Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for the beta and pre-reader help. See AN at the end for some exciting news.
Chapter Seventeen
Cold air rushed into John Winchester's flattened lungs, choking him. He tried to push himself up to his knees, to give himself room to breathe, but he didn't have the strength. He flopped back to the ground, his face mashing into the dirt and grass. His hands fisted in the cold earth and he turned his head to the side. The polished black shoes beside his face made him force his eyes upwards to look at the man standing beside him. He was so thin he was skeletal. His skin stretched was tight over hollow cheeks and his bony hands gripped the head of a cane. He bore an air of power such as John had never felt. He knew this wasn't a man to cross.
The sight and threat of the man gave John the strength to push himself to a kneeling position and then to stand, though he wavered. The other man made no attempt to steady him. He just watched John struggle as if he were a piece of mildly interesting performance art.
"Who are you?" John asked.
"I am Death."
"You mean you're a reaper?"
"No. I am the being reapers bow to. I am the horseman Death." He tilted his head to the side curiously as John reached into the back of his pants for a weapon. There was none there. "I mean you no harm."
"You know the name makes that a little hard to believe."
His cheeks lifted with a smile. "And yet I am not lying. Bringing you back to life just so I could kill you again would seem a little redundant, don't you think?"
"You brought me back to life?"
Death nodded. "I did."
"Why?"
"Because I needed you; your sons need you."
"Dean?" John asked. "He's okay?"
"No one is okay," Death said. "The devil walks free. The apocalypse is upon us. Both of your sons need you now more than ever."
"Sammy is dead," he said, his voice strained.
He had seen his son take the shot in that dark cemetery. His son had beaten Yellow-Eyes down and turned the gun on himself to rid the world of the greatest evil it had ever known. Sam had died, and John had searched Heaven for him for endless lifetimes. They both had, him and Mary, but the only versions they had found were the baby and young man of their memories in their own heaven. He knew Sam was there somewhere, though, no matter what ran through Sam's veins, because he had to be—the alternative was unimaginable. He just hadn't found him yet.
"Sam lives," Death said.
"You saved him, too?" John looked around as if he would see Sam there. There was no sign though. Death and John appeared to be alone in a small forest clearing. "Where is he?"
"I did not save him. Dean did. I was not… active at the time."
"Where is he?" John asked fervently. He needed to see him, them. He had to see his boys. He needed it like he needed oxygen.
"Currently, they are both on their way back to Harvelle's Roadhouse. I will take you there in time. First, we need to talk."
"Take me to my sons!" John demanded.
A dark shadow passed over Death's face. "Remember who you are talking to, Winchester. I am not your subordinate. I am a being far greater than your stunted human mind is capable of comprehending."
John felt a flicker of fear that he tried and failed to quash. "I'm sorry," he said reluctantly. "I just… my boys, you know?"
"No," Death said. "Not really."
"I need to see them," John said.
"In time," Death said. "First, I want to speak to you about the message you are going to pass on to them."
John's eyes narrowed. "What's the message?" He was worried what it could be, seeing as it was coming from the actual horseman Death.
Death lifted his hands in front of him and John saw a fine chain and cuffs of golden light linking his wrists. "Tell them about this, my bonds. Make sure they know I am not always acting of my own accord, but I still have some vestige free will. I am not their enemy. I am their salvation."
"Death is their salvation?" John asked in a growl.
"In a way, yes. But not their mortality."
John liked to think of himself as an intelligent man, but he was at a loss. All he knew was that it sounded bad for his boys.
"Tell Sam that, when it is time, I will have what he needs," Death went on.
"What does he need?"
"It is not time for you to know yet, but when the time comes, you'll understand." Death smiled slightly. "Are you ready to see your sons now?"
John was torn. He wanted to know more about what it was Sam apparently needed, but at the same time, he was desperate to see them. Ultimately, he was given no real choice. Death laid a hand on his arm and John felt the ground beneath his feet disappear for a moment before he was slammed back to earth. He had moved. He was now outside the rear of The Roadhouse and the rumble of a familiar engine was in his ears.
"Enjoy your time with them, John Winchester," Death said.
John turned to look at him, but he was already gone. The sound of the Impala drew closer and he instinctively stepped back into the bushes. He thought his reunion with his boys should be maneuvered carefully. They should not find him waiting for them when they drove up.
The car came into view and pulled to a stop. With remembered creaks, the doors opened and his boys climbed out.
They were so different to how he remembered them. The last time he had seen Dean, outside of the devastated man he had been in that cemetery, he had been walking out of his office at the end of a working day. John had sat in his car on the other side of the street, just watching his son without being seen himself. It had not been the first time he'd done it; whenever he was in the area, he made the journey to check on him. Dean had been tired after what John guessed was a long day, but he'd also looked satisfied, as if it had been worth it.
His last living memory of Sam had been harder. He had been lying almost dead in that hospital bed, the sick wound on his neck a horror against his white skin. But he was so alive now, so happy as he teased his brother, such a stark difference to the man he'd spent the last four years of his life with. It made John see just how much Sam had needed Dean in his life—he was happy now. John hadn't been able to do that for him.
John sighed.
Sam heard. Though he kept his smile and answered Dean in a perfectly relaxed manner, his body became tense. John could see the subtle signs. His son was an even better hunter that he had been before, better than John, better than anyone. He was the best he'd ever seen.
He watched Sam lean in close to Dean and saw his lips move as he whispered what John was sure were instructions. 'That's right, Sammy, he thought. 'Keep the civilian safe and get help.' He sighed Sam's name.
"Go on," Sam said loudly and brightly. "She's waiting. I've just got to grab something from the car."
Reluctantly, John could tell, Dean walked through the back door, leaving Sam and John alone. Sam's expression darkened and he made for the trunk. John couldn't resist the pull to his son. He took a step forward and Sam reacted quickly. He bent for the weapon he had concealed in his boot, and John spoke. "You're not going to need that."
Sam froze, still reaching for the weapon. He shook as he straightened and blinked into the gloom.
John knew it was time to reveal himself. He stepped forward, out of the bushes, and he saw Sam's face pale in the light from the kitchen window as he caught sight of him.
"You got nothing to say to me?"
"Dad?" Sam rasped.
John nodded and smiled. "Hello, Son."
For a moment, Sam's hands lifted and he took a step forward, as if he was going to step into John's embrace, and John wanted it so much, but then Sam stiffened and his expression darkened. "Lucifer."
"No," John said mildly. "It's me."
"The hell it is!"
He should have expected it. He had trained his son as a hunter and he had developed into the best without John's help. Of course he wouldn't believe it was him when there were other options than a man brought back to life. But he still felt a pang of grief when Sam bent and pulled the silver switchblade from his boot—his seventeenth birthday gift.
He came at John with it raised and John held up his hands. "Son, listen to me. I am not a shapeshifter, I am not Lucifer"—and how bizarre was it that he was saying that—"it's really me."
Sam lurched at him with the blade held out, and John dodged him. He thought he would have no trouble evading his son, he had taught him all he knew about fighting, but Sam seemed to have picked up some tips from brawlers in their time apart—moves John would never have allowed in Sam's training days. Sam's uppercut caught him across the chin. The force behind it was immense. His head rocked back and a tooth cut into his lip.
He spat blood on the ground as he staggered back, waiting for the next blow, but it didn't come. Sam had frozen in place with the blade held lax at his side. John had no idea what was happening, but he took advantage of the situation by kicking Sam's hand and making him drop the knife. Sam seemed to come back to life again. He reached for the knife and John shoved him bodily away, picking it up himself. Sam's teeth curled back in a snarl and he rushed John, "Shapeshifter!"
John wasn't sure what had changed Sam's mind about him being Lucifer, but he was grateful for it as he had something he could work with. His fist met Sam's stomach as he reached him and the air huffed out of Sam in a rush—disapproving or not, John could also brawl. Sam staggered and a hand came to his gut.
"Look, son," John said. "Look!" He checked to make sure Sam's eyes were on him before he brought the tip of the silver knife to his arm and pressed down. The skin parted and blood welled in the wound, dripping down to the grass.
Sam's eyes were wide as they followed its path then an expression of stubborn denial settled over his face. Sam was the most damn pigheaded kid he'd ever known. "What are you?" he asked in a low voice.
"Your father," John said.
"You can't be," Sam said.
At that moment, the back door opened and three people rushed out: Dean, Ellen, and an accountant in a trenchcoat. Ellen gasped as she saw him and reached out to steady herself on Dean's shoulder. The accountant's lips parted in a comical expression of surprise and Dean's face became ashen.
"Castiel," Sam grunted, his hand still on his stomach. "What is he?"
The accountant looked from John to Sam and then Dean. "This is John Winchester. This is your father."
John saw a flicker of hope in Sam's face. "Not Lucifer?"
Castiel looked at him sympathetically. "No, Sam. It's really him."
Sam's eyes fell on John and for a moment time seemed to stop. John could see so many emotions broiling in Sam's eyes, pain, happiness, fear and need, and he raised his arms to him. Sam crossed the distance between them with long strides and stepped into John's waiting embrace.
He clung to his son, his living, breathing, incredible son, and just felt the relief and miracle of him being there alive. Sam began to shake slightly, and John's hand came up to cup the back of his head, cradling him.
"It's okay, Sammy," he said quietly.
He heard a hitched breath and looked across to see Ellen swiping an impatient hand over her face, hiding her tears. He smiled at her and then his eyes moved on to Dean. He looked happy, relieved perhaps, which quickly turned to worry when a man appeared behind Sam.
"Well, lookie here," the man said. "It's a family reunion. Love them."
Sam yanked himself out of John's hold and rounded on the visitor. "Gabriel!"
The man, Gabriel, smiled. "Don't worry, Sam. I'm not here to hurt. I just need to borrow your dad for a minute. We'll be right back."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," John growled.
Gabriel laughed. "You really don't have a choice."
He brushed Sam aside, making him stumble, and grabbed John's shoulder. John felt the same disconcerting sensation of being moved that he'd felt with Death and then he was blinking in the dim light of a familiar room with blue walls and a white cot.
Sam's nursery.
Sam ran. Almost as soon as Gabriel and John disappeared, so did Sam, again.
Dean wanted to go looking for his brother, but he knew that was about what he needed, not Sam. What Sam needed was to be free to let himself feel, to let the mask fall again. Dean just needed to feel like he was doing something.
Without Sam to take care of, he set to work tuning the Impala's engine. While he worked he wondered what his father was seeing at that moment. There was so much that Gabriel would want him to know, things that neither he nor Sam were proud of. But Dean wanted to be able to tell John about them himself.
After Gabriel had helped Sam through the withdrawal, Dean's feelings towards him had changed from unformed dislike and anger to gratitude. Now he was straight back to anger. Gabriel was cheating them. It was their place to tell John what he'd missed, not Gabriel's. And they would have if Gabriel had given them more than a minute with him.
He was deep in the engine when he heard the back door slam. He pulled his head out from under the hood and saw his father standing behind him. He knew at once that Gabriel had spared them nothing as John looked furious.
"Where is Sam?" he asked.
Dean's immediate reaction was anger in return. "Not here."
"Where is he?" His voice was measured, careful.
Dean shrugged, knowing that would incense his father more but not caring. "Running."
"Hiding?"
Dean straightened his spine. "Sam doesn't hide." That was a lie. Sam hid all the time, at least he had. He would resort to the mask and hide his fear, his anger, his sadness, and not let himself share it with the people who loved him. He was better about that now, at least he had been. Who knew what he would be like now John was back and angry.
John huffed a laugh. "Not before, maybe, but now… That angel showed me enough to prove you're lying. Sam runs and he hides."
"Wonder where he gets that from," Dean muttered.
"What did you say?"
Dean raised his voice. "I said I wonder where he gets that from."
"You calling me a coward?"
Dean's fury rose, and his voice was harsh as he answered. "Are you calling Sam one? You have no idea, no idea what he's been through."
"I know everything," John argued.
"You can't. If you did, you wouldn't be calling Sam a coward. He has done so much and been through so much and the only thing he's ever been a coward about is feeling. He does hide; he hides himself from the people he loves, at least he did, because his life screwed him up so bad he thought that was the only way to cope. It has taken nearly four years to get him to open as much as he has, and I swear, if you ruin that, I will…"
John raised an eyebrow. "You'll what?"
Dean sighed, defeated; he had no threat fitting the crime. "If you ruin that, we will never forgive you," he said, no threat, just a promise. "You can't call him a coward because you weren't here. You didn't see what happened and you don't know how he felt. I'm guessing Gabriel showed you all the shit that happened, all the things we did wrong, but I'll bet he skimmed over the stuff that really matters, like what happened to Sam after you died. He showed you what happened after I died, right? He showed you the blood and demons, but did he show you all the people Sam saved?"
"Yes," John said. "He showed me what Sam did with his damned powers."
"Then how can you be mad at him?" Dean asked, honestly confused. "Yeah, he screwed up, but he was acting for the best."
"Same way you can be mad at me when I was acting for the best."
Dean frowned. "How is you blaming Sam acting for the best?"
"I'm talking about me leaving you," John said. "That's what you're really angry about, not how I feel about what Sam did."
"We're not talking about that," Dean said, mindful of just how much he sounded like his brother in that moment.
"We are," John said doggedly. "You're pissed at me because of what I did to you. I understand it. I—"
"You don't understand shit," Dean said angrily.
"I left you for a reason, Dean."
"That, right there, is bullshit! You don't abandon people you love!"
"You were living a good life. You were doing really well in school and you had a girl. I couldn't take that from you for the life we lived. I saw it all stretched out ahead of you when I came to that place —school, college, life, and you deserved it at last. I wanted to you to have that life."
"I could have had both!" Dean shouted. "If that's what you'd wanted for me, you'd have found a way to make it work. Instead, you left me behind like unwanted baggage." His face crumpled. "You took Sam away."
"I'm sorry," he said. "But you're wrong. If I'd taken you back with me, you'd have ended up a hunter. You deserved better."
Dean glared at him, his face coloring as he said, "And yet you had no problem letting Sam be a hunter. He could've had college, too. He's a damn genius and you know it. But you wouldn't let him have it. You made sure he stayed glued to The Demon's tail with you."
"Because I had no choice!" John shouted. "I needed Sam with me. I had to…"
"What?" Dean asked. "Have a side-kick to make you feel good about yourself? A partner to share the load?"
"I needed to watch over him. Sam was never like you. He needed me to guide him."
Dean stared into his father's eyes, seeing the lie. There was more he wasn't saying. An inkling of suspicion crept through him, and he swallowed hard. "Did you know about the blood?" He knew the answer at once as John cast his eyes downward. He wanted to vomit. "You knew. Why didn't Sam?"
"I couldn't tell him," John said, and his voice was almost mournful now. "He was dealing with the visions, and that was already too much for him to take. I couldn't add more on to that."
"That's bullshit."
"No, it isn't," John insisted. "I love Sam as I love you. You boys were everything. I let you go because I loved you and I held onto Sam, I hid the information from him, for the same reason."
"You should never have hidden it," Dean said.
"And I should never have left you?" John asked. "Don't you think your life was better because I did?"
"No," Dean said firmly. "Losing Sam was not worth the experiences I had."
John shook his head sadly. "Maybe not, but I can't regret it. When I saw the life you had made, I knew I made the right choice. You were magnificent, Dean."
Dean merely glared at him.
"I'm sorry you feel like I let you down," John said carefully. "But I only did it because I loved you. I wanted you to have better, even if that meant taking me and Sam away. But I want you to know, I am so proud of what you became. Not just with the kids, but with Sam, too. You saved him."
Dean knew he was talking about the deal. "You did the same thing."
"I'm his father," John said steadily. "It's my job,"
"I'm his brother," Dean replied. "It's mine, too."
"Thank you," John said, and when he raised his arms almost hopefully, Dean stepped into them. He felt the warmth and strength of his father, and he let himself be comforted by it in a way he hadn't since he was a child.
When he pulled back, he said, "Don't be mad at Sammy. Don't blame him. He can take it from anyone else in the world but you."
"I don't," John sighed. "Not really."
"You don't?" Dean questioned.
"No," John said. "I hate what's happened, it's a disaster, but it wasn't Sam's fault. He was trying to save."
"He was," Dean agreed, impassioned. "He was trying to save me and then the world. None of us knew what would happen."
John nodded slowly. "I guess it's time I told him that."
Sam had run until he felt sick and then ran a little more. It was only when he passed a familiar farmhouse—the place Culpa had held him in—that he made himself stop. He stood for a while, staring at the building, and wondering if that was one of the things Gabriel would be showing John. Would that screw-up be worth Gabriel's amusement or would he be too busy showing Sam's greater mistakes—blood, demons, Lilith, Lucifer, the apocalypse at his feet?
Whatever he was to show, it would be the truth, and that was what Sam was running from. He had his real, living breathing father back, and he had run from him because he was scared to see the shame and anger in his face when he found out what Sam had done.
It wasn't that he wouldn't have told John himself, but he would have given himself an hour with a father who didn't hate him first. That would have been a gift. He couldn't have that though, and now, as he stared at the reminder of his failure and shame as a hunter, he realized he needed to face up to what he had done.
He turned and started towards The Roadhouse.
When he got back, there was a light burning in the kitchen, and Sam knew that was where he would find his father. He braced himself and entered through the back door.
John was sitting at the table with a bottle of whiskey and two clean glasses in front of him. As Sam entered, he unscrewed the cap and poured generous measures in each glass. "I hear you're a whiskey man now," he said conversationally.
Sam sat down opposite him. "Yeah," he said quietly.
John slid a glass over to him and Sam took it and took a sip. It warmed his throat, grounding him in the moment instead of his thoughts.
"So," he said, "I'm guessing Gabriel showed you everything."
"I think so," John said, "and what he didn't, Dean told me."
Sam bowed his head. "I am so sorry, Dad."
"I know you are," John said mildly. "And I understand what happened."
Sam looked up. He couldn't understand why he sounded so calm. "I started the apocalypse!"
"I'm aware."
"Then why aren't you mad?" He cursed the childish quality to his voice.
"I am, but not at you," John said. "I am pissed at what happened, but you didn't know, son. You were killing a demon, doing what I had primed you to do since you were a child." He fell silent and Sam looked up. "I can be mad if you want," he said.
Sam nodded.
"Okay, let's talk about that demon bitch Ruby," he said. "How were you taken in by her? I trained you better than that. And the blood. After all you knew about the other special children, how could you not know that would end in disaster? Look at what became of them. How could you…" He trailed off. "You don't need me to spell it out, Sam. You screwed up. But you're not the only one. We all share the blame in this. I took you to Miner's Delight, meaning you were almost killed. That set the path that led to Maryland. Go back further. If I'd let you go to college, you wouldn't have been a hunter. The seals would never have been broken because Dean wouldn't have been able to break the first. I should have let you have the life you deserved, too."
Sam shook his head "No, Dad…"
"Yes. I am the one that set you on the path that ended with this. All I ask is that you forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive," Sam said quickly.
"That's what I am trying to say," John said. "You didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't mean for it to happen. The only ones to blame are the demons."
Sam wiped a hand over his face, cursing his tears.
"There's something else I need to apologize for," John said. "That's Dean."
"What about him?"
"I should have never taken him away from you. I didn't see until now how much damage that would do. I have so much pride for his life, but I hate that it came at the price of your happiness. You should have been together."
"We should have," Sam said, "but I understand. I wanted, want, better for him, too."
"Maybe one day," John said. "Right now there are things we need to deal with."
"Like the world," Sam said.
"Yes, son, like the world."
When the last of the patrons had left, Dean shut up the bar while Ellen switched off the jukebox and Castiel stood sentinel in the corner. It had been one of the hardest things Ellen ever done to keep playing at normal while she knew Sam and John were talking in the kitchen. She wanted to be there to soften the blow for Sam, to support him as John vented as he surely would, but Dean said they needed to talk alone, so she left them alone.
She set to work wiping down the bar counter when there was movement at the door and Sam and John came in. Sam looked wrecked. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired, and John didn't look much better. She wanted to go to Sam, to hold him and to love on him, but she knew he wouldn't accept it.
She was relieved to see he accepted Dean's hand on his shoulder though and his questioning look. He nodded in return, indicating that he was okay.
"We all need to talk," John said, taking a seat at the table that had been his many years ago and then Sam's and now theirs.
Ellen set down her cloth and went to sit beside him. Dean and Sam fetched a bottle and glasses and then came to sit with them.
John cleared his throat roughly and fixed his eyes on Ellen. "There's things we need to talk about, but first I want to thank you."
Ellen raised an eyebrow. "The John Winchester I knew wasn't big on thanks."
John nodded his acceptance of the barb. "True. But I'm grateful. That Gabriel showed me some of what you've done for the boys and Sam told me some more. Thank you."
"They're my boys, too," she said.
Dean squeezed her hand briefly and Sam nodded.
"Still," John said, "thank you."
Ellen frowned. "You're not a zombie, are you?"
She was joking but Castiel answered solemnly. "He is a living, breathing human, Ellen."
"How though?" Dean asked. "Happy as I am, this raises a few questions." He turned to Castiel. "Anything on angel radio?"
Castiel shook his head. "Nothing."
"It wasn't angels," John said. "It was Death."
"The horseman?" Dean asked.
"Yes, son,"
"Did he give you any idea why he did it?" Ellen asked,
"Yes," John said. "He said I had to deliver a message to you boys: He is not your enemy. He is your salvation."
"Death is salvation?" Ellen growled.
"Yeah but not the way you're thinking. He said death is their salvation, but not their mortality. And…" He fixed his eyes on Sam. "He said I had to tell you that, when it is time, he will have what you need."
"What does he need?" Dean asked, a note of worry in his voice.
"I don't know," John admitted. "He made it pretty clear he's not the enemy though."
"He's on our side?" Ellen asked doubtfully.
John rubbed a hand across his chin. "I don't know. I got the feeling he was above picking sides. I think he was telling the truth about not being an enemy though. He had these chains round his wrists—looked like a spell. He said he'd been bound, that he's not acting of his own accord, but he has some form of free will."
"He's a horseman though," Dean said. "We've come up against two already and they weren't good."
"I don't think he is at his core," John said. "But he obviously wasn't happy about being bound. I think he'll help us as much as he can to help himself."
"Did he give you a way for me to find him?" Sam asked, "I mean, if he has something I need…"
"But what do you need?" Ellen asked. Anything coming from a horseman couldn't be good.
"A way to kill Lucifer," Sam said. "That's all I can think of. And if anyone has a chance of helping with that, it has to be him, right?"
"I think Sam's right," John said. "Death obviously can't kill Lucifer himself while bound, but he might have a way. We need to find him."
"And how the hell are we going to do that?" Ellen asked.
John looked thoughtful. "I think there might be a way. If we can just find a sign of him to follow… Ash still around?"
"Yeah," Ellen said. "He's passed out in bed though. Had a heavy afternoon."
"Hard luck," Sam said. He got to his feet and walked to the back. Ellen heard the sound of a fist on wood and Sam shouting, "Ash, wake your ass up. I need you."
A moment later, he came back into the room, trailed by Ash.
"What's going on, man?" Ask asked drowsily. "I was doing some important sleeping in there."
"Hello, Ash," John said with an amused smile.
Ash's eyes snapped to him and he blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Man, I am either still drunk or not drunk enough."
"You're fine," Sam said, slapping his back.
"Is he a zombie?"
John laughed. "Not a zombie. Human. And we need your help."
Ash rubbed a hand over his face and said, "Oh, boy, here we go again…"
So… This chapter was written three times. At first Sam ran and didn't come back, then John blamed in a big way, and then I came up with this balance.
Gredelina1 is awesome. Seriously, she's awesome. She has started to record a podfic of Bond of Brotherhood. It's amazing. Really, it is. It's posted on AO3 under Clowns_or_Midgets. Please give it a look and leave us some feedback. She needs a reminder of just how good a job she's done.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx