The Dark Horse
Title - The Dark Horse
Summary - What is a father supposed to do when he hears whispers that his fifteen-year-old son is tainted by the very thing that killed the love of his life? John Winchester uncovers the terrifying truth about his youngest son's cruel destiny and will stop at nothing to protect him from the truth.
Rating - PG-13
Part of 'The Dark Horse' series
Chapter Index
"The Dark Horse"
"Chapter Four: Cataclysm"
John had been to war and back. He had seen death, felt death, breathed death. It was common in his life ever since he was a little kid. The first time he experienced death was when he was six. His aunt killed herself, and John was with his mother when they found her slouched in a chair with blood stains across her wrists. Apparently, she was mentally unstable, neurotic, sick. After that, death seemed to follow John around like a disease. John's father always said it was because the Winchesters were men of war, and death always seemed to latch onto soldiers. Gabriel Winchester would go into drunken slurred lectures about how military men had the most experience with death - they lived and breathed right along side the Reaper.
For years, John thought his father was just a delusional asshole - a man too concerned with wallowing in self-pity, one who didn't give two shits about his wife and son. Except, John slowly started to empathize with the man. In Vietnam, John watched a fellow brother in arms fall right in front of him. Monty Graham had been shot three times., and John would have died along with him if it weren't for Deacon Raines - the man that John still considered his best friend even after all these years. He barely spoke to the guy, but Deacon was the only one to believe him after Mary died and that was enough to secure their lifelong friendship. Thus, John understood that death was a guarantee in war, and that fact scared him more than anything else.
He'd heard about a raging war between demons and hunters for years. Jim Murphy made sure John was educated in past wars between hunters and supernatural beings. Another war was on the rise - a war of hunters versus psychics. John could deal with another war with faceless casualties. He couldn't, under any circumstance, deal with the death of his boys. Therefore, Dean and Sam were sheltered as much as possible from the cruel realities of life. They were well versed in hunting, but they knew next to nothing about demons. The war with demons, that was John's fight. There was no way that he was willing to let his boys get involved even if some stupid demon told him Sammy was some special psychic. Demons lied. End of discussion.
In war, or life in general, there were role models to be made. John grew up hearing about bad role models and falling into the wrong group of people. At one point, he was convinced that his father was the worst role model in the history of the world and falling into the jock squad was the right group of people. When Mary burned up and the hunting began, John understood that not only would death be a permanent fixture in his life but also that it would be easy to fall into the wrong group of people. Not all hunters were good. Not all hunters had a moral compass. A small percentage fought the good fight with level heads on their shoulders. Some were crazy, unhinged, insane. Others were just corrupt, evil, and had no morals whatsoever.
Ben Seraph was a combination of the latter two. In fact, Seraph was probably the most screwed up person John had ever met in his life. John knew that people were just unpredictable and crazy, but Seraph topped the cake. For reasons he couldn't fathom, John had agreed - agreed - to go hunting with Seraph. He just hoped that his sons would never do anything so reckless.
With Seraph, cataclysm and war seemed appropriate. He'd heard stories about Ben Seraph for years, craving information on the in-laws he barely knew. Seraph was downright crazy. Death and destruction always lurked behind him. Hunting with Seraph when the hunters were on the verge of war with the demons? Well, that just screamed catastrophe. He wouldn't be surprised if violent upheavals broke out across the western plains in his wake. Never before had John done something as stupid and reckless as actually hunting with this guy. Just thinking about it, John feared he was turning into his father and that was the last thing in the world that he wanted.
On the drive back to Denver, Joshua fought to stay awake in the driver's seat. Slouched against the seat, head resting idly against the glass, he forced himself not to sleep for some reason that John couldn't comprehend. They needed to talk, because John couldn't have Joshua spilling any secrets to his boys. He had no idea what the younger hunter may have heard or was thinking. Either way, it wasn't good.
"Not all hunters are good," John broke the silence in his usual low rumble.
Glancing over at the kid, John watched as Joshua straightened up in the seat and made eye contact. Suddenly, he seemed more awake and eager to chitchat about the workings of the secret hunting world. This was a talk that John didn't want to have.
"Some people in this business aren't in it to help people. Some hunters lose sight of their mission, their purpose. That man you saw me with, he's not one of the good guys. Too much shit happened to him, and now his perspective is all screwed up. He's dangerous, Joshua, so you need to steer clear of him. He will not hesitate to kill you."
"But you're going to be hunting with him, aren't you?"
John didn't know whether or not to be touched with the amount of concern that dripped off Joshua's words. He had let Dean and Sammy down more times than he cared to count. He didn't want to feel the guilt of letting down someone else in his life, some kid who was looking up at him as some kind of mentor. Although, John would be lying if he denied that he didn't feel some sort of kinship to Joshua. The younger man had lost everyone close to him, lost everything that he ever knew, was thrown into a world that he could barely comprehend. In a sense, John wanted to protect Joshua like some kind of nephew. Maybe a nephew, John really didn't have a reference point.
"He has a lead," was all John could muster to say.
"About the monster that killed your wife?"
A puff of air escaped John's lips. If only the kid knew that this informant hunter was really his estranged brother-in-law. Not only were John, Dean, and Sammy a screwed up family, but their other relatives were just as messed up. It was epic really, a tale that could be sold for millions.
"Listen, I keep Dean and Sam in the dark about the thing that killed their mother," John said sternly and tried to avoid any emotion. "You don't tell them anything. You don't tell them that this hunter I met had anything to do with Mary. You stay out of it, and you don't tell them anything. I'll tell them after I've figured everything out. We clear?"
"Yeah, John, of course."
By the time they reached the apartment back in Denver, it was three o'clock in the afternoon which worked out perfectly. Dean would be out picking up Sam from school and grabbing some dinner. That gave John the perfect opportunity to find Dean and Joshua an easy hunt, perhaps a small salt and burn that wouldn't last more than a weekend. That way, they could take Sam with them and not leave him alone.
While John was busy with newspapers sprawled across the table, Joshua lounged out on the dingy couch to flip through the channels of the crap television. The kid's boredom became apparent as he began to toss the remote in the air. Sighing, he called the kid over to help him look through a week's worth of news. If Joshua was going to be a hunter, he had better start preparing for the tedious work of finding cases.
All that could be heard was the rustling of newspapers for a good fifteen minutes before the youngest Winchesters came barreling through the front door. A joke rang between the brothers as they ambled into the apartment with pizza boxes and bags clenched in their hands.
"Dad, you're back," Dean said in surprise. "What happened?"
John's gaze flickered to Sammy before it rested on his eldest. Dean immediately caught the drift. They'd talk about it later. John understood that his little pitcher had big ears, but he couldn't bring himself to explain his hunt for Mary's killer. Sam, although, obviously caught the sideways glances because he sighed loudly and let a huff escape him.
"I got some stuff I need to take care of," John announced vaguely. "I'm gonna have you go hunting with Joshua, Dean. Maybe you can wait until the weekend and take Sam with you."
"Okay," replied Dean suspiciously as he tossed the pizza boxes on top of the newspapers.
"You'll be in charge," he continued. "Even though Joshua's older, you're more experienced. Therefore, it's your hunt and you pull rank."
Dean sunk down into the nearest chair and stared at his father in disbelief. This certainly had never happened before in the Winchester family. Sure, Dean was put in charge a lot, but he had never been in charge of a hunt. Hell, this was the first time Dean was going on a hunt without his father.
"What?" questioned Dean.
"You're nineteen, Dude, I trust your judgment and your skill. You can run this hunt. I know you can."
John flashed his son a proud smile, trying to send as much encouragement as he could. Dean just sat there in disbelief with a soft, smug smirk gracing his features. John was never much of a talker. In fact, he rarely gave out praise or support. He knew if Dean was going to run his first hunt, then he needed his father's words.
"It's a lot of responsibility, Dean. Are you up for that?"
"Ye-yeah, of course."
Shuffling through the newspapers, John grabbed one that was circled several times in black ink. The paper was tossed over to Dean who peered down at the contents. John leaned back into the wooden chair until it balanced on its hind legs.
"It's a spook," John supplied as Dean continued to read. "Dean will explain how to get rid of one."
"You mean like a ghost?" questioned Joshua.
"Whatever. Same thing. It's two towns over."
The next morning, John told gave the three boys the rules and regulations. It was standard stuff that Dean had heard over a thousand times at least. His oldest could relay the information in his sleep if need be. John told them all to be safe during the hunt and that he'd call every other night.
As soon as the Impala pulled out of the parking ramp, John immediately punched in the numbers of Ben Seraph's cell phone. The conversation was brief. They were meeting in New Mexico just outside of Navajo territory. John didn't question it, because Seraph wouldn't tell him a damn thing even if he did inquire why they were going there of all places. It didn't matter. They were going to figure out Azazel's plans, motives, everything.
Upon arriving at the destination, John entered a small dinner to grab a bite to eat and figure out what was going on in the town. People were dropping like flies in the small town. Witnesses claimed they saw a large animal-like figure peering into their windows late at night. Some claimed that voices of children could be heard outside, parents would investigate, and then wind up dead. In other cases, mysterious vehicle deaths were taking place. The windows would be smashed, claw marks adorned the hood and doors, the passengers would be slaughtered. They were two separate events that seemed to tie in to one another.
"Glad to see you could make it," Seraph said as he slid in the booth across from John. "Nice articles to read while eating, huh?"
"What is it? A demon?" questioned John.
"Fuck no, Winnie, this thing here is a skin-walker, a badass, ancient Navajo skin-walker that's on a killing spree." Seraph flagged down the waitress and ordered a coffee. "Demon. Nice, Winnie. Learn how to research next time, m'kay?"
"I'm sorry, I was under the impression that we were hunting Azazel and other demons. I didn't know that we'd be hunting a freakin' skin-walker," hissed John.
The waitress slid a plate of burger and fries in front of John. She turned towards Seraph and handed him a cup of steaming coffee. With a wink towards Seraph's way, she sauntered away from the table shaking her hips back and forth in a seductive way. She was a girl in her early thirties who obviously had a thing for biker boots, scars, and mysterious men that looked dangerous.
"Don't have a heart attack, Winchester. We'll get to hunting Azazel, but first I need to do this job."
"Why?"
"Why? Because this is for a business associate of mine. I scratch his back, and he scratches mine. It works out in the end." Seraph pulled a pack of smokes from his leather jacket. "You got a problem with that?"
"You're positive that this is a skin-walker?"
"It's not just a skin-walker, Winnie. This is an ancient Navajo skin-walker who is an evil human sonofabitch that gained special supernatural powers by murdering a close relative. These skin-walkers take the form of a half-man, half-beast. The beast part is usually a wolf or coyote. I really hope this one is a coyote. Seems like it with the patterns."
At least the guy knew his stuff. John picked up a fry and studied it hard. One thing he didn't expect from Seraph was to be so cool and calm about a hunt. He knew the information, probably had a plan of how to follow through with the actual killing. John hated to admit it, but he was impressed.
"Know how to kill a skin-walker, Winchester?"
"Uh, silver bullet to the heart," replied John.
"Legend goes that even silver bullets don't put the dogs down," Seraph explained as he let out a puff of smoke. "It wounds them something evil but isn't actually fatal. Lore says that a Navajo must obtain the full name of the human turned skin-walker. They say the name and three days later the walker starts stinking up the joint."
A soft chuckle escaped John's lips. This guy was a walking encyclopedia of weird. A pure Navajo skin-walker seemed like it was rare. John had never heard of one actually living and breathing before. He'd heard of other skin-walkers, of course, but never the original. For Seraph to know the old school lore, it was more than impressive.
"What can we do then? Unless, you're a secret Navajo guy from Tulsa…" John trailed off with a smirk.
"Nah, I'm thinking we just go in and shoot the thing with a silver bullet to the heart. Then, we go and behead the damn thing. Sound good?"
"You want to behead it? What if a skin-walker can regenerate a head or something?"
"That would be awesome, and I would have no qualms about letting it do its thing then."
John couldn't tell if Seraph was joking or not. For the sake of the guy's sanity, John hoped he was joking.
When night rolled around, John found himself sitting in a car alone with Ben Seraph - luckily, they had agreed to take the Impala and not Seraph's hunk of junk truck. Guns packed with silver bullets laid in their laps as they sat outside a nice looking house. For the past two nights, the residents claimed that a huge animal-like creature had been peering in their windows. They could only assume that the skin-walker had found its next victims.
"Nice ride," Seraph commented as he casually sifted through the glove compartment.
"You mind not touching my stuff?"
"What, Winnie, you got some tampons you don't want me finding?"
Seraph snorted as he pulled out a small box from the compartment. Flicking the top open, he glanced down at a pile of photographs. The top one was a picture of two boys lounging lazily on a couch. Their socked feet were propped up on a coffee table. The oldest boy held a hand up to block his face from the camera while the younger one smiled shyly.
"This Dean and Sam?"
"Yeah, it was taken several months ago up at Jim Murphy's. Jim has this thing about taking pictures of the boys to capture the essence of their youth. He seems to think they'll want to reminisce about it when they're older."
"Dean-o doesn't like his picture taken?"
"What teenage boy does?" remarked John.
He tried to ignore Seraph sifting through the photographs of his life with the boys. It seemed somehow right to allow the guy to see pictures of the nephews he never knew. It wasn't like John was going to let the guy meet them so pictures were the next best thing right? Hell, John had shown pictures of the boys to Ellen and Bill before. Just because he was protective of the boys didn't mean he didn't like to show them off whenever he could. They were smart, handsome, funny, resourceful boys. He was lucky to have kids like them even though they didn't always get along.
"Dean looks like a Seraph," Seraph commented emotionless. "He has the coloring, the eyes, and even the damn freckles."
Glancing to the right, John saw the picture Seraph was looking it. It was taken a couple months after the new school year started. It was Dean's first year out of high school, and he was in high spirits. Therefore, when open house came around, Dean insisted that he tag along for the meet-and-greet. Sam had been pissed for most of the night as Dean took lead in the conversations about his kid brother's education. John had just stood back and watched, perfectly happy not to partake because it was always the same year after year. By the end of the night, Dean had purchased the school's apparel: a t-shirt, cap, and zip-up hoodie. The t-shirt read, 'Proud Glendale High Parent'. Much to Sam's embarrassment, Dean had pulled the bright red teenager into a one-armed hug and laid the other arm around the school mascot. John had taken the picture. Sam hadn't talked to either of them for two weeks. It was worth it though.
"Yeah, he does," replied John sadly. "He's got Mary's spirit too."
"Poor Sam looks like you. Too bad he didn't get the Seraph good looks."
For a few seconds, John could have sworn he saw a small bout of emotion flash through Seraph's face as he stared down at the two nephews he never got to know. As soon as the look appeared, it vanished. Seraph's face was indifferent once more, void of all and any emotion. That was what worried John most about the man sitting next to him. John didn't wear his heart on his sleeve or anything like that, but he had broken before. He had melted down in his darkest hours, succumbed to emotions he tried so hard to keep at bay. It happened. It's happened more times than John cared to count. When Mary died, everyone could see he was just a mess. He wasn't John Winchester in the weeks that followed her death but rather some drunken, sobbing mess on the floor. When he killed Bill, it took him hours to compose himself before burning the body. It took him weeks to even look at his boys without being consumed with guilt. He killed a fellow father. Most of the time, when he thought of Mary, he couldn't contain his emotions. When something would happen to his boys, he'd be a wreck. Seraph, on the other hand, was eerily calm and composed all the time.
The sound of rustling jerked John out of his reverie. Glancing towards the house, illuminated under the porch lights, was a creature stalking around the front window. A grayish hand reached up and dragged its claws across the glass.
"Seraph, we've got company."
The box of memories was shoved into the glove department. The hunters glanced at one another before nodding once in understanding. They eased out of the car carefully, the safety of their guns switching off. There was possible route for escaping. It was a small neighborhood where the backyards were made mostly of desert grasses and sagebrush. There were few houses in the neighborhood as houses were spread apart.
The skin-walker intently stared inside the house almost as if urging the owners to step outside. That's when John heard the childish giggles. The hunters were crouched low to the ground and were light on their feet as they advanced forward. Guns drawn out in front of them, John turned towards Seraph to start communication through military gestures. Seraph, however, had his own plan which was the worst plan in the world. He shot his gun, nailing the skin-walker to the right of where the heart would be.
There was a god-awful screech that rang through the night air before the creature bolted. John cursed as he ran as fast as he could after the skin-walker. Seraph wasn't far behind him. Their boots crunched loudly against the desert grass as they dashed. The monster was obviously wounded, because the two hunters were keeping up with the thing. Something told John that if it wasn't hurt, it would have been long gone.
Without missing a beat, John raised his gun and fired. The bullet hit the creature above the heart, and it let out another dreadful shriek of pain. Seraph then shot again, marking the thing to the left of the heart. The skin-walker doubled over. The screeching was constant as the thing struggled to stand again. Seraph reached for the machete hanging from his leather belt. In one swift swing, the skin-walker's head lobbed off the neck. The head landed on the ground and rolled away. The torso of the body slammed down into the hard ground. Blood stained the dead-looking grass.
"Go back to the car and get the supplies. Let's burn this sonofabitch," Seraph said in a calm voice as he wiped the bloody blade against his pant leg.
John jogged back to the Impala, his gun situated comfortably between the waistband of his jeans and the flesh of his back. He'd beheaded a vampire before - his first time hunting with Elkins back in '84. Held the machete, swung, and the head snapped off like some sort of twig - he was covered in blood and breathing heavily. It was his first decapitation after all. He threw up when Elkins wasn't looking and vowed he would never become a vampire hunter. He wasn't so much in love with the gory crap, but he could hold his stomach to it now after everything he'd seen. Vaguely, he wondered just how many things Seraph beheaded annually, because John sure as hell avoided it where he could.
Once back at the Impala, he moved the car to another street just in case the cops were called due to the gunshots. Popping the trunk, he grabbed a container of salt and gasoline. He stuffed them in an old Marine duffle bag before heading back out to where Seraph and his beheaded friend were located.
John started to salt the bottom part of the body and doused it with the gas. He fumbled in his leather jacket for his matchbook of matches while watching Seraph stuffed the head of the skin-walker into the Marine bag. He zipped it up and hauled it over his shoulder.
"What the hell are you doing?" John questioned as he stroked the match and let it fall to the ground. "We need to salt and burn that head."
"Nah, let's not. I kinda want it for a souvenir."
"A s-souvenir? You want a head of a skin-walker as a souvenir?"
"Well, you know, it is our first hunt together and all. I'm a sentimentalist."
John knew he shouldn't leave the skin-walker burning unattended, but he couldn't allow Seraph to just walk away nonchalantly as though collecting the heads of supernatural creatures was perfectly normal.
"Seraph!"
"Look, Princess, calm down, all right?"
John couldn't calm down. He had mental pictures of some backwoods cabin with heads of supernatural beings nailed up on every inch of the walls. It was downright creepy, not to mention that not destroying the head could cause problems later. They needed to salt and burn the head.
"What are you doing?" demanded John very similar to the way he would talk to a very stubborn four-year-old Sammy who was caught red-handed doing things he wasn't supposed to be doing.
"Holding my end to a business arrangement."
"A business arrangement?"
"Yeah, Winnie, that's what I said. There are people who would pay big bucks to get their hands on rare, unique items to sell."
"Who the hell would want to buy the head of a skin-walker?"
"A man I like to call Frankie."
Seraph turned around, a smirk dancing on his features as some sort of joke rang through the air. John didn't understand the gag, and he was nearly positive there was a very childish scowl etched onto his face.
"Tell me."
"I'll show you. You're my brother-in-law, right?"
The title vibrated in the still night air, and John didn't have any words to say. Seraph was notorious for his treachery, and John had a feeling that he was being played. Even though the idea rang in his mind, he didn't dare say anything aloud. John was willing let Seraph think that he had the upper hand, that he was pulling the wool over the younger hunter's eyes.
They wandered back towards the burning body of the skin-walker to ensure that New Mexico didn't go up in flames. There was no conversation between them as the flames hungrily devoured the creature. John glanced over at Seraph to see the blaze reflecting in the hunter's eyes. It flickered so menacingly in the familiar green orbs that knots twisted in John's stomach.
The next morning, John woke up in a dingy motel to pounding. Then, he heard a gruff shout of "WINCHESTER!" that made him groan. Glancing over at the nearest clock, John realized it was five in the morning. He'd gotten two hours of sleep. Rolling out of bed, John ambled slowly to the motel door and wrenched it open to see Seraph standing there with the straps of the old Marine duffel clenched in his left hand.
"We're burning daylight. Let's go, Jarhead."
John drove the Impala while Seraph drove in front of him in a beat up pickup truck. It was an old 1973 Ford F-series baby blue truck that looked like it had been through the war. The truck was so reminiscent of Mary's old truck that John's heart ached. A large lump formed in his throat as he twisted the volume knob on the radio higher. The words of Led Zeppelin blasted through the Impala and tried to wash out the grief that filled John.
They passed through three towns before they stopped in front of a worn-down warehouse. John cut the engine and watched as Seraph exited his truck with the duffle bag in hand. Slowly, John exited the Impala and followed the older man into the warehouse. They walked through the main room towards the back of the building where a rickety spiral staircase was located. They climbed the steps carefully as loud creaks emitted from the metal.
Once upstairs, the second level was filled with activity. Men and women were everywhere sorting through boxes, taping up packages, and talking on cell phones. There was one man in the center of all the attention dressed in a crisp suit. He lazily talked on his cell phone and examined his nails as though to pass the time.
"… not my problem, Mother," the man said in a thick British accent, "she should be locked up and the key thrown away. I'm not her father, and I refuse to even attempt to play the role. She doesn't even want me in her life, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Listen, Mother, I'm sorry, I have to go. My client just arrived."
The man snapped the cell phone closed and sneered at the two hunters. Stuffing the cell phone into his sports coat, he pulled out a pack of fine cigars and lit one up. John had a feeling that this man smoking wasn't a friend of Seraph. There really was no recognition, no familiarity between the two men. There was just a curt nod in the general direction. Seraph stepped forward and swung the bag forward to show the man what he had.
"Charming, Benjamin."
"Hey, Frankie, let's do business, huh?"
"Yes, let's go somewhere private. I have what you asked for ready in the next room."
Seraph shot John a look that clearly read stay put while the grownups talk before following the posh-looking man into another room. John was pissed, tired, and just wanted to know what the hell was going on. Then, some kid who couldn't have been older than Joshua crossed the room and stopped short of John.
"You know, Mate, I wouldn’t trust Franklin with my enemy's socks," the kid told him in a thick accent. "There are some nasty rumors circulating about him."
"You want me to ask about these rumors, right?"
"I want you to know you shouldn't trust Franklin… or Mister Seraph."
"I don't trust either of them as far as I could throw them," John replied dryly. "Okay, Kid, I'll bite. Tell me the nasty rumor."
The kid smirked and glanced at the door that Seraph and this Franklin guy disappeared through. It was some small office-type room, the only of its kind in the run-down warehouse. The door was closed tight, the blinds drawn down at the windows."It's rumored that Franklin killed his brother and sister-in-law for some sort of special amulet. In the process, he orphaned his two young nieces. Rumor has it that he has it out for his eldest niece, because she has this amulet in her possession unknowingly."
"What's your name, Kid?"
"Nigel Blackheart."
"I'm John Winchester, and I could really care less about the troubles of some snobbish family. I'm a hard-working, lower-class citizen who doesn't give two shits about the rich and fabulous lives of those who live on the Upper East Side. You catch my drift, Nigel?"
The kid looked about ready to recite some witty rejoinder when the office door opened again. The kid slid away from John quickly and fumbled with the nearest package. John dismissed the kid as he glanced over at Seraph and this Franklin fellow. They were shaking hands, and Seraph had a thick manila folder tucked securely under his arm.
Once outside the warehouse, Seraph had this wicked grin on his face. His pace sped up slightly as his strides stretched out. John barely had time to register what happened next. There was a loud explosion from behind him. Diving forward, John's hands scraped against the asphalt parking lot. Flat on his stomach, he looked up to see Seraph just grinning at the scene behind him. John craned his neck back to see the warehouse partly destroyed.
"What the fuck, Seraph?" shouted John as he struggled to his feet.
His hands were covered in crimson and burned. His pants were ripped at the knees, blood was slowly gushing out onto the jean fabric. John's breath came out in small pants because of his anger and sheer disbelief. What the hell?
"He had it coming," was all that Seraph said. "Come on, Winnie, let's go."
"No, what the hell, Seraph? You probably killed people!"
"Yeah, Johnny, that was the point," Seraph dragged out his words as though he were talking to a child. "You see, when you want someone dead, you usually kill them."
"You're insane."
"You're not insane enough," he bit back. "Follow me. I got what we need."
John was in half a mind to drive back to Denver as fast as he could and get his kids the hell away from the apartment. Then there was another part of John that wanted to follow Seraph and figure out what was in the folder. Seraph was an enigma who was cold, serious, and very dangerous. Therefore, instead of following his heart to Denver, he followed his curiosity with a false sense of security that Seraph wouldn't harm him because he was Mary's husband.
They drove for hours without stopping. They crossed into Colorado, and John only prayed they wouldn't stop in Denver. There was no way in hell that Seraph was meeting Dean and Sammy. They passed through Denver before crossing over into Wyoming. They were about a mile away from Cheyenne when Seraph cut the engine to his beat up truck outside of another crap warehouse. This warehouse bore a giant sign that read, "Condemned" on it, but John had a feeling Seraph didn't really give two shits.
They walked into the warehouse side-by-side with only a large bag in-between them. The bag was full with equipment because the fabric was stretched over odd shaped objects. Once inside, Seraph carefully set down the bag and unzipped it. He pulled out chalk, a bowl with odd symbols etched into the sides, and a blade.
"What are you doing?"
Seraph paid no attention to the demand. With a piece of thick white chalk in one hand, he drew a straight line onto the concrete floor. On each side of the line, round circles were drawn. Tearing his eyes away from the drawing, John's attention rested on several black candles pouring out of the duffle bag. Something wasn't right. Seraph was doing something very dangerous.
"What are you doing, Seraph?" demanded John once more.
"Put the candles in these circles here. Make yourself useful, John-John."
There were four more circles drawn - two above and two below the main line. Seraph then started to draw a 'V' to connect the bottom circles together. The tip of the 'V' rested in-between the two circles above the main line.
"Seraph, answer me!"
"We're summoning Azazel, Winchester. We're going to figure this bastard out right now." Seraph sighed. "That's why I set off my homemade bomb. I don't want those prissy shitheads knowing anything about Azazel, knowing anything about Mary."
The words of Jim Murphy flooded his head. Are you going to summon Abaddon and Azazel to demand answers? They're powerful, so powerful that not even a Devil's Trap could hold them for long. Do you honestly have a death wish? No, John had sons at home to think about. He couldn't blindly summon Azazel without a way to kill it. Seraph didn't have a plan, that much John knew.
Then the fact that Seraph had murdered people for the information on Azazel was also unsettling. Even more unsettling was the fact that someone survived the blast and would be out for blood - John's blood for being there. They could think he planted the bomb while Seraph was securing the information. That didn't sit well for John at all.
"We're not summoning him here!"
"Why the hell not, Winchester? This demon killed your wife, marked your son, made your whole fuckin' life miserable. Why not summon it?"
"We don't have an exit strategy! We can't kill it!"
"Listen, Jarhead, we can send this thing back to Hell where it belongs! I'm not standing around with my thumbs up my ass waiting until you come up with your perfect exit strategy. This isn't the Marines!"
John wanted nothing more than to summon the demon and look it straight in its eyes. He wanted nothing more than to send the thing back to Hell, to kill it. Except, a demon that powerful wouldn't last long in Hell. It would crawl its way out of the pit and come at his family ten times as hard. He couldn't take that risk when Sammy and Dean were still too young and inexperienced. His craving for revenge would have to wait until he knew his kids were safe and far away.
"This isn't Amateur Demon Hunting 101, Seraph! This is the major leagues we're dealing with. This demon is one powerful sonofabitch; and if you think it's going to just sit around in Hell like a good little demon, then you're more delusional than you look!"
"It'll be worth it though, Winnie. Just send that bastard back to Hell. Come on, you know you want to do it. Talk to it and find out why it did everything it did."
"I can't be apart of this. I have two - three kids at home who need to be taken care of. I can't risk this now without a surefire way to kill it. This plan, it's suicidal and reckless."
"Three kids? You count that stray puppy as one of your own now? What obligation do you have to him?"
"What obligation do I have to him? His parents are dead! His kid sister is dead! He has nobody, and I'll be damned if I let someone like you do him in!"
Seraph scoffed as the chalk rolled from his fingertips. There was a twisted sneer worked up on his face. He straightened up to his full height. Even though the guy was a good three inches shorter than him, John still felt intimidated. John didn't back down though, didn't flinch away from the intense glare being shot his way.
"You know they call you the Dark Horse," Seraph said in a low rumble as he dug through his jacket pocket for his smokes. "John Winchester: the Dark Horse. I never quite understood why you were such an enigma. You started out in the business just like everyone else. Then, I finally heard the story about Bill Harvelle and I suddenly understood why people were so goddamn afraid of you that they uttered your name in hushed whispers."
Puffs of smoke filled the already musty air of the old warehouse. A knot in John's chest coiled his insides. His breath hitched in his throat. The wisps of smoke were not helping John's breathing. He kept perfectly still, his gaze steady, as he waited for Seraph to say something more.
The subject of Bill Harvelle wasn't one John liked to talk about. He liked to imagine that Bill never existed, that Bill was just some horrible nightmare. They had become friends, best friends, over the course of the years. Bill had been his equal, his partner in crime. Though they rarely hunted together, there was a sort of kinship between them. They instantly understood each other in ways that nobody else could. Ellen used to joke that they were separated at birth. Jo used to call him Uncle Johnny.
"You don't know shit about Bill," snapped John.
"I know more than you think I know." Seraph smirked through the cigarette smog. "You going to put a bullet in my head too? Hell, Winnie, you going to put three bullets through my skull and another one through my heart just like Billy?"
The air had been sucked out of John's lungs and replaced with ice. There were people who knew the gist of what happened - Jim and Caleb being among them. They didn't know the whole story, because John wasn't willing to share. He'd never revealed that information before. He never told anyone that he'd shot his best friend four times at point blank range.
"What, John-Boy? You don't think I did my homework on you while you were off finding a hunt for Dean-o and that Harper kid? You don't think that I haven't kept up with your family since you met Mary?"
John didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to think. Hell, John didn't do his research on Seraph. He knew the guy was one screwed up bastard and heard a couple of stories, but John had never searched for details of Seraph or his uncle. It never seemed to matter that much until Seraph was spilling out John's life story. Maybe he really could write a book.
"I don't understand you, Seraph," admitted John honestly.
"Who do you want to summon then, Winchester?"
Ben Seraph changed subjects so quickly and so frequently that John was suspecting that he was touched in the head. His emotions varied as well. One second he'd be bitter and cynical. The next second he would be in full hunter mode and sounding somewhat like a sane hunter. John couldn't figure it out: was it a game or was this just how Seraph was?
"I know a summoning ritual that will bring the nearest demon to us. Catchy, right?"
"I think we need to just stop this."
"Why?"
"Because this is dangerous, Seraph! Look, I want revenge just as much as you, Man, maybe even more so. I got kids at home though, and I gotta be careful. If I die, what happens to Sammy?"
"Don't kid yourself, Winchester. With every day that passes, you want to die more and more because you don't know how to deal. You had it all - the apple pie life. You had the beautiful wife, the two cute kids, the pet dog, the house, the nice neighborhood, great friends, and your own business. Then, one day your dog dies. Then, it's your wife. Next, you lose your perfect house in the nice neighborhood. Your friends then turn on you, call social services on your ass. You find out your wife's secret life before she met you - know she was a hunter, a criminal, a killer. Then, you find out your youngest, innocent son has demon blood in him, is going to turn into some kind of psychic. Said kid starts to hate your guts because you stole the apple pie life away from him. You're so scared that Dean's going to turn on you too. You couldn't take it if Dean starts to hate you, because he's always been your favorite. If one of your kids was going to hate you, you're glad it's Sammy because you're so jealous that he's not all dark and twisted like you and Dean. You hate him because he doesn't wake up screaming from seeing his mom pinned to the ceiling, hate him because he doesn't remember how hot the fire was on his skin."
"You don't know shit, Seraph. I love Sammy just as much as I love Dean."
John didn't hate Sammy for any of that stuff. He was happy that Sam didn't remember that night, the fire, what happened after. Perhaps he was a little jealous that Sam could be normal, but he didn't hate the kid because he didn't suffer through Mary's death.
"We're done, Seraph," John announced.
"We're just getting started, Johnny."
John stared at Seraph long and hard. He placed his most intimidating, serious face he could muster. Their arrangement was over with. John couldn’t hunt with Seraph anymore. The mind games had become too much, too rough. So, John turned his back to his brother-in-law and steadily strode towards the exit.
A loud BANG! sounded throughout the warehouse. Intense pain filled John's shoulder as he stumbled forward. His hand shot up and clenched at the throbbing pain. The slickness of blood was smooth against his skin. Glancing down to the right, John could see crimson seeping through his fingers. Seraph shot him. He'd been freakin' shot! Whipping around, John turned to glare at the older hunter. Just as he was fully turned around, a flash of silver flew out of nowhere and collided with his temple. Stumbling backwards, an invasion of black dots filtered into his vision. He felt his body collide with the cold, grimy floor before everything went black.
Author's Notes - I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. Updates for this story and the rest of the series should be updated regularly now. The past couple of months have been weird to say the least, but everything's back in order. Therefore, updates won't take a month or more to appear. Thanks so Shannon for editing for me yet again. Don't forget to review.