Desperado (PG)
Summary: After being off the grid for 22 years, John finally has a reason to settle somewhere with his kids. But hunting's left him with a long list of outstanding warrants. Will the cost of living in Cazadore prove to be more than John can pay?
Desperado
by San Antonio Rose and Enola Jones
July 7, 2005
“Hypothetical question,” said Roger Olson, the assistant district attorney for the Texas 59th Judicial District who was assigned to Jefferson County and specifically to Cazadore, for the tenth time that day. “Say a guy who was wanted up your way for grave desecration was arrested for the same thing down here. And say he was willing to deal-a no-contest plea to all charges in exchange for ten years of house arrest.”
“What kind of grave desecration we talkin’ about?” asked the DA in Missouri.
“Oh, I dunno... unauthorized exhumation, corpse mutilation. Hypothetically.”
“One of these weirdo ghost hunters? A salt and burn?”
“Possibly.”
The other man sighed. “Ten years sounds like a lot for grave desecration. Thought it was only two down your way.”
“Well, he’s racked up quite the charge list, our hypothetical ghost hunter.”
“Yeah? How many states you havin’ to call, hypothetically?”
“Forty-nine. And the feds. Hypothetically.”
A beat passed. “How the hell did you find Winchester?”
“Never said I did.”
A chuckle. “Okay, assuming it’s Winchester, why would he deal?”
“Maybe his kids just got married and it shocked him back to his senses. Decided to quit tryin’ to avenge his wife’s death on things that don’t exist. Wants to pay his debt to society but doesn’t want to have to miss seein’ his grandkids grow up.”
“Going for an insanity plea?”
“I doubt it. Could be he hates psychiatrists and doesn’t want to risk them sayin’ he’s still non compos mentis.”
The Missouri DA sighed again. “Well, if we are talking about Winchester... man like that, just being in one place for ten years will be punishment enough. So yes, hypothetically, I’d say it’s a fair bargain.”
“Great. Thanks. We’ll be in touch if anything comes of it.”
They said their farewells, and Olson hung up, made a mark next to “Missouri,” and moved down the list. Dialing the number for the FBI, he leaned back in his chair and waited while it rang.
“FBI. Willis.”
Olson’s eyes flew wide open and he sat up in his chair. “Say again?”
“I said, you’ve reached the FBI and this is Agent Willis. Now can I help you?”
Olson pulled the phone back and looked at the number. He closed his eyes and shook his head as he put the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, Singer, you can meet me at Maggie’s in five minutes and explain to me why your number comes up FBI.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket.
This should prove to be interesting, he thought.
John and Bobby were both waiting for Olson when he arrived at the diner. John looked skittish, Bobby determined. Olson ordered a cup of coffee as he passed the counter, then slid into the booth across from the hunters. “Well?”
Bobby held up both hands. “That ain’t my fault. Frank’s had that number a couple of years, probably forgot it wasn’t real.”
Olson sighed. “John? Do you have any idea who I need to contact?”
“Henricksen,” John replied. “Victor Henricksen. My buddy in Little Rock, Deacon, says Henricksen’s just been assigned to the case.”
“Victor Henricksen,” Olson repeated. “Got it.”
The conversation paused while Garnet delivered Olson’s coffee, which he drank gratefully.
“Well, aside from this little hiccup,” asked Bobby, “how’s it coming?”
“Pretty well,” Olson nodded. “Slowly, but well. The suspicion-of-murder areas were the hardest to talk down, but in theory, the states are all in agreement. Of course, nothing’s set in stone yet.” He looked at John. “You found an attorney yet?”
“No,” John admitted.
“Mr. Winchester, this case won’t be heard in Cazadore. It’ll happen in Beaumont or Houston. You can’t count on a hunter-friendly judge. You need a good advocate.”
John shook his head. “I don’t know anyone.”
Olson sighed and looked at Bobby. When Bobby shook his head, Olson sighed again. “Okay. Try Ellsworth, he’s local.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to John.
John nodded. “I’ll call him today.”
“You’d better. The sooner he gets up to speed, the sooner we can wrap this up and make it official. Now, what about a realtor? If you’re going to be under house arrest, you need a house to be arrested in.”
“We’ve got him covered there,” Bobby said with a smile. “The boys and me.”
Olson nodded. “Good. That’ll make life simpler.”
“It’s near Mercer’s,” Bobby told John, “so you can walk to work.”
“Oh, so Mercer’s hired you on?” Olson asked.
John nodded.
“Good.” Olson looked at him more closely then. “Mr. Winchester... are you all right?”
John blinked. “Why?”
“You’re not saying much. I know this is not an easy prospect to face, but... it’ll go a lot easier if you’re working with us instead of just... sitting here.”
“I....” John rubbed his forehead.
Bobby frowned. “John?”
“There’s just so much....”
“We’re gettin’ there, idjit. You don’t have to do it alone-but Olson’s right. Be easier if you help.”
“How? I don’t know HOW to help. I’ve gone for so long, all on my own....”
“That’s why I’m still here. First thing you gotta do is talk to that lawyer.”
“How do I tell them the truth without sounding batshit insane?”
“Ellsworth has been here for thirty years,” Olson replied. “He knows about hunting. Between us, we can tell just enough of the truth to get you by without an insanity plea.”
John pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
Olson finished his coffee, nodded to Bobby, and left.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Ellsworth, please.”
“Dan Ellsworth speaking.”
“Mr. Ellsworth... this is John Winchester.”
“Sam and Dean’s dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah! I think we met at the wedding reception-’course, you probably don’t remember, given everything else that happened that day. So what can I do for you?”
John sighed. “I’m in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? Is it hunting-related?”
John leaned back in his seat. “Sort of. Look, I need to meet you.”
“All right. Where are you now?”
“Maggie’s.”
“Okay. Come on by the office; I’ve got an appointment open in half an hour.” Ellsworth rattled off directions from the diner, and John wrote them down on a napkin.
Half an hour later, he walked into Ellsworth’s office.
Ellsworth stood, grinning, and shook John’s hand. “Sit down, sit down! Tell me what’s going on.”
“Well, I want to cop a plea deal.”
Ellsworth sat back. “Okay. What are the charges?”
“Grave desecration. Corpse mutilation. Arson. Suspected murder-though that one’ll be dropped.”
Ellsworth nodded. “Sounds to me like you’ve been talking to the DA’s office already. Not that it’s a bad thing, mind, just... unusual for an accused person to find a defender last.”
“Well... I don’t know how to do this.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Ellsworth smiled kindly. “What’s the deal you’ve been offered?”
“Ten years of house arrest.”
“Sounds a little steep-but I guess the arson charges would call for a longer sentence. And these are all the results of hunts, I take it?”
“Every single one, yes, sir.”
Ellsworth nodded once. “Good. You’ve got yourself an attorney, John.”
“I can’t pay. I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t worry about that. We take hunters pro bono.”
John slowly shook his head. “I’m... I’m sorry.” His voice shook. “I can’t... this is so... so different....”
“John. You’re a hero. This is my way of saying thank you.”
He laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I’m sorry... a hero? ME?”
“You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”
John nodded slowly.
“And I seem to recall the boys saying something about your having served in the Marines.”
“Yes... in ’Nam.”
Ellsworth leaned forward. “Then welcome home, Marine.”
John blinked and had to look away.
“Now. Who’s handling your case, Olson?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. He’s one of the best-cares more about seeing justice done than about making a name for himself, and he knows about hunting. I’ll give him a call, see where things stand.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you give me a phone number where I can reach you?”
John wrote down his number.
“And where are you staying?”
“Home.”
“... which is?”
He wrote that down, too.
Ellsworth thought for a moment and nodded. “Good neighborhood for you, I’d say. Gives the boys some space, too.”
John smiled.
Ellsworth stood and offered John his hand. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything or if I have any questions for you. And if you have any questions or concerns, just give me a call.”
“Thanks.” John shook his hand and left, still feeling dazed.
Bobby was waiting outside for him. “How’d it go?”
“I think I’ve got a lawyer.”
Bobby grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Told you it wouldn’t be that hard.”
“I dunno... I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Hell, John, you got good reason-though I don’t think it’s the humans you have to worry about. Just ’cause Azazel’s dead don’t mean it’s over.”
John sighed. “I know.”
“That said, I think you can trust Olson and Ellsworth to do right by you.”
John nodded, looking very tired.
“C’mon. Dunno about you, but I could use a nap.”
Huffing a chuckle, John followed him.
There is a certain variety of demon recognizable by the fact that its host’s eyes turn red rather than black. They are commonly referred to as crossroads demons, but the crossroads is not their only place of business. In fact, they can often be found in any line of work where wheeling and dealing can come down to life-or-death decisions and despairing desire that drives a person to make a literal Faustian bargain.
So to any normal person, the meeting between two crossroads demons that took place on this particular day would have looked like an assistant district attorney from Houston talking with a literary agent from New York.
“Milord,” one of them said with a gentle head bow.
“You have news?” asked the other, gesturing toward a chair.
He sat. “Yes. There is a potentially lucrative deal being purposed in Cazadore, Texas.”
“Oh? Why’ve you been sniffing around Cazadore? You know what’s happened there lately.”
“Yes. But I also know that John Winchester is bargaining for his future.”
“Is he? Well, well. Tell me more.”
The junior demon recounted everything he knew.
The demon in the black-clad agent’s body sat back, considering. “Right. Those brats of his have fallen off the radar... but trapping John in a deal might just be the catalyst we need. Might even do for breaking the first seal himself, though Alastair would likely have to get... creative.”
“Creative is our Alastair’s middle name.”
He chuckled cruelly. “How easy would it be for you to derail this plea bargain?”
“This is Cazadore, sir. Nothing comes easy to our kind there.”
“Mm. That’s true. But then... you’re not stationed in Cazadore, are you?”
“No, sir. I’m in Houston.”
“So DO IT FROM THERE, YOU BLOODY MORON!”
The underling cringed. “Yes, sir.”
“But once you’ve done that, you are not to approach Winchester. I’ll be handling this deal myself.”
He nodded, grinning.
“All right, lad.” The superior demon waved his hand in a shooing motion.
The underling stood up and left hurriedly.
The other demon put his feet up on his desk and started petting his hellhound as he pondered the situation further. He had never been completely sold on the whole jumpstart-the-Apocalypse plan, but Lilith would be even more of an unholy terror if she found out he’d missed out on a chance to nab John Winchester’s soul. He’d have to be a bloody fool not to try.
And if there was one thing Crowley was not, it was a bloody fool.
Manufacturing a murder charge against John was a piece of cake for a crossroads demon with enough minions to possess every potential witness and forensic expert necessary. So when the case finally came before a judge in August, a wave of Crowley’s hand was all it took for the phone to ring and the plea bargain to come crashing down. When Ellsworth asked for a recess, John stumbled out into the hall in a daze, too stunned to see straight.
There was no way he could have committed that crime. Yet all the evidence said he did.
And no one would believe him. At all.
It was 1983 all over again.
“Well, well,” purred a British baritone. “Looks like you’ve got a problem, mate.”
“Buzz off,” John growled.
“If prison’s your thing, fine. Suit yourself.”
“What do you know?”
“Name’s Crowley. I’m... something of a specialist in designing bargains. And I can find the loose thread to unravel the whole case.”
“What’s your angle?”
Crowley chuckled. “Not out ’ere, mate.” He pointed to a nearby conference room that looked empty. “We’ll need some privacy.”
John looked around warily and followed Crowley into the conference room. But before the Brit had a chance to close the door or speak, a familiar voice called from the hall, “Oh, there you are, John!”
Crowley spun and hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?!”
“It’s called moral support, genius,” Bill Cooper snarked back. “Sam and Dean couldn’t get off to be here, so they sent me.”
Now that was an outright lie-John had specifically told the boys not to come, and Cooper had to know that. But Crowley’s reaction to simply hearing Cooper sent John’s alarm bells to ringing. The man looked ready to commit murder himself.
Cooper looked at John. “What happened?”
“Plea bargain fell through,” John growled.
Cooper frowned. “Why? What went wrong?”
“I don’t know,” John sighed deeply. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t mind,” said Crowley, “I would like to confer with my client.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Since when is he your client?”
“Shove off!”
“John,” Cooper insisted, “have you been framed for something?”
John nodded. “Murder.”
Cooper’s mouth tightened in a grim line, and he knocked once on the doorframe. “Who’s your lawyer, Ellsworth?”
“Yeah.”
“C’mon. Let’s go talk to him.”
John sighed and followed. Crowley started to follow but stopped suddenly at the door.
Cooper walked quickly down the hall before ducking into another room with John. “No tricks,” he said preemptively before John could ask him anything. “I was just looking forward to having you around to pick on for a good long time. You go with that shyster, and you’ll lose your soul.”
John blinked as the implication hit him. “That was....”
“King of the crossroads demons, himself. Sure you wanna go with him?”
John cursed quietly. “You trapped him, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid I can’t leave him in there. But I can do this.” Cooper pressed his hand against John’s chest, and a sudden sharp pain flared along his ribs.
“The hell did you just do?” John gasped.
“Runes. They’ll keep you off of just about everybody’s radar. Did the same for the kids not too long ago. Now then, let’s go find Ellsworth and Olson, see if we can’t salvage the original deal.”
“... can’t believe I’m trusting a Trickster,” John grumbled under his breath as he rubbed his sore ribs. But he followed Cooper.
Cooper led John unerringly through the halls of the Harris County Courthouse to the room where Olson was arguing with another prosecutor. When a knock at the door didn’t get the men’s attention, Cooper cleared his throat loudly.
John didn’t miss the flicker of recognition in the other prosecutor’s eyes when he looked at Cooper. Neither, apparently, did Olson.
“Seems to me,” Cooper said, walking in, “that your original deal is still in force. This new development is null and void.”
“Oh?” Olson asked, face carefully neutral. “And why’s that?”
“Because that’s not Ian Cole.”
The other prosecutor-Cole-laughed. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m Ian Cole. Who else would I be?”
“You tell me. Jesu Christo, Nomine Patria.”
Cole hissed and recoiled, his eyes flicking red. But before he could speak, Cooper made a cutting-off motion with two fingers, and the demon choked. And John took that as his cue. “Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus....”
Olson stepped back, watching as John stepped forward, the exorcism rolling off his tongue. Cole gagged and wheezed and finally staggered toward the desk, reaching for a letter opener. Olson guessed his intent and snatched the sharp object away from him to keep him from harming himself.
Cooper held up a hand and John halted before the last two lines were uttered. “Speak,” he thundered.
“One day, John,” the demon snarled. “We will find you again. Or your sons. And you will all fulfill your destiny. Hell will have her king.”
“My son is not your king,” John growled, but Cooper could see he believed him.
So he added, “Give Lilith my regards while you’re downstairs, would you? I’ve got a feeling she’s going to want to have a nice long chat with you. John?”
And the last words were said. Cole shrieked, and a cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth and into the ground.
John started to step forward to administer first aid as the exorcised man collapsed, but Cooper stopped him. “This way we can honestly say you never touched him.”
Olson turned him over. “He’s just exhausted.”
Cole groaned as he came to. “Roger?” he croaked. “What... what the hell....”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Olson asked, helping him up to sit in a chair.
Cole shook his head. “Flashes-really weird ones, dunno if they’re memories or not. Last... last clear memory was... going home after work, turning on the news... some update about the Gulf War.”
“Oh, my G-d,” John gasped.
Olson frowned. “Ian... what year is it?”
“... 1991, of course....”
John’s eyes closed.
Cooper looked at Olson. “You’d better call an ambulance. If he’s lost fourteen years, there might be more damage than we know.”
Olson nodded and dialed.
Cole blinked at Cooper. “Did you say-no... no, you’ve gotta be kidding....”
“Sorry, Ian.”
“It’s 2005? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Cole put a hand to his head and looked around the room in shock, but stopped when he got a good look at John. “... the hell kind of trip have I been on....”
“Talk to us,” Cooper said. “You know this man?”
“I... it’s fuzzy. I don’t think we’ve met. But... there was this guy in a black suit, Crowley, and... he said to derail a plea bargain... is-is your name John Winchester?”
“It is,” John confirmed.
Cole buried his face in his hands with a curse.
“Ian?” Cooper prompted.
“I wasn’t in control,” Cole whispered brokenly. “It’s like I was watching a video game or something. But I think I killed someone and tried to frame Mr. Winchester.”
“That’s because you did,” Cooper said softly.
Cole started to cry as he looked over at John again. “Please... tell me you didn’t make the deal.”
John smiled at him. “Bill here stopped me.”
“Oh, thank God. Crowley was so happy, talking about somebody called Alastair having to ‘get creative’-didn’t make any sense, but his laugh was so cruel.”
Cooper’s lips twisted in a cold sneer. “You don’t have to worry about that now.”
“What am I gonna do... nobody’ll believe I wasn’t in control... but I don’t even remember half of what I’ve done the last fourteen years...” Cole paused. “But if... if that was true, then....” His face turned ashen, and Cooper hurriedly handed him a trashcan seconds before he vomited.
“Worse?” Cooper whispered, rubbing his back.
Cole just shuddered. “I... c-can’t... there aren’t words.”
“No,” Cooper said. “But we’re here now.”
Cole broke down completely and simply sobbed until the EMTs arrived.
As he was taken away, Olson sighed. “What am I gonna do now? Possession isn’t an acceptable legal defense!”
“True,” John replied. “But the fact that he’s got partial amnesia could influence a psych evaluation.”
“And thus, every decision he made would be overturned.”
“Your superiors can handle the fallout from this, once Cole gets checked out,” Cooper said. “In the meantime....” He snapped his fingers, but nothing happened that John could see. “Let’s go find Ellsworth, get him up to speed.”
Olson nodded. “Come on.”
As they headed down the hall, following Olson, John murmured to Cooper, “What did you do just now?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Cooper whispered back. “Our friend Crowley won’t be bothering us for a while, though.”
“Oh? Why?”
“He’s in Kyrgyzstan.”
John froze in place. He blinked for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.
Cooper grinned and slapped John on the back, urging him forward.
“Glad you’re on our side,” he whispered to Cooper.
Cooper chuckled. “I’m on the boys’ side, John. Whether you’re on their side is up to you.”
John nodded thoughtfully. This fellow may be a Trickster, but he seemed to love and care for John’s boys.
Cooper started humming quietly. It took a few bars for John to place the tune: “Desperado” by the Eagles.
“Another pointed lesson, Bill?”
Cooper blinked. “You think I’m behind this? Please.”
“Not that. The song.”
“Oh. It did seem appropriate, under the circumstances.”
John chuckled. He was starting to genuinely like this being.
“You do remember how it ends, right?”
There was a pause, then a soft, “Yeah.”
“Pretty sound advice, if you ask me.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Cooper nodded. “See that you do.”
In the end, Ian Cole was tentatively diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, and the attempt to frame John for murder failed. By October, the plea deal was in effect, and John was officially under house arrest... in Cazadore.
Ten years of house arrest. Ten years of being close to his children, of staying in one place.... It was as long as he’d had anywhere since ’Nam-longer if he counted time spent in one house. Even before the fire, he and Mary had had to move once they learned Dean was on the way, since their tiny rental house hadn’t had space for a nursery.
The house that his boys had found for him was palatial compared to the motel rooms he was used to. And they’d warded it just as carefully as they’d warded their own.
He’d once feared his boys had gone soft. They’d done anything but.
Plus, they’d found him a civilian job he actually enjoyed. Between the terms of the deal and the terms of employment he’d hammered out with Mercer, he had to be wholly unarmed while he was at work... but Mercer had given him Dean’s bay, the one with the devil’s trap, and Dean’s tools, some of which were legitimate silver and iron pieces. So he felt like he was armed.
Funniest thing, though... he hadn’t been in Cazadore long before he started feeling something else. Not just protected. Not even simply understood, as weird as that still seemed to him most of the time. But safe. Completely and totally safe.
It was a feeling he hadn’t had since before ’Nam.
And slowly, the more he thought about that conversation with Cooper, the more he began to realize something else was at work.
People loved him here. Even when they didn’t like him all that much.
It confused him. Folks adored the boys, sure, and that made a certain degree of sense, even though John still couldn’t quite let go of his niggling doubts and fears about Sam. But he couldn’t get his head around anyone, let alone complete strangers, loving him.
And he felt that way until about ten days after the new year had started. It was after four and he was dozing on the couch when there was an unexpected rap at his door.
Startled, he reached for his gun. “Who is it?”
A young voice answered, “Angela Sorenson, sir!”
John blinked a couple of times before going to the door and looking through the peephole. There was Amy Sorenson and her five year old daughter.
Frowning a little in confusion, John tucked his gun into his back waistband and opened the door. “What can I do for you ladies?” he asked with both hands and voice.
Angela looked up at her mother, who nodded. She turned back to John and held up a paper. “Mr. Winchester, would you care to buy a box or two of Girl Scout Cookies?”
And, bizarrely, that was the moment John felt completely embraced by Cazadore.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Angela, I haven’t had Girl Scout cookies since my Dean was younger than you are. Tell me, do they still have Thin Mints?”
“Yes, sir, and my gran’pa eats an entire box at a sittin’!”
John laughed again. “Okay, then. I’ll take two boxes of the Thin Mints.”
“That’ll be five dollars.”
He fished a five-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her with a flourish.
And she hugged him tight - her fingers brushing the gun as she did so. She tilted that innocent face up to him and said, “S’it salt in there, Mister Winchester? My mommy carries one with salt in it.”
Somehow the idea didn’t jar him this time. He didn’t even glance at Amy in shock. “Not today, Miss Angela. Iron.”
Her tiny lips pursed and she nodded. “Bet it’s heavy.” She broke the hug and signed to her mother, who laughed and shook her head.
We bother him enough. We have other houses.
Thank you, John signed to Amy sincerely. She not bother, though-I look forward to cookies. And then he surprised himself by adding, Come back any time.
She nodded and they both waved as they left him standing on the porch.
John waved back... and something deep down clicked back into place.
It wasn’t too late.
He switched on the radio after closing the door, and when he heard the next song, somehow it didn’t surprise him at all:
We were made to love and be loved,
But the price this world demands will cost you far too much.
I’ve spent so many lonely years just trying to fit in;
Now I’ve found a place in this circle of friends....
Desperado
by San Antonio Rose and Enola Jones
July 7, 2005
“Hypothetical question,” said Roger Olson, the assistant district attorney for the Texas 59th Judicial District who was assigned to Jefferson County and specifically to Cazadore, for the tenth time that day. “Say a guy who was wanted up your way for grave desecration was arrested for the same thing down here. And say he was willing to deal-a no-contest plea to all charges in exchange for ten years of house arrest.”
“What kind of grave desecration we talkin’ about?” asked the DA in Missouri.
“Oh, I dunno... unauthorized exhumation, corpse mutilation. Hypothetically.”
“One of these weirdo ghost hunters? A salt and burn?”
“Possibly.”
The other man sighed. “Ten years sounds like a lot for grave desecration. Thought it was only two down your way.”
“Well, he’s racked up quite the charge list, our hypothetical ghost hunter.”
“Yeah? How many states you havin’ to call, hypothetically?”
“Forty-nine. And the feds. Hypothetically.”
A beat passed. “How the hell did you find Winchester?”
“Never said I did.”
A chuckle. “Okay, assuming it’s Winchester, why would he deal?”
“Maybe his kids just got married and it shocked him back to his senses. Decided to quit tryin’ to avenge his wife’s death on things that don’t exist. Wants to pay his debt to society but doesn’t want to have to miss seein’ his grandkids grow up.”
“Going for an insanity plea?”
“I doubt it. Could be he hates psychiatrists and doesn’t want to risk them sayin’ he’s still non compos mentis.”
The Missouri DA sighed again. “Well, if we are talking about Winchester... man like that, just being in one place for ten years will be punishment enough. So yes, hypothetically, I’d say it’s a fair bargain.”
“Great. Thanks. We’ll be in touch if anything comes of it.”
They said their farewells, and Olson hung up, made a mark next to “Missouri,” and moved down the list. Dialing the number for the FBI, he leaned back in his chair and waited while it rang.
“FBI. Willis.”
Olson’s eyes flew wide open and he sat up in his chair. “Say again?”
“I said, you’ve reached the FBI and this is Agent Willis. Now can I help you?”
Olson pulled the phone back and looked at the number. He closed his eyes and shook his head as he put the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, Singer, you can meet me at Maggie’s in five minutes and explain to me why your number comes up FBI.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket.
This should prove to be interesting, he thought.
John and Bobby were both waiting for Olson when he arrived at the diner. John looked skittish, Bobby determined. Olson ordered a cup of coffee as he passed the counter, then slid into the booth across from the hunters. “Well?”
Bobby held up both hands. “That ain’t my fault. Frank’s had that number a couple of years, probably forgot it wasn’t real.”
Olson sighed. “John? Do you have any idea who I need to contact?”
“Henricksen,” John replied. “Victor Henricksen. My buddy in Little Rock, Deacon, says Henricksen’s just been assigned to the case.”
“Victor Henricksen,” Olson repeated. “Got it.”
The conversation paused while Garnet delivered Olson’s coffee, which he drank gratefully.
“Well, aside from this little hiccup,” asked Bobby, “how’s it coming?”
“Pretty well,” Olson nodded. “Slowly, but well. The suspicion-of-murder areas were the hardest to talk down, but in theory, the states are all in agreement. Of course, nothing’s set in stone yet.” He looked at John. “You found an attorney yet?”
“No,” John admitted.
“Mr. Winchester, this case won’t be heard in Cazadore. It’ll happen in Beaumont or Houston. You can’t count on a hunter-friendly judge. You need a good advocate.”
John shook his head. “I don’t know anyone.”
Olson sighed and looked at Bobby. When Bobby shook his head, Olson sighed again. “Okay. Try Ellsworth, he’s local.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to John.
John nodded. “I’ll call him today.”
“You’d better. The sooner he gets up to speed, the sooner we can wrap this up and make it official. Now, what about a realtor? If you’re going to be under house arrest, you need a house to be arrested in.”
“We’ve got him covered there,” Bobby said with a smile. “The boys and me.”
Olson nodded. “Good. That’ll make life simpler.”
“It’s near Mercer’s,” Bobby told John, “so you can walk to work.”
“Oh, so Mercer’s hired you on?” Olson asked.
John nodded.
“Good.” Olson looked at him more closely then. “Mr. Winchester... are you all right?”
John blinked. “Why?”
“You’re not saying much. I know this is not an easy prospect to face, but... it’ll go a lot easier if you’re working with us instead of just... sitting here.”
“I....” John rubbed his forehead.
Bobby frowned. “John?”
“There’s just so much....”
“We’re gettin’ there, idjit. You don’t have to do it alone-but Olson’s right. Be easier if you help.”
“How? I don’t know HOW to help. I’ve gone for so long, all on my own....”
“That’s why I’m still here. First thing you gotta do is talk to that lawyer.”
“How do I tell them the truth without sounding batshit insane?”
“Ellsworth has been here for thirty years,” Olson replied. “He knows about hunting. Between us, we can tell just enough of the truth to get you by without an insanity plea.”
John pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
Olson finished his coffee, nodded to Bobby, and left.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Ellsworth, please.”
“Dan Ellsworth speaking.”
“Mr. Ellsworth... this is John Winchester.”
“Sam and Dean’s dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah! I think we met at the wedding reception-’course, you probably don’t remember, given everything else that happened that day. So what can I do for you?”
John sighed. “I’m in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? Is it hunting-related?”
John leaned back in his seat. “Sort of. Look, I need to meet you.”
“All right. Where are you now?”
“Maggie’s.”
“Okay. Come on by the office; I’ve got an appointment open in half an hour.” Ellsworth rattled off directions from the diner, and John wrote them down on a napkin.
Half an hour later, he walked into Ellsworth’s office.
Ellsworth stood, grinning, and shook John’s hand. “Sit down, sit down! Tell me what’s going on.”
“Well, I want to cop a plea deal.”
Ellsworth sat back. “Okay. What are the charges?”
“Grave desecration. Corpse mutilation. Arson. Suspected murder-though that one’ll be dropped.”
Ellsworth nodded. “Sounds to me like you’ve been talking to the DA’s office already. Not that it’s a bad thing, mind, just... unusual for an accused person to find a defender last.”
“Well... I don’t know how to do this.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Ellsworth smiled kindly. “What’s the deal you’ve been offered?”
“Ten years of house arrest.”
“Sounds a little steep-but I guess the arson charges would call for a longer sentence. And these are all the results of hunts, I take it?”
“Every single one, yes, sir.”
Ellsworth nodded once. “Good. You’ve got yourself an attorney, John.”
“I can’t pay. I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t worry about that. We take hunters pro bono.”
John slowly shook his head. “I’m... I’m sorry.” His voice shook. “I can’t... this is so... so different....”
“John. You’re a hero. This is my way of saying thank you.”
He laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I’m sorry... a hero? ME?”
“You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”
John nodded slowly.
“And I seem to recall the boys saying something about your having served in the Marines.”
“Yes... in ’Nam.”
Ellsworth leaned forward. “Then welcome home, Marine.”
John blinked and had to look away.
“Now. Who’s handling your case, Olson?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. He’s one of the best-cares more about seeing justice done than about making a name for himself, and he knows about hunting. I’ll give him a call, see where things stand.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you give me a phone number where I can reach you?”
John wrote down his number.
“And where are you staying?”
“Home.”
“... which is?”
He wrote that down, too.
Ellsworth thought for a moment and nodded. “Good neighborhood for you, I’d say. Gives the boys some space, too.”
John smiled.
Ellsworth stood and offered John his hand. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything or if I have any questions for you. And if you have any questions or concerns, just give me a call.”
“Thanks.” John shook his hand and left, still feeling dazed.
Bobby was waiting outside for him. “How’d it go?”
“I think I’ve got a lawyer.”
Bobby grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Told you it wouldn’t be that hard.”
“I dunno... I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Hell, John, you got good reason-though I don’t think it’s the humans you have to worry about. Just ’cause Azazel’s dead don’t mean it’s over.”
John sighed. “I know.”
“That said, I think you can trust Olson and Ellsworth to do right by you.”
John nodded, looking very tired.
“C’mon. Dunno about you, but I could use a nap.”
Huffing a chuckle, John followed him.
There is a certain variety of demon recognizable by the fact that its host’s eyes turn red rather than black. They are commonly referred to as crossroads demons, but the crossroads is not their only place of business. In fact, they can often be found in any line of work where wheeling and dealing can come down to life-or-death decisions and despairing desire that drives a person to make a literal Faustian bargain.
So to any normal person, the meeting between two crossroads demons that took place on this particular day would have looked like an assistant district attorney from Houston talking with a literary agent from New York.
“Milord,” one of them said with a gentle head bow.
“You have news?” asked the other, gesturing toward a chair.
He sat. “Yes. There is a potentially lucrative deal being purposed in Cazadore, Texas.”
“Oh? Why’ve you been sniffing around Cazadore? You know what’s happened there lately.”
“Yes. But I also know that John Winchester is bargaining for his future.”
“Is he? Well, well. Tell me more.”
The junior demon recounted everything he knew.
The demon in the black-clad agent’s body sat back, considering. “Right. Those brats of his have fallen off the radar... but trapping John in a deal might just be the catalyst we need. Might even do for breaking the first seal himself, though Alastair would likely have to get... creative.”
“Creative is our Alastair’s middle name.”
He chuckled cruelly. “How easy would it be for you to derail this plea bargain?”
“This is Cazadore, sir. Nothing comes easy to our kind there.”
“Mm. That’s true. But then... you’re not stationed in Cazadore, are you?”
“No, sir. I’m in Houston.”
“So DO IT FROM THERE, YOU BLOODY MORON!”
The underling cringed. “Yes, sir.”
“But once you’ve done that, you are not to approach Winchester. I’ll be handling this deal myself.”
He nodded, grinning.
“All right, lad.” The superior demon waved his hand in a shooing motion.
The underling stood up and left hurriedly.
The other demon put his feet up on his desk and started petting his hellhound as he pondered the situation further. He had never been completely sold on the whole jumpstart-the-Apocalypse plan, but Lilith would be even more of an unholy terror if she found out he’d missed out on a chance to nab John Winchester’s soul. He’d have to be a bloody fool not to try.
And if there was one thing Crowley was not, it was a bloody fool.
Manufacturing a murder charge against John was a piece of cake for a crossroads demon with enough minions to possess every potential witness and forensic expert necessary. So when the case finally came before a judge in August, a wave of Crowley’s hand was all it took for the phone to ring and the plea bargain to come crashing down. When Ellsworth asked for a recess, John stumbled out into the hall in a daze, too stunned to see straight.
There was no way he could have committed that crime. Yet all the evidence said he did.
And no one would believe him. At all.
It was 1983 all over again.
“Well, well,” purred a British baritone. “Looks like you’ve got a problem, mate.”
“Buzz off,” John growled.
“If prison’s your thing, fine. Suit yourself.”
“What do you know?”
“Name’s Crowley. I’m... something of a specialist in designing bargains. And I can find the loose thread to unravel the whole case.”
“What’s your angle?”
Crowley chuckled. “Not out ’ere, mate.” He pointed to a nearby conference room that looked empty. “We’ll need some privacy.”
John looked around warily and followed Crowley into the conference room. But before the Brit had a chance to close the door or speak, a familiar voice called from the hall, “Oh, there you are, John!”
Crowley spun and hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?!”
“It’s called moral support, genius,” Bill Cooper snarked back. “Sam and Dean couldn’t get off to be here, so they sent me.”
Now that was an outright lie-John had specifically told the boys not to come, and Cooper had to know that. But Crowley’s reaction to simply hearing Cooper sent John’s alarm bells to ringing. The man looked ready to commit murder himself.
Cooper looked at John. “What happened?”
“Plea bargain fell through,” John growled.
Cooper frowned. “Why? What went wrong?”
“I don’t know,” John sighed deeply. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t mind,” said Crowley, “I would like to confer with my client.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Since when is he your client?”
“Shove off!”
“John,” Cooper insisted, “have you been framed for something?”
John nodded. “Murder.”
Cooper’s mouth tightened in a grim line, and he knocked once on the doorframe. “Who’s your lawyer, Ellsworth?”
“Yeah.”
“C’mon. Let’s go talk to him.”
John sighed and followed. Crowley started to follow but stopped suddenly at the door.
Cooper walked quickly down the hall before ducking into another room with John. “No tricks,” he said preemptively before John could ask him anything. “I was just looking forward to having you around to pick on for a good long time. You go with that shyster, and you’ll lose your soul.”
John blinked as the implication hit him. “That was....”
“King of the crossroads demons, himself. Sure you wanna go with him?”
John cursed quietly. “You trapped him, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid I can’t leave him in there. But I can do this.” Cooper pressed his hand against John’s chest, and a sudden sharp pain flared along his ribs.
“The hell did you just do?” John gasped.
“Runes. They’ll keep you off of just about everybody’s radar. Did the same for the kids not too long ago. Now then, let’s go find Ellsworth and Olson, see if we can’t salvage the original deal.”
“... can’t believe I’m trusting a Trickster,” John grumbled under his breath as he rubbed his sore ribs. But he followed Cooper.
Cooper led John unerringly through the halls of the Harris County Courthouse to the room where Olson was arguing with another prosecutor. When a knock at the door didn’t get the men’s attention, Cooper cleared his throat loudly.
John didn’t miss the flicker of recognition in the other prosecutor’s eyes when he looked at Cooper. Neither, apparently, did Olson.
“Seems to me,” Cooper said, walking in, “that your original deal is still in force. This new development is null and void.”
“Oh?” Olson asked, face carefully neutral. “And why’s that?”
“Because that’s not Ian Cole.”
The other prosecutor-Cole-laughed. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m Ian Cole. Who else would I be?”
“You tell me. Jesu Christo, Nomine Patria.”
Cole hissed and recoiled, his eyes flicking red. But before he could speak, Cooper made a cutting-off motion with two fingers, and the demon choked. And John took that as his cue. “Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus....”
Olson stepped back, watching as John stepped forward, the exorcism rolling off his tongue. Cole gagged and wheezed and finally staggered toward the desk, reaching for a letter opener. Olson guessed his intent and snatched the sharp object away from him to keep him from harming himself.
Cooper held up a hand and John halted before the last two lines were uttered. “Speak,” he thundered.
“One day, John,” the demon snarled. “We will find you again. Or your sons. And you will all fulfill your destiny. Hell will have her king.”
“My son is not your king,” John growled, but Cooper could see he believed him.
So he added, “Give Lilith my regards while you’re downstairs, would you? I’ve got a feeling she’s going to want to have a nice long chat with you. John?”
And the last words were said. Cole shrieked, and a cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth and into the ground.
John started to step forward to administer first aid as the exorcised man collapsed, but Cooper stopped him. “This way we can honestly say you never touched him.”
Olson turned him over. “He’s just exhausted.”
Cole groaned as he came to. “Roger?” he croaked. “What... what the hell....”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Olson asked, helping him up to sit in a chair.
Cole shook his head. “Flashes-really weird ones, dunno if they’re memories or not. Last... last clear memory was... going home after work, turning on the news... some update about the Gulf War.”
“Oh, my G-d,” John gasped.
Olson frowned. “Ian... what year is it?”
“... 1991, of course....”
John’s eyes closed.
Cooper looked at Olson. “You’d better call an ambulance. If he’s lost fourteen years, there might be more damage than we know.”
Olson nodded and dialed.
Cole blinked at Cooper. “Did you say-no... no, you’ve gotta be kidding....”
“Sorry, Ian.”
“It’s 2005? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Cole put a hand to his head and looked around the room in shock, but stopped when he got a good look at John. “... the hell kind of trip have I been on....”
“Talk to us,” Cooper said. “You know this man?”
“I... it’s fuzzy. I don’t think we’ve met. But... there was this guy in a black suit, Crowley, and... he said to derail a plea bargain... is-is your name John Winchester?”
“It is,” John confirmed.
Cole buried his face in his hands with a curse.
“Ian?” Cooper prompted.
“I wasn’t in control,” Cole whispered brokenly. “It’s like I was watching a video game or something. But I think I killed someone and tried to frame Mr. Winchester.”
“That’s because you did,” Cooper said softly.
Cole started to cry as he looked over at John again. “Please... tell me you didn’t make the deal.”
John smiled at him. “Bill here stopped me.”
“Oh, thank God. Crowley was so happy, talking about somebody called Alastair having to ‘get creative’-didn’t make any sense, but his laugh was so cruel.”
Cooper’s lips twisted in a cold sneer. “You don’t have to worry about that now.”
“What am I gonna do... nobody’ll believe I wasn’t in control... but I don’t even remember half of what I’ve done the last fourteen years...” Cole paused. “But if... if that was true, then....” His face turned ashen, and Cooper hurriedly handed him a trashcan seconds before he vomited.
“Worse?” Cooper whispered, rubbing his back.
Cole just shuddered. “I... c-can’t... there aren’t words.”
“No,” Cooper said. “But we’re here now.”
Cole broke down completely and simply sobbed until the EMTs arrived.
As he was taken away, Olson sighed. “What am I gonna do now? Possession isn’t an acceptable legal defense!”
“True,” John replied. “But the fact that he’s got partial amnesia could influence a psych evaluation.”
“And thus, every decision he made would be overturned.”
“Your superiors can handle the fallout from this, once Cole gets checked out,” Cooper said. “In the meantime....” He snapped his fingers, but nothing happened that John could see. “Let’s go find Ellsworth, get him up to speed.”
Olson nodded. “Come on.”
As they headed down the hall, following Olson, John murmured to Cooper, “What did you do just now?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Cooper whispered back. “Our friend Crowley won’t be bothering us for a while, though.”
“Oh? Why?”
“He’s in Kyrgyzstan.”
John froze in place. He blinked for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.
Cooper grinned and slapped John on the back, urging him forward.
“Glad you’re on our side,” he whispered to Cooper.
Cooper chuckled. “I’m on the boys’ side, John. Whether you’re on their side is up to you.”
John nodded thoughtfully. This fellow may be a Trickster, but he seemed to love and care for John’s boys.
Cooper started humming quietly. It took a few bars for John to place the tune: “Desperado” by the Eagles.
“Another pointed lesson, Bill?”
Cooper blinked. “You think I’m behind this? Please.”
“Not that. The song.”
“Oh. It did seem appropriate, under the circumstances.”
John chuckled. He was starting to genuinely like this being.
“You do remember how it ends, right?”
There was a pause, then a soft, “Yeah.”
“Pretty sound advice, if you ask me.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Cooper nodded. “See that you do.”
In the end, Ian Cole was tentatively diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, and the attempt to frame John for murder failed. By October, the plea deal was in effect, and John was officially under house arrest... in Cazadore.
Ten years of house arrest. Ten years of being close to his children, of staying in one place.... It was as long as he’d had anywhere since ’Nam-longer if he counted time spent in one house. Even before the fire, he and Mary had had to move once they learned Dean was on the way, since their tiny rental house hadn’t had space for a nursery.
The house that his boys had found for him was palatial compared to the motel rooms he was used to. And they’d warded it just as carefully as they’d warded their own.
He’d once feared his boys had gone soft. They’d done anything but.
Plus, they’d found him a civilian job he actually enjoyed. Between the terms of the deal and the terms of employment he’d hammered out with Mercer, he had to be wholly unarmed while he was at work... but Mercer had given him Dean’s bay, the one with the devil’s trap, and Dean’s tools, some of which were legitimate silver and iron pieces. So he felt like he was armed.
Funniest thing, though... he hadn’t been in Cazadore long before he started feeling something else. Not just protected. Not even simply understood, as weird as that still seemed to him most of the time. But safe. Completely and totally safe.
It was a feeling he hadn’t had since before ’Nam.
And slowly, the more he thought about that conversation with Cooper, the more he began to realize something else was at work.
People loved him here. Even when they didn’t like him all that much.
It confused him. Folks adored the boys, sure, and that made a certain degree of sense, even though John still couldn’t quite let go of his niggling doubts and fears about Sam. But he couldn’t get his head around anyone, let alone complete strangers, loving him.
And he felt that way until about ten days after the new year had started. It was after four and he was dozing on the couch when there was an unexpected rap at his door.
Startled, he reached for his gun. “Who is it?”
A young voice answered, “Angela Sorenson, sir!”
John blinked a couple of times before going to the door and looking through the peephole. There was Amy Sorenson and her five year old daughter.
Frowning a little in confusion, John tucked his gun into his back waistband and opened the door. “What can I do for you ladies?” he asked with both hands and voice.
Angela looked up at her mother, who nodded. She turned back to John and held up a paper. “Mr. Winchester, would you care to buy a box or two of Girl Scout Cookies?”
And, bizarrely, that was the moment John felt completely embraced by Cazadore.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Angela, I haven’t had Girl Scout cookies since my Dean was younger than you are. Tell me, do they still have Thin Mints?”
“Yes, sir, and my gran’pa eats an entire box at a sittin’!”
John laughed again. “Okay, then. I’ll take two boxes of the Thin Mints.”
“That’ll be five dollars.”
He fished a five-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her with a flourish.
And she hugged him tight - her fingers brushing the gun as she did so. She tilted that innocent face up to him and said, “S’it salt in there, Mister Winchester? My mommy carries one with salt in it.”
Somehow the idea didn’t jar him this time. He didn’t even glance at Amy in shock. “Not today, Miss Angela. Iron.”
Her tiny lips pursed and she nodded. “Bet it’s heavy.” She broke the hug and signed to her mother, who laughed and shook her head.
We bother him enough. We have other houses.
Thank you, John signed to Amy sincerely. She not bother, though-I look forward to cookies. And then he surprised himself by adding, Come back any time.
She nodded and they both waved as they left him standing on the porch.
John waved back... and something deep down clicked back into place.
It wasn’t too late.
He switched on the radio after closing the door, and when he heard the next song, somehow it didn’t surprise him at all:
We were made to love and be loved,
But the price this world demands will cost you far too much.
I’ve spent so many lonely years just trying to fit in;
Now I’ve found a place in this circle of friends....