Oh dear...I must have been psychic when I said in the previous chapter I might not be able to post regularly on Sunday for a while, because last week has been a killer. Here's a short chapter so you don't have to wait too long. Thanks for all your lovely reviews and for understanding!
There's a blink and you'll miss it reference to my fic Once Upon a Memory in here.
Chapter 10
Bobby's car broke down that afternoon. They were deep in the desert when it happened. Bobby glanced at John.
"I guess this means it's showtime."
John got out of the car.
"Finally."
On a whim, he checked his phone.
"No signal," he said.
Bobby nodded.
"I was expecting that."
They got their weapons out of the truck.
"We might need more," Bobby added. "We don't know what we're dealing with."
John nodded.
"We can always get more."
If they did not get entangled with what was happening in that town themselves. Bobby still was not clear how things worked in there.
John frowned. Something was wrong. Something was changing. He realized what the problem was: bells. He could hear the sound of bells in the distance.
"Elizabeth Croydon's fiancé heard bells," he said.
Bobby nodded.
"Yeah, he would have."
"I hear them, too," he said.
"So do I," said Bobby. "Normally, I'd run like hell in the opposite direction."
But the bells were coming from the town and that was where Sam and Dean were.
"Let's get going," John said.
They walked for what seemed like a long time, the sun sweltering over their heads. They both felt fine, though, or at least John did. He had no idea if Bobby was hiding his state of health from him – but Bobby was an experienced Hunter who did not allow pride to get in the way of the job. Bobby knew illness was connected somehow to the curse over the town. He probably wouldn't have risked both their lives by keeping something like that hidden. John, on the other hand…he had never been used to asking for help. Not even before his first tragic run-in with the supernatural.
John spotted the Impala first. He ran towards it, but, of course it was empty. He looked frantically around him for any traces of what might have happened to Sam and Dean. The wind was blowing, though, shifting the sand this way and that. Whatever traces there might have been at one point, they were surely gone now.
"Alright," he said checking the trunk to see what the boys had taken with them. "They have to be in town. They've got weapons…and the curse breaking kit."
"Smart," Bobby said, impressed. "With luck, maybe we get there to find they've figured everything out."
John snorted. Not likely, with their lives.
"Didn't peg you as an optimist, Singer."
Bobby snorted.
"That, I definitely ain't. But if I were a betting man, I'd always bet on Sam and Dean."
John glanced at Bobby sharply. The assessment surprised him. Sure, he knew is sons were competent, he had trained them himself. But at times he could only see that they were slower than he wanted them to be, less ruthless, less prepared. He knew, rationally, that it was just his panic and paranoia making him see things like that. After all, the smallest mistake could get one killed, and as novice Hunters, Sam and Dean were bound to make mistakes – and they did. Bobby's objective perspective showed Sam and Dean in a new light. It showed him that, even when making mistakes, Sam and Dean were still good enough to win the day and live.
"Never picked you for a sap, either," he finally said, because he had no idea how to express the sudden gratitude that had welled inside him at Bobby's words.
xxxxXXXxxxx
Dean had been drifting on and off. He wasn't unconscious, it was just that there were moments when his mind no longer belonged to him. He became someone else then, some strange presence taking over his thoughts. His mind was clouded in such moments, and he could not remember what happened or what he would do. He knew he was moving, he knew there were others with him – others like him – but that was where his awareness ended.
It did not help much even when he was aware of who he was, though. He could not do anything then. He thought he might take matters into his own hands – take down some of the bastards that had attacked him, even though they had left him with no weapon. Or…or put himself out. Dean did not enjoy the thought, but since he was already on his way to being dead, he would rather have been the one to put himself out of his misery than passing the task to Sam. Sammy would never be able to live with himself afterwards.
Dean glanced at his hands and noticed the grayish tint on them. It was like he had died long ago. He tried to shake himself out of that impression, but he couldn't.
He was angry. Sometimes, when he was himself, the anger was directed at the ones who had attacked him. It wasn't fair. He did not want it to end like this. He couldn't accept such a fate. The fact that there was nothing more to be done, that he was leaving Sammy all alone made him even more furious. Well, he wasn't leaving Sam alone, he was leaving him with John. But Dean, however much he might have admired his father, doubted he could understand Sam enough to give Sam what he needed. Only Dean could do that. He did not want to pass on the job to someone else. it did not feel right.
At other times, though, the anger no longer belonged to him. Then he was furious at the town. He wanted to kill everyone that was there. even Beatrice and Peter. Even Sam.
This isn't happening, he tried to tell himself. Just keep it together. And whatever you do, don't touch Sammy.
Still, another part of him wanted Sam there so he could join the rest of them, so whatever was infecting them could be a part of him too. And Dean was starting to fear that part was winning.
xxxXXXxxxx
Sam went through what Beatrice had brought from the car. He scowled, resisting the temptation to set fire to them.
"Are they any good?" Beatrice asked hesitantly.
Not as good as having Dean would have been. The hurtful words were begging to be said, but this time Sam managed to contain himself. Dean would kick hum over the head for guilt-tripping a civilian in such a manner.
"Yeah, they might break the curse with the right ritual."
"So, why aren't we breaking it?" Peter asked.
Sam glared at him.
"Because we don't know yet what will happen to the people who have already fallen victim to the curse," he said carefully.
"You mean those freaks outside?" Peter asked.
Sam heard the why do we care that remained unsaid. He took a deep breath to quell his anger.
"Not only," he said levelly. "We were cursed to, remember? How're you doing by the way?"
Peter shrugged.
"Same as usual."
He looked worse, though, and his throat was hoarse. It was only a matter of time before the townspeople tried to take him again.
"Well. I'm not doing too well," he said through gritted teeth. "Which means the curse is affecting me."
Peter looked at him thoughtfully.
"So, if you break the curse with those thingies you have…" he began uncertainly, "Wait, how will dried plants help you break the curse?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. Sometimes he forgot that regular people did not know that much about curse-breaking and hunting. Whenever he remembered, his chest tightened and he hated the rest of the world for its innocence – the safety that he could not have.
"I can do a cleansing ritual," he said. "I remember a few of the simpler ones. My dad has more complex stuff in his journal – but he's not here."
And a good thing, too, Sam thought. He did not want to see John giving Dean up for lost. Even if they did manage to save Dean eventually, the confirmation that his father would be ready to sacrifice either of them if need be would probably damage Sam's relationship with John beyond repair.
"And will those ritual thingies cure us?" Peter prompted.
Sam shrugged.
"They might. Hopefully, something potent enough would even bring Dean back. Maybe Elizabeth too."
Beatrice frowned.
"Who's Elizabeth?"
Sam hesitated. Elizabeth had been the one who had got them into this mess. He knew it wasn't her fault, he knew he was just as much a victim as the rest f them, but if it had not been for Elizabeth or General Croydon, he and Dean would not have been in that mess. And Dean would have still been by his side.
"She went missing shortly before you," he finally said.
"What about the others?" Peter asked. "The ones that disappeared in the eighties. Would they be brought back, too?"
Sam doubted that. It would have been too much of a happy ending for them, and hunters rarely got those.
"The more time passes, the less likely it is for someone under a curse to be brought back exactly as they were before," he finally admitted.
"But since Dean has been missing for less than a day, you think it will work?" Beatrice asked cautiously.
Sam remarked her hesitation when speaking of Dean. He felt slightly guilty for how curt he had been with her until then and made a mental note to apologize when all this was over.
"I just need some time," he said. "But I can bring Dean back and I can break the curse. The answers are here."
The sound of footsteps outside had them all tensing. Sam picked up his gun.
"Stay here," he ordered as he headed for the door.
They should be safe in the church, he thought. Besides, he did not think the cursed townspeople wandered around during the day. Hope flared inside him. maybe it was Dean. Maybe he had escaped and he was alright. By the time he had reached the door, Sam half believed this was the case.
Still, it was not enough for him to throw caution to the winds entirely. When he opened the door, his gun was pointed squarely at whoever was outside. It did not take him more than a few seconds for him to lower his weapon, though, when he saw who was standing outside.
"Dad?" he asked dazed. "Bobby?"
Sure, he had expected John to be worried when they lost contact, but the haste with which John came to their rescue surprised him. and he had also brought the cavalry with him, which was also unexpected.
John's face broke into a relieved smile when he caught sight of him.
"Sammy!" he exclaimed.
He strode forward and reached out to Sam, grabbing him by the shoulders. The look in his father's eyes broke Sam's heart.
"Thank goodness," John said. "You're alright, thank goodness."
The joy in John's voice, the way he almost hugged him, at any other point, it would have made Sam incredibly happy and he would have lived on that happiness for weeks on end, whenever he doubted whether John thought he was good enough. This time, it only broke his heart. Because this time, he had failed. This time, he did not think he deserved his dad's affection.
"Dad," he began, "Dad, there's something."
He stopped, the words sticking in his throat. He glanced at Bobby, hoping to make him guess what had happened, so he did not have to say it out loud.
"Good to see you, Sam," was all Bobby said.
Sam felt a jolt of frustration. Why couldn't they see what had happened? Why were they making him talk about it?
Beatrice approached then, looking suspicious.
"Sam?" she asked.
Sam half-turned to her.
"It's OK," he said. "It's my dad and a friend."
"He is your father?"
Sam heard the reproach in Beatrice's voice. She was probably thinking what kind of father sent his teenagers in the line of fire. She probably had a few words to say to John, too, and Sam had no idea how things would end if she started on him.
"We went to the church," Sam said. "There's a mass grave nearby. I think that's what started the curse."
And Dean was taken. Sam tries to say that, but the words still won't come out. Speaking them would make them real.
John nodded, he still hadn't let Sam go.
"Are you OK?" he asked. "You don't look so good."
Sam shrugged.
"We found out quickly it was affecting us."
He left out the part where he tried to make himself sick – and that Dean did, too. He didn't want to admit to any more failures.
John let him go. He suddenly looked suspicious.
"Sam?" he asked cautiously. "Where's Dean?"
Sam looked away.
This time, when John took him by the shoulders, the hold was almost painful in its desperation.
"Sam, where's your brother?"
Sam swallowed.
"They took him," he said, then, ignoring John's gasp, he added fiercely. "They took him, but we can get him back."
xxxXXXXxxxx
John could not breathe. He felt as if his world had been blown to pieces. It could not be. Not Dean. Not like this.
He had always known there was a risk of him losing his boys to the Hunt. Every time they went out, he had been aware of the risk. That was why he had kept pushing them beyond their limits. That was why he did not hesitate to show his disappointment, whenever one of them did not perform as well as needed. Because he wanted to give them the best chance there was at survival. He wanted them to make it out of any situation, no matter how dangerous.
As for possessions, the thought had never crossed his mind. Sam had come close to being possessed by a ghost a year back, and of course there had been that mess in Rattigan, although that had not been really possession. But neither was this, that was the problem. Dean had probably been turned into something else. And once turned, you could no longer be saved.
"Once turned, you can no longer be saved," he repeated.
Sam's scowled at him.
"So, you're giving up on Dean," he stated bluntly.
John clenched his fists.
"Don't you dare act as if this isn't affecting me, Sam."
He and Bobby had taken Sam aside so that Beatrice and Peter did not overhear them. John was trying to be calm, but Sam was acting as if he did not care about Dean.
"Do you think I want to hurt your brother?" John went on. "But he isn't…Sam, he might not be your brother anymore."
Sam held his ground. He stood there in front of John, head held high.
"Well, I am willing to believe he's still Dean. He needs us to help him – not execute him."
John was surprised by Sam's defiance. True, Sam fought him something fierce, but that was about regular stuff: school and holidays and staying in one place. Sam had always deferred to him during hunts. He knew better than to protest John's decisions then.
"Sam…" he began, "I don't want you to lose you both."
Sam glared at him.
"Then you'd better listen to me, because if you lose Dean, you lose me as well."
John nearly gasped. He had always suspected this, had always been afraid that the way he was raising Sam and Dean made both think that the other was their only lifeline. Although, in many ways, it wasn't only what John had done. Sam had gravitated to Dean first and foremost ever since he could walk. Maybe the brothers had made each other part of their world all on their own.
Sam glanced at Bobby.
"What do you think? You have to back me up on this."
Bobby hesitated.
"Sam," he began carefully. "In almost all cases, the people that are turned like this never fully come back."
Sam glared at him, his fists clenching and unclenching. He had expected Bobby to be on his side. Bobby usually was, without question.
"In most cases, but not all. Now will you listen to what I have to say?"
Bobby looked at John. Sam refrained from stamping his foot.
"I'm offering a chance to save your son, Dad," he spat. "Any father worth their salt would take it."
Johns's eyes flashed. Sam almost expected an explosion of anger, and maybe he would have received one at any other time. But beyond the annoyance at Sam's insubordination, there was hope.
"I'm not ready to give up on Dean," Sam said. "Please, Dad. He wouldn't give up on us."
This much, Sam was sure was true. Dean made noise about how sometimes you could not save anyone, but when it came to his family he went to impossible lengths to rescue them.
John swallowed harshly. He reached out and clutched Sam's shoulder.
"If you've got a solution, I'm listening."
It was the first time Sam really felt seen by John. He was far too worried about Dean to care.
XxxXXXXXxxxx
Godfrey finally stopped his car close to the town. He was not going to drive all the way through. He did not know if his car would not stop if it did, and if the hunter family was there, then he did not want to advertise his presence – not until he knew what he was dealing with.
Godfrey was armed. Not with conventional weapons, not even with rock-salt pellets or silver bullets. Those were a hunter's arsenal. A witch had different weapons to rely on. Only one type of weapon could break a curse, and those were magical ones. Rituals and blessings worked especially well for someone like Godfrey. His mother had told him his family had the gift, that something was flowing through their veins that made them particularly skilled at arcane rituals.
"One of your ancestors made a deal with the devil," Mary had told him bluntly when the two of them had seen each other for the last time. "Or with a demon, anyway. It can be done, you know."
Godfrey knew enough about crossroads deals and doubted any of his ancestors would have been foolish enough to try one of those.
"Who told you that? You can get magic in other ways, you know? And some of us just have the gift."
Mary had leaned in close and had whispered conspiratorially in his ear.
"I made one myself. Not for magic. For love."
Godfrey had gaped at her in horror.
"You just doomed yourself and whoever it is that you love so much," he pointed out.
Mary shrugged.
"We'll see."
Godfrey knew now that the man who had come to visit him was the same man for whom Mary had made the deal. Not that he was ever going to tell him that. The next days, though, would allow Godfrey to decide how to act concerning Mary's family – if he should save them or allow them to perish in the ghost town. One course, he thought, might doom his soul while saving humanity.
Samuel Campbell would argue that the one who saved humanity could never doom his soul. But Godfrey knew better. Godfrey had always known better – and he suspected that Mary had, too.
Well, here we are. I tried to keep a well-balanced view of John, and maybe explain his "save him or kill him" speech in season 2. It ended with John realizing something of the bond his two sons share. And I like to think Bobby was impressed by the boys even when they were young, maybe more than John, as he could see them from a somewhat more objective standpoint.
I aim for an update at the end of next week. Hopefully, things will get less hectic in real life and I'll be able to do it. Thank you for your patience, either way :)
