Never Look Back 16/21
We're nearing the war end. Finally!
Chapter Sixteen
Campfire Stories
There weren’t any trains. There weren’t any people left to run the trains. Something down the line must have run into a transformer, or tripped a sensor, or done something to make the gates stay down and the bells chime.
They’d stopped out of habit, looking first left, then right, trying to see the engine. But there weren’t any trains.
It was creepy, really. The bells that warned of the approach of the machine clanged loudly, echoing through the small town as the nervous group of survivors crossed the tracks. For the first time since Lilith had released her suped-up virus, Dean felt like he was in a horror movie set after the apocalypse.
There was something about the sound, about the way they had to weave themselves through the red and white striped arms to get over the metal tracks that humbled them all into silence. This was one of man’s great creations, something that they had taken for granted, a safety measure that was no longer needed.
Because there weren’t any trains.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Dean stared into the flames, watching them flicker and dance as his mind wandered. He hated to be there, to leave his son behind, especially since he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it back to the salvage yard in one piece. Sam had been particularly persuasive, though, and the elder Winchester hadn’t had much of a choice. Besides, it was for the best, even the recently re-awakened paternal part of his brain admitted that.
Sam shifted beside him, poking at the fire with a stick he’d grabbed from a downed tree a few yards back. The whole camp was quiet except for the sound of fires crackling and tents being erected.
The night seemed eerily dark and suffocating, mostly due to the lack of street lights and noises. Sure, there were animal calls, but it was hardly the same as conversation. And over all the silence, the darkness, the sheer terror of being the last ones left, the scent of death rose.
“You know,” Dean said, choosing to break the silence before he was driven mad by it. “I’m surprised at you.”
Sam barely turned to him. “Why?”
“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “It just seems like you changed your mind pretty fast there.”
“I have my reasons.”
“And I’m not saying you don’t. It was just… unexpected.”
“Do you want to go back?” Sam asked. “’Cause we can always go back.”
Dean shook his head. “I guess I’m just looking for the reasoning is all.”
“I don’t want to watch you get ripped apart again. How’s that?”
“Good,” Dean replied. “Not really looking forward to that, either.”
“Don’t understand why you’re questioning me,” Sam said. “I’m just doing what you wanted me to. I’m leading the army and fighting the demons and probably bringing about the apocalypse.”
“Hate to break it to ya, but I think that already hit.”
“I just don’t know how you can trust me to do this and not go completely postal.” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off. “And if you try feeding me crap about my soul again-”
“You come to a fork in the road,” Dean said, throwing his brother off.
“What?”
“You’re walking along, and you come to a fork in the road. People are dying all around you, and here you are, alive and well, just staring at these two paths. One goes East and promises to be easy. The other goes West and involves some work, maybe even you having to trust some people you don’t. You go East, and you’ll die, quick and easy. You go West, and you’ll have to fight, maybe die slow and sloppy.” He met Sam’s eyes. “Which road do you take?”
Sam leaned away form the flames and considered. “I guess I’d take the road les traveled by,” he finally said, “and go North.”
Dean snorted. “North?”
“What? Lots of people flee to Canada in times of war. Plus, a lot of movies and TV shows shoot up there. They’ve got a bunch of cool actors.”
“Cool, dead actors. Now, come on. Answer the question.”
The younger man sighed. “You know I’d go with you. I’d go West. I’d fight. I am fighting. I’m here, aren’t I? So, what’s the point?”
“The point is,” Dean said, “to forget what you’re supposed to do, and make a choice. Take away blood and death and destiny and disease and all you’ve got left is free will. You always have a choice.”
“But what if you don’t make the right one?”
Dean shrugged. “I like to think people can learn from their mistakes.”
“But what if they can’t? What if they just make things worse? What if you choose to do something, but then you can’t undo it? What if, no matter how hard you try, you can’t fix things?”
“That depends on what you think needs fixing. One man’s salt is another man’s salvation.”
Sam looked down at the ground, drawing little circles in the dirt with his stick. “What if you unlocked a door, pulled it open, and then couldn’t close it? What if you couldn’t lock it back up again? What if stuff got out that you didn’t want to let out, and you couldn’t get it back in?”
Dean didn’t say anything for a while, just stared back at the flames, thinking. He had a feeling he knew what Sam was talking about, knew by the soft, scared tone of his voice that it was about more than just going off to war. “I’d choose to control it,” he said. “I’d choose to use it instead of getting scared and hiding in a corner for the rest of my life. I’d help people.” He looked back at Sam. “All you have to do is choose.”
Sammy nodded. “I guess. But all of this stuff, one thing leading to another, doesn’t it seem a little… planned to you?”
“The demon made a choice,” Dean said. “Azazel picked you. Could have picked me, but he didn’t. He chose you. Mom chose to run into the room. Dad chose to go in after her. He chose to find the thing that killed her. That thing chose to come after you again. You chose to come back on the road with me. The demon chose to escape and try to kill us all. He chose to make a deal with dad. He chose to take you to Cold Oak. You chose not to kill Jake, and he chose to kill you instead. I chose to not stand for that. You chose to shoot a traitor. You chose to save me. I chose to finish this.” He sighed. “Now it’s your turn. Make your choice.”
Their campsite fell into silence as they both stared into the flames, Dean waiting for an answer, Sam searching for one. The fire flickered, its strength fading as the night wore on and the wind came in.
“Gotta get some more wood,” Dean muttered, spinning on the rock they were using as a bench to grab a flashlight.
He flung his hands out into the darkness, searching for something to help him find some more suitable sticks, quietly cursing himself for letting the fire get so low that he couldn’t see more than a foot in front of him.
His shadow lengthened ahead of him, spreading out as the fire climbed higher and higher behind him. Raising an eyebrow, Dean turned back to the flames to find them sparking with renewed life, as if they’d never faded to embers at all.
“Did you?” he asked, turning to Sam.
The younger man grinned. “Now who’s the jealous one?”
o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Sam had chosen. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d made the right choice, but judging by the big smile on his older brother’s face, Dean was.
The younger Winchester stared up at the stars from his sleeping bag, scared to take the plunge and let himself fall into Dreamland. He knew what was waiting for him there, knew who was waiting. He’d had the dream every night since he’d tried to stop Lilith, had watched his brother strip flesh from bones and rip eyes from sockets.
He couldn’t stop thinking about that evening, about the way Dean had looked at him after. The gaze had been familiar, warm, the same as always. He wasn’t any different in his brother’s eyes.
He could still remember the way his father had looked at him after he’d let it slip that he’d seen a woman die before she actually had. His stare had changed, had turned hard and cold- not a lot, mind you, but enough that someone who had spent eighteen straight years with the man could notice.
Sam had been nervous at first. He knew that Dean said it would be all right, but Dean didn’t always say what he meant. That was why he’d waited until the older man’s back was turned to do it. He didn’t want a witness in case his brother had been lying.
He had focused on the fire, had nudged the door open just a bit more, and watched as the flames burst back to life before his eyes. Looking back, he wasn’t sure what was the most amazing part of the ordeal, the look in his brother’s eyes, or his own ability to control what he had done.
“Hey, Dean,” he whispered, his mind wandering past the evening and to the day.
“Yeah?” the older man replied, his voice groggy.
“Where’s Ruby?”
He could hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “Sent her on a special errand.”
“What?”
“Keep you outta Hell.”
Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. There was no way he’d heard that right. He shook his head, figuring Dean was probably half asleep. He sighed, his body begging for sleep, even as his heart and mind protested it. He closed his eyes.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
The day was bright and sunny, the unnatural silence unnerving as the troops marched onward. They’d been picking up more groups and stragglers since the day they’d left, never stopping their movement except to sleep and eat.
They had one motive, one mission. They were marching east, marching into battle. Marching because to sit still would mean creating an easy target, and that was something that none of them wanted.
The brothers stayed in the lead at all times, one or the other falling back when they were needed. They had a compass and holy water, some food, and nothing else. The others had more supplies, and marched under their burdens without complaint.
The demons were used to obedience, knew that to voice a complaint was a death sentence. At least, it would have been on the other side, up east, where the rules were stringent and the leader heartless.
The psychics just followed the demonic lead, having been pulled into something bigger than themselves seemingly overnight. They had never asked for war. They had just been scared, fallen into groups, had gone where the more experienced, the ones who had a clue, had gone.
They were a rag-tag group at best, definitely not suited for war. Still, they walked to the east, to the war, to the other army that was formed in darkness, despair, and death.
Sam hefted his bag up higher on his shoulder as he stared at the hill that loomed before them. They were making good time, heading out of the flatter country of the Midwest and into the rolling hills of the East.
Dean stopped beside him and followed his gaze. “What is this?” he asked, “the fifth in the past mile?”
Sammy nodded. “Should have brought your hiking boots.” He started up the hill, glancing back at the small army behind him as he went.
They were getting close. He could feel it, feel it in the way that he was starting to feel things as he slowly opened himself up, in the way that Dean claimed to have felt him. They were getting close, and Lilith knew it.
He crested the hill with Dean at his side and stopped. They stared out over the valley together, their mouths opening in shock.
What should have been a wide, green expanse with a dirt road cutting through it had been filled to the brim with tents, campfires, and people. Clouds of black smoke hovered in the air, waiting for suitable bodies in a world where humans had been wiped almost completely off the map.
The rest of Sam’s troop stopped behind them, also looking out at the camp. They’d found their opponents. They’d found Lilith’s army.
Chapter 17
Chapter Sixteen
Campfire Stories
There weren’t any trains. There weren’t any people left to run the trains. Something down the line must have run into a transformer, or tripped a sensor, or done something to make the gates stay down and the bells chime.
They’d stopped out of habit, looking first left, then right, trying to see the engine. But there weren’t any trains.
It was creepy, really. The bells that warned of the approach of the machine clanged loudly, echoing through the small town as the nervous group of survivors crossed the tracks. For the first time since Lilith had released her suped-up virus, Dean felt like he was in a horror movie set after the apocalypse.
There was something about the sound, about the way they had to weave themselves through the red and white striped arms to get over the metal tracks that humbled them all into silence. This was one of man’s great creations, something that they had taken for granted, a safety measure that was no longer needed.
Because there weren’t any trains.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Dean stared into the flames, watching them flicker and dance as his mind wandered. He hated to be there, to leave his son behind, especially since he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it back to the salvage yard in one piece. Sam had been particularly persuasive, though, and the elder Winchester hadn’t had much of a choice. Besides, it was for the best, even the recently re-awakened paternal part of his brain admitted that.
Sam shifted beside him, poking at the fire with a stick he’d grabbed from a downed tree a few yards back. The whole camp was quiet except for the sound of fires crackling and tents being erected.
The night seemed eerily dark and suffocating, mostly due to the lack of street lights and noises. Sure, there were animal calls, but it was hardly the same as conversation. And over all the silence, the darkness, the sheer terror of being the last ones left, the scent of death rose.
“You know,” Dean said, choosing to break the silence before he was driven mad by it. “I’m surprised at you.”
Sam barely turned to him. “Why?”
“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “It just seems like you changed your mind pretty fast there.”
“I have my reasons.”
“And I’m not saying you don’t. It was just… unexpected.”
“Do you want to go back?” Sam asked. “’Cause we can always go back.”
Dean shook his head. “I guess I’m just looking for the reasoning is all.”
“I don’t want to watch you get ripped apart again. How’s that?”
“Good,” Dean replied. “Not really looking forward to that, either.”
“Don’t understand why you’re questioning me,” Sam said. “I’m just doing what you wanted me to. I’m leading the army and fighting the demons and probably bringing about the apocalypse.”
“Hate to break it to ya, but I think that already hit.”
“I just don’t know how you can trust me to do this and not go completely postal.” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off. “And if you try feeding me crap about my soul again-”
“You come to a fork in the road,” Dean said, throwing his brother off.
“What?”
“You’re walking along, and you come to a fork in the road. People are dying all around you, and here you are, alive and well, just staring at these two paths. One goes East and promises to be easy. The other goes West and involves some work, maybe even you having to trust some people you don’t. You go East, and you’ll die, quick and easy. You go West, and you’ll have to fight, maybe die slow and sloppy.” He met Sam’s eyes. “Which road do you take?”
Sam leaned away form the flames and considered. “I guess I’d take the road les traveled by,” he finally said, “and go North.”
Dean snorted. “North?”
“What? Lots of people flee to Canada in times of war. Plus, a lot of movies and TV shows shoot up there. They’ve got a bunch of cool actors.”
“Cool, dead actors. Now, come on. Answer the question.”
The younger man sighed. “You know I’d go with you. I’d go West. I’d fight. I am fighting. I’m here, aren’t I? So, what’s the point?”
“The point is,” Dean said, “to forget what you’re supposed to do, and make a choice. Take away blood and death and destiny and disease and all you’ve got left is free will. You always have a choice.”
“But what if you don’t make the right one?”
Dean shrugged. “I like to think people can learn from their mistakes.”
“But what if they can’t? What if they just make things worse? What if you choose to do something, but then you can’t undo it? What if, no matter how hard you try, you can’t fix things?”
“That depends on what you think needs fixing. One man’s salt is another man’s salvation.”
Sam looked down at the ground, drawing little circles in the dirt with his stick. “What if you unlocked a door, pulled it open, and then couldn’t close it? What if you couldn’t lock it back up again? What if stuff got out that you didn’t want to let out, and you couldn’t get it back in?”
Dean didn’t say anything for a while, just stared back at the flames, thinking. He had a feeling he knew what Sam was talking about, knew by the soft, scared tone of his voice that it was about more than just going off to war. “I’d choose to control it,” he said. “I’d choose to use it instead of getting scared and hiding in a corner for the rest of my life. I’d help people.” He looked back at Sam. “All you have to do is choose.”
Sammy nodded. “I guess. But all of this stuff, one thing leading to another, doesn’t it seem a little… planned to you?”
“The demon made a choice,” Dean said. “Azazel picked you. Could have picked me, but he didn’t. He chose you. Mom chose to run into the room. Dad chose to go in after her. He chose to find the thing that killed her. That thing chose to come after you again. You chose to come back on the road with me. The demon chose to escape and try to kill us all. He chose to make a deal with dad. He chose to take you to Cold Oak. You chose not to kill Jake, and he chose to kill you instead. I chose to not stand for that. You chose to shoot a traitor. You chose to save me. I chose to finish this.” He sighed. “Now it’s your turn. Make your choice.”
Their campsite fell into silence as they both stared into the flames, Dean waiting for an answer, Sam searching for one. The fire flickered, its strength fading as the night wore on and the wind came in.
“Gotta get some more wood,” Dean muttered, spinning on the rock they were using as a bench to grab a flashlight.
He flung his hands out into the darkness, searching for something to help him find some more suitable sticks, quietly cursing himself for letting the fire get so low that he couldn’t see more than a foot in front of him.
His shadow lengthened ahead of him, spreading out as the fire climbed higher and higher behind him. Raising an eyebrow, Dean turned back to the flames to find them sparking with renewed life, as if they’d never faded to embers at all.
“Did you?” he asked, turning to Sam.
The younger man grinned. “Now who’s the jealous one?”
o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Sam had chosen. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d made the right choice, but judging by the big smile on his older brother’s face, Dean was.
The younger Winchester stared up at the stars from his sleeping bag, scared to take the plunge and let himself fall into Dreamland. He knew what was waiting for him there, knew who was waiting. He’d had the dream every night since he’d tried to stop Lilith, had watched his brother strip flesh from bones and rip eyes from sockets.
He couldn’t stop thinking about that evening, about the way Dean had looked at him after. The gaze had been familiar, warm, the same as always. He wasn’t any different in his brother’s eyes.
He could still remember the way his father had looked at him after he’d let it slip that he’d seen a woman die before she actually had. His stare had changed, had turned hard and cold- not a lot, mind you, but enough that someone who had spent eighteen straight years with the man could notice.
Sam had been nervous at first. He knew that Dean said it would be all right, but Dean didn’t always say what he meant. That was why he’d waited until the older man’s back was turned to do it. He didn’t want a witness in case his brother had been lying.
He had focused on the fire, had nudged the door open just a bit more, and watched as the flames burst back to life before his eyes. Looking back, he wasn’t sure what was the most amazing part of the ordeal, the look in his brother’s eyes, or his own ability to control what he had done.
“Hey, Dean,” he whispered, his mind wandering past the evening and to the day.
“Yeah?” the older man replied, his voice groggy.
“Where’s Ruby?”
He could hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “Sent her on a special errand.”
“What?”
“Keep you outta Hell.”
Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. There was no way he’d heard that right. He shook his head, figuring Dean was probably half asleep. He sighed, his body begging for sleep, even as his heart and mind protested it. He closed his eyes.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
The day was bright and sunny, the unnatural silence unnerving as the troops marched onward. They’d been picking up more groups and stragglers since the day they’d left, never stopping their movement except to sleep and eat.
They had one motive, one mission. They were marching east, marching into battle. Marching because to sit still would mean creating an easy target, and that was something that none of them wanted.
The brothers stayed in the lead at all times, one or the other falling back when they were needed. They had a compass and holy water, some food, and nothing else. The others had more supplies, and marched under their burdens without complaint.
The demons were used to obedience, knew that to voice a complaint was a death sentence. At least, it would have been on the other side, up east, where the rules were stringent and the leader heartless.
The psychics just followed the demonic lead, having been pulled into something bigger than themselves seemingly overnight. They had never asked for war. They had just been scared, fallen into groups, had gone where the more experienced, the ones who had a clue, had gone.
They were a rag-tag group at best, definitely not suited for war. Still, they walked to the east, to the war, to the other army that was formed in darkness, despair, and death.
Sam hefted his bag up higher on his shoulder as he stared at the hill that loomed before them. They were making good time, heading out of the flatter country of the Midwest and into the rolling hills of the East.
Dean stopped beside him and followed his gaze. “What is this?” he asked, “the fifth in the past mile?”
Sammy nodded. “Should have brought your hiking boots.” He started up the hill, glancing back at the small army behind him as he went.
They were getting close. He could feel it, feel it in the way that he was starting to feel things as he slowly opened himself up, in the way that Dean claimed to have felt him. They were getting close, and Lilith knew it.
He crested the hill with Dean at his side and stopped. They stared out over the valley together, their mouths opening in shock.
What should have been a wide, green expanse with a dirt road cutting through it had been filled to the brim with tents, campfires, and people. Clouds of black smoke hovered in the air, waiting for suitable bodies in a world where humans had been wiped almost completely off the map.
The rest of Sam’s troop stopped behind them, also looking out at the camp. They’d found their opponents. They’d found Lilith’s army.
Chapter 17