Into Ashes - Chapter 4 - Dealing
Title: Into Ashes
Author: LaughtersMelody
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: With the writers still on strike, maybe no one will notice that Dean is missing… Oh, oops, did I say that out loud? I meant…I haven’t seen him.
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Pairing: None Type: Muti-chapter
Spoilers: In this chapter there are mentions of Crossroad Blues, Devil’s Trap, In My Time Of Dying, and a brief reference to Everybody Love A Clown.
Characters: Sam, John
Secondary Characters: Dean, in a vague sense...and mentions of Bobby.
Summary: "Come on, you can’t…you can’t leave me here, alone with Dad. We’ll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.
A/N: Goodness, I’m so sorry that it’s taken me so long to post this next chapter! I was very wrapped up in Christmas and New Years, and since then I just haven’t had a chance to post. But, here is the next chapter. :) I debated for a while about how to break it up, and I thought about cutting it in half, but the first half very much leads to the second, and I didn’t think it would work as well in two parts. So, this is a pretty long chapter, lol.
A/N2: (There is a spoiler for "A Very Supernatural Christmas" in this author’s note, so if you haven’t seen the episode yet, don’t read any further, lol.) I wrote this before "A Very Supernatural Christmas" aired and was working with the assumption that Sam knew about John being a hunter the whole time he was growing up. Since this is already AU I’m not going to change it, but if you want to, lol, just pretend that when little Sam calls John a hunter, he means a regular hunter, not a supernatural one. ;)
I hope you enjoy this chapter, and of course, please let me know what you think! :)
~*~*~*~*~
Into Ashes - Chapter 4 - Dealing
I feel like a soccer-mom.
Sam had no doubt that’s what Dean would say if he saw the old, beaten-up van Bobby had given him. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, but the sharp stab of grief that followed made the expression fade.
The van wasn’t much to look at, not even comparable to the Impala, but it ran, and Bobby had promised that the gas tank was full. It was more than enough to get him where he wanted to be.
It had taken him a while to find a crossroads that would work. Bobby’s place was out in the country, but most of the roads were paved, and he needed a dirt road so he could bury the box that now sat in the passenger seat. Inside were his picture and the other objects necessary to summon the demon.
The road he’d found was on the outskirts of the county, and it would take him about an hour to get there from the motel he’d checked into. He’d made sure he’d gotten a room with two beds. Dean would need a place to sleep when he was back.
When Dean was back…that thought made Sam’s smile return. For the first time since Dean had died, he felt hope.
He knew what this was going to cost, knew what the demon would demand in exchange, but that didn’t matter.
Nothing did, as long as Dean was alive.
~*~*~*~*~
“Daddy?”
The soft question drew his attention from the article he’d been reading, and John turned to see his six-year-old son standing uncertainly in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep, his pajamas wrinkled.
“Sammy?” John frowned. “What’re you doin’ up?”
The little boy looked down, shuffling his feet on the shaggy, motel carpet.
“I had a bad dream. Can I stay with you, Daddy?”
The hunter in John wanted to say no. He knew his son was going to have to face real nightmares someday, and if he couldn’t deal with the monsters in his dreams, he’d never be able to deal with them in the waking-world. But the father in him couldn’t do it.
“Sure, Sammy.”
He gathered his research and set it on the nightstand, folded the newspaper and closed his books, then patted the mattress next to him. His youngest crawled up onto the bed, and snuggled into his side. John let his arm wrap around his son, pulling him close, his hand coming to rest in Sam’s still-baby-soft curls.
It had been a while since Sam had asked to stay with him. Normally, Dean was the one Sammy went to, but Dean had been fighting a bad cold for the last week, and John was glad that Sammy hadn’t woken him up. Dean needed the rest. If he didn’t start feeling better in the next couple days, he’d have to take him to the clinic downtown.
“Daddy?”
This time the question was muffled by the flannel of John’s shirt.
“Yeah, Sammy?”
“You’re not gonna leave, are you?”
That made John frown again.
“‘Course not. Why would you ask that?”
“My dream,” Sam whispered.
“What were you dreamin’ about?” “
You were hurt real bad. And you left Dean and me…like Mommy.”
His words sent a chill down John’s spine. He wasn’t afraid to die, even longed for it in a way, longed to be with Mary…but his boys needed him. He couldn’t leave them unprotected.
Sam looked up into John’s face, eyes wide and innocent.
“But that can’t happen, right? ‘Cause you’re the bestest hunter ever.”
John tried to swallow back the sudden lump in his throat.
“Right, kiddo,” he agreed, voice rough.
Sammy looked away, his small hand clutching the fabric of John’s shirt.
“I was scared,” he admitted, the words hesitant, like he was afraid he was letting his dad down.
John swallowed again, feeling his eyes sting.
“It’s okay to be scared sometimes.”
Sam shook his head, not meeting John’s gaze.
“But nothing scares you.”
Immediately, the thought came tearing through his consciousness, fear seizing his heart:
I’m scared I’ll lose you and Dean.
It was the worst thing he could imagine, the idea that he’d lose his sons, that they could be ripped away from him like Mary had been.
Knowing he’d never be able to say that out loud, he just pulled Sam closer, eyes automatically searching the dark corners of the room for any danger that might be lurking there.
He wouldn’t loose his boys. He couldn’t.
Seventeen years later, it was that same thought which now echoed repeatedly in John’s mind, and that same frigid terror running through his veins had driven him from Bobby’s and the Impala to follow his youngest son.
Half of that nightmare had already come true…and John knew that he was close to seeing the other half become reality. The demon wanted Sam, and if it got him, everything that made Sam, Sam, would be gone.
But he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d do whatever it took to keep his son safe…even if that meant trailing him wherever he went.
Sam hadn’t noticed him yet, and for that he was grateful.
It wasn’t the first time he’d tracked one of his boys. He’d done it when Sam was at Stanford, and a few times in the year he’d taken off to hunt the demon, checking-up on his sons without them knowing it. Those trips had always left him with mixed emotions, relief that they were alright, but guilt was never far behind. He’d told himself, like he always had, that he was doing what was best, that he didn’t have a choice -- but those words had become more and more hollow as the months passed.
He felt that way now, watching from the shadows as Sam pulled out of the motel parking lot, but he stayed where he was. He knew he’d trained his boys well, knew how Sam would react if he saw him. John wasn’t the only one who could disappear when he wanted to.
And if that happened, then he wouldn’t be able to protect Sam at all.
He waited until the van was out of sight, then walked across the parking lot to Sam’s room. He made quick work of the lock and slipped inside.
His gaze settled first on the two beds -- Sam must have gotten them out of habit. A fresh wave of grief washed over him, and John closed his eyes against it. The pain didn’t dull, but he forced his eyes open and continued his search anyway. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, he just needed something to prove that Sam was okay, that he wasn’t in danger.
The room was cluttered, books and pieces of paper scattered over the bed and floor. A notepad, covered in Sam’s scrawling handwriting, sat on the nightstand.
His eyes settled on an open book near the end of the bed…
A second later he was out the door and heading for his own car, desperately praying that he wasn’t too late.
~*~*~*~*~
John knew exactly where Sam was going. He’d visited Bobby many times over the years and knew the area well enough that he didn’t have to look at a map to find the nearest crossroads.
The streets became a blur as he drove, pushing the battered car Bobby had given him to its limit. His heart hammered loudly in his hears, nearly drowning out the sound of the engine.
He loved Dean, wanted him back so badly, wanted, more than anything, to have a chance to make things right…but he wouldn’t sacrifice one son to save the other.
Rocks pinged against the side of the car as pavement turned to gravel, and John spun the wheel, sending the vehicle into a wild turn. His gaze swept the darkness, frantically searching.
There…Sam’s van sat on the side of the road, nearly hidden in a tall patch of weeds.
John slammed on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and flung the door open before the car had even stopped moving.
His eyes flew to the center of the crossroads, where Sam was bent, a box in his hands…
John ran, feet pounding the dirt, terror flooding him.
“SAM! NO!”
He reached Sam’s side and knocked the box from his grasp, scattering its contents over the road. Sam’s fist came from no where, and John staggered back, stars obscuring his vision.
“Leave!” Sam roared.
“Sam-”
“Leave! Now!”
Sam’s eyes were wild, rage etched into every line of his face.
“No.” John’s voice was strangely soft, but it held an undercurrent of steel. For once, he didn’t want to scream back, knowing that wouldn’t do anything but push Sam farther away. And he couldn’t afford that, not now.
“I said leave!”
Sam was breathing hard, fists clenching at his sides. John didn’t doubt that Sam would take another swing…and he wasn’t sure that he’d try to stop him.
“Sammy-”
“Don’t call me that!”
It took everything in him not to recoil. Sam had been objecting to that nickname since his thirteenth birthday, but never like this.
“Sam,” he tried, “I know-”
Suddenly Sam was inches away from him.
“You don’t know anything! You didn’t care! You didn’t do anything-”
“I tried!” The yell was torn from his throat before he could stop it, and Sam drew back a little, eyes narrowing. John took a deep breath, and looked away, trying to get a hold of his own emotions.
“I was gonna make a deal with the thing,” he said hoarsely, “I was gonna give it the Colt. But Dean-”
“That’s what the summoning ritual was for.” Sam’s voice was flat. It wasn’t a question.
John nodded, swallowing hard.
“Well, too little, too late.”
Sam turned away then, reaching down to gather the scattered contents of the box.
“Sam-” He grabbed his son’s arm, but Sam wrenched it away furiously.
“Get away from me!” he snarled.
His son bent to snatch his picture from the dirt, and John felt desperation rise within him.
“Don’t do this.”
Sam ignored him.
“Sam!”
He knew couldn’t stop his son, not really. Even if he stopped him here, Sam would just find another crossroads, make another deal…
“Dean wouldn’t want this!”
Sam was back in his face in a second.
“You, of all people, have no right to tell me what Dean would want!”
This time John did recoil. That hurt in a way he couldn’t describe, because it was true. But this wasn’t about Dean, this was about Sam.
“It’s gonna demand your soul, Sam!”
“I don’t care!”
“I do!”
Sam flinched at his words, but before John could wonder why, Sam’s lips twisted into a sneer.
“Right,” he scoffed derisively.
John stiffened, shock running through him.
“Of course I care! I’m your father!”
“Only when you want to be! How many times did you leave us?! Huh?! How many times did you just drop us in a motel room somewhere, so you could hunt, or drink yourself into a stupor?! Dean raised me, Dad, not you! And he was a better father than you’ll ever be!”
“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?!”
The anguished cry burst out of him, echoing down the empty stretch of road, leaving stunned silence in its wake. John felt tears sting his eyes, shame and failure pouring from his soul.
“I know that, Sammy,” he said again, his voice rough, barely audible, “I know.”
Sam didn’t move for a long time, just watched him, a dozen emotions flitting over his face.
“What?” The question was still bitter, but softer, uncertain.
John looked away once more, desperately wishing that he didn’t have to explain. It was a burden he felt every time he looked at his boys, the horrible knowledge that in many ways he’d left his oldest son to take care of his youngest -- to raise them both.
It’s okay, Dad, Dean’s voice echoed in his memory, and John swallowed hard.
No. It wasn’t okay. It never would be.
But Sam deserved an answer.
“Dean was there for you when I shoulda been,” John forced the words past his throat, feeling his eyes burn, “I put too much on his shoulders. I made him grow up too fast…made both of you grow up too fast, Sammy.”
He wanted to say that he was sorry, but even the idea seemed hollow now, useless. An apology could never be enough, could never make up for it all.
“I wish…I wish so bad that I could change it, but I can’t. Your mother…she would hate what I’ve done to you boys…” The image of his wife’s accusing eyes appeared in his mind, and the thought of her disappointment sent tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t turn away, though, forced himself to look his youngest in the eyes.
“I wanted to protect you…keep you safe, and couldn’t even do that. I wound up putting you in more danger, and Dean-” He choked on his tears, a muffled sob cutting off what he’d been about to say. He drew a shaky breath, trying to regain control. “I…I thought I could end it, Sammy. I thought I could save you.”
John finally let his gaze drop, knowing where this would lead, what Sam would ask next.
“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned slowly, as John had known he would. Confusion tinged his words this time, dulling the anger.
John didn’t answer.
“Dad?” Sam asked again, more forcefully.
John still couldn’t make himself speak so he just looked back at Sam and waited, knowing his son was smart enough to put the pieces together for himself.
Sam’s eyes darkened suddenly, realization showing clearly in his expression.
“You know, don’t you?” he demanded. “You know what the demon meant, what it wants.”
John didn’t deny it.
“What does it want, Dad? Tell me!”
“Sam-”
“Tell me!” he shouted.
John drew another shaky breath, and finally gave up the secret he’d held onto for so long: “You, Sammy,” he said quietly. “it wants you.”
His son’s jaw clenched, pain flaring in his eyes at the confirmation of something he’d already suspected.
“Why?” Why had been Sam’s favorite word for as long as John could remember. Why is the sky blue? Why don’t I have a mommy? Why can’t I go to soccer practice? Why can’t we be normal? There were always a thousand questions John was supposed to have the answer to. This time, he did have the answer…and he wished more than anything that he didn’t.
“It wants someone to lead its army, Sam.”
Sam took a half-step back, as if he wanted to get away, like he was suddenly sure that he didn’t want to know, but had to ask anyway.
“And the others like me?”
“It’s gonna pit you against each other, winner takes all.”
Sam’s mouth opened to say something but closed just a quickly, struggling to accept what he’d just heard.
“So…I’m supposed to be some kind of demon general?” he asked at last.
“No, Sam,” John said adamantly, the sudden defeat in his son’s voice making the denial harsher than he’d meant for it to be, “that won’t happen.”
Sam gave a small, helpless laugh.
“Or what, you’ll have to kill me?”
John didn’t answer, and the small glimmer of desperate humor faded from Sam’s eyes.
“You really will have to kill me, won’t you?”
“It won’t come to that,” John said immediately, praying it was true, “I won’t let it.”
“But what if it does?”
“It won’t.”
Sam shook his head quickly.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do, Sam,” John insisted. He had to make Sam believe this, had to make himself believe it. “You’re stronger than this thing. You can beat it.”
His son barked another laugh, this one bitter and sad and self-mocking.
“You mean like I beat it back in Salvation? Like I beat it back at the cabin?”
His son was giving up, John realized suddenly -- had already given up. Fear welled in John’s heart, and he grabbed Sam’s collar roughly, shaking him, desperate to make him see sense.
“I won’t loose any more of this family, you hear me?! That demon has taken enough from us!”
Sam wouldn’t look at him and John shook him again.
“Sam!”
When Sam’s gaze finally met his own, John released his grip on Sam’s collar, the pain and despair in his son’s expression searing his heart.
“Then let me do this.”
For a moment, John wasn’t sure what he meant, but then he looked down, watching Sam’s hands tighten around the box he held, the box that would allow him to trade his soul for his brother’s life.
“I can’t,” John said softly. He looked up at his son again, his own eyes pleading…desperate, begging Sam to understand.
“But this will work!” Sam burst out, suddenly sounding impossibly young. “It will bring Dean back!”
“Demons don’t... People can come back wrong, Sam,” John stumbled over the explanation, hating to crush the hope Sam had. “Why do think I haven’t…” his voice trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air: Why do you think I haven’t tried to bring your mother back? To bring Dean back?
“This will work,” Sam insisted again, “I know it.” But he sounded less sure than before. “I have to try.”
The now-familiar burn of tears stung John’s eyes, but he shook his head. This was his last chance.
“Sammy, I would give anything to have him back. Anything. But not you. I can’t lose you too, Sammy.” John knew he had no right to ask this for himself, but it was all he had. “Please…please, don’t do this.”
“I have to,” Sam said quietly.
“Sam-” he started desperately.
“This thing wanted me!” Sam exploded suddenly. “Me! And it killed Mom, and Jess, and…” The anger rushed out of him as quickly as it had come, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. “And it’s my fault.” Sam’s whisper was harsh and full of pain. “It’s my fault.”
“Sammy…”
Tears spilled down his son’s cheeks, and the box slipped from Sam’s fingers, clattering to the ground. Without a thought, John wrapped his arms around his son, and Sam buried his head in his shoulder, like he had when he was a little boy. Broken sobs wracked his body, shaking them both, and John just held his son tightly, his own tears sliding down his neck and sinking into the collar of his shirt.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way, how long he held his son, but eventually, he pulled back slightly, his hand griping Sam’s arm until Sam’s tear-stained eyes met his own.
“You listen to me, Sammy. This isn’t your fault. You hear me? It was that thing -- that thing did this.”
Sam didn’t say anything, but he gave a small, hesitant nod, like he wanted to believe it, even if he didn’t now.
“Dean wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
Even as he said it, he realized that it was true, not just for Sam, but for him. John swallowed hard, and gave his son’s shoulder another squeeze.
“Sam?”
Sam only nodded again but John felt a little of the weight lift from his heart. He’d lost one son, but he still had the other, and maybe, right now, that was all that mattered.
TBC...
~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Sam hadn’t let himself really grieve for almost five days and neither had John in a way. They are finally grieving together, as father and son, and after all that, I think they’re entitled to a break-down or two, lol. One more chapter after this one. :)
Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!
-Laughter
~*~*~*~*~
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |
~*~*~*~*~
Author: LaughtersMelody
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: With the writers still on strike, maybe no one will notice that Dean is missing… Oh, oops, did I say that out loud? I meant…I haven’t seen him.
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Pairing: None Type: Muti-chapter
Spoilers: In this chapter there are mentions of Crossroad Blues, Devil’s Trap, In My Time Of Dying, and a brief reference to Everybody Love A Clown.
Characters: Sam, John
Secondary Characters: Dean, in a vague sense...and mentions of Bobby.
Summary: "Come on, you can’t…you can’t leave me here, alone with Dad. We’ll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.
A/N: Goodness, I’m so sorry that it’s taken me so long to post this next chapter! I was very wrapped up in Christmas and New Years, and since then I just haven’t had a chance to post. But, here is the next chapter. :) I debated for a while about how to break it up, and I thought about cutting it in half, but the first half very much leads to the second, and I didn’t think it would work as well in two parts. So, this is a pretty long chapter, lol.
A/N2: (There is a spoiler for "A Very Supernatural Christmas" in this author’s note, so if you haven’t seen the episode yet, don’t read any further, lol.) I wrote this before "A Very Supernatural Christmas" aired and was working with the assumption that Sam knew about John being a hunter the whole time he was growing up. Since this is already AU I’m not going to change it, but if you want to, lol, just pretend that when little Sam calls John a hunter, he means a regular hunter, not a supernatural one. ;)
I hope you enjoy this chapter, and of course, please let me know what you think! :)
~*~*~*~*~
Into Ashes - Chapter 4 - Dealing
I feel like a soccer-mom.
Sam had no doubt that’s what Dean would say if he saw the old, beaten-up van Bobby had given him. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, but the sharp stab of grief that followed made the expression fade.
The van wasn’t much to look at, not even comparable to the Impala, but it ran, and Bobby had promised that the gas tank was full. It was more than enough to get him where he wanted to be.
It had taken him a while to find a crossroads that would work. Bobby’s place was out in the country, but most of the roads were paved, and he needed a dirt road so he could bury the box that now sat in the passenger seat. Inside were his picture and the other objects necessary to summon the demon.
The road he’d found was on the outskirts of the county, and it would take him about an hour to get there from the motel he’d checked into. He’d made sure he’d gotten a room with two beds. Dean would need a place to sleep when he was back.
When Dean was back…that thought made Sam’s smile return. For the first time since Dean had died, he felt hope.
He knew what this was going to cost, knew what the demon would demand in exchange, but that didn’t matter.
Nothing did, as long as Dean was alive.
~*~*~*~*~
“Daddy?”
The soft question drew his attention from the article he’d been reading, and John turned to see his six-year-old son standing uncertainly in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep, his pajamas wrinkled.
“Sammy?” John frowned. “What’re you doin’ up?”
The little boy looked down, shuffling his feet on the shaggy, motel carpet.
“I had a bad dream. Can I stay with you, Daddy?”
The hunter in John wanted to say no. He knew his son was going to have to face real nightmares someday, and if he couldn’t deal with the monsters in his dreams, he’d never be able to deal with them in the waking-world. But the father in him couldn’t do it.
“Sure, Sammy.”
He gathered his research and set it on the nightstand, folded the newspaper and closed his books, then patted the mattress next to him. His youngest crawled up onto the bed, and snuggled into his side. John let his arm wrap around his son, pulling him close, his hand coming to rest in Sam’s still-baby-soft curls.
It had been a while since Sam had asked to stay with him. Normally, Dean was the one Sammy went to, but Dean had been fighting a bad cold for the last week, and John was glad that Sammy hadn’t woken him up. Dean needed the rest. If he didn’t start feeling better in the next couple days, he’d have to take him to the clinic downtown.
“Daddy?”
This time the question was muffled by the flannel of John’s shirt.
“Yeah, Sammy?”
“You’re not gonna leave, are you?”
That made John frown again.
“‘Course not. Why would you ask that?”
“My dream,” Sam whispered.
“What were you dreamin’ about?” “
You were hurt real bad. And you left Dean and me…like Mommy.”
His words sent a chill down John’s spine. He wasn’t afraid to die, even longed for it in a way, longed to be with Mary…but his boys needed him. He couldn’t leave them unprotected.
Sam looked up into John’s face, eyes wide and innocent.
“But that can’t happen, right? ‘Cause you’re the bestest hunter ever.”
John tried to swallow back the sudden lump in his throat.
“Right, kiddo,” he agreed, voice rough.
Sammy looked away, his small hand clutching the fabric of John’s shirt.
“I was scared,” he admitted, the words hesitant, like he was afraid he was letting his dad down.
John swallowed again, feeling his eyes sting.
“It’s okay to be scared sometimes.”
Sam shook his head, not meeting John’s gaze.
“But nothing scares you.”
Immediately, the thought came tearing through his consciousness, fear seizing his heart:
I’m scared I’ll lose you and Dean.
It was the worst thing he could imagine, the idea that he’d lose his sons, that they could be ripped away from him like Mary had been.
Knowing he’d never be able to say that out loud, he just pulled Sam closer, eyes automatically searching the dark corners of the room for any danger that might be lurking there.
He wouldn’t loose his boys. He couldn’t.
Seventeen years later, it was that same thought which now echoed repeatedly in John’s mind, and that same frigid terror running through his veins had driven him from Bobby’s and the Impala to follow his youngest son.
Half of that nightmare had already come true…and John knew that he was close to seeing the other half become reality. The demon wanted Sam, and if it got him, everything that made Sam, Sam, would be gone.
But he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d do whatever it took to keep his son safe…even if that meant trailing him wherever he went.
Sam hadn’t noticed him yet, and for that he was grateful.
It wasn’t the first time he’d tracked one of his boys. He’d done it when Sam was at Stanford, and a few times in the year he’d taken off to hunt the demon, checking-up on his sons without them knowing it. Those trips had always left him with mixed emotions, relief that they were alright, but guilt was never far behind. He’d told himself, like he always had, that he was doing what was best, that he didn’t have a choice -- but those words had become more and more hollow as the months passed.
He felt that way now, watching from the shadows as Sam pulled out of the motel parking lot, but he stayed where he was. He knew he’d trained his boys well, knew how Sam would react if he saw him. John wasn’t the only one who could disappear when he wanted to.
And if that happened, then he wouldn’t be able to protect Sam at all.
He waited until the van was out of sight, then walked across the parking lot to Sam’s room. He made quick work of the lock and slipped inside.
His gaze settled first on the two beds -- Sam must have gotten them out of habit. A fresh wave of grief washed over him, and John closed his eyes against it. The pain didn’t dull, but he forced his eyes open and continued his search anyway. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, he just needed something to prove that Sam was okay, that he wasn’t in danger.
The room was cluttered, books and pieces of paper scattered over the bed and floor. A notepad, covered in Sam’s scrawling handwriting, sat on the nightstand.
His eyes settled on an open book near the end of the bed…
A second later he was out the door and heading for his own car, desperately praying that he wasn’t too late.
~*~*~*~*~
John knew exactly where Sam was going. He’d visited Bobby many times over the years and knew the area well enough that he didn’t have to look at a map to find the nearest crossroads.
The streets became a blur as he drove, pushing the battered car Bobby had given him to its limit. His heart hammered loudly in his hears, nearly drowning out the sound of the engine.
He loved Dean, wanted him back so badly, wanted, more than anything, to have a chance to make things right…but he wouldn’t sacrifice one son to save the other.
Rocks pinged against the side of the car as pavement turned to gravel, and John spun the wheel, sending the vehicle into a wild turn. His gaze swept the darkness, frantically searching.
There…Sam’s van sat on the side of the road, nearly hidden in a tall patch of weeds.
John slammed on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and flung the door open before the car had even stopped moving.
His eyes flew to the center of the crossroads, where Sam was bent, a box in his hands…
John ran, feet pounding the dirt, terror flooding him.
“SAM! NO!”
He reached Sam’s side and knocked the box from his grasp, scattering its contents over the road. Sam’s fist came from no where, and John staggered back, stars obscuring his vision.
“Leave!” Sam roared.
“Sam-”
“Leave! Now!”
Sam’s eyes were wild, rage etched into every line of his face.
“No.” John’s voice was strangely soft, but it held an undercurrent of steel. For once, he didn’t want to scream back, knowing that wouldn’t do anything but push Sam farther away. And he couldn’t afford that, not now.
“I said leave!”
Sam was breathing hard, fists clenching at his sides. John didn’t doubt that Sam would take another swing…and he wasn’t sure that he’d try to stop him.
“Sammy-”
“Don’t call me that!”
It took everything in him not to recoil. Sam had been objecting to that nickname since his thirteenth birthday, but never like this.
“Sam,” he tried, “I know-”
Suddenly Sam was inches away from him.
“You don’t know anything! You didn’t care! You didn’t do anything-”
“I tried!” The yell was torn from his throat before he could stop it, and Sam drew back a little, eyes narrowing. John took a deep breath, and looked away, trying to get a hold of his own emotions.
“I was gonna make a deal with the thing,” he said hoarsely, “I was gonna give it the Colt. But Dean-”
“That’s what the summoning ritual was for.” Sam’s voice was flat. It wasn’t a question.
John nodded, swallowing hard.
“Well, too little, too late.”
Sam turned away then, reaching down to gather the scattered contents of the box.
“Sam-” He grabbed his son’s arm, but Sam wrenched it away furiously.
“Get away from me!” he snarled.
His son bent to snatch his picture from the dirt, and John felt desperation rise within him.
“Don’t do this.”
Sam ignored him.
“Sam!”
He knew couldn’t stop his son, not really. Even if he stopped him here, Sam would just find another crossroads, make another deal…
“Dean wouldn’t want this!”
Sam was back in his face in a second.
“You, of all people, have no right to tell me what Dean would want!”
This time John did recoil. That hurt in a way he couldn’t describe, because it was true. But this wasn’t about Dean, this was about Sam.
“It’s gonna demand your soul, Sam!”
“I don’t care!”
“I do!”
Sam flinched at his words, but before John could wonder why, Sam’s lips twisted into a sneer.
“Right,” he scoffed derisively.
John stiffened, shock running through him.
“Of course I care! I’m your father!”
“Only when you want to be! How many times did you leave us?! Huh?! How many times did you just drop us in a motel room somewhere, so you could hunt, or drink yourself into a stupor?! Dean raised me, Dad, not you! And he was a better father than you’ll ever be!”
“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?!”
The anguished cry burst out of him, echoing down the empty stretch of road, leaving stunned silence in its wake. John felt tears sting his eyes, shame and failure pouring from his soul.
“I know that, Sammy,” he said again, his voice rough, barely audible, “I know.”
Sam didn’t move for a long time, just watched him, a dozen emotions flitting over his face.
“What?” The question was still bitter, but softer, uncertain.
John looked away once more, desperately wishing that he didn’t have to explain. It was a burden he felt every time he looked at his boys, the horrible knowledge that in many ways he’d left his oldest son to take care of his youngest -- to raise them both.
It’s okay, Dad, Dean’s voice echoed in his memory, and John swallowed hard.
No. It wasn’t okay. It never would be.
But Sam deserved an answer.
“Dean was there for you when I shoulda been,” John forced the words past his throat, feeling his eyes burn, “I put too much on his shoulders. I made him grow up too fast…made both of you grow up too fast, Sammy.”
He wanted to say that he was sorry, but even the idea seemed hollow now, useless. An apology could never be enough, could never make up for it all.
“I wish…I wish so bad that I could change it, but I can’t. Your mother…she would hate what I’ve done to you boys…” The image of his wife’s accusing eyes appeared in his mind, and the thought of her disappointment sent tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t turn away, though, forced himself to look his youngest in the eyes.
“I wanted to protect you…keep you safe, and couldn’t even do that. I wound up putting you in more danger, and Dean-” He choked on his tears, a muffled sob cutting off what he’d been about to say. He drew a shaky breath, trying to regain control. “I…I thought I could end it, Sammy. I thought I could save you.”
John finally let his gaze drop, knowing where this would lead, what Sam would ask next.
“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned slowly, as John had known he would. Confusion tinged his words this time, dulling the anger.
John didn’t answer.
“Dad?” Sam asked again, more forcefully.
John still couldn’t make himself speak so he just looked back at Sam and waited, knowing his son was smart enough to put the pieces together for himself.
Sam’s eyes darkened suddenly, realization showing clearly in his expression.
“You know, don’t you?” he demanded. “You know what the demon meant, what it wants.”
John didn’t deny it.
“What does it want, Dad? Tell me!”
“Sam-”
“Tell me!” he shouted.
John drew another shaky breath, and finally gave up the secret he’d held onto for so long: “You, Sammy,” he said quietly. “it wants you.”
His son’s jaw clenched, pain flaring in his eyes at the confirmation of something he’d already suspected.
“Why?” Why had been Sam’s favorite word for as long as John could remember. Why is the sky blue? Why don’t I have a mommy? Why can’t I go to soccer practice? Why can’t we be normal? There were always a thousand questions John was supposed to have the answer to. This time, he did have the answer…and he wished more than anything that he didn’t.
“It wants someone to lead its army, Sam.”
Sam took a half-step back, as if he wanted to get away, like he was suddenly sure that he didn’t want to know, but had to ask anyway.
“And the others like me?”
“It’s gonna pit you against each other, winner takes all.”
Sam’s mouth opened to say something but closed just a quickly, struggling to accept what he’d just heard.
“So…I’m supposed to be some kind of demon general?” he asked at last.
“No, Sam,” John said adamantly, the sudden defeat in his son’s voice making the denial harsher than he’d meant for it to be, “that won’t happen.”
Sam gave a small, helpless laugh.
“Or what, you’ll have to kill me?”
John didn’t answer, and the small glimmer of desperate humor faded from Sam’s eyes.
“You really will have to kill me, won’t you?”
“It won’t come to that,” John said immediately, praying it was true, “I won’t let it.”
“But what if it does?”
“It won’t.”
Sam shook his head quickly.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do, Sam,” John insisted. He had to make Sam believe this, had to make himself believe it. “You’re stronger than this thing. You can beat it.”
His son barked another laugh, this one bitter and sad and self-mocking.
“You mean like I beat it back in Salvation? Like I beat it back at the cabin?”
His son was giving up, John realized suddenly -- had already given up. Fear welled in John’s heart, and he grabbed Sam’s collar roughly, shaking him, desperate to make him see sense.
“I won’t loose any more of this family, you hear me?! That demon has taken enough from us!”
Sam wouldn’t look at him and John shook him again.
“Sam!”
When Sam’s gaze finally met his own, John released his grip on Sam’s collar, the pain and despair in his son’s expression searing his heart.
“Then let me do this.”
For a moment, John wasn’t sure what he meant, but then he looked down, watching Sam’s hands tighten around the box he held, the box that would allow him to trade his soul for his brother’s life.
“I can’t,” John said softly. He looked up at his son again, his own eyes pleading…desperate, begging Sam to understand.
“But this will work!” Sam burst out, suddenly sounding impossibly young. “It will bring Dean back!”
“Demons don’t... People can come back wrong, Sam,” John stumbled over the explanation, hating to crush the hope Sam had. “Why do think I haven’t…” his voice trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air: Why do you think I haven’t tried to bring your mother back? To bring Dean back?
“This will work,” Sam insisted again, “I know it.” But he sounded less sure than before. “I have to try.”
The now-familiar burn of tears stung John’s eyes, but he shook his head. This was his last chance.
“Sammy, I would give anything to have him back. Anything. But not you. I can’t lose you too, Sammy.” John knew he had no right to ask this for himself, but it was all he had. “Please…please, don’t do this.”
“I have to,” Sam said quietly.
“Sam-” he started desperately.
“This thing wanted me!” Sam exploded suddenly. “Me! And it killed Mom, and Jess, and…” The anger rushed out of him as quickly as it had come, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. “And it’s my fault.” Sam’s whisper was harsh and full of pain. “It’s my fault.”
“Sammy…”
Tears spilled down his son’s cheeks, and the box slipped from Sam’s fingers, clattering to the ground. Without a thought, John wrapped his arms around his son, and Sam buried his head in his shoulder, like he had when he was a little boy. Broken sobs wracked his body, shaking them both, and John just held his son tightly, his own tears sliding down his neck and sinking into the collar of his shirt.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way, how long he held his son, but eventually, he pulled back slightly, his hand griping Sam’s arm until Sam’s tear-stained eyes met his own.
“You listen to me, Sammy. This isn’t your fault. You hear me? It was that thing -- that thing did this.”
Sam didn’t say anything, but he gave a small, hesitant nod, like he wanted to believe it, even if he didn’t now.
“Dean wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
Even as he said it, he realized that it was true, not just for Sam, but for him. John swallowed hard, and gave his son’s shoulder another squeeze.
“Sam?”
Sam only nodded again but John felt a little of the weight lift from his heart. He’d lost one son, but he still had the other, and maybe, right now, that was all that mattered.
TBC...
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A/N: Sam hadn’t let himself really grieve for almost five days and neither had John in a way. They are finally grieving together, as father and son, and after all that, I think they’re entitled to a break-down or two, lol. One more chapter after this one. :)
Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!
-Laughter
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| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |
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