Fic: Burden of Sacrifice, part 3 - SPN/AtS
Title: Burden of Sacrifice, part 3
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Spoilers: through Crossroads
Disclaimer: The last time I checked, my name wasn't Kripke. Therefore, I own none of this, more's the pity.
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: For the sake of this fic, I'm assuming that either Lindsey somehow survived 'Not Fade Away' or he got tossed into the Supernatural universe by the Powers after he died.
Summary: Sam and Dean ask for help in getting their father out of hell from Lindsey McDonald
Previous Parts: part one, part two
Lindsey had taken one look at the battered leather journal once they had retrieved it from the Impala and declared that it would work perfectly for what he needed. Then he began pulling various things out of drawers and cabinets and piling them on the table next to the journal and the book he had been reading.
Dean poked carefully through the growing pile, one eyebrow arching at some of the odd items. The holy water and rosemary oil he could sort of understand, but what exactly did the other man think they would need a king-sized chocolate bar for?
When Lindsey sat back down at the table he just grinned at Dean's confused expression and began to draw a pentacle on the table top with chalk, adding a few embellishments that had Sam leaning closer in an attempt to see them better. When he finished it he sat the chalk aside and carefully began to anoint the points of the pentacle with the oil, murmuring something in Latin under his breath.
Since it was painfully obvious that Sam was taking detailed mental notes on what Lindsey was doing, and wishing desperately that he had something to write with so that he could take real notes, Dean could focus on getting control of himself back without worrying about Sam worrying about him. Dean had gone through entirely too many emotional upheavals for his peace of mind in much too short a span of time, and he needed to be calm and in control if he was going to rescue John from hell.
He pulled from his introspection when a small puff of smoke suddenly appeared above the table centered over the pentacle. Lindsey smiled at the sight, rubbing his hands together before reaching for the journal.
"So far so good, boys. Now let's find your daddy." He carefully positioned the journal directly in the center of the pentacle, then sprinkled it with a mix of herbs he pulled from a small pouch. Then he pulled a small, silver knife seemingly from out of nowhere and cut diagonally across his left palm, hissing slightly as he carefully dripped blood onto the corners of the pentacle.
Dean jerked in his chair when Lindsey's head suddenly snapped back, an almost inhuman howl escaping his throat before it cut off into a pained whimper. Then almost as quickly as it happened Lindsey was collapsing face-first onto the table, only Sam's quick reflexes keeping him from quite possibly hitting it and breaking his nose.
Dean jumped out of his chair and hurried around the table, trying to help Sam keep Lindsey upright in his seat. The older man was pale, his eyes only half open and his head lolling against Dean's shoulder. A quick glance at Lindsey's left hand had Dean's eyes widening; the only signs of the cut were a thin silver scar running the length of his palm and the dried blood staining his hand a rusty brownish-red.
Lindsey groaned as Dean and Sam shifted him in the chair until they were fairly sure that he wouldn't fall out onto the floor. "Wow. That packed a bigger punch than I expected." He tilted slightly in the chair, flashing Sam a weak smile when he pushed him back upright. "Do me a favor and unwrap the candy bar and then hand it to me. Need to up my blood sugar after that little parlor trick."
"I was wondering what the chocolate was for." Dean tried to wait patiently for Lindsey to eat the candy bar and tell them what he had found out from the ritual, fully aware that whatever the other man had done had been painful. But since every moment that passed was another that his father was suffering in some hell dimension being patient wasn't exactly easy.
And Lindsey could apparently sense it, because as soon as he finished his chocolate he turned to look at Dean, exhaustion evident in his expression. "Son, I've got good news and I've got bad news. Good news is I know where your daddy's soul is. Bad news is the demon wasn't lying and he's in a hell dimension."
Dean took a deep breath, trying to swallow his fear. "Can we get him back without..., you know?" He waved his hand between himself and Sam, trying to ask without being forced to actually say the words.
Lindsey smiled tiredly. "That's the rest of the good news. The dimension your daddy's in, as long as you can get in and find him there's no balance to keep, no sacrifice to make to get him back out. No leaving anyone behind."
Dean and Sam both deflated in relief, some of the tension almost melting away before Sam spoke. "And the rest of the bad news?" When Dean turned to look at him, Sam just shrugged. "You know as well as I do that there's got to be more bad news coming after that."
"Sam's right, son. The hell dimension your daddy's in? It's not pretty."
Dean frowned. "Uh, it's hell. It's not supposed to be pretty." He really didn't like where the conversation seemed to be going.
Lindsey sighed, slumping tiredly in his chair. "Some hell dimensions are like the stereotypical hell; lake of fire and that kind of thing. It's mostly physical. Someone with a really strong mind could theoretically last almost forever in one of those hells. Then there are hells that are mostly physical but add a bit of mental torture to the mix."
Something in the other man's tone caught Dean's attention. "Uh, don't take this the wrong way, but it kinda sounds like you have some personal experience with that, dude."
The glare Lindsey flashed him was tired but his blue eyes had suddenly gone cold. "Son, all I'm gonna say about that is the only thing worse than having your still beating heart cut out every day is knowing that it's the least you deserve."
Dean swallowed thickly, then nodded silently. There were some things that you just didn't ask about, and that was clearly one of them.
Lindsey nodded back, turning his attention to Sam instead. "Then there's the kind of hell your daddy's in. The torture in those dimensions is mostly mental: reliving every single bad decision you ever made and some you didn't, showing you every time you screwed up and all the bad things that happened because of it. And the whole time you're absolutely convinced that it was all your fault, even if it really wasn't." He glanced back over at Dean. "That's the kind of hell that can break a man's spirit almost before you realize it."
"You're saying that we might be able to rescue Dad, but he might not be the same, aren't you?"
Lindsey nodded at Sam's question but kept his eyes on Dean. "It's something you need to be prepared for before you start making any plans. From what I've heard your daddy's one tough son of a bitch, and if anyone can recover from this it would probably be him. But you need to realize that it may be a long time before he's anything even close to being the way you remember him. And he may never recover completely."
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about just how damaged his father might be. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and met Lindsey's eyes.
"So, what's the next step?"
Next
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Spoilers: through Crossroads
Disclaimer: The last time I checked, my name wasn't Kripke. Therefore, I own none of this, more's the pity.
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: For the sake of this fic, I'm assuming that either Lindsey somehow survived 'Not Fade Away' or he got tossed into the Supernatural universe by the Powers after he died.
Summary: Sam and Dean ask for help in getting their father out of hell from Lindsey McDonald
Previous Parts: part one, part two
Lindsey had taken one look at the battered leather journal once they had retrieved it from the Impala and declared that it would work perfectly for what he needed. Then he began pulling various things out of drawers and cabinets and piling them on the table next to the journal and the book he had been reading.
Dean poked carefully through the growing pile, one eyebrow arching at some of the odd items. The holy water and rosemary oil he could sort of understand, but what exactly did the other man think they would need a king-sized chocolate bar for?
When Lindsey sat back down at the table he just grinned at Dean's confused expression and began to draw a pentacle on the table top with chalk, adding a few embellishments that had Sam leaning closer in an attempt to see them better. When he finished it he sat the chalk aside and carefully began to anoint the points of the pentacle with the oil, murmuring something in Latin under his breath.
Since it was painfully obvious that Sam was taking detailed mental notes on what Lindsey was doing, and wishing desperately that he had something to write with so that he could take real notes, Dean could focus on getting control of himself back without worrying about Sam worrying about him. Dean had gone through entirely too many emotional upheavals for his peace of mind in much too short a span of time, and he needed to be calm and in control if he was going to rescue John from hell.
He pulled from his introspection when a small puff of smoke suddenly appeared above the table centered over the pentacle. Lindsey smiled at the sight, rubbing his hands together before reaching for the journal.
"So far so good, boys. Now let's find your daddy." He carefully positioned the journal directly in the center of the pentacle, then sprinkled it with a mix of herbs he pulled from a small pouch. Then he pulled a small, silver knife seemingly from out of nowhere and cut diagonally across his left palm, hissing slightly as he carefully dripped blood onto the corners of the pentacle.
Dean jerked in his chair when Lindsey's head suddenly snapped back, an almost inhuman howl escaping his throat before it cut off into a pained whimper. Then almost as quickly as it happened Lindsey was collapsing face-first onto the table, only Sam's quick reflexes keeping him from quite possibly hitting it and breaking his nose.
Dean jumped out of his chair and hurried around the table, trying to help Sam keep Lindsey upright in his seat. The older man was pale, his eyes only half open and his head lolling against Dean's shoulder. A quick glance at Lindsey's left hand had Dean's eyes widening; the only signs of the cut were a thin silver scar running the length of his palm and the dried blood staining his hand a rusty brownish-red.
Lindsey groaned as Dean and Sam shifted him in the chair until they were fairly sure that he wouldn't fall out onto the floor. "Wow. That packed a bigger punch than I expected." He tilted slightly in the chair, flashing Sam a weak smile when he pushed him back upright. "Do me a favor and unwrap the candy bar and then hand it to me. Need to up my blood sugar after that little parlor trick."
"I was wondering what the chocolate was for." Dean tried to wait patiently for Lindsey to eat the candy bar and tell them what he had found out from the ritual, fully aware that whatever the other man had done had been painful. But since every moment that passed was another that his father was suffering in some hell dimension being patient wasn't exactly easy.
And Lindsey could apparently sense it, because as soon as he finished his chocolate he turned to look at Dean, exhaustion evident in his expression. "Son, I've got good news and I've got bad news. Good news is I know where your daddy's soul is. Bad news is the demon wasn't lying and he's in a hell dimension."
Dean took a deep breath, trying to swallow his fear. "Can we get him back without..., you know?" He waved his hand between himself and Sam, trying to ask without being forced to actually say the words.
Lindsey smiled tiredly. "That's the rest of the good news. The dimension your daddy's in, as long as you can get in and find him there's no balance to keep, no sacrifice to make to get him back out. No leaving anyone behind."
Dean and Sam both deflated in relief, some of the tension almost melting away before Sam spoke. "And the rest of the bad news?" When Dean turned to look at him, Sam just shrugged. "You know as well as I do that there's got to be more bad news coming after that."
"Sam's right, son. The hell dimension your daddy's in? It's not pretty."
Dean frowned. "Uh, it's hell. It's not supposed to be pretty." He really didn't like where the conversation seemed to be going.
Lindsey sighed, slumping tiredly in his chair. "Some hell dimensions are like the stereotypical hell; lake of fire and that kind of thing. It's mostly physical. Someone with a really strong mind could theoretically last almost forever in one of those hells. Then there are hells that are mostly physical but add a bit of mental torture to the mix."
Something in the other man's tone caught Dean's attention. "Uh, don't take this the wrong way, but it kinda sounds like you have some personal experience with that, dude."
The glare Lindsey flashed him was tired but his blue eyes had suddenly gone cold. "Son, all I'm gonna say about that is the only thing worse than having your still beating heart cut out every day is knowing that it's the least you deserve."
Dean swallowed thickly, then nodded silently. There were some things that you just didn't ask about, and that was clearly one of them.
Lindsey nodded back, turning his attention to Sam instead. "Then there's the kind of hell your daddy's in. The torture in those dimensions is mostly mental: reliving every single bad decision you ever made and some you didn't, showing you every time you screwed up and all the bad things that happened because of it. And the whole time you're absolutely convinced that it was all your fault, even if it really wasn't." He glanced back over at Dean. "That's the kind of hell that can break a man's spirit almost before you realize it."
"You're saying that we might be able to rescue Dad, but he might not be the same, aren't you?"
Lindsey nodded at Sam's question but kept his eyes on Dean. "It's something you need to be prepared for before you start making any plans. From what I've heard your daddy's one tough son of a bitch, and if anyone can recover from this it would probably be him. But you need to realize that it may be a long time before he's anything even close to being the way you remember him. And he may never recover completely."
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about just how damaged his father might be. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and met Lindsey's eyes.
"So, what's the next step?"
Next