Unbreakable III
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chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | epilogue
III.
Chastity.
Missouri nods slowly. She sits on the edge of the rattan chair facing John with her hands pressed between her knees. You know, she says, those boys still think of you as their superhero.
No, they don't, John drops his head, fear and disappointment twisting at the metal band around his finger. They shouldn't, and you know better than to tell me things like that.
Well, and her voice ambles meekly into the depths, I know they do. I heard it plain as day. You are, and it's a good thing, too. They're going to need their father now.
John looks at her from under his brow, stoic features cloaked in folds of hope and dread. Tell me everything.
There's not much to tell that you don't already feel in your heart. You love your sons. You love your wife. She's still alive for you. She's alive in those boys. Her head tilts to the side with a comforting expression.
It's the kind that probably works on most people when she wants them to take the good news, nod for a few moments into their glasses of sun tea, and then go on about their lives. John isn't going to be one of those people. Missouri, I came here because I need to know what's happening to my sons. Are you going to tell me or not?
She bows her head and thinks a minute, then she lifts it slowly. I don't mean to be cryptic, John, but sometimes these things, they don't follow a straight line like you can draw on a map. I'll tell you what I do know.
What's that?
Your heart is going to save them. Your love is what will keep them going.
After everything I've put them through? John huffs, but he stops himself from saying anymore aloud. He knows he doesn't need to. Missouri can see his thoughts: his countless failures as a father, how he's never at rest except in a bottle. He glances out the window and when his eyes return to her, they're hungry. How?
She frowns. I don't know. It's not clear. She rises and turns away from him, searching the room for something that John doesn't, or can't, see. She makes it to the corner and turns, humming just under her breath like she is listening for the feeble, tinny sounds of a lost windup toy. Her hand stumbles into the curtains of the window and she stops when she looks outside.
His fingers are tingling and his chest tightens instinctively. What is it?
Her head is wobbling somberly. They're a warning, she says, and she doesn't elaborate. She just stares out the window at the branches of the willow tree in her yard.
What are you talking about? What warning? Is it something I can see? Can I track it? Will it help me find what did this to Mary?
She sighs in disapproval. So many questions, John Winchester. If I was your wife, I'd ask you where your decency got off to.
John pales. If you could just... tell me what you mean by there, a warning, I'd appreciate the clarification, and he folds his hands tightly together, almost cutting off the blood circulating through his wounded palm.
Not there, a warning, I said they are a warning.
He isn't sure whether he is supposed to respond. What are?
She tilts her head toward the window. The trees.
The trees?
She nods.
All of them? he says carefully.
Of course not, don't be absurd. I mean, the ones in your dreams.
How did you know about that?
They are real trees, John. They exist. And one of them is in your front yard. It's watching that house.
Okay... hang on. I'm working my way around trees are evil.
You're not that bright, are you? The trees aren't evil. They're just the messenger. It's what brought them here... and she says the word them like he's been on the right track.
So they're harbingers.
You could say that. They're the remnants of a dream... belonging to things not of this world. Sometimes the dreams are good. Sometimes they're not.
Could you tell from -- John's voice cracks and he continues after a moment, forming his words deliberately -- that tree whether or not it was the mark of the thing that murdered my Mary?
Missouri looks far away. One would think that it's an open and shut case, but no, it isn't what killed your wife. It was the thing that knew before you did. I wish you had come to me sooner. Perhaps I would have been able to help.
She lets go of the curtain and comes to stand in front of him, but then she stops, listening to something else. When she continues, her voice has changed. Those dreams are here for a reason, John. If you listen to them and you're faithful to her memory, they will help you.
John makes to leave, rubbing his hands over his knees. Thanks for your help, Missouri, but I don't put much stock in dreams.
Love is a dream, she says.
As there is Chastity, so there must be Lust.
They are out hunting when they are caught in it; a rare summer storm that blasts them with rain while the sun is still shining. It whips through the scrubs and kicks sand into their eyes. The roll of thunder chases them into the cave, where they re-light the fire and prepare a meal.
Can you believe how big it was? It was the biggest one I’ve ever seen, David says again after a few moments of silence.
I believe it was the largest lion you’ve killed because I saw it with my own eyes, and I watched you take it down with one shot and so that I also believe, Jonathan replies calmly.
David laughs softly. I wouldn’t have seen it behind me, though. Thanks for being my eyes today, your highness.
I’m your eyes every day, sheep herder. Jonathan smiles.
David stretches his right arm out over his knee and burns the end of a cedar branch, letting its scent fill the small cave. He thumbs the skin at his wrist where it is scarred. Jonathan’s own bears the match of it. They are brothers bound by something far stronger than blood. Yes, we are all we have.
He watches Jonathan’s expression darken across the fire, yellow light dancing silently on his somber face. To someone who did not know him, his expression would seem poised and royal, revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath.
Breaking the silence must be done now, before he loses his nerve. David's voice matches the treble of the rain: Our dream is ending, isn't it? You have decided. This is the last time I will ever see you.
Jonathan doesn’t speak. There is power vibrating in the very air around him, and the fervor of his heart burns in his eyes. But no words can hold the sentiment or the pain; there is only a flame burning out the center of his soul.
The dark is restless and David rises quickly, lips moving, knowing that his words are just breath and feelings and will do nothing to change his friend’s mind. Maybe they will find a way to use us against each other, I don’t know.
Jonathan nods.
David stares into the dust rising around his feet. Our father has not forgiven me? I am still an outcast?
Jonathan steels himself and looks up to watch David pacing. There is no way to keep the truth from shattering them both. Our father's fear of losing the throne is so great that it has blinded him completely. He defies anyone who would stand with you. I came to tell you that he is sending his army against you and anyone else who believes in the prophecy.
I don’t care about that. David waves his hand. All I care about is that you are safe.
There is not enough light in the cave to see Jonathan shift uneasily, but David hears it and feels it in his soul. Jonathan’s voice is deep and unconvinced. Do you really think that I could just leave you here in this place?
David gives the shadows a level stare, knows immediately that Jonathan is evading his question. It’s what I want you to do. I’m your weakness and you’re mine. They are going to use that against us.
His brother’s face is years older in moments, weary with a burden of fate that he feels no choice in. I know. What is it you want, David? Should we stop defending each other?
No, we stop being martyrs. We stop hiding. We fight. David turns away and reaches for his favorite armor and holds out the sword to Jonathan. Flames leap toward the blade and reflect in their eyes. He said you might have to kill me. If we have to fight, I want you to be the one to do it.
The steel is hot. With the palms of his hands, Jonathan pushes the blade back toward his brother. It burns him, but his face can show no more pain than it does now. I can’t. I’d rather die.
They never see each other again.
Years later, Saul is still king. His son has a son, but their bloodline is still in peril. In the battle for the kingdom, Jonathan is slain at his father’s side. Saul, despondent and bereft of hope, mourns his only son by falling on his own sword. Samuel's prophecy is fulfilled and David is made king.
Tradition demands that a new king put any heir from the previous royal family to death to protect his own bloodline. David scorns the laws of kings and honors instead the covenant he made with his brother, taking Jonathan's son into this house and raising him as his own.
David's son Solomon gains a world of knowledge but loses his own soul. After his death, the bloodline goes silent for 400 years.
Crossroad