Carry On... Episode 6: Long Days Upon the Land Part 2
Here is the second part of episode 6 of Carry On...
Episode 6: Long Days Upon the Land
Original airdate: 2010.02.22.
Summary:
When the boys finally get a trail on their father, Sam and Dean embark on a dangerous journey to find him. However, with Sam preparing for the worst, Dean must ask himself if he can still follow his father’s orders, even if it could cost him everything he has.
Excerpt:
He glanced back at the screen, focusing again, as a dark figure came into the picture.
There was something strangely familiar about it--the way it moved, the shape of it.
The way it wielded the knife as it sliced the guard’s throat.
Sam whispered something like a prayer--or a curse, Dean wasn’t sure which.
In the back of his mind, Dean wondered what the point was. It wasn’t like faith had gotten Sam very far at this point.
Just then, the figure turned to the camera, saluting them. Bobby hit pause on John Winchester’s smiling face caught mid-gesture.
Written by: faye_dartmouth and pinkphoenix1985
Artist: faye_dartmouth
PART TWO
Heart pounding, Dean clutched the phone closer to his ear. He felt terrified and excited all at once. It was almost like he was a kid again, waiting anxiously for Dad’s safe return home. Waiting to know if Dad was okay, that he’d made it through another successful hunt in one piece. Dean had lived for those moments when Dad would come home and the three of them could just be the family they were supposed to be, supporting each other in this frightening reality of monsters and demons. In those moments, they just were a family, a father and his two loving sons. Dean had always believed his dad was a super hero, but that never made the waiting any easier, no matter how old he got.
People died--parents died--and sometimes it was hard for Dean to trust in the fact his father would come back to Sam and him. The possibility was always at the back of his mind, that Dad might go up in smoke and be gone forever, just like Mom.
As hard as it was to believe that Dad could be alive, Dean wanted it to be true. Wanted it so bad he could feel it in his bones. For all the issues, for all the hurt, for everything that happened-he was still Dean’s father. Dean owed him everything and he could never forget that. Not even now.
He swallowed hard. “Dad?”
“Hello, Dean,” John replied.
He tried to think of something to say. Anything. Nothing sounded right.
“Is your brother with you?”
That sounded enough like his dad, always worrying about Sam--and him. About the family. He always wanted Dean to check in with him, let him know that the doors were locked and the salt lines were laid. That Sam was tucked in safe and that the shotgun was loaded.
Dean’s throat tightened. “Sam’s right here,” he said, as he turned his back on Bobby and Sam, in part to keep the conversation private and partly to shield Sam from John even though he wasn’t in the room.
“Always the big brother,” John said, sounding a little amused. “Good to see you didn’t throw out everything I taught you.”
Dean’s heart twinged. How could he ever forget? You have to save your brother or kill him still ran through his mind. No, it was unlikely that he would ever forget. He remembered everything from that first order--take your brother outside as fast as you can--to the last.
“You always were my good soldier, Dean,” John crooned over the line.
The words were a compliment and the inflection was right. But it felt wrong and Dean knew it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew. This wasn’t the man who made the monsters go away. This wasn’t his dad. This wasn’t his hero.
He had to keep it together, though. Whatever this was, he couldn’t afford to tip his hand. He had to let this thing take the lead to see what it wanted.
“Where are you?” he asked, his voice on edge, hand gripping the phone tightly.
“Dean,” John said, sounding a little disappointed. “A smart hunter never reveals his location.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut in anger. This thing wasn’t a hunter. It couldn’t be. It had to be something else.
He opened his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. Sam and Bobby were behind him, closer than Dean felt comfortable with. He tried to keep his voice light. “Just wanted to know what my old man was up to.”
“I’m older than you think,” John replied. “I gave you back a lifetime and gained an eternity for it.”
Dean’s guilt flared in his belly. He took a quick glance at Sam, who looked like he wanted to rip the phone away from him. Bobby just seemed uncomfortable to be witnessing the conversation between father and son, but hell, Bobby was like a father to him and Sam, and Dean was suddenly relieved to have him there. He wasn’t sure he could do this alone.
Dean could handle most things. He could take any supernatural creature and most human ones. But family was his weakness. It was the only thing that really scared him--the thing he was scared to lose, the thing he was scared to need.
Family was about sacrifice. Dean had sacrificed everything for his family. And they’d given him everything in return. It was easier to give than receive, though, and his father’s death hadn’t just been hard because he missed John. It hadn’t even been hard because of his father’s last order.
It had been hard because John had died for Dean. He’d only suspected at first, but the Crossroads Demon had confirmed what Dean had suspected. Their father had made a deal for Dean’s life. Sure, Dean had known what that meant. He’d hunted down the damn demon who offered those deals. But he’d never let himself think about it. An eternity...in Hell.
“Kind of quiet over there, aren’t we?” John asked. “That’s not like you.”
“Well,” Dean said, his throat tight. “Seeing as you are supposed to be dead, I’m having a hard time coming up with something to say.”
“Death seems to be a common Winchester flaw,” John said, then he whistled low and cold. “Some of us just overcome it in better ways than the rest.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and John should have known it. His father could get to him like no one else, but no one threatened Sam--not on his watch. The implication was subtle, but it was there. “Like you?” Dean said, his mouth twisting into a sneer.
“I’m still your father,” John told him flatly. “And I know just what you’re doing.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked, trying to sound cocky, but faltering.
“I know you’ve seen the video.”
Dean swallowed. No more small talk, then. “Bobby seems to think it’s you.”
Beside him, Bobby shifted uncomfortably as Sam edged closer to Dean.
“Bobby never was a very good friend,” John replied coolly.
Dean tried to stay calm. He moved away from Sam, who again tried to grab the phone from him, while avoiding Bobby’s persistent gaze.
“It’s pretty convincing,” Dean said, as he walked towards the kitchen.
“Really?” John asked conversationally. “What part did you like the most? The sneaking? Or maybe the part where I slit the guard’s throat without him even seeing me.”
Dean steeled himself. “The black eyes sort of sell it.”
“I spent over a hundred years in Hell,” John said, and his voice sounded grim. Tired. Resigned.
Dean had recognized shades of his father throughout the conversation, but that tone--that weary acceptance--it was the first time it had been John, one hundred percent, no question. Not just a close approximation, not just an impostor. But John Winchester. His father.
Sam and Bobby had been right about that much.
But they were wrong about the rest. It wasn’t just a sign that this was their father’s body--this was a sign that John Winchester--the hunter, the man, the father--was still in there. No matter what he’d done, no matter what he said--his father was in there, and he was worth saving.
Which meant that Dean would save him. No matter what, Dean would save his father.
John’s voice continued. “Do you know how long that is?” he asked. “How many years of torture? You can’t get out of that without carrying some kind of scar.”
It made Dean want to cry. His father in Hell. Tortured. One hundred years. For him. “So are you--are you...?”
“A demon?” John asked, an air of humor in his voice. “All humans are demons. Some of us just more than others. Ask your brother, Dean. He should understand.”
Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam, who looked a bit desperate. Face pleading, he made another swipe at the phone, but Dean dodged it. With a deep breath, Dean turned away and forced himself to keep it together. “Did you take the pipe?”
“I’ve done what I had to do.”
“So, you really did kill the guard?”
“I already told you that,” John told him simply.
Dean’s mouth clamped shut, his lips thinning. It took an effort to force himself to speak again. “You could have gotten out of there without killing him.”
“There’s a bigger picture, Dean,” John said. “I have things I have to do.”
“What things?” Dean pressed.
“Let’s just say that when I’m done, killing one security guard really won’t seem so bad.”
Dean stifled a curse and closed his eyes. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You can’t not let me,” John said. “More than that, you can’t stop me. This is already in motion, Dean. Consider this your fair warning to stay away. Stay with your brother and don’t follow me.”
With that, the call disconnected, leaving Dean breathless and not knowing what to think.
“Dean?” Sam asked. “What did he say?”
He owed Sam an answer. Bobby, too. But what could he tell them? What was there to say?
“Dean?” Sam asked again.
Dean turned, meeting his brother’s eyes briefly. Then, looking down, he just shook his head. “We have to go.”
“Go?” Sam asked. “Dean, go where--what did Dad--”
“Sam, I don’t know!” he snapped, his entire body feeling tense.
“Don’t know what? If it was him? What he wanted? Dean, come on--”
“Damn it, Sam, give me a minute,” Dean said, looking at Sam again, a hint of desperation and fury in his eyes. “We just saw the video and you and Bobby want to charge in guns blazing and then Dad calls and tells me to stay the hell away.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. “Stay away? From what? What’s he planning--”
“Just stop,” Dean said. He didn’t try to hide the undercurrent of pleading in his voice. “Just--stop. Please.”
At that, Sam swallowed, looking stricken. He nodded shortly. “What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly.
“Just--give me some time,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair. “I need to think.”
With that, he left Sam and Bobby downstairs and walked up to the room that he and Sam shared, grateful that neither of them followed.
-o-
In all the years they’d been coming to Bobby’s, the place never really changed. Sure, sometimes it was messier than others, and the selection of books out and about was always changing, but beyond that, it was about as consistent as anything had been in their childhood. The spare room where he and Sam slept had the same clapboard paneling and faded orange shag carpeting. It would be an interior decorator’s nightmare, but Dean had always liked the ambiance it gave.
Especially in the weeks following their father’s death. With the Impala in Bobby’s shop, this had been the closest Dean had to home.
It wasn’t much comfort now.
Not with his father out there--not dead, but part demon. Stealing ancient artifacts. Killing people. Telling him to stay away.
Dean was a good soldier. He always followed orders. Which meant he should just hole up here, spend some more time in Bobby’s shop and pretend like he’d never seen that video or gotten that phone call.
That was what good soldiers did. They followed orders.
This one was hard to follow.
He’d had hard orders before. Orders to hold position even when something was charging him. Orders to let Sam play bait even though he knew it could get Sam hurt. Orders to stay locked in a motel room when he wanted to be out there, hunting with his dad. Orders that if he didn’t save Sam, he might have to kill him.
Dean had doubted before, but he didn’t disobey.
He didn’t.
Sighing, he flopped back on his bed. It was still unmade, and he stared at the ceiling. He had failed a few of them, but straight out mutiny? After his father had gone to Hell for him?
It wasn’t right.
But nothing was right about this. Nothing had been right since the night Azazel had possessed their father in the cabin. That night, the demon had tried to rip Dean’s insides out through his mouth. It had been the worst pain he’d ever known.
It didn’t hold a candle to this.
It still felt like there was a hand in his gut, crushing and turning. Dean wasn’t bleeding, but he felt like he was. All of his emotions, all of his faith and stability--they were hemorrhaging away. From losing Sam in Cold Oak, to getting him back, from Sam’s nightmares of the afterlife, to his own that he didn’t understand, from their father’s mysterious appearance, to John’s dark agenda.
And what was Dean going to do about it? He’d been helpless in the cabin in Missouri. He’d been helpless in Cold Oak. He’d been helpless in Wyoming. He didn’t want to be helpless now.
He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.
He’d been wrong in Chicago after the confrontation with Meg and the Daevas. They weren’t better off apart. They were stronger together.
Dean just needed them together.
He owed his father so much. He owed it to him to be the good soldier--the good son.
If only he knew what that meant.
A soft knock came at the door.
Surprised, Dean sat up, hoping his uncertainty wasn’t showing.
The door cracked open and his brother’s head appeared. “Dean?” Sam asked. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Just peachy.”
Sam nodded a little. “I thought you might be hungry.” He gave a half hearted shrug. “Lunch is downstairs if you want to eat.”
“Sure,” Dean said. “Just give me a sec.”
Sam hesitated in the doorway, but after a long moment, he nodded. “Okay,” he said simply, turning back and closing the door behind him.
Dean listened as Sam’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. Dean wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, but Sam was a part of this, too. They all were. Whatever decisions Dean made, they would affect them all.
Which made it Dean’s responsibility. Just like it always had been.
This time, however, he couldn’t afford to fail.
-o-
Half an hour later, Sam found himself aimlessly pushing his dinner around on his plate. It had been a few hours since Dad had called Dean. His brother hadn’t said much about it, but Sam knew that it wasn’t good. He glanced at Dean, who was staring off into space not eating any of his meal. Sam just wished Dean could trust him enough to let him in.
But that seemed about the way it went. If there was a major secret, Sam couldn’t be trusted with it, not by anyone.
He couldn’t help but wonder if they were all correct.
He peered over at his brother, who looked miserable and withdrawn. Sam had never seen his brother like this. Not since...not since their father died.
Dad had always that effect on Dean. His brother continually wanted to do the best he could by their father even when it wasn’t rational. It would all be easier to swallow if Sam knew what Dean was thinking. But sometimes Dean was like their dad in more ways than he’d admit. When things got tough, Dean got need-to-know, and to that, Sam had no recourse.
He glanced over at Bobby’s empty chair. Bobby had finished quickly so he could go back and continue researching. Research--that was something that Sam should be doing, but he honestly didn’t know where to start looking. And he wasn’t sure his brother would let him even if he tried.
Sam sighed to himself, he really should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t. He had to know. He always had. “What did he sound like?” he asked.
Dean looked at him, glaring a bit.
“Dad, I mean,” Sam continued awkwardly.
Dean scowled. “I know who you meant.”
Sam hesitated but asked again.
Dean shrugged and replied softly. “It sounded like Dad.”
“And?”
“And what, Sammy?” Dean growled, clearly wary of the way this conversation was headed. Sam recognized that tone--the angry big brother, one step down from a drill sergeant father. Sam was the last in line for the chain of command and he was generally on the need-to-know.
At least, that was how it had always been. Too much had happened since Sam’s childhood. Sam wouldn’t stand for it now--and they couldn’t afford it. Not with their father’s life possibly on the line. “Dean, I need to know,” he persisted. “You can’t protect me from this forever. What did Dad say? Do you think that it’s really him?”
“Sam, this isn’t something you need to know.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam said with an indignant snort. “Just like I didn’t need to know what Dad’s last order to you was.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed at him. “Yeah, since you handled it so well.”
“Don’t change the subject, Dean,” Sam said. “We’re talking about Dad.”
“No, you’re talking about Dad,” Dean pointed out.
“Dean, I deserve to know.”
Dean gave a weary sigh, his eyes going to the ceiling. “Sam--”
Sam would not relinquish this. Not now. “Dean--”
“Fine!” Dean snapped, turning fiery eyes back to Sam. “I’ll tell you what he said-he said he gave up his life for me and it landed him in Hell. Not just for a year, but one hundred years. A hundred years being tortured by demons in Hell. That’s the price he paid for my life!”
Sam had wanted answers, and he’d suspected it would be bad, but the truth of it was harder than he imagined. “Hell?” Sam asked, going a little numb. They’d suspected that John had made a deal, but they’d never had confirmation until now. They’d never even talked about it, not since the hunt with the Crossroads Demon.
Sam had always thought he’d like to know for sure, that somehow it would help him make peace.
It didn’t.
“Hell,” Dean confirmed, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then he met Sam’s eyes again, and Sam could see the pain written clearly in them. “Anything else you think you need to know?”
Sam felt his heart skip a beat. His brother looked miserable. “This isn’t your fault,” he said, easily moving from anger to concern.
But once a big brother, always a big brother. Dean didn’t want to hear it. “No, it is my fault, Sammy,” Dean said. “If he never made that deal for me, I would be dead and he wouldn’t have had to suffer in Hell!”
“Yeah, you’d be dead,” Sam pointed out. “Dad did what he had to do.”
“And look what good it did him,” Dean told him. “No wonder he doesn’t want me anywhere near him. How am I supposed to even go on living knowing what he gave up for me?”
“Dean, that’s not the way it is,” Sam said.
“Yeah?” Dean asked. “Then tell me, smart ass. How is it?”
Sam inhaled, pressing his lips together. “Dad made that decision by himself because he loved you and wanted to save you,” he whispered softly.
Dean silently stared at his plate, his expression thoughtful. “I know,” he said. “Which is why we have to do this the right way.”
Sam cocked his head. “Do what the right way?”
“Go after Dad the right way,” Dean said, looking up and meeting Sam’s eyes with a new intensity. “I just know that Dad’s still in there somewhere, trying to break whatever has a hold on him. We’ve got to save him. I’ve got to save him”
Sam nodded. His brother was truly passionate about few things, but family was one of them. It was something Sam had never doubted in his brother, that no matter what, Dean would do what needed to be done. It was his brother’s greatest strength. No matter what they agreed or disagreed on, Sam had to support his brother as best he could.
“If we can-we should try and save him,” Sam said. Then he paused, hesitating. “But Dean, you also have to realize that there’s also a chance that it really is Dad in there and not a demon just wearing his meatsuit.”
Sam flinched as Dean’s gaze hardened into a glare. He could read that look as well, when Dean was past his limit. His brother had a short fuse that could be easily lit, and Sam knew he was treading on dangerous ground. It was a tightrope between protecting Dean’s life and protecting Dean’s heart. He had to preserve Dean’s hope in their father’s well-being while also making sure Dean was prepared for this hunt--no matter how it went down.
For all they knew, that was Dad’s real voice, and there was a chance that he had become a demon. Which would be worse than possession, worse than a shifter. It was the worst case scenario, plain and simple. Sam didn’t want it to be true, but he knew Winchesters weren’t overly lucky when it came to this kind of thing.
More than that, Sam knew that there was no way that Dad would accept living the rest of eternity as a demon. The least they could do to respect him was to kill him so that he could rest in peace.
Dean knew it, too. He just didn’t want to admit it.
Finally, his brother sighed. “Yeah,” Dean nodded at Sam. “If we can’t save him, we’ll kill him.”
Sam bit his lip and nodded back.
The decision was made.
-o-
After Dean and Sam finished eating and cleared their plates off the table, they went to the library area where Bobby was already knee deep in research, books strewn all around him and looking more than a little wild eyed.
As they found places to sit down and join him in research-Dean sitting closer to him while Sam sat further away--Bobby looked up.
“Good of you idjits to come and join me.”
Dean chuckled. “So what have you found so far?”
“Well, I can’t be sure since the lore on the apocalypse is all over the place,” Bobby said. “I mean, we’ve got the Christian tradition, Jewish interpretations, Muslim beliefs, and that doesn’t even begin to touch the pagan stuff. But I think that I’ve finally found a lead on the pipe.”
Sam got up to see what Bobby was talking about while Dean leaned over. Bobby opened an old, heavy looking book and pointed to a passage written half in Latin and half in Old English.
“Well, the original story talks about how the pipe brought back the man’s wife,” Bobby said.
“Yeah, but it dates back way further than that,” Sam said.
“Exactly. So I traced some other ancient nomadic tribes and found a hit on a special medicinal pipe in a Nordic legend,” Bobby said.
Dean made a face. “Nordic seems pretty far removed from the Native Americans.”
“I know,” Bobby said. “But we don’t know who the Worm People were or where they were from.”
“So how can we be sure it’s the right legend?”
Bobby pursed his lips, pointing to the page. “Look at the details,” he said.
Dean let his eyes pass over the page. His knowledge of ancient languages was hit and miss, but he could make out enough of the Latin to start to get a sense. The pieces fell into place slowly, and a sense of trepidation came over him.
Sam beat him to it. “This is more than a simple ritual to raise the dead,” he said, sounding a little surprised. He glanced up, looking from Dean to Bobby.
“Yep,” Bobby confirmed. “I mean, the power to raise humans--that’s some dark stuff. This? Is a whole lot more And it says here that the pipe is an essential component, and it’s pretty damn powerful. It can raise anything or anyone.”
Dean sat back, thinking. “So who would Dad want to raise bad enough to steal the pipe?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Bobby continued. “This pipe has demonic origins up the wazoo.”
“Demons,” Sam said. “It can raise demons, can’t it?”
“Seems that way,” Bobby said. “My guess is that John or the demon isn’t trying to break open a seal-not yet anyway. He’s trying to gather forces to help break one open. These seals must be some powerful stuff. He can’t do it without some backup.”
“Raising demons, huh?” Dean asked with grim humor. “Sounds like a hell of a party we’re going to be invited to…”
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean and turned back to Bobby. “How can we be sure it’s this ritual he’s trying to perform?”
“We can’t,” Bobby said. “But it’s my best guess.”
“So, let’s say he is trying to raise demons,” Dean said carefully. “How would he go about doing it? It’s got to be harder than the Native American legend says.”
“It is,” Bobby said, opening other old tomes and pointing to the relevant passages. “Take a look.”
Sam picked one up and handed another to Dean so they could both read the passages.
Dean read his section where key points such as using a certain type of herb mix to create a type of smoke that could raise the dead or using the pipe on the night of a full moon jumped out at him.
He glanced at Sam, who looked grim as he read his passage.
“Wow, some seriously detailed mojo,” Dean said.
“And dark,” Sam added. He grimaced a little. “This is a dangerous ritual.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all,” Bobby grimly countered. He handed them another book. “Give that a look.”
Dean glanced at it and raised his eyebrows. “Revelation?”
“The one and only,” Bobby said.
“Trying to get back at me for skipping out on Sunday School all those years?” Dean asked.
“Just read,” Bobby told him tersely. He pointed to another passage in the book, its cover old and torn.
“A demonic army,” Sam breathed. “Most interpretations say that the locusts and the mass destruction--it’s all demons, unleashed on earth.”
Dean huffed. “An army for the demons. Weren’t they enough on their own?”
But it made sense--all of it. It was impossible to confirm this kind of lore without seeing it in action, but it did fit. What had the power to raise the dead? Demons, when they played by the rules. Demons had been making deals for centuries, so maybe the worm pipes were a manifestation of that power.
They’d heard of crazier things--a demon army almost made a twisted kind of sense considering their father’s desperate measures mentality of late. To have possession of it might make a demon able to raise souls at will, without the trade of another. Even more unthinkable, to be able to break out the nastiest demons ever to walk the earth, even those who lay buried under ancient spells made to keep them contained.
It would be chaos and destruction--of the worst kind. Which was exactly what a demon, primed and tortured in Hell for one hundred years, would want.
“Are you sure that’s what he’s doing?” Sam asked Bobby.
Bobby shrugged a little. “At this point, I don’t know.”
And that was the thing-they didn’t know. Dean couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. He believed in what he could see-always had-but then, he’d seen the video. And then he’d heard his father’s voice. He wanted to believe that it was his voice. That it was Dad protecting them. Always protecting him and Sam.
On the other hand, he also saw his father murder an innocent man.
And he’d heard his father’s words. Confessing to the killing, telling him about Hell--but still, protecting them. Always protecting them.
“But can we afford to do nothing and be wrong?” Sam asked, looking at him and Bobby.
Dean knew that, for Sam, sitting on the sidelines would kill him, but it was a question of duty and loyalty. Sam would sit on the sidelines for Dean, if he asked him to.
It was up to Dean to see where his own duty and loyalty lay. With the father who went to Hell for him or with the greater good he knew he had to protect.
Dean didn’t have to pick. Not now. He could go, find their father, and talk some sense into him. His father wasn’t gone yet--Dean just knew it. He had to find him and help him. And if that meant stopping another seal from breaking, even better.
Resolved, Dean asked, “So do we know where this is all going down?”
“John’s been leaving a trail of lightning storms behind him,” Bobby explained. “It was what led the hunter to his trail in Wyoming. And recently, it’s localized someplace else, and been joined by other demonic omens. Some cattle mutilations. Other unexplained things.”
“Sounds like the right trail,” Sam said.
Dean pressed his lips together for a moment, then made a point of flexing his jaw. “Where?”
Bobby sifted through his things, producing a well-marked map. The signs were plotted on it, and a town was circled. “Just outside of White Sulfur Springs, Montana.”
Sam looked grim but determined.
Dean just nodded. “If we leave now, we can be there by morning.”
Sam looked like he wanted to protest leaving so soon, but Dean just glared at him, daring him to object. There was time for planning, there was time for caution: this wasn’t it.
Sam scowled, his face set in a dark approximation of a bitchface, but kept quiet.
Dean was glad. They had work to do.
End of Part 2
Episode 6: Long Days Upon the Land
Original airdate: 2010.02.22.
Summary:
When the boys finally get a trail on their father, Sam and Dean embark on a dangerous journey to find him. However, with Sam preparing for the worst, Dean must ask himself if he can still follow his father’s orders, even if it could cost him everything he has.
Excerpt:
He glanced back at the screen, focusing again, as a dark figure came into the picture.
There was something strangely familiar about it--the way it moved, the shape of it.
The way it wielded the knife as it sliced the guard’s throat.
Sam whispered something like a prayer--or a curse, Dean wasn’t sure which.
In the back of his mind, Dean wondered what the point was. It wasn’t like faith had gotten Sam very far at this point.
Just then, the figure turned to the camera, saluting them. Bobby hit pause on John Winchester’s smiling face caught mid-gesture.
Written by: faye_dartmouth and pinkphoenix1985
Artist: faye_dartmouth
PART TWO
Heart pounding, Dean clutched the phone closer to his ear. He felt terrified and excited all at once. It was almost like he was a kid again, waiting anxiously for Dad’s safe return home. Waiting to know if Dad was okay, that he’d made it through another successful hunt in one piece. Dean had lived for those moments when Dad would come home and the three of them could just be the family they were supposed to be, supporting each other in this frightening reality of monsters and demons. In those moments, they just were a family, a father and his two loving sons. Dean had always believed his dad was a super hero, but that never made the waiting any easier, no matter how old he got.
People died--parents died--and sometimes it was hard for Dean to trust in the fact his father would come back to Sam and him. The possibility was always at the back of his mind, that Dad might go up in smoke and be gone forever, just like Mom.
As hard as it was to believe that Dad could be alive, Dean wanted it to be true. Wanted it so bad he could feel it in his bones. For all the issues, for all the hurt, for everything that happened-he was still Dean’s father. Dean owed him everything and he could never forget that. Not even now.
He swallowed hard. “Dad?”
“Hello, Dean,” John replied.
He tried to think of something to say. Anything. Nothing sounded right.
“Is your brother with you?”
That sounded enough like his dad, always worrying about Sam--and him. About the family. He always wanted Dean to check in with him, let him know that the doors were locked and the salt lines were laid. That Sam was tucked in safe and that the shotgun was loaded.
Dean’s throat tightened. “Sam’s right here,” he said, as he turned his back on Bobby and Sam, in part to keep the conversation private and partly to shield Sam from John even though he wasn’t in the room.
“Always the big brother,” John said, sounding a little amused. “Good to see you didn’t throw out everything I taught you.”
Dean’s heart twinged. How could he ever forget? You have to save your brother or kill him still ran through his mind. No, it was unlikely that he would ever forget. He remembered everything from that first order--take your brother outside as fast as you can--to the last.
“You always were my good soldier, Dean,” John crooned over the line.
The words were a compliment and the inflection was right. But it felt wrong and Dean knew it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew. This wasn’t the man who made the monsters go away. This wasn’t his dad. This wasn’t his hero.
He had to keep it together, though. Whatever this was, he couldn’t afford to tip his hand. He had to let this thing take the lead to see what it wanted.
“Where are you?” he asked, his voice on edge, hand gripping the phone tightly.
“Dean,” John said, sounding a little disappointed. “A smart hunter never reveals his location.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut in anger. This thing wasn’t a hunter. It couldn’t be. It had to be something else.
He opened his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. Sam and Bobby were behind him, closer than Dean felt comfortable with. He tried to keep his voice light. “Just wanted to know what my old man was up to.”
“I’m older than you think,” John replied. “I gave you back a lifetime and gained an eternity for it.”
Dean’s guilt flared in his belly. He took a quick glance at Sam, who looked like he wanted to rip the phone away from him. Bobby just seemed uncomfortable to be witnessing the conversation between father and son, but hell, Bobby was like a father to him and Sam, and Dean was suddenly relieved to have him there. He wasn’t sure he could do this alone.
Dean could handle most things. He could take any supernatural creature and most human ones. But family was his weakness. It was the only thing that really scared him--the thing he was scared to lose, the thing he was scared to need.
Family was about sacrifice. Dean had sacrificed everything for his family. And they’d given him everything in return. It was easier to give than receive, though, and his father’s death hadn’t just been hard because he missed John. It hadn’t even been hard because of his father’s last order.
It had been hard because John had died for Dean. He’d only suspected at first, but the Crossroads Demon had confirmed what Dean had suspected. Their father had made a deal for Dean’s life. Sure, Dean had known what that meant. He’d hunted down the damn demon who offered those deals. But he’d never let himself think about it. An eternity...in Hell.
“Kind of quiet over there, aren’t we?” John asked. “That’s not like you.”
“Well,” Dean said, his throat tight. “Seeing as you are supposed to be dead, I’m having a hard time coming up with something to say.”
“Death seems to be a common Winchester flaw,” John said, then he whistled low and cold. “Some of us just overcome it in better ways than the rest.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and John should have known it. His father could get to him like no one else, but no one threatened Sam--not on his watch. The implication was subtle, but it was there. “Like you?” Dean said, his mouth twisting into a sneer.
“I’m still your father,” John told him flatly. “And I know just what you’re doing.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked, trying to sound cocky, but faltering.
“I know you’ve seen the video.”
Dean swallowed. No more small talk, then. “Bobby seems to think it’s you.”
Beside him, Bobby shifted uncomfortably as Sam edged closer to Dean.
“Bobby never was a very good friend,” John replied coolly.
Dean tried to stay calm. He moved away from Sam, who again tried to grab the phone from him, while avoiding Bobby’s persistent gaze.
“It’s pretty convincing,” Dean said, as he walked towards the kitchen.
“Really?” John asked conversationally. “What part did you like the most? The sneaking? Or maybe the part where I slit the guard’s throat without him even seeing me.”
Dean steeled himself. “The black eyes sort of sell it.”
“I spent over a hundred years in Hell,” John said, and his voice sounded grim. Tired. Resigned.
Dean had recognized shades of his father throughout the conversation, but that tone--that weary acceptance--it was the first time it had been John, one hundred percent, no question. Not just a close approximation, not just an impostor. But John Winchester. His father.
Sam and Bobby had been right about that much.
But they were wrong about the rest. It wasn’t just a sign that this was their father’s body--this was a sign that John Winchester--the hunter, the man, the father--was still in there. No matter what he’d done, no matter what he said--his father was in there, and he was worth saving.
Which meant that Dean would save him. No matter what, Dean would save his father.
John’s voice continued. “Do you know how long that is?” he asked. “How many years of torture? You can’t get out of that without carrying some kind of scar.”
It made Dean want to cry. His father in Hell. Tortured. One hundred years. For him. “So are you--are you...?”
“A demon?” John asked, an air of humor in his voice. “All humans are demons. Some of us just more than others. Ask your brother, Dean. He should understand.”
Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam, who looked a bit desperate. Face pleading, he made another swipe at the phone, but Dean dodged it. With a deep breath, Dean turned away and forced himself to keep it together. “Did you take the pipe?”
“I’ve done what I had to do.”
“So, you really did kill the guard?”
“I already told you that,” John told him simply.
Dean’s mouth clamped shut, his lips thinning. It took an effort to force himself to speak again. “You could have gotten out of there without killing him.”
“There’s a bigger picture, Dean,” John said. “I have things I have to do.”
“What things?” Dean pressed.
“Let’s just say that when I’m done, killing one security guard really won’t seem so bad.”
Dean stifled a curse and closed his eyes. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You can’t not let me,” John said. “More than that, you can’t stop me. This is already in motion, Dean. Consider this your fair warning to stay away. Stay with your brother and don’t follow me.”
With that, the call disconnected, leaving Dean breathless and not knowing what to think.
“Dean?” Sam asked. “What did he say?”
He owed Sam an answer. Bobby, too. But what could he tell them? What was there to say?
“Dean?” Sam asked again.
Dean turned, meeting his brother’s eyes briefly. Then, looking down, he just shook his head. “We have to go.”
“Go?” Sam asked. “Dean, go where--what did Dad--”
“Sam, I don’t know!” he snapped, his entire body feeling tense.
“Don’t know what? If it was him? What he wanted? Dean, come on--”
“Damn it, Sam, give me a minute,” Dean said, looking at Sam again, a hint of desperation and fury in his eyes. “We just saw the video and you and Bobby want to charge in guns blazing and then Dad calls and tells me to stay the hell away.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. “Stay away? From what? What’s he planning--”
“Just stop,” Dean said. He didn’t try to hide the undercurrent of pleading in his voice. “Just--stop. Please.”
At that, Sam swallowed, looking stricken. He nodded shortly. “What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly.
“Just--give me some time,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair. “I need to think.”
With that, he left Sam and Bobby downstairs and walked up to the room that he and Sam shared, grateful that neither of them followed.
-o-
In all the years they’d been coming to Bobby’s, the place never really changed. Sure, sometimes it was messier than others, and the selection of books out and about was always changing, but beyond that, it was about as consistent as anything had been in their childhood. The spare room where he and Sam slept had the same clapboard paneling and faded orange shag carpeting. It would be an interior decorator’s nightmare, but Dean had always liked the ambiance it gave.
Especially in the weeks following their father’s death. With the Impala in Bobby’s shop, this had been the closest Dean had to home.
It wasn’t much comfort now.
Not with his father out there--not dead, but part demon. Stealing ancient artifacts. Killing people. Telling him to stay away.
Dean was a good soldier. He always followed orders. Which meant he should just hole up here, spend some more time in Bobby’s shop and pretend like he’d never seen that video or gotten that phone call.
That was what good soldiers did. They followed orders.
This one was hard to follow.
He’d had hard orders before. Orders to hold position even when something was charging him. Orders to let Sam play bait even though he knew it could get Sam hurt. Orders to stay locked in a motel room when he wanted to be out there, hunting with his dad. Orders that if he didn’t save Sam, he might have to kill him.
Dean had doubted before, but he didn’t disobey.
He didn’t.
Sighing, he flopped back on his bed. It was still unmade, and he stared at the ceiling. He had failed a few of them, but straight out mutiny? After his father had gone to Hell for him?
It wasn’t right.
But nothing was right about this. Nothing had been right since the night Azazel had possessed their father in the cabin. That night, the demon had tried to rip Dean’s insides out through his mouth. It had been the worst pain he’d ever known.
It didn’t hold a candle to this.
It still felt like there was a hand in his gut, crushing and turning. Dean wasn’t bleeding, but he felt like he was. All of his emotions, all of his faith and stability--they were hemorrhaging away. From losing Sam in Cold Oak, to getting him back, from Sam’s nightmares of the afterlife, to his own that he didn’t understand, from their father’s mysterious appearance, to John’s dark agenda.
And what was Dean going to do about it? He’d been helpless in the cabin in Missouri. He’d been helpless in Cold Oak. He’d been helpless in Wyoming. He didn’t want to be helpless now.
He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.
He’d been wrong in Chicago after the confrontation with Meg and the Daevas. They weren’t better off apart. They were stronger together.
Dean just needed them together.
He owed his father so much. He owed it to him to be the good soldier--the good son.
If only he knew what that meant.
A soft knock came at the door.
Surprised, Dean sat up, hoping his uncertainty wasn’t showing.
The door cracked open and his brother’s head appeared. “Dean?” Sam asked. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Just peachy.”
Sam nodded a little. “I thought you might be hungry.” He gave a half hearted shrug. “Lunch is downstairs if you want to eat.”
“Sure,” Dean said. “Just give me a sec.”
Sam hesitated in the doorway, but after a long moment, he nodded. “Okay,” he said simply, turning back and closing the door behind him.
Dean listened as Sam’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. Dean wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, but Sam was a part of this, too. They all were. Whatever decisions Dean made, they would affect them all.
Which made it Dean’s responsibility. Just like it always had been.
This time, however, he couldn’t afford to fail.
-o-
Half an hour later, Sam found himself aimlessly pushing his dinner around on his plate. It had been a few hours since Dad had called Dean. His brother hadn’t said much about it, but Sam knew that it wasn’t good. He glanced at Dean, who was staring off into space not eating any of his meal. Sam just wished Dean could trust him enough to let him in.
But that seemed about the way it went. If there was a major secret, Sam couldn’t be trusted with it, not by anyone.
He couldn’t help but wonder if they were all correct.
He peered over at his brother, who looked miserable and withdrawn. Sam had never seen his brother like this. Not since...not since their father died.
Dad had always that effect on Dean. His brother continually wanted to do the best he could by their father even when it wasn’t rational. It would all be easier to swallow if Sam knew what Dean was thinking. But sometimes Dean was like their dad in more ways than he’d admit. When things got tough, Dean got need-to-know, and to that, Sam had no recourse.
He glanced over at Bobby’s empty chair. Bobby had finished quickly so he could go back and continue researching. Research--that was something that Sam should be doing, but he honestly didn’t know where to start looking. And he wasn’t sure his brother would let him even if he tried.
Sam sighed to himself, he really should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t. He had to know. He always had. “What did he sound like?” he asked.
Dean looked at him, glaring a bit.
“Dad, I mean,” Sam continued awkwardly.
Dean scowled. “I know who you meant.”
Sam hesitated but asked again.
Dean shrugged and replied softly. “It sounded like Dad.”
“And?”
“And what, Sammy?” Dean growled, clearly wary of the way this conversation was headed. Sam recognized that tone--the angry big brother, one step down from a drill sergeant father. Sam was the last in line for the chain of command and he was generally on the need-to-know.
At least, that was how it had always been. Too much had happened since Sam’s childhood. Sam wouldn’t stand for it now--and they couldn’t afford it. Not with their father’s life possibly on the line. “Dean, I need to know,” he persisted. “You can’t protect me from this forever. What did Dad say? Do you think that it’s really him?”
“Sam, this isn’t something you need to know.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam said with an indignant snort. “Just like I didn’t need to know what Dad’s last order to you was.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed at him. “Yeah, since you handled it so well.”
“Don’t change the subject, Dean,” Sam said. “We’re talking about Dad.”
“No, you’re talking about Dad,” Dean pointed out.
“Dean, I deserve to know.”
Dean gave a weary sigh, his eyes going to the ceiling. “Sam--”
Sam would not relinquish this. Not now. “Dean--”
“Fine!” Dean snapped, turning fiery eyes back to Sam. “I’ll tell you what he said-he said he gave up his life for me and it landed him in Hell. Not just for a year, but one hundred years. A hundred years being tortured by demons in Hell. That’s the price he paid for my life!”
Sam had wanted answers, and he’d suspected it would be bad, but the truth of it was harder than he imagined. “Hell?” Sam asked, going a little numb. They’d suspected that John had made a deal, but they’d never had confirmation until now. They’d never even talked about it, not since the hunt with the Crossroads Demon.
Sam had always thought he’d like to know for sure, that somehow it would help him make peace.
It didn’t.
“Hell,” Dean confirmed, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then he met Sam’s eyes again, and Sam could see the pain written clearly in them. “Anything else you think you need to know?”
Sam felt his heart skip a beat. His brother looked miserable. “This isn’t your fault,” he said, easily moving from anger to concern.
But once a big brother, always a big brother. Dean didn’t want to hear it. “No, it is my fault, Sammy,” Dean said. “If he never made that deal for me, I would be dead and he wouldn’t have had to suffer in Hell!”
“Yeah, you’d be dead,” Sam pointed out. “Dad did what he had to do.”
“And look what good it did him,” Dean told him. “No wonder he doesn’t want me anywhere near him. How am I supposed to even go on living knowing what he gave up for me?”
“Dean, that’s not the way it is,” Sam said.
“Yeah?” Dean asked. “Then tell me, smart ass. How is it?”
Sam inhaled, pressing his lips together. “Dad made that decision by himself because he loved you and wanted to save you,” he whispered softly.
Dean silently stared at his plate, his expression thoughtful. “I know,” he said. “Which is why we have to do this the right way.”
Sam cocked his head. “Do what the right way?”
“Go after Dad the right way,” Dean said, looking up and meeting Sam’s eyes with a new intensity. “I just know that Dad’s still in there somewhere, trying to break whatever has a hold on him. We’ve got to save him. I’ve got to save him”
Sam nodded. His brother was truly passionate about few things, but family was one of them. It was something Sam had never doubted in his brother, that no matter what, Dean would do what needed to be done. It was his brother’s greatest strength. No matter what they agreed or disagreed on, Sam had to support his brother as best he could.
“If we can-we should try and save him,” Sam said. Then he paused, hesitating. “But Dean, you also have to realize that there’s also a chance that it really is Dad in there and not a demon just wearing his meatsuit.”
Sam flinched as Dean’s gaze hardened into a glare. He could read that look as well, when Dean was past his limit. His brother had a short fuse that could be easily lit, and Sam knew he was treading on dangerous ground. It was a tightrope between protecting Dean’s life and protecting Dean’s heart. He had to preserve Dean’s hope in their father’s well-being while also making sure Dean was prepared for this hunt--no matter how it went down.
For all they knew, that was Dad’s real voice, and there was a chance that he had become a demon. Which would be worse than possession, worse than a shifter. It was the worst case scenario, plain and simple. Sam didn’t want it to be true, but he knew Winchesters weren’t overly lucky when it came to this kind of thing.
More than that, Sam knew that there was no way that Dad would accept living the rest of eternity as a demon. The least they could do to respect him was to kill him so that he could rest in peace.
Dean knew it, too. He just didn’t want to admit it.
Finally, his brother sighed. “Yeah,” Dean nodded at Sam. “If we can’t save him, we’ll kill him.”
Sam bit his lip and nodded back.
The decision was made.
-o-
After Dean and Sam finished eating and cleared their plates off the table, they went to the library area where Bobby was already knee deep in research, books strewn all around him and looking more than a little wild eyed.
As they found places to sit down and join him in research-Dean sitting closer to him while Sam sat further away--Bobby looked up.
“Good of you idjits to come and join me.”
Dean chuckled. “So what have you found so far?”
“Well, I can’t be sure since the lore on the apocalypse is all over the place,” Bobby said. “I mean, we’ve got the Christian tradition, Jewish interpretations, Muslim beliefs, and that doesn’t even begin to touch the pagan stuff. But I think that I’ve finally found a lead on the pipe.”
Sam got up to see what Bobby was talking about while Dean leaned over. Bobby opened an old, heavy looking book and pointed to a passage written half in Latin and half in Old English.
“Well, the original story talks about how the pipe brought back the man’s wife,” Bobby said.
“Yeah, but it dates back way further than that,” Sam said.
“Exactly. So I traced some other ancient nomadic tribes and found a hit on a special medicinal pipe in a Nordic legend,” Bobby said.
Dean made a face. “Nordic seems pretty far removed from the Native Americans.”
“I know,” Bobby said. “But we don’t know who the Worm People were or where they were from.”
“So how can we be sure it’s the right legend?”
Bobby pursed his lips, pointing to the page. “Look at the details,” he said.
Dean let his eyes pass over the page. His knowledge of ancient languages was hit and miss, but he could make out enough of the Latin to start to get a sense. The pieces fell into place slowly, and a sense of trepidation came over him.
Sam beat him to it. “This is more than a simple ritual to raise the dead,” he said, sounding a little surprised. He glanced up, looking from Dean to Bobby.
“Yep,” Bobby confirmed. “I mean, the power to raise humans--that’s some dark stuff. This? Is a whole lot more And it says here that the pipe is an essential component, and it’s pretty damn powerful. It can raise anything or anyone.”
Dean sat back, thinking. “So who would Dad want to raise bad enough to steal the pipe?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Bobby continued. “This pipe has demonic origins up the wazoo.”
“Demons,” Sam said. “It can raise demons, can’t it?”
“Seems that way,” Bobby said. “My guess is that John or the demon isn’t trying to break open a seal-not yet anyway. He’s trying to gather forces to help break one open. These seals must be some powerful stuff. He can’t do it without some backup.”
“Raising demons, huh?” Dean asked with grim humor. “Sounds like a hell of a party we’re going to be invited to…”
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean and turned back to Bobby. “How can we be sure it’s this ritual he’s trying to perform?”
“We can’t,” Bobby said. “But it’s my best guess.”
“So, let’s say he is trying to raise demons,” Dean said carefully. “How would he go about doing it? It’s got to be harder than the Native American legend says.”
“It is,” Bobby said, opening other old tomes and pointing to the relevant passages. “Take a look.”
Sam picked one up and handed another to Dean so they could both read the passages.
Dean read his section where key points such as using a certain type of herb mix to create a type of smoke that could raise the dead or using the pipe on the night of a full moon jumped out at him.
He glanced at Sam, who looked grim as he read his passage.
“Wow, some seriously detailed mojo,” Dean said.
“And dark,” Sam added. He grimaced a little. “This is a dangerous ritual.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all,” Bobby grimly countered. He handed them another book. “Give that a look.”
Dean glanced at it and raised his eyebrows. “Revelation?”
“The one and only,” Bobby said.
“Trying to get back at me for skipping out on Sunday School all those years?” Dean asked.
“Just read,” Bobby told him tersely. He pointed to another passage in the book, its cover old and torn.
“A demonic army,” Sam breathed. “Most interpretations say that the locusts and the mass destruction--it’s all demons, unleashed on earth.”
Dean huffed. “An army for the demons. Weren’t they enough on their own?”
But it made sense--all of it. It was impossible to confirm this kind of lore without seeing it in action, but it did fit. What had the power to raise the dead? Demons, when they played by the rules. Demons had been making deals for centuries, so maybe the worm pipes were a manifestation of that power.
They’d heard of crazier things--a demon army almost made a twisted kind of sense considering their father’s desperate measures mentality of late. To have possession of it might make a demon able to raise souls at will, without the trade of another. Even more unthinkable, to be able to break out the nastiest demons ever to walk the earth, even those who lay buried under ancient spells made to keep them contained.
It would be chaos and destruction--of the worst kind. Which was exactly what a demon, primed and tortured in Hell for one hundred years, would want.
“Are you sure that’s what he’s doing?” Sam asked Bobby.
Bobby shrugged a little. “At this point, I don’t know.”
And that was the thing-they didn’t know. Dean couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. He believed in what he could see-always had-but then, he’d seen the video. And then he’d heard his father’s voice. He wanted to believe that it was his voice. That it was Dad protecting them. Always protecting him and Sam.
On the other hand, he also saw his father murder an innocent man.
And he’d heard his father’s words. Confessing to the killing, telling him about Hell--but still, protecting them. Always protecting them.
“But can we afford to do nothing and be wrong?” Sam asked, looking at him and Bobby.
Dean knew that, for Sam, sitting on the sidelines would kill him, but it was a question of duty and loyalty. Sam would sit on the sidelines for Dean, if he asked him to.
It was up to Dean to see where his own duty and loyalty lay. With the father who went to Hell for him or with the greater good he knew he had to protect.
Dean didn’t have to pick. Not now. He could go, find their father, and talk some sense into him. His father wasn’t gone yet--Dean just knew it. He had to find him and help him. And if that meant stopping another seal from breaking, even better.
Resolved, Dean asked, “So do we know where this is all going down?”
“John’s been leaving a trail of lightning storms behind him,” Bobby explained. “It was what led the hunter to his trail in Wyoming. And recently, it’s localized someplace else, and been joined by other demonic omens. Some cattle mutilations. Other unexplained things.”
“Sounds like the right trail,” Sam said.
Dean pressed his lips together for a moment, then made a point of flexing his jaw. “Where?”
Bobby sifted through his things, producing a well-marked map. The signs were plotted on it, and a town was circled. “Just outside of White Sulfur Springs, Montana.”
Sam looked grim but determined.
Dean just nodded. “If we leave now, we can be there by morning.”
Sam looked like he wanted to protest leaving so soon, but Dean just glared at him, daring him to object. There was time for planning, there was time for caution: this wasn’t it.
Sam scowled, his face set in a dark approximation of a bitchface, but kept quiet.
Dean was glad. They had work to do.
End of Part 2