Disclaimer: See Chapter One
A/N: Okay, almost there – one more chapter to go after this one and hopefully our heroes will be able to save the day. And, you know, maybe each other in the process. MAZ, thanks for having my back on this one!
Again, any similarities in the next couple of chapters to "Levee" or "Lucifer Rising", complete coincidence.
Chapter Eleven: Barroom Heroes
March, 2009
"Sam."
He could hear them behind him.
It was easy for him to decipher, without even having the chance to turn around. Jeff had a distinct shuffle when he walked – even when he ran – and Ben's fat ass shoving off the small stool couldn't have belonged to anyone else.
"Sam."
It was Dean who he chose not to hear, though. He listened. It was Dean's voice that sunk in. His brother wasn't far from him. His low baritone was near, it was nervous, but he wasn't yelling, he was whispering. And Sam listened.
"Sam."
Even in the quiet, his ears were ringing. He could smell the peanuts and the beer and the dust around him. His back pounded in pain and he could feel the wetness stick to his skin, but it was the scrunched face glaring at him that was causing the ache to grow.
Ramona's hand was pressed in a tight seal over Sam's nose and mouth. She was sitting away from her chair, in an unnatural position with her foot turned awkwardly inward and her left hand wrenched around his head. Her lips twitched and the air escaped, the word "Truth" falling faster and faster from her tongue.
Sam reached up to the woman's arms and he laid gentle hands over hers and pulled himself free of her hold. He took in a cleansing breath and released her hands back to her lap. Instantly, they contracted into fists too tight to wiggle a finger through. Ramona's eyes stayed focused with Sam as he smiled at her and he repeated back to her, "Truth."
A silent tear fell down her sculpted cheek.
"Truth."
Sam nodded and patted her hand. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
Her head bobbed and, with effort, she raised it to see once again. Her mouth moved but no word released and in one breath her body folded in and her neck lost its battle. The leather headrest caught the weight as her dark hair fell back onto it.
"Sam."
Dean's voice was naked and Sam heard the worry and the plea. He waited a few beats, holding a secure moment with Ramona before he turned to his brother.
Then he wanted to kick himself. The concern was evident and splattered all over Dean's face. His eyes were wide, his mouth was open and his muscles were bouncing. He was staring at Sam so hard that Sam thought maybe Dean was afraid to look away. Maybe he thought if he did, he'd lose again.
"I'm okay," Sam stated calmly. He waited, watched as Dean's face drained of the worry, and then gave an understanding shrug in his direction. "She's just..." Sam's voice trailed off.
"Possessed?" Dean offered.
Sam looked over his shoulder and stared at the men gathered behind Dean. "Scared."
Dean rotated to look at Ben and Jeff and it was Winchester vs. Timmons.
A large hand clamped around an available chair and Big Ben looked like he was going to pass out. All the anger, the rising of his blood pressure, all the words spoken in vain, the worries of babies unborn and babies under ground erupted then. In a simple shake of a finger.
"You boys, you boys don't know." Ben pulled the chair out and slumped into it.
"Enlighten us." Dean snapped, his legs shifted, taking his weight evenly. He was standing in front of Sam, almost as a shield.
Ben was fumbling in his front pocket and soon his face was aglow from his lighter. He inhaled quick and blinked slow. "Don't know how to get a fucking job done."
"You son of a bitch," Dean growled and started for him.
Sam's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Dean's entire body tensed, his hands clenched in frustration and it took a few seconds for Sam to feel the ease. When he did, he let his grip go.
"Why don't you just tell us what exactly happened?" Sam took steps until he stood next to his brother, his eyes on the bartenders. "What happened to Angel?"
Ben's mouth puckered and his lips rolled the cigarette in a circle, ashes begging to fall off. His eyes gleamed in the bad light and a powerful fist smashed on the small table.
Sam smiled inside. He knew they'd had what they needed now. All it took was for someone to break.
"Screw it," Jeff said. He flipped his hair out of his face and sat down next to Ben. He kept his eyes low, towards his brother, his hands intertwining. "You want to be free? Dammit, Ben, if you don't tell them, I will."
Ben sat still.
"You hold it all in, you keep it buried inside." Jeff spoke to Ben, but his eyes roamed to the brothers. "You think you can keep secrets, you think you can hide truths and where's that gonna get you?"
Sam swallowed. He could have screamed then if he'd let himself. He could have thrown a chair at Jeff and his goddamn words or just sucker punch him. Either way, he deserved it. But Sam looked across the table and gave a curt nod, agreeing with Jeff, encouraging him to get his brother to talk.
"It never made any sense," Big Ben started with a sad shake of his head. "She was so excited when she had him. He was a big, big baby. Almost ten pounds, healthy, one hell of a cry, all this dark hair and I was... I was head-over heels in love with him. He was my boy. And Val was my girl. I had it all." He stopped and took a quick hit and then continued on, his voice haunting in the dead saloon. "I thought she was crazy. She said he was changed, but I didn't see it. I mean, I really didn't see it. I had seen some stuff when I was younger, but this? This just didn't make any sense. Yellow eyes and sulfur and demons and my family? Fuck that."
Ben stamped out his cigarette and looked around, his droopy eyes not touching on anyone.
Dean cleared his throat. "How did Angel die?"
A gurgle chortled out of Ben's chest. He waited a minute as the smoke cleared the room and he glanced up. "He slipped in the bathtub. Got caught in the shower curtain. Drowned."
Dean was nodding. "Yeah. I heard that version. The story for the cops, for the obit. The story our dad told us." Dean paused. "Now how did Angel really die?"
Gray eyebrows lifted high onto Ben's forehead. "After Val was gone, I told your daddy it was my fault. I had… handled her poorly. I was pushy. I scared her. She grabbed Ramona and took off. It was my fault that she lost it that night. I may as well have shoved her in front of the train myself." He lit another cigarette. "John told me I had to let that go. I had to forgive myself." He took a drag. "Best advice anyone ever gave me. But I didn't take it. I couldn't take it."
Sam's eye twitched and he glanced at Ben. "Why not?"
"She killed him." Ben stated and a strange sound shrilled out of Ramona's throat.
"She used a plastic bag and just let him go in the bathtub. She said his eyes had turned yellow. They wouldn't change back and she thought he was full of evil."
A stringy breath slapped the air and Ramona's chest released short barking cries into the open area.
"Val came to the bar. She was distraught. She told me what happened and we went back and called the cops. Made up a story, stuck to it. Wasn't really that hard. No one ever even blinked an eye."
Sam stared. Val had killed her son because of what she believed. She ignored her basic instincts of who her baby was and she paid attention to what he was becoming. What he would become.
If I can't save you, he said I'd have to kill you.
Was it love? Or was it hate? Actions guided by a mother who held a heart full of adoration for her children but what she felt wasn't what she saw. What she saw was what she feared. Sam wondered if his own mother would have had the guts to do what his father and his brother didn't. Maybe that was why she was sacrificed. She had seen with her own eyes what that Bastard had done to him. She could have stopped it all with the palm of her hand. She wouldn't have to live through years of t-ball and school plays and playing the drums and pouring all the love she had into Sam just to kill him later.
No. She could have done it then. And Sam realized that she was murdered so she wouldn't have the chance someday to do what Val had.
-0-
May, 1996
One more night. That's what Dad said. One more night. Then they'd be back in the Impala, driving away – far, far away – from this old tavern.
Sam had to agree. Dean wasn't well enough. Not yet and he wouldn't be tomorrow, but it would still give him one more night of rest.
The bar emptied out about an hour before and since then, Sam had turned on the light until Dean asked him to shut it off. He would, and then as soon as he thought Dean was sleeping, the light would flick on again.
"Shut off the light," Dean asked for the third time.
Sam ignored him. "Why did Ben use his name to Ramona?" He fumbled with the strings of his blanket, his eyes climbed up the bed.
Dean jostled and fidgeted, his body trying to get comfortable with his bum leg staying straight as possible. "Dad told me that Ramona wasn't Ben's daughter."
"She's not?"
Dean stopped and seemed be waiting as the bed stopped bouncing. "No. She met him after Ramona was born."
Sam thought about that for a minute. "So, Angel was his?"
A slight nod.
"And now Ben takes care of Ramona, even though he's not her real dad?"
Dean's shoulders jerked. "That's what I just said, genius. Now shut the fucking light off."
Sam stared at the switch as the seconds passed by. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. "I think there's something in here with us." His voice was thin and thready, like the blanket.
Dean sighed, irritated from not getting the good nights sleep he was promised. He squinted and scanned the four walls. "Shut the light off, Sam."
"But –"
"There's nothing in here." Dean waited, but Sam didn't move, letting the soft glow glare down from above. "Please," he heard Dean ask and his hand crawled up the wall and flipped the switch off.
Everything was lost in the dark. The back room was eaten up in the pitch black and Sam's eyes toggled back and forth. He thought maybe an hour had gone by, maybe two, but he really didn't know. For all he knew, it could have only been a few minutes. Nothing happened, though. Nothing presented itself. Nothing scratched. Nothing appeared.
Before Sam knew it, his breaths evened out with Dean's and his eyes opened and closed until the black swirled in hues of blue and he found himself falling peacefully to sleep. Somewhere in between scoring the winning goal of a football game and Katie McNeer's too tight cheerleading sweater running to him, Sam aroused back to the dark room. He was on his right side, shoulder dug into the wood planks and aching in need to be moved. He shuffled on the blanket, hitching his arm out from under him when he felt a tickle on the back of his neck.
He froze. There's nothing there. His eyes closed again and he pretended he hadn't felt anything.
Until it happened again. It felt like an ice pick against his skin, a touch so mildly hard it couldn't be real but his hair was moving and Sam prayed it was a mouse. He shoved his shoulder to the right and let his back roll to the ground. Slowly, he turned his neck a few inches, his eyes skating to the empty space under the bed.
Yellow eyes smiled back. A cold hand reached for Sam as he scuttled away, his gaze catching on chains jingling from a small neck as a voice hissed in his direction. "El pequeño."
Sam lost his breath. His back smacked into the wall near the bathroom and his eyes grew wide watching the small body oddly emerge from under the bed. A grotesque smile greeted him and a cool feeling crept up his leg as short fingers touched playfully.
"Sam?" he heard Dean call out. "What is that?"
Yellow eyes beamed at Sam and he felt something glow inside his gut. It was mesmerizing to look into such a bizarre, dead face and feel welcomed.
He could hear Dean shifting on the bed and knew his brother was trying to reach for the light. His name was falling out of Dean's mouth harsher and louder. Sam watched in horrific interest as the hand traveled up his abdomen and settled over his heart. Yellow eyes locked with his and suddenly Sam broke out of his daze. This was wrong, even though it seemed right. The glow from deep inside turned to warning and Sam thrust up the wall.
"Dean!" Sam yelled as he jerked involuntary and dashed to the small bed, his body scrambling next to his brother.
Dean rolled and immediately rested on his elbows. "Jesus, Sam! What the hell is that?"
The apparition had its back turned to them and was slowly starting to pivot. Sam didn't want to see the yellow eyes again. He didn't want to feel them. He shut his eyes tight and grabbed hold of his brother's arm, his nails burrowing into soft skin.
"Where'd it go?"
Sam opened his eyes and peered into the dark room. Nothing. Whatever it was, it was gone.
Dean's head turned towards him, even though neither could see the other. "What happened?"
Sam was shaking. "Please, just… let me stay here." He didn't want to explain. He didn't want to tell Dad. He didn't want to stay there any longer. "Please. Let me sleep here, Dean."
He felt Dean lower himself back to the bed. The silence seemed to last forever, but finally Dean's husky voice replied, "Okay."
Sam didn't go back to sleep that night. He didn't see anything else in the dark. And he never let go of Dean's arm.
-0-
March, 2009
Dean rubbed his arm. It strained from the beating it took the day before, but there was something else there that hurt. The more he rubbed at it, the worse it seemed to get.
Sam hadn't said a word for about a half hour now. They had finished salting up the bar while Ben sputtered on about his sorrys and his woes and how he didn't ever mean anyone any harm. Especially sons of John Winchester.
Dean wasn't much up for listening. He could feel the weight of Sam's silence across the room. His brother could hide all he wanted, he could put on a disguise and pretend everything was good with him. With Dean. With everything. But Sam's silence showed Dean the wounds he tried to mask.
"What're we missing?" Dean asked, sidling next to Sam.
Eyebrows lifted in his direction. Sam sighed, his shoulders dropping as his breath released. "The connection. I mean, it's Angel-"
"Wait. How do you know it's Angel?" Dean's brows bunched together.
Sam shook his head, his eyes flicking from the floor to Dean. "I think… I think I've always known it was him."
Dean held his breath. He waited on Sam. He hated the waiting. It always led him down the same silent road. He felt the heat generate in his chest again, all the months Sam kept Dean at an arm's distance and still it stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I just think it was probably Angel who came to me when I was a kid."
"Why?"
"Because I remember his eyes."
"His eyes?" Dean swallowed hard, pushing down the want for Sam to just tell him and not play twenty questions.
"Yeah."
"What? They were small? Like a little kid's?"
Sam paused. "No." He looked away and then back again. "They were yellow."
Dean couldn't speak. He kept looking at Sam and sure as hell hoped he wasn't giving away any worry or fear. Or, God help him, concern. He tried to be as empty as possible, keep a blank stare, stay strong, but Sam's forehead was wrinkling and dammit if he'd fucking failed again.
"Okay," Dean said and when Sam turned away, he grabbed the cuff of his jacket and pulled him back. Sam glanced over, his eyes flittering under his lashes, ashamed, maybe. Dean held the gaze a few beats and nodded. "Okay. So it's Angel."
Sam sucked in his bottom lip. "Right."
"So is he controlling Val's spirit somehow?"
"I don't know." Sam blinked and gave a half-shrug. "She seems pretty real for being controlled and-"
Dean waited. "And?"
Sam's lips were pierced tight. "And I don't think Angel wanted to hurt me."
Dean kept a solid nod going. "Okay," he said again and wished he had something else to offer. Angel didn't want to hurt Sam. Val, on the other hand, wanted Sam dead. Two sides of a coin. Still, they weren't sure of the connection, how one spirit was playing off the other.
"What're you boys planning on doing now?" Ben's voice interrupted their conversation. "You gonna go up the hill and burn Angel's bones?" He took a swig from a bottle, no glass needed any longer, and lifted his droopy lids. Somehow they looked fierce against his large face. Both his dark and light sides shimmering behind his green eyes.
Dean turned in surprise, his head circled in the big man's direction. "Don't think we got another choice right now."
Ben seemed to regard Dean's statement for a moment. "And you barroom heroes think that will stop Val?"
Dean pulled in a tight breath. "We don't know. But you want your new family to be safe and you want Ramona to be with you…" his hand extended towards the dark haired woman. She was bent abnormally, head lolled, her eyes squished shut, gold chains hanging off her neck. Dean froze. A cross. A locket. A crystal. "What are those?" he asked, walking over to the wheelchair.
Ben followed with his eyes. "Necklaces. Charms."
Dean felt Sam behind him, peering curiously over his shoulder. "Is that hair?" Sam asked as Dean opened the locket. "What is that?" He asked again as Dean twirled the crystal between his fingers.
Dean's mouth quirked up. "A vial of blood."
He felt Sam's breath hot on his neck. "Blood to blood."
"What?" Dean turned and looked at Sam, but Sam was backing away, his whole body glowering toward the barkeep.
"Whose blood is that around Ramona's neck?" he snapped.
Ben lazily raised his head and lit another cigarette. He was in no hurry to help. "Angel's."
"And the hair?"
Ben smirked, his eyes taking on a dull, waxy gaze. "Angel's."
"Just Angel's?"
A drunken nod of the head. "When he died, Val put them into lockets and gave 'em to her and Ramona."
"You don't have any?" Sam continued to question as Dean pulled out a book of matches. He reached over and gently removed the contents from around Ramona's neck.
"No." The old man breathed through the smoke. "The chains and stuff were just part of her beliefs."
Dean tossed the hair into an ashtray on the small table and poured the blood over it, throwing the vial in. He struck the match against the Keep Away From Children caution and dropped it in, the fire burning it away.
Sam shifted next to his brother. Dean could feel an energy building. It was an energy he felt when he knew something evil was coming. When he knew the bad guy was blowing into town and everyone had better grab their salt guns and holy water.
This time that energy was rolling off of Sam.
"What about Angel?" Sam asked. "What was hanging around his neck?"
Ben's eyes suddenly widened in realization. "Oh, shit," he stammered. He glanced to Jeff and then back to the brothers. "I forgot, I mean, we buried him. I didn't even think…."
"What is it?" Sam spat out.
"A lock of Ramona's hair. And Val's blood."
"Dammit." Sam's lips pressed together and his hands slapped at his sides.
Dean grinned at him. "Guess you found your connection."
Sam turned away, simmering.
"I'm sorry," Ben was saying. "I really just forgot. Those days after Angel died were kind of a blur and I never could make much sense outta anything. I forgot Val had put them around his…" Ben's hand opened and he made a gesture toward his throat and then stopped. "Mothers are supposed to love their kids no matter what. Kids never have to try to deserve their love. It's just given to 'em, but Val…" he shook his head. "Angel never had a chance."
Dean cringed at the words. His head tipped to the side and he felt Sam fading away. Sam was never within his reach anymore. "He had you." Dean surprised himself at his own words. "I didn't think a kid had to deserve his father's love, either."
Ben gulped. His eyes hardened and his hand made a fist again. "I loved my kids." He stared hard at the men and quietly opened his hand. "But I never had your daddy's strength. I never had his passion. That man more than loved you boys. He fought for you. Tried to make things right for you. He put himself on the line so you'd stay safe. That was more than love. And to make it doing what you guys do, one thing's for sure: love is never enough."
There was a low roll of thunder outside and Dean canted his head in Sam's direction. Sam was looking down, his eyes dark like the coming cloudy night. The rain started falling hard in a staccato rhythm against the roof above them. It started fast and picked up speed, each drop falling like the beat of a heart that was racing to explode. Then the sky would fill with blood and it would all be over with.
Sometimes, that's what Dean wished would happen. But with the end would come the end of Sam and Dean wouldn't have had the time to save him.
I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be.
Maybe he wasn't the right person for the job. Maybe he wasn't going to stop the apocalypse. Maybe he wasn't going to stop Lilith. But, dammit, he was going to save his brother. That was something he'd die – again – for.
"Salt and burn?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"Spades are in the trunk. I think we have just enough reserve salt. Body'll be pretty… small."
"Well, he was six, so yeah. Won't need as much salt."
They stood quiet for a moment, listening to the rain pound the earth and Dean shook his head. "Maybe this isn't our gig. You know? Maybe we've put in enough time here. Ben and Jeff… they know what needs to be done."
"No." Sam looked out the window, his chest filling and releasing the stale air. "Dad would want us to do this."
"Sure, but, you know, we kinda got the whole end of the world thing coming up."
Sam turned sharply and met Dean's eyes. "I want to do this."
Dean felt his shoulder bow and wondered if the world was crippling him with its weight. "It'll be a breeze," he said with a lift of one brow and then nodded once to show Sam he meant it.
"You going up that hill tonight?" Big Ben asked.
Dean took a step closer to Sam, their arms brushing lightly. Ben's eyes had gone from blue to bloodshot and he was pushing Jeff's hand away from his bottle.
"Yeah, we are," Sam answered in a solemn voice. "Sooner it gets done-"
"Sooner you can leave," Ben interrupted.
Dean's teeth clenched. "Sooner your family will be safe."
"Fuck you." Ben pointed his finger as his voice kicked up the volume. "FUCK YOU!"
Jeff was scuttling next to him in his chair, trying to take the bottle from him, trying to hush him in soft tones, but Ben shoved off his chair and lunged across the table. "Look at 'em!" He yelled at Jeff. "Look at 'em! They act like puppets. Someone's always pulling their strings to make 'em walk, to make 'em talk. What're you boys even doing here? Don't you have somewhere better to be?"
"Ben," Jeff pleaded, "they're only here to help us. Please, just let them help us."
A meaty hand raised and Jeff balked. "I looked for you two for a month. I talked to hunters. I heard the stories." He pointed a finger at Sam. "You were dead and you," his finger swayed to Dean, "sold your soul – your everlasting soul so he could live." He dropped his hand, but his eyes stayed glued on them. "Now you're back from the beyond, you're both in the flesh. And what? What team are you playing on? Who owns you now? You're just a couple of Hell's Angels."
"Screw you, Ben," Dean's voice was tight, restrained and it took everything out of him to not go after the old guy. "You don't know anything."
"I know your daddy sold his soul, too." Ben let a grin light his face for a moment. "To a demon with yellow eyes. The same thing he was looking for clues to while he was here. The thing he seemed to fear more and more each time I saw him. But he didn't end up killing it, he ended up bargaining with it." A drunken laugh floated into the air. "He sealed a deal with that son of a bitch with a kiss."
"Ben-" Jeff warned.
"So how'd that feel? Felt so good that you went off and did the same damn thing for your brother." Ben didn't move his eyes from the boys. "You've both lost each other and you've both gotten each other back. What makes the two of you so goddamned special?" He let out an exaggerated huff. "Everybody gets to lose. Life. Love. Freedom. It all fails you in the end. And you two go and make a deal with the devil. Well, boys, when you have sympathy for the devil, you're asking for trouble. Of course, your dad never was one to set a good example on what not to do."
The heat building in Dean's chest was hot and explosive and he wanted to use it. He wanted to attack. He wanted to let all his goddamn frustration go into Big Ben's face. He didn't have the chance, though. Sam beat him to it.
The sound of glasses breaking and booze spilling crashed in Dean's ears. He felt the cold whoosh of Sam's body as he rushed the large man, his left hand extended grabbing Ben's collar, his right hand pulled back ready to swing.
"Jesus! Sam!" Jeff shouted as his long hair blew back from the force of Sam's body.
Sam was over the table and his body toppled the protruding stomach. His fist came down and Dean heard the distinct flesh on flesh cracks. His feet started moving.
Sam's body was sprawled over Ben's, his fist making contact two more times before Dean had the chance to get his hands on his shoulders. Dean started hauling him back, tried to remove him off the big guy. "Sam." Dean grit out. "Let go!" He yanked hard, his forearms straining in effort, his right shoulder feeling the hot burn from Val's slice and dice action the night before.
"You don't get to say that!" Sam yelled down into the chubby, bloody face.
Dean felt his brother's muscles soften at the words.
Sam was inches in front of Ben. His eyes were narrowed, his face was scrunched into miles of anger and sadness that Dean would never know the depth of. "You don't know my dad." Sam shook the man. "You don't know my brother." He let Ben go and shoved away. "And you don't know me." Sam stood up, stood tall, and Dean watched as he tried to catch his breath. "We're not doing this for you. We're doing this because it's the right thing to do."
Dean wasn't so sure that was the reason why they were still on the job, but he stood next to Sam and looked at the brothers like he thought it was. Like if he stared long enough, hard enough, he'd believe it, too.
"So we're gonna finish it," Sam breathed. "And if you'd rather do it yourselves, by all means-" Sam's hand extended and pointed to the door. "Now's your chance."
Ben's throat was bobbing up and down. He scootched his rear against the wood planks and sat up higher. His mouth opened and he spit out fresh blood. He lifted his droopy eyes and shook his head. "Finish it." He challenged, with the expectation the boys would fail.
Dean pushed Sam to the right. "Come on." The rain was still pouring down and darkness had settled over the hill, over the tavern.
This was going be a bitch.
They reached the old door and swung it open.
"That's what I meant, though," Ben said before they ran into the rain. "Sometimes it takes more than you even know you're giving. Love is never enough."
-TBC (one more time)-
Translations: El pequeño: The little one
Barroom Hero performed by Dropkick Murphy