When Heroes Go Down (They Go Down Fast) 10/12
Title: When Heroes Go Down (They Go Down Fast) 10/12
Author:
buffyaddict13
Rating: a strong R for language and a lot of violence. some of it's fairly gory. sorry folks. the end of the world isn't a shiny happy place.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Andy, OCs. Gen.
Summary: The war is at hand. It’s demon against man and we’re losing the fight. The special children are wreaking havoc across the land, side by side with demons. Dean is on a desperate hunt to find and save his brother while leading a small band of survivors to a final showdown.
A/N 1: Just so you have a heads up, this chapter returns to the earlier format of jumping back and forth in time.
A/N 2: This chapter is the start of the final battle, people. We've reached the end. After this, there will be two more chapters. Seventeen heaping scoops of thanks to my lovely wifey kroki_refur for the beta. If it’s any good, it’s because of her brilliance. If it sucks, well, that's on me. Lastly, the title is from a Suzanne Vega song.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Winchestery. if i did, the boys would talk more.
As the sun goes down, I move around
Keeping to the shadows.
Life, hangs by a thread
And I've heard it said, that I'll not see tomorrow.
If that's my destiny, it'll have to be,
So I'll face the future.
Running out of time
I'm on the line
But I'll go down fighting.
--Judas Priest
Chapter 10
Now.
The screaming goes on and on and on.
Sam clenches his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache. Hannah squeezes his hand. He squeezes back, hoping his fingers instill something like confidence. Hannah stands on his left; Andy’s on his right. Andy looks terrified, but when he sees Sam watching, he slides the fear aside and tries to smile. He's been around the Winchesters long enough to know how to hide his feelings. It's a shitty legacy to leave behind, and Sam wants to tell Andy to knock it off, but he can feel Hannah's hand trembling in his, so he keeps his mouth shut. Andy gives him a quick nod and Sam understands the message perfectly: For Izzy.
Sam nods back. For Jess. And Mom and Dad. And Bobby and Ellen. For everyone they’ve known and loved and lost. For those they’ve never even met. For everyone you killed.
Dean’s hunched behind Jeff’s motorcycle, a rifle balanced on the seat. He calls "You okay, Sam?"
Sam’s not, he wants David to shut up, shut up, but he puts on a tight grin. It's much better than Andy's but Sam's had a lot of years to practice. "I’m great."
Dean grins. "Good to know."
And David keeps screaming.
ooooo
Then.
Dean is in heaven. So what if heaven looks like a run down, piece of shit, hole-in-the-wall town. There’s hot food that includes meat and baked fucking potatoes. There are clean clothes and actual toilets. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t smiled this much since he was with the Darby twins back in high school.
They’re gathered inside the Truth or Consequences High School cafeteria. Ash and Jeff are presiding over the meal while Monica busies herself making coffee. Fresh coffee. The smell of coffee beans hits his nose and he decides then and there that if there is a heaven, it smells just like this. When Ash hands Dean a can of beer, Dean thinks this might actually trump the Darby twins.
"How’d you survive?" Dean demands through a mouthful of potato. Sweet Jesus, there’s even real butter.
Ash shrugs, toying with a fork. "It was pretty easy since I wasn’t at the Roadhouse," he drawls softly. "I was tryin’ to track down my folks. By the time I got back, the Roadhouse was gone." He shrugs, voice bitter. "Everyone was gone."
"What about your parents?" Sam asks.
Ash studies the tines of his fork intently. "Never found ‘em. The house was empty." The man before them barely resembles the laid-back computer genius from the Roadhouse. This Ash looks tired, his face lined and hard. He’s wearing at least five protective charms, the various cords and chains lying against his faded t-shirt in a tangle. He sets the fork down and steeples his fingers. "From what I understand, there ain’t many places like this left." Off Dean’s look he adds, "Places with hunters. Places that pose some kind threat to the demons and Sixers." At this, his gaze turns to Sam. "We all know about you, Sam. And it don’t matter." Ash rolls his eyes and waves a hand. "Okay, it does matter,” he admits with a sigh, “and there’s plenty of folks who’d be happy to string you up by your balls. But as much as they hate you, they hate the demons more. And we know we can’t do diddly shit against them without you."
"Is that how you feel?" Dean asks, his good mood gone. Fucking pricks. Self-righteous bastards. If anyone lays a fucking finger on Sam there’s gonna be hell to pay.
Ash’s expression turns thoughtful. "I feel like it’s in our best interest to kick a lot of demon ass. So I’m hoping Sam don’t take it too personal if not everyone here rolls out the red carpet."
"But why do you think I can help?" Sam asks.
"Cuz Rose says so. She hadda vision."
"And her visions are always accurate?"
Ash gazes at Sam, his expression inscrutable. "Are yours?"
Sam doesn’t respond.
"So, what, the demons just let you stay here? They’ve been having a picnic, playing a little Frisbee, waiting for us to hurry up and get here?"
Ash leans back in his chair. "They haven’t let us do shit. You saw the telephone polls, dintcha? They kill most everyone who tries to get in or out of this place. I’d say we’re not the only ones waiting for you, Sam."
Sam blanches at this, and looks to Dean.
The baked potato suddenly feels like a lead ball in his gut. Dean pushes his plate away. "So what are you saying? This is some kind of trap?"
Ash smiles coldly. "It’s a trap all right, but not for you. Boys, we got us a battle to get ready for."
ooooo
Now.
"Let her in! For God’s sake, let her in!" David tries to shove Jeff aside, but the older man won’t budge. Jeff and Ash stand firm, grim-faced and armed.
Lisa stands near her father, head down, arms clamped tight around her torso. She lifts her face and Sam sees her eyes are bright with tears. "Dad! Stop it! It’s not her! That’s not Mom!"
The thing that used to be Juliet Thompson stands beyond the gate, outside the Devil’s trap. "Please David, let me in," she begs and the hair bristles along Sam’s arms.
ooooo
Then.
Rose attaches herself to Sam like a pigtailed barnacle. Monica tries to dissuade the girl from playing Sam’s shadow, but her arguments fall on deaf ears. Rosey wants Sam, and she’s gonna have him. End of story.
After their meal, Jeff leads Sam and Dean to the hospital to visit Andy. Luke and Rosey tag along.
The hospital has been converted into a make-shift apartment building. "Most folks either sleep here, at the high school, or in the tents. There’s a prison in Albuquerque that would keep us all in one place, but Ash don’t want to risk going there now." Jeff plugs a fresh toothpick into his mouth. "Ah. Here we are."
Three kids inhabit the room next to Andy’s. They’re curled on the bed, coloring. A woman sits near the window, looking out, her face obscured. Dean pushes the door to
Andy’s room open to find his friend sitting up in bed. Craig sits beside the bed and both men look up when the Winchesters enter.
"Hey Andy." Sam grins at his friend. "How are you feeling?" He pats Andy’s leg. “You look pretty good.”
"Chicks are gonna dig that badass scar," Dean says with a knowing look. "Trust me."
Andy smiles faintly. "Yeah. Sure."
Sam struggles to keep from whacking Dean on the back of the head. The only girl Andy’s interested in showing his scar to is dead.
Luke hurries over to Craig and slings an arm around his guardian’s shoulder. He makes a thumbs-up gesture to Andy.
Andy returns the gesture. "You got it, kiddo. I’m gonna be out of here by tomorrow. The nurse said April missed all the good parts."
"Thank God," Sam breathes.
Jeff claps his hands together. "Okay then. He’s still alive, you seen it for yourselves. Enough yackin’. We got work to do."
Dean glares at Jeff. "Dude. What the hell? You’re not the Talk Police."
The toothpick in Jeff’s mouth jerks left, then right. "Son, you can talk to your friend ‘til your tongue falls off, for all I care." He nods toward the door. "You just got to do it after we kill us an ass load of demons.”
With that, Jeff hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and walks out the door. Sam catches his lower lip between his teeth, thinking. "We should at least see what kind of supplies they’ve got," he tells Dean. “We have no idea when the demons are coming. We should be as prepared as possible."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean says. "Fine. You’re right." He salutes Andy. "Glad you’re doing okay, man."
Craig moves to leave but Andy lifts a hand to stop him. "Could you stay a minute?"
ooooo
Now.
Jeff pokes his rifle through the gate and fires. The thing that's no longer Juliet collapses in a boneless heap. Her movement toward the gate stops, but her voice doesn’t. "David, it’s me! Let me in!"
David runs at Jeff, eyes wild, but Ash steps in front of him, rifle butt raised in warning. "Listen to your kid, that’s not your wife out there," he hisses. “Not any more.”
The grieving man shrieks and launches himself forward in desperation. Ash swings the rifle and David sprawls in the dust, glasses flying, face bloody.
"Don’t!" Lisa steps between her father and Ash, hands raised. "Stop it! He doesn’t know what he’s doing!"
The thing outside moans Liiiisa and the girl drops to her knees beside David. She can barely speak through her tears. "That’s not Mom," she sobs. "Mom’s dead. That thing out there? That’s not her, Dad. I know you want it to be, but it’s not. Let her go."
Sam blinks back his own tears and that’s when he sees the heron perched on top of the gate. Sly yellow eyes watch him. The bird’s beak opens and Sam swears it’s smiling.
Sam’s still staring at the bird when the high school explodes.
ooooo
Then.
They’re walking through the main square when Sam sees the market. He stops abruptly and stares hard at his surroundings, stunned. A sign above the boarded-up window reads Truth or Consequences Co-op. Two men stand in front of a large brick building across the street. One holds a rifle. The other drops a rosary into a pail of water, lips moving. A child laughs nearby and Sam turns to look: it’s Owen, dangling a piece of string in front of the three-legged cat. Tripod bats at it with one paw, its tail a question mark. A woman sits with her back against the market’s brick front, her head bowed in prayer.
Sam rubs his face, mouth dry. He’s standing in a little town in New Mexico while the world ends. And he’s sitting in a house in Wisconsin waiting for Dean. This, right now, is his vision. The vision he had while waiting for Dean.
He’s aware Jeff and Dean are staring at him, Jeff curious, Dean concerned. Sam licks his lips. Once, he had been planning to kill these people. Now he stands here with sweaty palms and a roiling gut, desperately searching for a way to save these same lives.
Dean’s hand is on his arm. The woman sitting on the pavement looks up, and Sam sees it’s not a woman at all, it’s a teenage girl, maybe fifteen. She’s got a dark braid over one shoulder and a long skirt wrapped around her legs. She stares at him, eyes wide, and it’s a look he recognizes. “You.” Her voice is tinged with a mixture of fear and awe.
Dean stares down at her. “Hey, I know you. You’re the Sixer that hot-footed it out of Elk City.” Dean’s lips pull into a frown. “After Sam helped you.”
The girl shakes her head frantically, her gaze flickering between Jeff, Sam, and Dean. “No. I’m sorry. I thought…I thought you were someone else. I…I was wrong.” She pushes herself to her feet, feeling for the wall behind her.
Sam understands instantly. “They don’t know. You don’t want anyone to know.” It’s not an accusation, just a statement.
Her hands slide down her sides and she grasps faded fabric in her fists. “I. I can’t.” Her gaze flicks to the hunters across the street and back to Sam. Her lower lip trembles. “They’ll kill me.” She looks at him with pleading eyes and Sam fights to maintain eye contact. She has faith in him. She’s afraid of him. She thinks he can do anything and he can’t.
“They won’t,” Sam says. He injects his voice with certainty. “I helped you once. Now you can help me.”
She drops her gaze. “I can’t. I just…I want to be left alone.”
Dean chuckles. “Then you came to the wrong place, kiddo, because there’s a battle coming and you’re gonna help.”
“There some kinda problem?” Ash wanders up, thumbs hooked in his back pockets, eyebrows raised. Rosey peers out from behind one denim-clad leg. Ash sniffs loudly and rubs his nose. His body language says I don’t give a shit but his eyes are hard, bright coins.
Dean nods toward the girl. “She’s a Sixer.”
The girl emits a little moan of dismay and tries to flatten herself into the wall. Sam reaches for her hand. “It’s okay.” There’s no garbage whirling around them this time, but she looks just as lost. Her fingers tremble against Sam’s. Sam regards Ash. “She’s afraid you’re gonna-” Sam can feel Rosey eying him and trails off. “Uh, make her leave,” he finishes lamely.
Ash folds his arms and cocks his head. He regards the girl. “What’s your name? I don’t think we been properly introduced.”
“Hannah.” She aims her name at the pavement.
“Nice to meetcha, Hannah. I’m Ash. I got another question for you. You ever killed somebody on purpose?”
Hannah shakes her head vehemently. “No.”
“By accident?”
Another headshake.
“Then what’s the big fuckin’ deal?” Ash casts a sheepish look at the little girl. “Oops. Sorry, Rose.”
Rose giggles. “Ha! You owe me a money!”
Ash reaches into his pocket and pulls out a quarter. He flips it toward Rosey’s cupped palms. She inspects the quarter carefully, as if Ash might have pulled a fast one, then nods and grins, pleased. “Cool. Now say some more swears!”
Ash sighs and pokes a finger toward Owen and the cat. “Why don’t you go play.”
“Nuh-uh. I want more moneys.”
“Don’t we all.” Ash turns his attention back to Hannah. “You ain’t the only Sixer here. You help us fight the demons and there ain’t gonna be a problem. If you fight us? That’s when you got a problem.”
“I’m a Sixer, too,” Rose pipes up. “And that’s silly cuz I’m not even six. But I’m almost four,” she adds proudly.
Hannah’s face relaxes slightly. Her hand stops shaking. “I don’t want to fight anyone.”
Ash scratches his chin. “Well now,” he drawls, “I’m not sure you got a choice.”
ooooo
Now.
"Come on, come on!" Dean sprints toward the school as a small group of hunters trickle out of it, white-faced. "It’s a fucking diversion; they’re coming from the side." Monica hurries past gripping a crying Rosey.
Luke runs up, baseball bat clenched in his hands, Craig beside him. Craig holds the Key of Solomon in one hand, a gun in the other.
Dean points toward the burning school and Craig begins murmuring Latin. Two hunters and an old woman wearing a scarf covered in Anasazi symbols join him, their voices intertwining like fingers. Luke taps Lisa’s shoulder to get her attention and pushes her toward Monica and Rose. Then he follows Craig and the other hunters.
Dean moves to follow as well, then hesitates. He turns back toward the gate, aims his revolver, and pulls the trigger. The bird squawks and flies off, wings flapping, into the smoke. "I hate that fucking bird," he mutters and stalks off.
ooooo
Then.
Sam spends the afternoon helping make silver bullets. The bullets are cooled in holy water and a cross is painstakingly etched onto each one.
Vanessa teaches Hannah how to shoot. By the time the sky goes purple the girl can hit the bulls-eye more often than not.
ooooo
Now.
Sam, Hannah and Andy position themselves behind the burning school. Flames reach upward like copper hands, the sky is red and swollen above their heads. Dozens of hunters crouch nearby, wary but ready. Dean and Jeff are among them.
A bolt of blue electricity crackles over the makeshift fence bordering the school from the surrounding scrub and a Sixer climbs over it. The crack of gunfire echoes past Sam's head and the Sixer falls back but two more take his place. A young man grabs the fence and rips a five-foot hole as if he's tearing cardboard. Hannah nervously shifts her grip on Sam's wrist. Demons, both in their pure form, as well as those possessing humans, walk across the twisted wire and shattered boards. Some of the demons scream. Some laugh. Some murmur dark promises.
Sam sorts through the cacophony of sound. He can hear the familiar lilt of Latin syllables behind him, fragments of prayers, and muttered cursing. He can hear a woman screaming get back and a man shouting not my son and a high-pitched shriek of go back to hell you fuckers. He can hear the sharp staccato of gunfire, of silver bullets spiraling toward targets, the hiss of holy water against skin. He sees expressions of grim determination alongside hope and dead-eyed resignation. He smells the smoke and sweat and the coppery stink of blood. There are eighty-seven people in Truth or Consequences. He will (please, I have to) save them all.
ooooo
Then.
Luke watches the kids play.
The gunshots are loud but he’s used to the sound now. Here, in the compound, they're the sound of safety, not death. That makes him feel sad somehow, so he pushes the thought away and rubs at his leg. It’s mostly healed now. It doesn’t bother him at all. Well, not much.
Owen and Rosey are playing catch on the far end of the parking lot. They keep throwing the ball in his direction. It’s obvious they want him to play, but he doesn’t feel like it. He just rolls the ball back each time and the little Sixer girl scowls in annoyance. Luke doesn't care. He's not a little kid. He's got grown up stuff to do.
He sits cross-legged, bat balanced across his knees. An open Latin book rests beside him. Just because he doesn’t say the words aloud, doesn’t mean they’re not worth knowing. He memorizes the words carefully. He wonders if his mom would be proud.
ooooo
Now.
Sam takes a deep breath and squeezes Andy's hand. Now. Andy lifts his face to the angry sky and screams Stop like it's the only word left in the universe.
Nearly all the Sixer soliders hesitate. Hannah points to a pile of lead pipes and waves her hand toward the remaining Sixers. The pipes fly straight and true, smashing three of the four Sixers out of the way. One of them ducks and the pipe flies harmlessly over his head. He snarls and runs toward Hannah. Hannah jerks her fingers and the pipe turns and hits the Sixer from behind. He drops without a sound.
"Stay on the ground," Andy shouts. He closes his eyes and focuses the words, hefts them toward the ground like weights. They pin the Sixers to the ground. "If you stay down, we won't hurt you."
One of the demons shrieks and dissipates into a swirl of smoke as Craig completes an exorcism. A second demon with red eyes and clawed hands leaps over a felled Sixer, mouth gaping to reveal a row of jagged teeth. Sam lets go of Hannah's hand and lifts his palm in a stop gesture and it flies backward into the broken fence. Sam's jaw clenches and he lifts his hand again, bringing the demon down hard a second time. This time the demon screams in agony as a broken board pierces his chest like a wooden needle.
"You are no longer soldiers," Andy calls out. "You're free of the Commander's hold."
Sam puts one hand to his head, the other still tight around Andy's wrist. He imagines a dozen windows, doors, and drawers. He slams then all shut with a bang. He sways momentarily and squeezes Andy's arm. Keep going.
"Open your eyes," Andy shouts, "and see the truth."
ooooo
Then.
He can feel them coming. His head aches and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Hannah sits nearby, concentrating on the skeletal remains of an overstuffed chair. The chair creaks and lurches into the air, then crashes back down with a thud. A rusty spring pokes from the seat. Hannah claps her hands together. "I did it!" She turns the smile on Sam. "Did you see? I did it!"
Rose pumps her fists in the air and twirls herself closer to the older girl. "Now do me!"
Sam squeezes his eyes shut. There’s not enough time. They have weapons and strength and hope and Andy and Hannah but it’s not enough. He cracks his knuckles and it’s the sound of breaking bones. He clasps his hands together, and searches for Dean.
There he is, on the far side of the track field, next to a large tent. He's deep in conversation with Ash and Jeff. As if sensing his brother’s scrutiny, Dean turns suddenly and glances toward Sam. He lifts a hand in greeting.
Sam waves back, but his arm feels as if it’s made of stone.
ooooo
Now.
One of the Sixers sprawled near Hannah shrieks in agony and her hands dig feebly at the ground. Another Sixer curls into himself, weeping. A third reaches for one of the lead pipes and bashes herself in the face. Blood spurts from her nose and dribbles down her chin. She stumbles and raises the pipe for a second swing.
Hannah focuses on the pipe and pulls it out of the girl's grasp. The Sixer drops to her knees and searches blindly, hands skittering in the dirt, keening softly.
"Listen to me!" Andy shouts and his voice is steel and thunder. "Everything is all right now. You haven't done anything wrong. Let your guilt go. You're free." Andy's voice echoes around them. "Say it!"
"I'm free," the Sixer with the broken face mutters, and pushes herself to her feet. One by one, the Sixers follow Andy's instructions. Some yell the words, some whisper them, some mouth them through tears. The woman pushes red, wet strands of hair from her face and blinks at Sam. "I'm free?" This time it's a question.
Andy nods. "Yes."
She turns her head and spits a mouthful of blood into the dirt. She coughs, clears her throat and turns back to Andy. "How can I help?"
ooooo
Then.
"Pleeeease," Rose whines, making the ease sound like a hive of overactive bumblebees.
"No." Hannah says apologetically, "it’s too dangerous."
"Poop!" Rose yells, and stomps her foot.
Sam reaches for the little girl and swings her to face him. "Hannah’s right," he tells her. "She’s still learning. It doesn’t matter if the chair breaks. It matters a lot if you do." Sam pulls the girl onto his knee and turns to Hannah. "Lift it again, and this time move it backwards. At least three feet."
Hanna’s mouth falls open. "Sam. I don’t....I don’t think I can do that. Not without your help."
"You don’t need my help," he says shortly. "Do it. We’re running out of time."
Hannah shuts her mouth and stares nervously at the dilapidated chair.
"Listen to me Rosey," Sam whispers into the little girl's ear, "this isn’t a game. She’s not being mean. We just want you to be safe."
Rosey nods and lifts her chin to see Sam’s face. The tantrum is over and her eyes are large and solemn. "I’m sorry."
Sam ruffles her hair. "It’s okay." His eyes fall on Craig. He stands a few feet away, coiling a length of rope into a neat loop. Sam watches the rope go around and around while Craig whistles tunelessly.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?" he asks, distracted. The rope loops from Craig's hand to the crook of his elbow and back and Sam feels lost. His wrists burn.
"How come you want Craig to tie your hands up?"
Sam goes still. He wishes Hannah could send him a million miles away. He wishes Dean were here. He wishes he could see with both eyes. He can’t tell which feels heavier right now, the weight of Rose against his leg or the fact he’s supposed to save everyone here.
"Do you wanna play cowboys ‘n Indians?"
"I...not right now." Sam struggles to smile. He can tell he fails miserably because the little girl scuttles off him like a crab.
Rose doesn’t go far. She sighs and clasps her hands behind her back and scuffs a pink shoe in the dirt. "You miss your daddy, huh?"
Sam doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he simply nods.
"I miss my daddy too." Rose’s toe continues to work the dirt. "He got sick and stopped being my daddy. My momma had to kill him." Her face momentarily goes blank and Sam’s heart clenches within his chest. Then Rose’s face brightens. "But Momma says he still loves me, even though he’s dead. Your daddy prob’ly loves you too."
Sam nods weakly but he knows better. If it were up to his dad, he'd be dead by now. He's pretty sure John Winchester would have used a large caliber bullet on him if he'd been in Dean's position. His stomach burns, his mouth tastes like metal. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
Rose smiles suddenly and pushes herself up onto her tip-toes, the epitome of hope. "Next time you wanna play cowboys, can I play too?"
ooooo
Now.
From his position behind the tree, things don't look half bad. Sam, Andy and Hannah are still in one piece. The Sixers surrounding the trio that are still alive seem to be free of Yellow Eyes' influence, and the one with the fucked up face just asked to help.
Another demon bites the big one as the woman with the Anasazi scarf completes an exorcism. The fire is more or less under control thanks to the lack of wind and a Sixer who seems to work some kind of mojo with water. Now that's a decent power. For the first time Dean lets himself think maybe..
ooooo
Then.
Their fourth day in T or C Dean discovers he doesn’t need a calendar or a clock because one look at Sam’s face is more than enough to tell him how fast the shit's approaching the proverbial fan. Sure, Sam pitches in with the planning and the training and the weapons cleaning. He shovels food into his face, he sleeps (not even Sam can fake snores like that) and teaches the new kid to levitate crap. He visits Andy, helps Craig paint protective circles on pretty much every surface available, and bitchfaces his way through an afternoon of laundry. Sam answers Dean’s questions, has actual conversations, but Dean’s not stupid and he’s not blind. The way Sam’s fingers pick at the hem of his shirt, the way his fingernails morph into bloody, shredded moons, the way he avoids eye contact, the way he hunches his shoulders like an old (and freakishly tall) man, the way he clutches his head when he thinks Dean’s not looking? It’s all one big-ass tell that Sam’s a hair’s breadth from falling down the rabbit hole. Again. And after everything they’ve gone through this past year, Dean’s not about to let that happen. No fucking way.
It could be worse. Sam might be catatonic. Or off killing people and leaving little notes behind. So when Sam wanders into the gymnasium, laughing and carrying Rosey on his back, Dean chalks one up for the win column. Sam flips Rose over his head and hands the giggling girl off to a bemused Monica. Mother and daughter head toward Ash and Sam lopes toward Dean.
Sam seats himself on the cot across from Dean. "Hey."
"Hey. Saw you with Hannah earlier. Looks like she’s gettin’ the hang of things."
"Yeah." Sam huffs. "If the demons attack us with chairs, we’ll be all set."
Dean grins. At least Sam’s making an effort. Dean flips through a paperback Jeff lent him, not seeing a word. "So. Exactly how freaked out are you?"
Sam lifts an eyebrow and pulls out his innocent puppy look. It's a little dusty from lack of use, but there's still plenty there to make grannies weep. Figures. "Dude, I’m immune to that look. And you’ve got one eye so now you just look retarded. Save yourself the humiliation and tell me the truth."
Sam flushes, but his gaze sticks to Dean’s face like glue. "What? Dude, I’m fine."
"Wanna say that in front of Rosey? Cuz all I need to do is flip that kid some cash and she'll tell me the truth."
Sam stares. "You wouldn’t."
Dean pulls a crumpled dollar from his pocket. "You know I would."
Sam sighs heavily and drops back onto the cot. It creaks in outrage. "I can feel it."
"It? What 'it'? My incredible charm?"
Sam doesn’t even have the decency to laugh. "It. Them."
Oh. So that’s it. Sam’s not freaking out over the battle, exactly. He’s freaking out because he can sense the other Sixers and their demonic friends. "Do you know how long we have?"
Sam’s head rolls back and forth. "I don’t know. Not long."
"It’ll be okay. We'll be okay," Dean says, throwing on his game face. He knows it’s almost certainly a lie, but he can’t stop himself. He’s got nothing else to offer.
And because he’s Sam, because he understands, Sam lies right back. "I know."
ooooo
Now.
Sam touches the Sixer's face to be certain. He comes away with a scarlet palm and the assurance the drawer that was once open is now locked tight. "What can you do?" he asks.
The Sixer staggers and Hannah puts a supportive hand against the woman's back. "Fire." She flexes her hand and a tiny flame burns from each fingertip.
Sam nods. "That's good."
Andy's eyes go wide. "Dude, that's awesome!"
Hannah looks back toward the gate. "That's not."
The metal door hangs at an awkward angle. A demon rips it off the hinges completely and a group of Sixers pour through.
ooooo
Then.
"Holy shit on a stick, that is just...awesome." Dean stares at the tattoo, then rubs at his face. "Huh. Musta got something in my eye."
"Must have," Craig says laconically.
They’re gathered in a knot around Andy, oohing and aahhing over the new tattoo. Most of the swelling’s gone down, and Izzy’s face gazes out from his arm. In a few fluid lines, Craig captured her image perfectly. She’s standing in a long gown, one arm holding a book, the other a long dagger. Her hair fans out behind her, until the tendrils become the horizon and setting sun. Izzy’s form is drawn in black ink, but her hair is yellow and the sunset is a perfect mix of yellow, red, orange, and purple. Below the tattoo in dark block letters are the words now gone, never forgotten.
Luke touches the tattoo gingerly, then looks up at Andy with tear-filled eyes. He sniffs loudly, rubs his nose, and nods his approval. Andy puts an arm around the boy, resting his chin on the top of his head.
Sam leans closer and squints. "What book is she holding?"
Andy can't help smiling. "It’s not a book, man. It’s a box of Pop-Tarts."
ooooo
Now.
Dean runs back toward the gate, teeth bared. Ash surges by him, face set, and Dean concentrates on the Sixer digging at the asphalt, and not the fact that the skinny computer freak just high-tailed it past him without even breaking a sweat. The Sixer grunts and rips a chunk of the highway right out of the ground, holds it above his head, fingers bleeding, but triumphant. He hurls it aside and Dean thinks oh shit. The Devil's Trap is broken.
The thing that used to be Julia drags itself past the broken gate. A group of Sixers,The One Army soldiers move in, and behind them comes something that looks like a man, but isn't. He whistles to himself, hands in his trench coat pockets. He wears an expression that says he's out for a pleasant stroll, and he's in a damn fine mood. His mouth twists into a grin that makes his yellow eyes shine, and he lifts a hand in a friendly salute toward Dean. "Long time, no see."
ooooo
Then.
Dean sits at a table in the cafeteria, methodically cleaning his gun. This right here? Is pretty okay. Nothing like concentrating on the important stuff. Jeff sits next him, running a rag over his own weapon. Dean snorts in disgust. "You call that cleaning a gun? My dead grandma could do a better job than that. Hell, Andy could do a better job than that."
"I heard that," Andy says mildly from a nearby table. He's got his nose buried in one of Craig's extra boring books. "And I have to tell you, man. You think you're funny, but the truth is, not so much." Luke looks up from his own book and wiggles his hand in a so-so gesture.
Dean rolls his eyes. What the hell do they know? He's freakin hilarious. He frowns at Jeff's handiwork. "Seriously. It don't gotta be shiny, it has to fire when you need it to." He threads a bore brush down the gun barrel. How many times has he done this in his life? A thousand? Ten thousand? He likes the feel of the brush, of the oil, of the cloth. It's what safety feels like. And home.
Jeff's toothpick bobs in annoyance. "Back off Winchester. I been cleaning guns since before you was born. I reckon I know how to clean my own goddamn weapon."
Dean shrugs. "Don't come cryin' to me when it misfires and you're neck deep in demons."
Jeff shifts the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Don’t need bullets to kill a demon, Winchester. Didn't your Daddy teach you that?" he asks with a ghost of a grin.
Dean's face darkens. He thinks of the Colt and his father lying on the floor of hospital room. He swallows. "It depends on the gun."
"Dean?"
Dean sets the brush on the table and wipes his hands on his jeans. Monica stands in front of him, face flushed. Rosey stands behind her mother, uncharacteristically quiet. It doesn't take a genius to realize something's off. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I was just wondering if you happen to know where Sam was. Rose wants to ask him something." Monica smiles, her voice casual, but Dean can hear the lie, see it in the way she stands, the way she can't decide what to do with her hands. Mostly, he can hear it because lies've been coming out of his own mouth for the past twenty years.
Worry and paranoia race to see which one can propel Dean to his feet first. The fact that Rose won't look at him makes worry the clear winner. "Did she have a vision about Sam?"
"What? Oh. No. Sam's fine. I mean, I don't know if he's fine, but she didn't have any visions. Of Sam. Or anyone else. Just a…a bad dream." Monica's mouth snaps shut and the flush on her cheeks grows brighter.
Rose peeks her head out from behind Monica's legs. She talks to the floor, as if she thinks Dean's beneath the table. "I had a bad dream 'bout a bird."
Dean chews at his lower lip for a moment before sinking back into the chair. A bird, huh? He's pretty sure the kid's not talking about Big Bird or the Road Runner, either. He can feel Jeff's and Monica's eyes on him; Monica's impatient, Jeff's inquiring. He ignores them both in favor of Rosey. He wills the girl to look at him, which works about as well as willing her to levitate. He sighs, and raps the table top with his knuckles. "Check the gym."
ooooo
Now.
The spark of maybe in Dean's gut flickers once, then goes out. What he wouldn't give for the Colt. He wants to look for Sam, protect him, but the demon's yellow eyes pin him to the ground and he won't (can't) look away.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Yellow Eyes says with a cheerful grin. "And I've gotta tell you Dean ol' boy, I'm kinda hoping for the hard way."
A bullet whizzes by Dean's head and the walking corpse (zombie) drops for good. David screams and crawls toward the dead thing that used to be his wife. His glasses hang askew from his face and he kneels beside her, eyes leaking tears, broken words falling from his mouth.
There's another gunshot and a TOA soldier goes down with a cry. From the corner of his eye, Dean can see Jeff reach for another clip.
"Now, now," the demon says, "can't you see the grown-ups are talking?" He flexes his fingers and Jeff goes flying backwards, arms flailing, trailing curses.
Dean's finger hovers over the trigger and he wants (needs) to shoot the freaky-eyed fucker, but he can't, not yet. It's not time.
"Come on, Dean. Just hand Sam over already. He's not much good to you the way he is now, all broken down and one-eyed. He's not much of a hunter, not much of a letifer these days, is he? Be reasonable."
Dean's eyebrows jack up into his hairline. "Reasonable? You have got to be kidding me. You wanna be reasonable? Then why don't you haul ass straight back to hell before I put you there myself?"
The demon chuckles. "Those are big words, son."
"Don't you call me that," Dean snarls, "not ever." And timing be damned, he pulls the trigger.