Fic: By Some Unseen Light, 3/5
Part 1 | Part 2
No sensation, no sound, no sight.
Flowing freeform - formless - no body, no blood.
Waves push-pulled by wind, currents rise-fall in lunar rhythm.
Everything floats, suspended in the wet - in the damp - in the water -
Then voices, like ripples in the dark.
Calm as the deep, “Dean, it’s not your fault.”
An echoing snarl, “Like Hell it’s not my fault! Look at him, Sam! Fuck-”
Muffled bang - fists on felled tree.
Panicked voice, rising in pitch, “Why’d I let him keep coming back? I don’t even really need him to - I mean, I’ve got three others! A triangle’s good enough!”
“Dean-”
“I shouldn’t have and - and the stupid bastard should’ve just stayed in New York, and now I’ve-”
“Dean, no. He’s going to be okay. Look - he’s breathing.”
“You know what else breathes? Coma patients, Sam. Coma patients and vegetables breathe!”
Placating murmur, “He’ll wake up, Dean - I woke up.”
“You and no one else.”
Silence.
“Dean-”
“Fuck, Sam,” a rattling breath, “I - I should never have done it. This is so fucked up and it’s all my-”
“You just wanted to know-”
“Fuck that!” voice strangled, bordering on a sob, “Why’d I have to go looking for him? If I’d just - if I’d just let - let him - I mean, what was the point? The fucking ritual didn’t even do anything but bust my fucking leg and - and-”
“It told you he didn’t just burn into nothing - he still exists - he’s still alive.” A tired sigh, “I just don’t get why you won’t do something about it when you’re so damn close.”
“You know exactly why I don’t go out, Sam.” Breathless, “And I - I’ve known... I’ve known for a while now.”
“Wait, all this time you-” the rustle of cloth; a sharp intake of breath, “It’s okay, Dean. Everything’s going to be okay. No one’s dying, and it’s not your fault, so just-”
“Sam,” small and pained, “Even if everything’s - even if everything’s going to be okay. You’re right, I have to-”
“No! Screw what I said, you don’t have to-”
“But I do,” a choked laugh, bitter, “He already died twice for me. Least I can do is let him live once for himself.”
“Dean...”
Theo’s eyes slide open slowly, feeling like he’s surfacing from the depths of the ocean, guided only by the distant sun.
“Oh, he’s waking up,” hazel, gradually sharpening as Theo focuses, his awareness expanding to brown hair hanging down over a broad forehead; relieved smile, a little tight in the corners.
“Hey there, Theo,” the tall man - Sam - says gently. “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m... fine,” Theo mumbles, throat feeling like it’s coated in silt and voice just as gravelly; strangely rough and deep. “What... what happened?”
“You slipped and bumped your head,” Sam says as he looks over Theo with a critical eye.
Theo’s brows furrow, “No. That was Dean.”
“You too,” Sam’s smile turns apologetic, “The kitchen’s always been damn slippery and the spilled coffee didn’t help any.” He leans back, revealing bright rectangles of afternoon sunlight drawn on the watermarked ceiling. Sam’s smile falters, his concern bleeding over, “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Theo answers flatly, finding it surprisingly easy to push himself into a sitting position while Sam’s large hands hover nearby, torn between helping or stopping Theo from moving; Sam’s eyes locked onto him like that’ll keep him conscious.
Resting against the back of the sofa, Theo rubs his eyes, lowers his hands and raises his head to ask, “How is De-”
He stops.
Dean is huddled on the floor in the far corner, walled inside a twisted imitation of a child’s fort made from a side table, an armchair, and cushions pilfered from the other pieces of furniture in the sitting room. His arms are wrapped around his knees, bowed head hidden under the hood of the oversized hoodie he wears, and his hands are covered by his singed oven mitts, the eyes of the cartoon pigs staring balefully at Theo.
Sam clears his throat, moving to block Theo’s view of Dean, “He’s... he’s fine too.”
Only, now that he can’t see Dean, Theo can see streaks of red on the floor where a cloth failed to wipe away the mess - half a bloody footprint beside the coffee table, the dried ring where there used to be a small puddle by the sofa. And there are books, magazines, knick knacks and even a lamp lying broken on the floor - obviously objects that had been hurled from the corner of the room.
Theo looks at Sam incredulously, wondering how they expect him to buy such a blatant lie, “He doesn’t look fine.”
Sam swallows uncomfortably, “It’s just how he... how he gets sometimes...”
There’s a hysterical laugh from the corner and Sam’s shoulders stiffen, “Yeah, that’s me. I’m a - a crazy murderer, don’t you know?”
“Dean!”
But Dean ignores him, instead dragging his gloved hands over the top of his hood, stretching the navy fabric tight against his skull like he wants to block out every sight and every sound, “That’s why - that’s why you should just say ‘no’, kid. No idiotic, inter-dimensional trips ‘cause there’re some places you just shouldn’t step foot in and-”
Sam looks pained as he turns to move towards Dean, and though Dean’s face is now buried in his arms, he seems to sense Sam’s intention and his voice swings smoothly from wild and shaky to cold and sharp, “Stay back.”
Sam stops, having barely moved one foot. There’s a fresh rectangular bruise at his temple - the corner of a book - but the wrinkles in his forehead and the slight tremble of his hands tell Theo how much he wants to run to the other man’s side.
“Kid,” Dean says, the ‘k’ crisp like the bite of ozone, and Theo feels just as trapped as Sam when green strikes him from under the shadow of Dean’s hood, “You don’t have to fix the shed anymore. Sam’s going to make sure you’re okay and drive you home.”
And Dean shouldn’t be able to command such authority over either Sam or Theo, not when he’s still tucked small and frail in the corner, but he does. Like his words are claps of thunder, they echo in the air, struck home with the bright flash of his eyes, “Don’t come back here again.”
Theo’s chest seems to fill with liquid, making it difficult to breath. Cold fluid trickles into his empty spaces, exaggerating their dimensions like the distortion of light through water, only there is nothing but the smothering darkness of earlier - squid ink blooming dark and blinding; pitch smeared across his lips, sealing him in his frozen body.
It’s not until Dean snaps at them with a rumbled, “Go!” that they tumble into action. Sam hustles him out of the room, both of them swivelling their heads back and forth between Dean and the front door like they’re metronomes, ticking to the time Dean’s set, but waiting for him to change his mind and let them stay.
“Goodbye, Theo,” Dean says softly as they make their exit, but it sounds wrong to Theo’s ears, a rip current raking down his spine.
“It’s not-” Theo starts to say, but he doesn’t know what it’s not. All he knows is that there’s a ‘No’ building up in the back of his throat, and it’s not a ‘no’ to drugs, but waves rolling into waves, a roaring tide reaching-racing to the sky.
But then the front door is clicking shut behind them, and though the cry goes unheard, it isn’t silenced.
* * *
Answer me.
Theo hits ‘send’, launching yet another message into the dark clouds overhead.
“Dude, callin’ yer Pappy again?” Jake slurs from where he’s lying on the grass, stoned out of his mind.
“Something like that,” Theo grunts, nose twitching with the thick smoke the wind fails to disperse.
“Aw, cheer up Thee-O,” Evan smiles, flinging one arm around Theo’s shoulders and waving his blunt at Theo with a wobbly hand, “C’mon, Puff the Magic Dragon.”
Theo takes the little stub, holding it between his fingers half-heartedly.
He wishes it would just rain already, if only so he can have an excuse to go home and brood by himself, but the world seems intent on holding out on him - the clouds refusing to pour down their burdens though the weather forecast had predicted the torrent to come days ago.
He could have just ignored the bombardment of texts urging him to drop by Evan’s, yet here he is, lying in the blue haired boy’s backyard and glaring moodily at the smudged screen of his phone.
“Thee-O,” Evan slaps at his shoulder disapprovingly, “You’re three days into your freedom but you’re acting like those cookies in my sock drawer, all soggy and old. What happened to ‘fuck-the-world-Theo’?”
“Yeah,” Jake’s foot nudges Theo’s knee sluggishly, “You’re not Theo, you’re freaking... Eeyore.”
“No, no, that ain’t right,” Evan grins impishly, “Theo’s definitely an ass. He’s just been replaced by an ice princess.”
“Nah, he’s always been a frigid bitch.”
Theo shakes off Evan’s arm, eyes rolling in exasperation as he shoves the blunt back into Evan’s clumsy grasp.
Instead of listening to Evan and Jake debate the size of the stick up his ass, he watches his phone as if staring at it and keeping the screen from blacking will make his father reply.
He’d never realized how... tiresome his friends could be when they’re high - probably because he’d been just as stoned as them. Normally, he’d be happy to drink himself into unconsciousness or light up until he couldn’t breathe for laughing, but lately, those activities have lost their appeal. And that doesn’t make sense, because Theo’s feeling just as mired and misplaced as he ever has, only this time...
This time he knows alcohol and weed won’t be enough, if it ever was.
“Hey-o, Thee-O,” Jake prods at him with his sneaker, “I asked you a question, man.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Theo rubs a finger between his brows.
“’Kay, well any crazy dreams lately?” Jake lolls his head to look at Theo, “Or like, hallucinations or shit?”
Theo’s forehead crinkles, “Why would I be having crazy dreams?”
Evan laughs, spiky blue hair bouncing with his mindless amusement, “True - you haven’t been hangin’ with us all week, so no fucked up beddy-byes for you.”
Jake claps his hands impatiently to get their attention, “Yeah, well, like I was sayin’. Last night - or last-last night - I had this trippy dream and I hadn’t even, like, taken anything before sleeping. So I just wanted to know... you guys ever had that?”
“I only remember bits and pieces of the shit when I wake up,” Evan shrugs, “Sorry, man.”
“How ‘bout you, Thee-O?”
Theo resists checking his phone again, instead trying to pay attention to the boy sprawled across from him, using Jake’s curly bed-head as a point of focus, “I don’t dream.”
“No way,” Jake’s bloodshot eyes squint, disbelieving, “Not even a flying dream - or like, a dream where you’re a field?” he wiggles his arms, imitating the sway of grass in the wind, “Maybe a dream where you’re, like, a rock?” Jake stiffens his arms against his sides, trying to look like a statue and failing.
Evan bursts into laughter, snake bites glinting in the dim light as he slaps his knees and clutches his sides at something Theo can’t find hilarious.
“Maybe you had a dream where you were a wood - had a wood - in a wood - had a wood in you?” Jake grins suggestively at Theo, “Maybe a dream where you were with... Plant?”
Theo’s face contorts in confusion.
“Aw, c’mon, banana bread,” Jake snorts, strong jaw jutting out, “It’s not like this is coming out of left field.”
“He’s right,” Evan rubs at his thin sides, still breathless. “Seriously, you’re like, obsessed with the guy.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“You totally are,” Evan smirks, pulling up a handful of grass and throwing it at Theo, “You freaking biked twenty miles a day just ‘cause he asked you to - didn’t even fight ‘im on it - and you were all white-knight about his good name, and now you’re texting your Dad about him.”
Theo’s brows furrow, “He’s just... interesting.”
And if that isn’t the understatement of his life.
Theo doesn’t know how to voice the questions burning on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know how to ask about the scars or the leg; the shadows of Dean’s past or the memory - just a photo, just a passing conversation without name - that haunts Dean, tattooed into him deeper than knives can reach. He doesn’t know how to ask about any of the shit even remotely related to Dean - marshmallow drinks and distant fathers - but there must be a way to learn. There is a connection here just out of eyeshot, and there has to be a way to make it. There has to be something.
“How ‘bout this,” Jake smacks his lips together absently, dragging square fingers through the blonde mess on his head, “You tell me what yer crazy dream was, an’ we’ll tell you s’more Planty things.”
It probably means something that it takes no time for Theo to decide, “I dreamt I was a tree.”
And that’s a lie - something he’s not in the habit of telling - but he wants to move the conversation along and he looks eager enough for his words to be taken as honest. It was the first thing that came to mind and Jake can take it however he likes, stoned as he is. Theo doesn’t have the patience to explain how he doesn’t dream - has never dreamed - how every night is the same lapping darkness behind his eyelids, the same ocean of nothing.
“Really? A tree,” Jake repeats. “Like, the tallest-tree-in-the-forest kind of tree?” at Theo’s nod, Jake grins lopsidedly. Then he chirps in a sing-a-song falsetto, octaves higher than his usual tone, “Tim-ber!”
“Dude, you’re so fuckin’ high,” Evan shakes his head, trying to smother another laugh behind spindly fingers.
Theo grinds his knuckles into the dust by his side, “Now tell me what you know about Dea-Plant.”
“You’re really gonna trust what Jake says?” Evan turns a skeptical eye on the curly haired teen grinning lazily up at the overcast sky, “Hell, I don’t even believe half the shit he says when he’s sober, and weren’t you the one that was all ‘rumours are bad, bad, bad’?”
And Evan has a point. Theo doesn’t bother trying to see what Jake’s seeing in the heavy clouds that have been blowing in, so Theo reminds himself the fastest way to deal with a stoned Jake is to talk to Evan.
Theo grits his jaw, frustrated, he says to the blue haired boy, “I know these are rumours and therefore exaggerated, but every story has a grain of truth.”
“I’d say what I tell ya has buttloads of truth,” Jake interrupts before Evan can reply, rolling over onto his stomach, speaking into the dirt, “Maybe Plant’s, like, all buddy-buddy with you - which is fucking creepy, by the way, but you bein’ a kinky sunnuvagun, he’s probably, like, a birthday present- an’ right on time cause yer b-day’s tomorrow, right? Both you an’ Evan are August babies, yeah? So lucky you, I mean, he ain’t the ugliest thing ‘round here. Hell, he’s kinda old, but he’s even prettier than Alic-”
“What he means,” Evan says, pushing Jake’s blonde head further into the dirt, “Is that - like I’ve said before - Plant’s freaking crazy. I swear he killed to get his land - that’s how bad he wanted that place - and the way he guards that shit? It’s an island of crap, but he patrols the hell out of it and, well, normally, if he catches you trespassing-” Evan draws a finger across his pale throat, tongue lolling out and eyes crossing.
“We’ve gone over this. He’s not a murderer.”
“He’s not a murderer,” Jake repeats into the dirt. “Yeah, guess you can’t say that wolves murder Bambi or people murder ants.”
Theo frowns, “Plant recognizes himself and others as human.”
Jake snuffles a laugh into the dirt, tapping a hand against Evan’s shoe.
“Uh, wasn’t it you who had the shotgun to the face?” Evan turns his hands palm up, smile indulgent like a parent reminding their child about the last time they tried going on the big kid swing.
“I did destroy his shed,” Theo’s hands twist irritably, leaving off the ‘And you both took part in that, but not the punishment.’
Theo doesn’t really begrudge them on it though, not after all that’s happened. He can’t imagine Dean tolerating Evan or Jake, and a part of him is glad that it was he and not one of the other two that had been caught. Theo is - was - probably an annoyance to the man, but just picturing one of the other boys in his place sends an irrational flare of jealousy through his gut - as if it’s Theo’s place to protect Dean; as if Dean is the one who needs protection.
“Pft,” Jake pillows his head on his arms, “What, you believe Katie Abbott’s story?”
Theo’s hand tightens on his phone, “I haven’t heard it.”
“Good. It’s gar-bage,” Jake draws out his words as if to reinforce his feelings on the matter.
“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you don’t like her,” Evan pouts, snake bites pushed out with his lip.
“An’ you do?” annoyed brown eyes fix on Evan, “She dumped yer ass, man.”
Theo heaves a deep breath, mouth drawing into a thin line as he reels Jake back into his end of the deal, “Tell me what she saw.”
“M’kay, m’kay, no need to blow a fuse, cheesecake,” Jake winks, turning back to Theo and wiping the dirt from his mouth onto his arm, “So, the Abbott property’s next to the Plant property, an’ one night Katie’s bro threw some of her shit on Plant’s land, so she went to go get it. Apparently,” Jake grins disbelievingly, “She saw Plant at his Southeast shed. And this is where you get, like, three different versions of what his sheds are for.”
“Version one,” Evan raises one finger, “Plant’s sheds are filled with weapons - freaking torture chambers in five by five shacks.”
“Version B,” Jake raises two fingers, “Plant’s sheds are bone pits where he chucks the chopped up bits of his victims.”
“Yeah, and Version trois: he stores gardening equipment in ‘em.”
Then Evan and Jake exchange looks, holding their faces in solemn consideration for a few seconds before bursting into raucous laughter.
Theo waits nearly ten minutes for them to settle down, incensed by their amusement, “How are there three versions?” he scowls, like that’s the main problem he has with what he’s heard. “Katie could have only been witness to one.”
“Yeah, but does it matter? They’re all stupid,” Jake chuckles, scratching at the small of his back.
“What did she see?”
Evan waves his hands in the air apologetically, being the more empathetic of the pair he sobers quickly under Theo’s glare, “She said she saw Plant praying.” He shrugs, “And that was all.”
* * *
Theo has never been in such turmoil over something so minor - only, he’s not sure if it’s minor or not.
It shouldn’t matter. Dean shouldn’t matter. It was only three weeks and Theo never has to see him again; never has to decipher chicken scratch blueprints again; never has to lug around another splint of wood or saw another plank.
No more crabby complaints or dirty jokes, no more strangely gourmet sandwiches or iced lemonade delivered before he even knows he needs it. No more careful eyes watching out for him, giving him gruff pointers or slaps on the back and ill-disguised compliments. No more smiles, however small and shadowed.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
Theo broke one of Dean’s sheds and didn’t finish fixing it, so he’ll fix whatever’s wrong with Dean - and that sounds reasonable in his head, but he knows it’s a flimsy excuse for his curiosity. He can’t stop now though - he’s seen too much of Dean to not look for the rest.
He needs answers.
So he sits at his kitchen table, frustrated, scribbling on a pad of paper, wasting all the pen ink on a messy blue pool that he goes over again and again until it’s a solid inky darkness. It’s been an hour, and he’s still trying to remember what the fuck was in the shed. He mowed the damn thing over with a tractor, had the contents spilled before him and spent weeks picking through the mess trying to resurrect its former shitty glory.
So why can’t he remember?
There had been something scratched into the wood - he knows that much for sure. Dean had made him sort the wood into piles - marked and unmarked. Little zigzags like snakes, arcs and swirls and geometric shapes. Engravings that might have been bits of foreign alphabet, the shattered circumferences of concentric circles. Stains that could’ve been crushed berries; paint; blood.
But was there anything in the shed?
It definitely hadn’t housed any sort of equipment. Not even shovels or rakes or construction tools - those had been in Dean’s garage. As far as he can recall, there was nothing inside. It was just a pile of crushed and splintered wood, churned dirt and twigs and - and -
Dean had picked something up from the debris. He’d picked something up, and his face had gone blank in that way that’s painful to see.
A strip of blue fabric.
A tie.
Theo’s pen clatters to the kitchen table.
Are the rumours actually true? Are the sheds really graves?
Somehow he knows the tie belongs to whoever is in the photo in Dean’s sitting room, but what does that mean?
Maybe the shed’s just a giant keepsake box. Maybe Dean likes to keep multiple, giant, outdoor keepsake boxes.
Yeah, right.
Theo’s been turning a blind eye to all the strange shit in Dean’s house - the dark edge in Dean’s eye - but Dean himself had said he was a murderer. And maybe that was because Dean had been having a break down, but even killers can feel remorse, can’t they?
Even a faithless man has prayers to be heard.
And Theo tries to find another explanation because Dean is just Dean.
Yet nothing else he thinks of can explain the snippets of conversation - I’ve got three others! - he’s overheard or the unconsciousness - the fucking ritual didn’t even do anything - he suffered.
Maybe they’d been speaking with hyperboles or euphemisms. Maybe Dean’s feelings are just misplaced - like survivor’s guilt or friendly fire - and whatever happened to Dean in the past, between himself and whoever - you think I can’t see how much you still miss him? - has left him a mess.
Or maybe Dean is genuinely mad, and Sam plays along; protects him - from himself, from an outside force - Theo doesn’t know. He can’t even say what Sam’s protection might entail, not after seeing Sam tremble in the sitting room, hands fisted and eyes fierce with a level of emotion that Theo knows could easily be put to fatal use in Dean’s name.
He tries thinking of the scarring as extreme body modification; tries thinking of the leg as the aftermath of an illness - but it doesn’t fit.
Theo hasn’t seen the symbols that were carved into the children’s forearms in the case of seven years ago, but he’s willing to bet they resemble the patterns of silver-red on Dean’s skin.
No matter which way he tries to mash it - Dean’s just a man, a man who’s been hurt - he knows Dean isn’t innocent - not entirely.
But what does that mean to him?
Something in Theo’s bones thrums as persistently as the buzz of the refrigerator, whispering impossible things and feeding him irrational urges. It’s not even a new feeling, as evidenced by the fact that he’s carrying his lock picking set in his pocket, his bike still leaning against the side of the house waiting to be ridden.
Maybe insanity is catching, except he hears no voice but his own, and it’s telling him-
“I’m back!”
Theo jumps in his seat as he’s torn roughly from his thoughts, head swivelling in alarm to the front door, but before he can even register what he’s seeing, he’s smothered against a white cotton button down, arms wrapping tight around the back of his neck.
“Dad?” Theo asks numbly, feeling like a bucket of ice has just been tossed over him.
Theo peels himself away from his father and stares up into anxious blue eyes.
His father looks like he flew from New York to Lawrence, duct taped to the underside of an airplane wing and drinking straight vodka all the way. His suit jacket is rumpled, the buttons on his white shirt misaligned, and there’s a plastic shopping bag on the floor by his side - dropped in his apparent haste to hug Theo - rather than his usual travel duffel.
“Dad,” Theo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, “I - why are-”
“Happy birthday, Teddy,” his father smiles tiredly, looking strangely relieved as he slumps into the chair next to him, “I didn’t know if I’d make it. Flights were being rerouted like the control tower’s been taken in a coup d’état by kindergarteners. The weather’s just been crazy, thunderstorms...” his father’s eyes droop for a moment in fatigue before he jerks back, fingers clutching the edge of the table, face frozen, “Electrical storms.”
Theo stares edgily at his father, unease pooling in his gut at his father’s stiff posture, “I know you’ve never missed my birthday, but you didn’t have to fly here. You could have sent a text or an email. Not even Mom can make it home tonight.”
“You were asking me about Dean,” his father’s voice cracks on the name as he turns abruptly in his seat to face Theo, “Why were you asking me about Dean?”
“I drove a tractor into his shed-”
“You what?” his father’s voice comes out thin.
“Didn’t Mom tell you?”
“She told me you got into trouble with him,” his father’s fingers curl reflexively, “But one of his sheds?”
Theo grimaces, taking a little comfort from the fact that his mother removed all the alcohol in the house, “In return for not pressing charges, I was helping him fix his shed-”
“You’ve been hanging around on his property?” his father looks unhealthily pale.
“I’m not anymore,” Theo frowns, “But why are you so worried, aren’t you friends?”
“Oh, good,” his father sighs. He continues hesitantly, dragging his hands over his face wearily, “Yes, you could say that we’re friends, but ‘Dean’ and ‘life’ have been mutually exclusive for years.”
“What do you mean by that?” Theo asks sharply.
His father doesn’t answer, instead getting out of the chair to rummage through the stacks of old newspaper piled on the corner of the kitchen table, “Have you seen or spoken to anyone suspicious?”
Theo wants an answer to his question, but his father turns serious eyes on him, expression foreign in a way that has become too familiar in the past weeks - the thousand yard stare, the surety of a sinking ship - and he wonders if maybe it’s always been there and he just didn’t know how to identify it.
“No, there... there has been no one suspicious.”
Except for Dean, Sam and apparently, his father.
Theo doesn’t claim to have the best relationship with either of his parents - his father especially, as the man’s always travelling for his work - but surely what he knows about the man can’t be so far from the truth.
They’re family, and even when the fights got really bad or the distance too cold, they always remained connected. That’s why the portrait hangs above the fireplace, however awkward or upsetting it may be to see at times.
Something of his thoughts must show on his face, because his father softens, stepping back from the newspapers and resting a hand on Theo’s shoulder, “Hey, Teddy, don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Again, his father doesn’t answer. Instead, his eyes fall on a local paper lying beneath a stack of flyers and he reaches out for it, tugging it out from under the pile and flipping it open. He scans through it quickly, fingers tightening on the edge of the newsprint.
It only takes a minute for his father to finish reading whatever he’s reading, and then he’s folding the newsprint shut with shaking hands, “Alright, I need to run out for a bit.”
His father tucks the paper under his arm and picks up his plastic bag from the floor to deposit it on the table. He rolls down the plastic to reveal a cake that was probably purchased at the airport, “I just need to go talk to someone, and then I’ll be right back to watch you blow out the candles, ‘kay, Teddy?”
“Dad, tell me what’s wrong,” Theo darts a hand out to keep his father from going anywhere, but the man sidesteps, distracted, towards the window.
His father seems to peer outside at the storm clouds that darken the evening sky, except the man’s head is tilted down and his fingers make a move to touch the window before hastily withdrawing and diving into his pocket, “Just stay here, Teddy. Stay here.”
“Dad, just tell me-”
But then his father’s taking his car keys out from his pocket and dashing towards the front door, calling over his shoulder, “Just sit tight and don’t go anywhere. I’ll explain everything when I get back, alright?”
His father doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s gone, the slam of the front door followed by the low hum of an engine, the crunch of gravel under tires, and then the screech of a corner being taken too quickly by the old Ford.
Theo grits his teeth angrily, fingers curling into fists as his whole body rings on edge.
He knows what article his father had been reading, knows what three pictures caught his eye and what three names the man had been repeating under his breath. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where his father’s going, and if he thinks that Theo’s just going to sit at home, waiting to be fed lies, then Theo underestimating his father isn’t the only mistaken judgement of the evening.
There’s a choice to be made here. He can sit around in the dark and be satisfied with how things are, or he can go and find out what has been happening - what he’s been missing.
So Theo takes his phone from his pocket and dials.
Theo walks up to the window his father had been standing at and waits while the phone rings once, twice, three times - the tone grating on his nerves - then an answer.
“Hey, muffin,” Jake drawls, Evan’s voice in the background asking who it is.
“You have access to a car,” Theo states - not a question.
He can almost hear Jake’s grin through the phone, “Oh, Thee-O, and here I was, thinking you weren’t going to let me throw you a birthday bash.”
“Come pick me up,” Theo says curtly, brows furrowing as he draws a puzzled finger through the line of white crystals on the window sill, “I have a present I need to unwrap.”
* * *
The sun is beginning to set by the time they make it to the edge of Dean’s property, not that Theo can tell with the thick cloud cover casting the sky and the land with early darkness, leaving hardly enough light to see by when there’s a lack of streetlights along the road.
The wind has picked up, blowing harshly through the leaves of the sparse trees and the long grass in the fields. A fine layer of dust flies just over the paved surface of the road, getting into Theo’s shoes and up his pant legs, but Theo pays it no mind as he continues marching forwards.
“Okay, why are we here?” Evan asks hesitantly as he trails after Theo, following him off the road and into dead grass, the wind licking his hair off his forehead.
“You don’t have to be here,” Theo repeats again, stomping down on some weeds that try to get in his way, “I would actually like it if you left.”
“That’s so not cool,” Jake grumbles from the tail of their group, still standing by the edge of the road, “Why’d you call then?”
“I just needed a faster method of transport,” Theo scans the horizon, trying to orient himself, “Think of it as your birthday present to me.”
Theo doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that Jake’s glowering at his back.
“Fine then,” Jake snorts, “C’mon, Evan, let the princess have her tea party in peace.”
“But he-” Evan starts to say before sighing, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, “Yeah. Okay.”
Then the shorter boy is plodding off back to the road, following Jake to where the car’s parked just out of sight near the property line between Dean’s land and the Abbott’s land.
Theo does appreciate all the support his friends provide and he knows that it was a pretty mean thing for him to say and do, but he can’t care right now, not when his father has at least a twenty minute lead on him. So he sprints through the grass, heading for the lights of the main house and promising himself that he’ll make it up to his friends later.
He stumbles a few times on the uneven ground and he nearly slides into a ditch, being unfamiliar with the Eastern half of the property, but it’s mostly field and his only concern is accidentally falling into the pond. He’s pretty sure the murky pool is located closer to the dark trees which he can tell are at least a hundred yards north of him, but the dark is gathering quickly now and he doesn’t want to use the small flashlight he brought along nor break his neck, so he slows his pace.
He’s not even sure what he’s going to do when he gets to the house.
Barge in? Demand answers and expect to be told the truth?
He doesn’t even know what to ask, ‘what the fuck is going on?’ is a bit vague.
Now that he’s approaching his goal, his earlier determination and resolve begin to wear down with splashes of uncertainty and doubt.
What if he’s just been reading too much into everything?
What if the tie was just in the shed because Dean didn’t want to look at it; didn’t want to be reminded of the past?
What if Dean is really just a freelance writer?
What if? What if? What if?
But then Theo is crouched beneath the window of the sitting room, peering cautiously into the lamp lit house, and the ‘what if’s become inconsequential in the face of what he might learn as he looks inside.
The room’s been cleaned up, no longer the mess that Theo had last seen it in. The furniture is set to rights, the books, magazines and knick knacks put back in their places though the room is still one lamp short, leaving the occupants looking like gaunt shadows of men.
It’s just his father and Sam sitting awkwardly across from each other and it looks like whatever they’ve been talking about has come to a close. Theo almost curses out loud, but then Dean comes into view, descending the stairs slowly with two crutches instead of his cane and Theo feels a twinge of guilt, realizing that Dean must be trying to keep his weight off his still healing feet.
“...ean,” his father says, getting up from the couch to face the other man.
Theo can hardly hear them through the glass, but the wind is thankfully less of a problem, crouched as he is against the side of the house.
Dean squints at Theo’s father, “What happe...d to your face?”
“My what?” his father’s eyes wrinkle in confusion before smoothing, “Oh, I shaved.”
Dean quirks a brow and then his face falls into a grim mask, “Wha... ...ou doing here?”
“...August born have b... going missing again. Kids born right after the Final Battl...” his father says, tone anxious.
Dean nods gravely, “...eah, I know.”
“That’s it?” his father frowns.
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”
“You know that she’s back and you’re just going to-”
Dean’s eyes flash, “She’s not going to get in.”
“...en why is she on the move?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Dean snaps, “Whatever she’s thinking, she’s not going to get in.”
His father’s voice rises, hands waving at his sides with open palms, “You keep saying that, but the fact that she even knows this much - which kids, where you live - isn’t giving me a lot of confidence, guys.”
Sam speaks up, calm, but his deep voice carries easily to Theo’s ears, “We’re already doing everything we can. We’ve got the strongest wards possible down-”
“We don’t even really know how the wards work!” his father exclaims, dragging one hand through his russet hair.
“...e know enough.”
“Yeah, enough to use them, but weren’t they supposed to be unbreakable?”
“They’re not broken,” Dean snarls, hobbling further into the sitting room, “If they were, the bitch would already be here.”
“Well they’re definitely weaker. Why aren’t they fixed yet?”
“... takes time,” Dean grunts, lips curling.
“Hey, I know you’re worr… … …re all worried,” Sam says, gesturing for Theo’s father to sit down - which he does - and Sam continues, “… already got three kids and she’s obviously not just pinpointing our location this time.”
“...en why’d she take them?” his father sighs, hunching over his knees on the sofa.
“...ey’re probably for the actual ritual,” Dean says, staring coldly out the window, making Theo duck down, paranoid - not entirely sure if he’s being irrational - about Dean somehow being able to see him though he’s hidden in the dark.
Sam looks up sharply and Dean scowls, “Her version.” Dean shakes his head, tugs at his shirtsleeve, “... paid for my own.”
“...eren’t you jus... ..aying that she’s not getting in?” his father frowns.
Sam sighs, “She’s not, but if she thinks she can ...en she’s going to plan for it.”
There’s a heavy pause, then a loud thud as Dean smacks one of his crutches against the leg of a side table, “Goddamn I wish we still had the knife or the Colt or something.”
“Exorcisms would be great,” Sam agrees, long hair dislodging with a shake of his head.
“How can we possibly win?” his father’s voice is strained, “We can’t kill her, we can’t send her to Hell - not after you guys shut the gates - so what... What can we do?”
Dean’s voice is low and not at all confident, “Trap her.”
There’s another long pause and even the wind outside seems to take part in the silence. The men’s thoughts turn inwards, each contemplating Dean’s suggestion and each seeming to come to the same defeated conclusion though no one states what that conclusion is.
“...ell I’m not going anywhere,” Dean shrugs carelessly, “...ou two should probably haul ass and get out of here.”
“... not leaving you alone for this, De...,” Sam stands up from the sofa, hands fisting at his sides.
“... can’t stay forever, man... ...ot a wife and kid to look after,” Dean frowns at Sam before jerking his chin sharply at Theo’s father, “And you - shouldn’t ...ou be looking after the kid?”
“...eah,” his father scrubs his hands over his face, looking like he’d be willing to drink rubbing alcohol if there’s nothing else available, “...eah... .... - I just needed to see - to see what was happening.”
“Alright, you need to get home,” Sam says to Theo’s father, laying a large palm on the shorter man’s shoulder, “I’m just going to check the wards one last time for the night.”
Sam starts to circle around the sofa towards the front door, but he stops as Dean makes a move to shuffle after him, “Dean, no. You’re staying here.”
“Like hell I am-”
Theo lets his back slide down the side of the house, more confused now than ever.
They’d been talking about some woman and wards and rituals and exorcisms and - and - fuck.
Even his father seems serious about whatever’s happening and it’s obviously not a topic that’s going to come up in any conversation Theo will be allowed to participate in.
So where does that leave him?
He’s still answerless - or maybe he has the answers, but just has no fucking clue how to make sense of them. He still has the feeling that he’s missing something important - something he needs - gnawing at him like a parasite set loose in his ribcage, shooting through the ventricles of his heart and making his blood pump double time. It’s overwhelming and Theo might liquefy with the stress that’s partially from this innate need and partially confusion on why it’s an innate need.
But he can’t stop now, if he ever had a chance of stopping at all.
So Theo gets up, keeping low as he dashes away from the house - Southeast - back the way he came from.
If there’s one thing that Theo knows for sure, it’s that Dean is stubborn, so he’s got at least fifteen minutes before he and Sam finish arguing about who gets to go check on the ‘wards’ or whatever the fuck which will lead them outside.
That’s enough time for Theo to make it to the Southeast corner of the property, and make one last attempt to answer the question that’s been haunting him since he set foot on this land - maybe even before that.
When Theo finally reaches the Southeast shed, he doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed or intimidated. It looks exactly like the shed Theo had destroyed more than three weeks ago - a wooden block with no distinguishing features and no windows. Just a door.
The walls are innocuous, made from plain wooden planks, but Theo knows that on the inside, there are markings scratched and smeared in patterns - but what else?
Theo takes out his flashlight, shining the small beam onto the door so he can see that it’s kept closed with a simple chain and a heavy padlock - the kind that’s always depicted in cartoons - covered in intricate engravings. It doesn’t look store bought, and Theo worries briefly about whether or not he’ll be able to break it so he’s surprised when he only needs one pick from his set to pop the lock open, the click of metal unsnapping eerily loud in the silence of the night.
He swings the door open and steps inside.
Theo can’t see much, his tiny flashlight illuminating only a small circle, so he’s momentarily puzzled when he feels something soft beneath his feet and quickly points the beam down.
Grass. Soft grass, living and green.
Theo trails the beam of his light slowly higher, over the base of the wall where he sees that he was right - odd letters and concentric circles - and then-
A man hanging from the ceiling.
Theo’s heart skips a beat and he drops his flashlight, sending the light skittering around the inside of the shed in an erratic pattern. Theo stumbles backwards, falling on his ass in the doorway of the shed.
His blood is pounding in his ears - the only sound he can hear - and he needs to get away - he needs to-
Theo’s brow furrows as the flashlight finally settles on the floor of the shed, the beam angled just right to show that, no, it’s not a man.
It’s a trench coat.
It’s just a trench coat on a coat hanger, suspended from the ceiling.
Theo’s tempted to laugh at himself for getting so worked up that he thought there would be an actual dead body hanging in the shed, but he doesn’t because now that his heart’s slowed and the blood isn’t rushing through his ears, he notices that it’s quiet. The wind has stopped blowing and-
Footsteps.
Shit.
Theo scrambles to close the door silently and fumbles with the lock and chain which simply refuse to rewrap around the handle or snap back into place, so he gives up, leaving the metal hanging haphazardly. He doesn’t have anywhere to hide though - it’s a field - so the best he can do is duck down by the side of the shed and hope the grass is tall enough as he listens to the approach of dragging footsteps flattening the grass.
And that’s when he remembers the flashlight is still switched on and lying on the floor of the shed. He’s about ready to kick himself when a voice speaks up, “You don’t have to hide y’know.”
Theo frowns, peering around the side of the shed in confusion, “Jake?” It’s too dark to see clearly, but Theo can recognize the riot of curly hair, “I thought you left.”
Jake shrugs, moving closer to the shed with his strangely dragging steps. The grass parts easily around him and soon he’s close enough to be illuminated by the strip of light shining from beneath the shed door.
“Yeah well, angel cake,” Jake grins, eyes flashing black as he lets go of Evan’s limp arm, “I have a much better present for you than a silly car ride.”
Part 4