So, new chappy... let me know what you think as reviews are like gold to me... thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)
Chapter Twenty-Six
"I mean it, John," Dean stepped a little further into the room, "let my Father go or I will kill you."
Before John could even think to react to what his son had just said, Dean shifted slightly and fired his weapon. The blast echoed through the church as the bullet grazed John's upper arm. John's right arm jerked backward, his grip loosening on Dominic. Dominic yanked free from John, but before he had a chance to get away, John grabbed hold of him, wrapping his arm around the man's neck. Once again, Dean leveled his gun on John, his finger resting on the trigger.
"You shot my wife . . . hurt my family." Dean took a few more steps toward John.
"Didn't shoot anyone, Dean." John took several backward steps, dragging Dominic along with him, using the cult leader as a shield against the threat Dean represented at the moment. "Came here to save you . . . Sam — "
"He's lying, Dominic," the cult leader shouted to Dean, quickly cutting John off. "He came here to hurt you . . . killed your wife . . . what did she ever do to him?"
"You killed my wife . . . or was it Sam?" Dean asked, his green eyes glinting with hatred as he spoke Sam's name. "Naww . . . he wouldn't be here with you." A mirthless laugh escaped Dean as he raised his weapon and leveled it on John's forehead. "Cause God only knows how much he hates you, too."
John swallowed hard, hearing the pure venom in his eldest son's voice. "Dean . . . Sammy . . . your brother is — "
"Your son. Not my brother," Dean was quick to argue, "Not my brother," he reiterated with a curt shake of his head.
"Kill him, Dominic," the Father goaded as he wrestled to yank free from John's grip, "kill him now before he hurts anymore of your brothers and sisters."
"Don't listen to him, Dean," John lowered his voice, trying to remain calm so he could persuade his son into listening the truth. "He abducted you, brought you here, an' did God only knows what to you. He's not your family," John reasoned. "Sam," he swallowed against the tight knot forming in his throat, fear for his youngest once again at the forefront of his mind, "Your brother's — "
"He left you, Dominic," the Father cut in once again, "he doesn't care about you . . . never has. He's a selfish bastard. But you already know that, right?"
"You're right, Father," Dean took another slow deliberate step toward John, "was always a selfish bastard . . .only ever cared about himself." He looked John squarely in the eyes, a hateful scowl twisting on his face. "Sam's dead to me . . . just like you're dead to me."
"You can't mean that," John uttered heartbrokenly as a icy breeze swept past him, and he involuntarily shuddered, once again feeling as if there was another presence in the church. "Sam tried to — "
"Leave you," Dominic was quick to finish John's sentence. "Was quick to take off once he thought you were gone for good. Not here now, is he, Dominic?" He gestured around the room, and then shook his head. "No, an' that's cause he never cared about you."
"Not true, Dean."
"You're my son, Dominic," the Father coaxed, "My child. An' I would never leave you alone . . . am so proud of you . . . would never choose another over you." The shutters banged hard against the wall outside the church, wind rattling the window panes as the candles on the altar began to flicker. "Raine was your wife . . . John took her from you. Kill him . . . kill him now."
"Dean," a soft feminine voice whispered through the air. Another chilled breeze swept through the room, and two or three of the candles flickered then burned out. "Avenge me . . . pr-promised . . . ."
Momentarily caught off guard at the sound of the woman's voice, John loosened his grip on Dominic, and the cult leader yanked free from his grasp. Dominic quickly scurried away from him, heading for the altar.
"Pr-promised . . . Dea . . ." a shrilled scream reverberated through the room, and one by one the glass windows shattered, shards of glass flying inward toward Dean and John.
"Kill him, Dominic," the Father ordered.
Dean deftly redirected his gun toward John's heart, tensed his finger on the trigger, but before he could think to fire his weapon, he was knocked clear off his feet by wispy ghostlike shadow. He quickly scrabbled to his feet, raised his gun to fire at the vengeful spirit, and thrown hard against the wall, his gun falling from his hand.
"Liar," the woman screeched as she lifted Dean up by the throat, and dragged him up the wall. "Pr-promised . . . ." The ghostly woman hefted him toward another wall, splayed out her arms and several of the pews flew through the air, and crashed all around where Dean had come to rest on the floor.
"Dean!" Dominic forgotten completely, John turned on the vengeful spirit, and fired his gun repeatedly.
The ghostly presence shivered, flickering in and out momentarily before she disappeared, only to reappear a moment later directly in front of Dean again. Grabbing hold of him by the shirt, she hauled him up, and threw him through the air toward John. John rushed forward and caught hold of Dean before he slammed hard against the wooden floor. In a blink, the spirit was standing beside John. Blood dripped from her lips, and from deep gashing wounds in her chest. Eyes, icy blue stared into his momentarily before she shoved him backward. John lost his hold on Dean as he stumbled and fell over an overturned bench. Unconscious, Dean slipped bonelessly to the ground without the aid of John's support, and the spirit knelt beside the middle Winchester.
She gripped hold of Dean's t-shirt, and yanked him forward so their faces were only mere inches apart. More blood seeped from her lips, as she uttered, "Avenge m-me . . . . pr-promised."
"Damn it, leave him the hell alone." John shot to his feet, and rushed the vengeful spirit.
The spirit twisted around in her spot, splayed out her arm, and John was thrown into the pews once more. Glancing at the candles on the altar, she lifted her hand and the flames grew, quickly burning through the wax. With a slash of her hand through the air, the candle holders toppled and slammed into the wall behind the altar. Fire quickly caught and spread across the burgundy curtains, golden-orange flames licking greedily at the old wood of the stage.
In an instant, the spirit was at John's side. Gently, she touched his lips then trailed her icy fingers downward toward his heart. She glanced at the deep stab wound in her own chest, then looked to him once more. "Avenge m-me . . . ." A mournful wail caught on her pale blue lips as she glanced back over her shoulder toward where Dean was lying on the ground. "Pr-promised . . . ."
"Shannon?" John uttered as understanding finally dawned on him. "Damn it, you freakin' latched yourself onto Dean, didn't you?"
Shannon's spirit swung back to glare at John. "Dea . . . pr-protect . . . pr-promised . . . ."
"Your father killed you, didn't he?" John asked, but already suspected he knew the answer. Somehow he understood that Dominic had killed his daughter, and Dean must have made Shannon a promise to avenge her death. Now she was furious because Dean was protecting the man who had murdered her, and was taking her anger out on Dean instead of Dominic. "Killed you, an' now you want Dean to do the same to him."
"Avenge m-me . . . ." She faded away for a moment, only to reappear beside Dean. Raising her hands above her head, Dean's motionless body lifted off the ground as she looked toward the fire that was quickly burning through the altar.
"Let him go!" Heart in his throat, realizing that she was about to throw his son into the fire, John scrabbled to his feet. "Let him go, an' I swear to God, your father will pay for what he did to you."
Shannon's ghost hesitated for the briefest of moments before lowering her arms, and Dean dropped back to the ground. With a loud screeching wail, she disappeared. For a moment, John stood there waiting for her to reappear, but when she didn't, he rushed to his son's side. Not about to risk Dean trying to attack him once he regained consciousness, John grabbed two pairs of zip-cuffs from his vest and tightly secured his son's wrists and ankles. Hauling Dean to his feet, John hefted his son over his shoulder, and lumbered toward the door.
Outside the burning building, John spotted Deacon, Bobby and Ellen heading in his direction. With one last quick glance around the compound to search out Dominic, but not spying him anywhere, John's attention settled on his three friends. Ellen was limping considerably, yet if either man tried to help her, she would grumble very loudly and push their hands away. Bobby was bleeding from a gash on the side of his right cheek, and from what appeared to be a bullet wound in his shoulder. Other than a small gash above Deacon's right eye, and swollen, split lip, he looked to raring and eager to continue with the rescue.
"Any of you seen Dominic?" When they all simultaneously shook their heads, John gave a curt nod. "Alright, gather the men, we've got to get to Sam now before he does."
"A few men got away, John," Deacon was quick to warn, "Pastor Jim an' Gordon high-tailed it after them, but the rest of our guys are locking up the prisoners in a holding cell over there," he nudged his head toward a bunker off to the right. "Want me to throw that guy in there with them?" He gestured to Dean.
John cast a wry smile in his friend's direction. "Not really wanting to throw my son into another prison."
"Dean?" all three of his friends said in near unison.
"Why the hell do ya have him handcuffed?" Bobby was the first to ask, his brow raising in clear disbelief.
Still holding his son, John turned on his heel, and headed toward the front gate, calling back over his shoulder, "Hates his brother . . . tried to kill me . . . an' I'm pretty much thinkin' he'd try to again if I set him free."