Sunrise Apartments is a nice building, no cracks in the foundation or drug dealers hanging around the front steps. Elizabeth's neighbor (she of the annoying chihuahua) deals meth on the regular and the only reason Elizabeth's apartment hasn't been broken into is because all her neighbors know that she'll shoot them. Twice.
"You know, aside from the demonic aspect, this place looks pretty nice," she muses.
"How do we know who the demons are," Dean asks. He's scowling, eyes narrowed at the group of kids clustered near the steps with a mom overseeing them. You can't be too careful these days, there's a lot of freaks in the world and most of them are human.
"How the hell are we gettin' in,'' Sam asks. "I mean, they probably know what we look like." Dean's scowl turns into something less severe, then he's gazing back to Sam and Elizabeth. "What?"
"What do humans do when you pull a fire alarm?"
"They get out."
"And what would demons do?"
"Punch us in the face, probably," Elizabeth says. "When the city responds, we steal some suits and then head inside." She shrugs, grinning up at her boys with something like optimism. "So, who gets the misdemeanor on their record?" Dean and Elizabeth both look over at Sam, raising their brows.
"You guys are dicks," Sam grumbles. "Wait here." He heads inside with a brief smile at the mom on the stoop, the fire alarm going off a moment later. Sam allows the tide of people to get him out, lingering in the parking lot so that he'll be close when the fire trucks arrive.
"How long's the response time?"
"Seven minutes," Dean says.
"Wanna make-out until they get here?" Dean looks pained as he considers the offer, letting out a low growl before hanging his head.
"We gotta focus, but we can make-out after Dad is safe."
"Okay, cool."
"You can really just take it or leave it, huh? Is making you horny like flipping a switch?"
"Pretty much." He makes a soft sound that might be a laugh, but it's drowned out by sirens. Two fire trucks and an ambulance scream around a corner, pulling up into the lot and making civilians jump back. "Showtime." Dean and Elizabeth grab the closest fireman as Sam creeps closer to the truck, making themselves look scared and desperate.
"What's happening, man? Is there a fire?"
"We're figuring that out right now, sir," the guy says. "Just stay back and let us do our jobs." The fireman urges them back away from the building and the trucks, never noticing as Sam starts to rummage around in a side compartment.
"We have a Yorkie upstairs and he pees when he's nervous."
"Poor Sammy must be scared to death," Elizabeth adds. Behind the fireman, the real Sammy is giving her a dirty look even as he yanks a helmet out. She disguises a smile by biting her lip, flicking her gaze back to the fireman. "Please, you gotta help him."
"I'm sure he's fine, ma'am," he says, calm and placating. "I don't see any smoke, so this might be a false alarm." Dean and Elizabeth jog away from the scene, heading back to their original position behind some shrubs. Sam rejoins them a moment later with the gear in his arms, handing it out before getting dressed. The boys do alright with the suits, but Elizabeth's hangs off her like she's a kid playing dress-up.
"Um, I don't think this is gonna work." She holds out her arms and the jacket nearly slips off her shoulder. Even her face mask is a little loose. "Maybe I should be the getaway driver."
"I think that would be best, yeah," Sam nods. She pulls the mask and helmet off, tossing them aside where they won't be immediately noticed. When she turns back, Sam pinches her cheek with a condescending smile. "Aw, you look so cute, Liza. What do you wanna be when you grow up?"
"Release my cheek or lose your fingers."
"Now we don't bite adults— Ow, fuck!" He draws his hand back so fast that it might have been spring-loaded, shaking out his fingers. She didn't bite too hard, but he'll have a mark for a couple days. "Your girlfriend's rabid, Dean." Dean gives Sam a grin, smug and proud.
"I know, it's great. Come on." He and Sam pull their masks and helmets on, then they're disappearing into the apartment building with the other firemen. Elizabeth kicks off the rest of the suit before sliding into the car, contenting herself with flipping through the cassette collection under Sam's seat. She's just about to slide in an old Moe Bandy tape when her cell starts to ring.
"Yo," she answers.
"Get around to the back of the apartments, now!" She doesn't even bother to hang up, just tosses the phone aside and starts the car. The boys are in the alley when she rounds the corner, a man with ink-black eyes charging toward Sam. She jams her foot down on the accelerator, crashing into the man and sending him flying five feet away, coming down with an awful crash. "Don't wreck my baby!"
"Shut the fuck up and get in the car!" The demon stands up despite his broken leg, baring his teeth in a snarl. Dean pulls the Colt out of the back waistband of his pants and fires a round, the bullet burying itself in the demon's head with a faint fizzle of magic. "Come on!" Sam and John pile into the backseat while Dean takes shotgun, barely getting their doors shut before Elizabeth is taking off again. "Where am I goin'?"
"Remember that house me and you shacked up in when we were teenagers? Way out in the boonies with the champagne?" Elizabeth grins at the memory, relaxing behind the wheel once they're back on the highway. "That was a great night, huh? We did a lot of weird shit."
"I should've just let those demons kill me," John groans. "It would've been less painful."
It's dark by the time they get there, the old Langston house starting to decay worse than it had been four years ago. The porch has practically been swallowed by the mud, the shutters are crooked or just gone altogether, and the foundation is basically dust. Still, the windows are intact and the roof looks sound. Dean and Elizabeth tilt their heads to the side, leaning over the dash to get a good look at it.
"I remember it being less creepy," Dean says.
"Yeah, it used to be A Night of Fright is No Delight creepy but now it's more Camp Crystal Lake creepy. If I go in there and some goalie tries to take my head off with a machete, I'm going to be very upset." Sam snorts and leans forward over the seat.
"Just bite him, Liza," he says. "You're mean enough."
"Damn right I am. Alright, Johnny, let's get you inside." The boys have to support John once he's out of the car, one of his legs stiff with a swollen ankle. It's slow going, but they eventually get him in the house and dropped onto a bed that looks like it came straight from some meth-head's garage.
"Can you check him over? You're the closest thing we have to a nurse."
"No problem. Get me some rags and water out of the car and I'll clean him up while I'm at it." Sam nods and ducks out of the room, dragging Dean after him so that John has a little bit of privacy. It's not much (the door is now leaning drunkenly against the wall), but it's better than nothing.
"Are you actually a nurse," John asks.
"Close enough. I've got my CNA license and I've been working in nursing homes long enough to pick up a lot of things from the RN's. Hell, I do the RN's job most of the time for a fraction of the pay."
"Sounds like a ripoff." She nods, running her fingers through his hair to check for any cuts. The boys come back in after a moment, setting a bowl of water and some rags on a bedside table that's seen better days. If the door is drunk, then the table is a junkie, held up by one leg and half of a Yellow Pages. "You boys go check the rest of the house, let Elizabeth do her job."
"Yes, sir," Dean murmurs. They leave again, an awkward silence rolling into the room like fog. Elizabeth works diligently, cleaning off the cuts and blood until John looks decent again.
"Sit up for me and we'll get your shirts off," she says.
"Do we have to," John asks. "I think I'd rather sleep off whatever I was dosed with."
"You can do that after I'm sure you don't have any internal bleeding, dude." John grumbles as he sits up, letting her help him get the layers off until he can flop back against the mattress again. She moves her hands over his ribs and along his arms, checking for anything that's not obvious; broken bones, dislocations, sprains.
"How am I doing, Doc?"
"I think you're gonna live." He smiles, revealing a chipped incisor and a cut lip. "I don't think anything's broken, but you probably have a concussion and you definitely have a sprained ankle. I'd advise you to stay off of it, but us hunters are a stubborn breed. Ice it when you think of it to keep the swelling down and try not to run for your life too often."
"Easier said than done."
"Don't I know it? I had a sprained ankle a couple weeks back when we were dealing with a cursed painting and I thought Dean was going to have a heart attack trying to take care of me."
"Cursed painting?"
"Merchant family, the one in your journal somewhere near the back. Turns out the little girl in it was a homicidal maniac that liked to hand out Columbian neckties."
"I thought it'd be the father."
"Nah, he was just creepy." She pulls an ace bandage out of her duffle and wraps John's ankle, ignoring his faint hiss of pain. "Alright, you're good to go." She pats him on the leg and flinches a little when he grasps her wrist. His hold is a little tight and his eyes too intense, Elizabeth going rigid until he loosens up a hair.
"You and Dean are being careful, right? I'm too young to be a grandpa and I don't think you can fight monsters if you're pregnant."
"I had the safe sex speech when I was sixteen, remember? It was very awkward and you and Bobby argued over how to put a condom on a banana." He winces at the memory, grumbling something that she doesn't catch. "Besides, I'm too immature to be a mother to anyone. The closest I get to that is playing mother hen to those idiots out there."
"They need a mother hen."
"They need their father." John's hand falls to the mattress as he glances away, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "Once this demon has been taken off the board, you've gotta make some amends. Take 'em to a baseball game or regale them with embarrassing stories from when you were a nerd in high school. I don't care, just spend time with them away from monsters."
"Maybe I'll take them fishing."
"I'm sure they'd like that."
"Alright, let's go in there and come up with a game plan." Elizabeth helps him onto his feet and he's able to take it from there, pulling his shirt and coat back on before limping into the front room. The boys are huddled together near a window and Dean's talking softly, but the house is quiet and his words carry.
"I mean, for you or Dad or Liza, the things I'm willin' to do or kill, it's just, uh," Dean trails off, shaking his head. "It scares me sometimes."
"It shouldn't. You did good today, kid." They turn at John's voice, Dean's shoulders tensing a little before relaxing again. He doesn't fall into parade rest and that's a testament to how tired he must be.
"You mean you're not mad at me for wasting a bullet?"
"Mad? I'm proud of you." Elizabeth's brows draw together and she turns a little to look up at John. She's known the man her whole life and his temper is legendary. Using the Colt on a lesser demon would be like committing treason in his eyes. Is his concussion that bad? "Sam and I can get pretty obsessed, but you always watch out for this family."
"Thanks." The wind picks up outside, a low hiss as it passes through the loose boards of the house. Elizabeth takes a step back when the lights start to flicker, letting John wrap an arm around her shoulders for balance.
"It's here. Sammy, put down lines of salt in front of every window and every door."
"I already did," Sam says.
"Then go check it. I don't want this bastard getting in before we're ready." Sam nods and stalks off toward the kitchen. "Dean, do you still have the gun?"
"Yeah," Dean nods.
"Then give it here."
"Sam's already tried to shoot Azazel and the damn thing vanished." He pulls it out all the same, but he doesn't hand it over right away. John's arm tenses around Elizabeth's shoulders, blunt nails scraping lightly against her arm.
"I won't miss, trust me." Dean stares down at the Colt, fingers wrapped around the grip with his thumb dancing across the hammer. "Son, hurry up and give it to me." Elizabeth tries to inch away, but John tightens his hold, fingers slipping under the sleeve of her tee. Dean's gaze is hard when he glances up again, backing up a few feet. "What the hell are you doing?"
"He'd be furious."
"What?"
"He'd be furious that I wasted a bullet. He wouldn't be proud of me, he'd tear me a new one." He brings the Colt up and cocks the hammer back, finger resting lightly on the trigger. "Let Elizabeth go and get out of my dad."
"Don't be ridiculous, Dean. It's me."
"I know my dad better than anyone, and you ain't him."
"What the hell's gotten into you?"
"Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing." Sam comes back into the room, freezing up when he realizes what's going on. Brown eyes flick between Dean and John, concern creating deep wrinkles along his brow.
"Dean, what the fuck," he asks.
"Your brother's lost his mind," John snaps.
"He's possessed," Dean explains, a touch of panic in his voice. "I think he's been possessed since we rescued him. Hiding in plain sight and all that jazz. Let go of Elizabeth before I blow out one of your kneecaps."
"You're acting crazy!" With his arm close to her neck, Elizabeth remains perfectly still. The last thing she needs is to get her neck broken because she's certain that Bobby would raise her from the dead just to whoop her ass. "Sammy, tell him to put the gun down." Sam looks between them, then steps up behind his brother, shaking his head firmly.
"Let her go," he says.
"If you're both so sure that I'm possessed, then pull the trigger. Go ahead and kill me if you feel like wasting another bullet." John lowers his head, eyes fluttering closed as he waits for Dean to do it. The ten seconds seem to last for an eternity, John's arm a firm weight around her shoulders and Dean's hand trembling where it grips the Colt.
"Dean," Elizabeth whispers, voice tight with fear.
"I thought so." John's voice changes, losing all traces of fear or sadness. It's a hard, flat thing that echoes strangely through the house. When he looks up again, a cold smirk curling his lips, his eyes are the color of sulfur. Without warning or even a flick of his wrists, the boys go flying across the room, Sam slamming against one wall and Dean another.
"Son of a bitch…." Elizabeth tries to wrench away, but Azazel yanks her against his chest with his arm tight around her throat. One wrong move and she'd be another corpse at his feet. Azazel marches her forward to pick up the Colt, hefting it in his free hand.
"You don't know how big a pain in my ass this gun's been."
"It's you, isn't it," Sam asks, pinned to the wall by invisible magic. "We've been looking for you for a long time."
"Congrats, Sammy, you found me. The longest game of Where's Waldo ever, right?" Sam's brows furrow, confusion overtaking the boiling rage.
"But we used holy water on you."
"You think something like that works on something like me?" Sam tries to break free, almost succeeds before he's slammed back against the wall with a grunt. If they make it through this, they're going to need some serious therapy.
"I'm gonna kill you!"
"That'd be a neat trick. As a matter of fact, here." Azazel sets the pistol down on a lopsided table and takes a step away from it. "Make the gun float to you, psychic boy." Azazel chuckles when nothing happens, not even the faint sizzle of psychic energy. "Well, this has been real fun, kids. I could've killed you all a hundred different times today, but this is worth the wait." He moves over to the window, standing between Sam and Dean without fear of being attacked.
"I'm seriously getting tired of being held hostage," Elizabeth grumbles. "You think you could just let us go and call it even?"
"Not a chance, little girl." He laughs again, tightening his arm just to watch her choke for a second. He doesn't want her dead or unconscious yet, not when he's got a whole spiel prepared. "You know, John's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit. He says hi by the way." Azazel turns his head to look over at Dean, baring a hint of white teeth in a smile. "He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."
"Let him go, or I swear to God—"
"What," Azazel asks, cutting Dean off. "What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice." He closes the distance between himself and Dean, glowering down at him. "You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter."
"Who? Meg?"
"The one in the alley? That was my boy. You understand?"
"You gotta be kidding me."
"What? You're the only one that can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family? Oh, that's right. I forgot. I did." If looks could kill, Dean would have Azazel burning in Hell right now. "Still, two wrongs don't make a right."
"You son of a bitch."
"Why'd you do it," Sam demands from behind them. It gets Azazel out of his brother's face, the demon turning to smirk up at Sam.
"You mean, why did I kill Mommy and pretty, little Jess?" Azazel turns to look at Dean again, ignoring the low growl that Sam lets out. "I never told y'all this, but Sam was gonna ask her to marry him. Been shopping for rings and everything." Azazel moves to stand in front of Sam, the button on his coat sleeve digging into Elizabeth's neck. "You really wanna know why I killed your mom and Jess and Alice? Because they got in the way."
"In the way of what?"
"Of molding us," Elizabeth realizes. "It wasn't just because my mom had made a deal with him, it was because he was afraid she'd make me soft. That Mary and Jess would make you soft."
"We have a winner, tell the girl what she's won," Azazel says, mocking. Elizabeth rolls her eyes and fights down the urge to kick him in the shin. If Meg could stay alive after being tossed out a window, then she's pretty sure that a kick to the leg would make Azazel grumpy.
"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick…."
"I have a plan for you kids and all the kids like y'all. Well, like Sam. I don't have very many Chosen left that hold my blood.
"Do long-winded speeches run in the family," Dean asks, feigning annoyance. "I can't stand the monologuing." Azazel turns so sharply that Elizabeth's shoes drag the floor, nearly trampling her as he stalks across the room to sneer at Dean.
"You're funny, Dean, but we all know your humor is a coping mechanism. Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth."
"And what would that be, Doctor Phil?"
"You know, you fight and you fight for this family. But the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam is clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you." Dean's face hardens but there's pain in his eyes even as he raises his chin.
"I bet you're real proud of your kids. Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted 'em." His smile is cold and sharp as a knife as he glares up at Azazel, refusing to back down. Azazel takes a step back and then Dean is crying out in pain, knocking his head back against the wall and struggling to curl in on himself.
"Dean," Sam shouts.
"Leave him alone," Elizabeth snarls. Azazel laughs again, a low vibration that rumbles through his chest and into Elizabeth's back. It makes her shrink away, dread filling her lungs like thick smoke. Blood pours down Dean's chest, thin streams that pool against his belt. He looks desperate and scared, a little boy lost in a crowd without his parents.
"Dad," he grunts, tears in his eyes. "Dad, don't let it kill me." Dean cries out again and more blood slips down his front like he's being mauled by some invisible hound. Elizabeth struggles violently, kicking and scratching and biting until Azazel throws her to the ground. She tries to sit up and tackle him, but a force holds her down, tight around her wrists and ankles.
"You worthless bastard! Let him go! Stop it! John, you have to fight—" Her head slams against the floor and then her mouth snaps closed, refusing to open under the torrent of curses pressing against her teeth. Dean's chin falls against his chest, blood dripping slowly from his mouth. Azazel jerks back half a step in the same instant, one of his hands curling into a fist.
"Stop," he bites out. It's John again, John with his brown eyes and a never-ending sorrow deep in his heart. "You stop it." The pressure eases and then Elizabeth's able to move again, crawling across the room to where Dean's fallen. Behind her, Sam drops to his feet and snatches up the Colt, holding it up as yellow bleeds into John's eyes.
"If you kill me, you kill your daddy," he says in a cold rumble.
"I know," Sam says. He fires a shot through Azazel's leg and the demon drops, electricity sparking up his thigh and into his chest. Sam doesn't wait to see if the demon's gone, jumping over his body so he can kneel beside Dean and Elizabeth. "Dean? God, you lost a lot of blood."
"W-where's Dad," he asks, weak. He's going to need a transfusion when they get out of here, maybe even an overnight stay in an ER. For now, Elizabeth's doing her best to stem the bleeding, cradling him against her chest and pressing her hands against the deep gouges.
"He's over there."
"Go check on him." Sam glances up at Elizabeth and she gives a curt nod of her head. Sam's got the Colt, so he should be fine if Azazel tries to pull a Carrie. Sam moves slowly, shuffling over loose floorboards to where John has sprawled over the ground.
"Dad?" John's head snaps up and Elizabeth can't help the way she jumps, clutching Dean tighter against her.
"Sammy," he chokes out. "It's still alive, I can feel him. You gotta shoot me, son. Shoot me in the heart and end this once and for all!" Sam brings the Colt up again, cocking the hammer despite the way Dean's hollering for him to stop. Dean and John's voices overlap each other, a jumbled mess that even Elizabeth has a hard time making out.
"I can't…. I can't." John's head snaps back much like Meg's had earlier, black smoke pouring out of his mouth and seeping under the house. When it's over, John falls against the floor with a gasp, breathing hard as though he'd been drowning before. And who knows? Maybe that's what it's like to be possessed. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"Just curious," Elizabeth says after a long moment. "Was I talking to you about my sex life or was it Azazel?" The boys send her incredulous looks and she shrugs as well as she's able. "You're right, not the right time."
"Why were you talkin' about your sex life," John asks, glaring up at the ceiling.
"Apparently Azazel didn't like the idea of me being a mother."
"I don't blame him. Let's get the fuck out of here and to an ER. Dean and I need to get stitched up." Between Sam and Elizabeth, they're able to get Dean and John into the car, Dean sliding behind the wheel with a stubborn set to his jaw. Sure, Sam can drive the car even after he drove it through a house, but God forbid Elizabeth runs over one demon with it. She's calling bullshit.
"I don't think so," Sam says, shaking his head. "You can ride shotgun, but you're not driving after losing all that blood. Scoot over." Dean scowls and moves all the same, glancing back at Elizabeth when she gets in the back with John. She sticks to her own side of the car, shoulder pressed against the door so there's plenty of space between her and John.
"Hey, Dad, let's switch spots," Dean says. "I wanna sit with Liza." John grumbles and gets out of the car while Dean just flops over the backseat, tugging Elizabeth's wrist until she relents. She scoots over beside him, letting him curl against her side like a puppy as she runs her fingers through his hair. It doesn't take long for him to relax again, sound asleep by the time they're on the highway.
"Should we keep him up?"
"Let him get some rest while he can," Elizabeth says. "He never sleeps well in the hospital." Sam nods and silence falls over the car, all of them too tired to keep a conversation going. Elizabeth rests her head against Dean's, allowing her eyes to drift shut.
Elizabeth never sees the semi, but the impact sends her spiraling into unconsciousness.
I see the bad moon a-rising/I see trouble on the way/I see earthquakes and lightnin'/I see bad times today/Don't go around tonight/Well it's bound to take your life/There's a bad moon on the rise