Fic: Anise Rides Again (Part 9)
Title: Anise Rides Again (9/9)
Fandom: Stargate SG1/Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Character: Anise/Dean Winchester, John Winchester
Disclaimer: Stargate, Supernatural and their characters are the property of their respective creators. I own nothing.
Summary: While delivering vital information to earth, Anise takes a new host.
Previous parts here.
John hung up the phone feeling pretty damn annoyed. Things had been a little strained between them since Sam left and there had been something with that girl in Ohio back in the spring, but enough was enough. Sleeping in when there was a job lined up was unacceptable. If Dean thought he could pull this passive-aggressive shit just because Sam wasn’t here to do it, then he had another thing coming.
By lunchtime the following day, John was assaulting a cheeseburger with undue malice and mentally reviewing the details of the dressing down Dean would get once he showed up. Did he think this was some kind of game? People, kids, where dying. If Dean was off getting drunk or laid instead of doing his damn job he was gonna be in some serious shit when John caught up with him.
The next morning over breakfast the local news station playing at the diner ran a story about the latest missing child. Little Missy Katt had gone missing around 11 the night before while John was leaving another irrate voicemail on Dean’s phone. Well, John was done with waiting for back-up that wasn’t coming. It took another day to find her, but in the end it was John walking, well, limping, out of the abandoned building with a live little girl beside him and a dead monster behind. That night he stitched up the gash in his leg with a bottle of Jack for the pain and wondered how he had managed to raise sons who thought they could just walk away from him, from the job, like it didn’t mean a thing.
As the following day’s hangover started to burn off and take the anger with it, it began to dawn on John that something was wrong. This wasn’t Dean. He’d never let John down, not if he could help it, and he’d never disobeyed a direct order, not since he was ten. If Dean wasn’t here, it wasn’t because he’d got sick of being under John’s thumb or decided he wanted to go to college, it was because something had happened. John had been sitting there, brooding like a teenager, and for all he knew his boy might have been lying in a ditch somewhere. The realization sent him back bowing to the porcelain god, but this time it had nothing to do with alcohol.
For the next four days John did everything short of filing a missing person’s report to find his boy. He activated the GPS on Dean’s phone, but Dean was either out of satellite range or his phone was broken. John called every hospital between Boulder and Dean’s last job and used one of his fake badges to find any police reports involving the Impala, but there was nothing. John even called Sam and listened to him ask if anyone was there for a full minute and a half before hanging up. It was like the road had just opened up to swallow his son.
Nine days after John first hung up the phone, Dean showed up on the doorstep of John’s hotel room. He looked pale with hollows under his eyes and a fading bruise across his temple, but nothing seemed broken and he wasn’t gushing blood anywhere. In the parking lot behind him, John could see the Impala, shiny safe without a scratch on it. The worry that had been building up inside over days popped like balloon and left behind the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Damn it, Dean, where the hell have you been?” John found himself yelling without quite meaning to.
A woman in the parking lot shepherding her small children to a waiting minivan glared in disapproval and Dean went even paler. “I, I...”
John growled in frustration. The doorway wasn’t the place for this conversation and they sure as shit needed to have it. He yanked Dean into the room, feeling the pull of the stitches across his thigh, and slammed the door shut. “I needed you here, Dean,” he yelled. “Now what was so damn important that you couldn’t do your job?”
Dean looked away and down before his face tightened and his head came sharply up. “I was possessed, okay?” he shouted, sounding so much like his brother it was downright eerie. “I was possessed,” he repeated, more quietly this time.
The words hit John like a baseball bat to the solar plexus. A demon, maybe the demon, had been inside his son, wearing his skin, rifling through his thoughts. John wanted to throw up, he wanted to hit someone. He wished he had holy water. “Christo.”
Dean’s eyes didn’t go black, but they got a sad, lost look that John hadn’t seen since Mary died. “I’m not...” -he took a deep breath- “She’s gone. She’s dead.”
There was something broken in Dean’s voice and it made John’s fist clench with the need to do something. He’d never been good at comfort though so he went for practical instead. “Do we need to clean this up?”
From Dean’s wide-eyed shock it was clear that hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” He shook his head. “Everything’s” - he swallowed- “as clean as it’s gonna get.”
John nodded slowly, wondering just how much Dean actually remembered anyway. Dean stared through the carpet, stuck in his own thoughts and John shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat but couldn’t think of what to say. Dean looked at him expectantly and John said the only thing he could. “I’ve got another job lined up. You up for it?”
8<< (9)
Fandom: Stargate SG1/Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Character: Anise/Dean Winchester, John Winchester
Disclaimer: Stargate, Supernatural and their characters are the property of their respective creators. I own nothing.
Summary: While delivering vital information to earth, Anise takes a new host.
Previous parts here.
John hung up the phone feeling pretty damn annoyed. Things had been a little strained between them since Sam left and there had been something with that girl in Ohio back in the spring, but enough was enough. Sleeping in when there was a job lined up was unacceptable. If Dean thought he could pull this passive-aggressive shit just because Sam wasn’t here to do it, then he had another thing coming.
By lunchtime the following day, John was assaulting a cheeseburger with undue malice and mentally reviewing the details of the dressing down Dean would get once he showed up. Did he think this was some kind of game? People, kids, where dying. If Dean was off getting drunk or laid instead of doing his damn job he was gonna be in some serious shit when John caught up with him.
The next morning over breakfast the local news station playing at the diner ran a story about the latest missing child. Little Missy Katt had gone missing around 11 the night before while John was leaving another irrate voicemail on Dean’s phone. Well, John was done with waiting for back-up that wasn’t coming. It took another day to find her, but in the end it was John walking, well, limping, out of the abandoned building with a live little girl beside him and a dead monster behind. That night he stitched up the gash in his leg with a bottle of Jack for the pain and wondered how he had managed to raise sons who thought they could just walk away from him, from the job, like it didn’t mean a thing.
As the following day’s hangover started to burn off and take the anger with it, it began to dawn on John that something was wrong. This wasn’t Dean. He’d never let John down, not if he could help it, and he’d never disobeyed a direct order, not since he was ten. If Dean wasn’t here, it wasn’t because he’d got sick of being under John’s thumb or decided he wanted to go to college, it was because something had happened. John had been sitting there, brooding like a teenager, and for all he knew his boy might have been lying in a ditch somewhere. The realization sent him back bowing to the porcelain god, but this time it had nothing to do with alcohol.
For the next four days John did everything short of filing a missing person’s report to find his boy. He activated the GPS on Dean’s phone, but Dean was either out of satellite range or his phone was broken. John called every hospital between Boulder and Dean’s last job and used one of his fake badges to find any police reports involving the Impala, but there was nothing. John even called Sam and listened to him ask if anyone was there for a full minute and a half before hanging up. It was like the road had just opened up to swallow his son.
Nine days after John first hung up the phone, Dean showed up on the doorstep of John’s hotel room. He looked pale with hollows under his eyes and a fading bruise across his temple, but nothing seemed broken and he wasn’t gushing blood anywhere. In the parking lot behind him, John could see the Impala, shiny safe without a scratch on it. The worry that had been building up inside over days popped like balloon and left behind the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Damn it, Dean, where the hell have you been?” John found himself yelling without quite meaning to.
A woman in the parking lot shepherding her small children to a waiting minivan glared in disapproval and Dean went even paler. “I, I...”
John growled in frustration. The doorway wasn’t the place for this conversation and they sure as shit needed to have it. He yanked Dean into the room, feeling the pull of the stitches across his thigh, and slammed the door shut. “I needed you here, Dean,” he yelled. “Now what was so damn important that you couldn’t do your job?”
Dean looked away and down before his face tightened and his head came sharply up. “I was possessed, okay?” he shouted, sounding so much like his brother it was downright eerie. “I was possessed,” he repeated, more quietly this time.
The words hit John like a baseball bat to the solar plexus. A demon, maybe the demon, had been inside his son, wearing his skin, rifling through his thoughts. John wanted to throw up, he wanted to hit someone. He wished he had holy water. “Christo.”
Dean’s eyes didn’t go black, but they got a sad, lost look that John hadn’t seen since Mary died. “I’m not...” -he took a deep breath- “She’s gone. She’s dead.”
There was something broken in Dean’s voice and it made John’s fist clench with the need to do something. He’d never been good at comfort though so he went for practical instead. “Do we need to clean this up?”
From Dean’s wide-eyed shock it was clear that hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” He shook his head. “Everything’s” - he swallowed- “as clean as it’s gonna get.”
John nodded slowly, wondering just how much Dean actually remembered anyway. Dean stared through the carpet, stuck in his own thoughts and John shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat but couldn’t think of what to say. Dean looked at him expectantly and John said the only thing he could. “I’ve got another job lined up. You up for it?”
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