a little respect."
Dean thought Castiel just might do it. He looked like a man determined as he stepped toward Sam.
"Whatever you're seeing, Cas, it's not real," Sam said intensely. "It's the ring. You have to get the ring off him."
Castiel hesitated, momentarily unsure, and Dean acted. He yanked Castiel's sword out of his hand and brought it swishing down on the man's wrist. The man screamed out in pain as blood spurted from his wrist and his hand dropped to the floor.
Dean barely paid him a moment's attention. He was crossing the room to his brother whose eyes were no longer black. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Sam nodded and slumped against the wall. "I'm fine." His body immediately betrayed his words as he slid slowly down the wall.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, dropping down beside him.
"It's okay, Dean," Castiel said, kneeling beside him. "He's not hurt."
"Just tired," Sam said weakly.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean said gently. "You sleep. We'll take care of you. We'll get you home."
He wasn't sure how much Sam heard as he was already asleep with his head tilted to the side.
Ellen and Dean were sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, watching the steady rise of Sam's back as he breathed the deep breaths of sleep. Castiel had gotten them back to The Roadhouse, and Sam had managed to drag himself to almost consciousness to reassure Ellen that he was okay before collapsing on the bed and falling into a dead sleep. He would probably be pissed if he knew they were watching him, but Dean didn't want to leave him just yet.
He had just finished telling Ellen the story of what had happened, leaving nothing out but the mention of the blood that was no longer in Sam to fuel him. Ellen had never known about the blood in the first place, so she didn't need to know Sam no longer seemed to require it. That was a secret kept between Castiel, Dean and Sam himself. Sam might find it in himself to tell Ellen and the others one day, but not yet. It was still too raw for him, for them all.
When they had walked out of the fort, demons had been disappearing to all points of the compass. Dean had gone to Garth to explain it was over and to have him deal with the civilians involved while Castiel watched over Sam. As Dean had walked back to them, he had looked at the many bodies in the field and wondered what would happen to their formerly possessed killers.
"So this War tried to make you think Sam was a demon," Ellen asked.
"Yes."
"How did you know he wasn't? The tattoo?"
"No," Dean said. "That could have been broken easily enough. It was just Sam. I know my brother too well now to believe it could have been anything but him."
"That could have gone down a whole different way," she said. "That was a lot to place on trust.
"I know. It didn't though. Sam's okay. We're all okay."
She leaned to the side and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Dean."
"For what?"
"For believing in my boy. I don't think he could have survived it if you had believed War instead."
Dean thought so, too. Sam had been through so much; they all had. Dean didn't think he had it in him to get though another disappointment like that.
"I better get back to the bar," she said regretfully.
"Okay. I'll stay with him."
Ellen got to her feet and left the room quietly, easing the door shut behind her.
Though the sound was soft, it broke into Sam's sleep, and he turned over. "Dean?" he asked, his voice sleep fogged.
"I'm here," Dean said, moving to stand beside him and patting his shoulder. "Not going anywhere."
Sam's breaths settled into sleep again and Dean sat. He would stay there until Sam woke, because that was what he needed. Dean didn't want him to wake alone.
So… This was one of the most fun chapters to write. I wanted to make this apocalypse really apocalyptic and this seemed like a good place to start.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx