Darkness Falling Pt 3 GEN
Darkness Falling Pt 3
Author: Linda Atkinson
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Rough language, violence
Summary: I don’t like the fact that John is dead. I know he is supposed to resurface, one way or another, but I want him alive again, with his boys again. So I’m fixing it, at least
in my little corner of the universe.
My thanks and grateful acknowledgement to Sioux_Sioux for beta on this story.
Maggie held up the book.
“Do you boys know what this is? It‘s the Librium Arcana, a book of black magic, the worst. John was looking for this for years. It contains some of the most evil spells that can be cast.”
Sam frowned.
“If it was so evil why was Dad looking or it?”
“Because spells that can be cast, can be un-cast. All of these spells have spells that can be used to counter them, used to negate negative forces. And some of these spells are used by demons.”
Dean slid onto the sofa besides her taking the book off Maggie’s knee.
“I thought that demons were intrinsically magic.”
“They are but even they need guidelines to make some magic work. We’re all bound by laws of physics it’s in our nature and in their’s too. Demons act the way they act because they can’t do anything else.”
“So what does this have to do with Dad?”
Maggie smiled.
“I was reading some of the letters that were in the book. The witch wasn’t always a witch. She and her son were hunters just like you boys and your Dad. But her son got hurt in a hunt, was dying. So she made a deal with the demon. She traded her soul for her son’s life.”
Dean gasped.
“Just like Dad.”
“Yeah, just like John. Except when she died her son didn’t send her out right. He didn’t burn her body, he just buried her. Then he found the book. I wasn’t sure about mentioning this to you boys but…There’s a spell in the book for condemning an innocent soul to hell, and it can be used to reclaim a soul as well.”
Sam sat up straighter tapping his hand against the book in Dean’s palm.
“Re-claiming you mean releasing a soul from hell?”
“Yeah, but when her son worked the spell he forgot one thing. With a body to come back to she was re-animated, in the rotten corpse.”
“And she went insane,” Sam added. Maggie nodded.
“Wouldn’t you? Your mind, all the memories of your life, forever stuck in the rotting shell of your former self. That’s why she turned.”
“So that could happen to Dad?” Dean asked, “Because I don’t want to do that to him.”
“No, it won’t. You boys did right by your father. He has no shell to come back into. He’ll be freed, but tied to this plane in a non-corporeal form.”
“You mean a ghost,” Sam said bitterly. Maggie nodded squeezing his arm gently.
“But he won’t be in hell. And we can ask him if he wants to stay. All you boys need to do is get the ashes and bones left in his gravesite and bring them here. If he wants to go on we can salt and re-burn his remains, set him free.”
Dean sat back.
“And you can do this spell. If we go to Chelsea and get Dad’s remains you can work the spell?”
“Yes, I’ll set it up while you’re gone and have everything ready for when you get back.”
Dean looked over at Sam who seemed very hesitant. He shook his head.
“Aunt Maggie what if something goes wrong? You know that some spells look benign but go really wrong after they’re cast.”
“Sam, I’ll study it. I’ll read through all of the papers and notes in the book. If there is just the slightest doubt that it won’t work then I won’t do it. As much as I loved your father, I don’t want him to end up like her.”
Dean dropped the book back into his aunt’s hand.
“That settles it for me, Sammy. I’m leaving in the morning. You can come or not, but I’m going.”
Sam nodded frowning,
“All right, I’ll go with you. I just hope that the two of you know what you’re doing.”
The Impala turned the final bend of the long dirt and gravel road that lead to the cemetery where they had burned and buried their father. Dean turned the engine off but didn’t move out of the car. From his side of the car Sam could see the small hill where the gravesite was, covered now in yellowing dead grass. The tiny tree that Dean had chosen as a marker was larger, but bare of foliage. The entire scene was just as raw and desperate as it had been six months ago.
Dropping his head into a hand Dean felt sick. He didn’t want to go up that hill and see the stone with its borrowed name. But he heaved a sigh and pushed open the door. Sam stepped out of the car waiting for Dean to move around and join him. Suddenly he motioned Dean to a halt. They quickly opened the trunk to the car and pulled out two shovels and a small black bag. Dean slung the bag over his shoulder and handed one of the shovels to his brother.
From the other side of the hill came a sound. The noise of an engine, nothing as large as the Impala but powerful none the less. Bending down Sam and Dean slid past the car and into the cemetery itself. They kept to the shadows hugging the larger tombstones and keeping low to the ground as much as possible. When they got over the hill they both could see two men, dressed in leather and jeans poised above motorcycles sitting silently at the foot of the slope just at the bottom of the path to John’s grave.
Dean ducked back out of sight as he watched the two figures straddling the bikes and talking low. The taller man pulled out a cigarette and blew smoke into the air as they glanced around. Both Sam and Dean got the distinct impression that the men were waiting for something, looking for someone. And that it meant the bikers were most likely looking for them. Sam pulled John’s journal out and began sketching the logo embroidered on the back of the larger man’s jacket. When the other man turned around he could see that the logo was the same on his jacket as well. He couldn’t make out as many details as he wanted but he got the general picture.
It was almost dusk when the bikers finally decided that nothing was going to happen and revved up their motorcycles and pulled out of the cemetery. Sam stood up slightly watching as the men disappeared out the wrought iron gates and down the road.
Dean stood up brushing the grass off the seat of his jeans.
“So why do you think that two bikers are keeping guard at Dad’s grave? Do you think they’re hunters?”
Shaking his head Sam slipped quietly down the hill with Dean in tow. They reached the gravesite just as the sun was dipping behind the horizon. Dropping the bag Dean took a shotgun loaded with rock salt and propped it against the headstone. He sat his .45 on top of the marker and picked up a shovel.
They took turns digging. By the time the sun had set completely and the moon had risen they had the grave opened, carefully piling the dirt and sod to one side to be replaced later. They had to go slowly at the end because they didn’t want to churn the ashes up in the soil and lose any bone fragments that might remain.
Sam was in the grave when he hit blackened soil He stood up.
“Dean, I’m down to ash.”
Nodding Dean jumped into the grave; carefully he bent down scraping at the layer of ash. He pulled a small box off the side of the grave and handed it to Sam. Using a small garden spade he sifted through the ash until he found small pieces of bone. Lifting them up he deposited them into the box and then scraped up as much ash as he could, adding it to the container. Sam carefully closed the box, sitting it outside the grave. Picking up the shovels they filled in the grave.
The wind had picked up and it was cold when Dean opened the trunk of the Impala and put the box and shovels inside. Dean was just tucking the shot gun into the trunk when the breeze whipped trough the trees carrying the sound of heavy footsteps. Sam whirled.
Grabbing Dean’s wrist he jerked his chin in the direction of the trees down the hill from where they were parked.
“Dean, something’s up there. I saw a movement. Do you suppose those bikers are back?”
“I don’t know. It could be anything.”
Dean handed Sam the shotgun and a box of shells. Quickly he checked the clip in his .45 opting for silver bullets. Tucking a flask of holy water into his pocket he handed Sam a rosary. Sam wrapped the beads around his wrist and took a canister of salt and put it in his pocket.
The wind had settled and the trees were still. From their vantage point at the top of the hill both young men could see across the flatter part of the cemetery and to the road beyond the hillside. The cloudless sky held a full moon riding low over the horizon, big and shimmering yellow. The pale light cast faint shadows behind the dark gray of the headstones.
Sam crept down the hill until he was back at their father’s grave. Dean was to the left of Sam further downhill and slightly ahead. Sam glanced down at the newly turned earth, the grave dark and ugly in the moonlight. He caught a flash of movement in the trees just further down the hill running parallel to the road. Without a sound he motioned Dean back.
The older man quickly hurried up the hillside flanking his brother. The two skirted around the grave and headed down the hill at a lope. From the underbrush the sound of movement grew louder then an eerie howl cut through the air. Dean slid to a halt, pulling Sam up close.
“Werewolves,” he hissed.
Sam nodded, leaning away from Dean and scanning the underbrush.
“It sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the road. Probably two of them. I’m willing to bet it’s the two bikers from earlier.”
Dean nodded but cast a sideways glance at his brother.
“Why would werewolves be staking out Dad’s grave?”
“I don’t know but I though that I recognized the logo on their jackets.”
Dean shook his head. He ran from the tombstone to the underbrush beneath the trees lining the road. Sam followed hard behind him. Pulling the .45 Dean raked his hand forward and Sam took point holding the shotgun aloft.
Without a sound the underbrush parted and the first werewolf leapt into the road. He was big even for a werewolf and he snarled, dropping back from Sam and Dean, claws skittering on the asphalt. Sam raised the shotgun and fired. The rock salt hit the werewolf dead center of his chest and he yelped.
Dean flicked his gaze to the brush to the side and behind them. He turned his body at an angle to his brother and raised the gun. When the second werewolf burst out of the brush he was ready. With a smile Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet hit its mark striking the werewolf in his heart as he leapt toward them. Blood erupted from the beast’s chest, splattering the tombstones and dropping on the parched earth like rain.
The creature’s body skidded over the rough grass coming to rest just a few feet from Dean’s position. Sam never let his gaze wander from the other werewolf pacing a few yards from where they stood. The creature paused sniffing the air as the bloody corpse of the other werewolf rippled and roiled under the moonlight. Sensing, if not fully understanding, that his companion was dead the first werewolf started visibly. Raising his muzzle he snarled then turned loping toward the trees.
Dean muttered a curse and charged after him. Sam ran along behind keeping this brother’s back in sight. They hit the trees just a few seconds after the werewolf disappeared into the dense underbrush.
Bending down Dean motioned to the tracks in the soft dirt. The werewolf was moving in a straight line heading toward the deeper forest, and Dean wanted to catch him before he could get away. He motioned Sam down a path that branched downward from where they were walking. Sam slid along the path but the tracks disappeared and he glanced up at the higher trial that Dean was moving purposefully along.
There was more than enough light and Dean could easily track the werewolf. The prints were large and deep and still moving in a straight line. He paused glancing down, making sure that he could still see Sammy on the path below. Suddenly the upper trial ended and the paths converged together and Dean found himself shoulder to shoulder with his younger bother.
The brush moving crazily behind them was the only warning they got as the werewolf bolted out of cover bearing down on the two young men. Sam whirled bringing the shotgun up but before he could get a clean shot the werewolf hit the ground at his feet. Jerking back Sam dropped to the ground rolling out of the way. The gun jumped in Dean’s hand as the.45 went off. With a gasp the werewolf staggered then collapsed on his side breath coming in weak gasps.
Dean walked over raising the gun again and firing. The werewolf’s body jumped then settled back on the ground. It only took a few minutes for the creature to transform into it human shape, and both Sam and Dean could see that it was one of the bikers that had been at the cemetery when they arrived.
They ended up dragging the werewolf back to the cemetery. Piling both bodies on the raw earth just behind the tree line Seam salted the two bodies while Dean soaked them down with gas. When he was sure that both bodies were covered Dean pulled matches out of his pocket. The bodies burned quickly.
The Impala’s engine roared to life, and Dean pulled out of the cemetery without glancing back. He flicked on the radio messing with the tuner just to have something to do before looking in the rearview mirror.
“So why do you think that werewolves are watching Dad’s grave. Do you think that the demon has them there?”
Sam shook his head sighing.
“I don’t know Dean, but they’re there for a reason. Maybe we can research the logo on the jackets and see if we can identify them.”
“Yeah, let’s get back to Aunt Maggie’s place.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably.
“Dean, I’m not sure if we’re doing the right thing.”
“Sam, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve decided if we can get Dad out of hell. If we can make this at least a little bit right then I’m doing it.”
“Well, what about me Dean? He was my father too. What if I don’t want to take a chance that Aunt Maggie can do this?”
“Oh for god’s sake Sammy! You always have to argue about everything. I got so damn sick and tired of hearing you question Dad, now you’re doing it with Aunt Maggie? Dad, and Aunt Maggie have been doing this a lot longer than we have, sometimes you just have to believe that they know what they are doing. Dad did, just give it a rest, Sammy.”
“All right Dean, but if this goes bad, you’re going to have to live with it.”
“I already do, Sam. If it goes bad I’ll handle it…”
“Just like if it goes bad with me you’ll handle it?” Sam asked quietly.
Dean looked at him then stared out the windshield.
“Yeah, Sammy it’s what I do.”
Maggie was waiting at the door when the Impala pulled into the driveway. She had a worn, drawn look on her face that worried Sam. Quickly she stepped outside watching as Dean opened the trunk and pulled a small box out. He carried the box into the house and Maggie waved him to the garage.
She had pulled all of the boxes she had stored in the garage back against the wall, and painted a huge red circle on the floor. Symbols we painted around the circumference of the circle in black paint. In the center of the circle was a large sigil also painted in black paint. The sigil itself had a large central circle with four circles at the compass points. A thick black candle sat on each one of the small compass points, and in the central circle was a wax ball about the size of a large pumpkin.
Carefully Maggie carried the box to the center of the circle. Lifting the top off the wax ball she poured out the ash and bones from the box. To this she added a mass of dark brown hair that was sitting on the floor. “This is hair from a hairbrush that your father left here. So in the ball we have hair, bone and ash.”
She lit the candles then picked up the book and a packet of powdered herbs. Sam and Dean stood at the door of the garage watching as Maggie walked the circumference of the circle sprinkling the herbs over the floor. Once she had them evenly distributed she lit the candles.
“Hail, Angel of the North, Power of Earth! I invoke you and call you, North Star,
Stone, Mountain and Fertile Field Come! Send forth your strength Be here now! The circle is cast. We are between the worlds, Beyond the bounds of time! Lord and Lady, abide here now. Lend Your power to the circle, That what be cast is done as asked,
And harm shall come to none! Into this vessel we place the earthly remains of one of our own, we open the gate to hell, release the soul that this clay did once inhabit…”
There was a rush of wind throughout the room, the candles guttered and faded. Suddenly a pale spark of light filled the wax ball. Maggie stepped forward but before she could open the top of the vessel, the wax began to warp and twist.
Dean leapt forward pulling his aunt away from the wax, out of the circle.
“Aunt Maggie what’s happening?”
“His soul should be in that vessel. All we have to do is open the top and the soul should manifest itself as a non-corporeal being.” She shivered. “It isn’t supposed to do this.”
Sam looked at the wax ball which was writhing and growing larger. A scowl crossed his face. “Look, the wax is taking on a form.”
As they stood watching, the wax grew longer spreading itself into a shape, head arms and legs forming and growing. Within minutes the wax had formed itself into the shape of a human being, the long naked limbs smooth and supple becoming solid flesh.
Taking a deep breath Maggie walked to the naked figure lying prone on the floor. He was tall, slender with a stock of thick brown curls. The form trembled and half raised himself up off the floor. Dean pulled the .45 out of his waistband holding it up as Maggie stooped down. She tugged the man over then jumped back gasping.
Before Sam could move gunshots ran out.
“Dean!” Sam screamed grabbing at the gun. “Oh god Dean you shot Dad.”
Maggie tugged his arm trembling violently. “Sammy, no it’s not John.”
Turning quickly Sam bent down examining the prone body. The overall shape was that of a man, long slender legs covered in soft brown hair, long arms. But beneath the ragged curling hair the face was smooth and void, no features. He cringed away.
“It’s a shape-shifter…” Dean hissed. “I’ve never seen one in its true form.”
Maggie nodded. “They have no face of their own, only taking on one form or another from their victims. Are you sure you got the right remains.”
Dean growled at her. “Aunt Maggie I know where I buried my own father. It was the right grave. It’s where we burned and buried Dad.”
Shaking her head she motioned to the still body on the floor.
“No, it’s not. Whatever you burned in that grave wasn’t your father. It was this thing. The reason the spell didn’t work is that your father wasn’t in that grave.”
Sam bolted from his place at the door.
“That can’t be Aunt Maggie. I found Dad’s body on the floor. He was already cold. We watched them trying to revive him but they couldn’t. Dean and I took his body from the morgue.”
“Then that’s it. How long was it before you and Dean last spoke to John that you found his body in the hospital room?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, but Dean touched his shoulder.
“It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.”
“But Sam said he was already cold. A body doesn’t cool that fast. If John had only been dead fifteen or twenty minutes he would have still been warm to the touch. Whatever you found in that hospital room, whatever you took from the morgue and burned it wasn’t your father…it was this thing.”
Dean looked down at the shape-shifter’s body.
“Then where the hell is Dad?”
TBC