A/N: Thanks, SciFiNutTX. I owe ya!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
Chapter 30 – waking dreams and nightmares
Missouri Moseley woke up smiling.
That was a rare thing, especially these past months. The constant pain she'd felt during her dreams faded to a distant echo in her body as she turned over on her side in bed.
There was no need for you to go to that crossroads, John Winchester, she thought sleepily. Remember that. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Other nights Missouri dreamed of blood, death and fire, but this night she dreamed of a wide eyed boy, a green-eyed wayward son finally re-united with his family after four long years.
Sam talked about the deal he'd made with Lim. Bobby listened, and it was a damn relief.
They won't want me around after this, Sam thought. This'll make leaving that much easier.
Bobby's face was unreadable. The light from the Bender funeral pyre cast flickering light that didn't seem to reach into the shadows underneath that trucker's cap of his.
Dean had already made his feelings on what Sam had done perfectly clear: "You using me as an excuse now, Sam? Is that it? You did this to help me?" Telling Dad the part about Sam's eyes turning yellow, well, that would be the icing on the cake.
The flames finally died down and went out for good. The darkness and the cold rushed in to fill the empty spaces.
There was just enough gas left in the truck's tank to make it back to the house. Sam drove; Bobby rode shotgun. They parked in the back and came in through the kitchen.
"Singer," John said tersely as he rose up out of the chair. "You stay with Dean, okay? Sam and I have some things to discuss."
Bobby limped over to the nearest chair and sat down with a tired grunt. Sam stood in the hallway. The muscles in his back and shoulders were already tense, thrumming like overstrung wire.
Dean cleared his throat. "I'm awake." He sat up and slowly swung his legs over. He didn't even glance in Sam's direction, just huddled there on the couch with that brown blanket pulled around his shoulders.
"Dean, you don't have to listen to this," John drawled.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Dean leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, head down, eyes closed.
They're in this together, Sam thought. Dean can't stand the sight of me.
"All right," John said quietly. He didn't sit back down. Instead he went over and stood in front of the fireplace. He dropped his gaze on Sam like a gunsight. "Let's hear it."
Sam spoke the words he never thought he'd have to say to John and Dean. He finally ran out of words to say. Dean didn't move, just sat there as still as a statue.
"Your eyes turned yellow," John said flatly.
Sam nodded. "I…I saw flashes. I didn't know until Bobby told me."
"Jesus." John turned, swept the books and jars off the mantle place with both hands. "I don't believe this. I just don't fucking believe this!" he raged as he turned to face Sam. "There's only one bastard I know of that has yellow eyes, and that's the sonofabitch that killed Mary. It killed your mother. My wife. It killed your girl, Jessica. And what did you do, Sam? You ran right out and somehow you gave yourself to it. It made you its bitch."
"I didn't know ---"
"You didn't know," John repeated as he walked forward.
Dean didn't move, never lifted his head up.
John's right hand curled up into a fist. "As much as I've taught you about these bastards, and all you can say is you didn't know."
It was just like old times, the bad times, the arguments that became louder as Sam grew older, angrier.
"What else was I supposed to do, Dad? You came, and you stayed four months. Four lousy months, and then you ditched me." Sam smiled, bright and merciless. "That's a record for you, isn't it? A personal best?"
John's anger filled the space between them. "I'm to blame for what you did, Sam? Is that it?' John bared his teeth. "You had my damn number. You could have called me before you did anything."
John's right hand curled up into a fist.
All right, then, Sam thought. He was alone in this, utterly alone (Dean doesn't care anymore, he doesn't), and that was what made this easier and harder at the same time.
John pushed forward.
Dean pushed back. "That's enough."
John only had eyes for Sam. He pushed forward again, fists clenched, and Dean pushed him back. "I said that's enough!"
Sam stood frozen in place. All he could do was stare at the sight of his older brother as he stood in front of John and refused to move.
"Dean?" John grated out. He dropped his gaze on Dean like a gunsight. "Move. Now."
"Don't do this, Dad," Dean growled. "Don't. "
"Dean," John said flatly. "I don't think you heard what Sam said." Defending Sam came easily to Dean, but he'd realize his mistake and back down, John was sure of that. Dean was the peacemaker, the good son, the buffer between John and Sam. Always had been, always would be. Nothing would ever change that.
"Yeah. I heard him." Dean drew himself up to his full height. "I don't think you heard me. What's done is done. It's over, and you need to back off. Right friggin' now."
Bobby grunted in surprise.
The startled look on Sam's face showed he was just as shocked as John was.
"You don't abandon your family. You don't turn against them. Not for any reason," Dean said. He sounded eerily like Gabriel had in the barn, right after he butchered Lee with that knife. John couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at Dean's eyes, searched for some hint of darkness, unwilling to believe any of this. Maybe there was some faint echo of Gabriel inside Dean. That was it. Had to be…
"Christo," John said out loud.
Nothing.
"That what you think this is? That I'm possessed?" The corners of Dean's lips twitched upwards into a smirk, his moss green eyes alight with a defiant glint. The bruises on his face and that slash mark down his brow and cheek gave him a wild, damaged beauty. "This is me, Dad. Gabriel's gone."
A cold chill wormed its way up John's spine. He recognized Dean's stance: relaxed and easy, which was just as deceptive as hell. John was all too familiar with Dean's body language. After all, he'd trained the kid, honed his skills relentlessly with Marine lectures, sparring sessions and endurance runs. It seemed perfectly natural to point his eldest son at whatever fugly they were hunting and unleash him.
Dean was ready to lash out, primed to explode, but this time all that violence, all that energy, was directed at John, or it would be, the moment John crossed the line Dean had drawn in the sand, and that line involved Sam.
If you push this, that hard stare of Dean's clearly said, I'll fight you.
And I don't know if I can win or not, John thought.
There was a time to fight, and a time to stand down.
Dean and John stared at each other for a moment that seemed to drag on forever.
John stepped back.
"All right," John nodded. "Okay." He raised both hands chest high, palms out. Dean stared at John's eyes, and what he saw in them made him nod slightly.
Sam stood there frozen in shock.
John turned and walked out, and after a moment or so Bobby stood up and limped after him.
Dean still didn't move until he heard the back screen door bang shut for the second time, then he walked over and sat down on the couch. Sam could see the tension uncoil out of Dean's back and shoulders with every move he made. By the time he turned around and sat down Dean looked pale, unsteady on his feet. No way in hell he would have shown that weakness to John, not while they stood toe to toe.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam said softly. "Thanks." It was all Sam could think to say. "Thanks for sticking up for me."
"You're my brother," Dean huffed softly. "Dad was picking on you. That's my job, not his."
"I thought you hated me for what I did."
"Dude, please." Dean's voice took on a dry, wheezy quality. "I was being an ass about it, okay? Fact is, I would have done the same thing you did. For you or for Dad."
Dean coughed, low and hoarse. Sam went into the kitchen, came back moments later with a glass of water. Dean nodded his thanks and drank it all down slowly.
"When I get better, we'll go hunt that Lim sonofabitch. And Ol' Yeller," Dean muttered roughly. "It'll be like old times."
Sam looked uncertain. "You okay?"
"Oh yeah." Dean leaned back, closed his eyes. "I'm just super."
They both knew that was a lie.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Were you really gonna kick Dad's ass?"
Dean didn't answer.
John stood staring out at the woods. The sun was just underneath the horizon. The lingering shadows all around were lighter, but they held on stubbornly, as though they knew their time was up but they were reluctant to leave.
"Never a dull moment with you Winchesters," Bobby drawled. "That was something I never thought I'd see."
That wounded expression in John's dark eyes was something Bobby never expected to see, either. John shook his head. He seemed numb, dazed. "First time I was ever…"
"Afraid of Dean?"
"Yeah."
"He's been gone for four years." Bobby leaned heavily against the railing. "Can't imagine how that was, locked down in his own body like that, unable to stop what was happening all around him. So how'd you think Dean was gonna react, John?"
"What?"
"You were gonna push Sam away. For good. Did you really think Dean was going to just sit there and let you do that?"
"They're my boys. I know what's best for them."
Bobby snorted. "No, you don't. You didn't know four years ago and you sure as hell don't know now."
John scowled, his right hand curling up into a fist. "This is none of your damned business--"
"Oh, yeah?" Bobby didn't seem impressed or intimidated. "I bled for you, had your back all through this whole thing. Those boys in there are like the sons I never had. That makes it my business, you damn fool. I'm gonna have my say in this, Winchester, so if you wanna take a swing at me, go ahead. You thought things would go right back to the way they were before, with you calling the shots? You're an idiot. Your boys have changed. They need their father now, not some half-assed drill sergeant."
The wall phone in the kitchen rang. Bobby pushed himself up off the railing.
"Ellen, that better be you," he grumbled to himself as he limped back into the house. "Don't know how much more of this drama I can take."
Five minutes later Bobby came out of the Bender kitchen for the last time. "That was Ellen," he drawled to the boys. "They're twenty minutes out."
Dean shrugged out of the blanket. He walked out to the back porch, Sam trailing him like he always did.
"Dad, can I borrow that knife?"
Dean and John stared at each other for a long moment. This was the closest Dean would come to offering an apology to John, Dean's new way of saying, I'm not mad at you, Dad. They were on new ground now, laying down and testing new boundaries. The space of four years gone was still between them, like a wall, but there were gaps in the wall now.
John finally nodded, pulled the knife out of his jacket pocket and handed it over, hilt first. Dean very pointedly didn't look at Sam, just straight ahead as he walked down the porch steps.
Whatever this was, Sam didn't like it. His bitchface came out at the sight of the knife in Dean's hand. "Dean?"
Dean didn't answer. He stared at the woods, and the deep breath he took made his shoulders hitch slightly. He turned towards the truck, on the driver's side, stared fixedly at himself in the rear view mirror. Dean's face went blank with concentration. Sunlight glinted off the blade in his hand. Dean reached up, pulled down a strand of hair over his forehead. He held it taut between his fingers. A flick of his wrist, and the hair was cut. The long strand floated lazily down to the ground, and Dean was already cutting the next hank of hair, and the next.
He moved slowly at first, did the same thing all around his hairline.
Sam relaxed. Okay. This wasn't unexpected.
What happened next, was.
Dean's face twisted as his mask slipped entirely. The look on his face was suddenly raw, open, and vulnerable, his motions became more frantic as he used the knife to cut more hair off. His body shook as he continued to cut.
"Dean?" Sam muttered.
No answer.
Sam put his foot on the top step when John called him. "Sam?"
It wasn't John's command voice. Not quite. Sam stopped and looked back at John.
John's voice softened. "Leave him be, Sam. Leave him be."
Sam stood there, watched as Dean continued to cut. The ground around him was littered with hair. Dean was wheezing now, but he wouldn't, couldn't, stop. Sam understood. Each cut, each slash, each handful of hair that fell to the ground put Dean further and further away from Gabriel Bender, but it wasn't that easy, or that simple. Sam saw it in Dean's eyes.
"I killed them, right over there…"
Dean whimpered, low and desperate, and he used the knife again and again, moving faster, the knife blade flashing silver through the air, slicing through more hair, moving so fast Sam was afraid Dean would start cutting himself, slashing himself over and over again.
"…pulled her heart out. Abraham said I did good…"
Long strands of hair fell all over his shoulders, down his back. The ground was littered with it. Dean shuddered as though he'd reached the end of his endurance, and he couldn't stand even the slightest touch of hair on his skin anymore.
"Missy said I'd never leave here. Missy said…"
Dean threw the knife down. He grunted as he jerked his jacket off, peeled his tee shirt off and dropped it to the ground.
Gabriel ran through the ink black woods…
Dean shook himself all over, a long, convulsive tremor that rippled through his body. He bent over, raked his hands through his hair, claw-like, batted at his bare skin.
Dean ran too, through the silver moonlight, spilling blood, laughing, trailing silent screams only he could hear…
All Sam could do was stare. Dean was still muscular, still broad-shouldered, but he'd lost weight. Sam could see that. That sandy blond color was startling enough but with his hair shorter now, uneven in spots, Dean looked more like himself now at least, despite the fading bruises and the slashmark down his right side. He stood there, wide-eyed, chest heaving, staring at and through John, Sam and Bobby. Dean's eyes were glazed over with a horrible blankness, lost, still somewhere else.
"Dean?" John said out loud. The gentle, warm tone of his voice made Sam stare at him in disbelief. "It's all right. Come on back now."
Sam saw awareness come back to his brother's eyes, and it was even more terrible than that silent blankness.
Dean took one deep breath that made his chest hitch, then another, and after a minute or so his breathing slowed down, evened out. He stared at Sam, then John, and then Bobby, stared at them so long and hard it was like he was memorizing their faces. Dean swayed from side to side, then he leaned down and picked up his shirt and his jacket. He shook out his clothes with a snap of his wrist and walked to the side of the house.
Sam followed him. John and Bobby didn't say a word.
By the time Sam rounded the corner Dean had already slipped his clothes back on. He sat with his back against the side of the house, his knees drawn up to his chest. Dean stared into space as he rocked forward and back slightly. He was caught up in a waking dream, images of the last four years flashing endlessly behind his eyes.
A-Abra-ham…p-pleas'…dun' hurt me…any…mor'…
You're not the one I want, Dean.
God sent you back to me. He forgave me for my sins…
No, please don't kill me, nononono…
"Dean?" Sam whispered softly. "Dude, I'm here."
…this is going to make you feel better, John…
If you want a baby I'll go get you one.
"It's Sam. I'm here, Dean. I'm here."
Dean's forward rocking motion slowed.
Sam sat down right next to him, close enough so that their shoulders brushed together.
I'm here.
Sam pressed his shoulder into Dean's a little bit more. The touch was light, but it was just enough.
I'm here.
Enough to quiet the voices…
I'm here.
Enough to make the images fade, to grey, then to black.
Dean stopped rocking.
Sam's here.
She knew better than to run, but she did it anyway. No sense in making it easy for them.
Meg didn't scream as the hellhound sank its teeth into her right leg. She'd burned through a lot of meatsuits in the last few weeks, and the one she was in now was young, male, and very strong, but it wasn't enough. Humans were fragile and could stand only so much abuse.
Her femur snapped in two as she hit the ground. Another snap of those gaping jaws, and her left leg sheared off.
There would be no more running after that.
The hellhound huffed, and instead of ripping into the meatsuit she wore, it flipped her over and laid down on her instead. Meg scowled as she struggled against the heavy weight.
Damn.
That meant he was going to talk to her first, and she didn't want to be here for that.
The young boy's mouth stretched open wide as she boiled up his throat. A hand clamped down hard over her forehead. She felt heat against her skin, her body gripped by something she couldn't see.
Meg opened her eyes. "Hello, Daddy. You're looking well."
"It's not the years, it's the mileage, huh, kiddo?" Azazel smiled. His eyes swirled murky yellow and smoky black. He was in his favorite meatsuit, that hospital janitor.
"I like hellhounds." Azazel skritched the beast underneath its chin; the hellhound wriggled with pleasure and stretched out its neck. "They're simple. Uncomplicated. You ask them to kill, and they kill. Tell them to heel, and they heel. They do just what I tell them to." His eyes darkened as he stared down at his daughter. "Unlike some demons I know."
"I don't give a damn about your grand master plan anyway," Meg smirked.
"I know you don't." Azazel shook his head. "You never did. All that planning. All the times I went around those damn hillbillies, got inside their minds, planted seeds about Dean, guided them to him. I pretended I was God. Pretty good acting, huh? Gave those hicks a big dose of that ol' time religion."
The hellhound purred like a kitten. Azazel laughed, but his expression darkened once more.
"I didn't want the three of them back together again. That was the whole point. Without Dean around, Sam would have gone down the road I wanted him to. John-boy would have been distracted until it was far too late. Sam owes Lim, but Lim owes me. Now Dean's back in the bosom of his loving family, and it's all because of you, sweetness."
Meg smirked. "Telling them where he was? That was fun. Dean's busted, Daddy. Poor little hunter boy's broken in his head and his soul. Besides, I enjoyed seeing the looks of pain on their faces."
"He's not as broken as you might think, especially when it comes to his family. He's their heart. John and Sammy are too much alike. Stubborn and obsessed."
The hellhound grumbled when Azazel stopped petting it.
"You gonna send me to my room now, Daddy?" Meg purred.
Azazel nodded.
The hellhound picked up what was left of Meg in its jaws and bounded away. It headed down, and Meg didn't even struggle. It wasn't the first time she'd been dragged back to Hell. She could claw her way back up into the sunshine. She always could before.
Her vessel's eyes glazed over from the heat and his eardrums shattered. That was one of the disadvantages of wearing live meat. Meg couldn't see a thing as the hound came to a stop. She felt something hard underneath her back. She couldn't move her head or arms.
"You've been a bad girl, haven't you?" this voice purred into her left ear.
Meg blinked. The afterimage of the binding sigil burned into her forehead glowed orange against the blackness underneath her eyelids.
She was trapped in that body.
"A-Alastair?"
"Yesss." Alastair ran the jagged tip of his claw around the edge of Meg's left eye. "Did you miss me?"
"No, this isn't right…there--there must be some mistake---"
"Oh, there's no mistake, precious. Daddy said to teach you a lesson, little girl." Alastair tapped her right cheek with his knife. "Feel free to scream, as loud and as long as you like."
Meg did.
Next post Saturday. Ellen, Jo and Rufus show up. Bobby has a plan, and Victor Hendrickson pays a visit to Sweetbriar.
