FIC: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep (11/14)
Title: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep (11/14)
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It’s all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Warnings and notes: Multiple character death. Dark fic.
Rating: PG-13 to R
Pairing/Characters: Mostly gen, some very mild Dean/Jo in future chapters.
Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.
Beta: Beta’d by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.
Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.
Previous Chapters: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 ]
By the time Dean emerged from the shower, he could hear the sound of an argument going on in the main bar. He ducked briefly into his room, towelling off the worst of the drips from his hair but leaving it damp. He pulled on a pair of jeans and the non-descript t-shirt Bobby had picked up for him from a Wal-mart and then made his way out to the bar.
Jo was standing in the centre of the bar, hip cocked towards Bobby and one finger poking into his chest. Bobby meanwhile was doing his best to tower over the diminutive girl and had a hand on each of her shoulders, looking about ready to shake her. Dean was very tempted to walk around and pretend that he hadn’t spotted either of them.
Unfortunately his movement was still stiff despite the shower loosening him up so he couldn’t turn before he was spotted. “Dean!” Jo called over, “This idiot here is trying to poke holes in Ash’s theory. You believe it’s right, don’t you?”
Bobby rolled his eyes, “I’m just pointing out that basing our whole gameplan on the demon being enough of a cocky bastard to leave a clearly labelled ‘please press here to destroy evil’ button on a map is not sound tactics.”
“As I believe I pointed out last night,” Jo seemed to be addressing the comment towards Dean but he had a feeling he was about to play peanut gallery to the whole argument, “There is a possibility that it isn’t the demon who left certain symbols.”
“Of course,” Bobby sneered, “The demon having spent about a quarter of a century setting up the plan would no doubt leave the board unattended for a bit. After all, it’s not like anything might be working against him.”
“I made the point that the demon could have set up the board any way he likes, that doesn’t mean there isn’t some sneaky bugger underneath the table with a magnet.” Jo turned an appealing face towards Dean, “You know what this could mean?”
“That we’re royally fucked if Fate has to resort to playing pictionary?” Dean replied, too tired for this sort of argument this early in the morning.
Jo glared at him, “It means that the demon probably doesn’t know about the extra symbols, he’s not going to be searching for patterns in his own patterns so this way we can get one step ahead.”
“The demon doesn’t know about them because they are pure fantasy,” Bobby obviously felt Dean was on his side as he continued his tirade, “For all we know, this whole pattern stuff is a computer glitch. This is why I prefer books.”
“And this is why your old version of hunting is as dead as the dinosaurs.” Jo retorted.
Dean rubbed at his forehead, feeling like the two of them were sand-papering away the numbness that the painkillers gave. Dean briefly wondered whether passing out on the floor might get them to stop arguing for a bit. More than likely they’d just argue over why he’d just passed out on the floor.
He could see Ash sprawled across the pool table passed out and was envious in that moment. When his gaze swept across, he saw Ash lift his head, wink in Dean’s direction and then flop soundlessly back. Playing dead? The bastard had the right idea.
“Gonna make coffee,” Dean mumbled and tried to make his escape back to the kitchen, knowing it was unlikely to be that easy.
“Dean!” Jo shrilled, her tone drilling through Dean’s head, “Aren’t you going to help us settle this?” Bobby just crossed his arms and looked smugly over at the pair of younger hunters.
Dean just shook his head and turned to make his way out of the bar. Two footsteps in, his right knee had other ideas about leaving and buckled beneath him. This time there was no conveniently close bar stool to prevent Dean from sprawling his length across the bar room floor.
Almost as soon as he hit the dirt, he heard the twin thumps of Jo and Bobby kneeling at either side, grabbing his arms to haul him up. “Geroff,” He lashed out, twisting and pushing with his arms until they backed off and then he just rested against the ground, catching his breath until he used one arm to lever himself up. He glared balefully at the pair, “My dad’s dead, my brother’s a murderer, I’m too fucked up to ever hunt again and you two are having a pissing contest over a map? You know what, fuck you.” He edged over until he reached a table leg and then used that to haul himself up to feet. His right knee threatened to buckle again but he just used a limping slide, allowing the momentum of the bend to carry him over until the stride on the left.
He reached the kitchen, poured water into the kettle, switched it to boil and then sank down into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his face in his hands. He felt the cold lines of tear tracks running down his face but he was just too tired to care. The kettle whistled and clicked off and he limped over, spooned granules into the bottom of a mug then splashing in the water, not even noticing when the boiling water lapped up the sides of the mug onto his fingers.
He brought the mug back to the table and cupped his hands around it, too hot to drink but enjoying the tingling burn that the heat spread across his palms. He leant his head down, resting his forehead on the smooth surface of the table and let the tears seep out, no hitching sobs or ceremony, just water chasing itself down his face.
The door opened and closed but Dean didn’t bother raising his face. It could only be one of three people: two of which he really didn’t want to see right now and a third who had an alarming tendency to wander around naked. The shuffling guilty footsteps told him it was one of the former, the click of heels on linoleum told him it was Jo.
“I’m guessing sorry isn’t really going to cut it,” Jo started to say and Dean had to choke back a laugh because that’s understatement of the month right there. He swiped at his eyes to remove the visible traces of tears, knowing that the stark red rims would give away what he’d been doing anyway.
“You lost the bet then?” Dean croaked out, raising the cooling coffee to his mouth and taking a gulp.
“Rock, paper, scissors actually,” Jo replied, taking a seat opposite Dean, “And I won.”
“Scissors?”
“Of course.” The light hearted moment only lasted a second before Dean dipped his head back towards the table. “Erm,” Jo stated, crossing and un-crossing her legs nervously, “Me ‘n’ Bobby were gonna take another look at the charts, see if we can see anything else if you want to join us.” She left the offer open-ended as she stood from the table. She was just in the threshold of the doorway when she paused, turning her head back for a moment, “For what it’s worth, I’d never think you’re fucked up.” A flush coloured her cheeks but she ducked away and was out of the doorway before Dean could answer even if he wanted to.
All Dean wanted to do was rest his head back on the table and go back to pretending just for a while that the rest of the world didn’t exist. Instead he needed to think of ways to explain to Jo that that really wasn’t what he was looking for at the moment. He had had an idea of her feelings after Sam had let a few things slip post-possession and he had to admit that factored in a large part as to why he hadn’t phoned her back.
Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, there was a scrawled yellow post-it with the words ‘Deal with feelings for Jo.’ It was mostly covered up by bigger post-its notes saying ‘Get Dad out of hell’, ‘Stop Sammy from turning evil’, ‘Get Sammy laid by something not evil’ (A big brother has his priorities) and finally ‘Kill the fucking demon’. Dean knew the second post-it probably needed the word ‘more’ added but even mentally adding that was far too close to giving up.
“Fucking hell Winchester, snap out of the self-pity,” His own voice growled at him and he pushed himself up from the table, legs holding steady beneath him this time. He took the walk back to the bar slowly, wanting no repeat to his undignified fall. Bobby and Jo were seated at one of the tables, peering over one of the maps. Ash had quit feigning sleep at some point and had now joined them, taking his own seat to the side. Jo was just drawing something onto the tracing paper when Dean approached, “What’s that?” He noticed the seated trio jump a little and felt a surge of pride that he could still sneak up on people.
“Wiccan symbol for fire.” Jo answered, “I, erm, went through a wiccan phase.” She admitted to Dean’s surprised look.
“I’m pretty sure the demon’s weakness isn’t fire.” Dean said as he eased himself into a seat, leaning his elbows on the table and peering over the man, “And that immolating ourselves isn’t a good strategy.”
Jo scowled at Dean then hastily tempered her expression to a smile, “Well, no, but it could mean something else. Fire is often representative of stuff in mythology. Like Prometheus giving fire to the mortals could be seen as him enlightening them to the world beyond what the gods wanted them to know.” At three pairs of shocked eyes in her direction, she huffed, “I’m not a dumb blonde, you know.”
“So, by your logic,” Dean said, looking over the outlines on the map, “Fate is trying to enlighten us,” He pointed to the fire, “to something about hunters.” He motioned to Orion. “Anyone see anything?” Dean kept his hand deliberately obscuring part of the rifle. Whatever it meant, he didn’t want anyone else thinking about it. If their last chance had been Sam then he didn’t want to know they were screwed.
He noticed Bobby’s hand tracking patterns across the grid as the older hunter tried to work out something, not speaking until he was sure. Dean followed the movements, trying to find what the older hunter could see that they couldn’t.
“Thirty eight,” Bobby cryptically stated and Dean was sure the mechanic took pleasure in flouting his knowledge over the younger trio.
He exchanged looks with Jo and Ash, all three determined not to be the one not to ask. It was two tense seconds away from resorting to Rock, Paper, Scissors when Jo cracked, “What’s thirty eight?”
Bobby glanced with an innocent air to the girl and then waved a hand over part of the map, “Roman numerals. Starts here on the sword of Orion and sweeps over to end just before the fire.” Dean noted that it was also bisected by the rifle but didn’t share that observation.
Jo followed the patterns and nodded, “Great. Hunter, fire, thirty eight. What the hell is thirty eight?”
“Well, it’s the sum of the squares of the first three primes,” Ash ventured, looking vaguely dazed as he reeled off the figures from his head, “Not to mention the largest even number which can’t be expressed as the sum of two odd composite numbers.” He noticed the looks he was getting and shrugged, “Neither of which help us defeat the demon, sure, but I thought it was a little cool.”
“Maybe the demon is just really crap at algebra?” Dean jested, looking over the map for any other clues, “Must be why he recruited Sammy, he needs geeks.” He saw the nervous looks flitting between the other three and wasn’t surprised when one of them changed the subject.
“So we assume that the demon put the image of Orion in to taunt us. Fate, God, pick your deity of the week put in the rest of them to try and tell us something.” Bobby frowned at the paper, “Is this the only grouping that our celestial entity of choice has added or could there be other clues across the rest of the charts?”
“Possibly,” Ash said somewhat sceptically, “I want to take a look at the geological groups again.”
“I thought you said they were useless?” Jo said in surprise.
“They were but that’s when I thought the demon was planning an all-out attack.” Ash said.
Dean frowned, “Why the hell would you think the demon would do an all-out attack? He doesn’t exactly seem the type.”
“Because I thought he’d killed you,” Ash said in a matter-of-fact tone. At Dean’s startled look, he explained, “Your family has always had this quest against the demon, right? Most other hunters will drop you a note if they find anything demon related but otherwise ignore it. When the demon got your Dad, Hunters started to take notice, started to think the demon was actually something to worry about. If the demon killed you as well then it’d be a sign that it was willing for the hunters to go after it, that it was ready for the attack.” Before Dean had a question to ask the question on his mind, Ash was answering it, “I know. Sam said a werewolf killed you but I once worked out the statistical probability of a Winchester dying of non-Demon related causes and, well, I can’t remember the number now and I got seriously stoned and ate the piece of paper but it was pretty damn low.”
“Does that mean if I bag the demon, I become immortal?” Dean asks, jovial tone belying his nervousness. It’s one thing to know you got a demon on your family’s tail, it’s another to know that the demon is practically your very own grim reaper. Not to mention that fact that if it was almost statistically impossible for anything but the Demon to kill Dean, it was also almost statistically impossible for Dean to survive beyond the Demon’s death. Dean knew there was a reason he hated statistics.
Ash obviously didn’t feel like answering the question as he stood from their table and headed back into his room, emerging moments later with another roll of charts. He stretched them out across the other ones and began explaining the key he’d used. Dean mostly ignored him, he didn’t need to know what the symbols are yet, he just needed the pattern.
The purple crosses were distracting. Dean kept tracking movement across the map and the purple crosses kept interrupting the process. They don’t belong so Dean ignored them, tried to teach his brain not to recognise them. It didn’t work perfectly but they don’t jar so much anymore.
There’s definitely something going on between the white crosses and the orange dots, almost in the playground whisper proto-relationship way. They weren’t seen around each other but there’s something about them said they were connected, that they were just waiting for your back to turn so they could hook up. Dean quickly counted, the numbers were exactly equal, no third wheels here.
Dean tried to link them up but it wasn’t as simple as the closest two. There were two right next to each other but they just didn’t feel like they belonged to each other. Two on opposite sides of the map seemed to belong together and Dean wasn’t sure what made him think so except for some bone-deep instinct. Dean had grown up watching his father do exactly the same thing so it wasn’t surprised to him that a shadow of his Dad’s talent had rubbed off.
“What are you looking at?” Jo asked. Dean was currently focused on one little white cross that didn’t seem to belong to anything close but was being particularly stubborn about confessing who she did belong to.
“Oh, he’s got the John look,” Bobby said, his voice quieter than normal, “I’ve seen John with that look too many times. Usually just before he’d announced you were driving to Florida to exorcise a poltergeist despite the fact what he’d been staring at was a news report on a freak snow storm in Antigua.”
Ash snorted, “He’ll have luck with this one. I’ve run it through every algorithm I know and there’s nothing. No areas where evil is congregated, no sweeping pattern, it’d make me tear my hair out if it wasn’t for the fact, you know, you don’t mess with the ‘do.”
Ash’s words managed to filter into Dean’s brain and he leaned back, leaving that tricksy white cross to focus on the map as a whole once more. He leant right back against the chair getting as much of the map in vision as was physically position in his current state, “You’re right.” He said, the sound of his voice sounding a little distant, “Absolutely no overall pattern whatever, spread out evenly. Far too fucking evenly.” He turned to look at Ash, eyes still a little out of focus from concentrating, “The bases are loaded and the bastards lining up a home run.”
Jo and Bobby’s confused mutterings were drowned out by Ash’s loud “Fuck!” and then the stoner genius was leant over the map, eyes jumping about and fingers tracing a completely different direction. When Ash lifted his head, it was to look at Dean with a whole new level of respect, “We’re so screwed.”
“Could you fill in the rest of us so we can all join the panic?” Jo tautly asked.
Ash gestured to Dean to lean the explanation but Dean just self-consciously shook his head, not trusting his still awkward mouth to explain it so Ash took over the explanation, “These spots are everywhere. I guess no-one has been seeing it ‘cos they are all different but when you add it all up, there’s very little left of America which doesn’t have some form of demonic activity. This means when the demon does decide to attack, there’s literally nowhere to hide.”
“Not quite,” Dean interrupted at that point, moving his hand to certain areas, mostly those which had the previously distracting purple cross, “These areas are mostly clear apart from the purple crosses. Might mean they are full of things even the demon wants to avoid but they could be safe havens if we get people there. One thing is for sure, grouping at the road house is the worst thing we could do. We need to spread out as wide as we can stretch or we’ll be surrounded.”
“I’ve got a book of hunter contacts or rather I found my mother’s hiding place. We should split them up, give them coordinates to get themselves, their families and anyone else they can persuade about the incoming demonic apocalypse to the white spots and start making a base.” Jo said.
“What about the other ninety nine percent of the population?” Dean asked.
Jo shrugged, “We persuade who we can and then we make lots of underground routes so that when it happens, we can smuggle as many people to safety as possible.” Jo paused and then stood up and heading out to the bar, shuffling some of the bottles until she reached a dark Baileys bottle. She brought it over to the table and then twisted it open, revealing a black covered book curled inside, “Didn’t you ever wonder why my mother had a bottle of Baileys at a hunter’s bar?” She flicked the pages, “Here, Jeremiah. His ancestors were part of the underground movement to free slaves. They passed knowledge down in case it ever happened again. He could be a good help.” Jo went through a few more pages, “Harry and Bill. Twins. Fortification nuts. Both in their seventies but they’ll consult.”
Dean took hold of the book, leafing through the pages, “Is there anyone your mother didn’t know?” He couldn’t resist flicking towards the back. There was a single faded ink entry for his father and fresher ones for himself and Sam. His had a red cross to the side and a date: 27th of June, 2007. The day he’d died. The day Sam had killed him. He held the book back out to Jo, not wanting to look at it anymore.
Jo obviously noticed his expression and it didn’t take her much work to figure out which entry he was looking at. “Guess we better update that,” She said, reaching out for a pen.
Dean gripped her wrist with his good hand, “Don’t. Not until this is all over.”
“Dean!” Jo protested, “I can’t leave you dead.”
“You might have to,” Dean said and hoped she realised he wasn’t just talking about today. Like Ash said, Winchesters may be the best chance of killing the Demon but they won’t be walking away from the battle strumming a ukulele. Seeing the angry look in Jo’s eyes, he amended his words, “Just until this is all over.” And then the only change she’d have to make will be to update the date.
“We’ll sort out who gets to write whose epitaph later,” Bobby’s no-nonsense tone broke in, “How about we start divvying up that list and phoning those hunters before the apocalypse starts?”
***
Bobby’s idea had been a good one however after the third time Dean started off a phone call with ‘Hey, It’s Dean Winchester’ only to be greeted with a startled gasp and a dial tone he was relegated to just making notes of which hunters they were sending where and trying to make sure each potential outpost had the right mix of people with the appropriate skills.
It was amusing to listen to the other three’s varied techniques at getting the hunters to listen. Bobby was all gruff command, telling the hunters where to be and biting down the arguments before they could be formed. Jo was honeyed sweetness, coaxing the hunters into doing what she wanted and then a brittle snap when they tried to sway from her course. Ash was colloquial verbosity, telling the hunters every single bit of the situation, getting them to agree before they even realised they were part of the conversation.
Dean scribbled down a few more names and then got up from the table and headed out towards the bathroom. He didn’t really need to go but he didn’t need to get away from the trio for a bit. There were only ever two people that Dean had adjusted to being in the constant company of. His father was managed by having defined boundaries of conversation, hunting, emotions. Sam had torn down every boundary Dean had put up and then crossed the line Dean could never follow. He’d go to hell for his brother but to pull him the fuck out, not to join him.
He was only halfway down the hallway when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He lifted it out and didn’t care look at the display, afraid that it would be his brother and equally terrified that it wouldn’t. Finally he dared to look and the display simply read ‘Jo’. He frowned, glancing back to be sure the blonde hunter was still in the bar before pressing the green button to answer.
“S’Dean.” He had learnt his lesson after once answering ‘Dean Winchester, ass-kicking demon hunter extraordinaire’ to a wrong number.
“Hi, this is Jo Harvelle,” Jo’s distinctive voice said, “I’m contacting you about the oncoming demonic apocalypse.”
Dean couldn’t stop a smile and he leaned against the wall, “Really? What about it?”
“I happen to have come into possession, oh wait, bad term. I happen to have acquired two front row tickets that I’d be willing to share for a very reasonable price.”
“And what would this price be?”
“I’m organising an after-show party and we need a few special guests.”
Dean groaned, he should have guessed where the conversation was turning, “I could try and rustle you up some tricksters? I’m fairly sure there’s one out there which is a huge fan of me. Oh wait, killed him. I should stop killing my fans.”
“I certainly hope you don’t kill this one.”
“I don’t think you can really call yourself a fan.”
“How about an admirer?” Jo said and her tone was loaded.
Dean paused, trying to think for once in his life before he spoke to a woman. Words usually came easily but it wasn’t just his brain’s glitches which were making this difficult, “Maybe once I’ve finished this tour,” was the closest he could come to a reasonable excuse.
“I heard you were planning on retiring from public, and total, life once this gig was over.”
“I just don’t want to disappoint people with a bad album.”
“Better a one-hit wonder than forever unknown.”
“Do I have to continue with the corny music references?”
“That depends. Can you say what you are thinking for once?”
Dean paused, “The album cover would have to have an Impala on the front.”
He could hear Jo’s sigh as a whuff of static and then the sound of footsteps and the scraping draw of a bar stool across the floor, “I’ve walked away from the others,” She said needlessly, “They were starting to give me odd looks. One day I would like to hang around with men where talking about feelings is normal and talking about hunting unholy creatures of the night is abnormal.”
“But you haven’t found a local gay bar yet?”
Dean could almost hear Jo’s scowl which he considered was quite a feat, “Are you planning to exhaust all the cliches in your mind before you’ll talk to me?” She snapped, “You know what, call me back when you want to live in tomorrow for a change.” The dial tone greeted Dean’s ears and he leaned harder against the siding. It would only take five strides to carry him to Jo and the small chance of a happy ending. Dean turned and headed towards the bathroom, happy endings were over-rated.
A/N: Okay. Next chapter will involve quite a large time jump so I’m warning you now. I figured the intricacies of how the hunters go about establishing the network wouldn’t make fascinating reading so for now until I post again, just assume the hunters are busying out trying to get ready and the next chapter, well, we’ll find out how successful they were.
Also, this chapter was written looong before AHBL pt 2 however my ever wonderful beta has pointed out some eerie similarities. Well, I was born exactly a month after Sam but the YED hasn’t shown up for me yet so who knows? I don’t think I’m psychic anyway.
Next Chapter
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It’s all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Warnings and notes: Multiple character death. Dark fic.
Rating: PG-13 to R
Pairing/Characters: Mostly gen, some very mild Dean/Jo in future chapters.
Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.
Beta: Beta’d by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.
Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.
Previous Chapters: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 ]
By the time Dean emerged from the shower, he could hear the sound of an argument going on in the main bar. He ducked briefly into his room, towelling off the worst of the drips from his hair but leaving it damp. He pulled on a pair of jeans and the non-descript t-shirt Bobby had picked up for him from a Wal-mart and then made his way out to the bar.
Jo was standing in the centre of the bar, hip cocked towards Bobby and one finger poking into his chest. Bobby meanwhile was doing his best to tower over the diminutive girl and had a hand on each of her shoulders, looking about ready to shake her. Dean was very tempted to walk around and pretend that he hadn’t spotted either of them.
Unfortunately his movement was still stiff despite the shower loosening him up so he couldn’t turn before he was spotted. “Dean!” Jo called over, “This idiot here is trying to poke holes in Ash’s theory. You believe it’s right, don’t you?”
Bobby rolled his eyes, “I’m just pointing out that basing our whole gameplan on the demon being enough of a cocky bastard to leave a clearly labelled ‘please press here to destroy evil’ button on a map is not sound tactics.”
“As I believe I pointed out last night,” Jo seemed to be addressing the comment towards Dean but he had a feeling he was about to play peanut gallery to the whole argument, “There is a possibility that it isn’t the demon who left certain symbols.”
“Of course,” Bobby sneered, “The demon having spent about a quarter of a century setting up the plan would no doubt leave the board unattended for a bit. After all, it’s not like anything might be working against him.”
“I made the point that the demon could have set up the board any way he likes, that doesn’t mean there isn’t some sneaky bugger underneath the table with a magnet.” Jo turned an appealing face towards Dean, “You know what this could mean?”
“That we’re royally fucked if Fate has to resort to playing pictionary?” Dean replied, too tired for this sort of argument this early in the morning.
Jo glared at him, “It means that the demon probably doesn’t know about the extra symbols, he’s not going to be searching for patterns in his own patterns so this way we can get one step ahead.”
“The demon doesn’t know about them because they are pure fantasy,” Bobby obviously felt Dean was on his side as he continued his tirade, “For all we know, this whole pattern stuff is a computer glitch. This is why I prefer books.”
“And this is why your old version of hunting is as dead as the dinosaurs.” Jo retorted.
Dean rubbed at his forehead, feeling like the two of them were sand-papering away the numbness that the painkillers gave. Dean briefly wondered whether passing out on the floor might get them to stop arguing for a bit. More than likely they’d just argue over why he’d just passed out on the floor.
He could see Ash sprawled across the pool table passed out and was envious in that moment. When his gaze swept across, he saw Ash lift his head, wink in Dean’s direction and then flop soundlessly back. Playing dead? The bastard had the right idea.
“Gonna make coffee,” Dean mumbled and tried to make his escape back to the kitchen, knowing it was unlikely to be that easy.
“Dean!” Jo shrilled, her tone drilling through Dean’s head, “Aren’t you going to help us settle this?” Bobby just crossed his arms and looked smugly over at the pair of younger hunters.
Dean just shook his head and turned to make his way out of the bar. Two footsteps in, his right knee had other ideas about leaving and buckled beneath him. This time there was no conveniently close bar stool to prevent Dean from sprawling his length across the bar room floor.
Almost as soon as he hit the dirt, he heard the twin thumps of Jo and Bobby kneeling at either side, grabbing his arms to haul him up. “Geroff,” He lashed out, twisting and pushing with his arms until they backed off and then he just rested against the ground, catching his breath until he used one arm to lever himself up. He glared balefully at the pair, “My dad’s dead, my brother’s a murderer, I’m too fucked up to ever hunt again and you two are having a pissing contest over a map? You know what, fuck you.” He edged over until he reached a table leg and then used that to haul himself up to feet. His right knee threatened to buckle again but he just used a limping slide, allowing the momentum of the bend to carry him over until the stride on the left.
He reached the kitchen, poured water into the kettle, switched it to boil and then sank down into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his face in his hands. He felt the cold lines of tear tracks running down his face but he was just too tired to care. The kettle whistled and clicked off and he limped over, spooned granules into the bottom of a mug then splashing in the water, not even noticing when the boiling water lapped up the sides of the mug onto his fingers.
He brought the mug back to the table and cupped his hands around it, too hot to drink but enjoying the tingling burn that the heat spread across his palms. He leant his head down, resting his forehead on the smooth surface of the table and let the tears seep out, no hitching sobs or ceremony, just water chasing itself down his face.
The door opened and closed but Dean didn’t bother raising his face. It could only be one of three people: two of which he really didn’t want to see right now and a third who had an alarming tendency to wander around naked. The shuffling guilty footsteps told him it was one of the former, the click of heels on linoleum told him it was Jo.
“I’m guessing sorry isn’t really going to cut it,” Jo started to say and Dean had to choke back a laugh because that’s understatement of the month right there. He swiped at his eyes to remove the visible traces of tears, knowing that the stark red rims would give away what he’d been doing anyway.
“You lost the bet then?” Dean croaked out, raising the cooling coffee to his mouth and taking a gulp.
“Rock, paper, scissors actually,” Jo replied, taking a seat opposite Dean, “And I won.”
“Scissors?”
“Of course.” The light hearted moment only lasted a second before Dean dipped his head back towards the table. “Erm,” Jo stated, crossing and un-crossing her legs nervously, “Me ‘n’ Bobby were gonna take another look at the charts, see if we can see anything else if you want to join us.” She left the offer open-ended as she stood from the table. She was just in the threshold of the doorway when she paused, turning her head back for a moment, “For what it’s worth, I’d never think you’re fucked up.” A flush coloured her cheeks but she ducked away and was out of the doorway before Dean could answer even if he wanted to.
All Dean wanted to do was rest his head back on the table and go back to pretending just for a while that the rest of the world didn’t exist. Instead he needed to think of ways to explain to Jo that that really wasn’t what he was looking for at the moment. He had had an idea of her feelings after Sam had let a few things slip post-possession and he had to admit that factored in a large part as to why he hadn’t phoned her back.
Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, there was a scrawled yellow post-it with the words ‘Deal with feelings for Jo.’ It was mostly covered up by bigger post-its notes saying ‘Get Dad out of hell’, ‘Stop Sammy from turning evil’, ‘Get Sammy laid by something not evil’ (A big brother has his priorities) and finally ‘Kill the fucking demon’. Dean knew the second post-it probably needed the word ‘more’ added but even mentally adding that was far too close to giving up.
“Fucking hell Winchester, snap out of the self-pity,” His own voice growled at him and he pushed himself up from the table, legs holding steady beneath him this time. He took the walk back to the bar slowly, wanting no repeat to his undignified fall. Bobby and Jo were seated at one of the tables, peering over one of the maps. Ash had quit feigning sleep at some point and had now joined them, taking his own seat to the side. Jo was just drawing something onto the tracing paper when Dean approached, “What’s that?” He noticed the seated trio jump a little and felt a surge of pride that he could still sneak up on people.
“Wiccan symbol for fire.” Jo answered, “I, erm, went through a wiccan phase.” She admitted to Dean’s surprised look.
“I’m pretty sure the demon’s weakness isn’t fire.” Dean said as he eased himself into a seat, leaning his elbows on the table and peering over the man, “And that immolating ourselves isn’t a good strategy.”
Jo scowled at Dean then hastily tempered her expression to a smile, “Well, no, but it could mean something else. Fire is often representative of stuff in mythology. Like Prometheus giving fire to the mortals could be seen as him enlightening them to the world beyond what the gods wanted them to know.” At three pairs of shocked eyes in her direction, she huffed, “I’m not a dumb blonde, you know.”
“So, by your logic,” Dean said, looking over the outlines on the map, “Fate is trying to enlighten us,” He pointed to the fire, “to something about hunters.” He motioned to Orion. “Anyone see anything?” Dean kept his hand deliberately obscuring part of the rifle. Whatever it meant, he didn’t want anyone else thinking about it. If their last chance had been Sam then he didn’t want to know they were screwed.
He noticed Bobby’s hand tracking patterns across the grid as the older hunter tried to work out something, not speaking until he was sure. Dean followed the movements, trying to find what the older hunter could see that they couldn’t.
“Thirty eight,” Bobby cryptically stated and Dean was sure the mechanic took pleasure in flouting his knowledge over the younger trio.
He exchanged looks with Jo and Ash, all three determined not to be the one not to ask. It was two tense seconds away from resorting to Rock, Paper, Scissors when Jo cracked, “What’s thirty eight?”
Bobby glanced with an innocent air to the girl and then waved a hand over part of the map, “Roman numerals. Starts here on the sword of Orion and sweeps over to end just before the fire.” Dean noted that it was also bisected by the rifle but didn’t share that observation.
Jo followed the patterns and nodded, “Great. Hunter, fire, thirty eight. What the hell is thirty eight?”
“Well, it’s the sum of the squares of the first three primes,” Ash ventured, looking vaguely dazed as he reeled off the figures from his head, “Not to mention the largest even number which can’t be expressed as the sum of two odd composite numbers.” He noticed the looks he was getting and shrugged, “Neither of which help us defeat the demon, sure, but I thought it was a little cool.”
“Maybe the demon is just really crap at algebra?” Dean jested, looking over the map for any other clues, “Must be why he recruited Sammy, he needs geeks.” He saw the nervous looks flitting between the other three and wasn’t surprised when one of them changed the subject.
“So we assume that the demon put the image of Orion in to taunt us. Fate, God, pick your deity of the week put in the rest of them to try and tell us something.” Bobby frowned at the paper, “Is this the only grouping that our celestial entity of choice has added or could there be other clues across the rest of the charts?”
“Possibly,” Ash said somewhat sceptically, “I want to take a look at the geological groups again.”
“I thought you said they were useless?” Jo said in surprise.
“They were but that’s when I thought the demon was planning an all-out attack.” Ash said.
Dean frowned, “Why the hell would you think the demon would do an all-out attack? He doesn’t exactly seem the type.”
“Because I thought he’d killed you,” Ash said in a matter-of-fact tone. At Dean’s startled look, he explained, “Your family has always had this quest against the demon, right? Most other hunters will drop you a note if they find anything demon related but otherwise ignore it. When the demon got your Dad, Hunters started to take notice, started to think the demon was actually something to worry about. If the demon killed you as well then it’d be a sign that it was willing for the hunters to go after it, that it was ready for the attack.” Before Dean had a question to ask the question on his mind, Ash was answering it, “I know. Sam said a werewolf killed you but I once worked out the statistical probability of a Winchester dying of non-Demon related causes and, well, I can’t remember the number now and I got seriously stoned and ate the piece of paper but it was pretty damn low.”
“Does that mean if I bag the demon, I become immortal?” Dean asks, jovial tone belying his nervousness. It’s one thing to know you got a demon on your family’s tail, it’s another to know that the demon is practically your very own grim reaper. Not to mention that fact that if it was almost statistically impossible for anything but the Demon to kill Dean, it was also almost statistically impossible for Dean to survive beyond the Demon’s death. Dean knew there was a reason he hated statistics.
Ash obviously didn’t feel like answering the question as he stood from their table and headed back into his room, emerging moments later with another roll of charts. He stretched them out across the other ones and began explaining the key he’d used. Dean mostly ignored him, he didn’t need to know what the symbols are yet, he just needed the pattern.
The purple crosses were distracting. Dean kept tracking movement across the map and the purple crosses kept interrupting the process. They don’t belong so Dean ignored them, tried to teach his brain not to recognise them. It didn’t work perfectly but they don’t jar so much anymore.
There’s definitely something going on between the white crosses and the orange dots, almost in the playground whisper proto-relationship way. They weren’t seen around each other but there’s something about them said they were connected, that they were just waiting for your back to turn so they could hook up. Dean quickly counted, the numbers were exactly equal, no third wheels here.
Dean tried to link them up but it wasn’t as simple as the closest two. There were two right next to each other but they just didn’t feel like they belonged to each other. Two on opposite sides of the map seemed to belong together and Dean wasn’t sure what made him think so except for some bone-deep instinct. Dean had grown up watching his father do exactly the same thing so it wasn’t surprised to him that a shadow of his Dad’s talent had rubbed off.
“What are you looking at?” Jo asked. Dean was currently focused on one little white cross that didn’t seem to belong to anything close but was being particularly stubborn about confessing who she did belong to.
“Oh, he’s got the John look,” Bobby said, his voice quieter than normal, “I’ve seen John with that look too many times. Usually just before he’d announced you were driving to Florida to exorcise a poltergeist despite the fact what he’d been staring at was a news report on a freak snow storm in Antigua.”
Ash snorted, “He’ll have luck with this one. I’ve run it through every algorithm I know and there’s nothing. No areas where evil is congregated, no sweeping pattern, it’d make me tear my hair out if it wasn’t for the fact, you know, you don’t mess with the ‘do.”
Ash’s words managed to filter into Dean’s brain and he leaned back, leaving that tricksy white cross to focus on the map as a whole once more. He leant right back against the chair getting as much of the map in vision as was physically position in his current state, “You’re right.” He said, the sound of his voice sounding a little distant, “Absolutely no overall pattern whatever, spread out evenly. Far too fucking evenly.” He turned to look at Ash, eyes still a little out of focus from concentrating, “The bases are loaded and the bastards lining up a home run.”
Jo and Bobby’s confused mutterings were drowned out by Ash’s loud “Fuck!” and then the stoner genius was leant over the map, eyes jumping about and fingers tracing a completely different direction. When Ash lifted his head, it was to look at Dean with a whole new level of respect, “We’re so screwed.”
“Could you fill in the rest of us so we can all join the panic?” Jo tautly asked.
Ash gestured to Dean to lean the explanation but Dean just self-consciously shook his head, not trusting his still awkward mouth to explain it so Ash took over the explanation, “These spots are everywhere. I guess no-one has been seeing it ‘cos they are all different but when you add it all up, there’s very little left of America which doesn’t have some form of demonic activity. This means when the demon does decide to attack, there’s literally nowhere to hide.”
“Not quite,” Dean interrupted at that point, moving his hand to certain areas, mostly those which had the previously distracting purple cross, “These areas are mostly clear apart from the purple crosses. Might mean they are full of things even the demon wants to avoid but they could be safe havens if we get people there. One thing is for sure, grouping at the road house is the worst thing we could do. We need to spread out as wide as we can stretch or we’ll be surrounded.”
“I’ve got a book of hunter contacts or rather I found my mother’s hiding place. We should split them up, give them coordinates to get themselves, their families and anyone else they can persuade about the incoming demonic apocalypse to the white spots and start making a base.” Jo said.
“What about the other ninety nine percent of the population?” Dean asked.
Jo shrugged, “We persuade who we can and then we make lots of underground routes so that when it happens, we can smuggle as many people to safety as possible.” Jo paused and then stood up and heading out to the bar, shuffling some of the bottles until she reached a dark Baileys bottle. She brought it over to the table and then twisted it open, revealing a black covered book curled inside, “Didn’t you ever wonder why my mother had a bottle of Baileys at a hunter’s bar?” She flicked the pages, “Here, Jeremiah. His ancestors were part of the underground movement to free slaves. They passed knowledge down in case it ever happened again. He could be a good help.” Jo went through a few more pages, “Harry and Bill. Twins. Fortification nuts. Both in their seventies but they’ll consult.”
Dean took hold of the book, leafing through the pages, “Is there anyone your mother didn’t know?” He couldn’t resist flicking towards the back. There was a single faded ink entry for his father and fresher ones for himself and Sam. His had a red cross to the side and a date: 27th of June, 2007. The day he’d died. The day Sam had killed him. He held the book back out to Jo, not wanting to look at it anymore.
Jo obviously noticed his expression and it didn’t take her much work to figure out which entry he was looking at. “Guess we better update that,” She said, reaching out for a pen.
Dean gripped her wrist with his good hand, “Don’t. Not until this is all over.”
“Dean!” Jo protested, “I can’t leave you dead.”
“You might have to,” Dean said and hoped she realised he wasn’t just talking about today. Like Ash said, Winchesters may be the best chance of killing the Demon but they won’t be walking away from the battle strumming a ukulele. Seeing the angry look in Jo’s eyes, he amended his words, “Just until this is all over.” And then the only change she’d have to make will be to update the date.
“We’ll sort out who gets to write whose epitaph later,” Bobby’s no-nonsense tone broke in, “How about we start divvying up that list and phoning those hunters before the apocalypse starts?”
***
Bobby’s idea had been a good one however after the third time Dean started off a phone call with ‘Hey, It’s Dean Winchester’ only to be greeted with a startled gasp and a dial tone he was relegated to just making notes of which hunters they were sending where and trying to make sure each potential outpost had the right mix of people with the appropriate skills.
It was amusing to listen to the other three’s varied techniques at getting the hunters to listen. Bobby was all gruff command, telling the hunters where to be and biting down the arguments before they could be formed. Jo was honeyed sweetness, coaxing the hunters into doing what she wanted and then a brittle snap when they tried to sway from her course. Ash was colloquial verbosity, telling the hunters every single bit of the situation, getting them to agree before they even realised they were part of the conversation.
Dean scribbled down a few more names and then got up from the table and headed out towards the bathroom. He didn’t really need to go but he didn’t need to get away from the trio for a bit. There were only ever two people that Dean had adjusted to being in the constant company of. His father was managed by having defined boundaries of conversation, hunting, emotions. Sam had torn down every boundary Dean had put up and then crossed the line Dean could never follow. He’d go to hell for his brother but to pull him the fuck out, not to join him.
He was only halfway down the hallway when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He lifted it out and didn’t care look at the display, afraid that it would be his brother and equally terrified that it wouldn’t. Finally he dared to look and the display simply read ‘Jo’. He frowned, glancing back to be sure the blonde hunter was still in the bar before pressing the green button to answer.
“S’Dean.” He had learnt his lesson after once answering ‘Dean Winchester, ass-kicking demon hunter extraordinaire’ to a wrong number.
“Hi, this is Jo Harvelle,” Jo’s distinctive voice said, “I’m contacting you about the oncoming demonic apocalypse.”
Dean couldn’t stop a smile and he leaned against the wall, “Really? What about it?”
“I happen to have come into possession, oh wait, bad term. I happen to have acquired two front row tickets that I’d be willing to share for a very reasonable price.”
“And what would this price be?”
“I’m organising an after-show party and we need a few special guests.”
Dean groaned, he should have guessed where the conversation was turning, “I could try and rustle you up some tricksters? I’m fairly sure there’s one out there which is a huge fan of me. Oh wait, killed him. I should stop killing my fans.”
“I certainly hope you don’t kill this one.”
“I don’t think you can really call yourself a fan.”
“How about an admirer?” Jo said and her tone was loaded.
Dean paused, trying to think for once in his life before he spoke to a woman. Words usually came easily but it wasn’t just his brain’s glitches which were making this difficult, “Maybe once I’ve finished this tour,” was the closest he could come to a reasonable excuse.
“I heard you were planning on retiring from public, and total, life once this gig was over.”
“I just don’t want to disappoint people with a bad album.”
“Better a one-hit wonder than forever unknown.”
“Do I have to continue with the corny music references?”
“That depends. Can you say what you are thinking for once?”
Dean paused, “The album cover would have to have an Impala on the front.”
He could hear Jo’s sigh as a whuff of static and then the sound of footsteps and the scraping draw of a bar stool across the floor, “I’ve walked away from the others,” She said needlessly, “They were starting to give me odd looks. One day I would like to hang around with men where talking about feelings is normal and talking about hunting unholy creatures of the night is abnormal.”
“But you haven’t found a local gay bar yet?”
Dean could almost hear Jo’s scowl which he considered was quite a feat, “Are you planning to exhaust all the cliches in your mind before you’ll talk to me?” She snapped, “You know what, call me back when you want to live in tomorrow for a change.” The dial tone greeted Dean’s ears and he leaned harder against the siding. It would only take five strides to carry him to Jo and the small chance of a happy ending. Dean turned and headed towards the bathroom, happy endings were over-rated.
A/N: Okay. Next chapter will involve quite a large time jump so I’m warning you now. I figured the intricacies of how the hunters go about establishing the network wouldn’t make fascinating reading so for now until I post again, just assume the hunters are busying out trying to get ready and the next chapter, well, we’ll find out how successful they were.
Also, this chapter was written looong before AHBL pt 2 however my ever wonderful beta has pointed out some eerie similarities. Well, I was born exactly a month after Sam but the YED hasn’t shown up for me yet so who knows? I don’t think I’m psychic anyway.
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