In Memory (Part Two)
Part Two
John groggily realized that he and Dean were being floated through the air into the witch’s house. He tried to turn around and stop the momentum, but it was like his body was being sucked towards a magnet. The force was far too strong for him to escape.
He gazed upwards at the witch, who was walking alongside him. She gave him a saucy wink. “It’s no use, hunter. I’m sorry.” She moved over to Dean and whispered something in his ear, her eyes briefly flashing violet. Then she ran her hand down the middle of Dean’s chest, eliciting a soft moan from Dean even in his unconscious state.
John tried pressing his feet into the ground, desperately trying to stop his movement. “What did you do to him? Leave him alone!”
The witch chuckled. “Oh honey, he’ll be fine. Provided you behave. I’ve heard of you, John Winchester. You’ve taken out a few of my sisters over the years.”
“I’m going to take you out too!”
“You can certainly try.”
John and Dean were in the house now, and being dragged through an old-fashioned, stone kitchen with a refrigerator on legs and a huge oven that reminded John of a fairy tale. Next to the oven was a large pantry with glass bottles filled with herbs labeled thyme, sage, hellebore, the works. On the top of the pantry were two blue glass bottles with spell work etched in the side that John thought he recognized from some of his research.
“Let me show you to your room.”
The witch hustled them through a door way and suddenly they were bumping down stone stairs that led to a cellar. The steps jarred painfully against John’s back, but it was Dean who was getting the worst of it. His son was sliding down the stairs on his side, his busted ribs banging on each and every stair. By the time they fell in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Dean was fully conscious and struggling to breathe.
“Enjoy your stay, darlings. I’ll be back soon.”
The witch disappeared, slamming a huge oak door shut behind her at the top of the stairs. It left the room shrouded in dingy darkness save for two skylights near the top of the tall stone walls and a strip of light under the door. The cellar was silent except for the sounds of Dean’s pained and labored breathing. The horrible sound turned John’s stomach, making him want to puke.
John spread his palm across Dean’s abdomen, trying to will the pants bouncing his hand up and down to settle. He needed to calm Dean down, to help him manage his pain and make sure that everything was going to be all right.
John shifted his hand from Dean’s stomach to his leg, giving it an awkward pat. “It’ll be alright. Just relax.”
Dean seemed to actually grow even tenser and shuddered, his face going white with pain.
John didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to ease his son’s pain and it made him want to throttle something. That had always been Sam’s job. Sam’s mere presence could ease Dean in a way that no one else ever could. Sam just knew how to talk to Dean, how to handle him. He cursed Sam in his mind once again, pissed that he wasn’t there to work his magic and calm his brother. It was all on him now.
“You okay?”
Dean groaned and put an arm over his eyes, lying back on the ground. “Yeah.”
“Dean,” John warned.
Dean continued to lay back, just breathing; the very act itself causing his body to quiver with pain. “M’good. How we…” Dean paused, groaning, “ gonna get outta here?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Think if we called Sammy, he’d come get us?”
As soon as the words left Dean’s mouth, his face fell, like he had just remembered Sam wasn’t around. The mention of Sam followed by the pained look on Dean’s face triggered a wave of angry heartache inside of John. “No he wouldn’t, Dean, because he left! He left me and he left you and he doesn’t care what happens to us, so shut the hell up about Sam. I don’t want to ever hear his name again!”
Dean glanced at him like he’d just kicked him the gut. Might as well have. He curled up protectively, scooting away from him. “Sorry.”
There was a muffled sob that echoed off the stone. At first, John thought it was Dean and he was horrified at the thought. Then the sound came again and he realized it was coming from behind him. He turned around and was startled to see a little boy tucked into a corner, unnoticeable in the darkness. He recognized the kid as the boy in the picture on Mike’s wall.
“Hey… hey… Joey, right?”
The boy tried to make himself smaller, crumpling away from him, much like Dean had done seconds before. What was it with him and driving all the kids away?
“It’s alright. We’re here to help you. I met your mom Mike the other night. She’s real worried about you.”
“You saw my mom?”
“Yeah,” John answered. “In the bar where she works. I’m-I’m John.”
He ghosted his hand over Dean’s shoulder, but didn’t dare touch him. “This is my boy, Dean.”
“But… but, didn’t she get you both too?” the boy asked, edging out of the darkness. He had blonde hair and warm brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that John hadn’t noticed in the pictures at the bar. It made the kid look even more like Dean and John was struck with the sudden overwhelming need to make sure he saved him at whatever cost.
“It’s all part of the plan, kid.” He glanced at Dean, squeezing his knee again, trying to give him the warmest, most laid back look possible. “Right, Dean?”
Dean studied him and then John watched as his son’s body relaxed, some of the pain visibly leaving his features. He actually gave John a quarter of a smile, which warmed John’s chilled heart. “Yeah, dad.”
“You okay?” John asked as Dean tried to straighten up into a sitting position. Dean grunted as he struggled up and John placed his hands against Dean’s injured ribs, bracing them so it wouldn’t be so painful. Dean grimaced against the pressure and then accepted the help, easing himself into a sitting position. He scooted himself back a few inches so he could rest against the moss covered stone wall.
“I’m good,” Dean assured. “So what’s the plan? How we gonna MacGyver out of this one?”
John stood and dashed up the stairs to the heavy door. He tried to twist and pull and shimmy the door knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He kicked the door with his foot in frustration. “Think she’s working a spell to keep the door sealed.”
“You didn’t think it was gonna be that easy, did you, dad?”
John ignored Dean and jogged back down the stairs, looking to Joey. “Joey, how often does the witch come down here… open that door?” he asked, nodding to the door at the top of the stairs.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, come on, think! We need to know,” John commanded.
Joey got a frightened look on his face and curled into himself like he was trying to disappear. “Don’t know.”
“There’s gotta be something!” John inquired, growing more and more irritated.
“Dad,” warned Dean, nodding vaguely in Joey’s direction. “Easy on the kid.”
“We don’t have time for easy, Dean. Sooner or later, she’s going to come back here and take this kid and burn him alive!”
Joey sobbed and hid his face in his arms, his legs quaking with fear.
“Damn it,” John cursed, simultaneously annoyed and feeling like a monster.
Dean pitched himself forward, bracing an arm against his broken ribs and stood up with a ragged moan. He dragged himself over to Joey, pretty much collapsing next to the kid.
Joey curled up further away, terrified.
“Joey, listen man, it’s okay,” Dean began in a calm, but non-patronizing voice. “We’re here to help you,” he continued, his hand lightly tickling Joey’s shoulder.
Joey uncurled slightly.
“That’s it, that’s it. You don’t have to be afraid of us.” Dean let us hand fall down completely on the kid’s shoulder.
John stood back and watched Dean in fascination almost as if he were watching a stranger rather than his own son.
Dean continued. “We’re gonna help you, okay. We’re gonna get you out of here and back home safe to your mom. Does that sound good?”
Joey nodded, wiping away a stray tear.
Dean squeezed Joey’s shoulder. “Okay, what can you tell us about the witch? Anything that could help us distract her or stun her so we can all get out of here?”
Joey swallowed hard and nodded at the skylight. “Right after it gets dark… she comes in and gives me food and reads me this story. She calls me Jacob. She’s not so scary then. She just seems real, real sad.”
“Jacob?” Dean repeated, looking to John. “Wasn’t that the name of her son that got murdered?”
“Yeah,” John confirmed.
Dean looked back to Joey. “That’s good. That’s real good, Joey. When she comes in, just do what she wants, okay. That might give us the time we need to distract her and get out of here.”
“Okay,” said Joey.
Dean gave his shoulder another squeeze and struggled back up, his eyes clenching shut against the pain. He stumbled back over to John and more or less fell to the ground.
“So what do you think?” Dean asked in a hushed tone.
John couldn’t speak for a second, too proud of his son to trust himself saying anything out loud.
“What?” Dean asked, squirming. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
John cleared his throat awkwardly. “It… it sounds like it’s worth a shot. She might have some sort of psychotic break around sun down. Her guard’ll be down. That’ll give us the chance to get upstairs and break the witch bottles in the kitchen.”
“Witch bottle? What the hell’s a witch bottle?”
“I saw them when she was dragging us in here. It’s a glass bottle filled with bones and hair and bodily fluids. It’s normally meant to ward off a witch. But I think she’s doing the exact opposite. Storing all of her power outside of herself to keep it safe and keep her invincible.”
“So… what, we just break the glass jar and Maleficent goes poof?”
“Maybe. She might have a spell protecting them too, who knows. But it’s a shot. She lives out in the middle of nowhere with a kid or two for company. She probably never had to worry about anyone trying to break them.”
“Makes sense.”
“So we wait for her. Play it cool when she comes in. You stay with Joey, keep her distracted. I’ll get upstairs, break the bottles. Once her power’s dissolved, she can be killed like a human.”
John pulled a knife from a hidden pocket in his jacket and handed it over to Dean. “That should do the trick. We can burn her afterwards, wipe her off the map for good.”
Time dragged as they waited for night to fall. John in particular was about to go mad from inactivity. He felt powerless and out of control, the two things he hated most in the world. The sounds of Joey sniffling and of Dean’s increasingly wheezy gasps for breath, accompanied by the occasional moan and groan when he shifted position were enough to give John one splitting headache of concern.
Finally though, darkness fell. The only light coming into the basement was from the tiny line under the door at the top of the stairs.
“Any time now,” said John, focusing on the door. “You keep her busy.”
“Yes, sir,” breathed Dean, glancing over at Joey. “Hey Joey, you good with this?”
There was an audible gulp and then John could make out Joey nodding in the shadows.
“Excellent,” said Dean.
The door suddenly rattled.
“This is it,” said John.
The door creaked open and Clara walked through, lingering at the top of the stairs, the light from the house framing her face, making her blonde hair glow and her green eyes sparkle, her lithe figure curved amply in all the right places. She looked like Heidi Klum. “Jacob, you brought your friends. I’m so happy,” she remarked in a wonderfully saccharine voice. She glided down the stairs with a book under her arm and a tray in her hands holding a sandwich, a glass of milk and a lit candle.
John waited, just biding his time, letting her pass him by and step over to Joey. She set the tray of food down next to the boy and tousled his hair lovingly with her hand. She seemed almost human to John in that moment, just a woman about to read her son a story.
But she wasn’t. She was a witch who planned on murdering an innocent boy. And he had to stop it.
Joey shook with terror and Dean quickly hopped next to him, hanging his head low and innocent. “I wanna hear a story too.”
Clara seemed pleased. “It would be my pleasure.” She sat down cross legged in front of Joey and Dean, a look of sad realization gradually spreading across her face.
Dean snuck a glance at John and that was it. On your mark, get set, go. John tore up the stairs two at a time, the muscles in his legs and feet throbbing. He managed to make it to the top before the witch caught on. He slammed the door behind him and sprinted towards the kitchen, ignoring the horrendous sound of the witch shrieking behind him, right on his tail. He made it into the kitchen and took a flying leap for the witch bottles, his fingers managing to catch on the first one and tilt it off the shelf to the ground.
John angled for the second bottle, but the witch quickly extended her arm, chanting something under her breath that he vaguely recognized. The bottle lit up and John nudged it, but it was like it was cemented to the shelf. It wouldn’t move.
The first bottle however was beyond saving. It crashed to the floor, a fluorescent light beaming and smoke puffing out along with a mixture of urine and blood and bones as glass exploded everywhere.
“No!”
The witch bawled in agony and John watched in fascination as she aged fifty years before his eyes, turning into an old woman, her hair turning grey, her face wrinkling, her fingers curling with arthritis. John took the opportunity to pounce. He picked up a piece of glass from the fallen witch bottle and swung it at her, ripping open a cut across her abdomen. She knocked him away, but he kept at her with the glass, hitting his mark on her right cheek, nearly taking out her eye.
She regained her composure and held out her arm, sending John crashing to the ground. “It was a good try, sweetie.”
“Screw you!” he grunted, struggling to stand. He fingered another piece of glass and stabbed it into the old witch’s leg.
The witch yelped, but held her stance. “I wouldn’t keep doing that, honey. I can handle it but your boy can’t.”
“What?” John shot up and dove again for the second witch bottle. But as soon as he touched it, shocks went through him and he was repelled from it, sending him crashing to the floor.
“You should really go check on your son.”
“What did you do to Dean?” John demanded.
“I didn’t do anything, sweetness. You did.”
John was moving again, being forced back down into the cellar, but slower than before, like she had lost some of her mojo. He landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs, the air forced out of him. John took a mere moment to collect himself before he glanced around the cellar maniacally, desperate to find Dean. “Dean! Dean, where are you? Report, son, report!”
He found Dean pressed up against the stone wall, his arm pressed against a bloody wound in his leg. His face and chest were bleeding too. In the exact same places that John had slashed the witch.
“I don’t… don’t know,” Dean muttered, confused. “I just started getting cut, like some invisible dude was attacking me or something.”
John thought for a minute, his mind balking in horrible realization. “Oh damn it!”
Joey, who was sitting next to Dean, tucked his face into Dean’s arm at John’s explosive bellow.
“What?” asked Dean weakly.
“She’s bound you to her. As long as she still has her powers, whatever we try and do to her, happens to you too.”
A sick amused chuckle sounded from the top of the stairway and then the door slammed shut, leaving them ensconced in darkness except for the strip of light under the door.
**
Hours or days could’ve passed, Dean wasn’t sure. The skylight had gone from dark to light to dark to light once or twice and the witch hadn’t been back.
The cuts he’d received vicariously through the witch weren’t too bad, though they did sting like a mother. His ribs were the things really hurting him now, throbbing with every beat of his heart. He wanted to curl up around a cotton-covered block of ice and sleep for about a week. But he didn’t have that luxury.
Joey had scooted next to him and had put his head on his shoulder, alternating between uneasy sleep and small sobs of panic, which Dean did his best to quell. Helping Joey dulled the ache of not having Sam around and it gave him a purpose, another being to focus on.
Now Joey sobbed continuously, his tears soaking the sleeve of Dean’s jacket. Dean curled his arm around the kid, rubbing his back in comfort. “Hey… it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but we got her right where we want her.” Joey wiped his face and nodded, holding onto Dean tightly. “You just gotta be brave, little man. Just a little while longer.”
Dean focused his gaze on his father, who was pacing around the cellar like a rat trapped in a cage. He was pawing at the windows and the doors one moment and mumbling a mess of Latin the next. It was all starting to give Dean a massive headache. He was sore and tired and cranky enough that he wasn’t shy about calling his father out. “Dad, will you please just sit down. Please. There’s no way out of here. Not right now.”
John gave Dean a look that could’ve frozen fire.
Dean sighed. “When she comes back, we’ll take her out.”
“How?”
“Knock her around. Weaken her until we can get upstairs and break the other bottle.”
“No Dean. Not with you bound together.”
“What? This is good news, dad. She has a weakness now. She can be hurt.”
“Yeah and so can you!”
“So? I’m tough… I can take it.”
“Dean… you’re not… taking it. Damn it, we need to find another way.”
The basement door creaked open, surprising them all. They all looked up to the stairs and waited but Clara didn’t appear.
Dean and John exchanged glances and both inched closer to the stairs. A few beats passed and Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, waiting in dread for what was about to happen. He heard Joey in the corner, barely suppressing a sob.
Suddenly, Clara was at the top of the stairs. She blew past Dean and John and went straight for Joey, snatching him up. Joey shrieked in terror. Without hesitation, Dean picked himself off the ground and staggered towards the witch. He pulled back his arm, winding up for one of his patent knockout punches. He braced himself for the pain and the daze and then let it rip, his fist hitting the witch square in the eye.
“Dean!” his father shouted.
Dean’s own eye lit up like a firework and he stumbled back, his whole cheek bombed out from the blow, his face on fire, his vision wavering as his eyes watered. Definitely don’t hit like a girl he thought as he fell back, stunned, to the floor.
The witch was stunned too but not for long. She held onto Joey and headed for the stairs. “It’s time to say hi to my Jacob, honey.”
“No,” Dean muttered weakly. He looked to his father, who was standing motionless, a look of unsure horror on his face. “Dad, you gotta stop her.”
John looked at him with hesitant, tortured eyes.
“Please, dad,” Dean begged. “Just do what you to have to do. Rather die and know that the kid lived.”
John stared at him for a long time before finally nodding. “Okay…” he said in an uneasy tone.
“Get the bitch!”
John took one more second’s pause and then put on his game face. He whistled after Clara, who was now halfway up the stairs with Joey. “You wanna take the boy, you’re going to have to go through me.”
Clara stopped short and turned around, a pleasant smile on her face. “Is that so, lovely?”
“Yeah, that’s so.” John rushed the stairs and took Clara down with a flying tackle that caused Dean’s insides to mash together painfully. Clara fell on the stairs, losing her grip on Joey. “Run kid! Run the hell out of here!” screamed John as he pummeled the witch with punches, trying to keep her down so Joey had a chance to get away.
Dean felt each and every punch, the pain excruciating; each blow dulling his senses and sending him closer and closer to unconsciousness. But as he saw Joey fearfully scurry up the stairs away from Clara, he knew all the pain was worth it. When Joey reached the very top, he abruptly stopped and turned back to look at Dean.
“Go Joey!” Dean groaned amidst taking punches. “Get out of here! Find your mom!”
Joey gave him one last terrified glance before he took off. Dean collapsed to the ground in relief, barely conscious. He noticed the reign of blows had stopped and realized in horror that the witch had regained the upper hand with John. She had his father in a tight chokehold and then launched him into the stone wall. John bashed against it hard and slammed to the floor in a daze.
“Dad!”
The witch rushed Dean then and grabbed him by the shirt collar, hefting him up. “I’ll just have to adjust my plans a little and take you instead. You’re someone’s boy after all,” she said, flashing a horrendous smile John’s way.
Dean felt himself being lifted and then he was in the air, flying up to the top of the stairs. He landed with a crunch on his right arm, pain exploding in his elbow and shoulder. The witch was right there with him, picking him up once again. Dean dared to look her in the eyes and saw a pit of black emptiness staring back at him. He took the opportunity to spit all the blood that had pooled in his mouth from the punches in her face. The blood hit her in the eyes and then dripped down her face, making her look like an older version of Carrie.
“Go to hell, bitch!”
“Dean!” his dad warned from below.
Dean braced himself for retribution. It came as a punch to the gut square into his bullet wound. “Ohhhh… oh god,” he moaned, the pain so sharp he wanted to puke. The witch pulled him up straight and hit him in the same spot, the pain doubling, bringing tears to his eyes.
She straightened him again, her finger wiping away a stray tear from his cheek. He shivered as she touched him. “Sshhh baby boy. You remind me so much of Jacob. You’re what he would’ve looked like…if,” she trailed off, her eyes suddenly welling up with tears. “He was so young. I had just started letting him walk home from school by his little lonesome. That’s when they got him. My little sweetheart. Later, when they had him strung up, they started the fire at his feet and the smell…I…I wasn’t powerful enough to stop them. Not then. I could only save myself but not my Jacob. They took him away from me! They have to pay! So they do. Year after year. I take as many boys as I can and I destroy them just like they destroyed my boy.”
“But these boys didn’t do anything, Clara,” Dean heard John argue. “They’re innocent, just like your Jacob.”
“My Jacob was a good boy and he didn’t deserve to die. His killers were never punished. So it’s up to me to right that wrong. The punishment fits their crimes and it is completely justified. Those boy’s parents aren’t innocent and sooner or later, those boys would turn into the same murderers who killed my son. No, they’re not innocent. You’re not innocent and he’s not innocent. You both came here to destroy me. And now I have to defend myself and get retribution for my son. You brought this on yourselves!”
She turned him so he was facing down the stairs and held him there in limbo for one heart stopping second, like he was on the top of a rollercoaster about to descend. “No!” he heard his father scream a split second before she shoved him down the stairs. His heart leapt in panic as he realized he had nothing to break his fall. He tumbled hard, bouncing his chest, arms and legs in a terrifying and excruciating pinwheel that ended with him collapsed in a twisted heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Everything was a haze of pain and confusion as he lay shattered and bleeding and hurting.
“Hold tight, sweetie. I’ll be back for you soon,” he heard the witch say somewhere in the distance.
He could hear his father screaming. Maybe even crying. Then he blissfully felt nothing.
TBC
John groggily realized that he and Dean were being floated through the air into the witch’s house. He tried to turn around and stop the momentum, but it was like his body was being sucked towards a magnet. The force was far too strong for him to escape.
He gazed upwards at the witch, who was walking alongside him. She gave him a saucy wink. “It’s no use, hunter. I’m sorry.” She moved over to Dean and whispered something in his ear, her eyes briefly flashing violet. Then she ran her hand down the middle of Dean’s chest, eliciting a soft moan from Dean even in his unconscious state.
John tried pressing his feet into the ground, desperately trying to stop his movement. “What did you do to him? Leave him alone!”
The witch chuckled. “Oh honey, he’ll be fine. Provided you behave. I’ve heard of you, John Winchester. You’ve taken out a few of my sisters over the years.”
“I’m going to take you out too!”
“You can certainly try.”
John and Dean were in the house now, and being dragged through an old-fashioned, stone kitchen with a refrigerator on legs and a huge oven that reminded John of a fairy tale. Next to the oven was a large pantry with glass bottles filled with herbs labeled thyme, sage, hellebore, the works. On the top of the pantry were two blue glass bottles with spell work etched in the side that John thought he recognized from some of his research.
“Let me show you to your room.”
The witch hustled them through a door way and suddenly they were bumping down stone stairs that led to a cellar. The steps jarred painfully against John’s back, but it was Dean who was getting the worst of it. His son was sliding down the stairs on his side, his busted ribs banging on each and every stair. By the time they fell in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Dean was fully conscious and struggling to breathe.
“Enjoy your stay, darlings. I’ll be back soon.”
The witch disappeared, slamming a huge oak door shut behind her at the top of the stairs. It left the room shrouded in dingy darkness save for two skylights near the top of the tall stone walls and a strip of light under the door. The cellar was silent except for the sounds of Dean’s pained and labored breathing. The horrible sound turned John’s stomach, making him want to puke.
John spread his palm across Dean’s abdomen, trying to will the pants bouncing his hand up and down to settle. He needed to calm Dean down, to help him manage his pain and make sure that everything was going to be all right.
John shifted his hand from Dean’s stomach to his leg, giving it an awkward pat. “It’ll be alright. Just relax.”
Dean seemed to actually grow even tenser and shuddered, his face going white with pain.
John didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to ease his son’s pain and it made him want to throttle something. That had always been Sam’s job. Sam’s mere presence could ease Dean in a way that no one else ever could. Sam just knew how to talk to Dean, how to handle him. He cursed Sam in his mind once again, pissed that he wasn’t there to work his magic and calm his brother. It was all on him now.
“You okay?”
Dean groaned and put an arm over his eyes, lying back on the ground. “Yeah.”
“Dean,” John warned.
Dean continued to lay back, just breathing; the very act itself causing his body to quiver with pain. “M’good. How we…” Dean paused, groaning, “ gonna get outta here?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Think if we called Sammy, he’d come get us?”
As soon as the words left Dean’s mouth, his face fell, like he had just remembered Sam wasn’t around. The mention of Sam followed by the pained look on Dean’s face triggered a wave of angry heartache inside of John. “No he wouldn’t, Dean, because he left! He left me and he left you and he doesn’t care what happens to us, so shut the hell up about Sam. I don’t want to ever hear his name again!”
Dean glanced at him like he’d just kicked him the gut. Might as well have. He curled up protectively, scooting away from him. “Sorry.”
There was a muffled sob that echoed off the stone. At first, John thought it was Dean and he was horrified at the thought. Then the sound came again and he realized it was coming from behind him. He turned around and was startled to see a little boy tucked into a corner, unnoticeable in the darkness. He recognized the kid as the boy in the picture on Mike’s wall.
“Hey… hey… Joey, right?”
The boy tried to make himself smaller, crumpling away from him, much like Dean had done seconds before. What was it with him and driving all the kids away?
“It’s alright. We’re here to help you. I met your mom Mike the other night. She’s real worried about you.”
“You saw my mom?”
“Yeah,” John answered. “In the bar where she works. I’m-I’m John.”
He ghosted his hand over Dean’s shoulder, but didn’t dare touch him. “This is my boy, Dean.”
“But… but, didn’t she get you both too?” the boy asked, edging out of the darkness. He had blonde hair and warm brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that John hadn’t noticed in the pictures at the bar. It made the kid look even more like Dean and John was struck with the sudden overwhelming need to make sure he saved him at whatever cost.
“It’s all part of the plan, kid.” He glanced at Dean, squeezing his knee again, trying to give him the warmest, most laid back look possible. “Right, Dean?”
Dean studied him and then John watched as his son’s body relaxed, some of the pain visibly leaving his features. He actually gave John a quarter of a smile, which warmed John’s chilled heart. “Yeah, dad.”
“You okay?” John asked as Dean tried to straighten up into a sitting position. Dean grunted as he struggled up and John placed his hands against Dean’s injured ribs, bracing them so it wouldn’t be so painful. Dean grimaced against the pressure and then accepted the help, easing himself into a sitting position. He scooted himself back a few inches so he could rest against the moss covered stone wall.
“I’m good,” Dean assured. “So what’s the plan? How we gonna MacGyver out of this one?”
John stood and dashed up the stairs to the heavy door. He tried to twist and pull and shimmy the door knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He kicked the door with his foot in frustration. “Think she’s working a spell to keep the door sealed.”
“You didn’t think it was gonna be that easy, did you, dad?”
John ignored Dean and jogged back down the stairs, looking to Joey. “Joey, how often does the witch come down here… open that door?” he asked, nodding to the door at the top of the stairs.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, come on, think! We need to know,” John commanded.
Joey got a frightened look on his face and curled into himself like he was trying to disappear. “Don’t know.”
“There’s gotta be something!” John inquired, growing more and more irritated.
“Dad,” warned Dean, nodding vaguely in Joey’s direction. “Easy on the kid.”
“We don’t have time for easy, Dean. Sooner or later, she’s going to come back here and take this kid and burn him alive!”
Joey sobbed and hid his face in his arms, his legs quaking with fear.
“Damn it,” John cursed, simultaneously annoyed and feeling like a monster.
Dean pitched himself forward, bracing an arm against his broken ribs and stood up with a ragged moan. He dragged himself over to Joey, pretty much collapsing next to the kid.
Joey curled up further away, terrified.
“Joey, listen man, it’s okay,” Dean began in a calm, but non-patronizing voice. “We’re here to help you,” he continued, his hand lightly tickling Joey’s shoulder.
Joey uncurled slightly.
“That’s it, that’s it. You don’t have to be afraid of us.” Dean let us hand fall down completely on the kid’s shoulder.
John stood back and watched Dean in fascination almost as if he were watching a stranger rather than his own son.
Dean continued. “We’re gonna help you, okay. We’re gonna get you out of here and back home safe to your mom. Does that sound good?”
Joey nodded, wiping away a stray tear.
Dean squeezed Joey’s shoulder. “Okay, what can you tell us about the witch? Anything that could help us distract her or stun her so we can all get out of here?”
Joey swallowed hard and nodded at the skylight. “Right after it gets dark… she comes in and gives me food and reads me this story. She calls me Jacob. She’s not so scary then. She just seems real, real sad.”
“Jacob?” Dean repeated, looking to John. “Wasn’t that the name of her son that got murdered?”
“Yeah,” John confirmed.
Dean looked back to Joey. “That’s good. That’s real good, Joey. When she comes in, just do what she wants, okay. That might give us the time we need to distract her and get out of here.”
“Okay,” said Joey.
Dean gave his shoulder another squeeze and struggled back up, his eyes clenching shut against the pain. He stumbled back over to John and more or less fell to the ground.
“So what do you think?” Dean asked in a hushed tone.
John couldn’t speak for a second, too proud of his son to trust himself saying anything out loud.
“What?” Dean asked, squirming. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
John cleared his throat awkwardly. “It… it sounds like it’s worth a shot. She might have some sort of psychotic break around sun down. Her guard’ll be down. That’ll give us the chance to get upstairs and break the witch bottles in the kitchen.”
“Witch bottle? What the hell’s a witch bottle?”
“I saw them when she was dragging us in here. It’s a glass bottle filled with bones and hair and bodily fluids. It’s normally meant to ward off a witch. But I think she’s doing the exact opposite. Storing all of her power outside of herself to keep it safe and keep her invincible.”
“So… what, we just break the glass jar and Maleficent goes poof?”
“Maybe. She might have a spell protecting them too, who knows. But it’s a shot. She lives out in the middle of nowhere with a kid or two for company. She probably never had to worry about anyone trying to break them.”
“Makes sense.”
“So we wait for her. Play it cool when she comes in. You stay with Joey, keep her distracted. I’ll get upstairs, break the bottles. Once her power’s dissolved, she can be killed like a human.”
John pulled a knife from a hidden pocket in his jacket and handed it over to Dean. “That should do the trick. We can burn her afterwards, wipe her off the map for good.”
Time dragged as they waited for night to fall. John in particular was about to go mad from inactivity. He felt powerless and out of control, the two things he hated most in the world. The sounds of Joey sniffling and of Dean’s increasingly wheezy gasps for breath, accompanied by the occasional moan and groan when he shifted position were enough to give John one splitting headache of concern.
Finally though, darkness fell. The only light coming into the basement was from the tiny line under the door at the top of the stairs.
“Any time now,” said John, focusing on the door. “You keep her busy.”
“Yes, sir,” breathed Dean, glancing over at Joey. “Hey Joey, you good with this?”
There was an audible gulp and then John could make out Joey nodding in the shadows.
“Excellent,” said Dean.
The door suddenly rattled.
“This is it,” said John.
The door creaked open and Clara walked through, lingering at the top of the stairs, the light from the house framing her face, making her blonde hair glow and her green eyes sparkle, her lithe figure curved amply in all the right places. She looked like Heidi Klum. “Jacob, you brought your friends. I’m so happy,” she remarked in a wonderfully saccharine voice. She glided down the stairs with a book under her arm and a tray in her hands holding a sandwich, a glass of milk and a lit candle.
John waited, just biding his time, letting her pass him by and step over to Joey. She set the tray of food down next to the boy and tousled his hair lovingly with her hand. She seemed almost human to John in that moment, just a woman about to read her son a story.
But she wasn’t. She was a witch who planned on murdering an innocent boy. And he had to stop it.
Joey shook with terror and Dean quickly hopped next to him, hanging his head low and innocent. “I wanna hear a story too.”
Clara seemed pleased. “It would be my pleasure.” She sat down cross legged in front of Joey and Dean, a look of sad realization gradually spreading across her face.
Dean snuck a glance at John and that was it. On your mark, get set, go. John tore up the stairs two at a time, the muscles in his legs and feet throbbing. He managed to make it to the top before the witch caught on. He slammed the door behind him and sprinted towards the kitchen, ignoring the horrendous sound of the witch shrieking behind him, right on his tail. He made it into the kitchen and took a flying leap for the witch bottles, his fingers managing to catch on the first one and tilt it off the shelf to the ground.
John angled for the second bottle, but the witch quickly extended her arm, chanting something under her breath that he vaguely recognized. The bottle lit up and John nudged it, but it was like it was cemented to the shelf. It wouldn’t move.
The first bottle however was beyond saving. It crashed to the floor, a fluorescent light beaming and smoke puffing out along with a mixture of urine and blood and bones as glass exploded everywhere.
“No!”
The witch bawled in agony and John watched in fascination as she aged fifty years before his eyes, turning into an old woman, her hair turning grey, her face wrinkling, her fingers curling with arthritis. John took the opportunity to pounce. He picked up a piece of glass from the fallen witch bottle and swung it at her, ripping open a cut across her abdomen. She knocked him away, but he kept at her with the glass, hitting his mark on her right cheek, nearly taking out her eye.
She regained her composure and held out her arm, sending John crashing to the ground. “It was a good try, sweetie.”
“Screw you!” he grunted, struggling to stand. He fingered another piece of glass and stabbed it into the old witch’s leg.
The witch yelped, but held her stance. “I wouldn’t keep doing that, honey. I can handle it but your boy can’t.”
“What?” John shot up and dove again for the second witch bottle. But as soon as he touched it, shocks went through him and he was repelled from it, sending him crashing to the floor.
“You should really go check on your son.”
“What did you do to Dean?” John demanded.
“I didn’t do anything, sweetness. You did.”
John was moving again, being forced back down into the cellar, but slower than before, like she had lost some of her mojo. He landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs, the air forced out of him. John took a mere moment to collect himself before he glanced around the cellar maniacally, desperate to find Dean. “Dean! Dean, where are you? Report, son, report!”
He found Dean pressed up against the stone wall, his arm pressed against a bloody wound in his leg. His face and chest were bleeding too. In the exact same places that John had slashed the witch.
“I don’t… don’t know,” Dean muttered, confused. “I just started getting cut, like some invisible dude was attacking me or something.”
John thought for a minute, his mind balking in horrible realization. “Oh damn it!”
Joey, who was sitting next to Dean, tucked his face into Dean’s arm at John’s explosive bellow.
“What?” asked Dean weakly.
“She’s bound you to her. As long as she still has her powers, whatever we try and do to her, happens to you too.”
A sick amused chuckle sounded from the top of the stairway and then the door slammed shut, leaving them ensconced in darkness except for the strip of light under the door.
**
Hours or days could’ve passed, Dean wasn’t sure. The skylight had gone from dark to light to dark to light once or twice and the witch hadn’t been back.
The cuts he’d received vicariously through the witch weren’t too bad, though they did sting like a mother. His ribs were the things really hurting him now, throbbing with every beat of his heart. He wanted to curl up around a cotton-covered block of ice and sleep for about a week. But he didn’t have that luxury.
Joey had scooted next to him and had put his head on his shoulder, alternating between uneasy sleep and small sobs of panic, which Dean did his best to quell. Helping Joey dulled the ache of not having Sam around and it gave him a purpose, another being to focus on.
Now Joey sobbed continuously, his tears soaking the sleeve of Dean’s jacket. Dean curled his arm around the kid, rubbing his back in comfort. “Hey… it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but we got her right where we want her.” Joey wiped his face and nodded, holding onto Dean tightly. “You just gotta be brave, little man. Just a little while longer.”
Dean focused his gaze on his father, who was pacing around the cellar like a rat trapped in a cage. He was pawing at the windows and the doors one moment and mumbling a mess of Latin the next. It was all starting to give Dean a massive headache. He was sore and tired and cranky enough that he wasn’t shy about calling his father out. “Dad, will you please just sit down. Please. There’s no way out of here. Not right now.”
John gave Dean a look that could’ve frozen fire.
Dean sighed. “When she comes back, we’ll take her out.”
“How?”
“Knock her around. Weaken her until we can get upstairs and break the other bottle.”
“No Dean. Not with you bound together.”
“What? This is good news, dad. She has a weakness now. She can be hurt.”
“Yeah and so can you!”
“So? I’m tough… I can take it.”
“Dean… you’re not… taking it. Damn it, we need to find another way.”
The basement door creaked open, surprising them all. They all looked up to the stairs and waited but Clara didn’t appear.
Dean and John exchanged glances and both inched closer to the stairs. A few beats passed and Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, waiting in dread for what was about to happen. He heard Joey in the corner, barely suppressing a sob.
Suddenly, Clara was at the top of the stairs. She blew past Dean and John and went straight for Joey, snatching him up. Joey shrieked in terror. Without hesitation, Dean picked himself off the ground and staggered towards the witch. He pulled back his arm, winding up for one of his patent knockout punches. He braced himself for the pain and the daze and then let it rip, his fist hitting the witch square in the eye.
“Dean!” his father shouted.
Dean’s own eye lit up like a firework and he stumbled back, his whole cheek bombed out from the blow, his face on fire, his vision wavering as his eyes watered. Definitely don’t hit like a girl he thought as he fell back, stunned, to the floor.
The witch was stunned too but not for long. She held onto Joey and headed for the stairs. “It’s time to say hi to my Jacob, honey.”
“No,” Dean muttered weakly. He looked to his father, who was standing motionless, a look of unsure horror on his face. “Dad, you gotta stop her.”
John looked at him with hesitant, tortured eyes.
“Please, dad,” Dean begged. “Just do what you to have to do. Rather die and know that the kid lived.”
John stared at him for a long time before finally nodding. “Okay…” he said in an uneasy tone.
“Get the bitch!”
John took one more second’s pause and then put on his game face. He whistled after Clara, who was now halfway up the stairs with Joey. “You wanna take the boy, you’re going to have to go through me.”
Clara stopped short and turned around, a pleasant smile on her face. “Is that so, lovely?”
“Yeah, that’s so.” John rushed the stairs and took Clara down with a flying tackle that caused Dean’s insides to mash together painfully. Clara fell on the stairs, losing her grip on Joey. “Run kid! Run the hell out of here!” screamed John as he pummeled the witch with punches, trying to keep her down so Joey had a chance to get away.
Dean felt each and every punch, the pain excruciating; each blow dulling his senses and sending him closer and closer to unconsciousness. But as he saw Joey fearfully scurry up the stairs away from Clara, he knew all the pain was worth it. When Joey reached the very top, he abruptly stopped and turned back to look at Dean.
“Go Joey!” Dean groaned amidst taking punches. “Get out of here! Find your mom!”
Joey gave him one last terrified glance before he took off. Dean collapsed to the ground in relief, barely conscious. He noticed the reign of blows had stopped and realized in horror that the witch had regained the upper hand with John. She had his father in a tight chokehold and then launched him into the stone wall. John bashed against it hard and slammed to the floor in a daze.
“Dad!”
The witch rushed Dean then and grabbed him by the shirt collar, hefting him up. “I’ll just have to adjust my plans a little and take you instead. You’re someone’s boy after all,” she said, flashing a horrendous smile John’s way.
Dean felt himself being lifted and then he was in the air, flying up to the top of the stairs. He landed with a crunch on his right arm, pain exploding in his elbow and shoulder. The witch was right there with him, picking him up once again. Dean dared to look her in the eyes and saw a pit of black emptiness staring back at him. He took the opportunity to spit all the blood that had pooled in his mouth from the punches in her face. The blood hit her in the eyes and then dripped down her face, making her look like an older version of Carrie.
“Go to hell, bitch!”
“Dean!” his dad warned from below.
Dean braced himself for retribution. It came as a punch to the gut square into his bullet wound. “Ohhhh… oh god,” he moaned, the pain so sharp he wanted to puke. The witch pulled him up straight and hit him in the same spot, the pain doubling, bringing tears to his eyes.
She straightened him again, her finger wiping away a stray tear from his cheek. He shivered as she touched him. “Sshhh baby boy. You remind me so much of Jacob. You’re what he would’ve looked like…if,” she trailed off, her eyes suddenly welling up with tears. “He was so young. I had just started letting him walk home from school by his little lonesome. That’s when they got him. My little sweetheart. Later, when they had him strung up, they started the fire at his feet and the smell…I…I wasn’t powerful enough to stop them. Not then. I could only save myself but not my Jacob. They took him away from me! They have to pay! So they do. Year after year. I take as many boys as I can and I destroy them just like they destroyed my boy.”
“But these boys didn’t do anything, Clara,” Dean heard John argue. “They’re innocent, just like your Jacob.”
“My Jacob was a good boy and he didn’t deserve to die. His killers were never punished. So it’s up to me to right that wrong. The punishment fits their crimes and it is completely justified. Those boy’s parents aren’t innocent and sooner or later, those boys would turn into the same murderers who killed my son. No, they’re not innocent. You’re not innocent and he’s not innocent. You both came here to destroy me. And now I have to defend myself and get retribution for my son. You brought this on yourselves!”
She turned him so he was facing down the stairs and held him there in limbo for one heart stopping second, like he was on the top of a rollercoaster about to descend. “No!” he heard his father scream a split second before she shoved him down the stairs. His heart leapt in panic as he realized he had nothing to break his fall. He tumbled hard, bouncing his chest, arms and legs in a terrifying and excruciating pinwheel that ended with him collapsed in a twisted heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Everything was a haze of pain and confusion as he lay shattered and bleeding and hurting.
“Hold tight, sweetie. I’ll be back for you soon,” he heard the witch say somewhere in the distance.
He could hear his father screaming. Maybe even crying. Then he blissfully felt nothing.
TBC