Supernatural fic: Now Ashes Rise in My Footprints (2/3)

Nov 20, 2006 18:20

Now Ashes Rise in My Footprints (2/3)
John settles in at the motel with his boys, and for the first couple of hours he's pretty much fine. He does some reading, orders takeout, and even helps Dean make an improvised igloo of chairs and pillows so the three of them can be eskimos. Why eskimos, he has no idea, but he dutifully goes kayaking and harpoons a whale. Sammy falls over laughing, and Dean skins the whale with serious concentration, so that John can almost see the animal.

The clock turns four, then five, then six, and John tries to read, but can't make any sense of the words. He paces the room, fidgets with this thing and that. Should he call them, see what's going on? He goes to the phone, almost picks it up, and then sternly reminds himself that it's their fight, not his, and that the ball is in their court. He can't force some poor family to do things his way.

But, God, five fires... he'd be running so fast or fighting so hard...

When the door knocks, he almost jumps out of his skin, and he yanks it open so fiercely the girl on the other side flinches.

She's a lanky thing, slightly hunched over to make her seem smaller, dirt-blonde hair falling into her face, and... John can't help but wince, seeing the scars travelling from her forehead down onto her cheek, white spots spreading past her nose and chin, drooping eyelid hanging over a blueish, blind eye.

She looks up at him. Her other eye has long lashes and a steady gaze.

”John Winchester?” she asks.

He nods. ”You must be Melanie. I was expecting you to call.”

”Sorry.” She bites her lip. ”I had to come.”

And come alone, as it turns out. He asks for her father, and she scoffs: ”You want me to talk, right? He shuts me up. Every time.”

He looks at her for a long time, and then opens the door wider without a word, letting her in.

In a way, he's with her father on this. He's faced the worried disbelief and suspicious glances when he tried to tell people the truth, and the thought of putting a child through that makes his stomach churn. But he also recognizes the fervor in the girl's speech, the rushed way she talks as if trying to get as much as possible out before the objections come.

Objections that he doesn't have - all he gives her are questions to prompt her further.

”The doctors said it couldn't have happened that way,” she explains. ”First of all that the candle couldn't have flared up that big, and then that even if it did, it shouldn't have burned me bad enough to do this.” She gestures towards her face. ”They thought someone had done something to it - like drenched it in something as a bad joke. But no one had. And they said maybe Anthea had picked up the wine bottle instead of the water bottle...”

”Anthea?”

”One of the girls in the choir. It was Lucy Blake's funeral mass, but the communion hadn't started yet, so Anthea poured the bottle of water in my face. Then Father Michael took off his chasuble and threw it over me, so they stopped the fire together. The chasuble was synthetic, so they thought maybe that was it, except it wasn't burned even a little bit. And Anthea is too smart to throw wine on a fire. Even if she wasn't, it's red wine. Someone would have noticed.”

”Yes,” he agrees.

”It was the witch.”

”Your father thinks that fire hates your family.”

Her eye widens. ”He said that? And didn't take it back?”

”He did take it back. But that's what he believes, isn't it?”

She nods, then shakes her head. ”It's not true. If it was the fire, it would happen all the time, and it doesn't. I've been around millions of fires. We all have. There's no way not to. No, it has to be a witch.”

He likes her reasoning, but isn't convinced of the solution. ”Why a witch?”

”Because of the lightning,” she says. ”Everything else, sure, someone could have done. Tampered with the candle, and with the electrics in Scott's house, and made Mom trip. But the only ones who can make lightning are witches and God, and God only punishes bad people.”

He wishes that were true.

Something in his expression must give him away, because she says, accusingly, ”You don't believe me.”

”There are other things it could be besides witches.”

”Like what?”

He watches her, knowing that if he tells her, he can never take it back. Lifting his gaze even further, he sees the boys over by the pillow igloo. Sammy is throwing himself on the pillows and Dean is watching him, seemingly occupied with the game, but John can tell that he's listening. God knows how much he understands; probably far too much.

”Ghosts,” he says. ”Curses. Demons. The Satirmu. Ask-wee-da-eed. Lots of creatures from all over the world, and most of them evil as hell from what I've read.”

She stares at him, shock-still, and he tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes up. Sammy starts whimpering, and when John goes over to have a look, he finds that it's time for another diaper change.

He returns to find Melanie still immobile, and Dean sitting under the table. He pauses and shifts Sammy's weight on his arm, uncertain what to do.

Finally, she raises her head and asks him, desperate, ”How do we stop it?”

From where he's standing, he can see that Dean raises his head too, and looks at him as if asking the same question. The difference is that Dean's expression shows every confidence that John has an answer to offer.
He pays for a full month at the motel, and takes to learning everything he can.

He learns that Ross Quentin doesn't believe his presence will make any difference, but is willing to humour him.

He learns that Scott Quentin is every bit as broken as his father says he is. John makes one visit to the hospital, which is awkward but promising - he's clearly a bright guy - right up to the point where John mentions the fire and Scott starts to hyperventilate. The only information he gets on the subject is a whispered sentence, when the nurse has already asked him to leave: ”She should never have married me.”

He learns that there's an adventure park two miles left of the motel where Dean can sometimes be convinced to climb around wild if John pays really good attention to Sammy in the meantime. If John's attention drifts even for a minute, Dean will jump straight down and run back to them.

He learns that Bobby Quentin will make Sammy pout, because he's used to being the baby and this town ain't big enough for the two of them. When this happens, Ross will offer a rare smile. For a guy who's miserable all the time, he's got quite the sense of humor.

He learns that Joan Quentin lives in Phoenix and has no interest whatsoever in discussing her late husband or his family, thank you very much.

He learns that what scares Melanie most of all isn't dying. It isn't even her family dying. She looks down when she talks about it, her hair falling down over her face, as she describes the other children in the burn unit. ”I know I look like shit,” she says, panic making her voice shrill, ”but they... I don't ever want to end up like them. Not ever.”

There's nothing he can say to that, no comfort, because lightning does strike twice.

He learns that he's still selfish enough to get scared, to wonder if his meddling is putting him in danger. Putting the boys in danger. Ross offers to babysit while John does research, and he hesitates, thinking, what if there's a fire while I'm gone? He sees the resigned pain in Ross's eyes, but that's not what sways him to agree. It's just that he wonders what makes more sense - setting fire to the guy who's determined to stop you, or the guy who's too tired to do anything at all.

He learns that Morgan Quentin owned part of the forest, and died of a heart attack only months after the fire that put an end to his fortune as well as claiming his younger son. ”Lucky bastard missed the rest,” Ross puts it with cynical dryness. Melanie refers to her grandfather as ”not a very nice man,” with the cautious phrasing of someone who's retelling hearsay.

Yes, John learns everything about the Quentin family, and old Morgan seems a promising clue, but even so, no matter how hard John tries he can't find a ghost, or a curse, or a malevolent god. He looks at photographs, diaries, the sites of the different fires, and feels like he's running headfirst into a wall over and over again.

At the end of two weeks, he stands where the forest once was, at the edge of a large golf course, and curses his own thick head for refusing to come up with the answer. He turns around and heads for the exit, and that's when he sees the sign. Properly sees it, notices it, not just casts a glance at it like he's done before.

Blake Golf Course.

Lucy Blake's funeral.

”Son of a bitch,” he mutters, telling himself that it's just a name, it might be nothing, but still hurrying back to his car.
”Who owns Blake Golf Course?” he demands of Ross.

Ross lets him in, looking slightly puzzled, though by now he should be used to all kinds of questions. ”Josiah Blake.”

”Do you know him?”

”Not well. I knew his wife.” Ross waves towards the kitchen. ”I'm cooking, do you mind?”

”Sure, right.” John follows him, and then prompts further. ”His wife was Lucy Blake?”

”Yes.”

”And it was during her funeral that Melanie...”

”Yes.” Ross frowns. ”Why are you asking?”

”I'm not sure.” He rubbed his face and stood there for a while, watching Ross chop carrots. ”How well did you know her?”

”She was Janyne's - my wife's - friend, really. Though she did live here for a while, before Janyne died. Rough patch in her marriage - they sorted it out later.”

”What kind of rough patch?”

Ross laughs a little. ”The regular kind, I guess. How should I know? Will you be staying for dinner?”

”Thanks, but...” John starts. Having someone else prepare his meal would mean some time off to relax between research periods, and he could use that. The boys would probably like it too. They're starting to get comfortable in this house, and Dean no longer looks at him as if he's committing a major act of betrayal every time he leaves the house.

Doesn't matter. The thought of sitting at someone else's dinner table still gives him hives.

”Think about it,” Ross suggests. ”It's no trouble.”

John manages to smile. ”I will. Are you sure you can't tell me anything more about the Blakes?”

”Like what?”

”Like... anything.”

For the next twenty minutes, he listens to simple, mundane facts that Ross shakes out from the corners of his memory. Then he gives up. Another dead end, based on coincidence. Instead, he goes upstairs to fetch the boys.

They're sitting in Melanie's room on a bed with surprisingly childish Muppet bedsheet. Sammy's got his thumb in his mouth and is almost falling asleep, but Dean listens with a concentrated expression to Melanie, who's reading from a book.

”'Sweet my eye,' said Moominpappa, inspecting his bitten tail.” Little Bobby, who's sitting in Melanie's lap, grabs hold of his aunt's hair, and she tucks it behind her ears so she can see to read. ”'She's the silliest, nastiest, badly-brought-uppest child I've ever seen, with or without a head.'”

John snorts, and Dean's head whips up so fast Sammy wakes up slightly and makes a disgruntled sound. Dean pats his cheek reassuringly, but he's already on his way down from the bed, knocking the book over in the process. Once on the floor, he rushes over to John and buries his face in the fabric of his father's pants.

John strokes Dean's hair and tells Melanie, ”Sorry. He's like that sometimes.”

”Yeah,” she says without surprise. She opens her mouth to say something further and then bites her lip, frowning a little. Finally, she blurts out, ”Was it quick?”

”Was what quick?”

”Your wife.”

For a second, he hates her deeper than he has thought himself capable of hating anybody - certainly not this harmless, scarred child. Then he sighs and answers softly, ”Yes. It was.”

She nods, looking down and pulling at her hair. ”So was Linda.”

There's a long silence, during which Sammy wakes up completely and picks up the book, poking Melanie with it. ”Wuffa!” he orders her. ”Wuffa, wuffa!”

Sammy's got quite a few words by now - they just aren't English. There's no mistaking the meaning of this one. He wants more story.

”Yeah, yeah,” Melanie says, and John glimpses a smile between the curtains of hair. It makes her face almost pretty. ”Dean, do you want to hear the rest of the story too?”

Dean looks up, but at John, not at Melanie.

”Go on, kid,” John tells him. ”I'll stay and listen too. Actually, we...” He halts, and then reluctantly continues: ”We could stay for dinner, if you'd like.”

Dean gives him a long, searching look and then nods, slowly letting go and returning to the bed. He puts his arms around Sammy and they both settle down, ready tolisten.

John keeps his promise and stays in the room, even though storytime isn't really his thing. At first, Melanie's reading is stilted and uncomfortable, but soon she seems to forget that there's an adult in the room and relaxes. So does he.

There's only a few paragraphs left of the story, and Melanie moves on to the next one, about creatures sailing the sea without ever reaching whatever it is they search for. She tells it well, but the story makes him shudder, and he wonders if it's quite suitable for such small kids. They don't seem to mind, though. Sammy's eyes are starting to drift shut again, and he's leaning heavily against his brother. Dean doesn't take his gaze off John for a second, but it's light and calm, almost happy. Even little Bobby, who couldn't possibly understand more than a few words of the story, seems perfectly content.

When Ross shows up to tell them dinner is ready, John realizes that he never actually gave him an answer to whether they'd stay or not.

”Don't worry about it,” Ross says when he tries to apologize. ”I made enough for all of us, just in case.”

During dinner, Melanie asks, shyly, ”Any luck?”

John sighs and shakes his head. ”I thought I was onto something with the Blakes, but...”

”The Blakes? Lucy Blake?”

”I was thinking more in the line of her husband. I thought there might be a connection, what with the golf course and the funeral. But I can't find anything.”

”Severe lack of motive,” Ross says, scooping up some mashed potatoes.

Melanie looks thoughtful. ”Didn't Granddad screw him over once?”

”Language, Mel,” Ross says. ”And not that I know of. Who told you that?”

”I can't remember. Lucy, I think.” She frowns hard. ”It was a really long time ago. I don't even know if it's true.”

”Knowing your granddad, it probably is.” He thinks about it. ”Might serve as a motive for the forest fire, I suppose. But the rest of it?”

”Revenge,” John says. His heart is pounding very fast.

”Against us?” Ross sounds very sceptic.

”Sins of the father,” Melanie says, her face tense.

”Can you really see Josiah Blake spending fifteen years wrecking vengeance on us for something a dead man did?”

John watches Melanie very carefully. She sighs and shakes her head. ”In Agatha Christies, you should never trust people just because they seem nice,” she says, but without conviction.

”Life isn't like Agatha Christies,” her father says.

”No,” John says slowly, ”but the old lady had a point there. Can you trust a guy just because he seems nice?”

Father and daughter watch each other in a silence that drags on until Sammy has had enough of it. He pounds his empty plate on the table and declares in rhythm with the bangs, ”Effa looba mimma nun!”

John takes the plate and fills it up with mashed potatoes and green peas. ”I'll take that as a no?” he asks the Quentins.

”Listen,” Ross says, ”whatever it is you plan on doing...”

”Right now, I just plan on checking the man out. See if there's anything to find.”

”Can I come with?” Melanie asks, looking surprised at her own question.

John glances at Ross, who just raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of water.

”It's not gonna be very interesting,” John tells Melanie. ”I'll be searching newspapers and stuff. Boring as hell, most likely.”

”I don't care.” Her voice is low but determined - more determined than her shivering chin. ”I have to do something. I can't just sit here.”

After a moment's thought, he nods. ”All right. You come along. Maybe you can keep an eye on the boys for me.”

An odd expression comes on her face, and then she smiles. ”One, I think I can manage.”

He's so caught up in his research plans that he's halfway out the door before he gets the joke.
There are definite advantages to having a workplace babysitter. For the first time, he feels he can relax. The boys are right there, he can see them if he turns his head, and yet he doesn't have to watch them all the time. He can even leave them in the car while he talks to the archivists on the local newspaper.

After he's said good-bye to Melanie and put the boys to bed, he sits up most of the night piecing information together, comparing his notes on the Blakes with his notes on the Quentins. It's promising, very promising, but there are still pieces missing, and the next day he takes a shower, puts on his nicest suit, and heads over to the bank. He almost gets caught bluffing his way through, and decides that as soon as he's done here, he should look into getting some fake IDs. Maybe a fake credit card to match - he's starting to run out of money, and the way this is going he won't be able to get a steady job any time soon.

Leaving the bank, the sound of his son crying sends him racing across the street. He yanks the back car door open, and both Melanie and Dean flinch. Not Sammy, though - he's crimson-faced and absolutely furious.

”What's going on?” John growls. Sammy's okay, they're all okay, but it takes a while to start breathing properly again, and it doesn't put him in the best of moods.

”He needs changing,” Melanie says.

”So change him!”

”Where?”

John looks around, but of course there's no public bathroom or anything like it nearby. He curses and takes the necessary items from the trunk, putting Sammy on top of it.

The moment he's rid of the stinky diaper, Sammy takes a deep breath and stops crying. John wipes him off and gives him a new diaper, and when he looks down, he finds Dean standing right next to them.

”Here you go,” he says, lifting Sammy down to Dean. He wipes his hands off with a washcloth and watches as Dean half-leads half-carries his brother back inside.

”I'm sorry,” Melanie says from the back seat when John gets back into the car.

”Try thinking one step further next time,” he says.

She bows her head down. ”Did you find anything?”

”Maybe, yeah. Could you hand me my journal?”

She does, and he sits right there in the car, making the final comparisons.

It's almost too easy. Bastard didn't even bother to hide the connections, which makes John almost suspect that he's innocent after all - but of course, by regular standards this isn't proof. It's not even a proper motive, except, as Ross said, for the first fire. And when the first fire happened, Josiah Blake was in Virginia.

No reason you can't do a spell from Virginia.

”M'hungry,” Dean mutters, and John looks up, bewildered. How long have they been sitting there? If Dean's hungry enough to say he's hungry, it must have been quite some time.

”There's a Chinese place two blocks away,” Melanie says. ”Want me to get some takeout?”

”Please,” he says, handing her his wallet.

By the time she returns with the food, he has started working on the timeline. They all sit down on the curb, and he juggles his journal and the box of Chinese all through the meal, until the point where he spears his final bamboo shoot on the chopstick, underlines the dates he's found, and puts the box down with a ”Son of a bitch.”

”You got something?” Melanie asks with her mouth full.

”You could say that.” He reads off his notes. ”April 1969, Josiah Blake is forced to declare bankrupcy after a series of bad financial decisions. His financial advisor is the head of Wellside Corporations - one Morgan Quentin.”

”He did screw him over,” Melanie says softly.

”I guess he did. August 1969, there's the forest fire than kills Jake Quentin. Hot summer, no one's surprised - but Wellside Corporation suffers severe financial losses which it never really recovers from. Morgan Quentin retires, and dies a few months later. September 1969, Blake catches a lucky break as his new retail company starts doing really well. It continues to do well until 1971, when there's a dip in the finances. Fortunately, after her house is struck by lightning, Joan Quentin decides to sell the land - which mainly consists of part of the old forest.”

”The golf course.”

”Exactly. Josiah Blake buys it, and has had nothing but financial successes ever since. January 1976, Lucy Blake files for a divorce. March...” He throws a glance at her. ”March was your mom. By April, Lucy has changed her mind.”

”1982,” Melanie says with a quivering voice, ”February. Lucy dies. I get like this.” She bites her lip. ”What happened in March?”

”I couldn't find anything for March,” he says. ”November, however, there's the birth of one Simon Blake - I'm guessing grandson.”

”Oh wow,” she says bitterly. ”I made a baby. Bit young for it,” she adds with an attempt at laughter.

”I'm sorry.”

”And now? Why Linda?”

He sighs and hands her the copy of the obituary he found. ”Another baby. Stillborn.”

Tears well up in her eyes. ”She didn't make that baby die!” she says vehemently. ”I didn't make Lucy die - I liked her! Mom didn't make her leave her husband, none of us had anything to do with anything except Granddad, and it isn't fair.” She's crying outright now, in big angry sobs.

”It's not revenge,” he says. ”Not just revenge. He's transferring his misfortunes to you guys.”

Sammy starts crying too, upset by the tension even though he doesn't understand the causes. Even Dean's starting to go teary-eyed.

”All right, listen,” John says, figuring he has to do something. ”It's only 3PM, he's bound to be at work. I'll go check his house, see if I can find anything iffy. At least now we know that he's doing it. We figure out how, and I think we've got a fair chance of stopping it.”

She's still crying as hard as ever. He shifts a little. ”You want me to call your dad?”

She shakes her head and does her best to stifle the sobs. ”No, it's okay.” The smile she offers him is even more skewed than usual. ”Really. It's okay.”

Part 3

now ashes rise in my footprints, supernatural, fic

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