Death in Appalachia, Chapter 12: Ground, Center and Shield
Authors: atana_blackfox & paintercrow
Summary: Sam and Dean resurface on the radar of the Hunting and Guardian community. Some of them have plans for the Winchester brothers.
Rating/Warning: Mature (NC-17), Warnings for story overall. Swearing (most chapters). Rape and torture chapters have separate warnings. Character deaths (Ballad novels/OCs). Sex--both hetero and homosexual.
Disclaimer: We do not own the Supernatural or Ballad novel story elements.
Death in Appalachia, Chapter 12: Ground, Center and Shield
Summary: Sam and Dean resurface on the radar of the Hunting and Guardian community. Some of them have plans for the Winchester brothers.
The sun was warm and caressed her skin tenuously like the memory of a beloved but long dead lover. The soil beneath her knees held a certain cool dampness as she carefully cut rotted cucumbers from vines. Vera hoped that they would be able to save something from the gardens, as she looked nervously at her hulking companion. Sam was so strong, both physically and psychically and he was also very intelligent with a certain rugged but sensitive good looks. Strange, you’d think a combination of so many gifts would lead to a full and happy life. Instead, Sam had a tragic childhood full of grief and was teetering on the edge of madness. She watched him for a moment, smiling at Starlight’s white paws scattering dirt as she kept attacking Sam’s boot laces. So strange that he had such a tiny and delicate familiar while he was a modern day Hercules. He could kill her by accidentally stepping on her, but he was so aware of where Starlight was every moment.
Vera kept her shields tightly in place. She would admit to no one how terrified she was of Sam. As a tall woman, she wasn’t used to being around someone so much taller than she was. It made her feel unsettled. What truly scared her was his immense psychic ability. If she had started training him when his abilities first began manifesting and she was fully rested and in good shape it would still have been a challenge. If Sam had half a clue how to do it, he could kill her with little more than a thought right now. Vera was horrified when she found out that Jay had tried training Sam. She was relieved that Jay wasn’t hurt. She didn’t believe that Sam would purposely try to hurt Jay, but he could have done so easily. She didn’t tell Jay. She knew her nephew too well. Telling him that Sam could have killed him accidentally would only make the brat try to prove her wrong. Vera just hoped that what Nora Bonesteel said about having deeper power here was right. Vera was going to need every bit of it to keep them all alive and sane. She just hoped that the coming storm would hold off long enough for her to recover from her exhaustion and Sam’s unintentional attack.
Sam froze suddenly as he was standing up with an overripe tomato in his hand. He paled under his sun-darkened skin. Vera could feel anxiety suddenly rolling off of him.
“Dean,” she thought he whispered. She felt the thought from him more than she heard the name. The tomato plants and cucumber vines next to him started quivering and twitching. Star began mewling and tried climbing up his jeans. Vera felt numb with shock. Sam had telekinetic abilities. Sam was feeling things outside the farm’s wards without even trying to reach out beyond them. Sam had a telepathic link to his brother. For a split second Vera wondered if vomit was good fertilizer. She forced her fear down, firmed her shields and centered herself. Vera reminded herself that she was a Priestess of the Gods. Sam could not know her fear; she could not allow it to master her.
Vera’s cell started ringing. She answered it quickly knowing who it would be.
“Calm down Jay. What happened?” Sam’s eyes flickered to hers. Sam’s eyes held the fire of rage; Vera’s the icy calm of command.
“No, stay there,” she ordered her nephew. “We’re coming to get you. No, Sam is not going to hide. We’re going to confront the lion in its den. None of us have time for this.” She hung up continuing to stare at Sam.
“Dean’s been arrested. We are going to get Nora Bonesteel and head down to the sheriff’s station. On the way, could you fill me in on how Dean is dead and a suspected serial killer?”
~*~
Sheriff Spencer Arrowood knew he was going to have a bad day when his mother requested he come to the station before the dispatcher Kelly radioed him. It was Sunday, so the fact that Kelly was at the station at all was a worry all its own. Apparently LeDonne had arrested a dead serial killer. He had no idea how bad a day it was going to be until he walked through the door. When Spencer saw the collection of people in the station he almost turned around and walked back out. This assembly could only mean one thing; he would have to acknowledge the existence of the shadowy world of spirits. The world that he tried to pretend didn’t exist.
He had known most of the group in the office his entire life.
Nora Bonesteel had been his Sunday school teacher as a child and is a close friend of his mother. She was known to have the Sight, as the old folks called it, and helped him after he almost died a while back. Over the years, she had sent him a lot of information about his cases through his mother. Information he could use while ignoring the source. Nora was looking even more severe than usual.
Old Rattler had taught him tracking as a child. He still looked up to the old man. He’d help them catch a serial killer a few years back and rescued LeDonne under strange circumstances last year. Betsy and Jude Rice were here as well, looking outraged. Jude looked like he had gotten off his death bed. Zek Phillips was here as well, looking grim and official. Spencer wondered who was paying for the lawyer’s time.
Next his eyes rested on Vera Kesterson, the new librarian, looking like she was about to breathe fire and her nephew Jay. Crap, if Jay was involved Vera wouldn’t settle for anything less than blood. She seemed to have her fair share of the famous Kesterson temper.
Then there was that hulking youngster that had been helping out at the Rice’s KOA. His scowl was absolutely brutal, directed at LeDonne as if he could rip him apart with his eyes. LeDonne was leaning against the door leading to the holding area. He looked as if he were under siege and willing to hold the door like the defenders at the Alamo. Kelly was bravely still sitting at her desk, looking like a captain determined to go down with the ship if duty and honor demanded.
Finally there was his mother in full self-righteous outrage, looking at him like the time she caught him making out with Susan Wyler behind the First Union Baptist Church. Sheriff Arrowood struggled not to feel like a misbehaving teenager that had just been caught. They were all staring at him, either in silent fury or somber quietness.
“Spencer,” Zek began in an old man’s high-pitched and decrepit voice, sounding all of his 79 years. “We have a problem here. Deputy LeDonne has assaulted and arrested a dead man. Jay Kesterson witnessed the assault and is willing to testify. Unless you want a lawsuit brought against the county and a report made to the TBI (Tennessee Bureau of Investigation), I suggest you release Mr. Smith with an apology.” Spencer found the tall, flatlander kid he didn’t know glaring at him now, as if he were daring him to say no. Papers began rattling on Kelly’s desk. She flatted her hands on them and looked around the office for the source of the disturbance.
Vera Kesterson scowled and grabbed the kid’s arm. “Sam!” There was a definite note of warning in her voice.
LeDonne finally spoke up. “Spencer, I think we should talk in private.” His voice was cold as steel even though it was obvious his temper was up.
Spencer shook his head. “Whatever it is LeDonne, I think we should just talk about it out here. It’ll save us from having to repeat anything.” LeDonne looked like he was about to protest but sneered in the direction of Vera Kesterson.
“I did a little bit of checking. The ’67 Impala that the suspect drives is actually registered to a Dean Winchester. Winchester has a long record, including assault and battery, theft, ID scams, fraud and jumping bail in so many jurisdictions I lost count. Most recently, he was a suspect in some killings in Missouri, where he was supposedly killed. Now we have a string of murders here and the guy driving his car looks a lot like Winchester’s mug shot.” LeDonne’s eyes flicked to Sam; he was in no way intimidated by him, even though Sam was over a half foot taller. “I agreed not to arrest his brother here until you arrived. This doesn’t even begin to cover everything that I found in the trunk. Sick bastards.” The florescent lights overhead flickered.
Nora Bonesteel parted the crowd of people to get closer to him. “Spencer, these boys are not behind the killings, but they could be what will stop them.” Spencer felt his heart drop to his feet. Looking into Miss Bonesteel’s bright blue eyes, undimmed by her great age, he knew what she was talking about. Looking over her shoulder he saw Old Rattler, looking strange and remote, but he nodded in agreement with her. There was something different about Rattler; unlike his usual easy going and talkative self, he seemed withdrawn and quiet. Harder somehow. He glanced at Vera Kesterson. He had seen her angry before, usually when she was calling to report teen-aged antics. Those times were nothing compared to now. A fire burned in her face that he never suspected. She was here with Nora and Rattler. He swallowed and now understood why the Kesterson’s were coming back after almost two generations. In a perverse way it comforted him.
Then Spencer remembered that the deaths started several weeks before the flatlander brothers appeared in Wake County. He closed his eyes feeling sick. He was about to go against every law enforcement procedure in the book. The unwritten rule in Wake County was the sheriff's department didn’t ask too many questions of folks like Nora and Rattler, and they didn’t tell you anymore than you needed to know. They sure didn’t tell you how or why they knew, and you certainly never considered them suspects. LeDonne had been here for a long while, but he wasn’t from these parts.
Spencer didn’t blink when he looked at LeDonne. “Release him and destroy any paperwork you’ve done. Contact any other law enforcement agencies you’ve talked to and tell them it was a mistake. Bury this.”
LeDonne glared at him in disbelief. “Spencer, what are you doing?”
Spencer felt icily calm. “Do it. Then we need to talk.” When he turned to the Rice’s his manner warmed considerably. “Thank you for coming down and helping clear this up. Jude, try to get some rest. We’re all praying for you.” He said as he shook his hand gently. He clapped Zek on the shoulder and managed a grin. “See you in court next week.”
As the Rice’s and the lawyer were walking out the door, LeDonne turned and jerked the door leading to the holding cells open. Sam was right on his heels; Kelly threw Spencer a wild look. Spencer knew that this was not a good idea, especially if Dean was roughed up. Spencer quickly wove his way through the bodies in the office to catch up to the two of them. LeDonne turned and shoved Sam back. The kid looked like he was about to go after LeDonne.
“Sam!” Vera shouted.
“LeDonne!” Spencer bellowed. Both LeDonne and Sam fell back sullenly. “LeDonne, go wait in my office.” The deputy looked murderous. The situation was far too explosive. Spencer knew how protective family members could be of one another. People in these mountains killed for family. Kin was sacred. Family feuds dating from before the Civil War were still remembered here, even if they were no longer acted on. LeDonne was a good deputy and the fact that he didn’t come from Wake County was usually an asset. Today it was a dangerous deficit. LeDonne had been estranged from his kin for well over a decade. He loved the community as a whole, but he didn’t understand the ties of bone and blood. Sam barely got out of his way to let him pass and then bolted down the corridor.
“Dean!” he shouted. His voice echoed terribly off the cinder block walls. Spencer chased after him with Vera on his heels. There were only two holding cells. When Sam found his brother he grabbed the bars and jerked the door open. Spencer winced, wondering how much it was going to cost to replace the lock.
~8~
“Could you not yell so loud, Sammy?” Dean asked as he clutched the right side of his head as he sat on the cell’s bunk. Sam noticed the cut marks on his wrists from the handcuffs. Dean was looking down and to the side, refusing to meet his brother’s gaze. Sam knelt down next to him and gently pulled Dean’s arm away his head and noticed the bluish knot above his temple that his hand was covering. If Sam was enraged by the fact that Dean had been hurt, he was infuriated that Dean was trying to block him out. He couldn’t, though, and Sam could feel Dean’s bruised gut and his mild concussion.
Dean stood up carefully. “No Sam, I’ll take care of him myself.”
Sam surged to his feet turning, but Vera had followed him to the cell and was blocking his exit. It was obvious he was about to go after Deputy LeDonne.
“No.” Vera said firmly, her green eyes looking up to meet Sam’s hazel ones. Sam’s lips were compressed in a thin line and his fists were clenched. Vera was standing ramrod still, feet planted and looking like she was rooted to the earth itself.
Sam could feel his anger flowing through him, drowning out reason. He was experiencing a hot and prickling rage within himself that was laced with power. Sam felt that he could take that rage and shatter not only the air around him but everyone and everything in it. He could feel everyone's emotions, fear, anger, sadness pressing in on him and he just wanted to push them all away so he could breathe. He scrunched his eyes closed and turned away from Vera towards the wall, away from everyone.
Vera walked over and gently touched his shoulder. “Sam, can you trust me?” She asked quietly. Sam started and turned his head slightly to look at her. Her face was somber, but open, showing concern. That made Sam willing to nod to her. She seemed to understand what was happening to him. Vera was asking, not demanding in the way Dean was, or the sheriff or even Jay. She had him turn and then took both of his hands in hers.
“Remember what Jay taught you about grounding and centering?” She asked in a calm voice. When Sam nodded she continued. “That’s what I want you to do right now for me, okay?” He nodded again, his jaw set and lips stiff.
Vera was both relieved and terrified. Sam was willing to let her help him, but she was scared of trying to handle the enormous output of psychic energy he was producing. Not only that, he was also a hairsbreadth away from violently releasing that terrible power with potentially deadly consequences. She had never before faced a psychic as powerful as Sam on the verge of going rogue. She wondered if he could take out the entire town of Hamelin.
Sam felt her draining the energy boiling within him. For a moment he flared and resisted until he realized that she was feeding him back an equal amount of energy that felt soothing and pure. He was still angry, but not out of control. He relaxed and let himself sink into Vera’s psychic hands.
Vera strained to her limits, feeding Sam’s power into the earth to help ground and clean it before pulling it back up again to give back to Sam. She trembled trying to funnel this raw power, trying to keep back tears as she struggled under the strain. She called silently to her Goddess and reached down into the earth deeper than she had ever before…
A still point. The energy that was beginning to dangerously backlog as Sam fed her too much, too fast, was now as smooth as a scarf of fine silk being passed between them. Vera sighed, reveling into the ease of it. After a moment it was complete. Vera leaned back against the wall, drained but triumphant. She was able to ground Sam and he trusted her enough to let her. Nora Bonesteel was right. Even as tired as she was, she was able to do it. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it was going to be easy, but at least she was no longer afraid to train Sam.
~8~
Lynn Stewart yawned and stretched in her chair. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in the Order of the Comacine's North American Emergency Center. The last hunter group that needed help was the Isis-Horus Temple, a Golden Dawn based group. The five hunters had run across a nasty nest of vampires in Eureka, California. They’d wiped out the nest, but desperately needed medical help.
It was Lynn's turn to work the mandatory week long shift in the emergency center. She guessed it could be worse. At least it was the middle of the summer this year, last year she pulled her shift in mid-winter. She stood up to pace. It wasn’t her place to question her superiors, but some days she wondered why the emergency center was in Upstate New York. The various assistance teams were dispatched from all around North America, but still!
“Got something!” Lynn frowned at the excitement in her partner’s voice. Zip (short for Zipactonal) Valdez was a nineteen-year old linguistics hot shot who already spoke six languages fluently.
“Looks interesting!” he continued to be enthused, his brown eyes shining in his dark face. “Dean Winchester, and there’s some high priority notes on him!”
Lynn froze for a moment at that name before she pushed Zip away from the monitor. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Dean Winchester. Wake County Tennessee Sheriff’s Department asking for information, but a few hours later withdrawing the request. Zip hovered like an excited but hurt puppy.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re too young to remember. Very strange case. The mother died in some sort of supernatural attack that even we didn’t recognize. The father, John Winchester, went nuts and started hunting, no training, self taught. Major loose cannon; causing all sorts of havoc before he figured out to how to cover up behind himself.” Lynn sighed bitterly. “The worst part is that he insisted on hauling his two sons with him. The oldest, Dean, was about five and the other was only six months.” Zip gaped at her for a moment before Lynn nodded. He still wasn’t allowed out in the field yet.
“The youngest was a very, very powerful psychic. Several of us contacted John Winchester, trying to get him to join up with a Guardian or Hunter group for his both his son’s sake. Every time he pulled a gun and told us to get lost. We actually planned on taking the boys from him, but each time he disappeared on us. He imprinted the need to hide so deeply on the boys that the youngest, Sam, began to hide them psychically without realizing what he was doing. After that we lost track of them, getting only the occasional sighting. We know John Winchester bought it in Sacramento last year. We heard the elder brother, Dean, died in Missouri a few months ago but we weren’t sure because of shape-shifter activity. We haven't had a reporting of Sam for at least five years now.” Lynn looked thoughtfully at the monitor for a few moments as she tapped her nail on the desk.
“Put together a general purpose team. If Dean is there, we owe it to him to try to make contact again. With his dad dead, he may want to join a hunter group. If his brother is still alive, we need to get him help. We failed the Winchester sons all those years ago, and we have to try to make it right.”
~8~
It was hard for them to materialize in full daylight, but rape and blood fueled them with enough energy. Now they could glide through the shadows to take the Warrior-to-be and feast again on blood. The Warrior had no psychic abilities, and made for easy prey. Once they had dispatched the Warrior they would lure the young psychic Hunter and the stripling Guardian off the covenstead. The covenstead was too protected to even touch. But just beyond the boundaries they were not constrained at all. Both targets would bolt beyond the wards to rescue their next victim. Then they would be theirs.
~8~
Joe LeDonne glared at Spencer as Martha walked into the office. “You can’t really believe this shit.” He stated flatly.
“Joe, I know it all sounds crazy, but I don’t want to talk about it.” Spencer had a mulish glint in his eye.
“You are just going to take their word for it that a ghost or devil of some sort is behind these deaths.” LeDonne’s voice was low, even though the three of them were the only ones in Spencer’s spartan office.
“Do you have a better explanation? I’d like to hear it if you do.” The Winchesters, Kestersons, Old Rattler, Nora and his mother had all left. Finally.
Martha’s eyes widened as she began to understand the topic of conversation. “Oh.”
LeDonne turned to include her in his glare.
“LeDonne, listen,” Spencer tried again. “The subject is closed. Martha and Rattler will go out tomorrow, you take second shift and I’ll pull a double. Clayt Stargill is going to help us search on Tuesday. Just do your normal patrols.” LeDonne glowered for a moment and then left the office. Spencer slumped in his chair wearily and caught Martha up on the overall situation.
~8~
Michael “Stand Down” Jensen jerked awake in bed, breathing harshly into his pillow. He looked over at his latest bedmate, a snoring, drunken socialite. They had passed an unremarkable evening followed by barely adequate sex, she was a lousy lay. He slid carefully out of bed hoping she wouldn’t wake up and demand any more of his attention. Michael threw on a robe and went downstairs to sit in a lounge chair on the beach.
If anyone had been told that Mike Jensen, head of the Order of the Comacine’s North American Emergency Centre and all around scoundrel and bad boy, had nightmares over the memory of a four-year old they would either laugh or think it was a very bad joke. It had been during Mike’s first field assignment, the particulars were fuzzy, and he only remembered that it had been someplace in Colorado and that it was cold as hell. He was all of twenty-one when he suddenly found himself face to face with the Winchester “family” in the parking lot of a nameless convenience store. Mike still remembered those little hazel eyes, looking up at him from behind the dirty, faded jeans of his half-drunk father. The kid was filthy and his lip was bloody from a freshly picked scab. The older kid was maybe all of nine at the time and looked tense and tired, with an ugly half-healed bruise from his left cheekbone to chin. Mike couldn’t tell who the kid was more afraid of--his dad or him. Later he found out their names. He’d been briefed on them a few months before, but being a swaggering, self-centered brat he hadn’t paid attention. Why would he care about a couple of kids?
Mike had been "Found" early in life by the Order, an act for which he was now grateful. He had grown up as a little princeling, having the rare and powerful combination of both physical and psychic healing gifts. The literal "laying on of hands" type of healing, the kind seen once, maybe twice in a generation. He was doted on by the Order, he never experienced hunger and other than in training, he had never been hurt. He had heard of abuse, neglect and poverty and thought it was horrible, of course, but this was the first time he had actually seen and Felt it. He saw it in the eyes of little Sammy Winchester. The kid was strong enough at four to project a feral hunger that Mike didn’t even know could exist.
It was also the first time that Michael had ever looked down the barrel of a gun.
His eyes had snapped from Sammy to the snarling face of John Winchester. Apparently the kid had Felt on some level that he was a healer and had wandered away from his dad and older brother to tug on his jacket as Mike was getting into his rental car. Mike had been to slow to understand, and just stood there gawping for precious seconds at the dirty child before understanding who he was. Daddy apparently decided that he was some kind of pervert that was trying to lure Sam away. Mike had tried to reason with John, but he was caught off guard and too inexperienced. He just stood there stammering and watched helplessly as John Winchester took the kids. Mike still remembered Sam gazing back at him over his father’s shoulder as John carried him away.
Mike should have tried stalling and called out to the rest of the team. He should have snagged Sam up and ran. He should have knocked John Winchester on his ass and held a gun on him until the team got there. Mike was armed. Everyone was armed in the field.
Mike wasn’t arrogant enough to blame himself for the tragedy that was the Winchester family, but he did carry the burden of knowing that he had the chance to intervene and had blown it. Other Orders, like the Priory and the Knights, had tried to save the kids, as well as smaller Hunter and Guardian groups. Sam began safeguarding the family with his newly-awakened power. He hid them so well that the strongest of psychics had a hard time finding them.
Now the alarm had been raised that Sam and Dean Winchester might still be alive. Everyone wanted to be on the contact team; but Mike was pulling rank. He was going to be on that team. He could heal with a touch, but it took so much out of him that his opportunities were limited. He was only supposed to heal Order members when they were in danger of dying or from permanent injury. To heal someone outside the Order required the direct permission of Hradani Tudor, the Mistress of the Full Order of the Comacine Masters. The rules be damned, if either one of the Winchester brothers were still alive he’d heal every hurt they had, right down to a busted lip. It was the least he could do. There was something else that no one knew about him except for his accountant. Mike donated twenty percent of all his income to programs for homeless and abused children, starting the day he saw Sam. He did it out of the hope that the money he gave would go to a program that might help Sam and Dean Winchester.
Mike Jensen was going to ensure that the Winchester brothers received the help they needed, whether they wanted it or not. He certainly was not going to watch Sam get away from him a second time. Mike knew he could take Sam on psychically, especially if he had the physical back up. It didn’t matter how strong a psychic a person was, they’d still go down if you hit them hard enough and fast enough in the right place. Sam couldn’t have had any serious psychic training, and with his childhood, there should be plenty of weak spots to hit. The kid probably had a raging case of post traumatic stress disorder and triggering a flashback would be easy. It should go smoothly. Once Mike had him down, the rest of the team would be all over him, slapping psychic shields in place, trussing him up and drugging him to his eyebrows. The hardest part would probably be keeping Dean, the older brother under control.
After that, it would be a chartered jet and a free vacation at their Hawaiian facility for a little therapy.
~8~
Sammy could Feel them. He could always Feel them, but Daddy said these people were bad. They didn’t Feel bad though, they Felt kinda good. Sammy also could See bad things, especially when he was asleep. He didn’t understand for a long time why Daddy and Dean couldn’t See them. Maybe it was because he was bad, too, so he tried to pretend like they weren’t there. They still scared him, though, but Dean said he was a cry baby and Daddy told him to be a good little soldier. Sammy learned how to cry quietly so no one would notice. He was in the back seat by himself a lot, so it was easy.
The real people that Daddy said were bad confused him the most. They always Felt clean and light and he always wanted to go to them. Sometimes they tried talking to Daddy, but he always got real mad and pointed guns at them. They stopped trying to talk to Daddy after that. After a while he could hear them talking to him in his head, telling him to come over and play with them or that they had something good to eat for him. Somehow they knew he like peanuts and gummy worms. One tried to pick him up once; a nice lady with spiky, black hair, she talked to him in his head, offering him trail mix but Daddy punched her. Later, Daddy had yelled at him and spanked him harder than he ever had before -- all because Sammy had walked over to the dark-haired lady at the rest stop. Sammy cried for a long time. That night, after Daddy fell asleep, Dean wouldn’t hold him like he usually did after he was spanked. His big brother pushed him away saying he was stupid and should know to obey orders by now. Sammy had laid awake for most of the night, feeling miserable and alone.
By morning Sammy had decided that he would always, always ignore the bad people. He would pretend that they weren’t there, like the bad things he Saw in his head. He would ignore them when they talked to him in his head. He would be so still and quiet they wouldn’t See him anymore. It was working with the bad things; it should work with the bad people too.
Sam could Feel them coming again. They had Seen him because he wasn’t being quiet anymore. Even though they didn’t Feel evil or even dark, he was terrified anyway.
~*~
Dean lay awake that night with a headache. The day certainly didn’t play out as he planned. The last thing Dean expected was to be arrested, roughed up, and then released from county lock up on the say so of the local pillars of the community. This place just gets freakin’ weirder with every passing day. Guess he should get used to it; according to everyone there was a good chance he and Sam be spending a lot of time in Wake County.
Dean could feel Sam start trembling and whimpering in the bed next to him. Damn it, the last thing he needed was for Sammy’s fucked up subconscious to start acting up again. He was just about to get up to get Vera when Sam woke.
“Dean.” Sam whispered, as if he were afraid someone might hear him.
Dean touched Sam’s shoulder and felt his terror. He wasn’t sure if Sam was really awake or not. “I’ll go get Vera.”
“No!” Sam whispered urgently, reaching out for his brother. “Please, please just hold me,” he begged, his voice still barely audible. “Don’t tell him, he’ll get mad at me again.” Dean was sickened by the childlike sound of Sam’s voice; he had no doubt that the “he” Sam was referring to was their dad. Dean gathered Sam’s too large frame into his arms and stroked his back. His little brother burrowed into him tears leaking from his eyes. Dean looked around, wondering what happened to Starlight.
“Sam...Sammy, what's wrong?” Dean whispered. He knew enough about psychology to know Sam was having a flashback of some sort.
Sam sobbed quietly. “They’re coming again.”
“What's coming, Sammy?” Dean asked urgently. Was something wrong with the wards on the farm? “Is it the demons?"
“No,” Sam whimpered, “it’s the bad people Daddy says want to take us away.” Dean froze, not sure which terrified him more, what Sam said or how he said it. Griffin curled against his back, pressing himself into the hollow between his shoulder blades. Dean felt as if his familiar was giving him strength.
“What people?” Dean asked more harshly than he intended. He all but crushed Sam against him in his desperation. “What bad people?”
“Don’t you remember? The man in the parking lot who almost took me into his car; the lady in the rest stop that Daddy punched. People that can talk to me in my head.” Sam whispered ashamed.
Dean started trembling himself. Sam must be remembering the Hunter groups that tried to contact them when they were kids. Shit, Sam was terrified of them. Dean bitterly wondered what happened to scare him so badly. He barely remembered them. He stroked Sam’s hair for a few moments and let him sob into his chest, trying to decide what to do.
“Sam,” Dean began firmly. “They’re not going to take you away. I won’t let them, and Vera won’t either. She and Nora and Rattler and Jay will make them go away.” Dean spoke slowly, hoping his words would sink into Sam’s traumatized psyche.
“Vera? Rattler?” Sam asked, sounding confused.
Dean rubbed the back of Sam’s head. “Remember? Vera protected you from the bad dreams. Nora told us about how there are other Hunters so we don’t have to be alone. Jay taught you how to keep from sensing other people.” Dean could feel Sam’s eyelashes blinking against his chest.
“Ground and…center. Shields.” Sam said slowly. Dean could Feel Sam’s consciousness shifting.
“That’s right” Dean murmured, encouraging him. “Ground and center for me, okay? Can you do that?” Sam took a deep breath and huffed it out into Dean’s chest. Sam relaxed in his arms and after a minute he began drifting back to sleep.
Dean just held him, his headache getting worse. He knew if he got out of bed Sam would wake up again, and that probably wouldn’t be good. He’d talk to Vera about it in the morning.
Dean closed his eyes. He was so tired and wished there was someone to take care of him for once. It was selfish, but he wanted the rest of Vera’s coven to come back so they could take care of Sam for a while. He was impressed how well Vera handled his younger brother earlier. He had never seen Sam that angry before, and Vera talked him down.
Starlight came charging back into the room and scrambled up on the bed. She began sniffing and nuzzling Sam’s messy hair anxiously. Dean stroked her head for a moment before she settled down on Sam’s pillow against the back of his neck.
Griffin lifted his head to look at her over Dean’s shoulder. “Never fails,” he said with a wide yawn, “humans, they always start acting up when you’re in the litter box.”
~*~
Dean woke early the next morning, just as the sun was rising. Sam was still deeply asleep and Starlight had moved and was sleeping on top of his head. Despite the rough night, Dean still had to smile at her; goofy little brother, goofy little familiar. He wondered where Griffin was, missing the feel of him curled against his side or back. Almost as if Dean’s thoughts had summoned him, Griffin came charging into the room something dangling from his mouth, trailed by Shade and Blue Boy, another one of the familiar cats. He jumped up onto the bed and proudly presented Dean with a large, dead but still twitching squirrel. Dean sat up in bed stunned for a few moments before laughing softly and reaching across to rub Griffin’s ears. The cat’s entire body was vibrating from his purrs. Last night Dean wanted someone to take care of him for once and now his familiar is bringing him breakfast in bed. The squirrel stopped moving and Dean touched the lush tail of the little tree rodent. He smiled, cheered despite his worries for Sammy and scooped up Griffin to snuggle him against his bare chest.
Shade began purring as well. “I was afraid that Dean wouldn’t accept Griffin’s gift. Humans can be so squeamish. I think Griffin has chosen well. I’m glad I was wrong. I wanted to be here in case Dean upset him.”
Blue Boy just snorted from where he lay at Sam’s feet. “You shouldn’t be so harsh with the youngsters. Griffin has chosen well. Dean might not be a strong psychic or even a magician, but Dean loves him. He certainly appreciates him. Just look at the two of them.”
Griffin was wriggling ecstatically in Dean’s arms while meeping and purring at him. Dean was grinning broadly as the rising sun began to paint his tanned torso golden. Griffin’s fur glistened in the sunlight like white and gray pearls and the bright colors of the quilt on the bed shone like jewels. Star woke up, yawned delicately and blinked at Dean and the other cats before nuzzling the top of Sam’s head. Sam was still deeply asleep and Dean had no intensions of waking him.
With a sigh, Dean knew he had to let this moment pass. Vera would want to get work done, they had a demon to kill, and a dead squirrel was bleeding on the quilt. Dean would ask Vera or Jay what the best thing to do with a familiar’s gift was.
~*~
Breakfast that morning was chaotic. “There’s a cold front coming through this afternoon.” Vera said as she rushed them through their meals. Jay was scarfing down English muffins and fruit, Dean had found a frozen breakfast lurking in the back of the freezer that he nuked and Sam was playing with a bowl full of granola cereal. “Temps are going to drop by about fifteen degrees and bad thunderstorms can start popping up. We need to get some things done before we can hole up with the sheriff’s department reports we got yesterday and do research and start dowsing.” Vera looked better than she had since Dean had met her and now seemed to posses a boundless, intense and focused energy that was almost frightening. He began to wonder if she was possessed but Jay seemed happy about it, so he let it pass.
“I promised the Rice’s that I’d be back at the KOA to finish things up today.” Sam yelled to Vera from the dining room as she sliced a cantaloupe in the kitchen. She poked her head into the dining room with a frown on her face. “I’d really rather that you didn’t leave the farm until we got those damned things. Could you put it off a day or two?”
“I promised,” Sam responded with a stubborn set to his jaw that Dean knew all too well. He only saw him use that expression towards himself or Dad. Shit. Was Sam going to start calling her Auntie Vera now like some dysfunctional family? Jay watched the potential confrontation with interest, his gaze all but egging Sam on. Dean decided to wait to see what happened.
A strange series of emotions seemed to chase across Vera’s face; annoyance, concern, amusement and exasperation. “Please remember to ground, center and shield. Stay in touch with everyone, okay? If anything feels weird, call us and come home.” Dean could tell that she was choosing her words carefully.
Sam seemed pleased at her response. “I’ll be sure to get home before the storm. I can finish up tomorrow if I need to.”
Home. That word seemed to slip out so naturally for Vera and Sam. Could Dean ever use it and mean it? Then he realized why Vera was acting so cautiously with Sammy. If this was going to be their Hunting base, they were going to have to get along with one another, work together, like a family. Dean shuddered, remembering three other people lived here as well. This situation was forcing them to develop relationships that would last their entire lifetimes.
That scared Dean almost as much as the demons did.
~*~
LeDonne was in a bad mood that Monday morning. If anyone had asked Martha, she would have said he was in a snit. They had been dating for several years now and were talking about getting married, but the release of Dean Winchester brought into focus a serious difference of opinion. Martha believed in the Sight, as the locals called it. While LeDonne thought it was a superstitious load of shit. To make matters worse, the very people he had been trying to protect, the Rice’s and the Kesterson’s, had came to the guys’ defense.
As a result, LeDonne wasn’t feeling very charitable when his cell rang mid-morning and he saw that it was Martha’s number. She had left with Rattler earlier to search for evidence to link to the murders.
“Yes,” LeDonne answered tersely.
He heard a sigh on the opposite end of the line. “We’re up at Greer’s Cove. Is there any way you could bring us some bottled water and lunch from Dent’s?” He heard Martha ask.
LeDonne figured she was pushing her luck to ask him for a favor and was only calling because she was concerned about the elderly man’s stamina. Eating lunch would be a good excuse to give Rattler a rest and they would save time by not driving back and forth into town.
LeDonne sighed and answered with all the patience he could muster. “Fine, you want your usual? What does Rattler want?” He jotted down their orders and said goodbye.
Ravenmocker paused for a moment as he dropped out of the cell system.
“Little Brother, I am sorry. I will be with you at the end and beyond.”
~*~
Hradani Tudor, Mistress of the Full Order of the Comacine Masters rubbed her temples and sighed. She had barricaded herself behind her desk in her London office. She had told her secretary not to forward any calls and just take messages. Most of the North American division of the Order was in hysterics over a couple of brothers she had never heard of. She had the Winchester case file forwarded to her so she could understand the situation. Hradani couldn’t have half the members of the North American unit over the age of forty leaving their posts and going to Tennessee.
The case of the Winchester brothers was compelling, and she could understand why so many people wanted to be on the contact team. Unfortunately, there had been some serious squabbles over who would make up the five person team, so much so that some of the antagonists had appealed to her directly. Hradani could not believe she was having to hand-pick the members of a Hunter contact team.
Finally, she decided to send ten members on the team. Wake County was fairly isolated and they didn’t have much information on the area. If the brothers were there, they would be able to find them. If they had escaped again one of the psychics should be able to pick up the trail provided Sam was no longer hiding them. Hradani was sending a three-person psychology/PSI unit as part of the group. Given their history of abuse and neglect she wanted to be sure Dean was psychologically stable and if Sam was still alive she wanted him extensively examined. If he was as strong a psychic as the reports indicated, he could become a serious threat if he went rogue. If Sam Winchester was in danger of losing control, he would be taken to their psychology/PSI facility on the island of Molokai, Hawaii. Of course both brothers would be invited to go, but they would take Sam forcibly if necessary for treatment and training. They would ask Dean if he wanted to go under those circumstances. The forensic psychological reports stated that it would be best if the brothers were kept together.
Michael Jensen had requested to be on the team, and Hradani had approved him immediately. He had actually seen the Winchester brothers almost twenty years ago and was their strongest psychic and medical healer. He would be able to help subdue Sam if needed. She would leave it up to Michael to choose another psychic and a medic for the PSI unit. Hradani selected Greg Timmons to lead the security unit. He needed to choose four members, as long as there were two hostage negotiators. While she did not think a hostage situation was likely, having trained negotiators with them if they had to take Sam by force would be good. The Winchester brothers were experts in hand-to-hand combat and Dean in particular was considered especially lethal. She was also sending Zip Valdez. He was only nineteen, but he was the one who first received the notice on the Winchesters. Hradani did not believe in coincidences. She had been the head of the Comacine Order for too long. She thought that having someone close to Sam’s age might put the brothers at ease.
Hradani was disquieted that she was putting together an invasion team to kidnap the brothers if necessary, but she saw no other option. The Hunter and Guardian community was, for the most part, a very tight knit group in North America. The North American division was very proud of this, and took great care to provide anyone who fought the powers of Darkness their full support. The community considered the abuse and neglect that the Winchester brothers suffered to be their greatest failing. Hradani knew her people. They would not rest until they knew the Winchester brothers were safe, stable, and not taking unnecessary risks in their Hunting, or putting others at risk.
Chapter 13: Officer Down; Warrior Called
Summary: Sam and Dean resurface on the radar of the Hunting and Guardian community. Some of them have plans for the Winchester brothers.
Rating/Warning: Mature (NC-17), Warnings for story overall. Swearing (most chapters). Rape and torture chapters have separate warnings. Character deaths (Ballad novels/OCs). Sex--both hetero and homosexual.
Disclaimer: We do not own the Supernatural or Ballad novel story elements.
Death in Appalachia, Chapter 12: Ground, Center and Shield
Summary: Sam and Dean resurface on the radar of the Hunting and Guardian community. Some of them have plans for the Winchester brothers.
The sun was warm and caressed her skin tenuously like the memory of a beloved but long dead lover. The soil beneath her knees held a certain cool dampness as she carefully cut rotted cucumbers from vines. Vera hoped that they would be able to save something from the gardens, as she looked nervously at her hulking companion. Sam was so strong, both physically and psychically and he was also very intelligent with a certain rugged but sensitive good looks. Strange, you’d think a combination of so many gifts would lead to a full and happy life. Instead, Sam had a tragic childhood full of grief and was teetering on the edge of madness. She watched him for a moment, smiling at Starlight’s white paws scattering dirt as she kept attacking Sam’s boot laces. So strange that he had such a tiny and delicate familiar while he was a modern day Hercules. He could kill her by accidentally stepping on her, but he was so aware of where Starlight was every moment.
Vera kept her shields tightly in place. She would admit to no one how terrified she was of Sam. As a tall woman, she wasn’t used to being around someone so much taller than she was. It made her feel unsettled. What truly scared her was his immense psychic ability. If she had started training him when his abilities first began manifesting and she was fully rested and in good shape it would still have been a challenge. If Sam had half a clue how to do it, he could kill her with little more than a thought right now. Vera was horrified when she found out that Jay had tried training Sam. She was relieved that Jay wasn’t hurt. She didn’t believe that Sam would purposely try to hurt Jay, but he could have done so easily. She didn’t tell Jay. She knew her nephew too well. Telling him that Sam could have killed him accidentally would only make the brat try to prove her wrong. Vera just hoped that what Nora Bonesteel said about having deeper power here was right. Vera was going to need every bit of it to keep them all alive and sane. She just hoped that the coming storm would hold off long enough for her to recover from her exhaustion and Sam’s unintentional attack.
Sam froze suddenly as he was standing up with an overripe tomato in his hand. He paled under his sun-darkened skin. Vera could feel anxiety suddenly rolling off of him.
“Dean,” she thought he whispered. She felt the thought from him more than she heard the name. The tomato plants and cucumber vines next to him started quivering and twitching. Star began mewling and tried climbing up his jeans. Vera felt numb with shock. Sam had telekinetic abilities. Sam was feeling things outside the farm’s wards without even trying to reach out beyond them. Sam had a telepathic link to his brother. For a split second Vera wondered if vomit was good fertilizer. She forced her fear down, firmed her shields and centered herself. Vera reminded herself that she was a Priestess of the Gods. Sam could not know her fear; she could not allow it to master her.
Vera’s cell started ringing. She answered it quickly knowing who it would be.
“Calm down Jay. What happened?” Sam’s eyes flickered to hers. Sam’s eyes held the fire of rage; Vera’s the icy calm of command.
“No, stay there,” she ordered her nephew. “We’re coming to get you. No, Sam is not going to hide. We’re going to confront the lion in its den. None of us have time for this.” She hung up continuing to stare at Sam.
“Dean’s been arrested. We are going to get Nora Bonesteel and head down to the sheriff’s station. On the way, could you fill me in on how Dean is dead and a suspected serial killer?”
~*~
Sheriff Spencer Arrowood knew he was going to have a bad day when his mother requested he come to the station before the dispatcher Kelly radioed him. It was Sunday, so the fact that Kelly was at the station at all was a worry all its own. Apparently LeDonne had arrested a dead serial killer. He had no idea how bad a day it was going to be until he walked through the door. When Spencer saw the collection of people in the station he almost turned around and walked back out. This assembly could only mean one thing; he would have to acknowledge the existence of the shadowy world of spirits. The world that he tried to pretend didn’t exist.
He had known most of the group in the office his entire life.
Nora Bonesteel had been his Sunday school teacher as a child and is a close friend of his mother. She was known to have the Sight, as the old folks called it, and helped him after he almost died a while back. Over the years, she had sent him a lot of information about his cases through his mother. Information he could use while ignoring the source. Nora was looking even more severe than usual.
Old Rattler had taught him tracking as a child. He still looked up to the old man. He’d help them catch a serial killer a few years back and rescued LeDonne under strange circumstances last year. Betsy and Jude Rice were here as well, looking outraged. Jude looked like he had gotten off his death bed. Zek Phillips was here as well, looking grim and official. Spencer wondered who was paying for the lawyer’s time.
Next his eyes rested on Vera Kesterson, the new librarian, looking like she was about to breathe fire and her nephew Jay. Crap, if Jay was involved Vera wouldn’t settle for anything less than blood. She seemed to have her fair share of the famous Kesterson temper.
Then there was that hulking youngster that had been helping out at the Rice’s KOA. His scowl was absolutely brutal, directed at LeDonne as if he could rip him apart with his eyes. LeDonne was leaning against the door leading to the holding area. He looked as if he were under siege and willing to hold the door like the defenders at the Alamo. Kelly was bravely still sitting at her desk, looking like a captain determined to go down with the ship if duty and honor demanded.
Finally there was his mother in full self-righteous outrage, looking at him like the time she caught him making out with Susan Wyler behind the First Union Baptist Church. Sheriff Arrowood struggled not to feel like a misbehaving teenager that had just been caught. They were all staring at him, either in silent fury or somber quietness.
“Spencer,” Zek began in an old man’s high-pitched and decrepit voice, sounding all of his 79 years. “We have a problem here. Deputy LeDonne has assaulted and arrested a dead man. Jay Kesterson witnessed the assault and is willing to testify. Unless you want a lawsuit brought against the county and a report made to the TBI (Tennessee Bureau of Investigation), I suggest you release Mr. Smith with an apology.” Spencer found the tall, flatlander kid he didn’t know glaring at him now, as if he were daring him to say no. Papers began rattling on Kelly’s desk. She flatted her hands on them and looked around the office for the source of the disturbance.
Vera Kesterson scowled and grabbed the kid’s arm. “Sam!” There was a definite note of warning in her voice.
LeDonne finally spoke up. “Spencer, I think we should talk in private.” His voice was cold as steel even though it was obvious his temper was up.
Spencer shook his head. “Whatever it is LeDonne, I think we should just talk about it out here. It’ll save us from having to repeat anything.” LeDonne looked like he was about to protest but sneered in the direction of Vera Kesterson.
“I did a little bit of checking. The ’67 Impala that the suspect drives is actually registered to a Dean Winchester. Winchester has a long record, including assault and battery, theft, ID scams, fraud and jumping bail in so many jurisdictions I lost count. Most recently, he was a suspect in some killings in Missouri, where he was supposedly killed. Now we have a string of murders here and the guy driving his car looks a lot like Winchester’s mug shot.” LeDonne’s eyes flicked to Sam; he was in no way intimidated by him, even though Sam was over a half foot taller. “I agreed not to arrest his brother here until you arrived. This doesn’t even begin to cover everything that I found in the trunk. Sick bastards.” The florescent lights overhead flickered.
Nora Bonesteel parted the crowd of people to get closer to him. “Spencer, these boys are not behind the killings, but they could be what will stop them.” Spencer felt his heart drop to his feet. Looking into Miss Bonesteel’s bright blue eyes, undimmed by her great age, he knew what she was talking about. Looking over her shoulder he saw Old Rattler, looking strange and remote, but he nodded in agreement with her. There was something different about Rattler; unlike his usual easy going and talkative self, he seemed withdrawn and quiet. Harder somehow. He glanced at Vera Kesterson. He had seen her angry before, usually when she was calling to report teen-aged antics. Those times were nothing compared to now. A fire burned in her face that he never suspected. She was here with Nora and Rattler. He swallowed and now understood why the Kesterson’s were coming back after almost two generations. In a perverse way it comforted him.
Then Spencer remembered that the deaths started several weeks before the flatlander brothers appeared in Wake County. He closed his eyes feeling sick. He was about to go against every law enforcement procedure in the book. The unwritten rule in Wake County was the sheriff's department didn’t ask too many questions of folks like Nora and Rattler, and they didn’t tell you anymore than you needed to know. They sure didn’t tell you how or why they knew, and you certainly never considered them suspects. LeDonne had been here for a long while, but he wasn’t from these parts.
Spencer didn’t blink when he looked at LeDonne. “Release him and destroy any paperwork you’ve done. Contact any other law enforcement agencies you’ve talked to and tell them it was a mistake. Bury this.”
LeDonne glared at him in disbelief. “Spencer, what are you doing?”
Spencer felt icily calm. “Do it. Then we need to talk.” When he turned to the Rice’s his manner warmed considerably. “Thank you for coming down and helping clear this up. Jude, try to get some rest. We’re all praying for you.” He said as he shook his hand gently. He clapped Zek on the shoulder and managed a grin. “See you in court next week.”
As the Rice’s and the lawyer were walking out the door, LeDonne turned and jerked the door leading to the holding cells open. Sam was right on his heels; Kelly threw Spencer a wild look. Spencer knew that this was not a good idea, especially if Dean was roughed up. Spencer quickly wove his way through the bodies in the office to catch up to the two of them. LeDonne turned and shoved Sam back. The kid looked like he was about to go after LeDonne.
“Sam!” Vera shouted.
“LeDonne!” Spencer bellowed. Both LeDonne and Sam fell back sullenly. “LeDonne, go wait in my office.” The deputy looked murderous. The situation was far too explosive. Spencer knew how protective family members could be of one another. People in these mountains killed for family. Kin was sacred. Family feuds dating from before the Civil War were still remembered here, even if they were no longer acted on. LeDonne was a good deputy and the fact that he didn’t come from Wake County was usually an asset. Today it was a dangerous deficit. LeDonne had been estranged from his kin for well over a decade. He loved the community as a whole, but he didn’t understand the ties of bone and blood. Sam barely got out of his way to let him pass and then bolted down the corridor.
“Dean!” he shouted. His voice echoed terribly off the cinder block walls. Spencer chased after him with Vera on his heels. There were only two holding cells. When Sam found his brother he grabbed the bars and jerked the door open. Spencer winced, wondering how much it was going to cost to replace the lock.
~8~
“Could you not yell so loud, Sammy?” Dean asked as he clutched the right side of his head as he sat on the cell’s bunk. Sam noticed the cut marks on his wrists from the handcuffs. Dean was looking down and to the side, refusing to meet his brother’s gaze. Sam knelt down next to him and gently pulled Dean’s arm away his head and noticed the bluish knot above his temple that his hand was covering. If Sam was enraged by the fact that Dean had been hurt, he was infuriated that Dean was trying to block him out. He couldn’t, though, and Sam could feel Dean’s bruised gut and his mild concussion.
Dean stood up carefully. “No Sam, I’ll take care of him myself.”
Sam surged to his feet turning, but Vera had followed him to the cell and was blocking his exit. It was obvious he was about to go after Deputy LeDonne.
“No.” Vera said firmly, her green eyes looking up to meet Sam’s hazel ones. Sam’s lips were compressed in a thin line and his fists were clenched. Vera was standing ramrod still, feet planted and looking like she was rooted to the earth itself.
Sam could feel his anger flowing through him, drowning out reason. He was experiencing a hot and prickling rage within himself that was laced with power. Sam felt that he could take that rage and shatter not only the air around him but everyone and everything in it. He could feel everyone's emotions, fear, anger, sadness pressing in on him and he just wanted to push them all away so he could breathe. He scrunched his eyes closed and turned away from Vera towards the wall, away from everyone.
Vera walked over and gently touched his shoulder. “Sam, can you trust me?” She asked quietly. Sam started and turned his head slightly to look at her. Her face was somber, but open, showing concern. That made Sam willing to nod to her. She seemed to understand what was happening to him. Vera was asking, not demanding in the way Dean was, or the sheriff or even Jay. She had him turn and then took both of his hands in hers.
“Remember what Jay taught you about grounding and centering?” She asked in a calm voice. When Sam nodded she continued. “That’s what I want you to do right now for me, okay?” He nodded again, his jaw set and lips stiff.
Vera was both relieved and terrified. Sam was willing to let her help him, but she was scared of trying to handle the enormous output of psychic energy he was producing. Not only that, he was also a hairsbreadth away from violently releasing that terrible power with potentially deadly consequences. She had never before faced a psychic as powerful as Sam on the verge of going rogue. She wondered if he could take out the entire town of Hamelin.
Sam felt her draining the energy boiling within him. For a moment he flared and resisted until he realized that she was feeding him back an equal amount of energy that felt soothing and pure. He was still angry, but not out of control. He relaxed and let himself sink into Vera’s psychic hands.
Vera strained to her limits, feeding Sam’s power into the earth to help ground and clean it before pulling it back up again to give back to Sam. She trembled trying to funnel this raw power, trying to keep back tears as she struggled under the strain. She called silently to her Goddess and reached down into the earth deeper than she had ever before…
A still point. The energy that was beginning to dangerously backlog as Sam fed her too much, too fast, was now as smooth as a scarf of fine silk being passed between them. Vera sighed, reveling into the ease of it. After a moment it was complete. Vera leaned back against the wall, drained but triumphant. She was able to ground Sam and he trusted her enough to let her. Nora Bonesteel was right. Even as tired as she was, she was able to do it. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it was going to be easy, but at least she was no longer afraid to train Sam.
~8~
Lynn Stewart yawned and stretched in her chair. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in the Order of the Comacine's North American Emergency Center. The last hunter group that needed help was the Isis-Horus Temple, a Golden Dawn based group. The five hunters had run across a nasty nest of vampires in Eureka, California. They’d wiped out the nest, but desperately needed medical help.
It was Lynn's turn to work the mandatory week long shift in the emergency center. She guessed it could be worse. At least it was the middle of the summer this year, last year she pulled her shift in mid-winter. She stood up to pace. It wasn’t her place to question her superiors, but some days she wondered why the emergency center was in Upstate New York. The various assistance teams were dispatched from all around North America, but still!
“Got something!” Lynn frowned at the excitement in her partner’s voice. Zip (short for Zipactonal) Valdez was a nineteen-year old linguistics hot shot who already spoke six languages fluently.
“Looks interesting!” he continued to be enthused, his brown eyes shining in his dark face. “Dean Winchester, and there’s some high priority notes on him!”
Lynn froze for a moment at that name before she pushed Zip away from the monitor. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Dean Winchester. Wake County Tennessee Sheriff’s Department asking for information, but a few hours later withdrawing the request. Zip hovered like an excited but hurt puppy.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re too young to remember. Very strange case. The mother died in some sort of supernatural attack that even we didn’t recognize. The father, John Winchester, went nuts and started hunting, no training, self taught. Major loose cannon; causing all sorts of havoc before he figured out to how to cover up behind himself.” Lynn sighed bitterly. “The worst part is that he insisted on hauling his two sons with him. The oldest, Dean, was about five and the other was only six months.” Zip gaped at her for a moment before Lynn nodded. He still wasn’t allowed out in the field yet.
“The youngest was a very, very powerful psychic. Several of us contacted John Winchester, trying to get him to join up with a Guardian or Hunter group for his both his son’s sake. Every time he pulled a gun and told us to get lost. We actually planned on taking the boys from him, but each time he disappeared on us. He imprinted the need to hide so deeply on the boys that the youngest, Sam, began to hide them psychically without realizing what he was doing. After that we lost track of them, getting only the occasional sighting. We know John Winchester bought it in Sacramento last year. We heard the elder brother, Dean, died in Missouri a few months ago but we weren’t sure because of shape-shifter activity. We haven't had a reporting of Sam for at least five years now.” Lynn looked thoughtfully at the monitor for a few moments as she tapped her nail on the desk.
“Put together a general purpose team. If Dean is there, we owe it to him to try to make contact again. With his dad dead, he may want to join a hunter group. If his brother is still alive, we need to get him help. We failed the Winchester sons all those years ago, and we have to try to make it right.”
~8~
It was hard for them to materialize in full daylight, but rape and blood fueled them with enough energy. Now they could glide through the shadows to take the Warrior-to-be and feast again on blood. The Warrior had no psychic abilities, and made for easy prey. Once they had dispatched the Warrior they would lure the young psychic Hunter and the stripling Guardian off the covenstead. The covenstead was too protected to even touch. But just beyond the boundaries they were not constrained at all. Both targets would bolt beyond the wards to rescue their next victim. Then they would be theirs.
~8~
Joe LeDonne glared at Spencer as Martha walked into the office. “You can’t really believe this shit.” He stated flatly.
“Joe, I know it all sounds crazy, but I don’t want to talk about it.” Spencer had a mulish glint in his eye.
“You are just going to take their word for it that a ghost or devil of some sort is behind these deaths.” LeDonne’s voice was low, even though the three of them were the only ones in Spencer’s spartan office.
“Do you have a better explanation? I’d like to hear it if you do.” The Winchesters, Kestersons, Old Rattler, Nora and his mother had all left. Finally.
Martha’s eyes widened as she began to understand the topic of conversation. “Oh.”
LeDonne turned to include her in his glare.
“LeDonne, listen,” Spencer tried again. “The subject is closed. Martha and Rattler will go out tomorrow, you take second shift and I’ll pull a double. Clayt Stargill is going to help us search on Tuesday. Just do your normal patrols.” LeDonne glowered for a moment and then left the office. Spencer slumped in his chair wearily and caught Martha up on the overall situation.
~8~
Michael “Stand Down” Jensen jerked awake in bed, breathing harshly into his pillow. He looked over at his latest bedmate, a snoring, drunken socialite. They had passed an unremarkable evening followed by barely adequate sex, she was a lousy lay. He slid carefully out of bed hoping she wouldn’t wake up and demand any more of his attention. Michael threw on a robe and went downstairs to sit in a lounge chair on the beach.
If anyone had been told that Mike Jensen, head of the Order of the Comacine’s North American Emergency Centre and all around scoundrel and bad boy, had nightmares over the memory of a four-year old they would either laugh or think it was a very bad joke. It had been during Mike’s first field assignment, the particulars were fuzzy, and he only remembered that it had been someplace in Colorado and that it was cold as hell. He was all of twenty-one when he suddenly found himself face to face with the Winchester “family” in the parking lot of a nameless convenience store. Mike still remembered those little hazel eyes, looking up at him from behind the dirty, faded jeans of his half-drunk father. The kid was filthy and his lip was bloody from a freshly picked scab. The older kid was maybe all of nine at the time and looked tense and tired, with an ugly half-healed bruise from his left cheekbone to chin. Mike couldn’t tell who the kid was more afraid of--his dad or him. Later he found out their names. He’d been briefed on them a few months before, but being a swaggering, self-centered brat he hadn’t paid attention. Why would he care about a couple of kids?
Mike had been "Found" early in life by the Order, an act for which he was now grateful. He had grown up as a little princeling, having the rare and powerful combination of both physical and psychic healing gifts. The literal "laying on of hands" type of healing, the kind seen once, maybe twice in a generation. He was doted on by the Order, he never experienced hunger and other than in training, he had never been hurt. He had heard of abuse, neglect and poverty and thought it was horrible, of course, but this was the first time he had actually seen and Felt it. He saw it in the eyes of little Sammy Winchester. The kid was strong enough at four to project a feral hunger that Mike didn’t even know could exist.
It was also the first time that Michael had ever looked down the barrel of a gun.
His eyes had snapped from Sammy to the snarling face of John Winchester. Apparently the kid had Felt on some level that he was a healer and had wandered away from his dad and older brother to tug on his jacket as Mike was getting into his rental car. Mike had been to slow to understand, and just stood there gawping for precious seconds at the dirty child before understanding who he was. Daddy apparently decided that he was some kind of pervert that was trying to lure Sam away. Mike had tried to reason with John, but he was caught off guard and too inexperienced. He just stood there stammering and watched helplessly as John Winchester took the kids. Mike still remembered Sam gazing back at him over his father’s shoulder as John carried him away.
Mike should have tried stalling and called out to the rest of the team. He should have snagged Sam up and ran. He should have knocked John Winchester on his ass and held a gun on him until the team got there. Mike was armed. Everyone was armed in the field.
Mike wasn’t arrogant enough to blame himself for the tragedy that was the Winchester family, but he did carry the burden of knowing that he had the chance to intervene and had blown it. Other Orders, like the Priory and the Knights, had tried to save the kids, as well as smaller Hunter and Guardian groups. Sam began safeguarding the family with his newly-awakened power. He hid them so well that the strongest of psychics had a hard time finding them.
Now the alarm had been raised that Sam and Dean Winchester might still be alive. Everyone wanted to be on the contact team; but Mike was pulling rank. He was going to be on that team. He could heal with a touch, but it took so much out of him that his opportunities were limited. He was only supposed to heal Order members when they were in danger of dying or from permanent injury. To heal someone outside the Order required the direct permission of Hradani Tudor, the Mistress of the Full Order of the Comacine Masters. The rules be damned, if either one of the Winchester brothers were still alive he’d heal every hurt they had, right down to a busted lip. It was the least he could do. There was something else that no one knew about him except for his accountant. Mike donated twenty percent of all his income to programs for homeless and abused children, starting the day he saw Sam. He did it out of the hope that the money he gave would go to a program that might help Sam and Dean Winchester.
Mike Jensen was going to ensure that the Winchester brothers received the help they needed, whether they wanted it or not. He certainly was not going to watch Sam get away from him a second time. Mike knew he could take Sam on psychically, especially if he had the physical back up. It didn’t matter how strong a psychic a person was, they’d still go down if you hit them hard enough and fast enough in the right place. Sam couldn’t have had any serious psychic training, and with his childhood, there should be plenty of weak spots to hit. The kid probably had a raging case of post traumatic stress disorder and triggering a flashback would be easy. It should go smoothly. Once Mike had him down, the rest of the team would be all over him, slapping psychic shields in place, trussing him up and drugging him to his eyebrows. The hardest part would probably be keeping Dean, the older brother under control.
After that, it would be a chartered jet and a free vacation at their Hawaiian facility for a little therapy.
~8~
Sammy could Feel them. He could always Feel them, but Daddy said these people were bad. They didn’t Feel bad though, they Felt kinda good. Sammy also could See bad things, especially when he was asleep. He didn’t understand for a long time why Daddy and Dean couldn’t See them. Maybe it was because he was bad, too, so he tried to pretend like they weren’t there. They still scared him, though, but Dean said he was a cry baby and Daddy told him to be a good little soldier. Sammy learned how to cry quietly so no one would notice. He was in the back seat by himself a lot, so it was easy.
The real people that Daddy said were bad confused him the most. They always Felt clean and light and he always wanted to go to them. Sometimes they tried talking to Daddy, but he always got real mad and pointed guns at them. They stopped trying to talk to Daddy after that. After a while he could hear them talking to him in his head, telling him to come over and play with them or that they had something good to eat for him. Somehow they knew he like peanuts and gummy worms. One tried to pick him up once; a nice lady with spiky, black hair, she talked to him in his head, offering him trail mix but Daddy punched her. Later, Daddy had yelled at him and spanked him harder than he ever had before -- all because Sammy had walked over to the dark-haired lady at the rest stop. Sammy cried for a long time. That night, after Daddy fell asleep, Dean wouldn’t hold him like he usually did after he was spanked. His big brother pushed him away saying he was stupid and should know to obey orders by now. Sammy had laid awake for most of the night, feeling miserable and alone.
By morning Sammy had decided that he would always, always ignore the bad people. He would pretend that they weren’t there, like the bad things he Saw in his head. He would ignore them when they talked to him in his head. He would be so still and quiet they wouldn’t See him anymore. It was working with the bad things; it should work with the bad people too.
Sam could Feel them coming again. They had Seen him because he wasn’t being quiet anymore. Even though they didn’t Feel evil or even dark, he was terrified anyway.
~*~
Dean lay awake that night with a headache. The day certainly didn’t play out as he planned. The last thing Dean expected was to be arrested, roughed up, and then released from county lock up on the say so of the local pillars of the community. This place just gets freakin’ weirder with every passing day. Guess he should get used to it; according to everyone there was a good chance he and Sam be spending a lot of time in Wake County.
Dean could feel Sam start trembling and whimpering in the bed next to him. Damn it, the last thing he needed was for Sammy’s fucked up subconscious to start acting up again. He was just about to get up to get Vera when Sam woke.
“Dean.” Sam whispered, as if he were afraid someone might hear him.
Dean touched Sam’s shoulder and felt his terror. He wasn’t sure if Sam was really awake or not. “I’ll go get Vera.”
“No!” Sam whispered urgently, reaching out for his brother. “Please, please just hold me,” he begged, his voice still barely audible. “Don’t tell him, he’ll get mad at me again.” Dean was sickened by the childlike sound of Sam’s voice; he had no doubt that the “he” Sam was referring to was their dad. Dean gathered Sam’s too large frame into his arms and stroked his back. His little brother burrowed into him tears leaking from his eyes. Dean looked around, wondering what happened to Starlight.
“Sam...Sammy, what's wrong?” Dean whispered. He knew enough about psychology to know Sam was having a flashback of some sort.
Sam sobbed quietly. “They’re coming again.”
“What's coming, Sammy?” Dean asked urgently. Was something wrong with the wards on the farm? “Is it the demons?"
“No,” Sam whimpered, “it’s the bad people Daddy says want to take us away.” Dean froze, not sure which terrified him more, what Sam said or how he said it. Griffin curled against his back, pressing himself into the hollow between his shoulder blades. Dean felt as if his familiar was giving him strength.
“What people?” Dean asked more harshly than he intended. He all but crushed Sam against him in his desperation. “What bad people?”
“Don’t you remember? The man in the parking lot who almost took me into his car; the lady in the rest stop that Daddy punched. People that can talk to me in my head.” Sam whispered ashamed.
Dean started trembling himself. Sam must be remembering the Hunter groups that tried to contact them when they were kids. Shit, Sam was terrified of them. Dean bitterly wondered what happened to scare him so badly. He barely remembered them. He stroked Sam’s hair for a few moments and let him sob into his chest, trying to decide what to do.
“Sam,” Dean began firmly. “They’re not going to take you away. I won’t let them, and Vera won’t either. She and Nora and Rattler and Jay will make them go away.” Dean spoke slowly, hoping his words would sink into Sam’s traumatized psyche.
“Vera? Rattler?” Sam asked, sounding confused.
Dean rubbed the back of Sam’s head. “Remember? Vera protected you from the bad dreams. Nora told us about how there are other Hunters so we don’t have to be alone. Jay taught you how to keep from sensing other people.” Dean could feel Sam’s eyelashes blinking against his chest.
“Ground and…center. Shields.” Sam said slowly. Dean could Feel Sam’s consciousness shifting.
“That’s right” Dean murmured, encouraging him. “Ground and center for me, okay? Can you do that?” Sam took a deep breath and huffed it out into Dean’s chest. Sam relaxed in his arms and after a minute he began drifting back to sleep.
Dean just held him, his headache getting worse. He knew if he got out of bed Sam would wake up again, and that probably wouldn’t be good. He’d talk to Vera about it in the morning.
Dean closed his eyes. He was so tired and wished there was someone to take care of him for once. It was selfish, but he wanted the rest of Vera’s coven to come back so they could take care of Sam for a while. He was impressed how well Vera handled his younger brother earlier. He had never seen Sam that angry before, and Vera talked him down.
Starlight came charging back into the room and scrambled up on the bed. She began sniffing and nuzzling Sam’s messy hair anxiously. Dean stroked her head for a moment before she settled down on Sam’s pillow against the back of his neck.
Griffin lifted his head to look at her over Dean’s shoulder. “Never fails,” he said with a wide yawn, “humans, they always start acting up when you’re in the litter box.”
~*~
Dean woke early the next morning, just as the sun was rising. Sam was still deeply asleep and Starlight had moved and was sleeping on top of his head. Despite the rough night, Dean still had to smile at her; goofy little brother, goofy little familiar. He wondered where Griffin was, missing the feel of him curled against his side or back. Almost as if Dean’s thoughts had summoned him, Griffin came charging into the room something dangling from his mouth, trailed by Shade and Blue Boy, another one of the familiar cats. He jumped up onto the bed and proudly presented Dean with a large, dead but still twitching squirrel. Dean sat up in bed stunned for a few moments before laughing softly and reaching across to rub Griffin’s ears. The cat’s entire body was vibrating from his purrs. Last night Dean wanted someone to take care of him for once and now his familiar is bringing him breakfast in bed. The squirrel stopped moving and Dean touched the lush tail of the little tree rodent. He smiled, cheered despite his worries for Sammy and scooped up Griffin to snuggle him against his bare chest.
Shade began purring as well. “I was afraid that Dean wouldn’t accept Griffin’s gift. Humans can be so squeamish. I think Griffin has chosen well. I’m glad I was wrong. I wanted to be here in case Dean upset him.”
Blue Boy just snorted from where he lay at Sam’s feet. “You shouldn’t be so harsh with the youngsters. Griffin has chosen well. Dean might not be a strong psychic or even a magician, but Dean loves him. He certainly appreciates him. Just look at the two of them.”
Griffin was wriggling ecstatically in Dean’s arms while meeping and purring at him. Dean was grinning broadly as the rising sun began to paint his tanned torso golden. Griffin’s fur glistened in the sunlight like white and gray pearls and the bright colors of the quilt on the bed shone like jewels. Star woke up, yawned delicately and blinked at Dean and the other cats before nuzzling the top of Sam’s head. Sam was still deeply asleep and Dean had no intensions of waking him.
With a sigh, Dean knew he had to let this moment pass. Vera would want to get work done, they had a demon to kill, and a dead squirrel was bleeding on the quilt. Dean would ask Vera or Jay what the best thing to do with a familiar’s gift was.
~*~
Breakfast that morning was chaotic. “There’s a cold front coming through this afternoon.” Vera said as she rushed them through their meals. Jay was scarfing down English muffins and fruit, Dean had found a frozen breakfast lurking in the back of the freezer that he nuked and Sam was playing with a bowl full of granola cereal. “Temps are going to drop by about fifteen degrees and bad thunderstorms can start popping up. We need to get some things done before we can hole up with the sheriff’s department reports we got yesterday and do research and start dowsing.” Vera looked better than she had since Dean had met her and now seemed to posses a boundless, intense and focused energy that was almost frightening. He began to wonder if she was possessed but Jay seemed happy about it, so he let it pass.
“I promised the Rice’s that I’d be back at the KOA to finish things up today.” Sam yelled to Vera from the dining room as she sliced a cantaloupe in the kitchen. She poked her head into the dining room with a frown on her face. “I’d really rather that you didn’t leave the farm until we got those damned things. Could you put it off a day or two?”
“I promised,” Sam responded with a stubborn set to his jaw that Dean knew all too well. He only saw him use that expression towards himself or Dad. Shit. Was Sam going to start calling her Auntie Vera now like some dysfunctional family? Jay watched the potential confrontation with interest, his gaze all but egging Sam on. Dean decided to wait to see what happened.
A strange series of emotions seemed to chase across Vera’s face; annoyance, concern, amusement and exasperation. “Please remember to ground, center and shield. Stay in touch with everyone, okay? If anything feels weird, call us and come home.” Dean could tell that she was choosing her words carefully.
Sam seemed pleased at her response. “I’ll be sure to get home before the storm. I can finish up tomorrow if I need to.”
Home. That word seemed to slip out so naturally for Vera and Sam. Could Dean ever use it and mean it? Then he realized why Vera was acting so cautiously with Sammy. If this was going to be their Hunting base, they were going to have to get along with one another, work together, like a family. Dean shuddered, remembering three other people lived here as well. This situation was forcing them to develop relationships that would last their entire lifetimes.
That scared Dean almost as much as the demons did.
~*~
LeDonne was in a bad mood that Monday morning. If anyone had asked Martha, she would have said he was in a snit. They had been dating for several years now and were talking about getting married, but the release of Dean Winchester brought into focus a serious difference of opinion. Martha believed in the Sight, as the locals called it. While LeDonne thought it was a superstitious load of shit. To make matters worse, the very people he had been trying to protect, the Rice’s and the Kesterson’s, had came to the guys’ defense.
As a result, LeDonne wasn’t feeling very charitable when his cell rang mid-morning and he saw that it was Martha’s number. She had left with Rattler earlier to search for evidence to link to the murders.
“Yes,” LeDonne answered tersely.
He heard a sigh on the opposite end of the line. “We’re up at Greer’s Cove. Is there any way you could bring us some bottled water and lunch from Dent’s?” He heard Martha ask.
LeDonne figured she was pushing her luck to ask him for a favor and was only calling because she was concerned about the elderly man’s stamina. Eating lunch would be a good excuse to give Rattler a rest and they would save time by not driving back and forth into town.
LeDonne sighed and answered with all the patience he could muster. “Fine, you want your usual? What does Rattler want?” He jotted down their orders and said goodbye.
Ravenmocker paused for a moment as he dropped out of the cell system.
“Little Brother, I am sorry. I will be with you at the end and beyond.”
~*~
Hradani Tudor, Mistress of the Full Order of the Comacine Masters rubbed her temples and sighed. She had barricaded herself behind her desk in her London office. She had told her secretary not to forward any calls and just take messages. Most of the North American division of the Order was in hysterics over a couple of brothers she had never heard of. She had the Winchester case file forwarded to her so she could understand the situation. Hradani couldn’t have half the members of the North American unit over the age of forty leaving their posts and going to Tennessee.
The case of the Winchester brothers was compelling, and she could understand why so many people wanted to be on the contact team. Unfortunately, there had been some serious squabbles over who would make up the five person team, so much so that some of the antagonists had appealed to her directly. Hradani could not believe she was having to hand-pick the members of a Hunter contact team.
Finally, she decided to send ten members on the team. Wake County was fairly isolated and they didn’t have much information on the area. If the brothers were there, they would be able to find them. If they had escaped again one of the psychics should be able to pick up the trail provided Sam was no longer hiding them. Hradani was sending a three-person psychology/PSI unit as part of the group. Given their history of abuse and neglect she wanted to be sure Dean was psychologically stable and if Sam was still alive she wanted him extensively examined. If he was as strong a psychic as the reports indicated, he could become a serious threat if he went rogue. If Sam Winchester was in danger of losing control, he would be taken to their psychology/PSI facility on the island of Molokai, Hawaii. Of course both brothers would be invited to go, but they would take Sam forcibly if necessary for treatment and training. They would ask Dean if he wanted to go under those circumstances. The forensic psychological reports stated that it would be best if the brothers were kept together.
Michael Jensen had requested to be on the team, and Hradani had approved him immediately. He had actually seen the Winchester brothers almost twenty years ago and was their strongest psychic and medical healer. He would be able to help subdue Sam if needed. She would leave it up to Michael to choose another psychic and a medic for the PSI unit. Hradani selected Greg Timmons to lead the security unit. He needed to choose four members, as long as there were two hostage negotiators. While she did not think a hostage situation was likely, having trained negotiators with them if they had to take Sam by force would be good. The Winchester brothers were experts in hand-to-hand combat and Dean in particular was considered especially lethal. She was also sending Zip Valdez. He was only nineteen, but he was the one who first received the notice on the Winchesters. Hradani did not believe in coincidences. She had been the head of the Comacine Order for too long. She thought that having someone close to Sam’s age might put the brothers at ease.
Hradani was disquieted that she was putting together an invasion team to kidnap the brothers if necessary, but she saw no other option. The Hunter and Guardian community was, for the most part, a very tight knit group in North America. The North American division was very proud of this, and took great care to provide anyone who fought the powers of Darkness their full support. The community considered the abuse and neglect that the Winchester brothers suffered to be their greatest failing. Hradani knew her people. They would not rest until they knew the Winchester brothers were safe, stable, and not taking unnecessary risks in their Hunting, or putting others at risk.
Chapter 13: Officer Down; Warrior Called