Over the Hills & Far Away (Chapter 5a)
Title: Over the Hills & Far Away - CHAPTER 5A
Author(s): operationhades
Artist: evian_fork
Warning: few curse words, once or twice.
Summary: Sam was a fourteen year old mutant when he walked in on an injured Dean staring up at the barrel of a gun held by John Winchester. And after that, with Sam at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning and Dean throwing John, every other hunter in the country, and a pissed Yellow Eyed Demon of their trail, thing's only get progressively worse.
5A
CHAPTER FIVE (5A)
“When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.” - Antisthenes
Monday, May 2nd, 4:45am:
“Tick tock, tick tock,” Azazel tutted, staring at the watch around his wrist. “Literally two hours, ma boy. I'm surprised you haven't died of blood loss yet.” He peered further down from the watch, eyeing the pool of blood steadily growing in size around Dean's feet, already seeping into the material of his current body's meat-suit. It wasn't the same as last time - no charming smile or twinkly eyes to get the ladies to open up their doors, unfortunately - but a normal, middle aged looking fella, one who might even pass off as a hunter. Daniel Elkins sure had been fooled.
Even if, in the end, Azazel still didn't have what he'd been searching for. Either of the things he'd been searching for.
“Leave him alone, you bastard! Dean!”
Sighing, Azazel turned round to face Daddy Winchester, rolling his eyes in exasperation at all the threats still being hurled his way. John didn't have the Colt, Azazel didn't have the Colt, then who did? He'd been so sure Elkins had had it, which was why he'd clued those accursed vampires to his location, letting them have their fun with him. But the Colt hadn't been anywhere in that ramshackle hut some called a house. And really, considering Elkin's had been John's only clue too, it was real frustrating to not have it in his hands.
Oh well, at least he'd get Sammy.
As soon as he could get Dean here to speak, anyway.
“Maybe I should just possess you and get it over with.” He mused, tapping at his chin in thought. “I did say I had all the time in the world, not to mention that your daddy didn't, but I haven't really touched John other than to shut him up now and then, have I?”
“You bastard- Agh!”
“See?” Azazel questioned, holding his hand still while it was angled in John's direction. “Like that. How about this, boy,” John gurgled in the background, desperately searching for air as Azazel squeezed his hand and systematically closed the older hunter's windpipe. “How long do you think Johnny here can hold his breath? One minute? One minute and a half?”
Dean struggled to raise his head, blood loss making him weak and exhausted, blood covered lips moving to form words with no sound. Azazel leaned in close, crowding up into Dean's space, not missing the flicker of disgust in the jade eyes, and dropped his face to Dean's sagging form, pressing his ear in close. “What did you say?” He purred, anticipation thrumming in his meat-suit’s veins. “Are you going to let me strangle your papa to death? Kill him like I killed your mommy?”
Dean didn't respond immediately - how could he? Waste of skin was barely hanging on to life by a thread - but after before a minute could be up and John's noises had progressively gotten more urgent before dying down, Dean moved his head in the tiniest fraction to signal a nod, and Azazel eased up on the pressure on John's windpipe, ignoring the immediate gasps of air the man busied himself with.
“Excellent choice there, Deano. Promise you won't regret it.” He grinned instead, patting Dean on the chest again. “Now, where's your sweet little brother?”
A wheeze, then, “Don't you tell him... Don't- Dean-” And John dissolved into coughs, wheezing in the end.
Azazel just smiled, held up his hand and waited. Dean's head lolled to the side, too heavy for the weakened boy to lift, but those green eyes - brighter now with the skin so pale - glared at Azazel with a glazed and unfocused look, still so passionate despite his impending death. When a few seconds ticked by and Dean had yet to speak, Azazel clucked his tongue and clicked his fingers right in front of Dean's face, bringing the glazed focus back to the present from wherever they'd faded off to. The rotten stench of sulphur grew heavily in the air, tickling Azazel's nose in greeting, just as John's breath hitched in surprise.
Dean's eyes closed and opened, widening as soon as they landed on whatever was behind Azazel's shoulder, the expression in those eyes transforming from determination to grief and despair. “N-No... S'm...”
Curious as to what stupid demon would interrupt him while in the process of something so monumental, Azazel turned around to face the newcomer. What he saw in front of him - no, who he saw in front of him - well, it made all this worth it, because standing in front of him in the middle of the cabin was one Samuel Winchester, and something blue that smelt of half abomination and half demon. With yellow eyes. And blue skin.
Huh. Well will you look at that.
Azazel chuckled, turning around and sweeping his arms out like a kind host. “And what do we have here? Sammy, oh Sammy, how I've been searching for you.” He cooed, curling a finger in Sam's direction. The same finger became an arrow, pointing at the half breed with the wrong allegiance. “And you, my, how you took after your mother.”
The blue thing went pale (pale! Hah!) and took a step backwards, all but hiding behind the surprisingly tall figure of Sam.
“You're not even human, y'know.” Azazel continued on, curious despite himself. He could remember the thing's mother - an abomination, but a clever abomination, with the ability to change herself to look like anyone without the disgusting side effects of being a shapeshifter, - and how he'd been curious about what would happen if you mixed demon with mutant. That had been a bit before the whole plan with infecting normal human kids with his blood, of course, back in his heydays, if you would, but he'd completely forgotten about this thing all but as soon as he'd left its mother.
The thing didn't look like it wanted to reply, which worked just as well for Azazel, since obviously that experiment had gone pathetically wrong, but oh well, Azazel's focus was completely on Sam now. His little protégé that would not be infected by these freaks of nature. Good humour gone from his meat-suit’s face, Azazel smiled cruelly and took a step towards them.
In response, Sam's right hand disappeared into the jacket he was wearing, coming out again with a gun in hand. Azazel had seen a lot of guns in his time, had actually been there to witness when they'd first been made - hell, he'd helped with that little endeavour, actually. One of his best crowning moments that even the Bible got right in the end - but he immediately knew this wasn't a gun he'd seen before, but one he'd only heard of.
John grunted, eyes wide and locked onto the gun, recognising it just like Azazel had done. “T-The Colt.” He wheezed out, windpipe still too injured to speak properly. “Where?”
The infamous gun was shifted until Sam had a stronger grip on it, professionally aiming it right between Azazel's eyes. “Had a vision of Daniel Elkins and vampires.” Sam calmly said, voice low and aimed directly at Azazel. “Had a word with him before he died. Got this in return.”
So that was why those stupid demons hadn't been able to get the Colt after the vampires had done away with him. Azazel quirked an eyebrow, impressed despite himself, and almost purred at the boy on the cusp of being a man standing in front of him so proudly. “My, how you've grown, Sammy boy.” Then he flicked his wrist, and put power behind it to throw the boy and his little demonic halfling friend towards the door, smiling wildly as he did.
But besides the blue thing jerking in his place and disappearing in a plume of foul smelling sulphur, nothing happened. Samuel Winchester continued standing tall with the Colt in his grip - the one gun that could kill him permanently - and Azazel's powers didn't work on him. Sam grinned smugly at him, unaffected by Azazel's decreasing good humour, and cocked the safety off of the gun.
Irritation curled low and hot inside what passed as Azazel's stomach, churning with the prospect of danger the gun represented. But he smiled, never one to count his eggs before they'd hatched, and reached backwards to curl his fingers around Dean's neck, squeezing just a bit to get an audible hitch of breath. Immediately, just as he'd predicted, Sam faltered, gun dropping just an inch lower before snapping back up to aim at Azazel's head - but the damage had already been done.
Azazel could break Dean's neck and get away before Sam even pulled the trigger. And despite the boy's inactivity in the supernatural and hunting world, he knew this too.
“Now, let's stop all this nonsense.” Azazel said, holding his free hand out towards Sam, palm up. “Why don't you just give me that gun and I'll go. Leave your family alone for a few years, come back when you're a bit older.”
Sam frowned, eyes darting between Dean and Azazel, a glint behind his hazel eyes that spoke of a mind working to fix things as best as he could. “Demons lie.” Sam firmly replied, two words to encompass everything.
Azazel grinned, showing off his meat-suit's white teeth - a middle aged dentist with an ex-wife and a dog - and tutted in reproach. “Oh, but Sammy, I haven't lied yet have I? Besides, believe it or not but you Winchester's have grown on me, killing you now would mean the next ten years would be boring.”
Swallowing thickly, the youngest Winchester struggled to decide what to do next.
“What'll it be, Sammy boy?” Azazel pressed, squeezing his fingers round the boy's older brother's throat, hearing Dean's breathing hitch in protest. “You gonna kill me and your big brother here? Or you gonna hand over that gun and save your whole family?”
. . .
Friday, April 30th, 3:40pm:
“I-I can't believe it.” Jess whispered harshly, fidgeting in her seat as the kitchen staff passed plates of food around. “Monsters. Real. And your family hunts them.”
Sam sat beside her, frowning down at the apple pie placed in front of him for dessert, his mind still stuck on the conversation in the professor's office. He hummed distractedly at her in lieu of a reply, playing around with the pie without eating it. When Jess elbowed him in the ribs, Sam grunted in pain and turned to look at her. “What?”
“Monsters.” She repeated, the one word explaining it all. “None of my fire worked on the demon.”
Sam indulged her with a nod, deciding to partake in the conversation by explaining his theory on why it hadn't. “Probably because demons are from Hell, and Hellfire is a whole different level than normal fire.”
With a blonde strand of her hair wrapped around her index finger, Jess peered up at Sam with narrowed eyes, thought on it, then decided it seemed like a perfect explanation and returned to her own pie. “And you think your brother knows the demon's out there and is going after him?” He nodded, finally taking a bite of the apple pie and almost vomiting it straight out. One of Jess' - Jessica Moore, a teenager just like him with abilities to ignite and control fire, wants to grow up to be a nurse - hands touched his own, her eyes staring at him. Sam could feel blood draining into his cheeks, flushing them red at the attention on him, and it didn't help that he had a crush on her since she'd first arrived. “Is he going to be OK?” She asked, sounding genuinely worried for his brother.
Not knowing the real answer to it, Sam nodded, refusing to entertain the thoughts that maybe Dean wouldn't. “He'll be fine. Dean's the best hunter out there.”
“And you?”
Sam paused, looking her in the eye for something and not finding it. “What do you mean?”
Jess grinned, the worry turning to sly in the blink of an eye. “You're really just gonna sit here in a mansion and do nothing while your brother's out there hunting down the demon that killed your mom?”
He had to give it to her, she was smart - something he already knew - and quick on the draw too. “Nope.” Sam admitted, shyly returning the grin. “I've been doing research on demons anyway, and I think I know a way to help my brother, but it's a bit difficult.”
“Yeah?” Jess replied, beaming in a way that had Sam's stomach doing an awkward flip. She leaned in close so their conversation couldn't be overheard by the other students and teachers milling around the long table, Sam following suit until their heads almost touched. “Come on, spill. At the very least I might be able to burn something for you.”
He laughed despite himself, loosening up with her humour but still keeping his voice low, both of them whispering to each other furiously to be heard over the chatter. “There's a gun out there rumoured to be able to kill anything - including demons. It was made by a guy named Samuel Colt, but nobody knows if it's even real or just a pipe dream. I think it's real though - the amount of recorded details on it support it being legit, and if it is, then it's the only thing in existence able to kill a demon.”
“You have any idea where it might be right now?” Jess hushed back, eyes wide with interest.
Sam shook his head no, lips pulling down into a fierce scowl. Because the truth was, besides knowing of its existence, he had no clue where it might be. He'd spent hours pouring everything he could get his hands on about it, about its possible location, but with the amount of luck he had had he might as well have been searching for Excalibur. At least that would've been a lot easier. Jess patted his hand consolingly, smiling at him with sympathy, but not pity. An ache started at the back of his head, just a small flare of pain that quickly came and went, but Jess saw the brief wince on his face all the same. “You OK?”
“Yeah,” Sam was quick to reassure her, too used to the brief flashes of headaches he was getting lately. “I'm fine--”
--God, his head.
The pain hit him like a freight train, taking him by surprise and pounding in his head. Sam doubled over, a gasp escaping him followed by a groan, hands scrabbling at his head to try and stop it, to try and get rid of whatever it was that hurt. Flashes of images exploded in his mind's eye - a wooden cabin, a highway sign, a middle aged man, a silver gun, the cabin's door opening with a crack, group of people, teeth, blood everywhere - and then the pain disappeared.
Just like that, disappeared.
His hearing came next, Jess' frantic voice in his ear, Doctor Hank sending someone for water, the buzz of other kids whispering to each other. He could smell pie, apple pie, and suddenly remembered he was at lunch, and had just been talking to Jess when his head suddenly-
-a vision. He'd just had a vision. A vision of a man in a cabin getting attacked by a group of people with sharp teeth - supernatural. He hadn't had a vision in ages; not since Dean left, yet something niggled at the back of his mind, something important, something about the gun. Long and silver, it had something engraved on it, but what kind of a gun was it? Sam sat up slowly, waving away everyone's concern, still aching head trying to figure out what the gun he'd seen was. Something coppery and metallic filled his mouth, coming from his upper lip, and he touched it with a finger and looked down to see what it was. Blood. Yeah, he'd forgotten about the nosebleeds - he certainly didn't miss this part about getting visions.
That's when it hit him, just as Nightcrawler - Kurt Wagner - popped in with the water. The gun he'd seen was a Colt Revolver - and the chances of Sam just happening to have a vision of a guy getting ripped to pieces over a gun he had hid (because he had, Sam remembered, he'd seen the man hide it underneath the floorboards), a gun that just happened to have the same name as the legendary Colt, was far too much of a coincidence. Sam grabbed a tissue and held it against his nose, grinning wildly over at a still worried Jess.
“I know where the Colt is.”
. . .
Monday, May 2nd, 5:57am:
“What'll it be, Sammy boy?” Azazel pressed, squeezing his fingers round the boy's older brother's throat. “You gonna kill me and your big brother here? Or you gonna hand over that gun and save your whole family?”
“And how about you, Johnny boy?” The demon continued, flashing a sharp grin at the suspended John Winchester. “Keeping quiet over there aren't you? Don't you want me dead? Finally end it all and avenge your sweet, sweet, Mary?”
John clenched his fists, struggling to fight against the force still holding him up against the wall, eyes burning fiercely at the yellow eyed demon. His stare darted to his oldest - the one he'd considered a monster for so many years, the one he'd hunted down and chased after with the intent to kill - and all he could see was his little boy with the freckles and big green eyes who grew up too fast and too much for the world. When he turned to look at Sam - Sam, who he'd only last seen when he was fourteen - he saw a tall gangly teen growing into his bones, holding the legendary Colt - the Colt! - that John had been searching for ever since hearing about it - the way John had taught him to, hesitating on pulling the trigger as to not hurt his brother.
Sam's slanted eyes - the eyes he'd gotten from John, the depths he'd gotten from Mary - met John's own, a little boy asking his father what to do swimming inside it. “Dad?”
He didn't doubt the demon, didn't doubt that the yellow eyed bastard could kill his eldest and escape before Sam even pulled the trigger. But this was The Demon here, the one he'd been chasing for the past sixteen years, the one he'd trained his sons (to the best of his ability) to keep them protected from.
“How about we ask Dean?” The demon suggested, pretending to be sympathetic to their plight with furrowed eyebrows. He turned to Dean, jostling the boy by the neck, the glimpse of bruises igniting a fire of loathing in John's stomach. “Say, Dean. What do you think? Wanna die tonight? Should Sam pull the trigger?”
Dean's eyes slithered open, pale green peaking in through the lids, using whatever energy he still had to work his lips. “D-Do it... Sammy.”
As soon as Dean spoke, John wanted to kill himself for even thinking of sacrificing his son. Because this was Dean, his first born, his eldest, his little soldier and confidant and the one person in the world - to this day - he could say he trusted everything with. “God,” he choked out, eyes watering up in guilt. “Don't, Sam. Don't do it.”
Dean's eyes opened up further, a spark lighting up inside them as his face twisted into annoyance. “D-Do it.” He countered, aiming his words to Sam, locking his eyes with his younger brother for emphasis. “Do it.”
The gun wobbled in Sam's grasp, indecision making the young boy glance between his father and brother, searching for something. John tried to get Sam to lower it, to just hand it over - it wasn't worth it, dammit - with more platitudes, with more coaxing to just follow The Demon's order. But Sam took one long hard look at Dean, a conversation passing between them without words just like always, and gripped the Colt harder, face turning to a mask of stone, and aiming it right back at The Demon's face.
The Demon cursed, face twisting in anger before transforming to shock, mouth gaping open to the sky as the body went taut, and John shouted a warning as black smoke billowed out of the possessed man's mouth, pooling around the ceiling before lunging back down towards Dean. Horror gripped John tight, the idea that he might have to kill his son anyway making his blood go cold, but the black smoke bounced off from Dean harmlessly, unable to enter, hesitated for a moment as they - John and Sam stared shock, then dove towards John himself. The black smoke - The Demon - was across the room in seconds, lightning flashing through the dark clouds, when a loud rapport rang out, the sound of a gun going off, and the smoke jerked in the air. John's head swivelled away from what had been an oncoming demonic possession, landing first onto his eldest, seeing Dean still slumped against the wall, then to his youngest where Sam had dropped the Colt and had his hand stretched out, fingers curling into a fist with deep concentration etched onto his face.
The black smoke - The Demon - crackled with lights, glowing in pulses, not like the normal method of light shows going on in it; and John stared as the pulses, the lights, became more frequent, grew stronger in strength until the smoke - The Demon - began disintegrating into thin air, and Sam gasped in what must have been pain from whatever it was he was doing, and with a final crackle, a final glowing throb, the smoke just cleared.
Immediately, whatever had been holding him up disappeared, taking John by surprise and dropping him to the floor. Across from him, Dean quietly slumped to the ground, the proverbial puppet's strings cut off, and the black smoke - The Demon - was gone, nowhere in sight, gone. John stared at the space where it'd been, where the monster he'd been hunting for years had been, then speechlessly turned to stare at his panting youngest.
Across the cabin, at the opposite wall, Dean raised a hand before dropping it to the floor, breaking the silence with a croaked, “Happy Seventeen, Sammy.”
And the quiet broke.
“Dean!”
“Son!”
The two staggered towards Dean, dropping beside him and carefully rolling him over to his back. Their hands came away drenched with blood, the material at their knees suffering from the same fate, and Dean only responded to the movement with a low groan of pain.
John cursed. “Shit. This is bad.”
“I-I should get Kurt.” Sam stammered, holding Dean's head back to free his airway.
John glanced up, taking in Sam's pale face and wide frightened eyes, and found it wasn't too hard to smile at his youngest. “You've grown, Sammy.”
Sam flushed beet red, carefully putting Dean's head down on the floor, before wrapping his arms around his father's neck in a tight squeeze. “It's good to see you too, Dad.” Then he pushed up to his feet and with a furtive glance to Dean's supine form ran to the door.
Finding himself calmed by the hug, John only spared a glance to Sam's retreating back and wondered for a moment who Kurt was - whether or not it had been the blue thing that had brought his son here - before focusing his complete attention on Dean. He patted his son down carefully, removing the outer layer of his flannel, getting it out of the way and refusing to think about the amount of blood they were both surrounded in. Sam came running back in, helping John to prop Dean up and get a hold under his armpits, hauling him up to his feet. Between the both of them, they were able to get Dean out of the cabin just in time to hear the roar of the wind picking up. If you kept tracking through the forest, as they did, you'd come out into a clearing with a large highway never used and too obscure for anybody who wasn't local.
The blue thing John still didn't know a thing about was standing on the highway, waving at them to come closer. John frowned, looking around the empty area, and turned to Sam with a confused look. Sam just grinned, and nodded his head towards the sky.
Where a large jet suddenly appeared in view.
John gaped at the black jet, watching as it proceeded to expertly land on the stretch of highway. A groan came from beside him, Dean's eyes opening just a slither to look at the plane before closing shut again. “'m not goin' in tha' thin'.” Dean slurred, head lolling down until his chin rested against his chest.
Heart breaking and mending, John gave a watery grin and pressed his chapped lips to his son's hair. “Still afraid of planes, son?”
Dean didn't reply, but John's attention was caught by the jet's cargo bay door opening up and a group of people coming out. The first one to spot them was a muscled man with wild hair, who took one look at them and vehemently swore. The blue thing was rambling without breathing about what had just happened, sounding for all it was worth like he was freaking out about what The Demon had said about it, but shut his mouth when an old man in a wheelchair wheeled down the ramp and towards them urgently.
“Come, quickly! Bring Dean in!”
Of course John hesitated, gripping his first born tightly to him, never one to just rely on other people. But Sam stared up at him imploringly, holding Dean up from the other side, and John suddenly realised with a start what he'd witnessed in the cabin was Sam using his powers. The powers Dean had said were his, the powers John had mistaken for supernatural and had him losing both his sons. Dimly, he wondered if it had anything to do with the rumours of mutants he'd been hearing of lately, whether it had anything to do with the tales hunter's spread through the grapevine of coming across frightened people who didn't react to iron, salt, or holy water but still had powers.
Sam stared at him, eyes dark but wide. “Trust me, dad.”
And after a heavy moment, John nodded, counting his blessings that at least Dean seemed to have finally passed out.
FINAL PART
MASTERPOST
Author(s): operationhades
Artist: evian_fork
Warning: few curse words, once or twice.
Summary: Sam was a fourteen year old mutant when he walked in on an injured Dean staring up at the barrel of a gun held by John Winchester. And after that, with Sam at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning and Dean throwing John, every other hunter in the country, and a pissed Yellow Eyed Demon of their trail, thing's only get progressively worse.
5A
CHAPTER FIVE (5A)
“When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.” - Antisthenes
Monday, May 2nd, 4:45am:
“Tick tock, tick tock,” Azazel tutted, staring at the watch around his wrist. “Literally two hours, ma boy. I'm surprised you haven't died of blood loss yet.” He peered further down from the watch, eyeing the pool of blood steadily growing in size around Dean's feet, already seeping into the material of his current body's meat-suit. It wasn't the same as last time - no charming smile or twinkly eyes to get the ladies to open up their doors, unfortunately - but a normal, middle aged looking fella, one who might even pass off as a hunter. Daniel Elkins sure had been fooled.
Even if, in the end, Azazel still didn't have what he'd been searching for. Either of the things he'd been searching for.
“Leave him alone, you bastard! Dean!”
Sighing, Azazel turned round to face Daddy Winchester, rolling his eyes in exasperation at all the threats still being hurled his way. John didn't have the Colt, Azazel didn't have the Colt, then who did? He'd been so sure Elkins had had it, which was why he'd clued those accursed vampires to his location, letting them have their fun with him. But the Colt hadn't been anywhere in that ramshackle hut some called a house. And really, considering Elkin's had been John's only clue too, it was real frustrating to not have it in his hands.
Oh well, at least he'd get Sammy.
As soon as he could get Dean here to speak, anyway.
“Maybe I should just possess you and get it over with.” He mused, tapping at his chin in thought. “I did say I had all the time in the world, not to mention that your daddy didn't, but I haven't really touched John other than to shut him up now and then, have I?”
“You bastard- Agh!”
“See?” Azazel questioned, holding his hand still while it was angled in John's direction. “Like that. How about this, boy,” John gurgled in the background, desperately searching for air as Azazel squeezed his hand and systematically closed the older hunter's windpipe. “How long do you think Johnny here can hold his breath? One minute? One minute and a half?”
Dean struggled to raise his head, blood loss making him weak and exhausted, blood covered lips moving to form words with no sound. Azazel leaned in close, crowding up into Dean's space, not missing the flicker of disgust in the jade eyes, and dropped his face to Dean's sagging form, pressing his ear in close. “What did you say?” He purred, anticipation thrumming in his meat-suit’s veins. “Are you going to let me strangle your papa to death? Kill him like I killed your mommy?”
Dean didn't respond immediately - how could he? Waste of skin was barely hanging on to life by a thread - but after before a minute could be up and John's noises had progressively gotten more urgent before dying down, Dean moved his head in the tiniest fraction to signal a nod, and Azazel eased up on the pressure on John's windpipe, ignoring the immediate gasps of air the man busied himself with.
“Excellent choice there, Deano. Promise you won't regret it.” He grinned instead, patting Dean on the chest again. “Now, where's your sweet little brother?”
A wheeze, then, “Don't you tell him... Don't- Dean-” And John dissolved into coughs, wheezing in the end.
Azazel just smiled, held up his hand and waited. Dean's head lolled to the side, too heavy for the weakened boy to lift, but those green eyes - brighter now with the skin so pale - glared at Azazel with a glazed and unfocused look, still so passionate despite his impending death. When a few seconds ticked by and Dean had yet to speak, Azazel clucked his tongue and clicked his fingers right in front of Dean's face, bringing the glazed focus back to the present from wherever they'd faded off to. The rotten stench of sulphur grew heavily in the air, tickling Azazel's nose in greeting, just as John's breath hitched in surprise.
Dean's eyes closed and opened, widening as soon as they landed on whatever was behind Azazel's shoulder, the expression in those eyes transforming from determination to grief and despair. “N-No... S'm...”
Curious as to what stupid demon would interrupt him while in the process of something so monumental, Azazel turned around to face the newcomer. What he saw in front of him - no, who he saw in front of him - well, it made all this worth it, because standing in front of him in the middle of the cabin was one Samuel Winchester, and something blue that smelt of half abomination and half demon. With yellow eyes. And blue skin.
Huh. Well will you look at that.
Azazel chuckled, turning around and sweeping his arms out like a kind host. “And what do we have here? Sammy, oh Sammy, how I've been searching for you.” He cooed, curling a finger in Sam's direction. The same finger became an arrow, pointing at the half breed with the wrong allegiance. “And you, my, how you took after your mother.”
The blue thing went pale (pale! Hah!) and took a step backwards, all but hiding behind the surprisingly tall figure of Sam.
“You're not even human, y'know.” Azazel continued on, curious despite himself. He could remember the thing's mother - an abomination, but a clever abomination, with the ability to change herself to look like anyone without the disgusting side effects of being a shapeshifter, - and how he'd been curious about what would happen if you mixed demon with mutant. That had been a bit before the whole plan with infecting normal human kids with his blood, of course, back in his heydays, if you would, but he'd completely forgotten about this thing all but as soon as he'd left its mother.
The thing didn't look like it wanted to reply, which worked just as well for Azazel, since obviously that experiment had gone pathetically wrong, but oh well, Azazel's focus was completely on Sam now. His little protégé that would not be infected by these freaks of nature. Good humour gone from his meat-suit’s face, Azazel smiled cruelly and took a step towards them.
In response, Sam's right hand disappeared into the jacket he was wearing, coming out again with a gun in hand. Azazel had seen a lot of guns in his time, had actually been there to witness when they'd first been made - hell, he'd helped with that little endeavour, actually. One of his best crowning moments that even the Bible got right in the end - but he immediately knew this wasn't a gun he'd seen before, but one he'd only heard of.
John grunted, eyes wide and locked onto the gun, recognising it just like Azazel had done. “T-The Colt.” He wheezed out, windpipe still too injured to speak properly. “Where?”
The infamous gun was shifted until Sam had a stronger grip on it, professionally aiming it right between Azazel's eyes. “Had a vision of Daniel Elkins and vampires.” Sam calmly said, voice low and aimed directly at Azazel. “Had a word with him before he died. Got this in return.”
So that was why those stupid demons hadn't been able to get the Colt after the vampires had done away with him. Azazel quirked an eyebrow, impressed despite himself, and almost purred at the boy on the cusp of being a man standing in front of him so proudly. “My, how you've grown, Sammy boy.” Then he flicked his wrist, and put power behind it to throw the boy and his little demonic halfling friend towards the door, smiling wildly as he did.
But besides the blue thing jerking in his place and disappearing in a plume of foul smelling sulphur, nothing happened. Samuel Winchester continued standing tall with the Colt in his grip - the one gun that could kill him permanently - and Azazel's powers didn't work on him. Sam grinned smugly at him, unaffected by Azazel's decreasing good humour, and cocked the safety off of the gun.
Irritation curled low and hot inside what passed as Azazel's stomach, churning with the prospect of danger the gun represented. But he smiled, never one to count his eggs before they'd hatched, and reached backwards to curl his fingers around Dean's neck, squeezing just a bit to get an audible hitch of breath. Immediately, just as he'd predicted, Sam faltered, gun dropping just an inch lower before snapping back up to aim at Azazel's head - but the damage had already been done.
Azazel could break Dean's neck and get away before Sam even pulled the trigger. And despite the boy's inactivity in the supernatural and hunting world, he knew this too.
“Now, let's stop all this nonsense.” Azazel said, holding his free hand out towards Sam, palm up. “Why don't you just give me that gun and I'll go. Leave your family alone for a few years, come back when you're a bit older.”
Sam frowned, eyes darting between Dean and Azazel, a glint behind his hazel eyes that spoke of a mind working to fix things as best as he could. “Demons lie.” Sam firmly replied, two words to encompass everything.
Azazel grinned, showing off his meat-suit's white teeth - a middle aged dentist with an ex-wife and a dog - and tutted in reproach. “Oh, but Sammy, I haven't lied yet have I? Besides, believe it or not but you Winchester's have grown on me, killing you now would mean the next ten years would be boring.”
Swallowing thickly, the youngest Winchester struggled to decide what to do next.
“What'll it be, Sammy boy?” Azazel pressed, squeezing his fingers round the boy's older brother's throat, hearing Dean's breathing hitch in protest. “You gonna kill me and your big brother here? Or you gonna hand over that gun and save your whole family?”
. . .
Friday, April 30th, 3:40pm:
“I-I can't believe it.” Jess whispered harshly, fidgeting in her seat as the kitchen staff passed plates of food around. “Monsters. Real. And your family hunts them.”
Sam sat beside her, frowning down at the apple pie placed in front of him for dessert, his mind still stuck on the conversation in the professor's office. He hummed distractedly at her in lieu of a reply, playing around with the pie without eating it. When Jess elbowed him in the ribs, Sam grunted in pain and turned to look at her. “What?”
“Monsters.” She repeated, the one word explaining it all. “None of my fire worked on the demon.”
Sam indulged her with a nod, deciding to partake in the conversation by explaining his theory on why it hadn't. “Probably because demons are from Hell, and Hellfire is a whole different level than normal fire.”
With a blonde strand of her hair wrapped around her index finger, Jess peered up at Sam with narrowed eyes, thought on it, then decided it seemed like a perfect explanation and returned to her own pie. “And you think your brother knows the demon's out there and is going after him?” He nodded, finally taking a bite of the apple pie and almost vomiting it straight out. One of Jess' - Jessica Moore, a teenager just like him with abilities to ignite and control fire, wants to grow up to be a nurse - hands touched his own, her eyes staring at him. Sam could feel blood draining into his cheeks, flushing them red at the attention on him, and it didn't help that he had a crush on her since she'd first arrived. “Is he going to be OK?” She asked, sounding genuinely worried for his brother.
Not knowing the real answer to it, Sam nodded, refusing to entertain the thoughts that maybe Dean wouldn't. “He'll be fine. Dean's the best hunter out there.”
“And you?”
Sam paused, looking her in the eye for something and not finding it. “What do you mean?”
Jess grinned, the worry turning to sly in the blink of an eye. “You're really just gonna sit here in a mansion and do nothing while your brother's out there hunting down the demon that killed your mom?”
He had to give it to her, she was smart - something he already knew - and quick on the draw too. “Nope.” Sam admitted, shyly returning the grin. “I've been doing research on demons anyway, and I think I know a way to help my brother, but it's a bit difficult.”
“Yeah?” Jess replied, beaming in a way that had Sam's stomach doing an awkward flip. She leaned in close so their conversation couldn't be overheard by the other students and teachers milling around the long table, Sam following suit until their heads almost touched. “Come on, spill. At the very least I might be able to burn something for you.”
He laughed despite himself, loosening up with her humour but still keeping his voice low, both of them whispering to each other furiously to be heard over the chatter. “There's a gun out there rumoured to be able to kill anything - including demons. It was made by a guy named Samuel Colt, but nobody knows if it's even real or just a pipe dream. I think it's real though - the amount of recorded details on it support it being legit, and if it is, then it's the only thing in existence able to kill a demon.”
“You have any idea where it might be right now?” Jess hushed back, eyes wide with interest.
Sam shook his head no, lips pulling down into a fierce scowl. Because the truth was, besides knowing of its existence, he had no clue where it might be. He'd spent hours pouring everything he could get his hands on about it, about its possible location, but with the amount of luck he had had he might as well have been searching for Excalibur. At least that would've been a lot easier. Jess patted his hand consolingly, smiling at him with sympathy, but not pity. An ache started at the back of his head, just a small flare of pain that quickly came and went, but Jess saw the brief wince on his face all the same. “You OK?”
“Yeah,” Sam was quick to reassure her, too used to the brief flashes of headaches he was getting lately. “I'm fine--”
--God, his head.
The pain hit him like a freight train, taking him by surprise and pounding in his head. Sam doubled over, a gasp escaping him followed by a groan, hands scrabbling at his head to try and stop it, to try and get rid of whatever it was that hurt. Flashes of images exploded in his mind's eye - a wooden cabin, a highway sign, a middle aged man, a silver gun, the cabin's door opening with a crack, group of people, teeth, blood everywhere - and then the pain disappeared.
Just like that, disappeared.
His hearing came next, Jess' frantic voice in his ear, Doctor Hank sending someone for water, the buzz of other kids whispering to each other. He could smell pie, apple pie, and suddenly remembered he was at lunch, and had just been talking to Jess when his head suddenly-
-a vision. He'd just had a vision. A vision of a man in a cabin getting attacked by a group of people with sharp teeth - supernatural. He hadn't had a vision in ages; not since Dean left, yet something niggled at the back of his mind, something important, something about the gun. Long and silver, it had something engraved on it, but what kind of a gun was it? Sam sat up slowly, waving away everyone's concern, still aching head trying to figure out what the gun he'd seen was. Something coppery and metallic filled his mouth, coming from his upper lip, and he touched it with a finger and looked down to see what it was. Blood. Yeah, he'd forgotten about the nosebleeds - he certainly didn't miss this part about getting visions.
That's when it hit him, just as Nightcrawler - Kurt Wagner - popped in with the water. The gun he'd seen was a Colt Revolver - and the chances of Sam just happening to have a vision of a guy getting ripped to pieces over a gun he had hid (because he had, Sam remembered, he'd seen the man hide it underneath the floorboards), a gun that just happened to have the same name as the legendary Colt, was far too much of a coincidence. Sam grabbed a tissue and held it against his nose, grinning wildly over at a still worried Jess.
“I know where the Colt is.”
. . .
Monday, May 2nd, 5:57am:
“What'll it be, Sammy boy?” Azazel pressed, squeezing his fingers round the boy's older brother's throat. “You gonna kill me and your big brother here? Or you gonna hand over that gun and save your whole family?”
“And how about you, Johnny boy?” The demon continued, flashing a sharp grin at the suspended John Winchester. “Keeping quiet over there aren't you? Don't you want me dead? Finally end it all and avenge your sweet, sweet, Mary?”
John clenched his fists, struggling to fight against the force still holding him up against the wall, eyes burning fiercely at the yellow eyed demon. His stare darted to his oldest - the one he'd considered a monster for so many years, the one he'd hunted down and chased after with the intent to kill - and all he could see was his little boy with the freckles and big green eyes who grew up too fast and too much for the world. When he turned to look at Sam - Sam, who he'd only last seen when he was fourteen - he saw a tall gangly teen growing into his bones, holding the legendary Colt - the Colt! - that John had been searching for ever since hearing about it - the way John had taught him to, hesitating on pulling the trigger as to not hurt his brother.
Sam's slanted eyes - the eyes he'd gotten from John, the depths he'd gotten from Mary - met John's own, a little boy asking his father what to do swimming inside it. “Dad?”
He didn't doubt the demon, didn't doubt that the yellow eyed bastard could kill his eldest and escape before Sam even pulled the trigger. But this was The Demon here, the one he'd been chasing for the past sixteen years, the one he'd trained his sons (to the best of his ability) to keep them protected from.
“How about we ask Dean?” The demon suggested, pretending to be sympathetic to their plight with furrowed eyebrows. He turned to Dean, jostling the boy by the neck, the glimpse of bruises igniting a fire of loathing in John's stomach. “Say, Dean. What do you think? Wanna die tonight? Should Sam pull the trigger?”
Dean's eyes slithered open, pale green peaking in through the lids, using whatever energy he still had to work his lips. “D-Do it... Sammy.”
As soon as Dean spoke, John wanted to kill himself for even thinking of sacrificing his son. Because this was Dean, his first born, his eldest, his little soldier and confidant and the one person in the world - to this day - he could say he trusted everything with. “God,” he choked out, eyes watering up in guilt. “Don't, Sam. Don't do it.”
Dean's eyes opened up further, a spark lighting up inside them as his face twisted into annoyance. “D-Do it.” He countered, aiming his words to Sam, locking his eyes with his younger brother for emphasis. “Do it.”
The gun wobbled in Sam's grasp, indecision making the young boy glance between his father and brother, searching for something. John tried to get Sam to lower it, to just hand it over - it wasn't worth it, dammit - with more platitudes, with more coaxing to just follow The Demon's order. But Sam took one long hard look at Dean, a conversation passing between them without words just like always, and gripped the Colt harder, face turning to a mask of stone, and aiming it right back at The Demon's face.
The Demon cursed, face twisting in anger before transforming to shock, mouth gaping open to the sky as the body went taut, and John shouted a warning as black smoke billowed out of the possessed man's mouth, pooling around the ceiling before lunging back down towards Dean. Horror gripped John tight, the idea that he might have to kill his son anyway making his blood go cold, but the black smoke bounced off from Dean harmlessly, unable to enter, hesitated for a moment as they - John and Sam stared shock, then dove towards John himself. The black smoke - The Demon - was across the room in seconds, lightning flashing through the dark clouds, when a loud rapport rang out, the sound of a gun going off, and the smoke jerked in the air. John's head swivelled away from what had been an oncoming demonic possession, landing first onto his eldest, seeing Dean still slumped against the wall, then to his youngest where Sam had dropped the Colt and had his hand stretched out, fingers curling into a fist with deep concentration etched onto his face.
The black smoke - The Demon - crackled with lights, glowing in pulses, not like the normal method of light shows going on in it; and John stared as the pulses, the lights, became more frequent, grew stronger in strength until the smoke - The Demon - began disintegrating into thin air, and Sam gasped in what must have been pain from whatever it was he was doing, and with a final crackle, a final glowing throb, the smoke just cleared.
Immediately, whatever had been holding him up disappeared, taking John by surprise and dropping him to the floor. Across from him, Dean quietly slumped to the ground, the proverbial puppet's strings cut off, and the black smoke - The Demon - was gone, nowhere in sight, gone. John stared at the space where it'd been, where the monster he'd been hunting for years had been, then speechlessly turned to stare at his panting youngest.
Across the cabin, at the opposite wall, Dean raised a hand before dropping it to the floor, breaking the silence with a croaked, “Happy Seventeen, Sammy.”
And the quiet broke.
“Dean!”
“Son!”
The two staggered towards Dean, dropping beside him and carefully rolling him over to his back. Their hands came away drenched with blood, the material at their knees suffering from the same fate, and Dean only responded to the movement with a low groan of pain.
John cursed. “Shit. This is bad.”
“I-I should get Kurt.” Sam stammered, holding Dean's head back to free his airway.
John glanced up, taking in Sam's pale face and wide frightened eyes, and found it wasn't too hard to smile at his youngest. “You've grown, Sammy.”
Sam flushed beet red, carefully putting Dean's head down on the floor, before wrapping his arms around his father's neck in a tight squeeze. “It's good to see you too, Dad.” Then he pushed up to his feet and with a furtive glance to Dean's supine form ran to the door.
Finding himself calmed by the hug, John only spared a glance to Sam's retreating back and wondered for a moment who Kurt was - whether or not it had been the blue thing that had brought his son here - before focusing his complete attention on Dean. He patted his son down carefully, removing the outer layer of his flannel, getting it out of the way and refusing to think about the amount of blood they were both surrounded in. Sam came running back in, helping John to prop Dean up and get a hold under his armpits, hauling him up to his feet. Between the both of them, they were able to get Dean out of the cabin just in time to hear the roar of the wind picking up. If you kept tracking through the forest, as they did, you'd come out into a clearing with a large highway never used and too obscure for anybody who wasn't local.
The blue thing John still didn't know a thing about was standing on the highway, waving at them to come closer. John frowned, looking around the empty area, and turned to Sam with a confused look. Sam just grinned, and nodded his head towards the sky.
Where a large jet suddenly appeared in view.
John gaped at the black jet, watching as it proceeded to expertly land on the stretch of highway. A groan came from beside him, Dean's eyes opening just a slither to look at the plane before closing shut again. “'m not goin' in tha' thin'.” Dean slurred, head lolling down until his chin rested against his chest.
Heart breaking and mending, John gave a watery grin and pressed his chapped lips to his son's hair. “Still afraid of planes, son?”
Dean didn't reply, but John's attention was caught by the jet's cargo bay door opening up and a group of people coming out. The first one to spot them was a muscled man with wild hair, who took one look at them and vehemently swore. The blue thing was rambling without breathing about what had just happened, sounding for all it was worth like he was freaking out about what The Demon had said about it, but shut his mouth when an old man in a wheelchair wheeled down the ramp and towards them urgently.
“Come, quickly! Bring Dean in!”
Of course John hesitated, gripping his first born tightly to him, never one to just rely on other people. But Sam stared up at him imploringly, holding Dean up from the other side, and John suddenly realised with a start what he'd witnessed in the cabin was Sam using his powers. The powers Dean had said were his, the powers John had mistaken for supernatural and had him losing both his sons. Dimly, he wondered if it had anything to do with the rumours of mutants he'd been hearing of lately, whether it had anything to do with the tales hunter's spread through the grapevine of coming across frightened people who didn't react to iron, salt, or holy water but still had powers.
Sam stared at him, eyes dark but wide. “Trust me, dad.”
And after a heavy moment, John nodded, counting his blessings that at least Dean seemed to have finally passed out.
FINAL PART
MASTERPOST