Countdown
He was pacing Bobby’s kitchen when the phone rang again. For the third time in five minutes. And the news was more of the same. It was exactly eleven hours since Bobby had discovered Sam was missing, ten hours since Dean had gotten the phone call informing him Sam had taken off, two hours since he’d pulled into Bobby’s driveway feeling like he can’t fucking breathe, like he’s suffocating. And it wasn’t getting any better either. With each phone call he was inching closer and closer to full blown panic. Bobby had exactly seven hunters out there combing the entire state. And there was no sign of Sam. Not a fucking whisper.
The Colt lay abandoned on the kitchen table where Dean had dropped it. Fucking useless pile of metal now. Why didn’t he take Sam with him?
This is what happens every time Dean has to make a major decision at a moments notice. He fucks it up. He fucks everything up. This is how he almost ended up crisped to death when he decided to burn that vampire nest. This is how he lost a chunk of flesh when he decided to hunt his first wendigo alone instead of calling for help. It never mattered before that these impulses nearly got him killed because no one cared. He didn’t care. He’d never had to worry about someone else, consider how his decisions would affect someone else. Why didn’t he take Sam with him? Why was he such a goddamned coward that he couldn’t even face sitting in the car with the kid for sixteen hours?
He kept cycling over their last conversation, trying to figure out what he could’ve said differently. If he could just go back, if he’d had the time to think about it more carefully instead of being cornered, Sam’s fucking puppy eyes full of resentment, asking him for something he couldn’t even think about yet. If he could do it again he would lie, he would say anything he had to. Dean would promise him anything he fucking wanted, anything. Just let him be alive, let him be ok.
He’d never prayed for a damn thing in his life, but he found himself praying now, trying to bargain for Sam’s life. He would trade his own in a heartbeat. The whole fucking thing was his fault. He’s the one who pulled him out of safety, who rendered him vulnerable, pushed him out in the open. It was Dean’s fault the demon knew who Sam was, where he was, it was his fault Sam was being hunted. He would do anything to change it. Anything. He would do anything to have Sam back safe.
He had a brother for less than twenty four hours and had already lost him.
The wood creaked under his hand and he realized he was gripping the back of the kitchen chair hard enough to make it splinter. He made himself let go. His jaw was clenched so tight that his neck hurt. He wanted to scream.
“Nothing,” Bobby said,
“No one’s seen him. He’s good.”
“Or dead,” Dean ground out, almost choking on the words.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know exactly what happened back at that cabin but I imagine it’d be pretty hard to kill that kid. He’d fight back. And from what I’ve heard, the kid don’t fight quietly.”
“We gotta do something.”
“We are doing something. I’ve got everyone on this.”
“It’s not good enough, it’s not--“ he rubbed his mouth,
“Bobby, we gotta find him quickly. That thing he can do, it’s not-- it hurts him, it might be killing him. We gotta find him.”
“We’ll find him.”
“I should’ve-- it’s my fault. If I’d just let him come with me--“
The phone rang again. They were wasting time. Sam was out there somewhere and they were wasting time.
“Bobby, I think I know what we need to do.”
--
He woke up with a start, hand automatically searching for the gun. Faint moonlight drifted through the cracks in the warped wood and threw shadows on the ground. Everything was silent. He could hear himself breathing.
For a few moments there, he’d been sure someone was watching him. But the large space was completely empty.
The barn was about half a mile off the main road and abandoned a long time ago. He didn’t end up there by accident. It was an equivalent of a neon sign for any demon that was looking for him. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, totally unprotected.
He’d hitchhiked at first, just to get to the border of South Dakota. Then he'd spent the rest of the day walking. There had been no reason to hurry.
In the beginning, just him, the road and the sun beating overhead, it was different. His feet felt light. In some bizarre way, he was almost happy. For the first time in his life, he was taking control of the situation, and even though it would probably end badly for him, the freedom of it was intoxicating.
He’d been a stubborn kid, growing up. But he’d been a good kid. He supposed he’d been lucky enough to end up with a mom who had read all the handbooks ahead of time and had approached each act of rebellion like a challenging case study. She’d always known exactly what to say and he could never argue against the logic of her requests. Which is why he’d still lived a stone’s throw from home at twenty. Why he’d ended up in medical field, although not exactly in the way either one of his parents imagined. Why he couldn’t remember ever making one single decision that wasn’t in some way influenced by her, or by his father’s intimidating presence.
In some way, despite the stress and horror of his profession, he’d still grown up sheltered. And he couldn’t help but wonder what his life would’ve been like under John and Mary’s roof. From the little he knew, John had liked his drink a little too much and Mary hadn’t been the type of wife who would tolerate a drunk husband pounding up the stairs at three in the morning. There would’ve been fights, when all his childhood all he’d known were ‘civilized discussions.’ There would’ve been a budget, when Seth had lived his teenage years with a golden spoon in his mouth. There would’ve been a brother, when Seth rarely even had close friends.
It would’ve been messy and real and warm. The type of life he never knew he’d wanted until now, when it was too late to have it.
By nightfall though, all his thoughts had been circling back to Dean. How soon before he found out Seth was gone? Was he worried? Was he angry? Relieved? He kept replaying their last conversation a million pointless times, wondering if he’d done the right thing, if he’d said the right thing. Wavered between feeling furious and feeling guilty, between wanting to strangle Dean and wanting to apologize. Regretting that he probably wouldn’t get a chance to do either.
And remembering.
Dean calling him sunshine. Dean flushed with fever, that hideous orange and pink comforter wrapped around his shoulders. Dean sleeping in the passenger seat of the car, freckles standing out against pale skin. Dean pressing his forehead against Seth’s, telling him to breathe. Dean sitting on the kitchen floor, that stupid morphine induced grin on his face. Dean whimpering his name. Dean kissing him, touching him, smiling at him. Dean grumbling as Seth stitched up his scalp, complaining that Seth threw up the only good booze, rolling his eyes at the granola bars, making a face at the antibiotics. Dean kissing him in the car, squeezing him so tightly that Seth still had fingerprint shaped bruises on his ribs, as if he knew that was their last time together.
Dean saying no. Just like that. Like that was all it took to put it all behind them and pretend it never happened.
It shouldn’t hurt so much. Not after losing everything else that mattered. But he wanted to go back and try again. Try and not get angry this time.
“I don’t think that would work pet.”
A shape separated from the darkness and Seth sat up quickly, scooting back on his ass until his shoulder blades hit the wall. His hand tightened on the gun even thought he knew it was useless. He tried to make out the shape of it but it stayed out of the moonlight, moving through the shadows.
“Your brother seems like the stubborn kind. Been watching him for years. I could’ve told you he wouldn’t be up for the whole incest thing.”
Seth blushed. Was the fucker reading his mind? Because that was one thing he definitely hadn’t considered. And it also meant his plans have just all gone to shit.
The thing chuckled,
“Relax, you’re just dreaming. You think I’d show up without knowing what I’m walking into? Good job on the devil’s trap though, that’s quite impressive. Did you hang off the rafters to paint that there?”
Seth glanced up at the ceiling where the black paint was barely visible against rotting wood.
Yup, he was definitely fucked.
“And the salt was a nice touch too. Everywhere but the main entrance. One way in and one way out. I bet you’re fully loaded too, right? Holy water in your pocket and an exorcism memorized.”
Totally fucked. Totally and completely fucked.
“Nah, don’t beat yourself up. Your plan was solid. If it was any other demon you were trying to trap. Can’t trap me that easily I’m afraid. Can’t exorcise me either.”
“All right, so you win,” Seth rasped,
“what do you want?”
“You, Sam. I thought that was obvious.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re special. Detrimental if you will.”
“How? Detrimental to what?”
The thing moved into the light and Seth could finally see some of its face. An ordinary face of an ordinary middle aged man, except for its eyes. He’d expected them to be black, but they were yellow, glowing in the darkness.
“You’re gonna wake up soon. Come and find me, and I promise to tell you everything you wanna know.”
Seth snorted,
“You promise? Why would I trust you?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you? I haven’t harmed you or your precious little friends. I’m gonna let you walk away if that’s what you decide to do. You can go back to that family that’s been lying to you. Or to your brother. If he wants you back.”
That sounded too good to be true. Which meant it probably was.
Was he really dreaming all this? He couldn’t be sure. The night was eerily silent and he couldn’t decide if the demon’s presence had caused the hush or if the lack of noise meant he really was dreaming.
He swallowed heavily.
“So I can just-- walk away, and you’ll stop hunting me? You’ll leave me alone? All this is gonna stop?”
“No Sam, it’s never gonna stop.”
It crouched so they were eye to eye, and Seth could smell it, a thick sulphury stench that lodged in his throat,
“You’re not like them. You’re always gonna be different. But I can tell you why. I can teach you how to control it. And I’ll never lie to you.”
It sneered, a twist of lips revealing surprisingly human-like disgust.
“They think you’re weak, that you need to be coddled. I know you Sam. I’ve always known you. I will give you the truth and then I will give you a choice. It’s more than you’ve gotten from any of them.”
“You killed my mother.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story kid, and not one we have time for.”
“You sent that demon bitch to hurt Dean.”
“No. I sent her to find you. She wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone. You have to understand, the lower level demons, they’re not very bright.”
“If-- I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
It spread its arms,
“No one else. Scout’s honor.”
Dean safe. His parents safe. And all he had to do in exchange was give himself up? Something he’d been planning to do anyway. More or less.
“You can go back and hope your powers don’t get out of control. Hope some other low level demon doesn’t decide to test you. Hope you can live out your life peacefully while your power attracts every supernatural thing within a hundred miles. Doesn’t sound fun, does it? I think you know better, or you wouldn’t be here right now. You can learn to use it, control it. All you gotta do is let me show you how.”
“Where?”
“Cold Oak. I’ll be waiting.”
Light flashed across Seth’s eyelids and he jerked back, smacking his head against the wall.
--
He was lying down, the sun shining through the crack in the wall and blinding him. He sat up quickly, fumbling for the handgun, his back cramped from the cold floor.
Outside, the birds were chirruping. Inside, the devil’s trap lay undisturbed on the ceiling and the salt still lined the walls, untouched. He struggled to his feet, tracing the path the demon had taken across the barn floor but saw no prints in the dust or dirt. Could the thing do that? Cross the devil’s trap and leave no traces of itself? Nothing in Bobby’s books ever mentioned a demon powerful enough to cross a devil’s trap; it had mentioned a few who could destroy one in order to get out of it, but the trap still had to be altered in some way. So the thing hadn’t lied. Seth had been dreaming.
He sat back down and yanked the leather bag over. Now was not the time to start doubting his plans. So maybe the thing was more powerful than he thought, maybe it knew him a little too well for comfort. Maybe it was a really stupid idea to walk right into its trap. Seth knew it was a trap, it had to be. But the options haven’t really changed despite the new information. Hunt or be hunted. Face the thing on his own terms or have everyone around him get hurt in the process.
He’d been afraid to stretch that creepy ass muscle lodged deep in his brain, afraid to find out what it can do. But alone on the road he’d poked around it carefully, like someone might poke an unfamiliar growth. He was pretty sure that the incident in the cabin was only a tip of the iceberg. Obviously, there was no handbook on how to control it, but Seth had found some useful tips in Bobby’s library, mostly for those who were telekinetic. Breathing exercises, concentration, focusing the energy, basics. Chances are, if he tapped into it fully, if he reached in and tried to use every bit of that fire, he’d probably burn himself out. And everything else within a hundred mile radius too, like a small nuclear reactor.
He’d never heard of Cold Oak, but he’d have to find a way to evacuate the place before the showdown. Maybe a bomb threat?
He found himself wishing he could talk it over with Dean, wishing he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t fooled by the ridiculous fucking promise that no one else is gonna get hurt. But, he was pretty sure that the thing would hold off for a while. So Dean was safe for now, far away from Seth and the entire demon mess. Dean might have been the one who had set the wheels in motion by kidnapping him, but Seth had no delusions about what things would’ve been like otherwise. It was starting to look more and more like he was born with a target painted on his forehead.
--
“I don’t have to tell you that this is stupid idea, do I?”
“Nope.”
The paint was taking forever to dry but Dean was taking no chances. The lines of the trap were thick, massive, taking up all of Bobby’s work room from wall to wall. The trap on the ceiling was just as large and dry already. A few more minutes and they’d be ready to roll. There was one last ingredient missing from the bowl, his own blood.
He was calm now. Focused.
“At least wait until Ellen and Mark get here.”
“What difference does it make? If the thing breaks free we’re all ground meat.”
“Demons lie Dean, that’s what they do. Even if you can get her to talk, we can’t trust anything she says.”
“She’ll talk. And she’ll tell the truth. Or I’ll send her ass right back to hell and summon another. I’ll summon every last demon I can find if I have to.”
“Dean--“
“Got the holy water and the salt?”
Bobby studied him for a few moments. It was look Dean knew very well. The same look Bobby gave him when Dean stole one of his cars at fifteen to drive down to the local strip club. When he came back from killing his first wendigo with his arm hanging useless by his side. When he went after the nest that killed dad with nothing but a machete and a few gallons of gasoline. Like he didn’t know whether to kick him or hug him. Like he didn’t know what to do with him.
“Yeah,” he said finally,
“It’s all ready.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
--
It was nearing noontime when a truck finally pulled over to the side of the road. Seth ran up to it, afraid the guy would change his mind. Between the burning in his feet and the sun burning overhead, the novelty of walking had worn off about an hour ago, leaving him tired and irritable. And anxious. The moment he’d left the barn that morning, he’d felt as if a timer had started up, hurrying him along. He tried to shake it off, blame it on the lack of food and rest. But somewhere deep inside he understood that all those excuses were bullshit. The time leading up to the final showdown was ticking away and it would run out sooner rather than later, whether he was at Cold Oak or not. He knew it the same way he knew that the water was wet and Dean was probably searching for him by now.
“Need a ride kid?”
A creeper. Perfectly normal looking guy, tee shirt, overalls stained with old paint, cleanly shaved, reeking of old spice. But the eyes always gave them away. The guy measured him, weighed him, stripped him and didn’t bother dressing him again. Seth was reminded of a quote he read a long time ago, ‘When girls are a few, a boy will do.’ The guy was so obvious he might as well have it painted on the side of the truck.
Seth flashed his dimples at the guy, pretending he couldn’t feel his skin crawl,
“Yes sir, I’d love one.”
“Hop on in.”
Feeling the comforting weight of the gun in his pocket, Seth climbed into the passenger seat, dumping his bag on the floor. He wanted both his hands free, just in case.
“How far’ya goin’?”
“Cold Oak.”
The guy had already pulled back out on the road and the telltale jerk of his foot twitching on the gas pedal was hard to miss.
“Cold Oak? Town’s been abandoned forever. What’cha goin’ there for?”
“I’m writing a magazine article on abandoned towns. I was coming back from Cayuga when my car broke down. The magazine is sending another one for me but I gotta deadline, you know? Wanna hit up as many places as I can.”
“Cold Oak ain’t nothin’ like Cayuga kid, Cayuga’s got people livin’ there.”
“Just following the list they gave me,” Seth said lightly, tapping the bag at his feet.
“Well I ain’t going into Cold Oak. I’ll get you to the next town down and you can foot it from there.”
“Thank you,” Seth said,
“I appreciate it.”
The guy glanced at him as if wondering just how far Seth’s appreciation might go. Seth bared his teeth, not caring if the guy takes it for a smile.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about evacuating the town.
--
“Dean,” she sounded surprised.
Can demons even be surprised? He didn’t know or care. The colt was tucked in the back of his belt, just in case. He had a bottle of holy water in his hand and another in his pocket. Bobby had gallons of it stacked up in the corner and bags of salt on the desk. Sunlight shone through the study windows, adding patterns to the trap. They’d left the back door wide open as the means of a quick retreat and Dean could hear birds singing outside, like it was any other day, any other morning. It seemed impossible, that the mornings would come and go, that the sun would shine, the birds sing, that everything would go on as it always had when Sam might be dead. It was now over twenty four hours since Sam had gone missing and Dean felt like he was sleepwalking, like the nightmare would never end.
He watched her carefully measure the trap under her feet, above her head. Watched her take in the holy water and the salt and the salt loaded shotgun in Bobby’s hands.
She smiled,
“Wow, you really rolled out the red carpet here. I’m flattered. How’s your arm? Still limp?”
“Where is my brother.”
“Brother?”
She tilted her head, all five feet of her completely relaxed as if she wasn’t about to die, as if Dean wasn’t on the verge of putting a bullet right between her eyes.
“Is that what he is? Could’ve fooled me.”
Dean’s stomach dropped. He’d forgotten that she probably knows, that she had to know.
“Bobby, you should wait outside.”
“No, no, let him stay, I bet he’ll love this story.”
“Shut up,” Dean growled.
“We’re supposed to be the twisted ones,” she said smugly,
“but you sure got me beat with this one. Even I’ve never fucked--“
The spray of holy water hit her across the mouth and she shrieked, stumbling back. Dean turned to Bobby wondering if the man could read the pure panic on his face, the way his stomach twisted and churned and threatened to empty out. His hand clenched around the empty bottle.
“Bobby, just go. I-- I’ve got this.”
He couldn’t read the expression on Bobby’s face and he didn’t try. It was probably too late. But he wanted to spare the man all the dirty details and Bobby seemed ready to be spared. He left without a word, his back stiff. Dean wondered if it was shock or disgust or a mix of both.
When he turned back to the demon, she was laughing,
“Oh Dean, you should see your face right now. It’s priceless.”
He took a deep breath and made his way over to the gallons of holy water stacked in the corner.
“I don’k know if you noticed, but the paint is waterproof.”
He grabbed a jug,
“So you can tell me where my brother is, or I’m gonna dump a gallon after a gallon in there until you’re fucking swimming in holy water. Then I’m gonna shove a bag of salt down your throat.”
“Are you flirting with me? Really Dean, just because your brother likes things shoved down his throat, it doesn’t mean we’re all into it.”
Clenching his teeth he aimed for her legs, getting a sick wave of pleasure from her screams, from the frantic way she moved around the trap, trying to find a dry spot.
“My brother. Where is he?”
“He’s dead,” she growled,
“I tore his heart out. But first I put a leash on him and let all my brothers take a turn. He broke so easy it was pathetic.”
“You’re lying!”
“They took him two at a time, tore him apart, ripped his insides like they were made of butter and he squealed like a pig--”
His hands were shaking so hard that he missed his aim, but the water still sprayed across her face, drowning her words in a screech of pain.
“You’re lying. Where is he?”
“I dumped what was left of him in the Big Sioux River,” she gasped,
“If you throw a net, you just might catch a few of your favorite bits.”
“Where is he?!”
“He’s dead. Dead!”
He threw the gallon at her feet and it exploded, bathing her in holy water. The smoke rising from her was now so thick he could barely make out her face. Her screams were echoing in his ears. He wanted to crawl into a corner and throw up. He wanted to carve into her like a steak, slice her apart inch by inch. He wanted to peel the skin from her face and see how long she would still be screaming if he covered each exposed inch in salt.
“He’s not dead. Tell me where he is or--“
“Or what? Huh? You’re gonna keep me here until the end of time? You can’t kill me you moron. I invented torture. Real torture, not this ham fisted shit you don’t even have the stomach for. If you send me to hell I’ll just crawl my way back out. So what is it that you’ll do?”
He pulled the colt out and aimed at her head.
She froze. Tilted her head slightly and moved back an inch, until she was at the very border of the trap. He wondered if it felt like a solid wall or if it hurt to touch it.
“Where did you get that?”
Finally, he could see fear. Well hidden, but still there.
“An old friend. He said it kills demons.”
Dean grinned and it felt like a mask on his face,
“I’ve never heard of such thing, being a ham fisted moron and all, so I figured I better try it out and see if it works.”
“The Colt was lost ages ago. That can’t be real.”
“Well then, what’s a bit of ordinary steel between old friends?”
He pulled the hammer back and she flinched,
“Wait. Wait a second.”
“You ready to tell me where my brother is?”
“What do I get out of it? If I tell you, you kill me. If I don’t tell you, you still kill me.”
“You’re a waste of a decent bullet and I have a limited supply. You don’t tell me, I will kill you. But if you do,” he nudged Bobby’s journal with the gun,
“I send you back to hell. You get to try and crawl back out in time to warn your boss I’m coming for him. Fun times for everyone.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Not if I kill you first.”
In a few seconds of silence that followed, Dean could hear his heart beating frantically and the far away sound of an approaching vehicle. Ellen and Mark. He wanted to be done here by the time they arrived. He wanted to be long gone.
“Cold Oak. He’s going to Cold Oak. He’s probably there right now.”
“What’s in Cold Oak?”
“Azazel. You know, the big bad who killed your mommy? He’s already made contact with your boy, asked him to come and join him. Little Sammy said yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“Not this time sugar, got no reason to lie. Azazel offered to teach him how to control that pesky little problem he’s got and Sam jumped at the offer. You know what he is, right? You little ‘brother?’ That’s pure demon blood running through his veins, the same as mine. He’s a freak, more demon than human. And you stuck your dick in it. From what I’ve gathered you’ve always had questionable taste, but this really takes the cake. You let a demon boy stick his tongue in your--“
The sound of the bullet leaving the colt was surprisingly muted after all the screaming. It struck her in the middle of the forehead where it started to pulse like a living thing, small cracks immediately fanning outward, breaking up her features. At any other time, he would’ve been proud of making that kind of a shot with his left, but at that moment, all he felt was a twisted satisfaction at the surprise etched in every line of her face. She filled with light, the crack spreading, gaping wide, fire pouring in between them. It didn’t last nearly long enough; he’d wanted her to suffer, he wished he’d known how to make her suffer. He wished he’d had the time to torture her for hours, to rip her apart piece by peace. She let out a soft sigh and crumpled to the ground, the light still pulsing through her, the wound on her forehead turning black.
The rumble of the truck was right outside now, traveling around the house and into the back yard. He took a deep breath, nearly gagging at the thick sulphur smell. His hand trembled, the colt growing heavy. That hadn’t been the part of the plan; he’d told her the truth, she really was a waste of a bullet. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t listen to any more horrifying revelations, didn’t wanna know any more. What he knew cut him down to the bone. If he let himself think about it, it would break him.
“Five bullets left,” Bobby grumbled behind him and Dean squared his shoulders.
“More than enough.”
“Suppose you’re right. I don’t know about you but I could use a drink.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough to need a drink.”
“She was lying-- about Sam. He never would’ve said yes to a demon. Never. He’s not-- he’s not what she says he is. He’s not.”
There was a short silence behind him before Bobby sighed,
“I don’t know what he is. And neither do you. We need to figure this out, make a plan.”
“I gotta get going,” Dean mumbled, sticking the gun back in his belt.
Should he even bother with the holy water? Now that he knew the gun was a real thing and Elkins wasn’t just some delusional nut case, there was really no point in weighing himself down with the rest. He’d take his shotgun, just in case. And as much holy water as he could fit in his flask. He didn’t know much about Cold Oak, just the things he’d heard over the years, but he knew he wouldn’t be driving into the town itself. The road had crumbled and worn away a long time ago, long before the gates and chains showed up, cutting it off from the curious and the stupid.
“I put a call out to everyone still in the area, they should be here within an hour,” Bobby said.
As if on command, the truck engine cut off.
How much did he really hear?
Probably everything. Bobby wasn’t stupid and the bitch had been pretty clear. Dean found that he couldn’t turn around and meet his eyes, didn’t wanna see what was in them. It didn’t really matter anyway. Nothing mattered now that he knew where Sam was. Dean would deal with it later or he wouldn’t deal with it at all, but he couldn’t think that far ahead, couldn’t focus past getting to Cold Oak and getting Sam back. Everything else had to wait. If Bobby wanted to disown him, if he wanted to pretend he didn’t hear anything, if he wanted to stand on his head and sing Christmas carols in April, Dean couldn’t give a flying fuck.
Sam first. Everything else would wait.
“I’m leaving now.”
“Not alone.”
“Bobby--“
“You’re not going alone.”
“All you’re gonna do is slow me down and get everyone killed,” Dean snapped.
“Too bad. You’ve put me through enough shit for ten lifetimes, I think I get to call the shots on this one.”
Mark stomped into the kitchen, dropped his bag on the table and paused. His eyes flickered over the body on the floor, then over Dean and Bobby.
He licked his lips and squinted,
“Is that a-- dead demon?”
Chapter 17 →