A/N: Much thanks to every one who's reviewed, fav'd and lurked!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
Chapter 26 - better the devil you know
" 'm…'m tired, Sammy," Dean croaked hoarsely.
Sam's heart skipped a beat. He remembered to breathe slowly, calmly, in and out. When he spoke his voice was calmer than he felt inside. "I know you are, Dean." He nodded. "I know."
"…tried…tried to stop it…keep you guys safe…"
"You did, Dean. You did."
"Missy…" Dean swallowed thickly and tried again. Sam hated hearing that bitch's name coming out of Dean's mouth, hated the confused, wheezy quality of Dean's voice even more. "Missy said I'd be here forever. Always said I wasn't going anywhere."
"Missy's gone, Dean." Sam stared at Missy's head and body lying a few feet away. He felt absolutely nothing. Maybe on some level what he did, and the way he did it should have bothered him, but it didn't. "She'll never bother you again. Gabriel's gone too. You're free of them, bro.' Both of them."
Sam's hand began to move on Dean's back, in small circles, just the way Dean had done whenever Sam needed comfort when he was a kid. It was such a small thing, and usually Dean would have shaken the attention off, growled that he was the big brother, he didn't need that, so get your damn hands off me, right the hell now.
Dean sighed heavily and didn't move. Sam took a deep breath and swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I thought about you. For the last four years I thought about you every damn day. Where you were. If you were okay. You took care of me all those years. You raised me. Now it's my turn."
Dean barely blinked. The look on his face was blank, but oddly alert, too. "…you…came for me…"
Sam nodded. "I did. Dad's coming, Dean. So's Bobby."
There was no need to tell Dean about the Fletcher brothers. Not yet anyway.
Dean closed his eyes and Sam never asked him what he was staring at.
The reaper floated quietly at the edge of the clearing. She was a slight displacement of dark air, barely noticeable in the moonlight. She waited.
Sam Winchester didn't notice her; Dean Winchester did.
She stared into those hazy green eyes. Damn angels. He'd been touched by one, however slightly. She could tell. They never came out and said what their agenda was. It was always a guessing game with them. She hated puzzles.
His eyes widened slightly as she shifted into the shape she favored the most for work: tall, slender, dark-haired, and female.
She'd been told on more than one occasion that she looked pretty like that.
Dean Winchester had been on the edge, a mere heartbeat away from stepping off into eternity, but he'd pulled back. Good, bad, or indifferent, it made no difference to her kind. The fire had taken care of the spirit, but she still had a job to do.
Winchester looked directly at her. "…you…came for me…" The words came out in a breathy whisper. It wasn't so much a question as a statement. The boy barely blinked as she leaned down, brushed her fingers over his forehead. You won't remember me. Not your time. Not tonight anyway, kiddo.
He closed his eyes, rested his head on his brother's chest again.
She'd been here many times. The dead here never wanted to leave. There was no reason for that, but she couldn't force them. That wasn't the way things worked. They could've crossed over, but it was a one time offer, and they were trapped inside a cage of their own making. She never concealed anything except the destination. Revealing the great mystery to each soul was against the rules.
She hated this place, but it was time to go to work.
"Damn it," John muttered to himself. The smell of smoke in the night air prickled his nerves, made him feel very uneasy. Bobby was thrown dangerously off balance as John lurched forward. John ignored the hilt of the knife sticking out of his shoulder. "Come on, Singer, pick up the damn pace." A fresh bolt of white hot pain sizzled its way up John's leg, connected with the throb of the knife, but that didn't stop him from moving forward again.
"Steady, hoss," Bobby groused as he steadied himself. That right foot of his was singing soprano, no doubt calling out for that missing toe of his. That reunion was never gonna happen now. "We got two good legs between the two of us. I hit the ground, we'll have a helluva time getting back up. Just a little further."
Sure enough, John just grunted, and moved forward again. Bobby growled. Idjit.
The brush ahead thinned out, and it seemed like years passed before they were able to maneuver through it. Bobby and John took one more halting step into the clearing and stopped.
Missy Bender's head and body lay on the ground a few feet away. Her mouth hung open slightly, and the fire danced yellow highlights in her blank dead eyes. She looked surprised at being dead.
Neither John nor Bobby could bring themselves to give a damn.
Tree bark crackled, flames roared through that large old tree over on the other side. Tall flames reached for the sky through that hole in the top of the trunk. Both men could see that the tree was hollow inside. Something dark sat slumped over in the flames, until finally something inside gave way with an explosive pop and the figure sank slowly beneath the wave of yellow flame.
Bobby glanced at John's face; John looked serene, calm, but Bobby wasn't fooled. Not one damn bit. Bobby could feel every quiver, every shake that passed through John's body, and it wasn't just from his injuries. John's boys were his only weakness, and he was worried sick about both of them.
Bobby slowly, gently, turned to look at Sam and Dean.
Sam sat with his back against a tree. His chest, chin, and arm were bloodied, and that made Bobby grimace. That damn crazy girl and her damn knives, probably. Sam rested the back of his head against the tree trunk and looked at them somewhat blankly. He looked tired.
Dean sat on the ground between Sam's legs. He was turned sideways, his head resting on Sam's chest. Dean didn't react to John and Bobby's presence, and his face was in shadow, half hidden by that curtain of thick blond hair. Sam's left hand moved on Dean's back in small, comforting circles.
John looked, and he didn't want to look. He didn't trust any of this, he couldn't, not until he saw for himself. Sam saw the unspoken question on John's face, and he nodded a little.
"Dean?" Sam raised his right hand slowly, and Dean startled a little as he sensed motion near his face. "It's me, okay?"
Dean nodded. Sam very carefully, very slowly carded Dean's hair away from his face.
"Dad's here. So's Bobby." Sam whispered.
"Wh-where?" Dean blinked several times. He was having trouble focusing, and the effort showed on his face as he raised his head.
"Dean?" John called out softly.
Dean's head bobbled as he tracked John's voice. John winced a little at the sight of the bruises. "It's okay Dad," he could imagine the boy saying. "It's okay."
No. No it's not okay. John's breath caught noisily in his throat.
Bobby pretended not to notice.
Dean's eyes opened a little more, enough for John to see his eye color.
Green. Moss green, now and for freakin' ever.
"Hey, Dad. Bobby," Dean whispered. Too soft, not his usual whiskey smooth growl. But it was enough. It was more than enough.
John untensed. He and Bobby stood there swaying slightly from side to side. Neither one noticed the chill in the air around them, the aches and pains they'd suffered with as they moved along.
He's back. My boy is back. John thought. His face felt funny, skin drawn tight over his muscles. He was grinning and his face was damp, but hell, that could have been from the night air.
Never had a doubt, Bobby thought. He ignored the gritty wetness around his eyes.
Sam smiled, warm and genuine, for the first time in four years.
Abraham Bender was in a foul mood.
He looked down at his body. His damn body, with that bullet hole, neat as could be, right between his eyes.
He was dead. He was dead and he knew it. This wasn't the way this hunt was supposed to go.
Gabriel let that Dean kid shoot him.
Missy was gone.
Lee wouldn't come near him. He was out there in the shadows, bent over, still trying to keep his insides from spilling out.
Jerry walked out of the brush and his feet didn't touch the ground.
Pa caught sight of that knife in Jerry's throat and he knew the damn fool had gone and gotten himself killed. That made Abraham growl, deep in his throat, and the slap he gave Jerry upside the head was mighty satisfying.
Jerry hadn't left with the bitch. The boy was stupid, but loyal, at least. She'd come to Abraham with the same deal, and that made him even angrier. This was his land, always had been. She wasn't afraid of him, and she didn't seem the least bit impressed.
"You're not getting back into your body," she'd told him. "And that's facts."
When he tried to wrap his hands around her throat she disappeared into thin air.
Abraham could see the others now, the silent dead standing in the dark and deep woods all around, where they'd been hunted, where they had all died.
"What are ya'll lookin' at, huh?" Pa shouted, and the tree branches all around shook and rattled with his anger. "What the hell are you lookin' at?"
Missy watched the rest of Gabriel burn.
Her neck felt funny. Numb. She could barely feel the ground underneath her feet. She couldn't understand how it all went so wrong. Missy snarled to herself. She could hear the people at her back, that Dean boy and his damn family. The father and the piggy crowded around him and the freak as they stood up.
She gripped her knife tightly in her hand and imagined slashing that boy's throat. He wasn't hers anymore, Gabriel wasn't under his skin anymore. She wanted to see fear in the boy's eyes, wanted to see him suffer as he bled out. Missy turned her head to glare at him, and for a moment it seemed like her head was going to slide right off her body.
Didn't dare go near him. Not now. That shaggy haired freak of a brother was there right next to him.
The voices inside Missy's head roared at her. It was his fault she was like this now.
His fault!
"Hello, Missy."
Missy growled. She went into a half crouch as she turned towards the voice, swung her right arm out and slashed with the knife. She couldn't place the voice at first. Her arm went through something pale and cold, and the cold was so intense it shocked her as it ran up her arm and made her jaws clench together. Missy fell back, hit the ground on her ass, and stared up at the dark haired woman in white.
The woman looked bored. "Well?"
Missy blinked and the woman floated over the ground. Her skin looked wrinkly and pale.
"I want Gabriel," Missy said out loud. She blinked again and the woman looked normal.
Missy glanced past her to watch that damn boy and his family. They were leaving. The boy leaned heavily against his brother as he walked, and it wasn't fair, he wasn't theirs, not any more, God promised him to her…
"Missy," the woman said sharply.
It suddenly occurred to Missy that she could see right through this one. "Are you dead?"
"Pay attention now. What do you want?"
"I want Gabriel."
The woman smiled. "I can take you to him. He's where he belongs now."
"Are my Pa and my brothers there too?"
"They didn't want to leave. I asked them."
"I want Gabriel." Missy said again.
"Once you leave here, Missy, you can't ever come back here. Not ever. That's the way this works."
"But you said you could take me to Gabriel."
"Yes." The woman nodded.
"I want Gabriel," Missy said again.
"I'll take you to him." The woman smiled and reached down. "My name's Tessa."
Missy reached up and took her hand.
She was pulled up, but it felt like she was falling. Falling forward and the blackness rushed up towards her. Lightning flashed inside the black clouds. The place smelled like burnt matches, the ones that Pa would use to light the gas burners on the stove in the kitchen.
The first hook came snaking out of the darkness and sank into the meaty part of Missy's left thigh. The second one stuck itself into her left shoulder, held her in place as the other hooks and chains slid over and around her body.
Missy was turned sideways and there was no ground underneath her. Just the dark clouds and the thunder and the lightning. She saw other people chained up, but the only one she had eyes for hung suspended miles below her.
Gabriel was down there, spreadeagled on his back. He was chained up too, but he had more of them: the chains went in and out of his mouth, eyes, and ears. He hung there limply, and he didn't move.
The chains around Missy's body tightened up. One of them slithered up her chin and the small metal hook pushed its way between her lips. It tasted like bloody metal. It wormed its way down into her stomach, and then punched a hole out of her side. The chain ran itself through Missy, stretched into the vast darkness and attached itself to something, somewhere else.
The chain and the hook were just big enough to stop Missy from talking.
Not being able to talk to Gabriel, not being able to touch him was Hell.
That was the whole point.
Missy screamed.
Dean laughed, and the sound made the hair on the back of Sam's neck rise up. It was a slightly hysterical bark of laughter; there was no reason for it. Dean's grip on reality hadn't been too tight to begin with, not after all this. Sam understood that. He shifted Dean's weight against his hip, tightened his hand at Dean's waist. It's all right. We're here.
Dean didn't seem to notice.
Near as Sam could tell they were on the right path going back to the house and the truck. He turned to glance behind him at John and Bobby. They moved along stiffly. It was getting colder out here. Sam figured he could drive the truck to the hospital, once they figured out where "here" was. That was the plan. Worst come to worst, they'd hole up in the house and leave as soon as it got light.
"No." Dean whispered. He tensed up again. Sam felt Dean's heart rev up, saw the panicked look in his older brother's eyes. Dean's lips moved again: "No."
"Dean? What?"
"I chased 'em," Dean mumbled softly. He took another step forward, off to the side. Sam frowned. The Bender house was straight ahead, just past those trees. Dean wanted to veer off to the left.
"Get…get off me." Dean jerked his shoulders. "Get off me!"
Sam tightened his grip.
"I said get the fuck off me!" Dean yelled. One more roll of his broad shoulders, and he shook Sam off. Dean took several stumble steps backwards, away from John, Bobby and Sam.
"Dean?"
"We're…you're gonna take me away from here, right?"
John nodded slowly. "That's the plan." His eyes swept over Dean's face, settled on his eyes. They were still moss green. So what the hell was this?
"You don't…you don't have to do that. You can leave me here. You can."
"What?" John stared at his eldest son in utter disbelief.
"Everybody who loves me, leaves me. Everybody. That's the way it goes, right? Right?" There it was again, that crazy bark of laughter. "I don't belong out there anymore. What, Dad, you wanna take me on a hunt? You gonna trust me out there in the world? After the things I've done here?" Dean shook his head no jerkily. It was obvious he thought that was a very bad idea.
Dean's eyes darted around the woods, searching for something. The dark purplish bruises on his face made his green eyes seem even brighter. Spots of high color made his cheeks rosy. "I chased them through here. I did."
"That wasn't you," Bobby rumbled. "That was Gabriel." Bobby gave John a sideways glance. He couldn't tell whether John was shaking from the cold or from pain. The temperature was dropping and they had to get moving again. Bobby could see his breath, faint and ghost-like, in the still night air.
"No. No." Dean shook his head, rolled his eyes, as though he thought they understood all along, and now Dean knew for sure that they didn't. "That was me. I did that. Don't you get it?"
They didn't.
Dean swayed from side to side. "What, you think 'm some kinda saint or somethin'? It was me. He was right." He jerked his thumb at his chest. "It was me."
"Dean, what's the matter?"
For a split second Dean's face twisted into a mask of grief and sadness. The moment passed as he schooled his features into what he thought was an appropriate expression, but the look was off, jittery. He looked like he thought he was going to be punished for what he did, like he deserved to be punished, and he was frankly confused that they hadn't done anything to him. "I hunted people, Sam. In these woods. Me. I did it. Right…right over there." Dean's right hand shook as he pointed off to the side. "Here. All through here. I killed…I killed a couple of college kids one night. A...a…boy and a girl. She had long brown hair. She was cute. I tracked them both down. I killed them. Him first, then her."
"Dean, that wasn't you," Sam said quietly.
Dean frowned at him. How the fuck can you be so damn stupid? The words came tumbling out in a mad rush, as though Dean was scared he'd be interrupted again, and they couldn't do that, he had to make them understand how fucked up he really was.
"I had a knife in my hand, a big one, and I ran him down and I thought about you, Sam, I thought about you ditchin' me, you leavin' me with Dad, and I killed that boy. I sawed his head off, and then I caught her and I fucked her. She begged me not to and I fucked her and then I stabbed her, and I kept on stabbing her until I put my hands in her body and pulled out her heart, and Abe said I did good, he said I did real good---"
"Dean!" John roared. Dean jerked upright at the command tone in John's voice. "That wasn't you."
Sam inched a little closer. Dean appeared not to notice.
"Dean," Bobby said gruffly. "Your head's not on right."
Dean's head snapped around as he glared at Bobby.
Bobby shrugged. "Gabriel was driving. He was in control. Spirits like that, angry ones, homicidal ones, they leave a residue on things. Same thing if they possess a human. That stuff messes with your head. You had four years of that, boy. Four long years." Bobby waited for the idea to sink in. Dean blinked; that was all. "It's in your system. We got people who can help you, Dean."
"Too late for that." Dean shook his head again. "Too late." Dean sounded hesitant, unsure, like a child making a request that he was certain the adult wouldn't agree to. "You…you take care of Dad and Sam for me," Dean whispered. "Will you do that for me, Bobby?"
All Bobby could do was nod.
Dean turned away, headed for the shadows. Sam was faster. He grabbed Dean's right wrist, grabbed it tight, and as Dean turned around Sam slammed his fist into Dean's face once, hard.
Dean's head rocked back and his knees buckled. He went out like a light, and Sam caught him before he fell.
My God…John stared at the wind chimes made of human bones. He couldn't imagine spending for hours in this godawful place, much less four years. John knew he should be sitting down somewhere, resting. He couldn't. This was the house Dean had lived in for the last four years. This was the place, and he had to see at least part of it. John was keenly aware of the irony, that the last stable home Dean had ever had in his life was the old house back in Lawrence, Kansas.
His hurt shoulder felt like it had doubled in size. He still had the knife in there, but Sam found a roll of duct tape and carefully wound it around John's shoulder so the knife wouldn't move any more than it already had. The kid was busy. He insisted John sit down and allow him to wind duct tape around John's leg as well. It was a typical Winchester field dressing. Didn't feel too bad at that.
Bobby Singer's voice was the only sound in the house; he kept his voice low as he talked on the phone in the kitchen. Bobby kept his back to the body on the floor, and if the thought of being in the same room where Missy Bender performed her bolt cutter pedicure bothered him, Bobby gave no sign.
Jars were everywhere. Jars with human teeth. That one over there had what seemed to be human ears, some of which still had earrings in the pierced holes. He shook his head in disgust, idly ran his fingertips over this cross-like sigil that was carved in each of the door jambs.
Hoodoo signs. With all these remains, this place should have been jumping with vengeful, restless spirits.
Instead it was as quiet as a tomb.
The refrigerator and freezer in the kitchen was stocked with bags of ground meat. John wouldn't have touched any of it if he were starving. His mind immediately came up with an image of Dean sitting at the table with a steaming bowl full of the stuff.
John slammed the door shut on that image. It did no good to think that way.
He barely glanced at the Polaroids stuck onto the refrigerator door. They showed the Benders with the victims after the hunts. John caught a glimpse of Gabriel standing there smiling as he lifted up a dead woman's head, and prompty blanked the image out of his mind.
John limped back down the hallway. It was time to sit down, at least until they were ready to leave. His leg was beginning to bitch again, despite the pressure of the duct tape. He was already thinking about the story they'd tell the staff in the ER. He had several lies ready to tell, but for some reason he was really leaning towards the truth, namely a hunt gone wrong. He was ready to embellish it with minor details: they'd gotten lost in the woods, didn't know what the hell they were doing.
After all these years, John was nothing but flexible.
In the living room Dean lay curled up on his side on the flowered couch. He was wrapped in a brown blanket Sam dug out of one of the closets. Dean's wrists were duct-taped together, and he moved fitfully in his sleep. Sam sat in a chair beside him. He looked up when John walked in, then dropped his eyes to the floor.
Sam's expression was a combination of worry and guilt that made him look years older. John nodded at his youngest and shook his head. "It's okay, Sammy," John said gently.
Sam was unconvinced. That bright, happy smile of his from an hour ago was a faint memory.
Bobby looked grim as he limped out of the kitchen. "Seems like we're stuck here, for the rest of the night, at least."
Stuck? Sam looked puzzled. "What'd Ellen say?"
"Told us to stay put. She's got connections with the phone company. Gonna call in favors, get this location. She's coming with help and a doctor. Until then, we have to sit tight."
"Doctor?" John scowled. "Help? What the hell for, we can head to the nearest hospital---"
"No, John, we can't," Bobby said harshly. "The cops are looking for you. All three of you. Dean, John, and Sam Winchester are considered persons of interest in the death of a Hibbing County deputy, one Kathleen Hudak."
Sam's eyes widened. He forgot how to breathe and couldn't think of a damn thing to say.
Next post Saturday.
