Chapter Three- The Runaway: John
John is an idiot. He and Dean had armed themselves with knives, and guns, but he had gotten sloppy. In the heat of the moment, when Emma had called to change the time of the meeting, his sole thought had been about Sammy. Getting to him, before Emma and Jack did something to hurt him. And because of that, because he let his guard down, it had never crossed his mind to grab more weapons from the trunk. To grab a damn machete. In a town, where he knows there are vampires, even if he didn't know Emma and Jack had sprouted fangs.
And now Sammy is the one paying the price. If he hadn't been so stupid, if he had followed his training, Dean and he could have cut those bastards' heads off and had been halfway out of the state with Sammy safely in the backseat of the impala by now. Instead, he is following a fang, who ironically does have a machete, while leaving one son with only a knife that might work against these things, and the other tied up and completely defenseless, in the presence of another fang, one who unlike his boys is fully prepared, on guard, and at full strength. He is never going to forgive himself as it is, for walking into such a stupid trap, but if anything happens to his boys… to Mary's boys… Hell itself would be too good for him.
He watches Emma Wesson carefully, noticing all the subtle changes that mark how different she truly is from the woman he had last hunted with, changes that signify what she is now. The hunter he had met had been good. Not perfect, but quick, light on her feet, and solid. The monster in front of him is much more graceful. There is a litheness to her, that, to less trained eyes would be a beautiful, captivating gait. To the experienced eyes of a hunter, it is dangerous. Strong, and agile, and perfect for crouching, for lunging, for hunting of a different kind. It is the walk of a faster, stronger, predator. And already, he knows exactly what she is doing, by leading him outside.
She is taking him far enough away that they will be outside the hearing range of Dean and Sammy, but John has no doubt that Jack will hear them as clearly as if they were standing right next to him. Sammy may not hear anything that John doesn't want him overhearing, but Dean won't be able to hear a signal either. Not before Emma gets a warning off to Jack, and between his gun, and the vampiric strength… John swallows, not letting that thought get to completion.
Emma finally stops, turning around with lightning speed, and John pauses, squaring up and lifting his head, not about to let her try to intimidate him, while being fully aware that she could snap his neck, drain him dry, hell, use his own gun to shoot him before he could ever react. Vampires on their own are deadly, dangerous. But a hunter turned vampire? It's a whole different league of lethal.
"I'm impressed, John. With you, and Dean." Emma says out of the blue. John raises an eyebrow questioningly. "For how you have managed to keep little Sammy in the dark, for so long. About things like you. Like me. How do you do it? Can't be easy, especially with one son already in the life."
"With Dean, I didn't have a choice." John growls. "I needed his help, and he needed to know the truth. He was there the night that Mary… that it happened. He deserved to know about what really happened, and he needs to know what is out there to keep Sammy safe. But Sam was just a baby. He doesn't need to know about any of this. He is a good kid, a smart kid, who has a chance of a good life. I'm not getting in the way of that, I'm not ruining it by destroying any sense of normalcy that the kid has. And if you and your brother know what's good for you, you won't either."
"Oh, I think we both know that me and my brother don't have much of anything, much less anything good, after this anyways." Emma says softly. John hesitates, pulled up short by the brazen statement. He meets her gaze, her eyes calm, steady. Knowing. "In your books, and in Dean's I'd wager, Jack and I were dead the second you got the first phone call from us, isn't that right?" She smiles a little, as if daring John to contradict her. He doesn't.
"Yes." He confirms. There is no point in lying when they both know the truth. For one thing, she and her brother are monsters. Vampires. Knowing that, there is no way he or Dean could let them go free. For another, they dared to touch Sammy. They took him, tied him up, and used him like a bartering chip. There is no forgiving that crime.
"Good. I'm glad we can be honest with each other." Emma nods, looking thoughtful. John raises both eyebrows this time, confused, before it clicks, and understanding washes over him.
"You want Dean and me to kill you." He says slowly. She smiles wryly.
"You two got Jack and me into this mess… it's only fitting that you get us out of it." She answers. John scowls, but she raises her hand before he can speak. "Don't you fret your little head off Johnny. We haven't fed on humans. We haven't killed. Yet."
"That's not possible." John says immediately. "Vampires need blood."
"True." She agrees. "But as it turns out, there is no specific kind of blood. Sure, human smells the best. Probably tastes the best to. But any kind will do. Animal is disgusting, but sates the thirst the longest. Ghoul isn't bad. Werewolf is the best, but it barely even takes the edge off." John frowns, growing more and more confused the longer she speaks.
"You don't hunt humans…?" He asks slowly. John prides himself on his ability to read people, and as he studies the young woman… the fang, in front of him, he sees nothing but earnestness, and honesty, looking back at him.
"No. Not a single drop of human blood has passed either my lips, or Jack's." Emma says, folding her arms across her chest. "We may be monsters, but we are still hunters. We still value life. And if you need proof of that, look at your son. We could have taken him out of the state by now. We could have drained him dry. Tortured him. Killed him in any number of ways, you know how creative hunters can be. Have to be."
"But you didn't." John says.
"But we didn't." Emma agrees. "Because we don't want to. As I said, we don't hurt the innocent. And Sam Winchester is innocent. Because of you, and Dean."
"So why take him at all?" John asks pointedly. "Why do all of this?"
"Because Jack and I need something from you. Besides your skills with machetes and knacks for clean, quick beheadings." Emma replies. "Although, we would like those as well." John frowns, furrowing his brow.
"Why would we kill you?" John asks. "Or, I guess, why would you tell me you aren't hunting humans, and then ask me to kill you anyways? You know Dean and I only kill monsters."
"I do. And, I know how odd it sounds, but… Jack and I… can't keep fighting what we are. We are slipping, day by day. We thought we could do it but…" She hesitates, and a look of desperate vulnerability enters her eyes. And it suddenly strikes John how young she looks. How young she will look for eternity, if he and Dean don't take her out. And then he remembers that she and Jack are… were, about Dean's age. Just kids. "We don't want to hurt anybody. We don't want to kill anybody, who doesn't deserve it. So… if we can go out, before that happens…" She looks at John, imploringly, and John meets her gaze evenly. He understands where she is coming from. What she is asking of him. When he had served in the marines, it had been discussed. Going out on your own terms, taking yourself out before you could give up your brothers, your company. Dying proudly. Not losing yourself, not becoming the enemy.
Some of the tension leaves John as he looks at the young woman, a newfound respect in his eyes. Because even in the hunting community, there was a code. You help each other, no questions asked. Whether it's for lore, or for weapons, or for advice. Or for situations exactly like this. When the dangers of the job are thrown in your face in such an undeniable way. But, despite the respect he has for Emma, for what she is asking, there is still an undercurrent of anger.
"Why take Sam?" John asks softly. "Why not call me directly? Or track us down and talk to me in person?"
"Because… before you kill us, Jack and I need a favor. And this… this is the only way to get what we need." Emma says slowly. "Before you hack of our heads, I mean. Because you and Dean… you kill, and you move on. But we need something more. Something that, when you bring it to us, we will give you Sam back."
"What do you need?" John asks slowly, curious despite himself. He can see the dislike in her eyes, and he can sense that she has deep disgust for what she is doing. For the way she is using Sam, but he can also see that she genuinely believes she has no choice.
"Our maker." Emma says slowly. "He's in town. Starting a new nest. We want his head. And we want to take it ourselves. Payback, for everything he stole from us."
"You can't go after him yourself?" John asks.
"He knows our scent. He knows what we would be coming to him for, and he would either flee, or fight, and…" Emma hesitates, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if we could take him."
"But you think Dean and I can." John says slowly.
"Between the two of you, and Bobby Singer, yes." Emma says. John raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. "We overheard you at the library. We know he is coming. The three of you are the best hunters in the country. I think you can take down the vampire who created me and Jack." John and Emma watch each other, studying each other, sizing the other up. After a few moments of silence, Emma smiles slightly, and reaches towards her waist. John watches warily as she pulls out her machete, and then in bafflement as she offers it to him, handle first. "Of course… you could just behead me here. I'll even tell Jack to stand down, let your boy go. Then you and your son, and Mr. Singer can track down Dante and his new nest, and go on like this was all just a bad dream." John slowly reaches out, taking the machete from her, weighing it carefully in his hand, before meeting her gaze.
And, in that moment, he knows he will kill her. But not tonight. Because, whatever they have turned into, Jack and Emma Wesson were hunters. Still are, at heart, and they deserve to be stopped before they destroy their legacy. They deserve the respect of dying with dignity. Dying because of their choice, not hunted down. And because John understands vengeance. The need for revenge. He understands how it takes root inside of you, and never lets you go. How far you will go, because of it. The desperate acts you might take. Like turning your four year old son into a soldier. Or kidnapping a kid, to try and make a bargain with their father. He can all too easily empathize with Emma. And, for the first time since that first phone call where he had heard Sam's panicked, terrified voice, despite all the new information, or maybe because of it, John is absolutely certain that no harm will come to Sammy. Not at the hands of Emma, or Jack, anyways.
"Where is this Dante?" John asks gruffly, taking a practice swing with the machete. Relief shines brightly in her eyes.
"Where all self-respecting vampires hang out." Emma jokes. "The abandoned warehouse by the docks. At present, he has three fledgling vampires, and one slightly more experienced. Five in total."
"You'll take care of him?" John asks, needing to hear the confirmation. "Because he is human… he'll need food, water, bathroom breaks… It might take us a little bit of time to get this guy."
"Sam will be fine." Emma promises. "Whatever he needs, he'll get. And he will be exactly as he is now, when you return." John nods, taking a deep breath.
"How will I know which one is Dante? So I can bring him back to you?" John asks.
"He has a tattoo. Of a spider, on his neck." Emma smiles slightly. "He was there… on that last hunt we had together. You even questioned him, before we knew it was vamps. You'll recognize him, and he will definitely remember you." John nods, and offers his hand. Emma shakes it. Wordlessly, they both turn back towards the warehouse, and head back towards where they left the others. Jack and Dean are standing exactly where they were when Emma and John left, Jack watching Dean with an easy smirk, Dean glaring at him murderously. Sam is shifting, twisting his arms uncomfortably, trembling slightly where he stands. Jack and Dean both look over at the sound of their footsteps, Dean's eyes widening as he spots the machete in John's hand.
"Dad, what-" He starts to ask, but John looks at him sternly, shaking his head once. Immediately, Dean goes silent, obeying John's quiet command. John walks over to his youngest, making his footsteps loud enough for Sam to hear him approaching.
"Sammy." He says quietly. Sam stiffens in surprise, then relaxes almost immediately.
"Dad." He whispers, the fear evident in his voice. John places his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing it once to try and comfort him.
"Everything is going to be okay, son." John says softly.
"Get me out of here." Sam begs softly. "Please. I just… I want to go home." John's heart breaks a little at the desperate fear in his little boy's voice, even if Sammy isn't that little anymore. A part of John will always see the baby boy that Mary had left behind. The last gift she had given their family.
"I know." John says quietly, gently cupping Sam's cheek. "I promise, we will bring you home. But… before we can, Dean and I need to do something for Jack and Emma. And… until we do it, you need to stay here."
"What?" Sam and Dean demand at the same time, Dean furiously, and Sam, petrified. John shoots another look at Dean, again silently ordering him to stand down, and again Dean obeys, but the fury and betrayal in his eyes flares bright, and clear. John looks back at Sam, whose terror is evident even with the blindfold. Tears slip past the cloth, and John can feel him trembling underneath his hands. The cuffs rattle slightly against the pole he is bound to.
"Sammy, Sammy listen to me." John whispers, hugging his son to him as much as he can. "It's just for a little bit, okay? Just a little bit. They won't hurt you. They won't touch you, I promise."
"Why are you leaving me?" Sam demands softly. John has to fight back his own tears at that.
"I have to." John says brokenly. "I have to, Sammy."
"Can… can Dean stay with me?" Sammy whispers. John squeezes his eyes shut, his heart completely shattering, both at the request, and the answer he has to give.
"No, Sammy. Dean has to come with me." John explains gently. "I need his help, so that we can do what Jack and Emma want faster, and then I promise, we will bring you straight home. I promise Sammy." Sam whimpers, and the tears start to fall faster down his face. "Please Sammy… you have been so brave. So strong. I just need you to be brave for a little longer, okay? Do what they ask. And if you need anything, just ask, they will give it to you. This will be over before you know it." Slowly, reluctantly, Sammy nods. John kisses his head, squeezing his shoulders once more, before he steps back. And then Dean is rushing over, taking John's place. He hugs Sammy tight, and whispers something too quietly for John to hear into his brother's ear. He wipes away his brother's tears, and, like John, kisses Sammy's head, before also stepping back. And John can see exactly how much it is costing his eldest to step away from the youngest of their family, Just as much as it is costing himself.
"We'll be back soon, Sammy, I promise." Dean says.
"Okay." Sammy whispers, his voice tiny, and scared, breaking ever so slightly.
"Better get going, gentlemen." Emma says softly. John looks at her, and nods once, before taking Dean's shoulder and starting to steer his oldest out of the warehouse. It nearly kills him, to be walking away from Sammy, but it's for the greater good. He is helping other hunters, and clearing out a nest of vamps. Besides, until those vampires are dead, with Emma and Jack is probably the safest place for Sam to be. So he forces his feet to keep moving, and he keeps a tight grip on Dean, knowing if he doesn't Dean might just run right back to his brother and refuse to leave.
In retrospect, when John thinks back on this evening a few days later, standing in an empty bedroom, with nothing but a note, and his son's spare key to the house left behind, John realizes that he should have let Dean stay. Or pushed more insistently for Sam to come with them, to be set free. Instead, he walked away from his terrified, confused son, leaving him in the hands of monsters, and in doing so made the biggest mistake of his life. A mistake that tore his family apart. In the moment, however, John is firm in his decision, and he climbs into the impala, watching as Dean reluctantly takes his place in the passenger seat, before he starts up the car, and pulls away from the warehouse. From Sammy. Dean makes it exactly two minutes into the drive, before he turns wild, betrayed, confused eyes onto John.
"What are we doing, Dad?" He asks, his voice shaking with rage.
"We are doing our job." John replies.
"By abandoning Sam." Dean spits out.
"By keeping him safe." John replies tensely, shooting a glare at his son.
"How is he safe with vampires?" Dean snaps.
"He is safe with hunters." John answers. "Hunters we are helping. Dean, I know you are angry. Upset."
"Damn right I am! We just left Sam!" Dean yells.
"I need you to trust me son." John barks, loud and stern, to catch Dean's attention. "Have I ever, once, done anything to make you think I would purposefully put Sammy in danger? Do you honestly think I would leave him there, if I didn't have a plan?" Dean shuts his mouth, sitting back in his seat as some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
"He's terrified, Dad. And he has no idea what is going on." Dean says slowly. John swallows, focusing back on the road.
"I know." John says slowly.
"We are going to have to tell him something." Dean says.
"I know." John repeats. "We'll think of something… tell him… tell him that they were robbers, who took him to blackmail us. That we are working with the cops, which is why we had to walk away… anything but the truth. Agreed?" John glances over to his eldest, who is frowning, still angry, still hurt, but who nods anyways.
"He doesn't need to know the truth… but I do." Dean says slowly. "Dad, what happened with Emma?" John takes a deep breath, and as he drives them back towards the apartment that they were supposed to be settling into as a family right now, he tells Dean everything about his conversation with the young vampire, and his promise to help her and Jack. Dean listens attentively, frowning.
"So… they want us to hunt down their maker… and took Sam to make sure we bring the bastard to them, instead of just chopping his head off?" Dean asks. John nods.
"Apparently we have a reputation for being a little trigger happy." John says. "It's a simple trade. Sam, for the vamp. But also, if Sam is with Emma and jack, then…"
"He'll be far away from this Dante guy, and his new nest." Dean says slowly. He snorts. "So the safest place for him is with fangs. Never thought I'd see the day." He takes a deep breath. "So what now?"
"We go home, wait for Bobby. Emma says there are five fangs in total, we'll need the backup. When he gets here tomorrow, we will head straight out to the docks. Kill the nest, capture Dante, exchange him for Sam, and then… take care of Emma and Jack."
"Sounds easy." Dean mutters sarcastically. John chooses to let it go. Nothing about today has gone the way he wanted, the way he expected. Dean is allowed to be a little stressed out. But better for him to get it out now, so that he is focused, and ready to go in the morning. They drive the rest of the way home in silence. Enter the apartment in silence. Dean looks automatically, snorting as he sees that Sam must have taken his stuff to his room after all. It seems like a lifetime ago that they had been bickering about unpacking. John heads towards the fridge, grabbing two of the beers that Dean had picked up earlier. He walks over to the table, silently offering one to Dean. He takes it, twisting off the cap as John does the same, and they sit together, drinking their beer, and not saying a word. When he finishes his, Dean gets up, leaving the house for a minute, as John turns his thoughts to the docks, to the warehouse where the ticket for his son's freedom is waiting.
Part of him wants to go, right this instant. Take Dean, and just slaughter his way through the nest. It wouldn't be the first bloodbath he has been in. It wouldn't even be Dean's. But they can't. John knows they can't. They have to be smart, and patient. Vampires are too fast, too strong and too smart to just go leaping in blindly, and undermanned. That's how you get yourself killed, in this line of work. They need Bobby's set of hands. They need the advantage of daylight. And to catch the monsters as off guard as possible. John glances up as Dean returns with two machete's from the trunk of the impala, and their sharpening stone. They don't say anything. There isn't anything more to say, not with the house so empty. Not with it missing Sam's laughter, and bickering with his brother, and complaining about the chores John has given him. Not with the lack of his excited, endless chatter about Stanford. Both hunters feel the sharp pain of his absence, and both can't help their thoughts from drifting to Sam, and where he is, and what might be happening to him. Even with John's confidence in Emma and Jack not wanting to harm his son, he can't help but worry. Wonder.
So, instead of conversing, they sharpen their machetes. All three of them, since it is never a bad idea to have a spare weapon if possible. All night long, they sit, and they worry, and they prepare to go hunt down the fangs that got them into this mess. And John tries desperately to think of how he can explain this to Sam. Finally, at long last, the darkness of night starts to bleed into day, the sun breaking over the horizon and the first beams of dawn start to creep into the living room. Almost at the same time, they hear the loud roaring of a truck coming up the driveway. Both John and Dean are instantly on their feet, darting to the door and stepping outside in time to see the truck come to a stop. The watch as it shuts off, and the door opens, the gruff, rough figure of Bobby Singer stepping out. Dressed in the hunter's signature look, of plaid and jeans and boots, with a canvas jacket and a machete of his own strapped to his waist, Bobby steps towards them, raising an eyebrow as he sees them waiting.
"Singer." John croaks out in greeting, his voice coarse and rough from the lack of use,
"Winchesters." Bobby greets, raising an eyebrow. "And here I was worried I was going to be waking you boys up."
"The plan has changed." John says firmly. Bobby's eyes widen in surprise, before narrowing again shrewdly, his eyes flickering to the tension in both Winchester's bodies, the heavy bags under their eyes, the desperation in their expressions, and knowledge enters Bobby's expression, because only one thing on this planet could have both Winchester men on edge like this.
"Where's Sam?" Bobby asks sharply.
"That's why the plan has changed." Dean says.
"You ready to go?" John asks. Bobby nods once.
"We got a destination?" He asks, already stepping back towards his truck.
"And a plan." John says. He looks at Dean. "You know where the docks are?"
"Yes, Sir." Dean says.
"Good. Go with Bobby, direct him, and tell him everything. Get him up to speed." John orders.
"Yes, Sir." Dean nods his head and moves instantly to climb into the truck with Bobby. Not one for wasting time, and clearly sensing that something has happened to the youngest Winchester, Bobby practically dives into his truck, the same way John jumps into the Impala. Both vehicles start up, and pull away from the apartment. John takes the lead, pressing his foot down hard on the gas as he heads towards the docks. Every mile he speeds down the road is bringing him closer to his son, and he can't get there fast enough. The sun is starting to rise properly, and it looks like it is going to be a gorgeous summer day. Clear skies, bright sun. But all John can think about is using the light to burn and disorient the vampires. Of course, he might not need to. They should be heading to bed, being the nocturnal creatures that they are.
With any luck, between the three hunters, they can kill most of the nest before they even notice anything is happening. Gripping the wheel of the impala tightly, John shifts gears in himself, putting aside the worried father, and becoming the seasoned hunter. Bearing in mind the enhanced senses of the vampires, John selects his parking spot carefully. Close enough for a quick getaway, far enough away to not raise suspicion. Behind him, Bobby pulls into a similar spot, and he and Dean exit the truck. Judging by the furious look on Singer's face, John is guessing Dean managed to fill him in on everything. A rush of gratitude fills John. Singer has been a blessing for John and his family, both as a fellow hunter when Dean and John need it, and as someone as dedicated to protecting Sam and his innocence as they are.
He has helped cover for John more times than John can count, and for that he will always be indebted to the man. Once Bobby and Dean have reached John, the three of them pull out their machetes as one, and slip quietly towards the only abandoned warehouse on the dock. A tiny thing, about the size of a house, but clearly rundown, practically a gust of wind away from falling into the water itself. They quickly circle the entire thing, finding only one way in and out of the place that is actually safe to use.
"Dean stay here, cover the exit." John says softly.
"Wait." Bobby breaths, staring at the entrance way, his eyes narrowed in focus. "Listen." Both John and Dean freeze, straining their ears, but John hears nothing. There isn't even any wind to whistle against the metal. But the silence isn't a relief. It's heavy, and oppressive. Ominous.
"Crap." John says, turning, and slamming his foot into the warehouse door, knocking it open as he raises his machete, charging into the space. Bobby and Dean are right on his heels, their own weapons at the ready, but all three hunters freeze when they see what is waiting for them in the space. No nest. No Dante. Not a single living, or technically undead, thing in the small space. Just Jack and Emma's headless bodies hanging from the rafters by their bound feet, their heads placed exactly under the corpses.
"Crap!" Dean's eyes widen as he takes in the grotesque scene.
"Winchester." Bobby says gruffly, nodding towards one of the corners. John follows his gaze, spotting a security camera in the upper right corner of the room, too new to not be anything except suspicious. Especially when John's phone rings almost a second after John looks directly into the lens. John whips out the cellphone, practically growling into it.
"What?" He snaps.
"Dad." Sam sobs from the other end. John goes rigid, the terror impossible to miss in Sam's voice, but it isn't the same kind of fear he had had yesterday. This terror is new. And old. John has been hearing it in the voices of witnesses since he began hunting. It is the kind of fear that comes from the unexplained. The fear of something new. Something ancient. Something dark and unnatural. Something that can't be explained. Something that shouldn't exist, whose presence goes against the natural order. And in that one syllable, John's entire world comes crashing down, and he knows. He knows. He knows that Sam knows. All those years, of lying, and hiding the truth, of trying to protect Sammy, to keep him safe… its all gone. "Dad?" Sammy's horrified voice, timid and shaken, repeats. John looks at Bobby and Dean, horror, and fury, and dread in their expressions. Most likely mirroring John's own face.
"I'm here, Sammy." John says slowly.
"There… there are some people here, Dad." Sammy whispers, and John's heart breaks all over again at the emotion in the young man's words. "They… they came in. Right after you and Dean left. Attacked Jack and Emma, and one… one took off the blindfold. They made me watch while they… they… Dad, they beheaded them!" The shock and horror in Sam's voice is overwhelming, and John is brought right back to the memory of the first time he saw a decapitation. He imagines he probably sounded as traumatized as Sam does. "Right in front of me… they… they took their heads right off. There was so much blood… and. And then the guys… they showed me their teeth. Dad, they have fangs!"
"Sammy." John jumps in, hearing the rising hysteria in Sam's voice, and knowing he needs to cut it off before it reaches a head. "Sammy. I know. Okay? I know. But I need you to breathe for me buddy. Just breathe." On the other end of the line he hears Sam take several quick, deep breaths, struggling to obey his father. "Sammy, are the… are the men with the fangs still there?"
"Ye… Yes. They made me call you." Sam whispers.
"Can you put them on the phone?" John asks.
"No. They only… only want to talk in person. At the.. at the warehouse where I am. Where Jack and Emma brought me." Sam answers. There is a moment of silence, and then John hears Sam suck in a terrified breath. "He… he says you have twenty minutes. Or he'll…"
"He'll what, Sammy?" John asks, desperately hoping Sam doesn't say what he knows he is going to say.
"Or he'll rip out my throat." Sam whispers. John closes his eyes, pinching his nose as panic and utter rage take over his mind. "Dad hurry, please." The line goes dead, and John shakily lowers the phone, looking back at Emma and Jack's bodies. Dante and his nest must have been right outside the warehouse. They must have gone in right after Dean and he had left, which means all night long, Sam has been in the hands of real monsters. The things he has seen… the things he now knows. Someone is going to pay Hell for this. John looks towards Bobby and Dean, both of whom are looking back with murder in their eyes. He supposes they must have heard and guessed enough of the conversation to know exactly what kind of danger Sam is in. What Sam now knows.
"Let's go." John says flatly, and the two men move without hesitation. The walk back to the car, and following drive back across town, pass in a haze of red, fury beyond anything John has ever felt clouding over everything, even his vision. The things he had seen in the war, the things he has seen hunting… even Mary's death, nothing has enraged him like this. Sam's innocence, the one good thing John had left in the world, has been shattered, and that can't go unpunished.
So by the time that he slams on the brakes, the impala skidding to a forceful stop outside the warehouse that John is determined to burn down, he can smell blood in the air. He can feel the violence pouring through his veins like venom. Pushing him, giving him strength. Bobby's truck pulls up next to him, Bobby and Dean rushing to catch up as he is already striding towards the door. They walk in to a horribly familiar, and yet completely new scene. Five vampires stand ready and waiting, delighted, mocking grins on their faces. And Sammy is right in the middle. Still, miraculously, unharmed as far as John can tell. He was half-expecting to see Sam's neck torn out, or his wrists bitten. Blood everywhere. But Sam is intact. Pale as a sheet, shaking violently, with a petrified, haunted expression on his face, but unharmed. He is kneeling in front of Dante, the vampire's hand fisted in Sammy's hair. Emma was wright, John recognizes him immediately. Even if his spider tattoo wasn't vividly exposed, he would recognize the dark hair, and sadistic brown eyes anywhere.
"Johnny." Dante grins, his fangs on full display. "Did you get my present?"
"Wasn't much of a gift." John growls. "Let him go. Now."
"Or what?" Dante asks.
"Or we put each and every one of your heads on spikes." Dean snarls. Dante tsks.
"Now, now, baby hunter." Dante sneers, lightly tugging on Sam's head, not hurting him, but tilting his head backwards slightly more, exposing his throat. Somehow, the gentleness of the movement makes it all the worse. "Don't want to risk hurting the little one, do we?" Dante's eyes flicker to John's again. "What is he, your boy? Seventeen? Eighteen?" His grin widens, his fangs bared threateningly as the sadism glows even brighter in his eyes. "I always did like my food on the younger side." And just like that, John snaps. Dean and Bobby to. All restraint, all caution, is lost as they strike at the cocky, arrogant, evil beasts, faster than the vampires are expecting.
The red haze that had been there as John drove, now comes back with a vengeance, encompassing his entire vision as he cuts, and hacks, and tears these unnatural abominations to shreds. Vaguely, he hears a loud screaming, but it doesn't register enough to stop him. When the screaming turns to sobbing, it registers a little bit more. But it isn't until he feels a hand on his arm, that he starts to come back to himself. Because he knows that hand. Slowly, John turns to meet the light blue eyes of his friend. Hard eyes, full of rage, and pain.
"John." Despite the blood on Bobby's hands, his clothes, the hardened stance of the hunter John had come to trust and rely on, John can see that it is his friend that is appealing to him at the moment, trying to ground him. For his sake, and the sake of his boys, John tries. He tries to clear the murderous red from his vision, to focus back in on his surroundings. Five decapitated bodies litter the floor, three of them, including Dante, cleaved completely apart around John, limbs and heads scattered randomly, blood drenching John, the floor, basically everything around him, splattered for feet around the scene of the gruesome murders. And, huddled near the door, Sam is curled into a ball, blood splattered all over his skin, his clothes, tears pouring down his stark-white face, sobs wracking through his body as Dean kneels beside him, gripping Sam's shoulders and whispering urgently, desperately to his brother.
Maybe, if John had gone over, and helped Dean help Sam, things might have been different. Maybe, if John took the time, to walk his baby boy through the shock of the horror he just witnessed, the terror, the pain, the confusion, if he had done a damn thing to be there for Mary's precious baby, the way he was supposed to, the way he promised to, he could have stopped Sam from leaving, just a few days later. From walking out the door, with every possession he had packed into a single bag, and leaving a note saying he needs time. Time and space. But John doesn't go to his in-shock, and traumatized son, who is being cared for by Dean. Instead, he and Bobby get to work, gathering up every shred of the bodies, and piling them to burn.
"Dean." John barks out, still feeling the rage, the need for vengeance burn through him, but needing his boys to be safe, to be away from this place. Dean looks up, his face almost as white as Sam's, his eyes desperate and pleading for guidance. Instead, John tosses him the impala's keys. "Take Sammy home. Go. Get him cleaned and warmed up, and out of those cuffs." John orders, glancing at the way Sammy's hands are still bound behind his back. Dean gives John a shaky head nod, turning back to whisper to Sam, before pulling the kid to his feet. John watches his boys stumble out of the warehouse, one held tightly to the side of the other. Unharmed, physically maybe, but changed forever. Clenching his fists tightly, John turns back to Bobby. "Let's burn this place down. Then we need to go clean up Jack and Emma." His voice is hard, and cold. John knows he is shutting down. But he can't help it. He has lost too much today. Sammy has lost too much today.
If Bobby minds his tone, he keeps it to himself. They work in silence, a loud, heavy silence filled with grief and pain, as they first torch the warehouse Sam was held captive in, before driving back across town and doing the same thing to the one Jack and Emma were left in. And then, trusting Dean to be enough for Sammy, to be able to protect him when John has failed so colossally, John heads to the nearest bar. Bobby says nothing, does nothing, except keep John company as he slowly drinks beer, after beer. And then, when that isn't enough, whisky after whisky. John drinks away the day, ignoring the horrified, scandalized looks thrown his and Bobby's way. Ignoring the excuse Bobby comes up with for their blood-soaked appearance. John drinks away the memory of his son's fear, the desperation, the pleading to not leave him behind. The way he looked covered in blood. The shellshock.
With every resurgence of the memories, John drinks more. He ignores his phone, he ignores the bartender, he ignores Bobby. When they are eventually kicked out, he sleeps it off in Bobby's truck. It isn't until it is once more dawn, that he wakes up, as Bobby is pulling up to their apartment. He groans, rubbing his head, fighting the mother of all hangovers.
"You can't keep going like this, John." Bobby says softly. "Those boys of yours need you. Sam needs you."
"I failed him." John whispers. Bobby shakes his head.
"No, you didn't. You tried to protect him. And now he needs you more than ever. He's going to have questions. He's going to be afraid. He needs his father." Bobby says, not unkindly. "And he needs his father to not be drunk. You are the adult, John. The hunter. You need to guide him through this."
"Yeah. Yeah I know." John sighs, sitting up straighter. Bobby nods approvingly.
"Get going then, you idjit." Bobby grumbles. "Go to those boys." John nods, and opens the door, climbing out of the truck. He stumbles his way towards the door, but the closer he gets, the more he remembers Sam. Sam crying, Sam scared, Sam handcuffed to the pole, Sam on his knees. He steps into the apartment, and from down the hall he can hear soft talking, and soft crying. Maybe if he had gone to it first… Sammy would have stayed. Maybe.
Or maybe, no matter what John did, Sam would leave. Because the things he saw… the revelation of the world Dean and John had tried so desperately to keep him from knowing about, it changed Sam. Broke something in him. Took away his innocence. And maybe time and space away, away from the men who butchered the monsters in front of him, the men who lied to him for his entire life, the men who couldn't stop the vampires from destroying his life, was what Sam needed the most.
At least, that is what John would tell himself in the coming weeks. Months. Years, as Sam slipped away to Stanford, to the only sense of normalcy he could cling to, while leaving the horrific memories of that bloodbath behind him, and, in a lot of ways, his family with them. Because John didn't go to the whispered voices. Not right away. He turned to the kitchen, to the bottles of beer waiting in the fridge. Just one drink, he had told himself. Just one more drink, to settle his nerves.