Who Shot John
So, I was watching some old reruns of Judge Judy on the TV and she kept saying 'that's a load of who shot John' - I couldn't resist. After-all, who hasn't wanted to shoot John, at least once? 😊
This story does take place as part of my In the Shadows series but also stands alone with no need to have read any of the others in order to read this one. It is set much later than the other Shadows stories so far (though I have ideas and outlines for stories throughout the boys' childhoods).
As always, thank you to the wonderful Meilean who patiently puts up with me and always gives me such thoughtful feedback. If you haven't read her stories you should definitely check them out, they are amazing.
Disclaimer - I do not own any supernatural characters (😞) just playing with Kripke's toys 😊.
Chapter 1: The Hunt
1997 – Deep in the Woods
The sharp sound cracked through the hush of the woods like a bolt of lightning, dropping the dispersed hunters to the floor. A silence followed that was so complete it seemed even the wind and leaves had been muted.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Then it came. Deep thuds that are felt as much as heard. The pounding of paws. It echoed off the trees making it hard to determine which direction it was coming from. Small rustles sneaked out as the various hunters adjusted for a wider view, a better line of sight, or more camouflage.
Drawn to the scent of blood, the pounding became thundering. A cry rent the air. One of the hunters broke cover, charging across the clearing. Another called out. Out in the open, a dark shadow fell across the sprinting figure. From every direction, gunfire filled the space. The noise ricocheted off the trees, bursting back into the clearing like the bark splintering from the shots. The cacophony sending all, but the dead and the hunters, flying from the area.
As the smoke and dust cleared, a young man, barely an adult, knelt by a fallen form.
"No, no, no," tumbled from his lips, his already blood-soaked hands pressed at the abdomen of the fallen. A second, younger boy dashed over, skidding to his knees and throwing up a cloud of dirt, earning him a scowl from the older boy.
"Dean, what happened? Did the barghest get him?" The fourteen-year-old's terrified gaze went from the bloody hands of his older brother to the pale, pain-grimaced face of his bleeding father, then darted back at the large bear-sized, dog-like, creature that lay in a pool of black blood behind them.
"Get the bag Sammy, now!" eighteen-year-old Dean barked, still applying pressure to his dad's bleeding wound. Sam scuttled off.
One of the other hunters came forward and crouched beside Dean. "Balls!"
The downed hunter's face was scrunched in pain, his eyes tight closed, his breathing laboured. Bobby tapped at his cheek, more than a pat but not quite a slap. "John, you hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear you," John gritted out. Pupils peeped through slits, still managing to glare. "Is it dead?"
Bobby looked over to where the last two hunters, Martin and Travis, were inspecting the downed prey. Martin met his eye and nodded.
"Yeah, it's dead," Bobby grunted.
"Good," John panted out. "One down, one to go." His hand scrambled in the leaves beside him, looking for his gun. Dean swore as more blood oozed through his fingers.
Bobby frowned. "I thought you said this thing was hunting alone?"
"It was. But it wasn't the barghest that shot me."
There was murder in John's eyes and Bobby looked questioningly to Dean who gulped. Dean then lifted his hands. Sure enough, it wasn't a gouge or bite in John's side. It was a bullet wound.
"Sonofabitch."
ℼℼℼ
Three days earlier
"Winchester?" The booming call had Dean looking up from the room key he was trying to juggle on top of three duffle bags and a sack of burgers. Next to him Sammy was barely holding on to a large box, too heavy for the fourteen-year-old's skinny frame. John, who had been half-buried in the TARDIS-like trunk of their '67 Chevy Impala, popped his head up.
Two scruffy looking men had emerged from a room a little further along the row and were looking at him from the doorway. One nodded in confirmation as their eyes met. John's eyes flicked briefly in the direction of his boys but mostly he kept a cautious watch on the two men.
"Martin," John greeted brusquely with a return nod. His focus moved to the other man, whose expression was bordering on hostile. He and John also made eye contact but didn't greet each other.
"What brings you to this neck of the woods?" Martin asked.
There was no indication either had even noticed the boys. Dean shifted his load, turning so he mostly blocked Sam from the two men, alert and ready to react if needed.
"Just finished a job in Pennsylvania," John said, his eyes appraising, not fooled by the forced casualness of Martin's tone.
Martin's eyes took in the shadow of a bruise on John's temple, the dark stains on his clothes, the mud on his boots, then he nodded in acceptance. The tension notched down a little.
John let his gaze move back to the other man. "Travis." It was part acknowledgement, part query as to the status between them.
"John." Travis nodded back. They were ok, for now.
John ducked back into the trunk to finish grabbing the last of his gear. Slinging a duffle over his shoulder, he slammed the lid closed before moving towards his boys.
"Sam, Dean, you remember Martin and Travis."
The hostility notched down further as the two men looked at the boys.
"Well damn, you two have shot up," Martin said warmly, moving towards them with a smile.
Sam gave a shy 'Hey' in response, shifting the heavy box in his arms. Dean's smile was a little strained. He liked Martin but the man's presence always came with unpleasant memories he'd sooner forget; memories of his own hands, slick with his father's blood.
He didn't know the other hunter as well and was picking up on the underlying tension between Travis and his dad. Both of the hunters had worked with John in the past, and become trusted enough to know the boys, but like John they mostly worked alone. A glance from his dad transmitted the instructions and Dean turned back to opening the door.
"So, I take it you two are working a case together?" John queried casually as the Winchesters deposited their various loads on various surfaces. Travis seemed to bristle at the enquiry and Dean turned, placing himself between the man and Sam.
"Singer sent out a call, we both answered," Martin explained.
Sam perked up. "Uncle Bobby's here?"
The two men tried to smother their smirks. Generally speaking, Bobby Singer was known to be taciturn at best and belligerent overall. Sure, in hunting circles at least, he was knowledgeable, but he was also as likely to shoot you as help you. So the idea of the grisly salvager earning the moniker 'uncle' was hilarious. It was like putting a pink hair bow on a killer gorilla.
"Not at the moment," Martin said to the youngster before turning back to John. "He's caught up with a nasty poltergeist in Georgia. But I dare say he'll show, if he's done before us," he added kindly to Sam when the boy looked crestfallen.
"What's the case?" Dean was also looking at his little brother, a slight frown to his lips and his eyes troubled.
It was because of this that the two men decided to be open. Neither wanted even more hunters muddying the waters but they needed to at least give the Winchesters a heads up to the threat.
"Looks like it might be a Hellhound up in the woods."
"You don't often get those off leash," John frowned, stripping his blood-stained jacket from his shoulders. "Is there a specific target?"
"Off the leash is right," Martin said. "We've identified four victims of this thing already. All seriously mauled. This pooch likes to play with its food. None of them have any connection to each other as far as we can tell." John raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course it could be a Black Dog, or some other nasty. We still have some work to do before we head out there."
John gave his sons and then the heavy box Sam had carried in, a pointed look before pulling out a map from a different bag and unrolling it on the table.
Martin and Travis shared a disgruntled glance but then moved to join him. With his sons in the area, John had every right to know the thing's hunting grounds. Even though there was a high risk that once they laid out what they knew, their hunting party would have an unwelcome addition. This business didn't attract people who could walk away once they knew lives were on the line.
Sam and Dean pulled weapons and traps, still bloodstained from the last hunt, from the box their dad had indicated and set to work cleaning them. By the time they were done, John had a good overview of the case and Travis and Martin had headed back to their own room, parting with the reassurance that they had the hunt covered and the suggestion that the Winchesters move on.
As John got into the shower and Sam set to work sorting laundry, Dean investigated the dodgy-looking microwave in the corner of the room. Despite the door needing to be wedged to keep it closed, he decided it was worth the risk to reheat their burgers. Both his and Sam's stomachs had been rumbling for an hour.
"So, are we gonna help on the hunt?" He asked around a mouthful as their father joined them at the table with a beer.
"Did you hear anyone ask for help?" John growled.
"I want to see Uncle Bobby," Sam put in.
"Uncle Bobby's not here," Dean pointed out before John could respond to the slight whine in Sam's tone.
They all let the subject drop for the time being but Dean was not surprised when he woke in the night to find his father hunched over the map, his journal and a local paper open next to him. Dean slipped from his bed, moving quietly so as not to wake his brother, and padded over to join him.
"Did you call Bobby?" he guessed.
John looked at him, pausing as if deciding the tone of his response, then nodded. "He'll be here tomorrow.
Dean waited. John Winchester often interpreted questions as disputes or demands, neither of which were acceptable. After a minute of silence, during which John measured an area of the map and Dean fetched two beers from the fridge, John looked at his son - who was doing his best to look detached - and sighed in defeat.
"There's a lot of ground to cover." His fingers traced the outline of an area on the map. "And it's rough terrain too."
Dean knew that his father had made up his mind and nothing was going to change it. But it would still be better to find reasons palatable to the others, at least it would make things less hostile if they did.
"And we don't know for sure what it is," Dean offered.
John looked at him, equally proud and disgruntled at his son's ability to read the situation.
"Plus, Sammy really really wants to see Uncle Bobby," Dean added in a faux innocent voice while batting his lashes the way he did when imitating Sammy's 'puppy-eyes'.
"That he does," John smiled.
ℼℼℼ
"Look, I didn't invite the bastard," Bobby snapped at Martin and Travis, the following day. "But he's here now."
"And harder to get rid of than herpes," Travis grumbled.
"What kind of sick psycho brings kids to hellhound feeding ground anyway?" Martin added.
"He didn't come for the hunt, but some freak is here and so is he," Bobby sighed. "Besides, you'll have a tough time covering the whole area by yourselves," he pointed out to the stubborn-faced hunters. "Unless you're willing to risk missing it and losing more innocents just to protect your egos."
"I'm not having some Johnny-come-lately telling me how to do my damn job." Travis turned to glare at John who had been present for the entire conversation. The fact that John had been hunting for fourteen years made no impression on Travis. As far as he was concerned, anyone who started after him was new and inexperienced. "If the kid is prepared to listen and follow my lead, then he's welcome. If not, he can take his brats and go back to the PTA."
Martin looked around the players. They were all back in the Winchesters' motel room, the notes and map John had been pouring over still spread across the table. He knew John and Travis had fallen out on their last hunt and it didn't help that John had a tendency to take the lead regardless of who else was around, their experience and prior research be damned.
He wouldn't have invited Winchester either, especially not when the boys were with him, but he'd lost the heated argument where he tried to insist John get the boys out of the area and what was done was done. "Hellhounds often hunt in packs, more people could be a safer hunt," he said, knowing when to shift to the winning side.
"It's not a Hellhound," Dean said with confidence. He was leaning back in a chair, feet up on the table, munching on a bag of chips and enjoying the argument since he knew what the outcome would be. He threw another chip into his mouth and then spoke around it. "Not a black dog either."
The two men turned to frown at him. Having Big Winchester second guess their every move was annoying enough, but Little Winchester was too much.
"Sounds more like a barghest," Sam added, looking up from a big book Bobby had brought with him.
"Now the fucking peashooter is at it," Travis grumbled to Martin, throwing up his hands.
"What the fuck is a Barfgust?" Dean asked, ignoring Travis except for a small, satisfied smirk.
"Barghest," Sam corrected automatically, even though part of him knew his brother often got these things wrong on purpose. "They do look a bit like Black Dogs. Big, canine, spectral –"
"Spit out the dinosaur, geek-boy, and get to the point," Dean interrupted, with an eyeroll.
'Dinosaur?' Travis mouthed, confused.
'Thesaurus,' Martin mouthed back in translation. There was an art to speaking 'Dean' at times.
"So get this," Sam ignored his brother's rebuke, too excited in his knowledge. "For ages people thought they were just omens of death rather than the cause because no one would die when they saw them but they'd always die later. But, it turns out they swipe you with their claws and the wounds won't heal, no matter what you do, so eventually you bleed out and die."
Travis looked around at the various faces. Bobby was giving him that look. The other hunters had banded together. So, despite having been the first to arrive, his options were either join them or leave. He sighed and moved to the map on the table. "I was thinking this area …"
"No." John said, definitively. We need to do zone recon. Grid the area and work through." He leaned over the map. "We'd need to start here," he pointed to a spot. "Then work this way."
"Great plan," Travis said sarcastically. "What about this gorge? We'd need to edge around it and this thing won't be limited by that, it could slip right by us."
"We split up, two keep watch from here," John pointed to a different spot.
"They wouldn't be close enough to stop it," Travis disputed.
"We would be pretty spread out," Bobby frowned, not liking the vulnerability that would create.
"Not with six of us," John said simply.
Martin and Travis glared. Dean and Bobby frowned. Sam, his nose back in the book, wasn't paying attention.
ℼℼℼ
AN: This is only a short three-part story (it was a one-shot but then it got a bit long for that 😊) I am also working on another multi-chapter Shadows story that should be ready for posting soon, as well as another Brotherhood AU story that my muse is currently being a stubborn madam about, so it is taking a little longer.
There are many ways this could go – and I may amuse myself at some time in the future exploring different versions – for now I hope you enjoy this one.
Thank you for reading, as always I would love to hear any thought/comments (I have to pay the muse to keep her around and she only takes feedback as payment 😁) - much love to all xx