The Other Son: Chapter Eleven
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Eleven: SALT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter eleven | SALT
-------
THEN:
-------
No,” Missouri said, shook her head. “Someone else. Someone that you knew -- had crossed paths with. It seemed to be the only thing they were certain of.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” John said, more relaxed suddenly. “How many psychics do we know, anyway?” John didn’t know any, not anyone other than Missouri. He looked over at Sam, intending to ease the atmosphere, no doubt, because this meant the demons were mistaken, but Sam’s look completely silenced him.
“I - just two,” Sam said, realization coming over him slowly. “Oh God,” he said, getting-up so quickly that his chair toppled over, he was reaching for his cell-phone, blindly staggering into the other room, barely hearing his father calling for him as he headed towards the car.
-----
NOW:
-----
It felt like forever - the span between heartbeats, the span between rings. He had intended to make a mad-dash to the impala, but instead found himself pacing back-and-forth in Missouri’s waiting room, because all he had was Sophia’s number and all it was doing was ringing and ringing, and maybe that was because Dean was dead, or maybe they were burning. John and Missouri stood in the doorway watching him pace back-and-forth, neither of them knowing why Sam was frantic, but Sam figured they could put the pieces together; he didn’t have time to spell it out.
“Sam?”
“Sophia!” Sam said, relief in his tone before her tone registered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“God, Sam, I’ve been trying to call you.” Her voice was broken, rough around the edges and thin, he could practically hear the exhaustion in it. It had been over two months since he’d contacted Sophia, let alone asked after Dean - John had drilled into his head since childhood that demons and ghosts could listen to calls, had no qualms about going after loved ones and Sam had wanted to keep Dean and Dean’s family safe, honour Dean’s choice. His cell, though, had been on and he’d checked it because he’d said that if Dean needed anything - anything at all - to call and Sam would drop everything.
“What? My cell’s been on,” Sam said, more to himself than to Sophia. It had to be the demons - had to be related to whatever their plan was, keeping Sam separated from Dean because that was their next target and they knew - knew that Sam would stop at nothing to stop them.
“Sam, you need to come here,” she said ignoring his comment, Sam wondered if she’d heard it. “It’s bad.”
“Is Dean okay? Sophia!”
She was distracted, that much was obvious. He could hear the sound of her movements over the connection, could hear her whispering to someone else. “You just need to come, okay? Paul’s dead, and - and it’s just a mess here, okay? You need to … please, could you just -“
“Dead? How? Of course, I’ll come. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can but … is Dean okay?” He was rambling, but he couldn’t help it.
There was a pause, a hesitation that had Sam’s whole body tensing, his breath caught. “You need to be here,” she said, like that was all she could really say - all that needed to be said.
“I’m coming. I’m on my way. Has there been a fire?”
“No. A fire?”
“Okay, Sophia I need you to do something for me, are you at Dean’s house?” Paul was dead, but Dean was alive, and nothing had burned. The demons hadn’t gotten to Fitchburg, which meant that Sam had time. Sam already knew exactly what to tell Sophia to do in order to keep Dean safe - the salt and how to make the sachets that had kept Missouri’s home standing while her yard burned. They weren’t getting Dean; Sam wasn’t going to let them.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
“And you need to stay with him, okay?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t leave him!” Her tone was so harsh that Sam finally started to wonder just how Dean was holding-up in the face of his father’s death. “Hurry,” she said, in a serious, low voice like it was imperative that he get there - Sam thought maybe it was - but before he could ask more, or tell her that he was going to drive like crazy to get there, she hung-up and all Sam was left with was a dial-tone.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” John asked, at the same moment Missouri said: “Oh, Honey.”
“Now’s not a good time,” Sam said to John, completely ignoring Missouri’s sympathy because he was breaking into little pieces and his head was spinning and there was really only one thing flashing through his head, and it was hard to form coherent sentences passed the all-encompassing and violent need to get to Dean right fucking now. “I’m going to Fitchburg, I’ll meet you back at Bobby’s.” He didn’t wait to hear his father confirm that, didn’t say good-bye and didn’t stop to explain. He was in Kansas when where he needed to be was Wisconsin.
…………………………………..
There was nothing different about the house. Its scalloped roof appeared as Sam crested the hill, and then it was entirely visible, standing there just as he’d left it, but something twisted inside him, part fear - he was not entirely certain what he would find - but also something else.
The changes Sophia had made were evident once Sam was out of the car and heading for the door. There were ink marking on the mailbox and the fence that Sam was fairly certain he didn’t describe to her. The stone pathway leading to the house was marred with sidewalk chalk in other designs - some of the markings were meaningless, but Sam could easily recognize others as being very effective demon-blocks. The sachets and herbs were poorly stashed - he could spot them easily - to anyone with a trained eye, Dean’s house was a fortress, if a poorly constructed one - and he could feel some of his worry easing. Not only had Sophia followed his directions, she’d gone above and beyond.
“Sam?” Sophia’s voice interrupted his inspection of a chalked sigil. Her skin was pale and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes, lack of sleep making her usually wide eyes seem small and pinched. He wasn’t expecting her hug, but he received it with a hint of relief - that she was safe and well.
“How are you?” he asked, but she waved her hand, dismissing the question.
“You need to take him, okay?” she said. “I’ve packed his things, he’s all ready. You can just … go. Right now.”
“What?” Sam said. “No, wait.”
“You don’t understand,” she hissed, her eyes darting to check the door she had left open, the to the windows. “He can’t be here.”
“I understand that he’s upset,” Sam said. “I do. But there’s something that’s coming, okay? He might not be safe outside of this place.”
“You don’t understand,” she insisted, her frustration evident. “There is something wrong with this house.” She had whispered the last part, as if she hadn’t wanted anyone to overhear, and it made Sam’s skin prickle.
“There can’t be. You did everything I said - and more - there’s no way that house can be impure after all of that.” She was shaking her head like he just wasn’t understanding and was opening her mouth to say more when a thud and the sound of something scraping across hardwood drifted from inside, and before Sam could ask she was rushing back into the house.
Dean was picking himself-up off the floor when Sam rushed into the room behind Sophia. His skin was grey and sickly and there were dark bruises beneath his glassy eyes. Freckles stood-out, plainly visible against his pallid complexion, and there was a tightness in his face that Sam recognized as barely checked pain. It was warm out, but Dean was wearing a forest green pullover. “I’m fine,” he said when Sophia stepped-in to help. “I said I’m fine!” he insisted, jerking away from her hands although the movement caused him to stagger. He masked the stumble by collapsing into a chair - as if that had been his intention.
“What was it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Dean…”
“I swear to god, if you don’t stop hovering,” Dean threatened, but Sam could only hear the thinness in the once strong voice. Something was very wrong.
“Sam’s here,” Sophia said, settling onto the floor by Dean’s feet.
“I know. I can see.” But Dean had been avoiding looking towards where Sam was standing in the entranceway into the side-room, although his acknowledgement of Sam’s presence resulted in a fleeting glance towards him. “Can I go outside now?” he asked, and Sam knew that the question was directed at him, although Dean’s gaze was turned towards the wide French doors that led out into the back garden.
“I don’t think…” Sam started, but Dean snorted darkly.
“Whatever. I don’t even care if it’s not safe. You have a gun, shoot whatever you’re so afraid of. I have to get out of this friggin’ house. I hate it here.” The last two sentences were mumbled, as if Dean wasn’t saying them to anyone in particular, and Sam watched as Dean rose and crossed slowly to the doors and then out into the garden.
“You said inside,” Sophia explained. “You have no idea how hard it’s been keeping him here. Especially when all I really want is to get him the hell out!”
“What happened?” Sam asked, because this was something more than losing a father - this was something directly wrong with Dean and Sam worried about what might be causing it. “How did his dad die? What’s going on?”
Sophia slid into the chair Dean had been occupying and tilted back so she could watch the garden from where she was sitting, waving a hand at one of the other chairs until Sam had settled into it. “Paul died right here in the house,” she explained. “Heart attack, and Dean came home from his shift at the Wyvern and his dad was just lying there. I was still in the car, and he called me - it was a mess. I mean, not Paul, he was just lying there calm as ever. But Dean was kind of freaking out, and we called the paramedics, and then Dean had an attack - I’ve never seen one that bad - and he was lying there, his entire body in spasms and the medics wanted to take him to the hospital!” she scoffed at that thought, and Sam didn’t immediately pick-up why that would have been a bad thing, given the circumstances, but then Dean’s particular gifts came to mind and he realized just how disastrous that could have been.
“For a few days it was fine - I mean, he was broken-up about it, but it wasn’t - it wasn’t weird, you know? He was just grieving - in his kind of screwed-up way, like after his mom. But then there was the funeral and then after that - the house …”
“What?” Sam prompted.
“When they figured-out what was happening with Dean,” Sophia said, smoothing down her sweatpants as if they were a skirt, then she started to pick at the lint. “Magdalena went through a lot of trouble to keep this place safe for him, you understand?”
“Good memories only? Keep the negative out?”
“Yeah. If there was fighting or something that needed doing, it happened away from here. She built that entire backyard for him so he could have a place where he didn’t need to worry about anyone else’s emotions or thoughts or memories. Any of the strong feelings in this place are positive. Paul dying - well …” Sam nodded. Not so much a good memory. “But even after that, it was still fine. He avoided the kitchen for a while, because that’s where it happened, but that was about it. This was entirely different. Suddenly he couldn’t go anywhere without picking-up things.”
“He’s bound to be more sensitive after his dad’s death, though,” Sam said. “He’s emotionally vulnerable and that leaves him open to other people.”
“This goes above and beyond emotionally vulnerable,” Sophia said. “I was with him after his mom -she was everything to him -- and no way it was this bad. You saw him! He’s not sick, Sam! He’s tired because he can barely sleep, and every time he touches something he picks something-up from it - stuff that hurts him.”
“Like what?”
“He doesn’t tell me,” Sophia said. “But no way it’s something that actually happened in this house! He touched the damned doorknob to his bedroom and couldn’t stand-up, could barely breathe, for a solid half hour! I’ve flooded this place with sage and it hasn’t made a difference! You have to take him, Sam. You have to just get him out of Fitchburg.”
“I can’t do that,” Sam said. “Not yet. Not until I know what’s happening.” She rolled her eyes but he leaned forward. “Listen. Houses all over the country - people, sometimes too - have been burning, and only one person survived it, and she learned enough from the attack to tell me their coming here - for Dean. So we need to take this slow and figure it out.”
“Then just get him out of this house!”
“I will, okay? But I have to be careful.” She nodded solemnly and then sighed, looking out the window where Dean had settled onto the top step of the patio. It was all a nightmare and Sam wasn’t sure what to do next. He had intended to keep Dean at home, but if the place was hurting him then that was no longer an option. But he still needed time to prepare someplace else that was safe enough for Dean to stay while they figured-out what was going on.
Sam left Sophia in the side-room and crossed to the French doors, pulling them open and not bothering to close them as he dropped onto the step beside Dean. “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice soft because it seemed like Dean was so fragile - barely holding anything together.
Dean glanced toward him and let out a long sigh, and then, slowly, titled his body until it was propped against Sam’s side. He was taking long slow breaths like it was the first chance to breathe he’d had in a while - and maybe it was. Sam couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound hollow, there were no assurances he could offer, no apologies he could make. He wrapped his arm around Dean’s back and held him close and all he could offer was a warm body and quiet solitude, and maybe that was enough because Dean’s eyes slipped closed and his breathing dropped into a steady rhythm and he was sleeping in Sam’s arms on the patio.
……………………………………
Dean’s bedroom smelled like salt and sage. Sophia held the door open while Sam staggered under Dean’s weight and finally managed to settle him into bed, tucking the covers up to his waist. “You promise you’ll come straight back?” Sophia asked quietly.
“I won’t be long. I have to go to the library to see if they have anything that might help.”
“I checked everything,” she insisted.
“There’s some things you might not have thought to search under. I’ll come right back, and I’ll bring some dinner, okay? You should try to get some sleep.” She nodded vaguely and Sam tried to convince his body to do what he had just said - leave Dean sleeping and do research. The house was safe - from demons at least - nothing could get in, and whatever was happening inside wasn’t immediately life threatening. It didn’t make it any easier.
He left Sophia with a gun - even though he knew Dean already had at least one - and more salt, and promised he wouldn’t be long at all, and then he got in the impala and started driving to the A.W. Stowe Library as quickly as he could without running the risk of running-over pedestrians.
It was a glance really, out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough to recognize the large black pickup parked out-front of 2400 Court, and instead of driving to the library, Sam swerved into the parking lot. His dad’s truck was parked out from of room 112, and he knocked on the door, not surprised when John opened it and waved him in without comment. “It’s the demons.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“While you spent your morning at that house, I looked into things. The mark? It’s there.”
“Where? Nothing burned.”
“On the man’s neck,” John answered. “It was demons that killed him.”
“On his neck?” Sam couldn’t immediately understand. “Paul’s?”
“Dr. Curran’s,” John said. “-Paul Curran.”
Sam dropped onto one of the beds. “But he was buried, how did you …” the look his dad gave him was a combination of frustrated and exasperated. “You dug him up? Dad … you can’t.”
“We needed to know, Sam.”
“He was Dean’s father!”
“Listen,” John said. “We’ve dug bodies up before. Every single one was somebody’s father, or mother, or sister - everyone was someone to somebody else.”
“I - but…”
“You need to focus!” John said. “Now what did you find out?”
Sam let out a breath and tried to think straight. Tried not to imagine his dad prying open Paul’s coffin - the smiling, teasing, infuriating and intimidating man who had been Dean’s father. He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. “The house is warded, there’s no way for anything to get in. Nothing’s burned. - Paul didn’t burn, why would they give him a heart attack? Why not something else?” John seemed unsuprised about any of it, and Sam became uncomfortably suspicious that this was another time when his dad had figured things out but wasn’t explaining what his thoughts were to his son. “Dad.”
“Missouri said that the demons were looking for a psychic,” John said, reluctantly turning to face Sam. “Someone we knew. This friend of yours - this Dean - you say he’s psychic. He’s the only one who fits the profile, because they weren’t after Missouri, or they wouldn’t have stopped so easily.”
“But why would they even want Dean?”
“You already know, Sammy.”
“Then … he’s the weapon? How! I don’t understand!”
“What’s important is that we make certain they can’t reach him. They’re already trying to isolate him; they’re messing with his mind. We need to keep him in that house until we figure-out what the demons want.”
“No,” Sam said. “He can’t stay there.”
“Why not?”
“Something’s happening there. Dean - he picks-things up from objects sometimes, and he’s been having trouble in his house.”
“His own house? What kind of trouble?”
“Sophia says that he’s picking things up from just about everything in there - stuff that can’t actually be attached to those things because his parents tried so hard to keep everything neutral for him.”
“When did it start?”
“A few days after the funeral, she said.”
“But before you called and told this Sophia about how to protect the place?”
“Yeah - you think the demons got in and planted those things? Why? Why wouldn’t they just take him? Why torture him like that?”
John rubbed a hand over his face and then let it fall to his side. “To weaken him, ware him down.” John paced for a moment. “Okay, then we’ll ward this room and you bring that boy here, okay? We’ll keep an eye on him and figure-out what to do from there.”
“Okay.”
Between the protection charms and wards that Sam knew, and the ones that John knew, there was no conceivable way anything could get into room 112. While Sam got back into the impala intent on returning to get Dean, John added a few more protection charms to the main area of the hotel.
It was nightfall by the time Sam pulled back into Dean’s driveway, and Dean was still asleep, and Sophia as well. She was propped against the headboard of Dean’s bed with a book on her lap and fast asleep. He didn’t want to wake either of them, but there was little choice.
“Hey,” Sam whispered as he tentatively placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, come on. Wake-up.”
“Sam?” Sophia questioned, yawning a little and stretching before she sat up and looked around, her eyes falling to Dean’s sleeping form before she settled back. “He’s still asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you find?”
“Not much,” Sam said. “I’m gonna take him to the motel, okay? He’ll probably have a better time of it there.”
“Yeah. Good,” she said.
“I think maybe you should do the same wards on your house, okay? And wear this,” he passed her a necklace that had a silver protection charm on it. “To keep you safe, just in case.”
“Sure. You think something’s coming for him?”
“I think something came for him, and is trying to get him,” Sam said.
Dean grumbled a bit and rubbed at his eyes. “What are you whispering about?” he questioned, his voice thick with sleep.
“You know how you said you wanted to get out of here?”
Dean shifted to prop himself up on his elbows, suddenly more awake. “Yeah?”
“Let’s go.” Dean tossed back the covers and stood hastily, heading towards his closet.
“Don’t,” Sophia said. “I packed everything. Don’t touch anything.”
“I can carry you,” Sam offered.
Dean made a face. “You’re not gonna carry me out of my own house. I can walk!” Sophia grabbed Dean’s bag from his closet and Dean waved Sam’s hands away and they headed down the stairs.
“Don’t touch the banisters,” Sophia remembered.
“Don’t worry. I don’t want a repeat of last time,” Dean muttered.
“What happened last time?” Sam asked.
“Went head-first down the stairs,” Dean said with a shrug. He was reaching for the door, but Sam opened it first and Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Sophia loaded his bag into the trunk while Sam stood with Dean in the shelter of the protection wards.
“Does he need this?” Sophia asked, raising her protection charm.
“No,” Sam said. “I have something else.” He manoeuvred Dean so that his back was to Sam’s. “Drop your head down.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m trying to keep you safe, here. Now stand still.” Sam uncapped his black pen and repeated the marking he had found in one of Bobby’s books onto the back of Dean’s neck. “When we get to the motel, I’ll go over it in henna. It’s not permanent, and we’ll probably have to re-ink it, but it will keep you safe, okay?”
“Whatever,” Dean said. Sam pretended not to notice the slight flush on Dean’s pale face.
Have I told you yet that I really missed you?” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear.
Dean rolled his eyes, but the blush intensified. “You’re such a girl. Now are we gonna go, or what?” Sophia was on him before he even finished the sentence. “I’m going to the motel, not the moon.”
“I’m just worried about you,” she said. “And I’m a girl, so I can be all emotional and you can’t bitch about it because it’s my nature.”
He was quiet, and then he squished her extra tight for a moment and whispered “thanks” before he let her go and headed towards the car.
“And you better take care of my boy!” Sophia said, pointing a finger at him.
“Sophia, we’re not going anywhere yet.” She nodded and stood in the driveway watching them drive away.
……………………………
Sam watched Dean hesitate outside of room 112, his hand hovering above the doorknob as if he were bracing himself for something. Sam was hefting both their bags and was about to offer to open the door, but Dean finally grasped the handle, releasing a relieved little breath when nothing happened, and then twisting it open. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, when he noticed John pouring out a ring of salt around both beds.
“Dean, this is my dad,” Sam introduced, shutting the door behind him and dropping the bags down.
“Hi,” John said, smiling a little as he extended his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Dean said.
It was a split moment, Dean stretched his hand forward and John grasped it. Dean winced, and then his expression froze, his eyes squeezed tight, almost flinching. “You okay?” John was asking and Dean dropped to his knees.
“Wait!” Sam said catching Dean as he was dropping until they were both seated on the ground, Dean practically in his lap. “Stop,” he held out a hand, stopping John as he reached forward. “Hey. Hey, Dean?”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, gasping but calming slowly. He blinked open his eyes and swallowed thickly. “I’m okay.” He turned a confused and wary look to John and said, “Just. Just, never touch me again, okay?”
John was just freaked-out enough to nod his head. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Okay,” Dean said. He stood-up slowly, pushing away from Sam and staggered a bit, propping a hand against the wall. “Nice to meet you,” he repeated, then moved towards the bed, pausing at the wide circle of salt around it. “This gonna keep me safe?”
“Yeah. It will,” Sam assured, rising slowly and watching Dean with worry.
“Okay.” Dean kicked-off his shows and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to change. Sam watched as Dean’s eyes slid closed and he was asleep just that easily.
“Outside,” John said gruffly. “Now.”
“What?” Sam asked as they closed the door behind them.
“What in the hell was that?”
“He picks things up from people, too,” Sam said. “I guess, he’s vulnerable enough to have really gotten a hit from you.”
John rubbed a hand over his face and looked around, and then shook his head. “And his name’s Dean?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “What is it? Dad, what’s wrong?”
John shook his head again. “Nothing,” he said. “We can’t just hide-out here. Staying in one place is just an open invitation, and if you give ‘em enough time, the demons will find a way around the wards.”
“What, then?”
“You take Dean, and you keep moving, you understand? Spend the night; get some rest, he looks like he could use it. But then you get moving. I’ve taken another room and I’ll hang around here, see if there’s anymore activity, or if things calm down once you both head out of town.”
“Calm down? What else has been going on?”
“Cattle mutilations, weather - nothing that I haven’t seen before.”
“Then why do you look so worried about it?”
“Sam, I just don’t like demons.”
Sam looked at his dad closely, wondering if that was the whole truth or not. He thought about Dean crumbling to the ground and so clearly exhausted. “I’m gonna head back in. We’ll leave as soon as we’re ready.”
“And don’t stop anywhere for long, y’hear?”
“Okay.”
………………………………..
There were two beds in the motel room, and John had placed a salt ring around each. Sam showered and shed his clothes, and stood at the foot of the empty bed for a moment, before crawling over Dean’s sprawled body and wrapping himself like a blanket his prone form. The marking that Sam had made in black pen was still on Dean’s neck, smudged slightly but still clear enough to be effective, and Sam circled a finger around it slowly, tucking his head against Dean’s and breathing in the man’s scent deeply. “They’re not going to get you,” Sam said. “They can’t have you.” He kissed behind Dean’s ear, and smiled softly when Dean snuffled and buried his nose against Sam’s shoulder. “You’re mine.”
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Depot Office
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Eleven: SALT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter eleven | SALT
-------
THEN:
-------
No,” Missouri said, shook her head. “Someone else. Someone that you knew -- had crossed paths with. It seemed to be the only thing they were certain of.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” John said, more relaxed suddenly. “How many psychics do we know, anyway?” John didn’t know any, not anyone other than Missouri. He looked over at Sam, intending to ease the atmosphere, no doubt, because this meant the demons were mistaken, but Sam’s look completely silenced him.
“I - just two,” Sam said, realization coming over him slowly. “Oh God,” he said, getting-up so quickly that his chair toppled over, he was reaching for his cell-phone, blindly staggering into the other room, barely hearing his father calling for him as he headed towards the car.
-----
NOW:
-----
It felt like forever - the span between heartbeats, the span between rings. He had intended to make a mad-dash to the impala, but instead found himself pacing back-and-forth in Missouri’s waiting room, because all he had was Sophia’s number and all it was doing was ringing and ringing, and maybe that was because Dean was dead, or maybe they were burning. John and Missouri stood in the doorway watching him pace back-and-forth, neither of them knowing why Sam was frantic, but Sam figured they could put the pieces together; he didn’t have time to spell it out.
“Sam?”
“Sophia!” Sam said, relief in his tone before her tone registered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“God, Sam, I’ve been trying to call you.” Her voice was broken, rough around the edges and thin, he could practically hear the exhaustion in it. It had been over two months since he’d contacted Sophia, let alone asked after Dean - John had drilled into his head since childhood that demons and ghosts could listen to calls, had no qualms about going after loved ones and Sam had wanted to keep Dean and Dean’s family safe, honour Dean’s choice. His cell, though, had been on and he’d checked it because he’d said that if Dean needed anything - anything at all - to call and Sam would drop everything.
“What? My cell’s been on,” Sam said, more to himself than to Sophia. It had to be the demons - had to be related to whatever their plan was, keeping Sam separated from Dean because that was their next target and they knew - knew that Sam would stop at nothing to stop them.
“Sam, you need to come here,” she said ignoring his comment, Sam wondered if she’d heard it. “It’s bad.”
“Is Dean okay? Sophia!”
She was distracted, that much was obvious. He could hear the sound of her movements over the connection, could hear her whispering to someone else. “You just need to come, okay? Paul’s dead, and - and it’s just a mess here, okay? You need to … please, could you just -“
“Dead? How? Of course, I’ll come. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can but … is Dean okay?” He was rambling, but he couldn’t help it.
There was a pause, a hesitation that had Sam’s whole body tensing, his breath caught. “You need to be here,” she said, like that was all she could really say - all that needed to be said.
“I’m coming. I’m on my way. Has there been a fire?”
“No. A fire?”
“Okay, Sophia I need you to do something for me, are you at Dean’s house?” Paul was dead, but Dean was alive, and nothing had burned. The demons hadn’t gotten to Fitchburg, which meant that Sam had time. Sam already knew exactly what to tell Sophia to do in order to keep Dean safe - the salt and how to make the sachets that had kept Missouri’s home standing while her yard burned. They weren’t getting Dean; Sam wasn’t going to let them.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
“And you need to stay with him, okay?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t leave him!” Her tone was so harsh that Sam finally started to wonder just how Dean was holding-up in the face of his father’s death. “Hurry,” she said, in a serious, low voice like it was imperative that he get there - Sam thought maybe it was - but before he could ask more, or tell her that he was going to drive like crazy to get there, she hung-up and all Sam was left with was a dial-tone.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” John asked, at the same moment Missouri said: “Oh, Honey.”
“Now’s not a good time,” Sam said to John, completely ignoring Missouri’s sympathy because he was breaking into little pieces and his head was spinning and there was really only one thing flashing through his head, and it was hard to form coherent sentences passed the all-encompassing and violent need to get to Dean right fucking now. “I’m going to Fitchburg, I’ll meet you back at Bobby’s.” He didn’t wait to hear his father confirm that, didn’t say good-bye and didn’t stop to explain. He was in Kansas when where he needed to be was Wisconsin.
…………………………………..
There was nothing different about the house. Its scalloped roof appeared as Sam crested the hill, and then it was entirely visible, standing there just as he’d left it, but something twisted inside him, part fear - he was not entirely certain what he would find - but also something else.
The changes Sophia had made were evident once Sam was out of the car and heading for the door. There were ink marking on the mailbox and the fence that Sam was fairly certain he didn’t describe to her. The stone pathway leading to the house was marred with sidewalk chalk in other designs - some of the markings were meaningless, but Sam could easily recognize others as being very effective demon-blocks. The sachets and herbs were poorly stashed - he could spot them easily - to anyone with a trained eye, Dean’s house was a fortress, if a poorly constructed one - and he could feel some of his worry easing. Not only had Sophia followed his directions, she’d gone above and beyond.
“Sam?” Sophia’s voice interrupted his inspection of a chalked sigil. Her skin was pale and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes, lack of sleep making her usually wide eyes seem small and pinched. He wasn’t expecting her hug, but he received it with a hint of relief - that she was safe and well.
“How are you?” he asked, but she waved her hand, dismissing the question.
“You need to take him, okay?” she said. “I’ve packed his things, he’s all ready. You can just … go. Right now.”
“What?” Sam said. “No, wait.”
“You don’t understand,” she hissed, her eyes darting to check the door she had left open, the to the windows. “He can’t be here.”
“I understand that he’s upset,” Sam said. “I do. But there’s something that’s coming, okay? He might not be safe outside of this place.”
“You don’t understand,” she insisted, her frustration evident. “There is something wrong with this house.” She had whispered the last part, as if she hadn’t wanted anyone to overhear, and it made Sam’s skin prickle.
“There can’t be. You did everything I said - and more - there’s no way that house can be impure after all of that.” She was shaking her head like he just wasn’t understanding and was opening her mouth to say more when a thud and the sound of something scraping across hardwood drifted from inside, and before Sam could ask she was rushing back into the house.
Dean was picking himself-up off the floor when Sam rushed into the room behind Sophia. His skin was grey and sickly and there were dark bruises beneath his glassy eyes. Freckles stood-out, plainly visible against his pallid complexion, and there was a tightness in his face that Sam recognized as barely checked pain. It was warm out, but Dean was wearing a forest green pullover. “I’m fine,” he said when Sophia stepped-in to help. “I said I’m fine!” he insisted, jerking away from her hands although the movement caused him to stagger. He masked the stumble by collapsing into a chair - as if that had been his intention.
“What was it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Dean…”
“I swear to god, if you don’t stop hovering,” Dean threatened, but Sam could only hear the thinness in the once strong voice. Something was very wrong.
“Sam’s here,” Sophia said, settling onto the floor by Dean’s feet.
“I know. I can see.” But Dean had been avoiding looking towards where Sam was standing in the entranceway into the side-room, although his acknowledgement of Sam’s presence resulted in a fleeting glance towards him. “Can I go outside now?” he asked, and Sam knew that the question was directed at him, although Dean’s gaze was turned towards the wide French doors that led out into the back garden.
“I don’t think…” Sam started, but Dean snorted darkly.
“Whatever. I don’t even care if it’s not safe. You have a gun, shoot whatever you’re so afraid of. I have to get out of this friggin’ house. I hate it here.” The last two sentences were mumbled, as if Dean wasn’t saying them to anyone in particular, and Sam watched as Dean rose and crossed slowly to the doors and then out into the garden.
“You said inside,” Sophia explained. “You have no idea how hard it’s been keeping him here. Especially when all I really want is to get him the hell out!”
“What happened?” Sam asked, because this was something more than losing a father - this was something directly wrong with Dean and Sam worried about what might be causing it. “How did his dad die? What’s going on?”
Sophia slid into the chair Dean had been occupying and tilted back so she could watch the garden from where she was sitting, waving a hand at one of the other chairs until Sam had settled into it. “Paul died right here in the house,” she explained. “Heart attack, and Dean came home from his shift at the Wyvern and his dad was just lying there. I was still in the car, and he called me - it was a mess. I mean, not Paul, he was just lying there calm as ever. But Dean was kind of freaking out, and we called the paramedics, and then Dean had an attack - I’ve never seen one that bad - and he was lying there, his entire body in spasms and the medics wanted to take him to the hospital!” she scoffed at that thought, and Sam didn’t immediately pick-up why that would have been a bad thing, given the circumstances, but then Dean’s particular gifts came to mind and he realized just how disastrous that could have been.
“For a few days it was fine - I mean, he was broken-up about it, but it wasn’t - it wasn’t weird, you know? He was just grieving - in his kind of screwed-up way, like after his mom. But then there was the funeral and then after that - the house …”
“What?” Sam prompted.
“When they figured-out what was happening with Dean,” Sophia said, smoothing down her sweatpants as if they were a skirt, then she started to pick at the lint. “Magdalena went through a lot of trouble to keep this place safe for him, you understand?”
“Good memories only? Keep the negative out?”
“Yeah. If there was fighting or something that needed doing, it happened away from here. She built that entire backyard for him so he could have a place where he didn’t need to worry about anyone else’s emotions or thoughts or memories. Any of the strong feelings in this place are positive. Paul dying - well …” Sam nodded. Not so much a good memory. “But even after that, it was still fine. He avoided the kitchen for a while, because that’s where it happened, but that was about it. This was entirely different. Suddenly he couldn’t go anywhere without picking-up things.”
“He’s bound to be more sensitive after his dad’s death, though,” Sam said. “He’s emotionally vulnerable and that leaves him open to other people.”
“This goes above and beyond emotionally vulnerable,” Sophia said. “I was with him after his mom -she was everything to him -- and no way it was this bad. You saw him! He’s not sick, Sam! He’s tired because he can barely sleep, and every time he touches something he picks something-up from it - stuff that hurts him.”
“Like what?”
“He doesn’t tell me,” Sophia said. “But no way it’s something that actually happened in this house! He touched the damned doorknob to his bedroom and couldn’t stand-up, could barely breathe, for a solid half hour! I’ve flooded this place with sage and it hasn’t made a difference! You have to take him, Sam. You have to just get him out of Fitchburg.”
“I can’t do that,” Sam said. “Not yet. Not until I know what’s happening.” She rolled her eyes but he leaned forward. “Listen. Houses all over the country - people, sometimes too - have been burning, and only one person survived it, and she learned enough from the attack to tell me their coming here - for Dean. So we need to take this slow and figure it out.”
“Then just get him out of this house!”
“I will, okay? But I have to be careful.” She nodded solemnly and then sighed, looking out the window where Dean had settled onto the top step of the patio. It was all a nightmare and Sam wasn’t sure what to do next. He had intended to keep Dean at home, but if the place was hurting him then that was no longer an option. But he still needed time to prepare someplace else that was safe enough for Dean to stay while they figured-out what was going on.
Sam left Sophia in the side-room and crossed to the French doors, pulling them open and not bothering to close them as he dropped onto the step beside Dean. “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice soft because it seemed like Dean was so fragile - barely holding anything together.
Dean glanced toward him and let out a long sigh, and then, slowly, titled his body until it was propped against Sam’s side. He was taking long slow breaths like it was the first chance to breathe he’d had in a while - and maybe it was. Sam couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound hollow, there were no assurances he could offer, no apologies he could make. He wrapped his arm around Dean’s back and held him close and all he could offer was a warm body and quiet solitude, and maybe that was enough because Dean’s eyes slipped closed and his breathing dropped into a steady rhythm and he was sleeping in Sam’s arms on the patio.
……………………………………
Dean’s bedroom smelled like salt and sage. Sophia held the door open while Sam staggered under Dean’s weight and finally managed to settle him into bed, tucking the covers up to his waist. “You promise you’ll come straight back?” Sophia asked quietly.
“I won’t be long. I have to go to the library to see if they have anything that might help.”
“I checked everything,” she insisted.
“There’s some things you might not have thought to search under. I’ll come right back, and I’ll bring some dinner, okay? You should try to get some sleep.” She nodded vaguely and Sam tried to convince his body to do what he had just said - leave Dean sleeping and do research. The house was safe - from demons at least - nothing could get in, and whatever was happening inside wasn’t immediately life threatening. It didn’t make it any easier.
He left Sophia with a gun - even though he knew Dean already had at least one - and more salt, and promised he wouldn’t be long at all, and then he got in the impala and started driving to the A.W. Stowe Library as quickly as he could without running the risk of running-over pedestrians.
It was a glance really, out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough to recognize the large black pickup parked out-front of 2400 Court, and instead of driving to the library, Sam swerved into the parking lot. His dad’s truck was parked out from of room 112, and he knocked on the door, not surprised when John opened it and waved him in without comment. “It’s the demons.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“While you spent your morning at that house, I looked into things. The mark? It’s there.”
“Where? Nothing burned.”
“On the man’s neck,” John answered. “It was demons that killed him.”
“On his neck?” Sam couldn’t immediately understand. “Paul’s?”
“Dr. Curran’s,” John said. “-Paul Curran.”
Sam dropped onto one of the beds. “But he was buried, how did you …” the look his dad gave him was a combination of frustrated and exasperated. “You dug him up? Dad … you can’t.”
“We needed to know, Sam.”
“He was Dean’s father!”
“Listen,” John said. “We’ve dug bodies up before. Every single one was somebody’s father, or mother, or sister - everyone was someone to somebody else.”
“I - but…”
“You need to focus!” John said. “Now what did you find out?”
Sam let out a breath and tried to think straight. Tried not to imagine his dad prying open Paul’s coffin - the smiling, teasing, infuriating and intimidating man who had been Dean’s father. He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. “The house is warded, there’s no way for anything to get in. Nothing’s burned. - Paul didn’t burn, why would they give him a heart attack? Why not something else?” John seemed unsuprised about any of it, and Sam became uncomfortably suspicious that this was another time when his dad had figured things out but wasn’t explaining what his thoughts were to his son. “Dad.”
“Missouri said that the demons were looking for a psychic,” John said, reluctantly turning to face Sam. “Someone we knew. This friend of yours - this Dean - you say he’s psychic. He’s the only one who fits the profile, because they weren’t after Missouri, or they wouldn’t have stopped so easily.”
“But why would they even want Dean?”
“You already know, Sammy.”
“Then … he’s the weapon? How! I don’t understand!”
“What’s important is that we make certain they can’t reach him. They’re already trying to isolate him; they’re messing with his mind. We need to keep him in that house until we figure-out what the demons want.”
“No,” Sam said. “He can’t stay there.”
“Why not?”
“Something’s happening there. Dean - he picks-things up from objects sometimes, and he’s been having trouble in his house.”
“His own house? What kind of trouble?”
“Sophia says that he’s picking things up from just about everything in there - stuff that can’t actually be attached to those things because his parents tried so hard to keep everything neutral for him.”
“When did it start?”
“A few days after the funeral, she said.”
“But before you called and told this Sophia about how to protect the place?”
“Yeah - you think the demons got in and planted those things? Why? Why wouldn’t they just take him? Why torture him like that?”
John rubbed a hand over his face and then let it fall to his side. “To weaken him, ware him down.” John paced for a moment. “Okay, then we’ll ward this room and you bring that boy here, okay? We’ll keep an eye on him and figure-out what to do from there.”
“Okay.”
Between the protection charms and wards that Sam knew, and the ones that John knew, there was no conceivable way anything could get into room 112. While Sam got back into the impala intent on returning to get Dean, John added a few more protection charms to the main area of the hotel.
It was nightfall by the time Sam pulled back into Dean’s driveway, and Dean was still asleep, and Sophia as well. She was propped against the headboard of Dean’s bed with a book on her lap and fast asleep. He didn’t want to wake either of them, but there was little choice.
“Hey,” Sam whispered as he tentatively placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, come on. Wake-up.”
“Sam?” Sophia questioned, yawning a little and stretching before she sat up and looked around, her eyes falling to Dean’s sleeping form before she settled back. “He’s still asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you find?”
“Not much,” Sam said. “I’m gonna take him to the motel, okay? He’ll probably have a better time of it there.”
“Yeah. Good,” she said.
“I think maybe you should do the same wards on your house, okay? And wear this,” he passed her a necklace that had a silver protection charm on it. “To keep you safe, just in case.”
“Sure. You think something’s coming for him?”
“I think something came for him, and is trying to get him,” Sam said.
Dean grumbled a bit and rubbed at his eyes. “What are you whispering about?” he questioned, his voice thick with sleep.
“You know how you said you wanted to get out of here?”
Dean shifted to prop himself up on his elbows, suddenly more awake. “Yeah?”
“Let’s go.” Dean tossed back the covers and stood hastily, heading towards his closet.
“Don’t,” Sophia said. “I packed everything. Don’t touch anything.”
“I can carry you,” Sam offered.
Dean made a face. “You’re not gonna carry me out of my own house. I can walk!” Sophia grabbed Dean’s bag from his closet and Dean waved Sam’s hands away and they headed down the stairs.
“Don’t touch the banisters,” Sophia remembered.
“Don’t worry. I don’t want a repeat of last time,” Dean muttered.
“What happened last time?” Sam asked.
“Went head-first down the stairs,” Dean said with a shrug. He was reaching for the door, but Sam opened it first and Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Sophia loaded his bag into the trunk while Sam stood with Dean in the shelter of the protection wards.
“Does he need this?” Sophia asked, raising her protection charm.
“No,” Sam said. “I have something else.” He manoeuvred Dean so that his back was to Sam’s. “Drop your head down.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m trying to keep you safe, here. Now stand still.” Sam uncapped his black pen and repeated the marking he had found in one of Bobby’s books onto the back of Dean’s neck. “When we get to the motel, I’ll go over it in henna. It’s not permanent, and we’ll probably have to re-ink it, but it will keep you safe, okay?”
“Whatever,” Dean said. Sam pretended not to notice the slight flush on Dean’s pale face.
Have I told you yet that I really missed you?” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear.
Dean rolled his eyes, but the blush intensified. “You’re such a girl. Now are we gonna go, or what?” Sophia was on him before he even finished the sentence. “I’m going to the motel, not the moon.”
“I’m just worried about you,” she said. “And I’m a girl, so I can be all emotional and you can’t bitch about it because it’s my nature.”
He was quiet, and then he squished her extra tight for a moment and whispered “thanks” before he let her go and headed towards the car.
“And you better take care of my boy!” Sophia said, pointing a finger at him.
“Sophia, we’re not going anywhere yet.” She nodded and stood in the driveway watching them drive away.
……………………………
Sam watched Dean hesitate outside of room 112, his hand hovering above the doorknob as if he were bracing himself for something. Sam was hefting both their bags and was about to offer to open the door, but Dean finally grasped the handle, releasing a relieved little breath when nothing happened, and then twisting it open. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, when he noticed John pouring out a ring of salt around both beds.
“Dean, this is my dad,” Sam introduced, shutting the door behind him and dropping the bags down.
“Hi,” John said, smiling a little as he extended his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Dean said.
It was a split moment, Dean stretched his hand forward and John grasped it. Dean winced, and then his expression froze, his eyes squeezed tight, almost flinching. “You okay?” John was asking and Dean dropped to his knees.
“Wait!” Sam said catching Dean as he was dropping until they were both seated on the ground, Dean practically in his lap. “Stop,” he held out a hand, stopping John as he reached forward. “Hey. Hey, Dean?”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, gasping but calming slowly. He blinked open his eyes and swallowed thickly. “I’m okay.” He turned a confused and wary look to John and said, “Just. Just, never touch me again, okay?”
John was just freaked-out enough to nod his head. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Okay,” Dean said. He stood-up slowly, pushing away from Sam and staggered a bit, propping a hand against the wall. “Nice to meet you,” he repeated, then moved towards the bed, pausing at the wide circle of salt around it. “This gonna keep me safe?”
“Yeah. It will,” Sam assured, rising slowly and watching Dean with worry.
“Okay.” Dean kicked-off his shows and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to change. Sam watched as Dean’s eyes slid closed and he was asleep just that easily.
“Outside,” John said gruffly. “Now.”
“What?” Sam asked as they closed the door behind them.
“What in the hell was that?”
“He picks things up from people, too,” Sam said. “I guess, he’s vulnerable enough to have really gotten a hit from you.”
John rubbed a hand over his face and looked around, and then shook his head. “And his name’s Dean?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “What is it? Dad, what’s wrong?”
John shook his head again. “Nothing,” he said. “We can’t just hide-out here. Staying in one place is just an open invitation, and if you give ‘em enough time, the demons will find a way around the wards.”
“What, then?”
“You take Dean, and you keep moving, you understand? Spend the night; get some rest, he looks like he could use it. But then you get moving. I’ve taken another room and I’ll hang around here, see if there’s anymore activity, or if things calm down once you both head out of town.”
“Calm down? What else has been going on?”
“Cattle mutilations, weather - nothing that I haven’t seen before.”
“Then why do you look so worried about it?”
“Sam, I just don’t like demons.”
Sam looked at his dad closely, wondering if that was the whole truth or not. He thought about Dean crumbling to the ground and so clearly exhausted. “I’m gonna head back in. We’ll leave as soon as we’re ready.”
“And don’t stop anywhere for long, y’hear?”
“Okay.”
………………………………..
There were two beds in the motel room, and John had placed a salt ring around each. Sam showered and shed his clothes, and stood at the foot of the empty bed for a moment, before crawling over Dean’s sprawled body and wrapping himself like a blanket his prone form. The marking that Sam had made in black pen was still on Dean’s neck, smudged slightly but still clear enough to be effective, and Sam circled a finger around it slowly, tucking his head against Dean’s and breathing in the man’s scent deeply. “They’re not going to get you,” Sam said. “They can’t have you.” He kissed behind Dean’s ear, and smiled softly when Dean snuffled and buried his nose against Sam’s shoulder. “You’re mine.”
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Depot Office