Kubrick hated mysteries. He didn't have the brain power, or the attention span, to solve them. That was one of the many reasons he'd partnered up with Gordon. The man was a prick, yeah, and mean as shit, but he was smart.
Today's pain-in-the-ass unsolvable puzzle: Why in hell wasn't Gordon answering his phones?
Kripke had called Gordon's cells – all of them – over the last few days. All of them had gone directly to voicemail. That wasn't like Gordon.
Not that he was worried about his old partner – Gordon was one bad dude, after all – but it was weird the man hadn't picked up any of his calls, if only to tell him to fuck off.
Shivering inside his threadbare jacket, Kripke stared morosely toward Singer's house, at the smoke curling lazily up from the chimney.
Fuckin' bastards were all warm and toasty in there, probably eating a good breakfast while he - he looked at the half-eaten Slim Jim in his hand and stuffed the last of it into his mouth, chewing savagely.
What the hell. Once he got his money, he was heading to Vegas. Wouldn't take but a few hours to get there from here. Then he'd be the one warm and toasty. He'd get himself a room, no, a suite, in one of those fancy hotels. Get a steak and a bottle of good whiskey. And a woman.
A smug smile played around the corners of his thin mouth. Contemplating the pleasures to come, he didn't have time to do more than blink when a pair of strong hands gripped the sides of his head and twisted, breaking his neck in one swift, decisive movement.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
Bobby didn't know exactly what had happened between the boys the night before; he just knew it hadn't been good.
He'd heard the shouting, caught enough to know what they were arguing about. Knew that Sam had finally got up the nerve to confront his brother about what would happen once they freed their father from the grip of the demon.
From the younger boy's shadowed, angry eyes, Sam hadn't been happy with the answer.
When Bobby came in from outside, rubbing his hands against the chill of the early morning, the Winchesters were sitting silently at the kitchen table, half-empty cups of coffee in front of them.
"You two ready?" he asked gruffly, trying to ignore the palpable tension in the room.
"Yeah, we're good." Dean gave his brother a quick sideways glance, then shifted quickly back to Bobby. "You really think this'll work?"
"It's our best shot." Bobby shrugged. "Only shot, really. And it's probably the only chance we'll have to shake John loose of that demon without killing him."
Sam huffed out an impatient breath. "It's a bad plan. The exorcism won't kill the demon, he's too strong. The most it'll do is expel him. He'll be back."
"We'll deal with that when we come to it," Dean said, his voice nearly a growl. They'd already gone over this, a few times. He was in no mood to hash it out again. Bobby was right. It was their only option.
"It might kill Dad, Dean."
Dean's mouth tightened. "I think Dad would rather be dead than ridden by a demon," he said after a tense moment. "Don't you?"
Sam nodded reluctantly.
"Okay, then." Dean rose to his feet, determination in every line.
Sam shook his head, mumbling something indistinct.
"What?" Bobby asked.
"I said, 'I still don't like it'!," Sam repeated, coloring angrily at Dean's look of exasperation.
"You got a better idea, then spit it out!"
Slamming both fists down on the table, Sam jumped to his feet, face red with frustration. "What the hell does it matter? You've already made up your mind!"
"Sam, if you don't –" Bobby began.
Sam cut him off with a furious wave. "Forget it!" He stomped out of the kitchen. Dean followed, with Bobby close behind him, the older man cursing under his breath.
They caught up to him at the front door and Sam spun to face his brother. "Screw it!" He shoved an astonished Dean back into Bobby. "And screw you, too!"
SUPNSUPNSUPN
John dumped the corpse in the trunk of the car and slammed the lid, wiping his hands fastidiously on his jeans.
Playtime was over. Time to bring Sam Winchester in.
He'd like to play with him some more – damn, that boy was fun to mess with! - but orders were orders. He'd already pushed it as far as he dared.
Maybe, after he delivered the younger boy to his fate, he could have some fun with Dean. John smiled to himself. That had some definite possibilities.
A door slammed in the distance and he heard loud voices. Eyes bright with eager anticipation, he moved toward the house.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
"Sam, just wait a freaking minute!"
Fists clenched, Sam faced off against his brother in the middle of the yard. "You said it would be us, always," he said accusingly.
Dean swiped an agitated hand through his spiky hair. "Damn it, Sam, this isn't the time – "
"When is the time?" Sam laughed raggedly. "When Dad's back?" His voice ratcheted up even higher. "You promised it would be just us! But the first chance you get, you go running back to him!"
Dean's face darkened. "That's not fair."
"Fuck fair! You lied to me!"
"I never – "
"Bullshit! You're going back to Dad, gonna let him call all the shots. It won't be you and me anymore, it'll be you and him. I'll be on the outside, just like before!" His voice broke.
Dean held out a hesitant hand. "Sammy . . . "
Sam's agitation increased."You won't even touch me anymore!"
Dean flushed and glanced sideways at Bobby, who was watching from a few feet away. "Sammy, calm down."
"What the hell are you worried about? Bobby already knows!" Sam said in disbelief. "Jesus, Dean, Dad knows! Everybody knows! Get over it!"
Dean blanched, but he knew it was the truth. Whatever the demon knew, the imprisoned vessel knew as well.
Why that made a difference now, he didn't know. He'd been operating for weeks with the knowledge that John knew about them. But, for some reason, knowing that John found out that truth as a prisoner in his own body made it somehow worse.
Pushing that aside for the moment, ignoring Bobby, Dean crossed to Sam and took him into his arms, ignoring his stiff unwillingness, desperate to take away the pain in his brother's eyes. "Baby, please."
For just a moment, Sam almost accepted the embrace, almost let himself believe that everything would be okay, that he'd still have his lover at the end of all this.
Then he steeled himself and pulled away, eyes dark with pain. "If I have to lose you, I'd rather do it now." He turned and walked quickly away across the yard.
"Sam!"
Dean started after him and Bobby grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. "Give him a minute," he said quietly. "He'll be okay."
Dean wasn't too sure about that. Hell, right now he wasn't sure about anything, Sam least of all.
With a last glance after his retreating brother, he turned and reluctantly followed Bobby back into the house.
Across the yard, Sam disappeared into the garage. The big garage door crashed down and silence fell over the yard.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
John crept through the garage, following the sounds of hoarse, ragged breathing.
Rounding the side of a beat-up red Ford pick-up, he saw Sam sitting pressed into a corner in the back of the garage, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, head tilted back against the wall and eyes shut tight.
Intent on his prey, John drew closer, carefully avoiding the car parts and other debris littering the ground.
"Gonna lose him." With a hoarse, aching croak, Sam pressed his face against his knees. "I'm gonna lose him."
Now just a few feet away, John deliberately kicked an empty oil can across the floor. It skidded into Sam's boots and the boy raised a pale, tear-stained face.
"Hey, Sam," John said. "Miss me?"
Sam wiped a jacketed arm across his eyes. "Not so much."
"You shouldn't have run, boy." John's tone was contemptuous. "Just gonna be that much harder on you."
"I'm used to hard."
John leered suggestively at this son. "I'll just bet you are." He laid a hand on the gun thrust into his belt. "Let's get going. Won't be long before Dean comes looking for you."
"No," Sam said wearily.
John's eyes narrowed. "Don't want something bad to happen to your brother, do you?" He took a menacing step forward then came to an abrupt, baffled halt. "What the hell – "
Sam looked at the ceiling. Frowning, John followed his gaze.
A devil's trap was painted on the ceiling directly above him.
John's eyes snapped back down to Sam. "You little shit. How the hell did you know?"
Sam looked past John. "Hey, guys."
The big man spun to see Bobby and Dean standing several feet away. With an angry bellow he threw himself at the invisible barrier of the trap, bouncing back at the edge and nearly going to his knees.
"Shit, I can't believe it!" Dean said in mocking amazement. "It worked! I thought we'd have to throw out our line a few times and here we get the big fish first time out!"
John glared fearlessly at them. "Screw you."
"Ew, gross. No, thanks." Dean looked past his father to his brother. "Good job, Sammy."
Sam got heavily to his feet. "Let's just get this done."
"Get what done?" John sneered. His eyes hardened when Bobby stepped forward, pulling a small, worn book out of his coat pocket. "What's that?"
"Guess," Bobby answered sardonically. He smirked as John hissed out a curse.
"Dad, if you can hear me," Dean stepped forward to the edge of the trap, "We're gonna get you outta there."
"How do you even know he's still alive in here?" The demon spat at them. "He's been pretty quiet lately."
"You'd better hope he's alive," Dean said, eyes cold. "If he's dead, even Hell won't be able to hide you." He nodded to Bobby. "Go ahead."
Clearing his throat, the old man started to read out loud.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio . . . "
"No!" John threw himself against the barrier again, falling back as Dean threw a stream of holy water into his face. "No!"
". . . omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica . . . "
"No! NO!"
Face grim, Bobby raised his voice against the demon's screams. "Adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare . . . "
Howling with pain and fury, John twisted to face Sam, who flinched back, pressing himself against the wall.
"This doesn't change anything," the demon hissed under the lash of the exorcism. "You're still ours! You'll never be free – " His back arched with pain and he fell to the ground, gagging, when Dean threw more holy water onto him. Panting for breath, John kept his gaze on a frozen Sam.
"You will beg for death," John gasped, Bobby's stern voice almost drowning him out. "But He will not grant it." Eyes bulging, he groaned gutturally, clutching himself in agony. "You will serve – you will serve – "
. . . Benedictus deus. Gloria patri!
The demon's poisonous spew cut off as Bobby shouted out the last of the exorcism. With a final maddened roar, the big man rolled onto his back and a noxious black cloud burst out of his open mouth, funneling into the air above them.
"Dad!"
John slumped into unconsciousness as the demon left him and shot out an open window, a helpless, unearthly scream trailing behind it.
"Dad!" Dean leapt forward, panicked eyes on his stricken father.
Bobby hauled him to a stop. "Hold on!" He looked warily at the motionless man. "Try the holy water again."
"Bobby, he – "
"Damn it, boy, do it!" Bobby barked.
Hand trembling, Dean poured the last of his flask over his prostrate father.
John didn't move.
With a gasp, Dean threw himself onto his knees next to his father and thrust trembling fingers against his neck. After a few seconds his shoulders slumped and he looked up at Sam, green eyes shining with tears of relief. "He's alive, Sammy!"
Sam tried to smile. It felt stiff and unnatural on his face but Dean, focused again on his father, didn't notice.
Muttering ragged reassurances, the older boy raised his father up to a shaky sitting position. The older man's head was drooping.
"Dad? Dad?"
John remained insensible. Dean looked desperately at Bobby. "Help me get him into the house."
With a quick look at Sam, who'd yet to budge from his corner, Bobby nodded and the two men awkwardly wrestled the big man to his feet, supporting him between them to the open side door of the garage.
At the door Dean stopped and cast an anxious look over his shoulder at his brother. "Sammy?"
Face pallid, dark eyes huge, Sam raised an unsteady hand, waving them on. 'I'm okay. Go on with Dad. I'll be there in a minute."
Uncertain, Dean hesitated.
"I'm okay," Sam said again, trying for normal. "Go."
"Sammy, come on."
Sam was saved from having to argue with his brother when John groaned weakly. "Dean?"
Dean's face lit up. "Dad!"
"Dean." John looked blearily at his eldest. "Son, what's - ?"
"Dad, it's okay, it's gone, you're free!"
"Can we have this reunion inside, Dean?" Bobby grunted. "He weighs a ton."
The three of them left the garage without another backward glance.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
Desperately glad to be alone, Sam closed his eyes and sagged against the garage wall, the demon's final words echoing in his head.
You will serve.
You will serve.
Serve who? Serve what?
A wave of nausea swept over him and with a violent spasm his morning coffee and a side order of bile rose swiftly in his throat to spew out onto the ground.
When it was over, he stared stupidly down at the mess on the ground, then shuddered and made his way out of the garage. He stood in the yard, halfway between the garage and the house, breathing in the cold air and trying to clear his brain.
Sunday . . . it's Sunday.
I should find a priest. Confess . . .
Confess what? That I have demon blood? That I'm destined to lead an army of the damned to destroy humanity?
He almost laughed out loud at that. He could just see the poor, set-upon priest, confronted with the reality of Sam's pathetic life.
"One way trip to the funny farm," he muttered.
He considered, briefly, that avenue of escape. It would be hard to lead a demon army from a straitjacket.
Not that Dean would let him stay in one for long.
Dean.
He was losing Dean.
John would talk his brother around to it. He'd always been able to talk Dean into anything. And now that he had the excuse of a demon being the one that had tried to kill Sam, and not his father, Dean would see the wisdom of dumping his demon brother.
After all, sticking with Sam would only get him killed. Or worse, dragged to Hell along with him. Because that's where Sam was going to end up. Demon blood - well, that pretty much guaranteed him an express ticket down under, didn't it?
A sharp wind blew through the yard and he shivered, zipping up his jacket. He'd stick it out, long as he could. He'd stay with his family until he couldn't stand it any longer. Then – he didn't know what then.
He looked resignedly toward the house. Might as well go in. Face it. Face Dad. Rip that band-aid right the hell off, like Dean had taught him.
There was the soft scrape of a boot behind him and a voice, thick with anger and smug satisfaction.
"Turn around, you fuck!"
Startled but not at all surprised, Sam started to turn. He heard a shout from the house, then an explosion.
Sam's world turned white.