SPN: Moses Supposes Erroneously
SUMMARY: Bobby Singer gets a fateful phone call that changes everything. Sam Winchester's bus crashes on the way to Stanford, and plots upon plots are revealed. What if John Winchester never raised his sons? Written for spn_cinema, based on themes from "Singing in the Rain".
MOSES SUPPOSES ERRONEOUSLY
May 30, 2001
Bobby Singer had been on edge since he got up that morning. It was a downright sultry day, threatening rain, and he usually liked weather like that. Kept the crazy down to a dull roar.
But today he was jumpier than a jackalope on speed. He felt like something was coming on the horizon and he didn't know what it was. He hated feeling like that.
It usually meant someone was going to get hurt. And that someone was usually him.
Bobby had just gotten a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, courtesy of the local store's freezer section, and had sat down to eat when his work line rang, after hours. The nervous feeling intensified and he managed to swallow the single bite he'd taken without choking before checking the number.
Sighing heavily, he answered. "Singer Salvage. How can I be of service, Sheriff?"
Instead of the request for a tow he expected, Sheriff Jody Mills asked bluntly, "Bob, do you know a Sam Winchester?"
"Gangly kid, dark hair, penchant for hooded sweatshirts?"
"I'll take that as a yes." She spoke softer. "Here y'go, kid."
"Uncle Bobby?"
Shit. "What's goin' on, Sam? Where's your daddy and brother?"
"Can you come get me? I'll explain then."
Double shit. "Can you at least tell me if they're hurt?"
"They're fine." There was something in his voice that indicated that while they were, he might not be.
Shit fire and save matches. "Give me fifteen."
"I'll be here." The line disconnected.
Bobby eyed his meal and sighed, standing up and grabbing his jacket.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Bobby walked into the Sheriff's office and double-took. "Well, damn, boy, am I gonna have to plant you with a brick on your head to stop you from growin' like a weed?"
Both occupants of the office smiled, then Sheriff Mills asked, "Uncle, huh?"
"Adopted," both men said together.
"Good enough. Get outta here. And Singer?" Her face and voice went serious. "You need me, you call me. You got me?"
"Gotcha, Sheriff." He put his hand between Sam's shoulderblades and guided him out of the office. Once they were safely in the truck, he commanded, "All right, out with it."
To his credit, Sam didn't even try to obfuscate. His voice was a low monotone. "He threw me out. Told me if I was gonna leave I should stay gone."
Bobby frowned and put the truck in gear. "That don't sound like Dean."
"It wasn't. It was Dad."
"That don't sound like your dad, neither. Wait -- leave? Where were you going?"
"Not were -- am. I got a full ride to Stanford. I was on my way there when a white buffalo ran out in front of the bus. It crashed and we were all brought to Sioux Falls to get checked out. I remembered you lived close by. and I wondered if you'd let me crash and work the books for a little bit, until I can save up for another bus ride."
"All right," Bobby said after a moment of silence. "Let me see if I can pick apart that information dump."
"Sorry."
"No, it's fine, you've always been a fast talker. Okay, you're heading to Stanford?"
"Full ride."
"Well, hell, congratulations! That's one hell of an accomplishment!"
Sam blinked, visibly shocked, then slowly began to smile.
"I'm shocked Dean didn't insist on pullin' up stakes and movin' out to Palo Alto with you!"
"He didn't get a chance. Dad laid down that ultimatum and...."
"Boy probably just stood there. Dean tends to get paralysed when you two argue."
Sam blinked at him, visibly startled. "......he does?"
Bobby shook his head. "Boy, for somebody so damn smart...." He sighed. "Okay, so you were heading on a bus to California and a buffalo crashed into the bus."
"A white buffalo."
Bobby whistled.
Sam frowned. "What? That mean something?"
"It might. Was anyone hurt?"
"No, just the bus. We were all shaken up."
Bobby nodded. "As for the bus? Forget it." He saw Sam start to slump and he added, "Not like that, boy! I ain't John! I'm sayin' that when it's closer to the time for you to get there, I'll get you there myself. I got some vacation time comin'." He grinned. "Benefits of bein' my own boss, and all."
Sam looked disbelievingly at him, then slowly nodded. "Honestly, Bobby, I'm kind of surprised you didn't pull out the shotgun."
"That threat of buckshot to the ass was for John, not you boys. Never you boys."
"He said it was. I almost didn't call." The admission was so soft Bobby nearly missed it.
"Well, I'm glad you didn't listen to that horseshit." Bobby made the turn that would take them off the main road and out toward the salvage yard. "When we get home, you hit the shower and heat up a meal. Then you hit the hay. I've got some work to do."
"Are you going to call Dean and Dad?"
"I'm going to call Dean, let him know you're safe. Your daddy can stew awhile."
That made Sam smile large enough to show dimples.
And that told Bobby he was doing the right thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Bobby didn't call Dean right away. He looked up a few things and thought about a few more.
John had always been a bit -- off. But the one constant Bobby had seen was that he had always loved his boys. He had a strange way of showing it sometimes, but love for them and protecting them was always there. The actions Sam described over the last five years since the buckshot incident?
Something had gone seriously wrong with John Winchester.
Bobby suddenly sat up, his breath hitching as his eyes went huge. That last time -- with the buckshot -- John hadn't entered the house. He had sent the boys in, but he hadn't entered. They'd had that entire fight on the porch.
That had been four weeks after Bobby had completed the Seal of Solomon on the living room ceiling.
Bobby lunged for the phone and dialed swiftly. The phone rang once - twice---
"Pad of Insanity, how can I blow your mind today?"
Despite the situation, Bobby closed his eyes and chuckled. "You and that old TV show."
"Hey, it plays on anything and transports easy!"
"Just don't start wearin' a tablecloth and we'll call it even." He listened to the warm laughter, then said, "Wish this was a social call, but it ain't. Your daddy around?"
Dean's voice went hard. "I'm a grown man. I can back you up without him."
"A simple 'no' would have sufficed."
"No."
"Good. I need you to get to Sioux Falls fast as you can -- without tellin' him you're comin' here."
"What are we hunting?" He heard the Impala switch gears.
"Your brother's here. Something's happened and I need to talk to you together."
Silence, then Dean's voice rose a note or two. "Is he okay?"
"Rattled, but okay. He's as safe as he can be."
Dean took a deep breath. "I'm in Des Moines. I'll be there in the morning."
"No, you'll be here in the afternoon. You will stop and rest so we can talk when you get here. Otherwise, you will be sleeping before we talk and I ain't above puttin' a pill in your coffee to get you there."
Silence, then a growl and the soft thunks of the Impala's blinkers sounded. "Fine, I'm pullin' off. I'll get three or four hours."
"Good enough. See you in the afternoon." Bobby hung up and touched his forehead to the phone. "He'll be here for a late breakfast," he announced to the empty room.
He knew those boys.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Bobby dialed another number and braced himself for a fight.
~*~*~*~*~*~
At 11 AM almost on the nose, the Impala pulled into Singer Salvage. Sam heard the engine and stiffened.
"It's just Dean," Bobby said. "I need to talk to both of you and it's easier to do it once when you're together instead of apart and saying it twice."
"Fair enough," Sam said. He stood, stretching. Despite his protestations, Bobby could see he was still sore from the bus crash.
Dean walked in and bee-lined right for Sam. He turned accusing eyes onto Bobby. "You said he was fine!"
"I am fine," Sam argued. "I'm just a little stiffened up."
Bobby handed Dean a bottle of water, already opened. He smiled slightly when Dean drank a long drink and there was no reaction to the holy water he'd doctored the bottle with. "Sit down, you two. We've got a lot to talk about and a lot of it is going to be unpleasant."
"Thanks for the warning," Dean snarked as he sank down beside Sam on the couch and ran his fingers down Sam's arm. Sam permitted the touch, knowing Dean would mother-hen him to death until he made sure that he was okay.
"Tell Dean what happened on the bus," Bobby told Sam. "And you -- listen to your brother."
Dean nodded and Sam told the story again. At its end, Dean looked wide-eyed at Bobby. "A white buffalo?"
"I know," Bobby nodded. At Sam's confused frown, he went on, "A white buffalo represents a fundamental shifting of forces. Usually for the good, but typically following an intense time of testing."
"So," Sam said slowly. "Something in my life is about to shift?"
"Or already is," Dean said with a small frown.
Sam frowned so deeply that a small crease appeared between his eyebrows. Dean poked at it, and Sam turned a full-fledged glare onto his brother.
"What?" Dean grinned. "Keep frowning like that and that line will be permanent."
"Shut up." But it had worked -- Sam was slightly smiling. The smile faded when he turned back to Bobby and a hand reached without his conscious control to twist in his brother's shirt sleeve. "There's more, isn't it?"
"Yeah. There's more. And here's where it gets nasty," Bobby sighed. "We need to talk about your childhood, boys. About how your daddy raised you."
"He did the best he could," Dean said.
"No," Sam said. "He didn't."
"Sam-"
"No, Dean, he didn't!" Sam snarled. "He never treated us like sons! We were soldiers! We were never really kids! And you know it!"
"You don't know the half of it!" Dean roared back. "You don't know what I tried to protect y--" He broke off and curled in onto himself, wrapping his arms around him and visibly struggling to bring his emotions under control.
Sam's huge, shock-filled eyes swung to Bobby.
Bobby nodded slowly. "I thought so."
Dean slowly raised his head and looked at Bobby. "You thought what?" he softly ground out.
Boby met his eyes. "I just figured it out last night. Believe me, if I'd have known earlier, I would not have stopped until you boys were safe and with me. I would hever have left you with him."
The brothers locked eyes for a long moment, then both turned to Bobby and chorused, "What's wrong with Dad?"
Bobby scratched his forehead under his hat -- a sure 'tell' that he was nervous. "I think your daddy's possessed, boys. And I think he has been for quite some time."
"How," Sam squeaked, then cleared this throat and tried again. "How long is quite some time?"
"At least since the buckshot incident," Bobby said, his voice tight. "Maybe longer."
"Longer," Dean repeated, horror lacing his voice. "Since.... Since the fire longer?"
"It's possible," Bobby conceded.
"Wait," Sam said, eyes narrowing. "Possessed. Like, by a ghost possessed?"
"No," Dean replied, hands slowly clenching into fists. "Like demon possessed. Like the damned yellow-eyed thing that killed Mom demon possessed!"
All the color drained from Sam's face. "So... that means that all my life we've been after this thing -- and it was inside of Dad all along?"
Bobby leaned forward to make his point. "If that's the case, that answers a lot of questions. Like why he wouldn't find a home base, though he had two kids who needed a home. Like why he kept you in the dark about a lot of what's out there, making you completely dependent on his word instead of tapped into the wider hunter community. Like why he focused on demons, but you two don't know anything but the barest defenses. I bet you don't know how to draw traps or do exorcisms, do you?" At their expressions, he went on, "Pretty flimsy preparation if you're chasing a demon. Common sense if one's raising you."
Dean was on his feet now pacing as his hands raked through his hair. "Why we never had enough money. Or food."
"Or attention," Sam breathed out.
Bobby's eyes widened, then narrowed. "And you didn't call me?"
But the brothers were no longer listening. Sam got to his feet and locked eyes with Dean. "Why you were always treated like a soldier instead of a child."
"Why he threw you out," Dean answered.
"Why he always made you load the salt rounds." Sam suddenly gasped. "Why he looked so shocked when you came up with the idea in the first place!"
"Why he played sick mind games with us." Dean shivered. "Why he always reacted so bad when you took off or were about to. Why he hated either of us going to school." He squared his shoulders and turned to Bobby. "Is this fixable? Can we get it out of him?"
"And can we fix the damage he did to us?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "It's too late for me, Sammy. But maybe you---"
"It's not too late!" Sam exploded. "My G-d, Dean! What is it gonna take for you to see that you matter?"
"Stop it, Sammy, you know I--"
Bobby got to his feet. "Enough, you two. Let's deal with the thing wearin' your daddy and then we'll get you two set to rights."
Dean nodded. "All right."
"Fair enough," Sam agreed. "But it is going to be dealt with."
"Yeah, it is," Bobby said, and Dean swallowed so hard there was an audible 'click'. "So, we know what's wearing him and we know which one it is."
Dean sighed. "So what's our first move?"
Bobby tilted his head toward the stairs. "You get up there. You shower and change clothes and get at least another two hours' sleep." Dean opened his mouth and Bobby held up a hand. "Not negotiable, boy. You still smell like the road and you got here two hours early, so I know you still need to sleep. After your nap, we'll eat and then we'll start a plan."
Dean glared at him, but the heat of it faded when he saw Sam begin to smile. So he submitted with his typical bad grace, growling all the way up the stairs to the tune of Sam's chuckles.
When he was out of sight, Sam turned back to Bobby and let all his worries show. "So....."
Bobby curled a hand on the back of Sam's neck. "I'll do my best, son."
Sam nodded, accepting the truth in those words. Somehow, Bobby always made him feel better.
Bobby guided Sam through cooking supper, and frowned when a sigil flared on his closet door and something went "thump" beyond it. He drew his gun and walked over, jerking the door open and finding -- a duffel bag.
With a note stuck to it. Bobby poked it with his gun and then pulled the note off of it.
Elkins won't show up. Use this. You will understand in four months. Trust yourself. RSS
Curious, Bobby unzipped the duffel and his eyes went wide. "....no....that's a myth...." He reached in and drew out the contents, almost reverently. "....but it's here."
"Bobby?"
He turned and stashed the duffel contents into his waistband, tugging his shirt over it. "I think I have a plan, Sam."
Dean came downstairs and while they ate, Bobby went to his library and pulled out certain books, studying the runes and the workmanship. He took a deep, shocked breath as he realised exactly what he was looking at. "Damn," he breathed as he ran a fingertip over the double layer of runes, feeling the power there. "Yeah, this should do it..."
"Do what?" Dean asked from the doorway.
Bobby met his eyes. "Dean, what if I told you that we could kill the demon -- but the process would kill your daddy, too?"
Dean shook his head. "If what we think is true, Dad's been dead for all intents and purposes since I was four."
"And I never knew him," Sam said. "Not really. So whatever you need to do?"
The brothers nodded and finished in unison, "Do it."
Bobby nodded. "All right. No time like the present. Call him."
Dean sat down and pulled out his phone. A single number and he shook his head, lips pressing together. "Pick up, you son of a---" He took a sharp breath. "Yes, sir. No, sir, I won't finish that.... Dad, would you shut up and LISTEN? THANK you." He took a ragged breath. "Dad, Sammy's bus crashed. Hit a cow or something. He's... He's in a bad way. We need you." A long pause, then he said, "No, sir. I got him out of the hospital and to the nearest safe place. We're at Singer Salvage. No, sir, I don't think moving him again is a good idea. No, sir. NO. SIR." Dean finally barked, "Dad, when have I EVER put anything but Sammy's interests first? Yes, THANK you." He rolled his eyes. "No, sir, I did not just roll my -- oh, for heaven's sake, just get here and make things right before.... I-I don't know, Dad. It's... It's bad. I gotta go. I just... I gotta go." He hung up and blew the air out of his cheeks.
Then he looked up through those long, thick lashes he'd inherited from his mother and grinned the devil's smile he'd gotten from his father. "He'll be here by dark."
"Perfect," Bobby said, standing up and grabbing some keys from the wall. "Enough time to finish our little surprise."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Just before dark, a black monster of a truck rolled into Singer Salvage and pulled up even with the Impala. Bobby finished washing his hands and grabbed the dagger from the desk as he passed. "Looks like we finished the digging and hid the backhoe just in time."
"Is this going to work?" Sam asked.
"Let's find out. Ready?"
"Ready," Dean echoed. With a deep breath, he stepped out onto the porch and waited.
John Winchester stepped down from the truck and stood there for a moment. "How is he?"
Dean shook his head and stepped down from the porch. "He's asking for you." He walked past John. "I'll get your bag."
"Dean, I can't--"
Bobby appeared in the doorway. "I'm gonna forgive the buckshot to the ass this time, Jarhead. Your boy needs you."
Behind John, Dean reached into the truck and pulled a handful of wires from the steering column. Just in case John got any bright ideas about trying to run, it would slow him down a little. Then he shouldered the duffel he'd pulled from the front seat and bumped John's shoulder as he passed him. "Come on, Dad."
John paused, then squared his shoulders and moved with purpose toward the porch, angling to the right to walk onto it at an angle. He watched his son step onto the porch and planned his approach to avoid the Seal he knew was there.
He never reached it. About fifteen feet from the edge of the porch, just before his foot reached a freshly-dug patch of soil, John slammed into something invisible with such force that ended up on his butt in the dirt.
"What's the matter, old man?" Bobby asked. "You can't step over one arm of an iron devil's trap to get to my porch?"
John hissed -- and when he looked up his eyes were yellow from corner to corner. "You found out. How did you find out?"
"Does it matter?" Dean asked, dropping the duffel. "We found out. We even know how long you've been riding him." He glanced toward the door.
Sam walked onto the porch. "Thanks to you -- I never knew my real father."
The demon laughed. "Of course you did. You're blood of my blood, Sammy. Your father's -- and mine."
Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Six months old. Blood magic."
"To make you powerful -- invincible. A born ruler." The demon smirked. "Beside me."
Sam shook his head. "Never."
"No? Tell me, then." He slowly climbed to his feet. "How did you survive that horrible crash Dean told me about? As badly hurt as you were---" He broke off and began to laugh softly. "Or you were never that badly hurt. Oh, Dean-o, you tricked me here. That, boy, was stupid."
"No, it was smart," Sam argued. "You're here. And you're going to die."
"Really?" He stepped to the very edge of the trap. "And who's going to kill me? You? Big brother? Singer? I don't see a magic gun anywhere, and that's the only thing that can even give me a tickle."
Dean smirked. "Because you're no ordinary demon. You're in the upper eschelon."
"Right you are." He tilted his head toward the ground. "This iron shell won't hold me long. And when I get out, Sammy-boy, say goodbye to these two, because I am done playing."
"So am I," Sam said. He pulled the dagger from the sheath on Bobby's hip and was off the porch with two large strides, planting the dagger firmly into the left side of his father's chest.
And nothing happened. The smirk just grew. "I told you," the demon hissed. "I can't be killed by any kni--" He shivered. "....what...."
"Oh, nothing major," Dean quipped as Sam stepped back to stand between him and Bobby. "Just a dagger inscribed with Kurdish demonic protection runes...."
Bobby nodded. "Overlaid with runes dedicated to Saint Michael."
"S-S....the ar-arch....Mi....Mi....you-you...." The exposed skin on John Winchester's neck and forearms began to spark with a strange orange-ish energy. ".....you cre...you created a ...."
"The power in the Lance isn't in the Lance," Bobby said. "It's in the runework. And the runework...." He smiled as he watched the light spread. "Is intact."
"NO!" the demon roared. "This c....can't happen! THIS CAN'T HAPPEN! THE PLANS--"
A strong wind began to blow and John Winchester's body crashed to its knees. Yellow eyes suddenly flared blue and a different voice ripped from his throat, vibrating power through everyone's bones.
"THE PLANS HAVE BEEN CHANGED. AZAZEL DIES. SAM IS SAVED. ALL IS WELL."
Then the eyes went yellow again and a scream tore through the wind as his body was engulfed by the fire building inside of him. A shock wave tore from his form and once it passed, it took the wind and the fire with it.
John's body toppled to the side like a puppet with sliced threads. By the time Bobby reached him to retrieve the dagger it had already begun to rapidly decompose.
If they had needed any proof that John and Mary Winchester had died together -- they now had it.
The brothers and Bobby took care of what was left of John's body and the rest of June was spent recovering from that loss and the trauma of the entire situation, as well as preparing Sam for Stanford with his tiny family's full blessing.
July first found Bobby planning an Independence Day party for six people. Sheriff Mills had popped by to see how Sam was doing and had shut down Dean's flirting easily once he learned she was married and a mother, and Bobby had asked her about fireworks. On finding out that a small quantity was legal since they were outside the city limits, she and her family were going to come by to watch Dean's display.
Dean had just returned from purchasing what Bobby strongly suspected was an illegal amount of fireworks when the entire house began to shake. Bobby looked up to see the same sigil that had flared on his door when the dagger had appeared. He stood up as the brothers ran in from various points in the house, expecting something else to go 'thump' behind the door.
He didn't expect a fully grown young man to pitch out of it and demand to see John Winchester. He certainly didn't expect it to be John's long presumed dead father.
But when his house began to shake again, Bobby bellowed without thinking, "Shut the damned door!"
"I can't!" Henry Winchester yelled. "My soul needs to recharge! And I need different blood than my own!"
Dean instantly cut his palm and yelled, "Say the spell!" Henry did and Dean copied him. Energy flared and a woman's scream was briefly heard, then the house went dark and silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of four adrenaline-charged men.
Bobby pointed at the double sigil on the door. "When can I clean that up?"
"Give it 24 hours," Henry said tiredly. "It should be safe after that."
That turned out to be the case. With nothing chasing him, Henry was able to tell them what had happened to the Men of Letters and Bobby was able to decipher the co-ordinates inside the puzzle box Henry carried.
They had their Independence Day party, with Henry introduced as John's brother, and then the entire family drove to Lebanon, Kansas -- and found Bobby's personal idea of Wonderland.
August rolled around and the entire family caravaned Sam to Stanford. They left him there with his new truck -- the same one Azazel had arrived to his death in; Dean called it a final present from their dad -- with full protection on his room and with all their love.
Dean and Bobby threw themselves into helping Henry learn the Bunker's secrets. Almost four months to the day, Bobby found the Kurdish demon-killing dagger. He found the spell for creating a Lance of Michael. With Henry's help, Bobby merged the sigils onto the dagger, wrote a note, and used the blood-location spell to send the dagger back to himself.
Henry complained that temporal spells gave him a headache, and Bobby tended to agree. They mutually decided that, barring absolute necessity, that would be the final one they cast.
With Bobby's consent, Dean moved to Sioux Falls permanently and became a full partner at the Salvage Yard. The Winchesters had a home base, Bobby had a new focus to his life, and the entire story had a happy ending for all parties involved.
Yet there was still one thread twisting in the wind, and it came to light with two teenage boys arguing in the light of a full moon.
"A white buffalo?" the sandy-haired one gasped. "I never said for you to embody a white buffalo!"
The one with ebony curls crossed his arms. "You said to use whatever form I needed to alert the family that something was wrong. There is no more powerful positive omen in that area of the country."
"And you knew this how?"
The arms uncrossed and a light sheen of pink dusted the cheeks under the piercing blue eyes. "I went back in time slightly and looked it up in a library."
The sandy-haired boy laughed and patted his companion's shoulder. "Well done, Castiel. I am very pleased."
The other boy preened for a moment, then frowned slightly. "So ... why am I here instead of tending to my new duties?"
"You are to bear witness to the final elements. Now fold inside yourself, they come."
He stepped back with a nod as three angels materialised in the field: an older man and two imposing men who radiated power.
One of them stepped forward and examined the two boys with a derisive sniff. "Two humans. We were summoned here by two human whelps?"
The other power-radiating angel shook his head. "Allow me, Raphael. I will take care of our problems." He stepped forward, power crackling from his eyes and hands.
"Very well, Uriel," the first one who had spoken said. "And then we shall find who really summoned us."
The sandy-haired boy yelled and grabbed his slightly smaller companion, folding over him as energy crashed into them both. When it faded, Uriel said, "There, now we can--" He broke off, visibly startled.
The boys were still there. Slowly the sandy-haired one unfolded and turned -- and suddenly the three angels realised who they were facing.
The older man crashed to his knees and bowed his head. "Michael!" he gasped.
The sandy-haired boy's lip curled. "Zachariah," he snarled. "In a position of worship toward me where such a thing has been forbidden." He looked at his brothers. "Uriel and Raphael. Working with the denizens of Hell to bring about a false prophecy."
Raphael frowned. "You are so certain it is false?"
"A true prophecy would not be thwarted -- this has been. You fight a losing battle. And your display of utter contempt tonight showed me where your true hearts lie. And it is not with our Father's will. BEGONE." His eyes flared blue and all three angels vanished, leaving empty, confused vessels that Michael returned to their families with a wave of his hand.
"Where did they go?" Castiel asked.
"I sent them to Joshua. He is the best at deciding angelic punishments. He will think of things... absolutely fitting." His mouth quirked in a crooked grin and then he smiled at Castiel. "Return your vessel to his family, Castiel. He has a long life and many joys ahead of him. Then come aid me in cleaning up the pockets of corruption in Heaven and aiding the Winchesters and new Men of Letters in clearing those from Hell."
Castiel agreed. "And your vessel?"
"I shall return him to his mother. All he has ever wanted was for his family to be safe, and I shall ensure that they are." He watched the dark-haired teenager vanish and closed his eyes. "And thank you, Adam Milligan. As your reward for your service in this, I shall make tonight as a dream."
A small voice inside his heart whispered, "So it's really over?"
"Yes, my friend. It is truly over. Thank you for your single-time yes." He opened his eyes and materialised the boy on his own front porch.
Then he left him there and returned to Heaven.
His last sight of earth was watching each member of the Winchester family -- including Bobby Singer -- tilting his face up and smiling into the rain that had begun to fall on each of their locations.
Joyful after all the strife.
END
MOSES SUPPOSES ERRONEOUSLY
May 30, 2001
Bobby Singer had been on edge since he got up that morning. It was a downright sultry day, threatening rain, and he usually liked weather like that. Kept the crazy down to a dull roar.
But today he was jumpier than a jackalope on speed. He felt like something was coming on the horizon and he didn't know what it was. He hated feeling like that.
It usually meant someone was going to get hurt. And that someone was usually him.
Bobby had just gotten a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, courtesy of the local store's freezer section, and had sat down to eat when his work line rang, after hours. The nervous feeling intensified and he managed to swallow the single bite he'd taken without choking before checking the number.
Sighing heavily, he answered. "Singer Salvage. How can I be of service, Sheriff?"
Instead of the request for a tow he expected, Sheriff Jody Mills asked bluntly, "Bob, do you know a Sam Winchester?"
"Gangly kid, dark hair, penchant for hooded sweatshirts?"
"I'll take that as a yes." She spoke softer. "Here y'go, kid."
"Uncle Bobby?"
Shit. "What's goin' on, Sam? Where's your daddy and brother?"
"Can you come get me? I'll explain then."
Double shit. "Can you at least tell me if they're hurt?"
"They're fine." There was something in his voice that indicated that while they were, he might not be.
Shit fire and save matches. "Give me fifteen."
"I'll be here." The line disconnected.
Bobby eyed his meal and sighed, standing up and grabbing his jacket.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Bobby walked into the Sheriff's office and double-took. "Well, damn, boy, am I gonna have to plant you with a brick on your head to stop you from growin' like a weed?"
Both occupants of the office smiled, then Sheriff Mills asked, "Uncle, huh?"
"Adopted," both men said together.
"Good enough. Get outta here. And Singer?" Her face and voice went serious. "You need me, you call me. You got me?"
"Gotcha, Sheriff." He put his hand between Sam's shoulderblades and guided him out of the office. Once they were safely in the truck, he commanded, "All right, out with it."
To his credit, Sam didn't even try to obfuscate. His voice was a low monotone. "He threw me out. Told me if I was gonna leave I should stay gone."
Bobby frowned and put the truck in gear. "That don't sound like Dean."
"It wasn't. It was Dad."
"That don't sound like your dad, neither. Wait -- leave? Where were you going?"
"Not were -- am. I got a full ride to Stanford. I was on my way there when a white buffalo ran out in front of the bus. It crashed and we were all brought to Sioux Falls to get checked out. I remembered you lived close by. and I wondered if you'd let me crash and work the books for a little bit, until I can save up for another bus ride."
"All right," Bobby said after a moment of silence. "Let me see if I can pick apart that information dump."
"Sorry."
"No, it's fine, you've always been a fast talker. Okay, you're heading to Stanford?"
"Full ride."
"Well, hell, congratulations! That's one hell of an accomplishment!"
Sam blinked, visibly shocked, then slowly began to smile.
"I'm shocked Dean didn't insist on pullin' up stakes and movin' out to Palo Alto with you!"
"He didn't get a chance. Dad laid down that ultimatum and...."
"Boy probably just stood there. Dean tends to get paralysed when you two argue."
Sam blinked at him, visibly startled. "......he does?"
Bobby shook his head. "Boy, for somebody so damn smart...." He sighed. "Okay, so you were heading on a bus to California and a buffalo crashed into the bus."
"A white buffalo."
Bobby whistled.
Sam frowned. "What? That mean something?"
"It might. Was anyone hurt?"
"No, just the bus. We were all shaken up."
Bobby nodded. "As for the bus? Forget it." He saw Sam start to slump and he added, "Not like that, boy! I ain't John! I'm sayin' that when it's closer to the time for you to get there, I'll get you there myself. I got some vacation time comin'." He grinned. "Benefits of bein' my own boss, and all."
Sam looked disbelievingly at him, then slowly nodded. "Honestly, Bobby, I'm kind of surprised you didn't pull out the shotgun."
"That threat of buckshot to the ass was for John, not you boys. Never you boys."
"He said it was. I almost didn't call." The admission was so soft Bobby nearly missed it.
"Well, I'm glad you didn't listen to that horseshit." Bobby made the turn that would take them off the main road and out toward the salvage yard. "When we get home, you hit the shower and heat up a meal. Then you hit the hay. I've got some work to do."
"Are you going to call Dean and Dad?"
"I'm going to call Dean, let him know you're safe. Your daddy can stew awhile."
That made Sam smile large enough to show dimples.
And that told Bobby he was doing the right thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Bobby didn't call Dean right away. He looked up a few things and thought about a few more.
John had always been a bit -- off. But the one constant Bobby had seen was that he had always loved his boys. He had a strange way of showing it sometimes, but love for them and protecting them was always there. The actions Sam described over the last five years since the buckshot incident?
Something had gone seriously wrong with John Winchester.
Bobby suddenly sat up, his breath hitching as his eyes went huge. That last time -- with the buckshot -- John hadn't entered the house. He had sent the boys in, but he hadn't entered. They'd had that entire fight on the porch.
That had been four weeks after Bobby had completed the Seal of Solomon on the living room ceiling.
Bobby lunged for the phone and dialed swiftly. The phone rang once - twice---
"Pad of Insanity, how can I blow your mind today?"
Despite the situation, Bobby closed his eyes and chuckled. "You and that old TV show."
"Hey, it plays on anything and transports easy!"
"Just don't start wearin' a tablecloth and we'll call it even." He listened to the warm laughter, then said, "Wish this was a social call, but it ain't. Your daddy around?"
Dean's voice went hard. "I'm a grown man. I can back you up without him."
"A simple 'no' would have sufficed."
"No."
"Good. I need you to get to Sioux Falls fast as you can -- without tellin' him you're comin' here."
"What are we hunting?" He heard the Impala switch gears.
"Your brother's here. Something's happened and I need to talk to you together."
Silence, then Dean's voice rose a note or two. "Is he okay?"
"Rattled, but okay. He's as safe as he can be."
Dean took a deep breath. "I'm in Des Moines. I'll be there in the morning."
"No, you'll be here in the afternoon. You will stop and rest so we can talk when you get here. Otherwise, you will be sleeping before we talk and I ain't above puttin' a pill in your coffee to get you there."
Silence, then a growl and the soft thunks of the Impala's blinkers sounded. "Fine, I'm pullin' off. I'll get three or four hours."
"Good enough. See you in the afternoon." Bobby hung up and touched his forehead to the phone. "He'll be here for a late breakfast," he announced to the empty room.
He knew those boys.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Bobby dialed another number and braced himself for a fight.
~*~*~*~*~*~
At 11 AM almost on the nose, the Impala pulled into Singer Salvage. Sam heard the engine and stiffened.
"It's just Dean," Bobby said. "I need to talk to both of you and it's easier to do it once when you're together instead of apart and saying it twice."
"Fair enough," Sam said. He stood, stretching. Despite his protestations, Bobby could see he was still sore from the bus crash.
Dean walked in and bee-lined right for Sam. He turned accusing eyes onto Bobby. "You said he was fine!"
"I am fine," Sam argued. "I'm just a little stiffened up."
Bobby handed Dean a bottle of water, already opened. He smiled slightly when Dean drank a long drink and there was no reaction to the holy water he'd doctored the bottle with. "Sit down, you two. We've got a lot to talk about and a lot of it is going to be unpleasant."
"Thanks for the warning," Dean snarked as he sank down beside Sam on the couch and ran his fingers down Sam's arm. Sam permitted the touch, knowing Dean would mother-hen him to death until he made sure that he was okay.
"Tell Dean what happened on the bus," Bobby told Sam. "And you -- listen to your brother."
Dean nodded and Sam told the story again. At its end, Dean looked wide-eyed at Bobby. "A white buffalo?"
"I know," Bobby nodded. At Sam's confused frown, he went on, "A white buffalo represents a fundamental shifting of forces. Usually for the good, but typically following an intense time of testing."
"So," Sam said slowly. "Something in my life is about to shift?"
"Or already is," Dean said with a small frown.
Sam frowned so deeply that a small crease appeared between his eyebrows. Dean poked at it, and Sam turned a full-fledged glare onto his brother.
"What?" Dean grinned. "Keep frowning like that and that line will be permanent."
"Shut up." But it had worked -- Sam was slightly smiling. The smile faded when he turned back to Bobby and a hand reached without his conscious control to twist in his brother's shirt sleeve. "There's more, isn't it?"
"Yeah. There's more. And here's where it gets nasty," Bobby sighed. "We need to talk about your childhood, boys. About how your daddy raised you."
"He did the best he could," Dean said.
"No," Sam said. "He didn't."
"Sam-"
"No, Dean, he didn't!" Sam snarled. "He never treated us like sons! We were soldiers! We were never really kids! And you know it!"
"You don't know the half of it!" Dean roared back. "You don't know what I tried to protect y--" He broke off and curled in onto himself, wrapping his arms around him and visibly struggling to bring his emotions under control.
Sam's huge, shock-filled eyes swung to Bobby.
Bobby nodded slowly. "I thought so."
Dean slowly raised his head and looked at Bobby. "You thought what?" he softly ground out.
Boby met his eyes. "I just figured it out last night. Believe me, if I'd have known earlier, I would not have stopped until you boys were safe and with me. I would hever have left you with him."
The brothers locked eyes for a long moment, then both turned to Bobby and chorused, "What's wrong with Dad?"
Bobby scratched his forehead under his hat -- a sure 'tell' that he was nervous. "I think your daddy's possessed, boys. And I think he has been for quite some time."
"How," Sam squeaked, then cleared this throat and tried again. "How long is quite some time?"
"At least since the buckshot incident," Bobby said, his voice tight. "Maybe longer."
"Longer," Dean repeated, horror lacing his voice. "Since.... Since the fire longer?"
"It's possible," Bobby conceded.
"Wait," Sam said, eyes narrowing. "Possessed. Like, by a ghost possessed?"
"No," Dean replied, hands slowly clenching into fists. "Like demon possessed. Like the damned yellow-eyed thing that killed Mom demon possessed!"
All the color drained from Sam's face. "So... that means that all my life we've been after this thing -- and it was inside of Dad all along?"
Bobby leaned forward to make his point. "If that's the case, that answers a lot of questions. Like why he wouldn't find a home base, though he had two kids who needed a home. Like why he kept you in the dark about a lot of what's out there, making you completely dependent on his word instead of tapped into the wider hunter community. Like why he focused on demons, but you two don't know anything but the barest defenses. I bet you don't know how to draw traps or do exorcisms, do you?" At their expressions, he went on, "Pretty flimsy preparation if you're chasing a demon. Common sense if one's raising you."
Dean was on his feet now pacing as his hands raked through his hair. "Why we never had enough money. Or food."
"Or attention," Sam breathed out.
Bobby's eyes widened, then narrowed. "And you didn't call me?"
But the brothers were no longer listening. Sam got to his feet and locked eyes with Dean. "Why you were always treated like a soldier instead of a child."
"Why he threw you out," Dean answered.
"Why he always made you load the salt rounds." Sam suddenly gasped. "Why he looked so shocked when you came up with the idea in the first place!"
"Why he played sick mind games with us." Dean shivered. "Why he always reacted so bad when you took off or were about to. Why he hated either of us going to school." He squared his shoulders and turned to Bobby. "Is this fixable? Can we get it out of him?"
"And can we fix the damage he did to us?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "It's too late for me, Sammy. But maybe you---"
"It's not too late!" Sam exploded. "My G-d, Dean! What is it gonna take for you to see that you matter?"
"Stop it, Sammy, you know I--"
Bobby got to his feet. "Enough, you two. Let's deal with the thing wearin' your daddy and then we'll get you two set to rights."
Dean nodded. "All right."
"Fair enough," Sam agreed. "But it is going to be dealt with."
"Yeah, it is," Bobby said, and Dean swallowed so hard there was an audible 'click'. "So, we know what's wearing him and we know which one it is."
Dean sighed. "So what's our first move?"
Bobby tilted his head toward the stairs. "You get up there. You shower and change clothes and get at least another two hours' sleep." Dean opened his mouth and Bobby held up a hand. "Not negotiable, boy. You still smell like the road and you got here two hours early, so I know you still need to sleep. After your nap, we'll eat and then we'll start a plan."
Dean glared at him, but the heat of it faded when he saw Sam begin to smile. So he submitted with his typical bad grace, growling all the way up the stairs to the tune of Sam's chuckles.
When he was out of sight, Sam turned back to Bobby and let all his worries show. "So....."
Bobby curled a hand on the back of Sam's neck. "I'll do my best, son."
Sam nodded, accepting the truth in those words. Somehow, Bobby always made him feel better.
Bobby guided Sam through cooking supper, and frowned when a sigil flared on his closet door and something went "thump" beyond it. He drew his gun and walked over, jerking the door open and finding -- a duffel bag.
With a note stuck to it. Bobby poked it with his gun and then pulled the note off of it.
Elkins won't show up. Use this. You will understand in four months. Trust yourself. RSS
Curious, Bobby unzipped the duffel and his eyes went wide. "....no....that's a myth...." He reached in and drew out the contents, almost reverently. "....but it's here."
"Bobby?"
He turned and stashed the duffel contents into his waistband, tugging his shirt over it. "I think I have a plan, Sam."
Dean came downstairs and while they ate, Bobby went to his library and pulled out certain books, studying the runes and the workmanship. He took a deep, shocked breath as he realised exactly what he was looking at. "Damn," he breathed as he ran a fingertip over the double layer of runes, feeling the power there. "Yeah, this should do it..."
"Do what?" Dean asked from the doorway.
Bobby met his eyes. "Dean, what if I told you that we could kill the demon -- but the process would kill your daddy, too?"
Dean shook his head. "If what we think is true, Dad's been dead for all intents and purposes since I was four."
"And I never knew him," Sam said. "Not really. So whatever you need to do?"
The brothers nodded and finished in unison, "Do it."
Bobby nodded. "All right. No time like the present. Call him."
Dean sat down and pulled out his phone. A single number and he shook his head, lips pressing together. "Pick up, you son of a---" He took a sharp breath. "Yes, sir. No, sir, I won't finish that.... Dad, would you shut up and LISTEN? THANK you." He took a ragged breath. "Dad, Sammy's bus crashed. Hit a cow or something. He's... He's in a bad way. We need you." A long pause, then he said, "No, sir. I got him out of the hospital and to the nearest safe place. We're at Singer Salvage. No, sir, I don't think moving him again is a good idea. No, sir. NO. SIR." Dean finally barked, "Dad, when have I EVER put anything but Sammy's interests first? Yes, THANK you." He rolled his eyes. "No, sir, I did not just roll my -- oh, for heaven's sake, just get here and make things right before.... I-I don't know, Dad. It's... It's bad. I gotta go. I just... I gotta go." He hung up and blew the air out of his cheeks.
Then he looked up through those long, thick lashes he'd inherited from his mother and grinned the devil's smile he'd gotten from his father. "He'll be here by dark."
"Perfect," Bobby said, standing up and grabbing some keys from the wall. "Enough time to finish our little surprise."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Just before dark, a black monster of a truck rolled into Singer Salvage and pulled up even with the Impala. Bobby finished washing his hands and grabbed the dagger from the desk as he passed. "Looks like we finished the digging and hid the backhoe just in time."
"Is this going to work?" Sam asked.
"Let's find out. Ready?"
"Ready," Dean echoed. With a deep breath, he stepped out onto the porch and waited.
John Winchester stepped down from the truck and stood there for a moment. "How is he?"
Dean shook his head and stepped down from the porch. "He's asking for you." He walked past John. "I'll get your bag."
"Dean, I can't--"
Bobby appeared in the doorway. "I'm gonna forgive the buckshot to the ass this time, Jarhead. Your boy needs you."
Behind John, Dean reached into the truck and pulled a handful of wires from the steering column. Just in case John got any bright ideas about trying to run, it would slow him down a little. Then he shouldered the duffel he'd pulled from the front seat and bumped John's shoulder as he passed him. "Come on, Dad."
John paused, then squared his shoulders and moved with purpose toward the porch, angling to the right to walk onto it at an angle. He watched his son step onto the porch and planned his approach to avoid the Seal he knew was there.
He never reached it. About fifteen feet from the edge of the porch, just before his foot reached a freshly-dug patch of soil, John slammed into something invisible with such force that ended up on his butt in the dirt.
"What's the matter, old man?" Bobby asked. "You can't step over one arm of an iron devil's trap to get to my porch?"
John hissed -- and when he looked up his eyes were yellow from corner to corner. "You found out. How did you find out?"
"Does it matter?" Dean asked, dropping the duffel. "We found out. We even know how long you've been riding him." He glanced toward the door.
Sam walked onto the porch. "Thanks to you -- I never knew my real father."
The demon laughed. "Of course you did. You're blood of my blood, Sammy. Your father's -- and mine."
Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Six months old. Blood magic."
"To make you powerful -- invincible. A born ruler." The demon smirked. "Beside me."
Sam shook his head. "Never."
"No? Tell me, then." He slowly climbed to his feet. "How did you survive that horrible crash Dean told me about? As badly hurt as you were---" He broke off and began to laugh softly. "Or you were never that badly hurt. Oh, Dean-o, you tricked me here. That, boy, was stupid."
"No, it was smart," Sam argued. "You're here. And you're going to die."
"Really?" He stepped to the very edge of the trap. "And who's going to kill me? You? Big brother? Singer? I don't see a magic gun anywhere, and that's the only thing that can even give me a tickle."
Dean smirked. "Because you're no ordinary demon. You're in the upper eschelon."
"Right you are." He tilted his head toward the ground. "This iron shell won't hold me long. And when I get out, Sammy-boy, say goodbye to these two, because I am done playing."
"So am I," Sam said. He pulled the dagger from the sheath on Bobby's hip and was off the porch with two large strides, planting the dagger firmly into the left side of his father's chest.
And nothing happened. The smirk just grew. "I told you," the demon hissed. "I can't be killed by any kni--" He shivered. "....what...."
"Oh, nothing major," Dean quipped as Sam stepped back to stand between him and Bobby. "Just a dagger inscribed with Kurdish demonic protection runes...."
Bobby nodded. "Overlaid with runes dedicated to Saint Michael."
"S-S....the ar-arch....Mi....Mi....you-you...." The exposed skin on John Winchester's neck and forearms began to spark with a strange orange-ish energy. ".....you cre...you created a ...."
"The power in the Lance isn't in the Lance," Bobby said. "It's in the runework. And the runework...." He smiled as he watched the light spread. "Is intact."
"NO!" the demon roared. "This c....can't happen! THIS CAN'T HAPPEN! THE PLANS--"
A strong wind began to blow and John Winchester's body crashed to its knees. Yellow eyes suddenly flared blue and a different voice ripped from his throat, vibrating power through everyone's bones.
"THE PLANS HAVE BEEN CHANGED. AZAZEL DIES. SAM IS SAVED. ALL IS WELL."
Then the eyes went yellow again and a scream tore through the wind as his body was engulfed by the fire building inside of him. A shock wave tore from his form and once it passed, it took the wind and the fire with it.
John's body toppled to the side like a puppet with sliced threads. By the time Bobby reached him to retrieve the dagger it had already begun to rapidly decompose.
If they had needed any proof that John and Mary Winchester had died together -- they now had it.
The brothers and Bobby took care of what was left of John's body and the rest of June was spent recovering from that loss and the trauma of the entire situation, as well as preparing Sam for Stanford with his tiny family's full blessing.
July first found Bobby planning an Independence Day party for six people. Sheriff Mills had popped by to see how Sam was doing and had shut down Dean's flirting easily once he learned she was married and a mother, and Bobby had asked her about fireworks. On finding out that a small quantity was legal since they were outside the city limits, she and her family were going to come by to watch Dean's display.
Dean had just returned from purchasing what Bobby strongly suspected was an illegal amount of fireworks when the entire house began to shake. Bobby looked up to see the same sigil that had flared on his door when the dagger had appeared. He stood up as the brothers ran in from various points in the house, expecting something else to go 'thump' behind the door.
He didn't expect a fully grown young man to pitch out of it and demand to see John Winchester. He certainly didn't expect it to be John's long presumed dead father.
But when his house began to shake again, Bobby bellowed without thinking, "Shut the damned door!"
"I can't!" Henry Winchester yelled. "My soul needs to recharge! And I need different blood than my own!"
Dean instantly cut his palm and yelled, "Say the spell!" Henry did and Dean copied him. Energy flared and a woman's scream was briefly heard, then the house went dark and silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of four adrenaline-charged men.
Bobby pointed at the double sigil on the door. "When can I clean that up?"
"Give it 24 hours," Henry said tiredly. "It should be safe after that."
That turned out to be the case. With nothing chasing him, Henry was able to tell them what had happened to the Men of Letters and Bobby was able to decipher the co-ordinates inside the puzzle box Henry carried.
They had their Independence Day party, with Henry introduced as John's brother, and then the entire family drove to Lebanon, Kansas -- and found Bobby's personal idea of Wonderland.
August rolled around and the entire family caravaned Sam to Stanford. They left him there with his new truck -- the same one Azazel had arrived to his death in; Dean called it a final present from their dad -- with full protection on his room and with all their love.
Dean and Bobby threw themselves into helping Henry learn the Bunker's secrets. Almost four months to the day, Bobby found the Kurdish demon-killing dagger. He found the spell for creating a Lance of Michael. With Henry's help, Bobby merged the sigils onto the dagger, wrote a note, and used the blood-location spell to send the dagger back to himself.
Henry complained that temporal spells gave him a headache, and Bobby tended to agree. They mutually decided that, barring absolute necessity, that would be the final one they cast.
With Bobby's consent, Dean moved to Sioux Falls permanently and became a full partner at the Salvage Yard. The Winchesters had a home base, Bobby had a new focus to his life, and the entire story had a happy ending for all parties involved.
Yet there was still one thread twisting in the wind, and it came to light with two teenage boys arguing in the light of a full moon.
"A white buffalo?" the sandy-haired one gasped. "I never said for you to embody a white buffalo!"
The one with ebony curls crossed his arms. "You said to use whatever form I needed to alert the family that something was wrong. There is no more powerful positive omen in that area of the country."
"And you knew this how?"
The arms uncrossed and a light sheen of pink dusted the cheeks under the piercing blue eyes. "I went back in time slightly and looked it up in a library."
The sandy-haired boy laughed and patted his companion's shoulder. "Well done, Castiel. I am very pleased."
The other boy preened for a moment, then frowned slightly. "So ... why am I here instead of tending to my new duties?"
"You are to bear witness to the final elements. Now fold inside yourself, they come."
He stepped back with a nod as three angels materialised in the field: an older man and two imposing men who radiated power.
One of them stepped forward and examined the two boys with a derisive sniff. "Two humans. We were summoned here by two human whelps?"
The other power-radiating angel shook his head. "Allow me, Raphael. I will take care of our problems." He stepped forward, power crackling from his eyes and hands.
"Very well, Uriel," the first one who had spoken said. "And then we shall find who really summoned us."
The sandy-haired boy yelled and grabbed his slightly smaller companion, folding over him as energy crashed into them both. When it faded, Uriel said, "There, now we can--" He broke off, visibly startled.
The boys were still there. Slowly the sandy-haired one unfolded and turned -- and suddenly the three angels realised who they were facing.
The older man crashed to his knees and bowed his head. "Michael!" he gasped.
The sandy-haired boy's lip curled. "Zachariah," he snarled. "In a position of worship toward me where such a thing has been forbidden." He looked at his brothers. "Uriel and Raphael. Working with the denizens of Hell to bring about a false prophecy."
Raphael frowned. "You are so certain it is false?"
"A true prophecy would not be thwarted -- this has been. You fight a losing battle. And your display of utter contempt tonight showed me where your true hearts lie. And it is not with our Father's will. BEGONE." His eyes flared blue and all three angels vanished, leaving empty, confused vessels that Michael returned to their families with a wave of his hand.
"Where did they go?" Castiel asked.
"I sent them to Joshua. He is the best at deciding angelic punishments. He will think of things... absolutely fitting." His mouth quirked in a crooked grin and then he smiled at Castiel. "Return your vessel to his family, Castiel. He has a long life and many joys ahead of him. Then come aid me in cleaning up the pockets of corruption in Heaven and aiding the Winchesters and new Men of Letters in clearing those from Hell."
Castiel agreed. "And your vessel?"
"I shall return him to his mother. All he has ever wanted was for his family to be safe, and I shall ensure that they are." He watched the dark-haired teenager vanish and closed his eyes. "And thank you, Adam Milligan. As your reward for your service in this, I shall make tonight as a dream."
A small voice inside his heart whispered, "So it's really over?"
"Yes, my friend. It is truly over. Thank you for your single-time yes." He opened his eyes and materialised the boy on his own front porch.
Then he left him there and returned to Heaven.
His last sight of earth was watching each member of the Winchester family -- including Bobby Singer -- tilting his face up and smiling into the rain that had begun to fall on each of their locations.
Joyful after all the strife.
END