When Heroes Go Down (They Go Down Fast) 9/12
Title: When Heroes Go Down (They Go Down Fast) 9/12
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: i know you're all sick of apocafics, but I’ve had this idea in my head for a while. I think there will be 11 chapters to this story, and each chapter is going to be pretty longish. many thanks to my beautiful and sparkly wifey
kroki_refur for the beta! and i apologize profusely for the huge delay between posts. the title comes from a suzanne vega song. ALSO, after AHBL 1 and 2, this is officially 100% AU.
Disclaimer: I own nothing winchestery. sucks to be me.
Have you come here for forgiveness
Have you come to raise the dead
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head.
--Johnny Cash
Chapter 9
Dean’s eyes narrow and a muscle in his jaw tics. He places a protective hand on Sam’s back and herds him away from the rider. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”
Nessa shoots Dean a you’re not the boss of me look and asks, only a little desperate, "You have a doctor?” She nods toward Andy. “One of our group is hurt. We could use the help.”
The man nods affably. "We got a doc, but he's more of a fix-it doctor than the healin’ type, and he's more or less in charge. It was his idea to paint messages all over the place. He's been trying to get you here for ages." He chews the end of the toothpick and scratches his cheek with a split and blackened fingernail. “My name’s Jeff, by the way.” He eyes Dean with faint amusement. “If I was a demon, you can believe I’d have a more impressive name than that.”
Sam unconsciously moves closer to Dean and Andy. "How does this doctor know about me? What’s he want?"
"We got us a seer back at camp. She's been telling us you were comin’ for ages. The handful of us who didn't know the name Winchester back then, well, we sure know it by now. Seems fitting John Winchester's boys’re gonna save us from the end of the world."
Sam's too stunned to feel panic. Obviously there's been some kind of mistake. "Are you sure it's me you're waiting for?"
Dean's face is hard, his eyes shuttered. "Why exactly are you waiting for Sam? If you got some kind of psychic I'm assuming you know he's a Sixer. I don't plan on handing my brother over for a lynching."
Jeff stares at Dean in open-mouthed shock, toothpick dangling precariously. Then he sucks the toothpick back in and rolls his eyes. "Good Lord, boy, are you retarded? Why in hell would we hurt Sam? He's gonna save us." Jeff gives Sam a hearty slap on the back. "Ain't you, Sam?"
Sam's mouth opens, then snaps shut. "I think you might have me confused with my brother," he mumbles. "Dean's more the hero type." I'm more the fuck-up type. Or fucked-up type.
"Who's this psychic that's been seeing Sam?" Dean demands.
Jeff shakes his head and flashes an aw-shucks smile. His teeth have seen better days. "No way I'm tellin’ you. She'd have my head if I spoiled the surprise. You're just gonna have to wait and see."
Something that feels suspiciously like hope pricks at Sam. Missouri? Could she actually be alive? Dean's on the same wavelength. His face cracks in a wide grin. "Dude. Do you think it's--"
"God, I hope so," Sam says fervently.
ooooo
The first body is hanging from a telephone pole outside Santa Rosa, New Mexico. By the time they reach the other side of the city, Interstate 25 is lined with the dead. Nessa carries Owen, his face pressed against her neck.
Jeff's ever present toothpick bobs. "We used to cut 'em down,” he says in a voice that suggests he’s discussing the weather, “but they'd just put up new ones. Now we just leave 'em up. Serves as a warning for what happens if we let our guard down."
Sam keeps his gaze on the road, tight lipped. He can feel the dead watching him, their disappointment, their fear heavy in the air. They deserve to be buried, to be put to rest. How many people did you leave hanging around? Just like old times. He thinks of a woman he (it wasn’t him, it wasn’t really him, but it was, it was) left hanging from a tree, a note pinned to her that said hey bro, you’re a little late. He turns to Dean and mutters “I’m sorry.”
Dean’s walking beside him, grim faced. He starts at Sam’s voice. “Huh? For what?” But Sam just shrugs and looks away.
Julie clutches David's hand. She tries to keep her head down, but David stares at each empty ruined face, his lips moving in a silent mantra. It takes Sam a while to figure out he's saying don't be her, don't be her.
Behind them, Andy stumbles and groans softly. Craig keeps him upright and Luke appears, putting a hand on Andy’s back, as if he can simply prop the wounded man up.
“I think we’ve walked enough,” Dean tells Jeff. “Let’s take a break.”
“I just need…if I can just sit down for a minute,” Andy says. His voice is almost as unsteady as his legs. Nessa, Craig, and Luke help him to the ground.
Sweat drips from Andy’s face. He wipes at it with his coat sleeve and sniffs loudly. Lying back on the asphalt, he closes his eyes. “I want Izzy,” he mutters weakly.
“Who’s Izzy?” Nessa asks.
Dean ignores her and points to the motorcycle. “Can you take Andy back to T or C? All this walking isn’t exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“What the doc ordered,” Jeff says pointing to Sam, “is him. I’ll take Sam back with me, the rest of you can follow. Shouldn’t take more’n a day or two.”
Sam shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. I’m not going anywhere without Dean. And Andy needs help. If you want me to…to save everyone, I’ll start with Andy.”
Jeff spits the toothpick onto the ground and sighs, rubs his mouth with the back of a calloused hand. He gives Sam a long, considering look and finally nods. “Fine. Just be careful. Go as fast as you can, understand?”
Sam nods. “We will. You take care of Andy.” He takes a step toward Jeff. “Understand?”
Jeff pulls on his helmet and plants a fresh toothpick between his teeth. “Yup.” He and Dean hoist Andy onto the back of the motorcycle. "I'm gonna let 'em know you're on the way. We'll have the gates open and hot food ready and waiting." He squints up at the fading sun. “I reckon you’ll get there around this time tomorrow.”
Dean's so busy thinking about the food he almost misses the important part. "You have gates?"
"Sure do. The doc got everybody organized a few months back. I'm not sayin’ they'll hold back an army, but they're better than nothing."
Jeff throws his leg over the motorcycle and hops on. Andy leans heavily against him. His face is ashen and he looks exhausted, but he winks at Luke. Luke winks back.
Dean reaches out and puts a restraining hand on the front of the bike. “Andy better be alive and well by the time we get there,” he says. His words are heavy with an unspoken threat.
Jeff waves a hand. “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. He’ll be fine.” His eyes narrow. “You keep your brother safe, you hear? He’s the one we need.” With that, the motorcycle roars to life and squeals away.
“You think Andy will be okay?” Sam asks. He hates seeing Andy go, but it’s worth it to keep him safe.
“The bigger question is, will we?”
Sam shrugs. “This is what we’ve been working for. Toward. It’s now or never.”
Dean lifts one eyebrow. “I guess I pick now.”
Sam nods. “Me too.” He bends down to let Luke get on his shoulders. “How’s your leg?”
Luke waves his hand in a no big deal gesture. Sam pats Luke’s good leg and they continue walking. "So what do you think about that stuff Jeff said?" he asks his brother.
Dean adjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder and shrugs. "I think you're gonna save the world." He turns to Sam and switches on his biggest and best shit-eating grin. "And I'm gonna help you."
ooooo
The motorcycle remains in sight for quite some time, a black and chrome beetle crawling along the horizon. Eventually, the distance is too great and it scuttles away for good.
The group walks until they come to a sign that proclaims Clines Corners, 12 miles. There’s an air of impatience now, a growing sense of excitement that their journey is nearing completion, a feeling of elation despite the carnage flanking the road. The setting sun sends copper threads through clouds that are bleeding to pink as dusk approaches. Still, they keep walking. If it were up to Dean they’d walk all night -- why stop for sleep when he’s too keyed up to close his eyes? -- but it’s pretty clear that the rest of the group is interested in sleep, especially Owen and Luke. Craig’s been carrying Owen for the last half hour, and the boy looks ready to drop. For that matter, so does Craig. Sam’s still carrying Luke, and even though he hasn’t complained, Dean’s sure Sam could use a break. He sighs and comes to a stop. “Look,” he says, “I know we’re anxious to get to T or C, but we should probably stop for the night. Everybody could use something to eat and a little shut-eye.”
Sam lets Luke slide off his back and rubs at the muscles in his neck. He rolls his shoulder and turns his head left, then right, in an attempt to stretch his weary muscles. Tripod streaks between his legs and vanishes into some brush a few yards away. “I need to talk to you,” Sam says softly, and Dean stares at his brother in shock. Sam asking to talk? Maybe things really are turning around. It’s been months since Sam shared any kind of feelings voluntarily. Years. Dean sobers. How long has it been? Back when they still had the Impala. Back when corpses on telephone poles were the stuff of nightmares and not reality.
“Can you wait until we get things organized?” He’d prefer to get everyone settled, but if Sam needs to talk now, he’s more than ready to hand off the salt and matches to Craig.
“I can wait. It’s just-“
“No. No. We’ve got to keep going.” The voice is a mixture of panic, obstinacy, and denial. David Tanner is trying desperately to free his hand from his daughter’s grip. His eyes flick from face to face until they settle on Dean. “We can’t stop now. I’ve got to find Juliet. We have to keep looking.” His eyes plead louder than his words. “If we wait until morning she might be gone.”
Dean frowns. “Juliet?” The name means nothing to him.
Lisa steps forward, one hand on her father’s arm. “He’s talking about my mom,” she says softly.
Dean blinks. Oh. Well, shit.
“Dad,” Lisa says gently. “Mom’s dead. Remember?”
David’s only response is to push his glasses up on his nose. He ignores Lisa and runs a hand through his mussed hair. “I’ve got to find her.” He smiles pleasantly, as if he’s asking for the time or offering a compliment. “I’ve been looking so long.” He turns the smile on Lisa. “I think we’re getting close, sweetie. She’s waiting for us in that Truth or Consequences place everyone’s so eager to get to.” He nods and mutters to himself. “Yes. She’s waiting for me.” His smile brightens. “For us.”
Dean has no idea what to say. He casts a now what? look at Sam, but Sam’s already at David’s side. “I know you want to find your wife,” he says, “but it’s getting too dark to travel. It’s not safe. We need to stay together and wait until morning.” David’s face falls and he opens his mouth to protest, so Sam blunders on. “We can go first thing, as soon as it’s light, okay?” He mirrors Lisa’s movement and puts a hand on David’s other arm. “Okay?”
David shakes Sam’s hand off and rubs a palm over his forehead and up into his hair. He stands there, looking at Sam, his face rife with uncertainty. “I don’t. I don’t…know,” he admits brokenly. “I don’t know what to do.”
“We can wait,” Lisa reassures him. The girl wraps both arms around her father and pulls him close. “I love you Daddy,” she says into the front of his shirt. “I love you, but Mom’s dead. We can look for her, but she’s not going to be there.” Her voice wavers dangerously. “Do you…do you understand?”
For a split second David’s face transforms into a look of such horror and loss that Dean is forced to turn away. His stomach clenches. Shit.
Sam approaches David slowly, arms at his sides, palms up. He parrots what David said earlier. "She's waiting in Truth or Consequences for you. Everything’s fine," he lies.
Lisa nods rapidly. "Yes. Dad. We’ll get to Truth or Consequences, just not tonight. And when we get there, I can help you look for mom, okay?"
David licks his chapped lips, his bleary gaze ping-ponging between his daughter and Sam. "I. I." He removes his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what to do."
"We should rest for the night," Sam says. "It's too dark to see. If we try to keep going, we might get hurt.” He pauses, then adds ominously, “Or worse.”
"Besides, it'll be easier to look for mom if you're not tired," Lisa points out.
David studies Sam for a long moment. Dean doesn’t understand how Sam can meet the man’s gaze without screaming. Finally, David nods. "Okay." And with that, he walks toward the fire and sits down. Tripod materializes from the shadows and rubs her head against David's knee.
The minute David's gone, Sam's smile shatters and he puts both hands to his face. He rubs furiously, as if he can scrub the lies away. When he lowers his hands Lisa is watching him. "Thank you," she says simply, and goes to her father.
"Jesus," Dean mutters. "That is some fucked up shit."
Sam nods, his eye on the fire.
ooooo
Craig is pouring salt carefully in a wide circle. Luke hobbles after him, pointing out spots that need repair. Nessa's telling Owen a bedtime story, her low voice drifting toward them, and Sam sits down to listen. The story is about a beautiful princess named Buttercup and her one true love, Wesley. It doesn't take long for Sam to realize Nessa is reciting the plot of The Princess Bride. "Hey, I know this."
Nessa lifts an eyebrow. "I've already gone through every Disney movie, given a detailed description of every school play I was ever in, and used a great deal of creative license on Edward Scissorhands and The Nightmare Before Christmas." She turns to Owen and pokes him gently in the stomach. "You are a harsh task-master, mister."
Owen giggles, not at the words, but at her tone of voice. He pokes her back. "More story," he implores and Nessa exhales noisily. Dean seats himself next to the young woman. "How about I tell you a story, little man? I used to tell stories to my brother all the time when we were kids."
Owen scratches his nose and look up at Nessa. Whatever he sees in her face reassures him, because he nods at Dean. "Okay."
Dean leans back on his elbows. "Okay," he winks at Owen. "This is a good one. It takes place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away."
ooooo
When Sam wakes, Dean is gone. They're all gone. Sam whirls, all traces of sleep gone. Not only is he fully awake, so is the panic roiling in his gut. Shit. Where is everybody? He looks down at his hands, but there's no blood. He scans the ground for clues, for the fucking heron, for anything.
All he finds is a dead fire and a lot of salt. Wait. The packs are still here, Dean’s is right there. Sam frowns, trying to work out a reason for everyone's absence. They ditched you. They know what you've done. Maybe David wandered off and they're out looking for him. But if that's the case, why not wake Sam up too?
He starts down the highway, slowly at first, and gradually picks up speed. He's got a steady jog going by the time he notices the telephone pole. It's a fair distance away, and his eyesight is not exactly what it used to be, but he can still see there's a body hanging from it. Fuck. Not more of this shit.
Only this time, the corpse doesn’t belong to a stranger. Sam's heart leaps when he recognizes David. His hands and feet are bound to the pole, and a wide collar of blood rings his neck and stains the front of his shirt. His eyes stare blankly, glasses askew. His hair blows gently in the breeze. Sam tries to swallow, but there's something in his throat. He coughs, gags, and pulls in a wheezing breath.
On the other side of the highway is Lisa. Her head hangs low, chin to chest, blood still dripping onto the pavement. Sam stares. He blinks. Blinks again. But when he opens his eyes, Lisa is still there. "No," he says. "No."
He's running now, heart pounding harder than his feet. Down the highway is Nessa. She's trussed to a pole too, her eyes pale white marbles in her dark face. It doesn't end. There's Craig, and Jesus Christ, Luke. Sam's face is wet with tears and he can barely see. His vision keeps blurring, and he has to constantly wipe his face. Please, he prays. Please. Let Dean be okay. Even Owen is dead, and Sam crouches on the shoulder of the road, dry-heaving into tall yellow weeds. He stumbles back to his feet and keeps walking, arms in front of him now, like a blind man or a drunk. And then he sees Dean.
He knows instantly that Dean is dead. He almost falls, his legs don’t seem to be functioning quite right. He reaches the pole and throws his arms around Dean, pressing his face to Dean's chest, smearing blood against his face. He doesn’t know what to do. He's lost without Dean. He wonders why he's not tied to a telephone pole as well.
A shrill cry cuts through the air and Sam looks up. Perched on the top of the telephone pole is a grey heron. It watches him with a yellow bead eye, unblinking. "This is what's waiting for you, Sam. No truth, only consequences," the bird says, and picks lazily at a wing with his beak. "The consequences are coming, boy. Do you really want to face them?"
Sam’s too shocked to feel anger, there’s only a vast, sweeping loss. It pours into him like sand, like lead, until he’s weighted to the ground. He blinks stupidly at Dean, waiting for him to move or laugh or tell him it’s all a big fucking joke. He blinks again, and that’s when he sees the paper pinned to Dean’s shirt. Sorry, bro, you’re a little late.
ooooo
Sam jerks awake to find Dean watching him. Dean's got his I’m worried you're freaking out face on, but Sam doesn't care. Dean can have any face he wants as long as he's alive. Sam glances around the camp and sure enough, everyone is here, safe and sound. Well, not really safe. And most of them aren't very sound, either. But at least they're here. Sam lets his head fall back with a thud. "Bad dream?" Dean asks.
Laughter bubbles out of him before he can stop it. Sam shakes his head. "That's one way of putting it,” he says. He brings his hands to his face. "Oh God," he groans. "That was…not good." He sits up with a sigh.
"What was it about?"
Sam runs a hand across his chin, debating what to say. "Let's just say...not everyone is excited as we are about us getting to T or C."
Dean purses his lips and wiggles them in and out. He glances around the camp, checks to make sure Nessa and Owen are both still sleeping. "Was it like...prophetic? Or garden variety nightmare?"
Sam snorts. "Since when is anything garden variety about me?" His voice is harsh. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to force the stiffness out of his muscles. "I don't think it was a warning. I mean, it was a warning, but it's not like with Jessica." Sam studiously avoids Dean's gaze. He gets to his feet and starts walking. "I think it would be a good idea if we got going."
In the distance, a bird's call shatters the morning stillness.
Sam keeps walking.
ooooo
"I don’t know what they think I’m gonna do," Sam admits. His eyelid is steel wool. He imagines his ruined eye socket is full of sand: if he pulls off the patch, a small desert will run out onto his shoe. The thought brings him back to the nightmare and he scowls. He’s exhausted, feels brittle and old. At times like this, he can’t fathom that he’s only twenty-six. He feels twice that old. "If Jeff’s telling the truth, that whole town is pinning their hopes on me, Dean. On me."
Dean rubs his eyebrows with a thumb and forefinger. "Yeah. So. You’ll save them. And I’ll help."
Sam drains his water bottle. "That’s it? That’s your big pep talk? I gotta tell you, dude, it’s not your best work."
Dean snorts. "Shut up. Look. You worry too much. They’ve got a psychic. A doctor. Andy’s gonna be there. You can work your Wonder Twins mojo."
"I hope so," Sam interjects bleakly. "For all we know Andy’s dead in a ditch on the side of the road. Or he’s been sacrificed."
Dean reaches into his pack and hands Sam a fresh bottle. "Did you or did you not say you had a vision of hunters in T or C?"
Sam rubs his dry lips with the back of his hand. He opens his mouth to argue, thinks better of it. He shrugs one shoulder and reaches for the bottle of water. "Yeah. I did."
"So what do you think? They’re gonna stand you up on the edge of town and say so long and good luck? You’re not alone, Sam." Dean puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "I know you feel like a little emo bitch most of the time, but that’s just in your head. All that hair is probably crushing your brain, you know? You’ve got me, Andy, a bunch of hunters. "
"Who’ll probably want to kill me."
Dean pulls his hand off Sam’s shoulder and punches him in the arm.
Sam frowns and rubs his biceps. "Ow."
"You deserve it. If they’re all waiting for you like you’re the great geek hope, I’m guessing it’s kind of counter-productive if they kill you." Dean looks thoughtful. "But I’m only guessing."
The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up. "Fine. Maybe I’m just...freaking out a little."
Dean stares. "Maybe?"
Sam huffs. "Okay. I’m freaking out."
Dean doesn’t blink. "A little?"
Sam adjusts the wattage on his glare. "Very funny. I’d like to see your mood if you were supposed to save the world and didn’t have a damn clue how to do it."
Dean grins. "Come on, man. I save the world every day just by making it a prettier place."
Sam glances around at the barren landscape. "You’re doing a pretty suck-ass job then."
Dean waves Sam’s criticism away. "You should see it when I’m not around."
Sam casts a quick look at his brother. He doesn’t want a world where Dean’s not around. "Fine.
The world is pretty. You’re pretty. Everything’s pretty. Let’s just go, okay?"
"Yeah, but I’m pretty as in hot and you’re pretty as in a big girl. A girl who collects dolls."
"It’s just sad how you think you’re so fricking hilarious when really you’re just lame and old."
"Dude. That is harsh. I’ll have you know I’m not lame or old."
"It’s neither lame nor old."
"Wow. The chicks must dig you when you go all English teacher on them."
"It’s better than sounding like a moron."
"Yeah? You’re a prissy girl."
"And you’re still an old man."
"Can you take a break from professing your undying love for each other for one second?" Nessa breaks in. "Owen has to pee and he wants one of you to take him." She grins impishly. "He says he wants a big boy to take him, but frankly, I don’t see any around here."
Dean strokes his chin, feigning heavy thought. "Hmm. What about Luke?"
"Do you think I’d be asking Dumb and Dumber if Luke could do it? His leg is bothering him."
Dean stage whispers to Sam, "Just so you know, she’s implying you’re Dumber."
Sam’s eyebrow jerks and his lips fold down in a pout. "Hey! She’s rude."
Dean nods sadly. "And here I thought vets were nice and friendly and eventually became cat ladies when they got old. You keep talking like that, and your cats are gonna turn on you."
Nessa bursts into laughter. "Can you help Owen before he pees his pants? Cuz otherwise, one of you is carrying him the rest of the day."
Sam gives Dean a nuanced look and Dean nods. Sam lifts his hand to chest level, elbow bent. "Ready?"
Dean holds his hand the same way. "Ready."
Sam counts -- "One, two, three” - and they both bring their hands down. Sam’s hand is balled into a fist, Dean’s index and middle finger are in the shape of a V. "Rock beats scissors," Sam beams. He makes a shooing motion. "Buh-bye."
"You suck," Dean grumps. But his smile returns when he sees Owen hopping up and down on the edge of the road. "Hey little man. Let’s go."
Owen grins back. "Hi Dean. Why can’t I go potty by myself? How come Nessa or you or some grown-up gots to come with me?"
Dean ruffles the boy’s hair. "When we’re back to using bathrooms you can go alone. Until then, you’ve got company."
Owen eyeballs Dean. "No looking."
Dean holds his hands up, nodding agreement. "No looking. Cross my heart."
Nessa watches the pair move off toward a straggling copse of trees. "That kid really took a shine to Dean," she says.
Sam hooks his thumbs into his back pockets, a wistful expression on his face. "Kids always do."
ooooo
His feet hurt, but he doesn’t care. This is it. The finish line. Journey’s end. He’ll walk until his feet fall off, because they’re almost there. Not home, but close. A place they can rest, sleep in relative safety. There’ll be people. Hunters. He’s still nervous, but it’s evenly split between reaching T or C, and T or C’s reaction to him.
Luke’s leg is better, and he’s walking on his own. David is calm. They’re making good time. Sam knows enough to realize that means something’s going to go wrong, so when the clouds roll in like grim-faced boulders, he’s not particularly surprised.
It starts raining outside Socorro. It’s a torrential, driving rain, and it feels like going down the Logger’s Run at Great America ten times in a row while fully dressed. Sam’s clothes are lead, clinging like desperate, sodden hands. Each raindrop is a cold pebble on his skin. His hair is plastered against his head and face, and it’s nearly impossible to see. The others slog through the downpour, miserable and silent. The rain washes away the previous day’s good mood, uncertainty standing in hope’s place.
Sam can’t remember a storm this bad before. The weather’s been more or less cooperative up to now. He finds himself wondering if there’s such a thing as a weather demon. Owen cried for a while, but he’s silent now, shivering in Nessa’s arms. After a while, Dean relieves her and carries the boy. Nessa finds a plastic bag in her backpack and fashions a crude plastic scarf for Owen’s head. The rain patters steadily against the plastic, but the boy doesn’t seem very impressed with Nessa’s efforts.
Sam holds Luke’s hand, more in an attempt to keep upright than to offer the boy comfort. David and Lisa walk side by side, one mirroring the other. They both have their arms crossed tightly, as if making a last-ditch effort to keep a sliver of clothing dry. Sam doesn’t think its working. His boots squelch through puddles, the rain probes wet fingers down the back of his shirt. He squeezes Luke’s hand and unconsciously pulls the boy closer as they pass the dripping figures tied to telephone poles. Water streams down blank faces, turning them to melting wax. Sam’s thankful he can’t see better.
“You okay?” Dean shouts through the deluge.
“Awesome,” Sam responds.
It’s like walking through a waterfall. Every so often Sam thinks he sees something looming out of the curtain of rain, but nothing’s there. He feels jumpy and disoriented. “Did you see that?” Sam asks.
“All I see is water,” Dean grunts.
Luke squeezes Sam’s hand and he looks down at the boy. Luke blinks up at him, but his expression is unreadable. Sam feels his back pocket and takes small comfort in the fact his gun is still there.
ooooo
Eventually, the rain tapers off. The downpour becomes a shower, then finally, mist. A thick arm of thick fog splits the highway in half. They wade through the dense haze and emerge onto a long, vacant stretch of road. The telephone poles are mercifully bare. The few abandoned cars that remain have been pushed to the shoulder of the road.
Dean sees it first: a broken sign on the edge of the highway. Sam squints at the faded word Consequences. Truth is long gone. Sam wonders if the sign is an omen. They’re nearly there now.
Craig pats Sam lightly on the back. "You haven’t fulfilled your destiny, Sam," the professor says softly. "Not even close. You remember that."
Dean leads the way, Sam at his side. Their shoes squelch on the pavement, their hair drips. Directly behind them are Craig, Luke, Nessa and Owen. Bringing up the rear are David and Lisa. Tripod runs alongside, disappearing into a pocket of brush here, reappearing there. They walk in silence, clothes still soaked. Sam stops abruptly and nudges Dean. He points ahead.
Squat buildings spring up along the edge of the road. Empty houses, gas stations and gift shops watch them, wood faces impassive. Billboards advertising dozens of spas have been painted over. Black lettering proclaims WELCOME TO T OR C.
A curve in the road leads them to a group of five men. They’re all well-armed. Behind them stands a large home-made gate made of pallets, barbed wire, burnt-out cars. A large white Devil’s Trap sprayed across the road separates the men from Dean and his group. All five men wear motorcycle helmets; each helmet is decorated with various protective symbols.
One of the men steps forward and removes his helmet. Jeff grins at them, toothpick dangling. "Took you long enough. If you’ll be kind enough to step onto the welcome mat, we can get things moving."
The other members of Jeff’s group remove their helmets, but the weapons remain at the ready. Sam is surprised to see one of the guards is actually a russet-haired woman. She looks vaguely familiar, but Sam can’t place her. He quickly looks away, afraid she’ll recognize him as a Sixer.
Dean doesn’t bother to protest Jeff’s request. One by one they enter the Devil’s Trap and wait expectantly. "I told you it weren’t necessary," Jeff says when they’re all safely through the circle. "They’re clean."
A large bald man steps forward, eyes narrowed. "We don’t know that. Not for sure."
Craig rolls up his sleeve, Dean follows suit. "I don’t know if this helps," Craig says calmly, "but I doubt a demon would care to inhabit skin marked by this." He points to the Seal of Solomon on his arm.
"How’s Andy?" Dean demands. "Is he okay?"
Jeff tilts his head. "Yep."
"And was he possessed?” Dean snarks. “Try to kill everybody during the night?"
The corner of Jeff’s mouth twitches. "Not that I noticed. But I tend to be a sound sleeper."
The woman holds a hand up. "Enough. We’ve waited months. More than a year. If anyone can tell us that these folks are who they say they are, she can." The woman watches Sam and Dean steadily for a long moment. "It does look like them." She scans the horizon, checks her watch. "And they’re right on time."
Dean stares back. "Who told you? Do we know you? Is Missouri here?"
"I’m Monica," the woman replies. A small girl steps from behind her legs. The girl looks to be about three or four years old. She has light brown hair done up in two pigtails. She’s wearing a pair of worn denim overalls and a gray sweater that matches her eyes. She holds a tattered doll in one hand. Only a single button eye looks out from the doll’s face. Monica turns to the girl. "Well, Rosey? Is it him?"
Rosey’s dark eyes flick across Sam’s face and he stares back at her, stunned. "Rosey? Rose Holt?" A thousand years ago (before he knew what he was, before he’d done what he did) he had walked down a street in Salvation, Iowa. He’d met a young woman pushing her baby daughter in a stroller. That same night, he and Dean had saved Monica and her daughter from the yellow-eyed demon. And now, that baby-that child-is standing right in front of him. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear it’s - it’s like she’s reading your mind.
Dean’s head swivels between Monica, Rosey and Sam. "No way," he breathes.
Rosey’s gaze flicks to Dean and a smile splits her cherubic face. "Way," she chirps. She gives her mom a thumbs-up and races to Sam. She throws her arms around his legs and declares, "You saved my life! Mom said so, back when I was itty-bitty, and I remember you!"
Sam blinks down at her. He quickly lowers himself to his knees. "I remember you too. I can’t believe how big you are!"
Rosey shrugs. "That’s what kids are supposed to do. Get bigger." She gives him a pointed look. "You’re big enough."
Sam grins so hard his face hurts. "I think you’re right."
Rose turns back to her mom. "It’s just him. Nobody else inside his head." She jerks a thumb toward Dean and makes a disgusted face. "He thinks you’re hot."
Dean makes a choking sound and keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
Monica sighs. "Rose, stop it. People’s thoughts are their own. You checked Sam, now that’s enough,” she says, careful not to look at Dean. “Say you’re sorry."
Still looking like she just ate a spider, Rose offers a pinched apology to Dean. Her smile returns when she refocuses on Sam. "Come on, everybody’s waiting for you. Come say hi to the Doctor."
ooooo
"How...how did you know we were coming?" Sam asks faintly. They’re through the gates now, inside the city proper. Not that there’s much city left.
"I have dreams sometimes. Visions, I guess," Rosey reveals easily. She swings Sam’s hand in her own. "I started dreaming about you a while ago." Her face clouds. "Back when you were doing that naughty stuff."
Sam swallows thickly. No. Please don’t let her have seen- Don’t let her know- "I’m sorry," he croaks. "I’m sorry you had to...had to see that."
Rosey shrugs again. "It wasn’t really you. The Doctor explained it to me and Mom." She looks up at him. "That’s how I knew you’d come. I had a dream you stopped listening to the thing in your head and you were gonna come and help us." She gestures around her with her free hand. "So we’ve been getting ready."
They’re surrounded by dozens of people. There, a woman hangs laundry on a make-shift clothesline. Here, a man sits on the ground cleaning a veritable arsenal of weapons. Across the square a man holds an axe against an old-fashioned grindstone. A man and woman teach a small group of children a simple Latin exorcism. Dean elbows Sam. Can you believe this shit?
Sam’s finding it hard to know what he believes, because everywhere they walk, whispers follow. The square easily contains over a hundred people and they’re all watching the group of newcomers. Most are gathered in what was once a high school football field. The racing track has been converted into a large Devil’s Trap. Tents are pitched across the field in neat rows. A block over, Sam can see a building that reads Sierra Vista Medical Center. He wonders if that’s where Andy is.
Monica and Jeff stop outside an old garage. Faint music warbles out of tinny speakers. There’s a sign on a warped side door that reads Dr. Badass Is In. Sam gapes at the wooden sign. He shakes his head. "No way. It can’t be."
The door opens and a thin man sticks his head out. His hair is pulled back into a dirty blond ponytail and he regards Sam and Dean with a distinct lack of surprise. "Well," Ash drawls. "If it ain’t the Winchesters. You two are slower than molasses in January going uphill both ways." He grins and throws an arm around each man’s shoulder. "But damn, is it good to see you."
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: i know you're all sick of apocafics, but I’ve had this idea in my head for a while. I think there will be 11 chapters to this story, and each chapter is going to be pretty longish. many thanks to my beautiful and sparkly wifey
kroki_refur for the beta! and i apologize profusely for the huge delay between posts. the title comes from a suzanne vega song. ALSO, after AHBL 1 and 2, this is officially 100% AU.
Disclaimer: I own nothing winchestery. sucks to be me.
Have you come here for forgiveness
Have you come to raise the dead
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head.
--Johnny Cash
Chapter 9
Dean’s eyes narrow and a muscle in his jaw tics. He places a protective hand on Sam’s back and herds him away from the rider. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”
Nessa shoots Dean a you’re not the boss of me look and asks, only a little desperate, "You have a doctor?” She nods toward Andy. “One of our group is hurt. We could use the help.”
The man nods affably. "We got a doc, but he's more of a fix-it doctor than the healin’ type, and he's more or less in charge. It was his idea to paint messages all over the place. He's been trying to get you here for ages." He chews the end of the toothpick and scratches his cheek with a split and blackened fingernail. “My name’s Jeff, by the way.” He eyes Dean with faint amusement. “If I was a demon, you can believe I’d have a more impressive name than that.”
Sam unconsciously moves closer to Dean and Andy. "How does this doctor know about me? What’s he want?"
"We got us a seer back at camp. She's been telling us you were comin’ for ages. The handful of us who didn't know the name Winchester back then, well, we sure know it by now. Seems fitting John Winchester's boys’re gonna save us from the end of the world."
Sam's too stunned to feel panic. Obviously there's been some kind of mistake. "Are you sure it's me you're waiting for?"
Dean's face is hard, his eyes shuttered. "Why exactly are you waiting for Sam? If you got some kind of psychic I'm assuming you know he's a Sixer. I don't plan on handing my brother over for a lynching."
Jeff stares at Dean in open-mouthed shock, toothpick dangling precariously. Then he sucks the toothpick back in and rolls his eyes. "Good Lord, boy, are you retarded? Why in hell would we hurt Sam? He's gonna save us." Jeff gives Sam a hearty slap on the back. "Ain't you, Sam?"
Sam's mouth opens, then snaps shut. "I think you might have me confused with my brother," he mumbles. "Dean's more the hero type." I'm more the fuck-up type. Or fucked-up type.
"Who's this psychic that's been seeing Sam?" Dean demands.
Jeff shakes his head and flashes an aw-shucks smile. His teeth have seen better days. "No way I'm tellin’ you. She'd have my head if I spoiled the surprise. You're just gonna have to wait and see."
Something that feels suspiciously like hope pricks at Sam. Missouri? Could she actually be alive? Dean's on the same wavelength. His face cracks in a wide grin. "Dude. Do you think it's--"
"God, I hope so," Sam says fervently.
ooooo
The first body is hanging from a telephone pole outside Santa Rosa, New Mexico. By the time they reach the other side of the city, Interstate 25 is lined with the dead. Nessa carries Owen, his face pressed against her neck.
Jeff's ever present toothpick bobs. "We used to cut 'em down,” he says in a voice that suggests he’s discussing the weather, “but they'd just put up new ones. Now we just leave 'em up. Serves as a warning for what happens if we let our guard down."
Sam keeps his gaze on the road, tight lipped. He can feel the dead watching him, their disappointment, their fear heavy in the air. They deserve to be buried, to be put to rest. How many people did you leave hanging around? Just like old times. He thinks of a woman he (it wasn’t him, it wasn’t really him, but it was, it was) left hanging from a tree, a note pinned to her that said hey bro, you’re a little late. He turns to Dean and mutters “I’m sorry.”
Dean’s walking beside him, grim faced. He starts at Sam’s voice. “Huh? For what?” But Sam just shrugs and looks away.
Julie clutches David's hand. She tries to keep her head down, but David stares at each empty ruined face, his lips moving in a silent mantra. It takes Sam a while to figure out he's saying don't be her, don't be her.
Behind them, Andy stumbles and groans softly. Craig keeps him upright and Luke appears, putting a hand on Andy’s back, as if he can simply prop the wounded man up.
“I think we’ve walked enough,” Dean tells Jeff. “Let’s take a break.”
“I just need…if I can just sit down for a minute,” Andy says. His voice is almost as unsteady as his legs. Nessa, Craig, and Luke help him to the ground.
Sweat drips from Andy’s face. He wipes at it with his coat sleeve and sniffs loudly. Lying back on the asphalt, he closes his eyes. “I want Izzy,” he mutters weakly.
“Who’s Izzy?” Nessa asks.
Dean ignores her and points to the motorcycle. “Can you take Andy back to T or C? All this walking isn’t exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“What the doc ordered,” Jeff says pointing to Sam, “is him. I’ll take Sam back with me, the rest of you can follow. Shouldn’t take more’n a day or two.”
Sam shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. I’m not going anywhere without Dean. And Andy needs help. If you want me to…to save everyone, I’ll start with Andy.”
Jeff spits the toothpick onto the ground and sighs, rubs his mouth with the back of a calloused hand. He gives Sam a long, considering look and finally nods. “Fine. Just be careful. Go as fast as you can, understand?”
Sam nods. “We will. You take care of Andy.” He takes a step toward Jeff. “Understand?”
Jeff pulls on his helmet and plants a fresh toothpick between his teeth. “Yup.” He and Dean hoist Andy onto the back of the motorcycle. "I'm gonna let 'em know you're on the way. We'll have the gates open and hot food ready and waiting." He squints up at the fading sun. “I reckon you’ll get there around this time tomorrow.”
Dean's so busy thinking about the food he almost misses the important part. "You have gates?"
"Sure do. The doc got everybody organized a few months back. I'm not sayin’ they'll hold back an army, but they're better than nothing."
Jeff throws his leg over the motorcycle and hops on. Andy leans heavily against him. His face is ashen and he looks exhausted, but he winks at Luke. Luke winks back.
Dean reaches out and puts a restraining hand on the front of the bike. “Andy better be alive and well by the time we get there,” he says. His words are heavy with an unspoken threat.
Jeff waves a hand. “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. He’ll be fine.” His eyes narrow. “You keep your brother safe, you hear? He’s the one we need.” With that, the motorcycle roars to life and squeals away.
“You think Andy will be okay?” Sam asks. He hates seeing Andy go, but it’s worth it to keep him safe.
“The bigger question is, will we?”
Sam shrugs. “This is what we’ve been working for. Toward. It’s now or never.”
Dean lifts one eyebrow. “I guess I pick now.”
Sam nods. “Me too.” He bends down to let Luke get on his shoulders. “How’s your leg?”
Luke waves his hand in a no big deal gesture. Sam pats Luke’s good leg and they continue walking. "So what do you think about that stuff Jeff said?" he asks his brother.
Dean adjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder and shrugs. "I think you're gonna save the world." He turns to Sam and switches on his biggest and best shit-eating grin. "And I'm gonna help you."
ooooo
The motorcycle remains in sight for quite some time, a black and chrome beetle crawling along the horizon. Eventually, the distance is too great and it scuttles away for good.
The group walks until they come to a sign that proclaims Clines Corners, 12 miles. There’s an air of impatience now, a growing sense of excitement that their journey is nearing completion, a feeling of elation despite the carnage flanking the road. The setting sun sends copper threads through clouds that are bleeding to pink as dusk approaches. Still, they keep walking. If it were up to Dean they’d walk all night -- why stop for sleep when he’s too keyed up to close his eyes? -- but it’s pretty clear that the rest of the group is interested in sleep, especially Owen and Luke. Craig’s been carrying Owen for the last half hour, and the boy looks ready to drop. For that matter, so does Craig. Sam’s still carrying Luke, and even though he hasn’t complained, Dean’s sure Sam could use a break. He sighs and comes to a stop. “Look,” he says, “I know we’re anxious to get to T or C, but we should probably stop for the night. Everybody could use something to eat and a little shut-eye.”
Sam lets Luke slide off his back and rubs at the muscles in his neck. He rolls his shoulder and turns his head left, then right, in an attempt to stretch his weary muscles. Tripod streaks between his legs and vanishes into some brush a few yards away. “I need to talk to you,” Sam says softly, and Dean stares at his brother in shock. Sam asking to talk? Maybe things really are turning around. It’s been months since Sam shared any kind of feelings voluntarily. Years. Dean sobers. How long has it been? Back when they still had the Impala. Back when corpses on telephone poles were the stuff of nightmares and not reality.
“Can you wait until we get things organized?” He’d prefer to get everyone settled, but if Sam needs to talk now, he’s more than ready to hand off the salt and matches to Craig.
“I can wait. It’s just-“
“No. No. We’ve got to keep going.” The voice is a mixture of panic, obstinacy, and denial. David Tanner is trying desperately to free his hand from his daughter’s grip. His eyes flick from face to face until they settle on Dean. “We can’t stop now. I’ve got to find Juliet. We have to keep looking.” His eyes plead louder than his words. “If we wait until morning she might be gone.”
Dean frowns. “Juliet?” The name means nothing to him.
Lisa steps forward, one hand on her father’s arm. “He’s talking about my mom,” she says softly.
Dean blinks. Oh. Well, shit.
“Dad,” Lisa says gently. “Mom’s dead. Remember?”
David’s only response is to push his glasses up on his nose. He ignores Lisa and runs a hand through his mussed hair. “I’ve got to find her.” He smiles pleasantly, as if he’s asking for the time or offering a compliment. “I’ve been looking so long.” He turns the smile on Lisa. “I think we’re getting close, sweetie. She’s waiting for us in that Truth or Consequences place everyone’s so eager to get to.” He nods and mutters to himself. “Yes. She’s waiting for me.” His smile brightens. “For us.”
Dean has no idea what to say. He casts a now what? look at Sam, but Sam’s already at David’s side. “I know you want to find your wife,” he says, “but it’s getting too dark to travel. It’s not safe. We need to stay together and wait until morning.” David’s face falls and he opens his mouth to protest, so Sam blunders on. “We can go first thing, as soon as it’s light, okay?” He mirrors Lisa’s movement and puts a hand on David’s other arm. “Okay?”
David shakes Sam’s hand off and rubs a palm over his forehead and up into his hair. He stands there, looking at Sam, his face rife with uncertainty. “I don’t. I don’t…know,” he admits brokenly. “I don’t know what to do.”
“We can wait,” Lisa reassures him. The girl wraps both arms around her father and pulls him close. “I love you Daddy,” she says into the front of his shirt. “I love you, but Mom’s dead. We can look for her, but she’s not going to be there.” Her voice wavers dangerously. “Do you…do you understand?”
For a split second David’s face transforms into a look of such horror and loss that Dean is forced to turn away. His stomach clenches. Shit.
Sam approaches David slowly, arms at his sides, palms up. He parrots what David said earlier. "She's waiting in Truth or Consequences for you. Everything’s fine," he lies.
Lisa nods rapidly. "Yes. Dad. We’ll get to Truth or Consequences, just not tonight. And when we get there, I can help you look for mom, okay?"
David licks his chapped lips, his bleary gaze ping-ponging between his daughter and Sam. "I. I." He removes his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what to do."
"We should rest for the night," Sam says. "It's too dark to see. If we try to keep going, we might get hurt.” He pauses, then adds ominously, “Or worse.”
"Besides, it'll be easier to look for mom if you're not tired," Lisa points out.
David studies Sam for a long moment. Dean doesn’t understand how Sam can meet the man’s gaze without screaming. Finally, David nods. "Okay." And with that, he walks toward the fire and sits down. Tripod materializes from the shadows and rubs her head against David's knee.
The minute David's gone, Sam's smile shatters and he puts both hands to his face. He rubs furiously, as if he can scrub the lies away. When he lowers his hands Lisa is watching him. "Thank you," she says simply, and goes to her father.
"Jesus," Dean mutters. "That is some fucked up shit."
Sam nods, his eye on the fire.
ooooo
Craig is pouring salt carefully in a wide circle. Luke hobbles after him, pointing out spots that need repair. Nessa's telling Owen a bedtime story, her low voice drifting toward them, and Sam sits down to listen. The story is about a beautiful princess named Buttercup and her one true love, Wesley. It doesn't take long for Sam to realize Nessa is reciting the plot of The Princess Bride. "Hey, I know this."
Nessa lifts an eyebrow. "I've already gone through every Disney movie, given a detailed description of every school play I was ever in, and used a great deal of creative license on Edward Scissorhands and The Nightmare Before Christmas." She turns to Owen and pokes him gently in the stomach. "You are a harsh task-master, mister."
Owen giggles, not at the words, but at her tone of voice. He pokes her back. "More story," he implores and Nessa exhales noisily. Dean seats himself next to the young woman. "How about I tell you a story, little man? I used to tell stories to my brother all the time when we were kids."
Owen scratches his nose and look up at Nessa. Whatever he sees in her face reassures him, because he nods at Dean. "Okay."
Dean leans back on his elbows. "Okay," he winks at Owen. "This is a good one. It takes place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away."
ooooo
When Sam wakes, Dean is gone. They're all gone. Sam whirls, all traces of sleep gone. Not only is he fully awake, so is the panic roiling in his gut. Shit. Where is everybody? He looks down at his hands, but there's no blood. He scans the ground for clues, for the fucking heron, for anything.
All he finds is a dead fire and a lot of salt. Wait. The packs are still here, Dean’s is right there. Sam frowns, trying to work out a reason for everyone's absence. They ditched you. They know what you've done. Maybe David wandered off and they're out looking for him. But if that's the case, why not wake Sam up too?
He starts down the highway, slowly at first, and gradually picks up speed. He's got a steady jog going by the time he notices the telephone pole. It's a fair distance away, and his eyesight is not exactly what it used to be, but he can still see there's a body hanging from it. Fuck. Not more of this shit.
Only this time, the corpse doesn’t belong to a stranger. Sam's heart leaps when he recognizes David. His hands and feet are bound to the pole, and a wide collar of blood rings his neck and stains the front of his shirt. His eyes stare blankly, glasses askew. His hair blows gently in the breeze. Sam tries to swallow, but there's something in his throat. He coughs, gags, and pulls in a wheezing breath.
On the other side of the highway is Lisa. Her head hangs low, chin to chest, blood still dripping onto the pavement. Sam stares. He blinks. Blinks again. But when he opens his eyes, Lisa is still there. "No," he says. "No."
He's running now, heart pounding harder than his feet. Down the highway is Nessa. She's trussed to a pole too, her eyes pale white marbles in her dark face. It doesn't end. There's Craig, and Jesus Christ, Luke. Sam's face is wet with tears and he can barely see. His vision keeps blurring, and he has to constantly wipe his face. Please, he prays. Please. Let Dean be okay. Even Owen is dead, and Sam crouches on the shoulder of the road, dry-heaving into tall yellow weeds. He stumbles back to his feet and keeps walking, arms in front of him now, like a blind man or a drunk. And then he sees Dean.
He knows instantly that Dean is dead. He almost falls, his legs don’t seem to be functioning quite right. He reaches the pole and throws his arms around Dean, pressing his face to Dean's chest, smearing blood against his face. He doesn’t know what to do. He's lost without Dean. He wonders why he's not tied to a telephone pole as well.
A shrill cry cuts through the air and Sam looks up. Perched on the top of the telephone pole is a grey heron. It watches him with a yellow bead eye, unblinking. "This is what's waiting for you, Sam. No truth, only consequences," the bird says, and picks lazily at a wing with his beak. "The consequences are coming, boy. Do you really want to face them?"
Sam’s too shocked to feel anger, there’s only a vast, sweeping loss. It pours into him like sand, like lead, until he’s weighted to the ground. He blinks stupidly at Dean, waiting for him to move or laugh or tell him it’s all a big fucking joke. He blinks again, and that’s when he sees the paper pinned to Dean’s shirt. Sorry, bro, you’re a little late.
ooooo
Sam jerks awake to find Dean watching him. Dean's got his I’m worried you're freaking out face on, but Sam doesn't care. Dean can have any face he wants as long as he's alive. Sam glances around the camp and sure enough, everyone is here, safe and sound. Well, not really safe. And most of them aren't very sound, either. But at least they're here. Sam lets his head fall back with a thud. "Bad dream?" Dean asks.
Laughter bubbles out of him before he can stop it. Sam shakes his head. "That's one way of putting it,” he says. He brings his hands to his face. "Oh God," he groans. "That was…not good." He sits up with a sigh.
"What was it about?"
Sam runs a hand across his chin, debating what to say. "Let's just say...not everyone is excited as we are about us getting to T or C."
Dean purses his lips and wiggles them in and out. He glances around the camp, checks to make sure Nessa and Owen are both still sleeping. "Was it like...prophetic? Or garden variety nightmare?"
Sam snorts. "Since when is anything garden variety about me?" His voice is harsh. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to force the stiffness out of his muscles. "I don't think it was a warning. I mean, it was a warning, but it's not like with Jessica." Sam studiously avoids Dean's gaze. He gets to his feet and starts walking. "I think it would be a good idea if we got going."
In the distance, a bird's call shatters the morning stillness.
Sam keeps walking.
ooooo
"I don’t know what they think I’m gonna do," Sam admits. His eyelid is steel wool. He imagines his ruined eye socket is full of sand: if he pulls off the patch, a small desert will run out onto his shoe. The thought brings him back to the nightmare and he scowls. He’s exhausted, feels brittle and old. At times like this, he can’t fathom that he’s only twenty-six. He feels twice that old. "If Jeff’s telling the truth, that whole town is pinning their hopes on me, Dean. On me."
Dean rubs his eyebrows with a thumb and forefinger. "Yeah. So. You’ll save them. And I’ll help."
Sam drains his water bottle. "That’s it? That’s your big pep talk? I gotta tell you, dude, it’s not your best work."
Dean snorts. "Shut up. Look. You worry too much. They’ve got a psychic. A doctor. Andy’s gonna be there. You can work your Wonder Twins mojo."
"I hope so," Sam interjects bleakly. "For all we know Andy’s dead in a ditch on the side of the road. Or he’s been sacrificed."
Dean reaches into his pack and hands Sam a fresh bottle. "Did you or did you not say you had a vision of hunters in T or C?"
Sam rubs his dry lips with the back of his hand. He opens his mouth to argue, thinks better of it. He shrugs one shoulder and reaches for the bottle of water. "Yeah. I did."
"So what do you think? They’re gonna stand you up on the edge of town and say so long and good luck? You’re not alone, Sam." Dean puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "I know you feel like a little emo bitch most of the time, but that’s just in your head. All that hair is probably crushing your brain, you know? You’ve got me, Andy, a bunch of hunters. "
"Who’ll probably want to kill me."
Dean pulls his hand off Sam’s shoulder and punches him in the arm.
Sam frowns and rubs his biceps. "Ow."
"You deserve it. If they’re all waiting for you like you’re the great geek hope, I’m guessing it’s kind of counter-productive if they kill you." Dean looks thoughtful. "But I’m only guessing."
The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up. "Fine. Maybe I’m just...freaking out a little."
Dean stares. "Maybe?"
Sam huffs. "Okay. I’m freaking out."
Dean doesn’t blink. "A little?"
Sam adjusts the wattage on his glare. "Very funny. I’d like to see your mood if you were supposed to save the world and didn’t have a damn clue how to do it."
Dean grins. "Come on, man. I save the world every day just by making it a prettier place."
Sam glances around at the barren landscape. "You’re doing a pretty suck-ass job then."
Dean waves Sam’s criticism away. "You should see it when I’m not around."
Sam casts a quick look at his brother. He doesn’t want a world where Dean’s not around. "Fine.
The world is pretty. You’re pretty. Everything’s pretty. Let’s just go, okay?"
"Yeah, but I’m pretty as in hot and you’re pretty as in a big girl. A girl who collects dolls."
"It’s just sad how you think you’re so fricking hilarious when really you’re just lame and old."
"Dude. That is harsh. I’ll have you know I’m not lame or old."
"It’s neither lame nor old."
"Wow. The chicks must dig you when you go all English teacher on them."
"It’s better than sounding like a moron."
"Yeah? You’re a prissy girl."
"And you’re still an old man."
"Can you take a break from professing your undying love for each other for one second?" Nessa breaks in. "Owen has to pee and he wants one of you to take him." She grins impishly. "He says he wants a big boy to take him, but frankly, I don’t see any around here."
Dean strokes his chin, feigning heavy thought. "Hmm. What about Luke?"
"Do you think I’d be asking Dumb and Dumber if Luke could do it? His leg is bothering him."
Dean stage whispers to Sam, "Just so you know, she’s implying you’re Dumber."
Sam’s eyebrow jerks and his lips fold down in a pout. "Hey! She’s rude."
Dean nods sadly. "And here I thought vets were nice and friendly and eventually became cat ladies when they got old. You keep talking like that, and your cats are gonna turn on you."
Nessa bursts into laughter. "Can you help Owen before he pees his pants? Cuz otherwise, one of you is carrying him the rest of the day."
Sam gives Dean a nuanced look and Dean nods. Sam lifts his hand to chest level, elbow bent. "Ready?"
Dean holds his hand the same way. "Ready."
Sam counts -- "One, two, three” - and they both bring their hands down. Sam’s hand is balled into a fist, Dean’s index and middle finger are in the shape of a V. "Rock beats scissors," Sam beams. He makes a shooing motion. "Buh-bye."
"You suck," Dean grumps. But his smile returns when he sees Owen hopping up and down on the edge of the road. "Hey little man. Let’s go."
Owen grins back. "Hi Dean. Why can’t I go potty by myself? How come Nessa or you or some grown-up gots to come with me?"
Dean ruffles the boy’s hair. "When we’re back to using bathrooms you can go alone. Until then, you’ve got company."
Owen eyeballs Dean. "No looking."
Dean holds his hands up, nodding agreement. "No looking. Cross my heart."
Nessa watches the pair move off toward a straggling copse of trees. "That kid really took a shine to Dean," she says.
Sam hooks his thumbs into his back pockets, a wistful expression on his face. "Kids always do."
ooooo
His feet hurt, but he doesn’t care. This is it. The finish line. Journey’s end. He’ll walk until his feet fall off, because they’re almost there. Not home, but close. A place they can rest, sleep in relative safety. There’ll be people. Hunters. He’s still nervous, but it’s evenly split between reaching T or C, and T or C’s reaction to him.
Luke’s leg is better, and he’s walking on his own. David is calm. They’re making good time. Sam knows enough to realize that means something’s going to go wrong, so when the clouds roll in like grim-faced boulders, he’s not particularly surprised.
It starts raining outside Socorro. It’s a torrential, driving rain, and it feels like going down the Logger’s Run at Great America ten times in a row while fully dressed. Sam’s clothes are lead, clinging like desperate, sodden hands. Each raindrop is a cold pebble on his skin. His hair is plastered against his head and face, and it’s nearly impossible to see. The others slog through the downpour, miserable and silent. The rain washes away the previous day’s good mood, uncertainty standing in hope’s place.
Sam can’t remember a storm this bad before. The weather’s been more or less cooperative up to now. He finds himself wondering if there’s such a thing as a weather demon. Owen cried for a while, but he’s silent now, shivering in Nessa’s arms. After a while, Dean relieves her and carries the boy. Nessa finds a plastic bag in her backpack and fashions a crude plastic scarf for Owen’s head. The rain patters steadily against the plastic, but the boy doesn’t seem very impressed with Nessa’s efforts.
Sam holds Luke’s hand, more in an attempt to keep upright than to offer the boy comfort. David and Lisa walk side by side, one mirroring the other. They both have their arms crossed tightly, as if making a last-ditch effort to keep a sliver of clothing dry. Sam doesn’t think its working. His boots squelch through puddles, the rain probes wet fingers down the back of his shirt. He squeezes Luke’s hand and unconsciously pulls the boy closer as they pass the dripping figures tied to telephone poles. Water streams down blank faces, turning them to melting wax. Sam’s thankful he can’t see better.
“You okay?” Dean shouts through the deluge.
“Awesome,” Sam responds.
It’s like walking through a waterfall. Every so often Sam thinks he sees something looming out of the curtain of rain, but nothing’s there. He feels jumpy and disoriented. “Did you see that?” Sam asks.
“All I see is water,” Dean grunts.
Luke squeezes Sam’s hand and he looks down at the boy. Luke blinks up at him, but his expression is unreadable. Sam feels his back pocket and takes small comfort in the fact his gun is still there.
ooooo
Eventually, the rain tapers off. The downpour becomes a shower, then finally, mist. A thick arm of thick fog splits the highway in half. They wade through the dense haze and emerge onto a long, vacant stretch of road. The telephone poles are mercifully bare. The few abandoned cars that remain have been pushed to the shoulder of the road.
Dean sees it first: a broken sign on the edge of the highway. Sam squints at the faded word Consequences. Truth is long gone. Sam wonders if the sign is an omen. They’re nearly there now.
Craig pats Sam lightly on the back. "You haven’t fulfilled your destiny, Sam," the professor says softly. "Not even close. You remember that."
Dean leads the way, Sam at his side. Their shoes squelch on the pavement, their hair drips. Directly behind them are Craig, Luke, Nessa and Owen. Bringing up the rear are David and Lisa. Tripod runs alongside, disappearing into a pocket of brush here, reappearing there. They walk in silence, clothes still soaked. Sam stops abruptly and nudges Dean. He points ahead.
Squat buildings spring up along the edge of the road. Empty houses, gas stations and gift shops watch them, wood faces impassive. Billboards advertising dozens of spas have been painted over. Black lettering proclaims WELCOME TO T OR C.
A curve in the road leads them to a group of five men. They’re all well-armed. Behind them stands a large home-made gate made of pallets, barbed wire, burnt-out cars. A large white Devil’s Trap sprayed across the road separates the men from Dean and his group. All five men wear motorcycle helmets; each helmet is decorated with various protective symbols.
One of the men steps forward and removes his helmet. Jeff grins at them, toothpick dangling. "Took you long enough. If you’ll be kind enough to step onto the welcome mat, we can get things moving."
The other members of Jeff’s group remove their helmets, but the weapons remain at the ready. Sam is surprised to see one of the guards is actually a russet-haired woman. She looks vaguely familiar, but Sam can’t place her. He quickly looks away, afraid she’ll recognize him as a Sixer.
Dean doesn’t bother to protest Jeff’s request. One by one they enter the Devil’s Trap and wait expectantly. "I told you it weren’t necessary," Jeff says when they’re all safely through the circle. "They’re clean."
A large bald man steps forward, eyes narrowed. "We don’t know that. Not for sure."
Craig rolls up his sleeve, Dean follows suit. "I don’t know if this helps," Craig says calmly, "but I doubt a demon would care to inhabit skin marked by this." He points to the Seal of Solomon on his arm.
"How’s Andy?" Dean demands. "Is he okay?"
Jeff tilts his head. "Yep."
"And was he possessed?” Dean snarks. “Try to kill everybody during the night?"
The corner of Jeff’s mouth twitches. "Not that I noticed. But I tend to be a sound sleeper."
The woman holds a hand up. "Enough. We’ve waited months. More than a year. If anyone can tell us that these folks are who they say they are, she can." The woman watches Sam and Dean steadily for a long moment. "It does look like them." She scans the horizon, checks her watch. "And they’re right on time."
Dean stares back. "Who told you? Do we know you? Is Missouri here?"
"I’m Monica," the woman replies. A small girl steps from behind her legs. The girl looks to be about three or four years old. She has light brown hair done up in two pigtails. She’s wearing a pair of worn denim overalls and a gray sweater that matches her eyes. She holds a tattered doll in one hand. Only a single button eye looks out from the doll’s face. Monica turns to the girl. "Well, Rosey? Is it him?"
Rosey’s dark eyes flick across Sam’s face and he stares back at her, stunned. "Rosey? Rose Holt?" A thousand years ago (before he knew what he was, before he’d done what he did) he had walked down a street in Salvation, Iowa. He’d met a young woman pushing her baby daughter in a stroller. That same night, he and Dean had saved Monica and her daughter from the yellow-eyed demon. And now, that baby-that child-is standing right in front of him. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear it’s - it’s like she’s reading your mind.
Dean’s head swivels between Monica, Rosey and Sam. "No way," he breathes.
Rosey’s gaze flicks to Dean and a smile splits her cherubic face. "Way," she chirps. She gives her mom a thumbs-up and races to Sam. She throws her arms around his legs and declares, "You saved my life! Mom said so, back when I was itty-bitty, and I remember you!"
Sam blinks down at her. He quickly lowers himself to his knees. "I remember you too. I can’t believe how big you are!"
Rosey shrugs. "That’s what kids are supposed to do. Get bigger." She gives him a pointed look. "You’re big enough."
Sam grins so hard his face hurts. "I think you’re right."
Rose turns back to her mom. "It’s just him. Nobody else inside his head." She jerks a thumb toward Dean and makes a disgusted face. "He thinks you’re hot."
Dean makes a choking sound and keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
Monica sighs. "Rose, stop it. People’s thoughts are their own. You checked Sam, now that’s enough,” she says, careful not to look at Dean. “Say you’re sorry."
Still looking like she just ate a spider, Rose offers a pinched apology to Dean. Her smile returns when she refocuses on Sam. "Come on, everybody’s waiting for you. Come say hi to the Doctor."
ooooo
"How...how did you know we were coming?" Sam asks faintly. They’re through the gates now, inside the city proper. Not that there’s much city left.
"I have dreams sometimes. Visions, I guess," Rosey reveals easily. She swings Sam’s hand in her own. "I started dreaming about you a while ago." Her face clouds. "Back when you were doing that naughty stuff."
Sam swallows thickly. No. Please don’t let her have seen- Don’t let her know- "I’m sorry," he croaks. "I’m sorry you had to...had to see that."
Rosey shrugs again. "It wasn’t really you. The Doctor explained it to me and Mom." She looks up at him. "That’s how I knew you’d come. I had a dream you stopped listening to the thing in your head and you were gonna come and help us." She gestures around her with her free hand. "So we’ve been getting ready."
They’re surrounded by dozens of people. There, a woman hangs laundry on a make-shift clothesline. Here, a man sits on the ground cleaning a veritable arsenal of weapons. Across the square a man holds an axe against an old-fashioned grindstone. A man and woman teach a small group of children a simple Latin exorcism. Dean elbows Sam. Can you believe this shit?
Sam’s finding it hard to know what he believes, because everywhere they walk, whispers follow. The square easily contains over a hundred people and they’re all watching the group of newcomers. Most are gathered in what was once a high school football field. The racing track has been converted into a large Devil’s Trap. Tents are pitched across the field in neat rows. A block over, Sam can see a building that reads Sierra Vista Medical Center. He wonders if that’s where Andy is.
Monica and Jeff stop outside an old garage. Faint music warbles out of tinny speakers. There’s a sign on a warped side door that reads Dr. Badass Is In. Sam gapes at the wooden sign. He shakes his head. "No way. It can’t be."
The door opens and a thin man sticks his head out. His hair is pulled back into a dirty blond ponytail and he regards Sam and Dean with a distinct lack of surprise. "Well," Ash drawls. "If it ain’t the Winchesters. You two are slower than molasses in January going uphill both ways." He grins and throws an arm around each man’s shoulder. "But damn, is it good to see you."