Fic: He Who Fights With Monsters
Title: HE WHO FIGHTS WITH MONSTERS
Author: bellajayd
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Warnings: AU starting Pre-Series. John POV.
Word count: 3,500
Disclaimer: Just a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Notes: beta'd by the lovely
aisling_door. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Summary: Dean leaves with Sam to go to Stanford. When John catches up with them years later things are very different.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Winchester hasn’t seen his two sons in over a decade.
At night, he can still hear echoes of the argument that sent his youngest heading off to college and his oldest walking out the door with him.
It hadn’t been until he heard the purr-growl of the Impala that took Sam and Dean away from him that John realized the full effect of Mary’s death twenty years earlier. Sure, he’d dealt right-quick with the shift in his world imposed upon him by the fact that the supernatural existed. But he’d forgotten the effect of his own words, of his own actions, on the night of his wife’s death.
“Take care of Sammy, Dean,” hurriedly said while pushing his infant son into the arms of his eldest. Thoughts of MaryMaryMary consuming him as he rushed inside the flaming house, mind still unknowing of things that went thump in the night.
And Dean had.
He’d focused on Sam with the desperation of a child who’d lost his Mother and was watching his Father die piece by piece. His child-hands were too small to keep John from falling apart but just the right size to hold onto Sammy, to keep him safe from things both natural and not.
Dean was first brother, then mother to Sam. It was only when Dean had swiftly followed Sam out the door with nary a backwards glance that John realized that Dean had become father as well.
Truth be told, John had been expecting Sam’s announcement for some time before it came.
Hunter’s instincts long ago honed had told him trouble was brewing on the horizon and John had been relieved when Sam had said he was going to college.
His youngest was a foreign creature to him, made up of words like sociable, soccer club, and science fair. Things he’d left Dean to deal with because their tethers to normalcy made John more uncomfortable than some of the creatures he hunted. Things that made John think Sam was a liability unless he set his priorities in line.
Thought he could rely on Dean to back him up, right until John had seen a spark of triumph kindle in Sam’s sloe eyes at his ultimatum.
“Fine Dad, we’ll leave then.”
Noticed a bit too late that there were two duffle bags sitting by the door, as if his sons had foreseen how this argument would end.
The Winchester family split.
Line drawn, salted, sealed, and thrice blessed in the sand.
As the years passed pride had kept John away, but paranoia had made sure he’d kept a peripheral track on his boys. He was mighty proud when he heard they were still hunting. Found himself amused when he’d thought of them fitting in activities like exorcisms and hauntings between the collegiate pursuits of papers and keggers.
It would hit him now and again, here and there, that he could know how his sons lived by picking up a phone. John rationalized that they were safer as they were.
Face it, you’re a coward John.
The closest he'd come to contacting them had been when he’d read about a fire killing a girl in one of the on-campus houses over at Stanford. Luckily, it seemed to be a fire that found its origin in a malfunctioning stove.
John made sure of that.
He’d gone over the scene more times than he cared to count. But the Yellow Eyed Bastard had dropped off the radar a year ago and this was just an unfortunate coincidence.
For a while, though, he’d been so sure that the demonic sunnovabitch was back on the move.
John could have sworn that there was a pattern to his appearances. Over the past few years he’d been able to perfectly predict where the thing was gonna appear but no matter what he did the story always had the same ending and John would have to watch another child lose its mother.
A husband his wife.
It had begun to happen so often, John was sure that Yellow Eyes was taunting him. The demon might have gone silent now, but he’d pop up again eventually. It was one of life’s certainties. And John would be there to hunt him when he did. That was also a certainty.
At that point, John had still believed his boys would call him if something truly important came to light. So, he’d fallen into a rhythm of hunt-hide-heal-head out again and time marched on.
Then the rumors began.
Quick whispers about two hunters, new on the scene, who were particularly good at what they did. John had been idly curious at first. Then whispers changed to worried conversations. Hunters that came across the pair said they were too good, too efficient. Said lesser demons ran from them rather than face them.
John didn’t see how a hunter could be too good at what he did. He figured they needed any help they could get in the fight against the dark. No such thing as a man being too ruthless.
That was, until he ran across the remains of a hunt.
A house that had been purified to the point where nothing would ever, could ever, live in it again. The air within it had been so bleached of life it burned his nose. No family would inhabit these walls. This space hadn’t been reclaimed from the darkness and returned to the light, it was lost to everything and anything.
Only a tremendous amount of power could warp and nullify a place like that. Nothing human had that kind of supernatural juice in them.
John understood what worried the others.
Two beings that looked human but weren’t, new players in this battle between humanity and its unnatural usurpers. This fight could not afford an unknown element.
Sam and Dean were the farthest things from John’s thoughts when he’d begun to tap his sources to unearth any knowledge on these new entities. It was important that he pin down whose side these men were on.
John discovered he was not the first to try and learn about the two, but he resolved to be the first to come back with some answers.
“I’ve got nada on ‘em,” Bobby paused for a moment, “I’d be right interested to know anything you’ve found out though.”
John contained a sigh. It had taken fifteen minutes of chit-chat and reminiscing about the good-ole-days when a ghost still haunted a house and not a cell-phone to get around to asking for some info. “Yeah Bobby, I’ll call you soon as I get a clue.”
“Uh-huh.” You could cut the skepticism with a knife. “I haven’t heard from you in some time, John, and the last time I saw you, ah, you weren’t quite yourself. A man worries whether his friend is still walking the earth when that much time passes without any contact.”
Silence was John’s answer and Bobby’s odd reply should have naturally woken John’s curiosity, but it didn’t.
“John . . . have you been in touch wit’ your boys? They doin’ alright?”
Why is he asking? He knows the answer.
“Not for a long time now. You know that.”
“I do. Just wish you’d magically changed your mind.”
“It’s better this way.”
“You’re a stubborn bastard, John.”
Everyone he called had the same “know-nothing” reply as Bobby, minus the guilt trip about contacting Sam and Dean. John was at the end of his list by the time he called Pastor Jim.
“Why do you want to know about them, John?” That was a new response.
“I need to know whose side they’re on.”
“They’re hunting demons. I thought that was a good thing.”
“Sure. I just want to know what they are, if they’re human.”
“I see. What will you do if they aren’t?
“Hunt them like everything else that isn’t human.”
“Even though they’re doing good?”
“All we know is that they’re killing demons. No one knows why. They could be doing it for reasons that will hurt us in the end.”
“Well, shouldn’t you find out their reasons before you declare war?”
John repressed his rising impatience. If Jim didn’t know anything he had to start diggin’ through more esoteric sources. “That’s why I want to find them. So far no one knows dip about doo-dah when it comes to these guys. That’s making some hunters mighty nervous. It’s making me nervous, Jim. Do you know anything, or not?”
“M’afraid I don’t. You say you’ve called everyone you know?”
“Yeah, you were the last person.”
“Have you called your sons yet?”
“Pardon? Why would I call them?” John ran a hand over his eyes, and scrubbed tiredly at his beard.
“They’re hunters. You never know what they’ve run across. Perhaps they know something.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to contact them.”
“John, I don’t believe a man of your resources couldn’t track down his own children.”
“Ten years is a long time. I don’t think they’d want to hear from me now.”
“You won’t know until they tell you. Better late than never.”
That drew a chuckle from John, “S’that a quote from the Bible, Jim?”
It turned out that it wasn’t that difficult to find Sam or Dean, the good Pastor was able to supply their address.
It struck John as odd that his sons would have a fixed place to live. Rubbed him the wrong way. If you stayed in one place, evil knew where to pay a house call.
Worry and guilt, John’s most constant of companions when it came to his sons, badgered him.
This was never part of my plan. We should be working together, like a family. Sam at my right, Dean at my left.
These thoughts plagued John for the entire ride to California.
Although he was looking for his sons, in the end it was Dean who found him.
-------------------------------------------------
It was the sound of a V-12 engine growling like the creatures he chased that caught John’s attention as he mindlessly ate the greasy diner fare in the town of Palo Alto.
His basic manly instincts spared a moment to appreciate the sleek black vehicle as it glided into a parking spot across from ‘Mr. Chan’s Fine Dry Cleaning.’ The brawny car reminded John of an updated version of Dean’s beloved Impala.
The food weighed heavily in his stomach.
Perhaps it was fate playing a joke, but John was shocked when his first child eased out of the dark car.
After all this time John was somewhat surprised to see that Dean looked the same, perhaps a tad more tanned and a bit more polished in a fitted pair of jeans, white t-shirt and black leather blazer . . .but it was his boy.
At least one of them. Where’s Sammy?
Hungry eyes noticed no new scars or signs of any healing injuries, and that threw John off kilter. In their line of work there was always some bruise, sprain, or cut on the mend. Then there was the tell-tale crease in the professional looking jacket that told him Dean had a gun holstered.
In the moments it took John to make his observations Dean had entered and exited ‘Mr.Chan’s’ and was currently attempting to open the car while holding a stack of freshly pressed suits.
Get up, go and help your son, John. Tell him you’re here.
John just sat there, skin sticking to the clammy plastic seat covers, body fighting against the impulse while his mind whirled in a stunned dishabille. Ironically, he’d only thought as far as finding his children and had shied away from thinking about what he should do once he found them.
How do you approach a child you abandoned?
Excuses and justifications raced through his head, fear keeping him from approaching Dean.
Do you want to spend the next decade like you have this one, John?
Lonely.
Afraid.
Mary would have wept to see that things have come to this. Terrified to approach your own son.
Dean pushed the car open and then stared intensely at his chirping cell-phone. His whole body tensed when he read whatever was on the screen. He let out an explosive sigh, brushed a hand through neatly trimmed hair, closed the car again and reluctantly headed towards the neighboring supermarket, seemingly unaware of his father a few tacit steps behind him.
A welcomed woosh of chilled air settled over the senior hunter as he eavesdropped on his son’s conversation with the old cashier.
“Hiya Sheriff Winchester, running errands again?”
Sheriff? Is that Dean’s cover-story? No. He lives here now.
“Yeah Joe, apparently we need radishes.” The word was uttered with the fear, hatred, and disdain a vampire has towards holy water.
“Radishes! Ahhh, you still being punished for buying that car?” A bushy eyebrow raised with the ravenous interest only a nosy gossipmonger could achieve.
John spied an unrepentant grin stretch across Dean’s face. “Yeah, but she’s a real beautiful machine Joe. She shifts like her gears are made of butter. Worth having to eat rabbit food every night.”
“She is a real prime piece of machinery! Definitely worth havin’ ta eat healthy food for.” The crotchety man waggled his eyebrows. “At least you weren’t kicked to the sofa!” Dean and the Cashier shared a laugh before the man continued on. “Well, we’ve just gotten a fresh shipment of organic vegetables this morning. Check Aisle 5.”
“Thanks Joe.”
John stayed close to the door, hidden behind a magazine rack while he waited for Dean to leave before continuing to follow his son instead of working up the courage to actually speak to him.
His reconnaissance --- Call it what it is John, you’re spying on Dean ‘cause you’re to much of a coward to go say hello --- took him across town to a veterinarian’s office where Dean picked up a leggy black Doberman which he hustled into the car’s back seat.
Dean drove for a while through a neat suburb until he reached a stretch where the houses were far apart and set back deep into their lots. Most of the time John only knew that there were houses in the area when they passed a gated driveway. His son pulled a sharp left into one such entrance that led into a seemingly endless stretch of forest.
John drove right past and pulled his old truck into a shoulder a ways up the road, intending to circle back and make his way on foot through the woods.
----------------------------------------------------------
The hair sticking straight up on the back of his neck told John that there were some powerful wards protecting the property.
It was only when he looked up and saw a pattern of arcane sigils etched into the tops of the trees that he realized it wasn’t a protective ward he was feeling, but a type of magical trap. As he stared at the symbols, he realized the true nature of what he’d encountered.
What are they trying to catch?
He vaguely recognized the etchings through their Hebrew and Aramaic roots.
Adhadda Yochanan Kedhabhra.
Let the thing, Yochanan, be destroyed.
This one phrase was repeated over and over, flowing from one tree to the next, weaving an inescapable net meant to catch and kill this monster called Yochanan. The word was familiar, he’d seen it somewhere before but he couldn’t quite place it.
Surrounding him on all sides was a magical snare that was meant to snap shut and immobilize the named enemy once they had moved deeply enough into the net of spells, while still allowing all others to pass in peace.
This type of casting took time and patience.
John had never seen spellwork done on such a grand scale outside of some Egyptian tombs he’d seen in art history books.
Things were beginning to make sense. There was something big and bad after his sons and they needed to protect themselves - the type of protection that couldn’t be had if you were a moving target. So they’d set a trap with themselves as the ultimate bait.
That’s one Hell of a gamble they’re taking.
It didn’t matter, John was here now; he would help his sons out of whatever mess they were involved in.
As the house came into view, John was surprised by how nice the place was. It was nothing flashy, just a well-sized two-story cabin, with a garage where he could barely make out the hulking form of the old Impala. The bestial black car he’d been following was pulled up in front of the entryway, trunk open and half emptied of groceries.
His inner hunter approved of the house’s location perched atop a slight incline, giving the person inside a full view of the surrounding property.
For about two acres around the cabin a well-manicured lawn gleamed, its pristine landscape dotted with evergreens. He could see that ivy was starting to snake around various herbs, planted around the base of the cabin, and creep up the bay windows.
It didn’t escape John’s notice that all of the greenery surrounding the house had a protective quality associated with it. He was willing to bet his finest rifle that the picturesquely placed trees dotting the lawn outlined the points of a pentacle with the cabin located in its middle, the apex of its magical power.
John shook his head, astounded at the level of detail and effort his boys had put into putting this place together.
What are they trying to trap? Yochanan. You’ve heard that name somewhere before, John. Where?
A flash of sunlight off of a reflective surface alerted John that another car was coming up the driveway. The owner of the tailored suits Dean had picked up from the laundromat was revealed as an eerily adult version of his youngest son eased himself from a slick sedan clad in sharp gray business attire, fashionable black attaché case in tow.
“I’m home!” As soon as this proclamation left Sam’s lips, the big black dog vaulted out of the open front door and had Sam pinned up against the car door, molesting him with dog kisses.
“Aw. Ugh. Hex. Get down.”
“Heads up Sammy, I picked up Hex from the vet’s today,” Dean’s disjointed voice echoed out from inside the house.
“Yeah Asshole, I figured that out already. Thanks for the warning.”
Sammy! Our little boy soldier has grown into such a fine man. John ached at having missed watching his son grow. Who knew he’d get so tall!
“Counselor, do you talk to a jury with that mouth?” Dean’s bright smile flashed as he walked down the porch steps to see his brother being smothered by what was apparently their pet.
“Get him off me Dean.”
“Come on Sammy, you know you love Hex just as much as he loves you.”
“I might, but my French silk suit doesn’t.”
“It’s French, Sammy. Don’t believe a word it says.”
“Har, har. How long did it take you to come up with that?” The sarcastic comment was softened by a warm look the two exchanged.
Dean moved forward to try to pry the enthusiastic dog off of Sam. “Ooomph. What did the vet feed you Hex. Come on, get off Sammy. Good boy.”
“Did you just give him a doggy snack for pouncing on me Dean?”
“The vet says we should try positive affirmation when training him.”
John watched his youngest son slip an easy arm around his brother’s shoulder. “So you’re telling him it’s good to jump on me?”
"No, Sam, that it was good he obeyed a command and got off of you when he did.”
They looked so comfortable together. So normal.
Looks can be deceiving, John. You know that better than anyone does.
“It didn’t look like that to me . . .”
Their voices dwindled as they entered their house and John stood frozen with relief.
Both of his sons were alive and well. More importantly, it seemed they were happy.
Mary would be so proud of our boys, John.
John went to stand from his crouch and found that he couldn’t move.
Every bone, muscle, and nerve was locked in place against his will.
A soft breeze stirred the branches overhead and the memories in his mind.
How did things get to this point?
He was right, Mary would be proud of her brave and clever, clever, sons.
I remember now, you Yellow Eyed Bastard. I remember everything. What you did to me. What you made me do.
If John could have, he would have smiled. He’d be with Mary soon.
And I know what it means now.
Adhadda Yochanan Kedhabhra.
Let the thing, John, be destroyed.
------------------------------------------------
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.” - Friedrich Nietzsche
THE END
Prompt: John is possessed by the YED. The boys plot to kill him.
Author: bellajayd
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Warnings: AU starting Pre-Series. John POV.
Word count: 3,500
Disclaimer: Just a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Notes: beta'd by the lovely
aisling_door. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Summary: Dean leaves with Sam to go to Stanford. When John catches up with them years later things are very different.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Winchester hasn’t seen his two sons in over a decade.
At night, he can still hear echoes of the argument that sent his youngest heading off to college and his oldest walking out the door with him.
It hadn’t been until he heard the purr-growl of the Impala that took Sam and Dean away from him that John realized the full effect of Mary’s death twenty years earlier. Sure, he’d dealt right-quick with the shift in his world imposed upon him by the fact that the supernatural existed. But he’d forgotten the effect of his own words, of his own actions, on the night of his wife’s death.
“Take care of Sammy, Dean,” hurriedly said while pushing his infant son into the arms of his eldest. Thoughts of MaryMaryMary consuming him as he rushed inside the flaming house, mind still unknowing of things that went thump in the night.
And Dean had.
He’d focused on Sam with the desperation of a child who’d lost his Mother and was watching his Father die piece by piece. His child-hands were too small to keep John from falling apart but just the right size to hold onto Sammy, to keep him safe from things both natural and not.
Dean was first brother, then mother to Sam. It was only when Dean had swiftly followed Sam out the door with nary a backwards glance that John realized that Dean had become father as well.
Truth be told, John had been expecting Sam’s announcement for some time before it came.
Hunter’s instincts long ago honed had told him trouble was brewing on the horizon and John had been relieved when Sam had said he was going to college.
His youngest was a foreign creature to him, made up of words like sociable, soccer club, and science fair. Things he’d left Dean to deal with because their tethers to normalcy made John more uncomfortable than some of the creatures he hunted. Things that made John think Sam was a liability unless he set his priorities in line.
Thought he could rely on Dean to back him up, right until John had seen a spark of triumph kindle in Sam’s sloe eyes at his ultimatum.
“Fine Dad, we’ll leave then.”
Noticed a bit too late that there were two duffle bags sitting by the door, as if his sons had foreseen how this argument would end.
The Winchester family split.
Line drawn, salted, sealed, and thrice blessed in the sand.
As the years passed pride had kept John away, but paranoia had made sure he’d kept a peripheral track on his boys. He was mighty proud when he heard they were still hunting. Found himself amused when he’d thought of them fitting in activities like exorcisms and hauntings between the collegiate pursuits of papers and keggers.
It would hit him now and again, here and there, that he could know how his sons lived by picking up a phone. John rationalized that they were safer as they were.
Face it, you’re a coward John.
The closest he'd come to contacting them had been when he’d read about a fire killing a girl in one of the on-campus houses over at Stanford. Luckily, it seemed to be a fire that found its origin in a malfunctioning stove.
John made sure of that.
He’d gone over the scene more times than he cared to count. But the Yellow Eyed Bastard had dropped off the radar a year ago and this was just an unfortunate coincidence.
For a while, though, he’d been so sure that the demonic sunnovabitch was back on the move.
John could have sworn that there was a pattern to his appearances. Over the past few years he’d been able to perfectly predict where the thing was gonna appear but no matter what he did the story always had the same ending and John would have to watch another child lose its mother.
A husband his wife.
It had begun to happen so often, John was sure that Yellow Eyes was taunting him. The demon might have gone silent now, but he’d pop up again eventually. It was one of life’s certainties. And John would be there to hunt him when he did. That was also a certainty.
At that point, John had still believed his boys would call him if something truly important came to light. So, he’d fallen into a rhythm of hunt-hide-heal-head out again and time marched on.
Then the rumors began.
Quick whispers about two hunters, new on the scene, who were particularly good at what they did. John had been idly curious at first. Then whispers changed to worried conversations. Hunters that came across the pair said they were too good, too efficient. Said lesser demons ran from them rather than face them.
John didn’t see how a hunter could be too good at what he did. He figured they needed any help they could get in the fight against the dark. No such thing as a man being too ruthless.
That was, until he ran across the remains of a hunt.
A house that had been purified to the point where nothing would ever, could ever, live in it again. The air within it had been so bleached of life it burned his nose. No family would inhabit these walls. This space hadn’t been reclaimed from the darkness and returned to the light, it was lost to everything and anything.
Only a tremendous amount of power could warp and nullify a place like that. Nothing human had that kind of supernatural juice in them.
John understood what worried the others.
Two beings that looked human but weren’t, new players in this battle between humanity and its unnatural usurpers. This fight could not afford an unknown element.
Sam and Dean were the farthest things from John’s thoughts when he’d begun to tap his sources to unearth any knowledge on these new entities. It was important that he pin down whose side these men were on.
John discovered he was not the first to try and learn about the two, but he resolved to be the first to come back with some answers.
“I’ve got nada on ‘em,” Bobby paused for a moment, “I’d be right interested to know anything you’ve found out though.”
John contained a sigh. It had taken fifteen minutes of chit-chat and reminiscing about the good-ole-days when a ghost still haunted a house and not a cell-phone to get around to asking for some info. “Yeah Bobby, I’ll call you soon as I get a clue.”
“Uh-huh.” You could cut the skepticism with a knife. “I haven’t heard from you in some time, John, and the last time I saw you, ah, you weren’t quite yourself. A man worries whether his friend is still walking the earth when that much time passes without any contact.”
Silence was John’s answer and Bobby’s odd reply should have naturally woken John’s curiosity, but it didn’t.
“John . . . have you been in touch wit’ your boys? They doin’ alright?”
Why is he asking? He knows the answer.
“Not for a long time now. You know that.”
“I do. Just wish you’d magically changed your mind.”
“It’s better this way.”
“You’re a stubborn bastard, John.”
Everyone he called had the same “know-nothing” reply as Bobby, minus the guilt trip about contacting Sam and Dean. John was at the end of his list by the time he called Pastor Jim.
“Why do you want to know about them, John?” That was a new response.
“I need to know whose side they’re on.”
“They’re hunting demons. I thought that was a good thing.”
“Sure. I just want to know what they are, if they’re human.”
“I see. What will you do if they aren’t?
“Hunt them like everything else that isn’t human.”
“Even though they’re doing good?”
“All we know is that they’re killing demons. No one knows why. They could be doing it for reasons that will hurt us in the end.”
“Well, shouldn’t you find out their reasons before you declare war?”
John repressed his rising impatience. If Jim didn’t know anything he had to start diggin’ through more esoteric sources. “That’s why I want to find them. So far no one knows dip about doo-dah when it comes to these guys. That’s making some hunters mighty nervous. It’s making me nervous, Jim. Do you know anything, or not?”
“M’afraid I don’t. You say you’ve called everyone you know?”
“Yeah, you were the last person.”
“Have you called your sons yet?”
“Pardon? Why would I call them?” John ran a hand over his eyes, and scrubbed tiredly at his beard.
“They’re hunters. You never know what they’ve run across. Perhaps they know something.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to contact them.”
“John, I don’t believe a man of your resources couldn’t track down his own children.”
“Ten years is a long time. I don’t think they’d want to hear from me now.”
“You won’t know until they tell you. Better late than never.”
That drew a chuckle from John, “S’that a quote from the Bible, Jim?”
It turned out that it wasn’t that difficult to find Sam or Dean, the good Pastor was able to supply their address.
It struck John as odd that his sons would have a fixed place to live. Rubbed him the wrong way. If you stayed in one place, evil knew where to pay a house call.
Worry and guilt, John’s most constant of companions when it came to his sons, badgered him.
This was never part of my plan. We should be working together, like a family. Sam at my right, Dean at my left.
These thoughts plagued John for the entire ride to California.
Although he was looking for his sons, in the end it was Dean who found him.
-------------------------------------------------
It was the sound of a V-12 engine growling like the creatures he chased that caught John’s attention as he mindlessly ate the greasy diner fare in the town of Palo Alto.
His basic manly instincts spared a moment to appreciate the sleek black vehicle as it glided into a parking spot across from ‘Mr. Chan’s Fine Dry Cleaning.’ The brawny car reminded John of an updated version of Dean’s beloved Impala.
The food weighed heavily in his stomach.
Perhaps it was fate playing a joke, but John was shocked when his first child eased out of the dark car.
After all this time John was somewhat surprised to see that Dean looked the same, perhaps a tad more tanned and a bit more polished in a fitted pair of jeans, white t-shirt and black leather blazer . . .but it was his boy.
At least one of them. Where’s Sammy?
Hungry eyes noticed no new scars or signs of any healing injuries, and that threw John off kilter. In their line of work there was always some bruise, sprain, or cut on the mend. Then there was the tell-tale crease in the professional looking jacket that told him Dean had a gun holstered.
In the moments it took John to make his observations Dean had entered and exited ‘Mr.Chan’s’ and was currently attempting to open the car while holding a stack of freshly pressed suits.
Get up, go and help your son, John. Tell him you’re here.
John just sat there, skin sticking to the clammy plastic seat covers, body fighting against the impulse while his mind whirled in a stunned dishabille. Ironically, he’d only thought as far as finding his children and had shied away from thinking about what he should do once he found them.
How do you approach a child you abandoned?
Excuses and justifications raced through his head, fear keeping him from approaching Dean.
Do you want to spend the next decade like you have this one, John?
Lonely.
Afraid.
Mary would have wept to see that things have come to this. Terrified to approach your own son.
Dean pushed the car open and then stared intensely at his chirping cell-phone. His whole body tensed when he read whatever was on the screen. He let out an explosive sigh, brushed a hand through neatly trimmed hair, closed the car again and reluctantly headed towards the neighboring supermarket, seemingly unaware of his father a few tacit steps behind him.
A welcomed woosh of chilled air settled over the senior hunter as he eavesdropped on his son’s conversation with the old cashier.
“Hiya Sheriff Winchester, running errands again?”
Sheriff? Is that Dean’s cover-story? No. He lives here now.
“Yeah Joe, apparently we need radishes.” The word was uttered with the fear, hatred, and disdain a vampire has towards holy water.
“Radishes! Ahhh, you still being punished for buying that car?” A bushy eyebrow raised with the ravenous interest only a nosy gossipmonger could achieve.
John spied an unrepentant grin stretch across Dean’s face. “Yeah, but she’s a real beautiful machine Joe. She shifts like her gears are made of butter. Worth having to eat rabbit food every night.”
“She is a real prime piece of machinery! Definitely worth havin’ ta eat healthy food for.” The crotchety man waggled his eyebrows. “At least you weren’t kicked to the sofa!” Dean and the Cashier shared a laugh before the man continued on. “Well, we’ve just gotten a fresh shipment of organic vegetables this morning. Check Aisle 5.”
“Thanks Joe.”
John stayed close to the door, hidden behind a magazine rack while he waited for Dean to leave before continuing to follow his son instead of working up the courage to actually speak to him.
His reconnaissance --- Call it what it is John, you’re spying on Dean ‘cause you’re to much of a coward to go say hello --- took him across town to a veterinarian’s office where Dean picked up a leggy black Doberman which he hustled into the car’s back seat.
Dean drove for a while through a neat suburb until he reached a stretch where the houses were far apart and set back deep into their lots. Most of the time John only knew that there were houses in the area when they passed a gated driveway. His son pulled a sharp left into one such entrance that led into a seemingly endless stretch of forest.
John drove right past and pulled his old truck into a shoulder a ways up the road, intending to circle back and make his way on foot through the woods.
----------------------------------------------------------
The hair sticking straight up on the back of his neck told John that there were some powerful wards protecting the property.
It was only when he looked up and saw a pattern of arcane sigils etched into the tops of the trees that he realized it wasn’t a protective ward he was feeling, but a type of magical trap. As he stared at the symbols, he realized the true nature of what he’d encountered.
What are they trying to catch?
He vaguely recognized the etchings through their Hebrew and Aramaic roots.
Adhadda Yochanan Kedhabhra.
Let the thing, Yochanan, be destroyed.
This one phrase was repeated over and over, flowing from one tree to the next, weaving an inescapable net meant to catch and kill this monster called Yochanan. The word was familiar, he’d seen it somewhere before but he couldn’t quite place it.
Surrounding him on all sides was a magical snare that was meant to snap shut and immobilize the named enemy once they had moved deeply enough into the net of spells, while still allowing all others to pass in peace.
This type of casting took time and patience.
John had never seen spellwork done on such a grand scale outside of some Egyptian tombs he’d seen in art history books.
Things were beginning to make sense. There was something big and bad after his sons and they needed to protect themselves - the type of protection that couldn’t be had if you were a moving target. So they’d set a trap with themselves as the ultimate bait.
That’s one Hell of a gamble they’re taking.
It didn’t matter, John was here now; he would help his sons out of whatever mess they were involved in.
As the house came into view, John was surprised by how nice the place was. It was nothing flashy, just a well-sized two-story cabin, with a garage where he could barely make out the hulking form of the old Impala. The bestial black car he’d been following was pulled up in front of the entryway, trunk open and half emptied of groceries.
His inner hunter approved of the house’s location perched atop a slight incline, giving the person inside a full view of the surrounding property.
For about two acres around the cabin a well-manicured lawn gleamed, its pristine landscape dotted with evergreens. He could see that ivy was starting to snake around various herbs, planted around the base of the cabin, and creep up the bay windows.
It didn’t escape John’s notice that all of the greenery surrounding the house had a protective quality associated with it. He was willing to bet his finest rifle that the picturesquely placed trees dotting the lawn outlined the points of a pentacle with the cabin located in its middle, the apex of its magical power.
John shook his head, astounded at the level of detail and effort his boys had put into putting this place together.
What are they trying to trap? Yochanan. You’ve heard that name somewhere before, John. Where?
A flash of sunlight off of a reflective surface alerted John that another car was coming up the driveway. The owner of the tailored suits Dean had picked up from the laundromat was revealed as an eerily adult version of his youngest son eased himself from a slick sedan clad in sharp gray business attire, fashionable black attaché case in tow.
“I’m home!” As soon as this proclamation left Sam’s lips, the big black dog vaulted out of the open front door and had Sam pinned up against the car door, molesting him with dog kisses.
“Aw. Ugh. Hex. Get down.”
“Heads up Sammy, I picked up Hex from the vet’s today,” Dean’s disjointed voice echoed out from inside the house.
“Yeah Asshole, I figured that out already. Thanks for the warning.”
Sammy! Our little boy soldier has grown into such a fine man. John ached at having missed watching his son grow. Who knew he’d get so tall!
“Counselor, do you talk to a jury with that mouth?” Dean’s bright smile flashed as he walked down the porch steps to see his brother being smothered by what was apparently their pet.
“Get him off me Dean.”
“Come on Sammy, you know you love Hex just as much as he loves you.”
“I might, but my French silk suit doesn’t.”
“It’s French, Sammy. Don’t believe a word it says.”
“Har, har. How long did it take you to come up with that?” The sarcastic comment was softened by a warm look the two exchanged.
Dean moved forward to try to pry the enthusiastic dog off of Sam. “Ooomph. What did the vet feed you Hex. Come on, get off Sammy. Good boy.”
“Did you just give him a doggy snack for pouncing on me Dean?”
“The vet says we should try positive affirmation when training him.”
John watched his youngest son slip an easy arm around his brother’s shoulder. “So you’re telling him it’s good to jump on me?”
"No, Sam, that it was good he obeyed a command and got off of you when he did.”
They looked so comfortable together. So normal.
Looks can be deceiving, John. You know that better than anyone does.
“It didn’t look like that to me . . .”
Their voices dwindled as they entered their house and John stood frozen with relief.
Both of his sons were alive and well. More importantly, it seemed they were happy.
Mary would be so proud of our boys, John.
John went to stand from his crouch and found that he couldn’t move.
Every bone, muscle, and nerve was locked in place against his will.
A soft breeze stirred the branches overhead and the memories in his mind.
How did things get to this point?
He was right, Mary would be proud of her brave and clever, clever, sons.
I remember now, you Yellow Eyed Bastard. I remember everything. What you did to me. What you made me do.
If John could have, he would have smiled. He’d be with Mary soon.
And I know what it means now.
Adhadda Yochanan Kedhabhra.
Let the thing, John, be destroyed.
------------------------------------------------
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.” - Friedrich Nietzsche
THE END
Prompt: John is possessed by the YED. The boys plot to kill him.