Revising History, Chapter One
Revising History, Chapter One
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Azazel
Disclaimers: Any characters or places that you recognize belong to Eric Kripke, minor borrowing of lines from Joss Whedon’s Buffy
Setting: Middle of Season Two
He had made a mistake. This was not an easy admission for Azazel. Demons were naturally arrogant, holding themselves superior to the mere mortal humans they simultaneously despised and were amused by, and Azazel’s ego had been nurtured by centuries of dominance over his own kind. Still, one didn’t get to be a demon lord by being stupid.
Dean Winchester was not the simple nuisance that Azazel had deemed him to be. He was a capable and passionate hunter, and the number one obstacle standing between Sam and the dark side. Dean, while not in the running for the cover of Sanity Fair, was Sam’s only stable anchor, and Azazel had been wrong to dismiss this. He was still sure he could kill Dean if he had to, but just killing the boy wouldn’t do the trick. If anything, it would make it even harder for Sam to see the light. Blood relatives were sentimental that way. Furthermore, psychic powers or no, a warrior like Dean would make a fine addition to Azazel’s forces along with his brother. Sam was Azazel’s favorite out of all the children he’d picked. The fact that he was John Winchester’s son probably had something to do with that. One good nemesis deserves another.
Looking back, it was clear that his error in judgement dated back to the beginning, to the root of the problem, as it were. It was just that only in recent months had it become obvious. The problem with glitches like this was that by the time you noticed them it was usually too late to fix the darn things. Then again, Azazel wasn’t arrogant without just cause. He wasn’t some ordinary evil spirit going around spoiling milk jars or something equally insipid.
He had resources.
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“And you’re sure this our kind of case, Dean?”
“Let’s see,” answered the elder of the two Winchester brothers from the passenger seat, holding up the newspaper article which had sent them on their latest hunt. It was one of those rare occasions when he let Sammy drive his precious Impala. “About a dozen people disappear without a trace in the same week, only to turn up dead and covered in weird-ass symbols? I’d say, ‘Duh’.”
“It could just be some crazy cult.”, Sam pointed out.
“And so what if it is, Sammy?”, Dean replied in his patented flippant tone. It seemed like they did this dance every time one of them found a lead. “We’re just going to say, ‘Sorry guys, you’re not our type. Please carry on with the ritual mutilation’?”
“It’s Sam,” the younger Winchester said, grinding his teeth in irritation.
The Impala approached a sign which read, “Welcome to Mercy, Colorado”
“Dude, what is up with small towns and these kind of names?” Dean asked bemusedly, “I swear, if there’s a demon in someplace called Chastity, I’m not going to bother.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
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The local innkeeper wasn’t reluctant to talk about the recent murders. Quite the opposite. The guy was a real chatterer, more than willing to talk Dean and Sam’s ears off about everything from mysterious local mutilations to his brother-in-law’s sister-in-law’s love life. When he finally paused for breath, Sam thanked him politely for his time and the Winchesters half-walked, half-ran up the stairs to their room.
Dean distinctly thought he could hear, “But I didn’t tell you about the part with coconuts.”, echoing upwards as he shut the door of Room 666 behind them.
“So everyone thinks this Celeste chick is the culprit.” said Dean, “We should check out her place.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” was Sam’s dubious reply, “But I’m not so sure we can assume it’s her based on some town rumors and gossip, Dean. Even if she is a witch like they say, a lot of witches don’t hurt anybody. She may just be a convenient scapegoat for whatever’s really going on.”
“Admit it, Sam. You’ve had a soft spot for witches in that bleeding heart of yours ever since you caught that special on the History Channel.”
“Didn’t you check out The Pagan Rites to look at the semi-nude engravings?”
Dean actually blushed. “I thought you were asleep when I was looking at those.”
“You turned on a flashlight. I did pay attention when Dad was teaching us to be light sleepers, you know.”
The temperature in the room dropped 3 degrees at the mention of their father.
“So anyways,” Dean returned to the task at hand, “Big Mouth downstairs said she plays bridge from 3 to 5. We should go by her house and see if we can find anything that says, ‘Human flesh just doesn’t have enough runes on it.’ Or is that against the code for the Ethical Treatment of Scary Old Witches?”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
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“Coast is clear.” Sam said, peering into the kitchen from inside the back door. “No one else is home.”
The brothers walked in took a look around the kitchen. Dean wrinkled his nose. “Dude. The smell here is so… old lady.”
“Lots of herbs and charms.” Sam opened the big black book on the kitchen counter and scrolled through it, noting what were obviously written spells. “She’s definitely a witch.”
CREAK
Both brothers turned sharply to see that the old woman, Celeste, had just come back into the house through the back door.
“Um, hi.” Dean quickly racked his brains for an explanation, “We’re with pest disposal. Someone called about termites and gave us this address. Obviously they made a mistake, so we’ll be leaving now.”
“Oh, silly me.”, she replied in a kind, matronly voice, “And here I thought you two boys were just looking for evidence that I killed all those poor people.”
“What?!” This outburst came from a completely surprised Sam. “Um, no, of course not.”
“Well that’s very funny, dears.” And here her voice changed into a rough growl, “‘Cause I did.”
The old woman’s eyes turned black as she grabbed and lifted Dean by the throat. Sam lunged at her, but was knocked out from behind by, of all things, a floating crowbar.
Old Yellow Eyes released his telekinetic hold on the crowbar and stepped over Sam’s limp form from where he had materialized behind the younger Winchester. Dean glared at him hatefully, still caught in the vice-like grip of the demon possessing the old woman.
“Sorry, boys,” said their most hated enemy in mocking tones, “But something tells me this will go smoother if you two take a nice, long nap.”
The other demon smashed Dean’s face into the wall, and he went still.
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Dean woke to find himself in chains in a dark basement. The smell of old lady was still present, and a few other, even less pleasant aromas. Sam was chained up beside him, and the two demons were standing around a circle inscribed on the dank floor a few feet away.
“Sammy,” he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to free an arm so he could nudge his brother, “Wake up. Come on, wake up. Are you okay?”
“He’s out cold, sonny boy,” drawled the yellow-eyed hellbastard without even glancing in their direction. “Trust me, you really wouldn’t want him to be awake for this.”
“The circle is ready, Lord Azazel.” announced the demon in the body of the witch.
“What the hell’s going on, here, you sick bastard?!” Dean demanded
The demon turned and regarded him silently.
“Come on,” Dean pressed, trying to buy time, though for what, he had no idea. The chance of a rescue was laughable. “Isn’t this the part where you tell me your evil plan? What are you going to do with Sammy? I thought demons like you loved hearing the sound of your own godforsaken voices.”
Old Yellow Eyes chuckled. “Let’s just say I’m going to correct an old error, sonny. But, I needed to go through the proper goddamned channels. Rituals!” the demon snorted “I tell you, kid. The bane of existence isn’t us, it’s bureaucracy. Celeste here happened to be sitting on an ancient grimoire. Dates back to the Dark Ages, one of my personal favorite party times.” Dean longed for nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face.
“She thought she was being all noble like,” the demon continued, “Keeping it out of the wrong hands, keeping us from getting a hold of it. Arrogant old biddy never considered that we could get a hold of her. So we killed two birds with one stone. Or a dozen people with sharp knifes, same diff.”
Dean’s blazing anger and hatred were punctuated by the realization that the demons had laid a trap and he had walked right into it like a mouse into a cartoon mousetrap. He had let Sammy down.
“But then,” he now addressed the demon that had taken the old woman’s body, “You always were one of my best spies.”
“Thank you, Lord Azazel,” replied the subordinate demon. “I’m honored.”
“Spare me the waterworks and get to it.” Azazel’s voice took on a tone of ritual. “Just as it all started when I gifted Sam-I-Am with my ichor, now his life’s blood will flow back to the beginning.”
The minion demon took a knife from the folds of its skirt and approached Sam’s unmoving form.
“NO!” Dean squirmed like a madman to escape his chains. “You bitch! Get your hands off him!”
Dean looked on helplessly as the minion demon slit his brother’s throat. The blood came pouring out of him, thick and dark, almost too much to believe. As Dean struggled in impotent rage, it flowed into the circle and the gateway formed, a pulsing shimmer in the air.
“I’ll kill you! Damn you! I’ll kill you!”
Dean went on throwing incoherent curses at them long after his voice became hoarse.
“Very good,” Azazel said, striding over until he was practically in the other demon’s face, “Now, refresh my memory. Doesn’t the book say that the only way to stop some well-meaning person from reversing the gateway is to seal it with the heart of the encanter?”
The look of stunned horror on the old witch’s stolen face was cut short as Azazel reached into her ribcage and pulled out her still-beating heart. She collapsed and the demon spy’s essence dissolved.
Despite himself, Dean fell silent in shock.
Azazel saw his look of noncomprehension and grinned. “He came to me three hundred years ago when his lord Mikaboshi had just suffered a particularly embarrassing setback. Never keep an opportunist around longer than you have to, kid.”
He? Normally the thought of a transsexual demon would have prompted a smart-ass remark. Instead, Dean lay there and watched numbly. Then again, maybe he’d start laughing anyway. What was the difference? Without Sammy, nothing meant anything.
Azazel turned to the gateway.
“I have a date with history. Yours.”
-----------------------------------------------
November 2, 1983
Lawrence, Kansas
Night
The fire was a shock to all the neighbours. John and Mary Winchester were well-known and well-liked. It happened so suddenly. Already people were crowding as close as possible to the unfortunate house without crossing the boundaries set by the fire department, exchanging questions and speculation as to the cause of the blaze.
In the center of the commotion were John Winchester and his two sons, staring out at their family home as the firemen tried to extinguish the last of the flames. The eldest, Dean, held his baby brother Samuel in his arms. Those poor boys, to have lost their mother so young, especially Sam. Later, people who were there said that Dean had looked so brave as he cradled the infant.
Dean felt an arm on his shoulder and looked at his father. John Winchester’s expression was soft as he said, “I know you’re scared, son. But I’m going to take care of you. And you and I are going to look after Sammy. Nothing is more important than this family. The world can be a cold and unforgiving place, but we’re all going to stick together. I know what to do. I promise.”
The fear and uncertainty inside of Dean faded a little at these words.
The firelight reflected in John’s eyes almost made them look golden.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Azazel
Disclaimers: Any characters or places that you recognize belong to Eric Kripke, minor borrowing of lines from Joss Whedon’s Buffy
Setting: Middle of Season Two
He had made a mistake. This was not an easy admission for Azazel. Demons were naturally arrogant, holding themselves superior to the mere mortal humans they simultaneously despised and were amused by, and Azazel’s ego had been nurtured by centuries of dominance over his own kind. Still, one didn’t get to be a demon lord by being stupid.
Dean Winchester was not the simple nuisance that Azazel had deemed him to be. He was a capable and passionate hunter, and the number one obstacle standing between Sam and the dark side. Dean, while not in the running for the cover of Sanity Fair, was Sam’s only stable anchor, and Azazel had been wrong to dismiss this. He was still sure he could kill Dean if he had to, but just killing the boy wouldn’t do the trick. If anything, it would make it even harder for Sam to see the light. Blood relatives were sentimental that way. Furthermore, psychic powers or no, a warrior like Dean would make a fine addition to Azazel’s forces along with his brother. Sam was Azazel’s favorite out of all the children he’d picked. The fact that he was John Winchester’s son probably had something to do with that. One good nemesis deserves another.
Looking back, it was clear that his error in judgement dated back to the beginning, to the root of the problem, as it were. It was just that only in recent months had it become obvious. The problem with glitches like this was that by the time you noticed them it was usually too late to fix the darn things. Then again, Azazel wasn’t arrogant without just cause. He wasn’t some ordinary evil spirit going around spoiling milk jars or something equally insipid.
He had resources.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“And you’re sure this our kind of case, Dean?”
“Let’s see,” answered the elder of the two Winchester brothers from the passenger seat, holding up the newspaper article which had sent them on their latest hunt. It was one of those rare occasions when he let Sammy drive his precious Impala. “About a dozen people disappear without a trace in the same week, only to turn up dead and covered in weird-ass symbols? I’d say, ‘Duh’.”
“It could just be some crazy cult.”, Sam pointed out.
“And so what if it is, Sammy?”, Dean replied in his patented flippant tone. It seemed like they did this dance every time one of them found a lead. “We’re just going to say, ‘Sorry guys, you’re not our type. Please carry on with the ritual mutilation’?”
“It’s Sam,” the younger Winchester said, grinding his teeth in irritation.
The Impala approached a sign which read, “Welcome to Mercy, Colorado”
“Dude, what is up with small towns and these kind of names?” Dean asked bemusedly, “I swear, if there’s a demon in someplace called Chastity, I’m not going to bother.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The local innkeeper wasn’t reluctant to talk about the recent murders. Quite the opposite. The guy was a real chatterer, more than willing to talk Dean and Sam’s ears off about everything from mysterious local mutilations to his brother-in-law’s sister-in-law’s love life. When he finally paused for breath, Sam thanked him politely for his time and the Winchesters half-walked, half-ran up the stairs to their room.
Dean distinctly thought he could hear, “But I didn’t tell you about the part with coconuts.”, echoing upwards as he shut the door of Room 666 behind them.
“So everyone thinks this Celeste chick is the culprit.” said Dean, “We should check out her place.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” was Sam’s dubious reply, “But I’m not so sure we can assume it’s her based on some town rumors and gossip, Dean. Even if she is a witch like they say, a lot of witches don’t hurt anybody. She may just be a convenient scapegoat for whatever’s really going on.”
“Admit it, Sam. You’ve had a soft spot for witches in that bleeding heart of yours ever since you caught that special on the History Channel.”
“Didn’t you check out The Pagan Rites to look at the semi-nude engravings?”
Dean actually blushed. “I thought you were asleep when I was looking at those.”
“You turned on a flashlight. I did pay attention when Dad was teaching us to be light sleepers, you know.”
The temperature in the room dropped 3 degrees at the mention of their father.
“So anyways,” Dean returned to the task at hand, “Big Mouth downstairs said she plays bridge from 3 to 5. We should go by her house and see if we can find anything that says, ‘Human flesh just doesn’t have enough runes on it.’ Or is that against the code for the Ethical Treatment of Scary Old Witches?”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Coast is clear.” Sam said, peering into the kitchen from inside the back door. “No one else is home.”
The brothers walked in took a look around the kitchen. Dean wrinkled his nose. “Dude. The smell here is so… old lady.”
“Lots of herbs and charms.” Sam opened the big black book on the kitchen counter and scrolled through it, noting what were obviously written spells. “She’s definitely a witch.”
CREAK
Both brothers turned sharply to see that the old woman, Celeste, had just come back into the house through the back door.
“Um, hi.” Dean quickly racked his brains for an explanation, “We’re with pest disposal. Someone called about termites and gave us this address. Obviously they made a mistake, so we’ll be leaving now.”
“Oh, silly me.”, she replied in a kind, matronly voice, “And here I thought you two boys were just looking for evidence that I killed all those poor people.”
“What?!” This outburst came from a completely surprised Sam. “Um, no, of course not.”
“Well that’s very funny, dears.” And here her voice changed into a rough growl, “‘Cause I did.”
The old woman’s eyes turned black as she grabbed and lifted Dean by the throat. Sam lunged at her, but was knocked out from behind by, of all things, a floating crowbar.
Old Yellow Eyes released his telekinetic hold on the crowbar and stepped over Sam’s limp form from where he had materialized behind the younger Winchester. Dean glared at him hatefully, still caught in the vice-like grip of the demon possessing the old woman.
“Sorry, boys,” said their most hated enemy in mocking tones, “But something tells me this will go smoother if you two take a nice, long nap.”
The other demon smashed Dean’s face into the wall, and he went still.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dean woke to find himself in chains in a dark basement. The smell of old lady was still present, and a few other, even less pleasant aromas. Sam was chained up beside him, and the two demons were standing around a circle inscribed on the dank floor a few feet away.
“Sammy,” he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to free an arm so he could nudge his brother, “Wake up. Come on, wake up. Are you okay?”
“He’s out cold, sonny boy,” drawled the yellow-eyed hellbastard without even glancing in their direction. “Trust me, you really wouldn’t want him to be awake for this.”
“The circle is ready, Lord Azazel.” announced the demon in the body of the witch.
“What the hell’s going on, here, you sick bastard?!” Dean demanded
The demon turned and regarded him silently.
“Come on,” Dean pressed, trying to buy time, though for what, he had no idea. The chance of a rescue was laughable. “Isn’t this the part where you tell me your evil plan? What are you going to do with Sammy? I thought demons like you loved hearing the sound of your own godforsaken voices.”
Old Yellow Eyes chuckled. “Let’s just say I’m going to correct an old error, sonny. But, I needed to go through the proper goddamned channels. Rituals!” the demon snorted “I tell you, kid. The bane of existence isn’t us, it’s bureaucracy. Celeste here happened to be sitting on an ancient grimoire. Dates back to the Dark Ages, one of my personal favorite party times.” Dean longed for nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face.
“She thought she was being all noble like,” the demon continued, “Keeping it out of the wrong hands, keeping us from getting a hold of it. Arrogant old biddy never considered that we could get a hold of her. So we killed two birds with one stone. Or a dozen people with sharp knifes, same diff.”
Dean’s blazing anger and hatred were punctuated by the realization that the demons had laid a trap and he had walked right into it like a mouse into a cartoon mousetrap. He had let Sammy down.
“But then,” he now addressed the demon that had taken the old woman’s body, “You always were one of my best spies.”
“Thank you, Lord Azazel,” replied the subordinate demon. “I’m honored.”
“Spare me the waterworks and get to it.” Azazel’s voice took on a tone of ritual. “Just as it all started when I gifted Sam-I-Am with my ichor, now his life’s blood will flow back to the beginning.”
The minion demon took a knife from the folds of its skirt and approached Sam’s unmoving form.
“NO!” Dean squirmed like a madman to escape his chains. “You bitch! Get your hands off him!”
Dean looked on helplessly as the minion demon slit his brother’s throat. The blood came pouring out of him, thick and dark, almost too much to believe. As Dean struggled in impotent rage, it flowed into the circle and the gateway formed, a pulsing shimmer in the air.
“I’ll kill you! Damn you! I’ll kill you!”
Dean went on throwing incoherent curses at them long after his voice became hoarse.
“Very good,” Azazel said, striding over until he was practically in the other demon’s face, “Now, refresh my memory. Doesn’t the book say that the only way to stop some well-meaning person from reversing the gateway is to seal it with the heart of the encanter?”
The look of stunned horror on the old witch’s stolen face was cut short as Azazel reached into her ribcage and pulled out her still-beating heart. She collapsed and the demon spy’s essence dissolved.
Despite himself, Dean fell silent in shock.
Azazel saw his look of noncomprehension and grinned. “He came to me three hundred years ago when his lord Mikaboshi had just suffered a particularly embarrassing setback. Never keep an opportunist around longer than you have to, kid.”
He? Normally the thought of a transsexual demon would have prompted a smart-ass remark. Instead, Dean lay there and watched numbly. Then again, maybe he’d start laughing anyway. What was the difference? Without Sammy, nothing meant anything.
Azazel turned to the gateway.
“I have a date with history. Yours.”
-----------------------------------------------
November 2, 1983
Lawrence, Kansas
Night
The fire was a shock to all the neighbours. John and Mary Winchester were well-known and well-liked. It happened so suddenly. Already people were crowding as close as possible to the unfortunate house without crossing the boundaries set by the fire department, exchanging questions and speculation as to the cause of the blaze.
In the center of the commotion were John Winchester and his two sons, staring out at their family home as the firemen tried to extinguish the last of the flames. The eldest, Dean, held his baby brother Samuel in his arms. Those poor boys, to have lost their mother so young, especially Sam. Later, people who were there said that Dean had looked so brave as he cradled the infant.
Dean felt an arm on his shoulder and looked at his father. John Winchester’s expression was soft as he said, “I know you’re scared, son. But I’m going to take care of you. And you and I are going to look after Sammy. Nothing is more important than this family. The world can be a cold and unforgiving place, but we’re all going to stick together. I know what to do. I promise.”
The fear and uncertainty inside of Dean faded a little at these words.
The firelight reflected in John’s eyes almost made them look golden.