Chapter Text

“Dean, just calm down for a second,”

“-and you just let him go! Let him walk right out-”

“He sucker punched me it’s not like I-”

“-out of there into a goddamn trap!”

“Dean...”

“You said seven hours he’s been gone Dad! And you couldn’t pick up the fucking phone! What the hell have you been doing since th-”

“DEAN!”

John Winchester’s bruised hand reached out and grabbed hold of the collar of his eldest son’s shirt. Fierce green eyes met his own and the two men stared each other down. Dean had entered his father’s motel room spitting fire, neither Bobby or John had been answering their phones for a whole day. He had been persuaded, or rather pushed, into driving out of town to talk to a witness. And in those 24 hours since Dean left, whilst the older hunters worked the case here in Lebanon, Bobby had changed. And John hadn’t realised until it was too late.

“Listen,” Hissed John, willing Dean to calm down. “Something has Bobby. This thing is powerful, pissed off, and gunning for us. Now if I let you in on this fight Dean, it has conditions. But if you don’t calm down and take orders I will tie your ass up and leave you here, you understand?”

A tense silence fell over the sepia toned room. The low sun cast a golden glow through the small motel window, the only thing that moved were the flecks of dust in the light.

After a few moments Dean’s tense body loosened and he nodded his head, yielding.

John sighed and let go of Dean’s shirt in return. “Good. Now load those shotguns up with salt rounds, we’re going to need all the ammunition we’ve got.” Ordered John as he moved quickly towards the closet and opened it to reveal three gallons of holy water. He hastily bundled them into an empty bag along with a salt-soaked rope and cast a look back at Dean to make sure he was doing as he was told.

His son already had a bag packed and he held a sawed-off shotgun in his hand. If John wasn’t mistaken, it was the one he had made himself when he was in 6th grade. The older man cast his eyes down, hating the clawing sensation in his stomach as he watched Dean prepare for battle. This wasn’t the only one they’d ever faced and he hoped to God that it wouldn’t be their last.

But then again, when did God ever answer his prayers?

John had worked hard to keep Dean a safe distance away from this hunt, but now, with Bobby possessed and on the line for the final sacrifice, he had no choice but to let his son help.

“Guns are loaded and ready.” Said Dean in a grave voice.

John rounded on the table and looked into the bag. Two shotguns, three pistols, and around twenty spare rock-salt shells lay inside the green canvas.

“That going to be enough?” Dean asked whilst his father checked that the chamber of a rifle was also loaded with salt rounds. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his son, he just liked to see things with his own eyes before jumping into the abyss.

The older hunter clicked the barrel back into place, satisfied. He put it back in the bag and sighed, “It’s all we have, so it’s gonna have to be.”

John reached into his pocket and handed Dean a silver hip flask. “Here, you’ll need this.”

“That bad huh?” Chuckled Dean as he unscrewed the lid but suddenly found his father’s hand stopping him.

“It’s not to drink, it’s holy water.” Growled John, already having second thoughts about bringing Dean along. “Anything with black eyes gets too close, you douse ‘em.”

Dean looked mystified. John’s need-to-know basis was leaving his son in the shadows, but he had no time to explain. And it was safer this way.

The less he knew the better.

“Come on,” Ordered John as he hefted a heavy bag onto his shoulder, “We need to leave. Now.”

St Clements Baptist Church’s sign welcomed them into ‘the light of the Lord and Saviour’, but John Winchester was sure the only things that lay inside the white wooden building at this precise moment were devils and darkness.

The element of surprise wasn’t really needed, after all, they must know that John would come. Or more likely, they wanted him to come. Why else would they take Bobby?

John walked up the four steps and across the small porch to the doors of the church with Dean following behind him. His steady hand slowly reached the door handle but before his fingertips even touched the cold black metal, the doors flew open and revealed the interior of St Clements to the two on-edge hunters.

The church itself had only been erected 20 years ago through the fundraising efforts of three neighbouring congregations. It bore a little wear and tear but on the whole, the building seemed clean and well kept. To John’s surprise, there were some rather extravagant floral arrangements lining the aisle. He was willing to bet that they were for the funeral of Arthur Hayes, the fifth and latest victim of a wave of murders to hit Lebanon over the last two months. Behind him Dean came to the same sad conclusion. In fact, his knowledge went further than John’s as Arthur’s daughter had been the witness he’d left town to speak to. She had mentioned that his funeral would be on Tuesday, two days from now.

The father and son were frozen on the threshold of St Clements, their guns raised and searching for movement inside. But there was none.

It was only when their eyes fell on a body lying on the floor in front of the altar did Dean break the silence.

“Bobby!” He yelled desperately and surged forward. John quickly put his hand out to stop Dean from running towards the figure on the ground, but the damage had been done. They both watched on in horror as Bobby’s head moved slowly to the side and his pitch-black eyes stared back up the aisle towards them.

A sinister smile grew on his face.

Before they could react, the vestry door to the left of the alter blew off its hinges and Dean and John were thrown off their feet.

The air was thick with dust and wood fibers. John blinked heavily and realised they’d both been pushed to either side of the church, Dean lay behind the pews on the right hand-side but he had already picked up his shotgun, and was aiming it at the new figure standing over Bobby.

“Now now vermin.” Called a silky female voice that cut through the space between them with ease, “There is no need for weapons.”

“I’ll be the judge of that sweetheart.” Dean replied coldly.

“You brought your son along then John? We were wondering if we’d get to play with him after Ravit took this pathetic drunk.” The woman laughed, a bloody curved dagger twirling in her hand. She too had black eyes, ones that were staring with malicious intent at John.

“I’m going to send you right back to hell.” Snarled the hunter.

He spotted the three long metal nails lying alongside a wooden mallet on the alter next to the demon. They had obviously been preparing for the sixth crucifixion ritual as John had feared, with Bobby as the intended victim. John mirrored his son’s kneeling position behind the church benches and also rested his shotgun on the smooth mahogany wood, this allowed his left hand to slowly reach for his journal from inside his jacket as inconspicuously as he could.

“Oh would that you could.” Smiled the demon as she kicked away a bible that had fallen to the floor, “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

In that moment Bobby moved to stand up next to the woman and the two hunters watched on, guns raised. Neither one of the demons made any sudden hostile moves but one thing did throw a spanner in the works… The sight of Bobby on his feet with a circle of blood staining his shirt.

John heart plummeted to his feet.

“You didn’t…” He whispered.

“But we did,” Spoke Bobby. Or really Ravit, the demon who was possessing him, spoke using the older hunter’s familiar voice. He grabbed hold of the neck of his shirt and pulled the blood-drenched fabric down so that they could see the intertwining deep cuts that had been carved into his chest, “We’re bonded John, his soul is mine. Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left.”

“There were two of you?” Exclaimed Dean in disbelief. This entire time, they’d thought it was only one monster carrying out the killings. Or had his father and Bobby just lead him to believe that?

“You really know nothing do you boy? Maybe we should have taken you, it would have been even sweeter.” Jeered the raven-haired woman and John saw red. To hell with picking the right moment to attack. There were no right moments, he’d lived through enough to figure that much out.

John fired a salt-round right into her sneering face and she dropped with a scream.

Before she even hit the floor, the demon wearing Bobby was moving towards them in anger. Simultaneously both John and Dean splattered him with holy water, making the monster sink to his knees in pain. John discarded his gun, quickly reached into his dropped bag, and threw Dean the salt-soaked rope.

“Tie him up Dean! Quickly!” John yelled. His son didn’t even blink, he worked fast as John emptied more holy water onto Bobby to subdue him.

“ALVON!” Screamed Bobby to the other demon as he writhed beneath Dean, “Alvon, get up!”

John quickly looked up to see the woman twitching where she’d fallen, responding to her name. He moved towards her, his journal in hand, taking his chance.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…” John began to read as the demon’s hands started to claw at the wooden floor beneath her.

“No!” Screamed Bobby’s voice from behind him along with the sounds of him struggling against his bonds.

“Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion nfernalis adversarii, omnis legio…” John carried on, splashing Alvon with holy water for good measure to stop her regaining strength.

Paradoxically the two demons needed to complete their sixth and final ritual inside a church in order to desecrate the holy ground. However, in return, being inside a consecrated building also weakened their power. Whilst he was thankful for this, John also knew that these demons were already powerful enough to step inside the church and defy God- the consumption of Bobby’s soul through their planned ritual would surely grant them an even larger power-up.

Alvon started to shriek and squirm as John raced through the exorcism, the woman managed to flip herself onto her back and glared up at John. The right side of her face was peppered with small cuts from the rock salt blast but the other half had taken the brunt of the shot. Her cheek was torn open and loose skin hung from her forehead. However, one thing that made her look like a living nightmare was that her eyes continued to remain that awful pitless black.

“Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a sancto et terribili nominee!” Cried John, clinging onto the ritual like a lifeline and trying not to lose himself to the shredded face of the woman in front of him or miss a single word.

"Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.” Gasped Avalon through her broken lips, speaking over John’s hurried voice. She lurched upright and reached for John but he stepped back and carried on, trying to pay no mind to the yells of the other demon Ravit in the background or the small grunts he heard from Dean.

“-Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te…”

Her neck snapped back violently and she let out a mad cackling laugh. “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, He hath a devil!” Screeched Alvon over the top of the hunter’s feverish latin. She turned her black eyes on him and spat, “You are the true devil John…”

“UT ECCLESIAM TUAM SECURA TIBI FACIAS LIBERTATE SERVIRE!” Roared the hunter, he watched the woman’s features twist and turn along with a deep shudder that rumbled through her body like a seizure.

“W-we’ll be back F-FOR YOU!” Alvon spat out in the last throws of her fit. She knew that John’s final words would exorcize her and yet she let out a blood gargled laugh that chilled him to the bone. He paused for a second, frozen by the horrifying sight of her convulsing body, but he had to finish the rite.

“TE ROGAMUS, AUDI NOS!”

As he wrenched those words from his throat the woman let out a piercing scream that cracked every single window in the church. With a sickening crunch her head whipped backwards and black smoke spewed out of her open mouth. As the smoke left her, the woman’s bulging eyes returned to a clear blue color and turned on John in fear.

She dropped back down onto the floor, lifeless and broken.

He didn’t even need to check her pulse to know that she was gone.

“Dad!” Came the muffled yell of his son and John was shaken out of his daze in an instant. He spun around to see that Ravit, the demon possessing Bobby, was madly struggling against Dean. The younger hunter had tied him up as best as he could, but it wasn’t easy to tighten ropes on a moving target. One of Bobby’s elbows came loose and hit Dean square in the face. Before he could get anymore of his limbs free John rushed over to help.

“T-the the exorcism,” Panted Dean whilst they worked together to securely tie up the demon, “W-why hasn’t it worked on him?”

John looked at Dean and noticed that he had a split lip and one darkening eye. Why was it that he always seemed to bear the brunt of every monster’s rage?

Before John could answer his son’s question, Bobby’s ragged voice cried below him, “Bound. Bound in the s-spirit!” The words were slurred and hard to make out, the exorcism rite had obviously had an effect on him but hadn’t managed to send the demon back to hell. As the monster had gloated, Bobby’s soul was bound to Ravit thanks to the sigil carved into his chest. John knew it had to be very same sigil that all the other victims had been found with. The hunter couldn’t help but feel relief that they hadn’t stormed the church only to find Bobby pinned upside down to a wall with a nail through each hand and one driven through both feet, like they had done the others. He’d been spared that at least.

“I know you are,” John replied through gritted teeth. He bent down to pick up his journal that he’d cast aside whilst he’d helped to subdue the demon, flicked it open to the very page he wanted, and grinned.

“But that doesn’t mean you get to be in control.” Said John smugly.

“Dad, what are you-?” Began Dean but Bobby’s sudden attempt to get upright interrupted him, the young man pushed him back down to the floor but the demon still howled like a wild dog. They could only make out certain words between the grunts and cries such as ‘"kill”’ and ‘"mine”’.

“Just hold him down Dean.” Ordered John and he bent down to look into the black depths of the demon’s eyes, “You might be stuck in there, but I’m giving Bobby back the wheel.”

John drew himself back up to his full height and once more began to read, “”Nos amovebimus de te daemonium, nihilo forsitan inimicos eorum vires esse nacta,””

Dean kept as tight a hold as he could on Bobby’s squirming body whilst John recited a Latin passage he’d never heard before. Despite this, he hoped that it would save his surrogate uncle for both his own sake and John’s too. To lose Bobby would be a blow from which they’d never fully recover.

“”Resistit et quod angeli loquuntur dormitabit, nunc ad vos excitavit tibi inmundam animam occultatum!”” Yelled John, his eyes darting to and fro across the worn pages of his journal.

“”Mundi animam visiable capti in satrapæ quidem vas satanica potestas super deficientibus, animis hauriebantur gurgitibus ab humano spiritu ut vestra.””

“NO! B-BONDED. WON’T WOR- ARGH – MINE! N-NO-” The demon jabbered, it’s eyes wide and flinching like a trapped animal. It kicked Bobby’s legs and twisted his wrists viciously until they were bloody with rope burn.

“”-praesentia mendacium dorment nunc exaudi nos in exercitum…”” Chanted John from above and Dean pried his eyes away from the demon’s struggles to look up at his father. The older man wore a grim mask of resignation as he read but as Dean’s eyes travelled back down to Bobby he caught a glimpse of silver in his father’s right hand.

“No,” The young hunter breathed, fearing whatever final step John was about to take. Dean tried to position himself over Bobby to protect him.

“No Dad don’t do it!” He yelled as John dropped the journal abruptly and lifted the dagger.

Dean leapt up to stop him but his father pushed him away with force and he landed heavily on the church’s polished floor. He lifted his head in a daze, just in time to see John dragging the blade across his own palm, confusing Dean further.

“”Diaboli evanescentes ex oculis abierunt!”” Cried John and he brought his bloody hand down to cover the demon’s screaming mouth. As soon as it made contact Bobby’s struggling ceased, his body went limp, and both he and John were shrouded in a comforting pale blue light that seemed to emanate from Bobby himself.

Within seconds the light was gone, which made Dean question whether it had even been there in the first place. Pulling himself out of his daze, he crawled towards his father and Bobby’s unmoving body to see John holding his index and middle finger on the older man’s neck.

“Is he-?” Breathed Dean, not wanting to finish the question.

“He’s alive.” Said John solemnly and moved behind Bobby to lift him up from his armpits, “Come on, we need to get him outta here.”

“Wait, shouldn’t we untie him first?” Dean asked, reaching for his knife to cut him loose.

“No. Not yet.” Warned John, a small look of uncertainty fell over his face for a moment before returning to its normal stoic state.

“But- but that other exorcism worked right?” Dean looked at John sceptically, knowing there was something off, but hoping against hope that his unusual archaic-seeming chant sealed with a bloody hand had at least done what Alvon's standard exorcism had not and banished Ravit from Bobby's marked body.

His father sighed heavily and returned his son’s questioning gaze, “That wasn’t an exorcism ritual I preformed Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes, praying that John hadn’t condemned Bobby to an even worse hell.

“Dad..." He asked in a wavering voice, "What did you do?”

Chapter Text

Sam’s shill boyish laugh echoed maddeningly as Dean followed him through the maze of skeletal cars that littered the junkyard.

“Sammy?” Called Dean, “Where are you, it’s nearly dark!”

The same laugh reverberated across the metal waste land. “You have to find me Dean!”

The older boy thought he could outsmart his younger brother easily. He turned around and started to climb up two cars that had been stacked upon each other.

“I will twerp! Just stay in the light!” Replied Dean as he heaved himself up onto the roof of top car. He stood up and looked out onto the yard from his vantage point but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“You can’t hide Sammy, that’s not fair!” Dean yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder.

Just then he heard the sound of Sam’s laughter coming from right behind him.

Dean spun around quickly in surprise but lost his footing. He fell backwards off the car and only caught a glimpse of Sam as he plummeted towards the ground.

He was smiling...

The sensation of falling shook Dean awake violently. He opened his eyes to find his face inches away from the wooden floor.

The young hunter pulled himself back onto the sofa he’d fallen asleep on and rubbed his eyes groggily, Dean had spent a rough two nights trying to get comfortable the small threadbare thing. He hated sleeping on sofas, in fact he’d pick the floor over it given the choice and had done in the past if he and Sam were made to choose between the two. Of course Dean put on a show, acting like he really wanted the sofa just so that Sam would want it too. Reverse psychology always worked well with the kid. He was willing to bet it still worked now, even though he hadn’t seen Sam in almost two years.

Dean stared at the ceiling wistfully. He’d spent his whole life wishing that things were different and now they were. But they were not different in the way that he’d wanted them to be at all. The only consolation was that at least Sam was away from all this. For now at least.

The floor above him creaked with the tell-tale sounds of Bobby stumbling around upstairs. Dean moved forward to get up off the sofa to check on the older man but was stopped by a voice to the right of him.

“He’s back on his schedule isn’t he?” Spoke a soft friendly voice from the doorway to the kitchen. Steve Solomon, a 43 year-old hunter and ex-army medic, stood holding stirring a bowl of pancake batter serenely. His wispy blond hair stuck out in random places, with flour coating the ends of some longer strands, and he wore a white apron which was comically way too small for the tall lanky man.

“Yeah.” Sighed Dean and peered at the dusty clock on the mantel. “9 o’clock sharp.”

“You don’t mind bringing him down do you? I’m just staring on breakfast.” Asked Steve. The hunter had been caring for Bobby for nine months now after John had essentially drafted him in to take his place.

John had presented Steve to Dean as an ‘expert’, one who could potentially fix Bobby. Dean had been sceptical at first and didn’t want to leave the vulnerable man in the hands of a stranger, but he soon found that Steve was the calming presence that Bobby needed. Especially since John had the tendency to set the old hunter off, and vice versa.

Dean’s father never was one to be patient and nurturing, he was at his best on a case hunting down nightmares and finding something to aim his gun at.

Therefore it didn’t surprise Dean at all that after a month of research and dead ends that John wanted to move on. He also suspected that John felt incredibly guilty over what had happened to Bobby, there were times when he couldn’t even look at him, so Dean had pretty much taken over. Ever the caregiver.

But after bringing in Steve, Dean felt like Bobby was in safe hands, and so the young hunter was free to work cases again. However he still dropped in on the salvage yard every week or two to check on progress, or lack of it.

Steve didn’t turn out to be the saviour they’d wanted, but he was trying his damn hardest.

“Sure, I’ll get him.” Dean replied as he stretched tiredly, “Pancakes again?”

“It’s the only thing he’ll eat at the moment.” Said Steve, returning back to the kitchen, “You want bacon?” He yelled to Dean as he went.

“You’re goddamn right I do!” Answered the young man and his stomach grumbled in agreement. For some reason bacon cooked on Bobby’s stove tasted better than any dinner or restaurant in the country, even though Bobby himself couldn’t cook anymore.

Choosing not to dwell on this sad thought, Dean jumped up and walked to the stairs. As soon as he climbed up the first two steps he started to hear murmurs coming from Bobby’s room. It’d been a bad few days since Dean had arrived on Thursday, the older man had lashed out a couple of times at both him and Steve. Yesterday morning Bobby had practically ransacked the library and put up a good fight when Dean and Steve tried to stop him. In the end Steve had to sedate him, something that they hadn’t had to do for three months. He was seemingly back in his old routine today though, up at 9:00 am pacing the floorboards until someone brought him down for breakfast.

Dean reached Bobby’s room and sighed. He had to mentally prepare himself every time he saw Bobby but it never failed to upset him. Sometimes he would forget what had happened; roll up to Singer’s Salvage Yard, walk into the old house and expect to see Bobby reclining on a chair at his desk, glass of whiskey in his hand, reading an ancient dusty book. But the reality of the situation was that Bobby wasn’t that man anymore, and now that they were closing in on a year since Lebanon, Dean was starting to doubt that he ever would be again.

“Bobby?” Called Dean gently as he entered the room. The older man was walking towards the window, muttering agitatedly. He paused at the sound of Dean’s voice and the young hunter took the opportunity to get Bobby’s dressing gown from its hook and slowly help him into it. Dean only had one of his arms in when Bobby turned around quickly to face him.

“Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils.” Rattled out Bobby, his eyes darting desperately around Dean’s face. “”Freely ye have received, freely give.”"

“I know Bobby. I know.” Placated Dean as he bent down to grab his dressing gown and place Bobby’s other hand through the sleeve, “Listen it’s breakfast, pancakes okay again?”

Bobby just stared more desperately at Dean and grabbed his arm tightly, “This fellow doth not cast out devils, but by Beelzebub the prince of the devils.”

“It’s alright Bobby, come on let’s go downstairs.” Replied Dean, he was long past asking what Bobby meant or trying to make sense of the man’s ramblings. It hadn’t taken them long to realise that he could only speak in scripture, from passages in the bible. For a while both himself and John had believed that it was code, that Bobby was trying to communicate. Sometimes the verses Bobby babbled did bear some relation to questions you asked him, but more often than not it was indecipherable.

Steve had his own theory, that the demon still had a small hold over Bobby that prevented him from speaking freely and had somehow cursed him to speak in biblical verses.

It seemed like a pathetic joke. But it was one that did ring true.

Both Alvon and Ravit, the two demons responsible for this mess, both sacrilegiously quoted the bible at him and John during their confrontation at St. Clements Church. They had both been practising satanic Judeo-Christian rituals on human souls for two months, binding their victims to them whilst possessing them, and then killing them via inverted crucifixion.

It did vaguely connect, but important details remained unclear in Dean’s head. It took two weeks just to get it out of his father what exactly he did to Bobby to rid him of the demon. It turned out John hadn’t gotten rid of the demon at all, the sigil carved into Bobby’s chest prevented that from ever happening. What the hunter had done was read out a banishing incarnation that rendered the demon dormant inside of Bobby’s body, unable to control the host he was bound to. John hadn’t known the consequences of such a move but he’d felt it was the only thing he could do at the time. He hadn’t expected that the Bobby they would be left with was going to be stuck in this state.

It was intended to be a temporary solution until they found a way to break the binding sigil and properly exorcise the demon trapped inside him. So far nothing had worked. Bobby’s condition was now looking more like a permanent predicament.

Dean led Bobby down the stairs and into the kitchen where Steve was busy plating up a stack of pancakes.

“Ah rise and shine Bobby, glad to see you didn’t feel the need to hit the books this morning. Or us for that matter.” Chuckled Steve, he placed pancakes in front of both Bobby and Dean as soon as the younger man had steered him into a seat and took his own.

“Same here.” Agreed Dean and reached across the table to a plate piled high with bacon. “This is the breakfast of champions Steve, but three days straight…”

“That’s nothing, we’ve had it day in day out for months.” Said Steve. He pulled up a chair next to Bobby and leant across to cut up his pancakes for him.

“What’s the plan for today then?” Asked Dean in between a mouthful of bacon.

“Maybe put a new coat of weather-proofing on the house. Whenever it rains the water practically seeps into the walls.” Mused Steve as he placed a fork into Bobby’s hand and watched him slowly stab at the small pieces of pancake and lift them into his mouth. “You could sit outside and get some sun too, you’ve been cooped up inside for too long.” He said to Bobby, who grunted back,

“And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.”

“Cheery as ever Bobby.” Smiled Dean, glad that his words at least matched with what Steve had said. “I might hit the road today, check up on my dad... Take those protection charms he wanted too.”

At that suggestion Bobby dropped his fork onto the floor with a clatter that made Steve spill his coffee. He set his mug down and reached for the fork but Bobby pushed his chair back and knocked him off balance. Steve fell to the floor whilst Bobby walked out of the room. Dean was on his feet in seconds and on the older man’s heels as he stormed away into the library where he had already started to pull down books yet again.

“Bobby come on, you know I have to go see Dad.” Said Dean as he watched him throw books to the floor with more urgency than the day before.

“And they immediately left the ship and their father, and followed him!” Yelled Bobby. He turned and pushed a stack of books over, sending them crashing to the ground.

“Not again Bobby, we did this yesterday remember?” Steve had just entered the room and moved forward towards the older man, but Bobby ducked out of his clutch and onto the floor. He racked through the books that he’d scattered onto the dusty rug madly.

"Then the devil taketh him up into the holy city, and setteth him on a pinnacle of the temple.” Bobby muttered as he scoured through the books, he seemed to be looking for one in particular.

“What is it? Are you looking for a book?” Dean knelt down in front of him. Was this what he’d been trying to do yesterday morning before they’d stopped him?

“”But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness.”” Bobby clutched onto a golden corner of one of the fallen books and pulled it up into the light.

“The King James bible?” Asked a puzzled Steve, looking intently at the book.

Bobby flipped it open and suddenly tore out a chunk of pages from back half of the book. He then stood up and Dean mirrored his movement with caution.

The older man slowly moved his hand and held the pages out to Dean.

“”Then shall the righteous answer him.” Breathed Bobby as he shook the pages incessantly, looking intently at Dean. The young hunter took them from him and Bobby sighed in relief. Only now did Dean realise how pale and clammy he looked, Steve seemed to notice too and moved forward at exactly the point where Bobby started to list to the side. He caught him and settled him into a chair with Dean’s help.

“What was that all about?” Dean asked Steve. Bobby seemed to have calmed down now he’d completed his frantic task, but it had taken a lot out of him.

“I have a feeling it’s about you leaving.” Sighed Steve. He moved to pick up the remains of the King James bible that Bobby had torn up. “He went searching for this as soon as you said you’d go see your Dad.”

“So he doesn’t want me to go?” Dean searched Bobby’s face but he was pretty much out of it now. The older man just dropped his head forward and muttered indistinctly to himself.

“I don’t think it’s that, I think he wants you to give those to John.” Steve gestured to the pages Dean held in his hand. The younger man looked down at them and read the first verse aloud:

“Immediately after the tribulation of those days shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken.”

“It’s from Matthew. ” Said Steve, inspecting the now ripped up bible and setting it down on Bobby’s desk. “20:24 to be exact.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“Nine months with constant bible-babble and I’m pretty fluent with this stuff now.” Steve quipped as he patted Bobby on the shoulder affectionately, “Plus I’ve studying it, mostly to see if I could communicate with Bobby through it. Only thing that got me was a black eye.”

“Huh, that sounds about right. And you think he wants me to take this to Dad?”

“Pretty sure. It might mean something, might mean nothing. But you should go anyway and see him. I’d check on John myself, but he’s not the Christmas card type.” Steve smiled kindly at Dean, obviously not meaning any harm.

“You got that right.” Agreed the younger man. “Will you and Bobby manage without me?”

“I’m sure we will, don’t worry about us.” Said Steve whilst he bent down to pick up some more of the scattered books and place a couple back onto their shelves, “I put an APB out on the grapevine for anyone with knowledge of curse breaking, got a few bites. Maybe something will come of it.”

“I hope so.” Dean wanted that to be true, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. They’d tried before to break the sigil, which was now a large red scar covering Bobby’s chest, but no blade left a mark on it. Some knives didn’t even stay intact when they neared the lines of the circular symbol, it was that powerful. It had left them all completely stumped- but Steve, who's intensive knowledge of supernatural medicine was one of the main reasons why John had involved him in this case, had been incredibly frustrated.

From that point onward had practically made it his life's mission to break this binding and heal Bobby. Of course he was doing it to save the older man, however Dean suspected that Steve was also trying to right a few wrongs or at the very least wanted to get a win on his side after loosing for so long. Either way Dean never inquired because he understood, all too well.

“Let’s get you those damn protection charms your dad had me track down.” Steve walked towards the desk, his worn-down but cheery demeanour driving him on, and pulled open the bottom draw, “Otherwise he’ll have my head.”

Dean laughed and could have sworn that he glimpsed a small smile playing on the corners of Bobby’s mouth too.

He did have hope… even if it was just a small flicker.

But when did that ever serve a Winchester well?

Chapter Text

A cooling breeze swept through the small graveyard as John Winchester walked up to the mourners who stood around the freshly dug grave of Bethany Louise Daniels. Her coffin was ready to be lowered into the ground by four men. They stood by a 6 foot deep hole, and each one of them clutched on to the ends of the cords attached to the casket with unsteady hands. The youngest man’s lips were also trembling slightly, betraying the grief that he was obviously trying to conceal. John had never felt more like an intruder in his life. Or more of a failure.

Bethany Daniels, a twenty-year-old secretary at her father’s building firm with her whole life ahead of her, was dead because of John’s mistakes.

“I am the resurrection and the Life,” Boomed the voice of the preacher, making John flinch slightly. A woman around his own age was being held up by another mourner, tears cascaded down her cheeks silently. John knew she had to be the mother, she had the same blond hair as Bethany.

“Saith the Lord: He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”

But they did die. People died every damn day, in horrendous ways, and John had never seen God lift a finger to stop it.

“I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though his body be destroyed, yet shall I see God,” The Preacher carried on, oblivious to John’s and perhaps a few of the other funeral-goers lack of faith in his recited words. John’s soul felt as barren as the dustland grounds of the graveyard they all stood on, the same ground the four men were lowering Bethany’s coffin into…

“-whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.”

Had the revellers around this grave seen the girl’s body?

“We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.”

Did they know about the torture she went through before she was finally killed?

“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

And that her life was not the only thing taken, but her soul too?

“Hey, are you okay there buddy?” A comforting hand rested on his shoulder and John shook himself free of his thoughts. People were walking away from the grave now, the crying woman was holding on tightly to the young man who had helped to lower the coffin into the ground. As they passed him John just caught the man say to her “It’s okay Mom.”. The man must be Andrew, Bethany’s older brother.

He tore his gaze away from them as an older guy’s concerned looking face blocked them from view, the same guy whose hand was gripping his shoulder.

“Erm yeah thanks.” John muttered gruffly and cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not too good at these things either, ‘specially when burying the young.” Consoled the man as he took his hand away, obviously mistaking his frozen state for grief and not for the guilt that it was. “Bethany was such a lovely girl. Never had a bad thing to say about anyone, hard to find people like that these days.”

“Sure is.” Agreed John, just wanting to get away from the man. People seemed too friendly for their own good around here, it set John’s nerves on edge.

“Are you going up to the wake at the church? I know the family could do with the support right now.” He asked as he started to walk away from the hunter. A woman stood waiting for the man next to a small fern with a kind smile, John assumed it was his wife.

“Come on Pete don’t be a bother.” She said fondly and held out her hand to the older man. John silently followed them and other stragglers from the burial service up towards Trinity Baptist Church which stood proudly at the top of a steady slope up from its rural graveyard.

The place called to mind an old western film, he could practically imagine Tuco running through the graveyard away from Clint Eastwood. If Dean had been here he would have no doubt been humming the theme to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly right about now. The kid always had an unhealthy obsession with westerns which John had inadvertently helped develop by abandoning his two sons in endless motel rooms with nothing but daytime TV.

He pushed aside the thoughts of his children as John finally entered the dusty church and again followed Pete and his wife up the alter to the vestry towards the side. The hunter wished that he didn’t have to attend the wake to question Bethany’s family but time was of the essence, he had to end this here before history repeated its self again.

After Lebanon he found it hard to stand inside a church and not be hit with a nauseating sense of déjà vu. His hands shook slightly as he walked into the surprisingly large room, so he hastily shoved them into the pockets of his jacket. Keen brown eyes scanned the tables for a sign of alcohol but he found nothing except iced tea and finger sandwiches. John gritted his teeth in annoyance but he wasn’t really surprised, this was the wake of a twenty-year-old girl, it was hardly the time for hard booze… Or maybe it was, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, he needed a drink to get through this. Maddeningly, he could feel the outline of his hip flask in his inside pocket and wondered if he could take a quick swig without anyone noticing but just before he got the chance, someone started to walk towards him.

“Don’t I know you?” Asked a heavy-set man as his eyes searched John’s face for a clue to his identity. The hunter did the same to the man, not wanting to answer wrongly.

“Not sure pal, I meet a lot of people.” Answered John, taking the safe bet. The man wasn’t a part of the family as far as he knew and John could spot Andrew standing on the other side of the room.

“You hang around Cole’s don’t you? Seen you drinking in there a couple of times.” The large man slid a sandwich into his mouth greedily and John almost sighed in relief. He had been worried that the man had been at the murder scene and had pegged him as an FBI agent. Thankfully the man had just seen him during his frequent visits to the bar down the road, which was far less flattering but allowed him more anonymity.

“Er yeah, you’ve got a good memory.” Said John as he edged away from the guy who was already eyeing up another sandwich. Before he could reply John turned and made a beeline for Bethany’s brother and prayed that no one else decided to interrupt him.

The young man stood slumped against a window looking pale. His mother was surrounded by a group of cooing people to the left of him but Andrew payed them no mind, not a single one of them acknowledged him either.

“Hey Andrew, how you holding up?” John asked tentatively. He stood beside the young man and offered him a cup of iced tea. The hunter had gone to grab a drink on his way over to try and starve off the need for alcohol but he’d had a brainwave as he reached for the pitcher. John had slyly spiked the drink with holy water from his second non-alcoholic hip flask, just in case Andrew or somebody else here turned out to be possessed.

The young man took the cup from him but didn’t drink it, causing the hunter to tense up. However after a few moments he looked up at John, “You work with my Dad?” He asked, obviously unsure how John knew his name.

“Yeah I helped him out on a few jobs, met your sister a couple of times too at the yard.” Lied John. The only time he had seen Bethany was when her body had been discovered nailed to the wall of a shipping container in the building yard at Daniels Mortar LTD, their family business.

“Oh, I didn’t work for Dad.” Andrew looked down at the drink in his hand. “But Bethany loved her job there, anyone else would have hated the paperwork. She was real good at it. A good Secretary...” He said absently, the man still seemed to be in shock.

“Your Dad here kid?” John looked around, he didn’t really want to keep questioning Andrew, he looked two seconds from a nervous breakdown and obviously needed a break.

“No. No he didn’t come.” Replied Andrew, shaking his head slowly, “C-couldn’t face it, that’s what Mom said.”

John registered the small hitch in Andrew’s voice that lead him to believe that wasn’t true.

“Is that what you think Andrew?” He asked gingerly.

“It’s just that- he hasn’t been right this past week. I went to the yard to check on him but I-I found Bethany…” Andrew trailed off and John suddenly understood. The poor man was the one who found his sister's tortured body grotesquely pinned up in his father's yard, no wonder he was traumatised.

“Do you think-” Began John but Andrew cut him off, knowing what he was about to ask.

“Dad was working on a construction site all day, it wasn’t him.” His words were hurried as if he’d been telling himself this over and over again.

“Is he working today too?”

“No, he’s at home I think. Or maybe Cole’s. That’s where he spent Thursday and Friday.” Murmured Andrew as he finally moved to take a small sip of the iced tea he’d been clenching the entire time. John watched him closely but the man had no reaction to the drink.

John breathed a sigh of relief and patted him on the shoulder, “Sorry for the questions Andrew, I just wanted to know where your Dad was, see if he’s okay. I’m sure your Mom’s right though, he just probably couldn’t face today. Hell I don’t know if I could…” John didn't finish his sentence, the thought of attending one of his son’s funerals chilled him to the bone.

He’d never made it to Mary’s, but then again there had been no body to bury. Her uncle had arranged a memorial service and a headstone to be planted in some graveyard, but John had no interest in going to what he considered to be a complete farce. His wife had been murdered and the only thing that mattered was finding the monster that did it, not some words in a church spoken by someone who didn’t even know her.

John suddenly empathised with Andrew’s father and if he was at Cole’s drinking away his pain, he didn’t blame him one bit.

Finally one of the people done comforting Andrew’s mother broke off and offered her condolences to the young man. John took this as his cue to move away from the bereaved brother. He walked to the opposite corner of the room, picked up a sandwich, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible whilst surveying the room for anybody reacting to the holy water spiked iced tea.

After a few minutes passed by, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. John flipped it open to reveal an incoming call from Dean.

He considered ignoring it, but the need to hear his son's voice overrode his vow to keep Dean at arms length until he'd hunted down this demon.

“Dean.” John pressed the phone to his ear, trying to block out the solemn conversations going on around him.

“Hey Dad, you still in New Mexico?” Came the sound of his son’s jovial tones.

“I am. Are you still at Bobby’s?” John asked in return, already knowing the answer as he heard the tell-tale sounds of the Impala’s engine in the background.

“Left about ten hours ago. He’s…” Dean paused for a second, “Well, he had some pretty bad episodes while I was there.”

“Worse than usual?”

“Erm, how ‘bout I tell you when I get to you?” Suggested Dean and John realised where this was going.

“Dean, you can’t come here.” Said John forcefully, a couple of people in the room turned his way so he decided to step outside to stop anyone hearing something they shouldn’t.

“But I need to show you what Bobby gave me Dad! He was pretty insistent. Plus I have those protection charms!”

“It’s just not a good time.” Hissed John, the last thing he needed was Dean getting involved with this case once more.

“What is it?” Asked Dean, John could practically hear the cogs turning in his son’s head, “Dad, has it started again?”

Dean wasn’t a fool, he would work out what was going on one way or another. All he had to do was check the internet to find out what had happened here if John denied everything. The hunter sighed and relented.

“Four days ago a girl was killed in Rehoboth. Inverted crucifixion, same sigil carved into her chest…”

“God.” Breathed Dean. “Is that the first one-?”

“And it’s going to be the last.” Said John with determination. He knew the demon’s patterns and behaviour from hunting them 10 months ago. In fact he had learnt even more than he’d known the first time around after what had happened to Bobby. Both himself, Steve, and Dean had researched extensively to understand them and their satanic ceremonial killings in the hopes of finding something to cure Bobby’s condition. To no avail, chimed the dark voice in his head.

But despite their past and current luck, John was confident he could find the demon, trap it, and maybe get some insider information that could help them. And if he had to torture it to get anything out of the son of a bitch then all the better.

“I want in.” Declared Dean, just like John feared he would.

“Son I know you do, but I can work this myself,” The hunter tried to bargain with his eldest, “I’m not putting anyone else in danger.”

“Yeah anyone apart from yourself! Dad you needed me last time, you need back-up. Don’t you think they might have picked this town because you’re in it?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Said John begrudgingly, he was starting to crumble under Dean’s reasoning. “How far away are you?”

“Seven hours out, give or take. Should be there by around 8 o’clock.”

John sighed heavily, he knew Dean would turn up no matter what he told him. He relented and decided that if Dean was coming into town, then he would be staying were John could protect him, “There’s an old chicken farm off by the highway into Rehoboth, I’m staying in one of the cabins on the side of the old dirt road up to the farmhouse.”

“Living the high life as usual.” Quipped Dean and John wiped a hand through his hair in frustration at Dean’s smart mouth. If he wasn’t careful it would get him killed one day.

“You know the drill, make sure you aren’t followed.”

“Yes sir.” Answered the obedient voice he’d trained since Dean was four-years-old. The line went dead after that. The father and son didn’t waste time with goodbyes, they never did.

The sun had set on the small cabin that John Winchester had been inhabiting during the past two weeks. A lightning storm had brought John to Rehoboth, along with some severe cattle mutilations. Although there had been two other places in neighbouring states hit by potential demonic signs at similar times, there had been something about Rehoboth that drew John towards New Mexico.

His first port of call had been the very farmland he was staying on now. An old man named Ruben couldn’t tell him much about the deaths of around twenty of his cows, other than the small matter of their intestines and hearts being found hanging around some woods further down the road like grotesque Christmas tree decorations. Old Ruben just chalked it up to teenagers messing around when the police had drawn a blank and John couldn’t provide him with any answers that wouldn’t make him sound crazy. However, the mild-mannered man did offer John a place to stay on the cheap when he asked were the nearest motel was.

John was glad to be based somewhere off the beaten track where he didn’t have to worry about a maid coming in to find his psychopathic looking research or his weapons that also added to the whole mass-murdering aura that this job tended to give off. Plus he was a lot harder to track here, and he’d had the chance adorn the place with multiple warding sigils and devils traps for extra protection.

That being said the place was nothing to be marvelled at. The buzzing generator-powered lights were always too dim and the water from the rusted faucet dripped water constantly. It didn’t bother John too much though, it was only a base, it served its function well.

When the Impala finally pulled up the dirt road, the car’s headlights bathed the cabin in a blinding white light. John could hear the faint sounds of Led Zeppelin for a few moments before the engine was abruptly turned off, along with the headlights. John’s eyes adjusted back to the cabin’s dim lighting whilst he listened to the sound of his son’s footsteps approaching the door.

He heard a small cough then three quick knocks followed by two delayed ones. John smiled to himself as he walked towards the sound, Dean never forgot his secret knock even if John himself had. There had been times when he’d almost had to sleep in the car because Dean had refused to let him into the motel room, especially when John was pretty wasted and couldn’t remember how to do it.

The older hunter unbolted the locks but left the chain on as he opened the door.

His eldest son stood outside, clutching a wad of old-looking paper in one hand and wearing an amused grin on his face.

“You getting back to nature here or what?” He asked as his eyes surveyed the cabin.

“Something like that.” Replied John and undid the chain, “Mind the salt line.”

He turned and sat down at the rustic table in the middle of the room. John had been in the middle of cleaning a few of his guns when Dean had pulled up. He imagined the place didn’t look too inviting at the moment.

Dean let out a low whistle as he stepped over the threshold, minding thick salt line covering the doorway. “Somehow I don’t think this place is going to be featured in Better Homes and Gardens. You been here since I last called you?”

“Yeah, longer actually. It does its job.” Replied John. The younger hunter had followed him to the table but he hadn’t taken a seat. Instead he carried on looking around the small room, paying the most attention to the symbols John had placed onto the walls.

“I suppose you couldn’t paint these in a motel room, housekeeping wouldn’t be too happy.” Remarked Dean. He traced the outline of a warding sigil with his hand then turned back to look at his father, “Do you really need all of this?”

“Maybe not.” John shrugged, “But it can’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Right. Better safe than sorry.” Agreed Dean and silence fell over the room.

John held the quiet for a few moments before breaking it when his gaze returned to Dean’s right hand and the crinkled pages that he’d clutched onto ever since arriving.

“What’s that in your hand?” Inquired John, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Dean looked down at the paper too, as if he’d forgot about the vice-like grip he had on it.

“Bobby.” He stated clearly, knowing what little pleasantries they had shared were over. Of course John would more or less get straight to the point, his father wasn’t one for small talk. “It’s Bobby’s message.”

“He wrote something?” Asked John in confusion, shocked at this development.

“Not quite. He erm, he tore it out of a bible.” Dean placed the pages on the table and attempted to stretch the crumbled paper out with his hands.

“Dean, he’s been talking in bible tongue for ten months straight now.” Sighed John, not understanding why this was important and trying not to let his disappointment show in the tired lines of his face.

“Yes, talking. He’s never shown us anything before.” Dean counteracted, “He’d been acting up for days, then as soon as I mentioned heading to you he tore the library apart again. But this time he found that old bible, ripped it up, and handed me these chapters!”

John looked through the pages and scanned the text quickly for any clues.

“It’s Matthew." He said quietly, brow furrowed, "The last chapters of the Gospel according to Matthew.”

“So… It’s about the crucifixion,” Guessed Dean correctly, “Jesus’s last days?”

“Yes.” Breathed John as he leafed through the pages. What did this mean? Did Bobby know that the sacrifices had started again? Was he trying to warn them? Or was there some new information hidden in these last few chapters?

“What do you think it means Dad?” Asked Dean, obviously wanting John to figure it out. But contrary to his eldest's beliefs, he couldn't fix everything.

The older hunter spread the pages out across the table and looked up at his son.

“Let’s find out.”

Chapter Text

They had spent around three hours deconstructing the ripped-out pages from the book of Matthew to no avail.

To John, it felt like he was back in school again, hastily trying to find something interesting to form an essay about whilst skim reading his English books. Dean on the other hand, who never put much effort into his homework unless he’d been threatened with detention, found it ten times worse than any essay.

The two hunters had tried everything. They’d started by simply reading the pages, struggling to find any hints as to what Bobby might be attempting to tell them. After a while they both realised that the words alone just told the story of Jesus’s last few days leading up to his crucifixion and resurrection. One quick call to Steve revealed that the copy of the King James Bible that Bobby had ripped up wasn’t even that old or special in the grand scheme of things. There were no notes written pencil in the margins like pre-Lebanon Bobby had scribbled into the books he’d lent out to John, or any books what John had ‘borrowed’ from the man’s library.

After drawing blank after blank, they decided to comb the words for code, using different combinations to see if anything started to make sense. The hunters went through every combination they could think of, from using the first word from each line, to alternating letters to try and spell out or form a coherent sentence.

Nothing came up but more nonsense.

After John had attempted to find out if the page numbers bore any meaning and came up empty he hit the table hard with his hand in frustration, making Dean finch and drop his pencil.

“Fuck!” Barked John, raking his fingers through his hair, “This is a complete waste of time. We’re trying to make sense of the actions of a- a-”

“Of a what Dad?” Asked Dean when John’s voice faltered. He glared at his father, daring him to finish. “Of a madman, is that what you were going to say?”

“No Dean I just meant-” Replied John bitterly but he stopped himself again, not knowing what he had meant and also knowing that it can’t have been anything good. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his anger in check.

“Look.” John exhaled after a moment or two of struggling to regain his composure. “We’ve tried making sense of Bobby’s talk before, it got us nowhere then and it’s getting us nowhere now. It’s only distracting us from the hunt.”

Dean picked up the page he was scanning and asked quietly, “Is that why you left the Salvage Yard, after just a month?”

His father watched on as Dean dropped the page again and looked back at John expectantly so that he couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t heard what his son had said.

“I left because I had to, I couldn’t stay there spinning our wheels.” John explained. “I had to get out there and find something that could help Bobby. Steve could and is looking after him in the meantime.”

“But it’s been ten months and we are no further forward.” Dean said sadly as he bounced his pencil on the table, “If anything, we’re going backward.”

“It might feel that way but we’re not.” John counteracted, trying to regain some fire again. There was no use going into battle as if it was already lost, and he needed Dean to feel that way too. “The demon is here in Rehoboth Dean. The omen’s all point to it and more importantly, it’s started to kill again. This is our chance for some payback.”

“Killing the thing won’t bring back the people it’s killed or fix Bobby.” Pointed out Dean.

“Maybe it won’t. But it could free the victim’s souls that are trapped inside the demon. It could provide us with some information on how to get rid of the binding sigil keeping the other demon inside of Bobby.”

“And I’m guessing it’s not going to do this out of the goodness of its own heart?” Asked the younger hunter, wanting to know John’s plan for once before they rushed in, guns blazing, like they’d done a thousand times before.

“It might need some persuading.” John stood up and surveyed the walls of the cabin that he’d covered in protection symbols and devil’s traps. He was more prepared than last time. “But if we find the demon and bring it here… There’s no way it’s getting out alive.”

“So we just need to find it then.” Dean gathered up the bible pages and set them down in a neat pile. “You got any leads?”

John looked around at his son and noticed the half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker laying behind him on the small kitchen counter.

The older hunter let out an amused laugh.

“I’ve got one.”

The Impala pulled up to the dusty parking lot of Cole’s bar with John at the wheel. They’d decided to take one car and Dean asked if John wanted to drive for old times’ sake. Although, he’d only really offered because he couldn’t stand it when John sat shotgun, all he ever did was complain and criticise Dean’s driving. He still had something to say about how he was running the car around with the gas gage hovering too close to zero, but Dean just sat back in his seat and let Robert Plant help him tune John out.

“So we’re here because…?” Asked the younger hunter as he peered up at the flickering light of the dilapidated sign. The ‘e’ wasn’t lit, re-branding the place Col’s.

“Because there might be a witness or possible victim inside.” John shut off the engine and looked around the relatively quiet lot which was mostly trucks. Maybe they should have taken his 4x4 instead of the Impala, it would have blended in more.

“Right and the booze is just a perk.” Dean chuckled endearingly.

“Yeah that too.” Agreed John, then his mind went straight to defence, “You got them protection charms then or not? Aren’t they the main reason you came to see me?”

“Oh right sorry.” Dean rummaged around in his jacket and finally brought out two long pieces of thin rope. Each one had a small bronze charm hanging from the ends of them. He handed one over to John who studied it closely.

“These Babylonian?”

“According to Steve.” Answered Dean whilst he watched his father turn the charm over to inspect the carving on the front, “Very rare and powerful apparently, took him a while to track the pair down. He’s been testing them on Bobby to see if it would do anything.”

“And did it?” John looked at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Not really. Bobby tore it off before he could see, then you asked for them.”

“That all he’s been doing? Tests?”

“He’s trying his best Dad,” Reasoned Dean. To him, John wasn’t in the best place to criticise Steve’s efforts, “He’s got a few lines on some curse breakers, seemed pretty promising. Anyway, you’re the one who brought him into this.”

“Well he owed me.” Said John simply and then turned poignantly towards Dean, “It’s always good to have people out there who owe you favors son, you never know when you may need to cash them in.”

Before Dean could digest those words of wisdom or even ask what Steve owed his father, John stepped out of the car and he was left staring at the empty driver’s seat. After a beat the younger man sighed and followed suit.

When he looked over the roof at his father he was placing the string of the protection charm over his head. John tucked it under his shirt and looked up to see that Dean had stepped out of the car too.

“Put yours on Dean, it’s not much use in your pocket.” Said John tapping the roof of the car in a ‘hurry-it-up’ motion.

Dean followed his orders and slid the charm easily over his head. It rested just above his amulet.

“How’s it look?” Asked Dean, pretending to check his reflection in the car door.

“Clashes with that damn horned thing.” Joked John. Dean feigned offence at his words but the older hunter brought him back down to earth quickly, “But seriously, you should hide the protection charm behind your shirt. You don’t want any monsters out there spotting it and taking it as a challenge.”

“Fair enough.” Shrugged the younger man and he quickly slid the charm beneath his t-shirt, concealing it from view.

“Let’s go.” Ordered John and the two men walked towards the bar in tandem.

The muted base of a rock song grew stronger as they approached the entrance and as John opened the door, suddenly the song rang clear. Poison’s Your Mama Don’t Dance boomed over the partially empty bar and it was pretty clear that nobody, including anyone’s mama, came to this establishment to dance. Both John and Dean shared a look of understanding and both headed to the bar immediately.

The barmaid, who had been absentmindedly picking at her nails in boredom, jumped to attention when she saw them approaching. Her face practically lit up when Dean shot her a smile.

“What can I get you there?” She purred, taking no notice of John, who’d actually arrived at the bar before him. The older man smirked to himself, it didn’t take Dean long at all to start laying on the charm.

“Two beers please sweetheart, whatever’s on tap- we’re not picky.” Dean replied smoothly and the girl laughed.

“Guess it’s dealers choice then.”

She made short work of pouring the beers and slid them across the bar. John and Dean took them and headed to a booth at the back of the room, one from which they could survey the place easily.

“You sure can pick ‘em Dad.” Said Dean as he looked around the morose-looking bar and took a long gulp of beer.

“Could say the same thing to you. She seems smitten.” John replied, nodding towards the barmaid who kept on sending him looks.

Dean raised an eyebrow, “You trying to hook me up?”

“We’re on a job Dean.” John reminded him. “No time for hooking up.”

Dean chuckled to himself, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

The older hunter didn’t reply, instead he watched the woman serve one of the four men sat sporadically apart at the bar. John squinted a little and suddenly realised it was that sandwich guy who’d recognised him at the funeral. He definitely was a regular here then.

“What is it?” Asked Dean, dragging his own eyes away from a pool game that two men were playing in the corner of the room when he realised that John had spotted something.

“Maybe nothing.” He explained, “It’s just that guy… He came up to me at Bethany’s wake today.”

John felt paranoia take grip of his senses, was it just a coincidence the man was here? Or were they being followed?

“Really? Where did he know you from?” Quizzed Dean.

“Here.”

“Oh.” Dean took another long drink, choosing not to comment.

As John sat sizing up the guy that he’d met earlier on, the door to the men’s room swung open and diverted his attention.

A haunted looking man all but fell into the room, slowly made his way over to the bar, and coincidentally dropped himself down in the seat next to the guy from the funeral.

Just from looking at his unkempt appearance and the obvious pain emanating from the man, John correctly assumed that this must be Bethany’s father. His son Andy had been right about his whereabouts, he’d been right here drinking the day away at Cole’s rather attending his daughter’s funeral.

John stood up to approach the bar but from behind him Dean pointed out, “You haven’t even finished your beer yet.”

The older man sighed, picked up the glass, and downed the rest of the terrible beer the barmaid had supplied them with. Dealers choice screws over everyone but the dealer, thought John bitterly to himself and headed towards the bar again.

As he closed the relatively short distance he caught the tail-end of what the sandwich guy, who was conveniently sat in front of a large bowl of peanuts, was saying, “... and go a little easy on yourself there Joe, I don’t wanna be dragging you out of here.”

“I’d like t-to see you try.” Slurred the other man as he picked up his drink and slowly guided it towards his mouth. “I’m not going back there… not tonight- can’t face it.”

“I know buddy but you got to go back sometime. Think about Linda and Andy, they’re going through this too...”

“I just can’t. M-my little girl is gone Paul. Gone.”

“Sitting here drinking it away isn’t going to bring her back.” Paul replied in a soft voice, patting him on the shoulder gently.

"No, but it helps.” Joe downed the rest of his drink and signalled for more. The barmaid shot his drinking partner an unsure look but he just sighed and nodded, obviously deciding to cut the guy who’s daughter had been brutally murdered a few days earlier a little bit of slack.

After pouring out three fingers of scotch and sliding the glass over to Joe with a sympathetic look, the woman who’d served him earlier turned her attention on John.

“Finished already?” She asked, her eyes darted to the side of him, clearly searching for Dean.

“Bourbon, neat. Please.” John grunted, snubbing her. The girl just smiled passive-aggressively, unperturbed by the hunter’s hostility. She probably dealt with her share of assholes everyday and was undoubtedly cussing him out inside her head as she turned to grab a bottle from behind her.

“Seen you ‘round here before,” The barmaid said airily, “But always alone.”

John turned to look behind him to check on his son and noticed that the table he left Dean on was empty. Blind panic threatened to overtake him as his eyes darted around the bar until the sight of Dean playing pool with the two men he’d been watching earlier calmed him down.

He let out a relived sigh and turned back around when he heard the clink of a glass on the top of the bar. The woman was wearing an enlightened expression, as if she’d worked out his deal. Damn bartenders, they seemed to think that they were vilified shrinks without PhD’s.

“That guy your son?” She asked curiously, twirling her blond hair around her finger.

John read her name tag and smirked back at the girl, “Put it this way Abbie, I’m not his wingman.”

Abbie scoffed and picked up a bar rag to wipe down the surfaces, “Message received.”

The girl finally left him alone after that so John returned his attention to the two men beside him. Paul, the guy who’d approached him at Bethany’s wake, sat beside Joe with a strange uncomfortable expression on his face that only people confronted with the bare bones of someone else’s grief wear. Although, it was hard to read because he kept shoving peanuts into his mouth every other second.

“H-how was it?” Asked Joe in a low voice tingled with guilt.

Paul froze and looked at him for a second, “The funeral?”

“The funeral.” Repeated the man, nodding clumsily, “They… They put her to rest you think?”

“Yeah they did Joe. It was a nice service, you know ‘who lives in me, shall never die’ and all that stuff, real respectful.”

Joe sniffed heavily and John found himself getting as uncomfortable as Paul looked. Once again he felt like he was intruding on another man’s guilt and sorrow, it seemed to suck all the life out of the air around him.

He was almost certain that Joe was not possessed, what would there be to gain from this display if he was? Paul on the other hand did seem worthy of suspicion, he’d turned up at both at the wake and at Cole’s and seemed quite at home in both places, nonchalantly guzzling down food. Observing the two men had changed his initial inkling that Bethany’s father was the next victim that the demon had chosen to possess, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to double check that both of them were clean.

John thought about spiking their drinks with holy water again. However this time, unlike the wake, there wasn’t one easy source to spike. Plus he had no opportunity to discreetly pour holy water into their drinks unless both men simultaneously left them unattended. Considering how much Joe was drinking, that wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

As he thought of a way out of this conundrum he was distracted by the sound of raised voices from behind him.

John glanced over his shoulder to see two men arguing with his son at the pool table.

“There’s no way you could have made that shot! You played us man!” Shouted the smaller guy, his face turning red with anger.

Dean raised his arms placatingly and laughed, “Hey you were the one who said three hundred to the winner not me, you made the rules.” He reached for the wad of cash on the side of the pool table but the taller man slammed his cue stick down in front of it, almost catching Dean’s fingers and causing him to withdraw his hand.

“Woah pal I’m just taking what I’m owed.” Said Dean angrily, squaring up to both of the men.

“You get nothing you cheating scumbag.” Hissed the tall man, now face to face with Dean, “And if I were you, I’d get the hell out of here while I could still walk.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not me then isn’t it? Although I have to say if you were, you wouldn’t look so much like a backwoods shit-for-brains loser.” Smirked Dean.

From across the bar John swore under his breath, knowing what was coming next.

He was on his feet when the man threw a punch straight into his son’s cocky face.

When he made his way over Dean had the guy in a headlock, but the smaller one brought his pool cue crashing down onto his son’s head. Dean yelled out in pain and loosened his grip, allowing the man to get free. But before either the men or the younger hunter could retaliate John ran in front of them and pushed them all back.

“What the hell is going on here?” John demanded as he angled himself in front of Dean defensively.

“What’s it to you? This ain’t got nothing to do with you.” Snarled the smaller of the two who still held his pool cue out in front of him like a sword.

John glared at him menacingly, “Well it’s a good thing I wasn’t asking you isn’t it?” He turned to his son, “Dean?”

“I won the game fair and square, these tightwads just don’t want to pay out.” Taunted Dean with a devilish smile that seemed to rile the men up again. They rushed forwards but all of them, including John and Dean, froze at the sound of another voice.

“Christopher, Darren? You got a problem?”

To John’s surprise, there stood Paul and Joe. They both surveyed the scene with blearily eyes but Paul, who seemed to be the more sober one of the pair, looked at the two men expectantly.

“This guy’s trying to steal from us Uncle Paul.” The tall one replied, pointing at Dean.

“Bullshit.” Hissed Dean and John raised his hand lightly.

“Dean, cool it.”

Paul walked over to stand next to the mismatched duo, who he was apparently related to, studied John’s face and almost did a double take.

“Woah it’s you again.” He said in surprise, but soon his gaze turned suspicion, “How come I’m seeing you everywhere? This bar, the funeral, now you’re stealing from my nephews?”

This whole situation was elevating and John was not in the mood for a bar brawl. He attempted to defuse the tension between them all and spoke in what he hoped was a calming voice, “Look nobody is-”

“Funeral?” Asked Joe, who up till now had been watching this unfold from the sidelines as he swayed drunkenly on his feet. He took two unsteady steps towards John and raised a shaking hand, “Y-you were at my Beth’s funeral.”

Dean grabbed John’s upper arm and pulled him back, sensing that this entire thing was about to explode and rain down on them. The four locals who stood apposing them were coming to some terrible conclusions that could endanger them all.

“Fellas keep your money, we’re leaving.” Dean surrendered and turned away to leave.

But Joe had found an even better outlet for his grief than drink, blame. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let that walk away.

“NO!” He yelled, grabbing at John before he could follow Dean. “Answer the question, why were you at my daughter’s funeral? Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m just-” John tried to explain and shake Joe off him but the man was going completely crazy.

“W-was it you? Did you kill her?” Joe was now bright red in the face. The other three men encircled him and Dean, boxing them in and preventing them from leaving.

“DID YOU KILL HER YOU BASTARD?” The man screamed at John, spit flying from his mouth.

Dean, sensing that no one here was going to listen to reason, took his chance and threw a punch at the smaller man who was blocking his way to the exit.

John whipped his head around to catch a glimpse of Paul and his other nephew pouncing on Dean in retaliation before Joe barrelled straight into him. They both fell to the floor in front of the pool table with Joe landing heavily on top of John and knocking the wind out of him. As the man started to pummel his face, yelling in anger, John tried to work his way out from under him- keeping an arm up to try and deflect Joe’s punches.

The hunter was nearly free when Joe reached up to the pool table, grabbed a snooker ball and brought it crashing down onto the side of John’s head.

A loud scream, muffled sounds of punches, and the thuds of running footsteps were amongst the last things he heard before his eyes disobediently shut and darkness enveloped him.

Chapter Text

“HEY! Hey man can you hear me?” Someone was incessantly tapping at his cheeks. John groggily flinched away and tried to push at the hands shaking him.

“Woah take it easy.” The voice said and John peeled his eyes open to glare at a dark haired man who was looming over him. The guy grabbed John’s arm and heaved him up off the sticky floor into a sitting position, the pool table supporting his back. The bar swam in John’s eyes before settling down to a strangely still scene.

He expected to see the fight still in full flow but what he saw instead was obviously the calm after the storm. In fact, the place was practically empty except for himself and the man helping him.

“D-Dean?” Asked John, vocalising the first coherent thought that appeared in his head. He shifted away from the dark-haired man and tried to get to his feet, “Where’s my son?”

“You mean that guy you were with?” The man asked and John nodded quickly, desperate for information, “Abbie took him through the back, he got pretty roughed up. But that kid gave as good as he got, probably better. I heard Darren’s nose break from across the bar.”

John couldn’t contain the smirk that crept up on his face upon hearing that. He quickly looked around the bar to check he was telling the truth but the guy misread this, thinking that the hunter was searching for his attackers, and reassured him, “Don’t worry Paul and his nephews are gone- threatened them with the police after they went after one guy like that… They all looked like they needed the hospital too- pretty sue that’s where they’ve gone. And we pulled Joe off you, finally called his wife, didn’t want to trouble her but…”

He let his voice trail off when John finally stood up, using the pool table to help him. John refused the other man’s help, ignoring his hand. When he was on his feet he willed his bleary eyes to focus on the man’s name tag which informed him he was speaking to Cole, the owner of this dive.

“The back?” John demanded, gesturing for the guy to show him the way. He only cared about seeing Dean and getting them the hell out of this place.

“Sure.” Cole sighed, walking John through to the other side of the bar and shaking his head as he went, “You know, I don’t want any trouble here again. I don’t give a damn what that was all about, I ain’t judging, but I think maybe you and your son should take this as a warning.”

John listened half-heartedly to the man as he followed him through a staff only door. He didn’t have to be told twice not to come back to this shithole of a bar again.

They both paused as they entered the small break room. The sight that both of them were expecting was not there. The room was completely empty, save for a blood trail leading to the back door.

“Shit.” Growled John as realisation sunk in. Before the other man could say anything, John bolted towards a fire door and out into the dusty wilderness behind the bar.

The hunter surveyed the area quickly, following a pair of footprints and two track marks until he found a bloody handprint on the right-hand side of the building, meaning the girl must have dragged Dean around the front to the parking lot.

John sprinted in the same direction, panic and desperation rising with every stride he took. He practically skidded into the now partially deserted parking lot and spotted a blonde head that had to belong to Abbie. He kept his eyes on the woman as he ran towards her, watched her close the trunk of a car and practically skip to the driver’s side.

“HEY!” Yelled the hunter as the ran towards her. Abbie turned to look back at John with a huge grin plastered on her face.

And black glittering eyes to match.

Before John could say another word, she threw the car door open and gunned the engine. The woman reversed out of the parking lot in so fast that John had to jump to the side to miss her car which went flying backwards in an attempt to mow him down.

As he scrabbled up, spitting dirt out of his mouth and cursing the fact it had been the barmaid all along, all he could hear was the sound of her car accelerating and her maddening laugh taunting his grievous oversight.

But John didn’t have the luxury of self-pity right now. He wasted no time running to the Impala, which was thankfully only two spaces down from where he’d dived to the ground. The hunter fished into his pockets for the keys and jammed them into the ignition. Mirroring the demon, he too revved the engine and raced out of Cole’s parking lot in record time.

“Let’s see that bitch out run us.” He said to the car as he shifted gear and the Impala let out a roar in response. John was in no doubt that his former car would do all it could to catch up with the demon’s ride and save the Impala’s new owner who had loved the vehicle ever since he was a boy. John also thanked the powers that be that Dean had let him drive tonight. It could end up being a choice that may save his life.

Within minutes John had gained on Abbie’s car. She was driving a beat-up red Vauxhall Nova, hardly a vehicle that could outrace the superior Chevy. As his headlights lit up the back of the car John caught sight of her black eyes in her inside mirror and, if he wasn’t mistaken, saw a glimpse of fear lingering there. John was now convinced the girl was possessed by Alvon, the demon he’d exorcized back in Lebanon.

This obviously wasn’t going the way she’d planned it- that was if she’d even planned this piss-poor kidnap attempt in the first place. The hunter grinned back at her..

“Got ya.” He murmured slyly, feeling like he was on the verge of a win.

As he tailed her car closely John pondered his final move. He considered driving into the back off her car to make her lose control and crash... This wouldn’t cause the demon much harm but his son, who John was sure was in the car too even though Dean wasn’t visible, could get seriously injured.

That was if he wasn’t already.

Trying to banish that thought from his head, the hunter knew that the best course of action here would be pulling alongside her and forcing her off the road as safely as he could. It was a risk he had to take, John couldn’t afford to let this demon get away from him.

Gritting his teeth, he took his chance and accelerated ahead of Abbie’s car as if to overtake her. Just as John pulled slightly ahead he jolted the wheel sharply to the left then right to slam into the side of the Vauxhall with a screech of burning rubber from the wheels of both vehicles.

He watched the demon desperately try to keep control but the Impala was pushing her into the wooden fence that ran along the side of the road. Planks of wood and small splitters flew everywhere as the car chewed up the fence.

The debris began to slow it down, but it still wasn’t slow enough.

John knew one last precision-timed hit would bring this chase to an end, so he once again pulled ahead.

When they were nose to nose John angled the Impala past the bonnet of her car, cutting her off completely, and stomped down hard on the breaks.

They both came to a shuddering halt in a mess of wooden stakes, smoke and dust.

For a few moments, John sat dazed in the Impala, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, making his wedding ring jut out uncomfortably.

Time seemed to have slowed down to make up for the accelerated speed of the chase and resulting crash. John wiped his brow clumsily, practically kicked open the door, and stumbled into the headlights of the two cars and stared at the other vehicle.

Smoke billowed from the red Vauxhall’s crumpled hood and John spotted a panel from the wooden fence poking out of the corner which had clearly become wedged into the engine itself.

The car had definitely come off worse in the fight and wasn’t going anywhere soon.

John rounded on the driver’s side carefully, his hand on his flask of holy water just in case the demon suddenly sprung out of the smoke to attack him. But no assailant surprised him. He made it all the way up to the driver’s window and found Abbie lying back in her seat unconscious, blood dripping down her chin.

“Crap.” Exclaimed John. He stood looking at the young woman and wondered if the demon fled and left the girl to die. To make sure, he opened the door and lay a hand on her neck to check for a pulse.

The second he touched her skin her black eyes flew open and she let out a deafening scream.

John reacted swiftly to the initial shock and moved his hand around the back of her head to slam her face into the steering wheel with all the strength he could muster.

The demon was knocked out immediately and John stumbled back to grab onto the car frame, breathing heavily to get over the jump-scare, and moved onto more pressing matters. His son.

“Dean?” He called, searching around the interior and finding nothing, not even a crumpled body in footwell like he’d feared.

“DEAN!” Yelled John more urgently, pulling his head out of the car to look blindly into the surrounding area.

When he moved towards the back of the totalled car he started to hear a banging sound, along with muffled desperate shouts.

John ran to the trunk and wrenched it open to reveal his son. Bruised and bloodied, but alive.

“Thank God,” Sighed John as he pulled a blade from his pocket to cut away the rope binding Dean’s hands together. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Panted the younger hunter, obviously in pain, “but I’ve been worse too.”

“Come on.” John pulled Dean upright and helped him out of the trunk, but when they got him to his feet they almost buckled beneath him.

“Careful there, you just gotta make it to the car.” Encouraged John as he pulled the young hunter up again. He had a split lip, a bruised left eye, a bloody but not broken nose and a small sluggishly bleeding cut on his forehead. From the looks of his knuckles the barman had been right, Dean had given as good as he’d got. However, there was no telling what injures he’d sustained from the car ride or even from the demon herself. John looked down at the younger man and his blood ran cold when he realised that he’d almost slammed into the trunk of Abbie’s car to stop it. If he had taken that course of action he could have killed his defenceless son.

Dean, who was very much alive, simply shook his head and tried to shake off John’s tight supporting grip.

“I can walk, it’s fine.” He said as he shuffled forward.

“Dean, you’ve been cramped in that tiny trunk and thrown around like a damn chew toy.” John chastised with a weary sigh, guiding him to the passenger seat of the Impala.

“Hmmm.” Huffed Dean placatingly but soon moved away from the topic of his own wellbeing to ask, “Where’s the demon?”

“Knocked out. Still in her car.” John cast a quick glance backwards towards the other car just to make sure that was still true.

“And what are we going to do with her?”

“Well I sure as hell ain’t going to leave her at the side of the road.” John stressed the ‘I’ as he helped Dean into the car and closed the door, preventing him for exerting himself further. He once again looked over at the unconscious girl as he listened the sound of Dean rolling down the passenger side window.

John glared at her and thought about the complete misery this demon had put people through, including himself. Fury boiled inside of him and he clenched his fists to try to appease it.

“The plan remains the same.” The hunter said with steely resolve, knowing that Dean was probably leaning out of the car window watching him, “I’ll take it back to the cabin and we’ll have ourselves a little question and answer session.”

As John started to walk towards the other car Dean called out to him, “Hey Dad?”

John paused and looked back over his shoulder at his son through the smoke of the Vauxhall’s engine.

“Yeah?”

“Just…” Dean sighed and pulled his body away from the open window and hit the back of the worn leather seats with a grimace, “Put her in the trunk would ya?”

Chapter Text

After the rapid panic of the car chase, their ride back to John’s cabin went smoothly in comparison. As Dean had suggested, John did place the demon in the trunk of the Impala and both hunters found some poetic sense of justice in it.

They didn’t speak much at all throughout the short journey. It wasn’t long until they took a sharp left turn onto the dusty farm track that lead them up to the cabin. John pulled up close to the small ramshackle building, turned the engine off, but left the headlights on to illuminate the pitch-black surroundings. Off in the distance John could see a faint light coming from old Ruben’s farmhouse but other than that small yellow glow, they were alone.

The father and son sat and watched for a moment as bugs started to congregate around the bright headlights until John finally spoke.

“Get in the cabin Dean, I’ll bring her inside.”

Dean turned his head cautiously to stare at his father, “You sure you don’t need help?”

“I’ll manage. Just pull a chair into the middle of that rug.” Said John and exited the car before Dean could ask why he made such an odd request.

The younger hunter breathed in heavily, opened the passenger door, swung his legs out of the car and stumbled towards the cabin. Dean was still a little rigid from being crammed into the trunk of that pathetic little Vauxhall, which had in turn exasperated his injures from the bar fight. Still, all things considered, he’d come off pretty well compared to those two idiots and their chubby little uncle despite it being a three-on-one situation.

He’d dispatched of the smaller guy quickly with a well-aimed punch to the face which broke his nose upon impact. However, the remaining two threw everything they had at Dean, which included whipping him around the face with a pool cue again- dazing him temporally whilst they landed some heavy blows. Before he knew it, he was being ushered into the back room and that barmaid was tending to his facial wounds and bloody knuckles. Then that quickly turned into a nightmare when the girl blinked to reveal two demonic black eyes. A knife had appeared at his throat as she twisted his hand behind his back and lead him out to her car before depositing him in the trunk with her inhuman strength.

He’d only spent around four minutes inwardly cursing himself and searching for an escape when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Impala’s engine revving angrily behind the car. Dean’s relief slowly became dread as the car he was trapped inside began to swerve, all he could do was try and brace himself against the sides of the small trunk as he felt the Impala hit the Vauxhall and push them off road. The only thought that ran through his head when the vehicle came to a shuddering halt was ‘at least he didn’t ram into the damn trunk’.

Dean didn’t know why the demon had attempted to kidnap him instead of just killing him, but something told him its intentions weren’t to take him to Disneyland.

His father was sure to get the demon’s plans out of her. Like he’d mentioned earlier, if we have to torture it to get information, then all the better.

Once the young man had all-but-fallen over the threshold, he walked up to the edge of the dusty woven rug that lay on the floor of the cabin. Out of curiosity he kicked at the corner, which curled up to reveal the edge of another sigil. Unlike the rest of the symbols that decorated the walls, the one under the rug was painted in red. However, before Dean could study it further he heard the sound of the trunk being slammed shut. He quickly kicked the folded corner of the rug back down, dragged the one of the sturdiest looking dining chairs over and deposited it slap bang in the middle of it.

Within seconds John came bursting through the door with the barmaid slung over his shoulder. Dean was a little unsettled at how lifeless she seemed and by the way John dropped her down carelessly onto the chair.

“She still out of it?” Asked Dean, inching closer to the two of them.

John nodded slightly, “Grab the rope off that counter.” He ordered, gesturing towards the sink.

The girl started to stir whilst both John and Dean worked on securing her tightly to the chair. Her name tag was splattered with blood but he could still read her name, Abbie. Dean couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl and unnerved by what they were doing. When they were done John moved back to the edge of the rug, pulling Dean along with him. They both stood watching the girl slowly return to consciousness with bated breath.

Her head hung low with her blonde blood-matted hair dangling over her face, masking her eyes. But she seemed to be slowly testing her restrains, twisting her wrists just an inch before shaking her head.

Then came a small hacking cough that sounded more like a laugh. She raised her head and spat out blood. It landed right at John’s feet.

“All these are the beginnings of sorrow.” Croaked Abbie as an ominous greeting and smiled a toothy blood-stained grin.

“Matthew 24:8.” Replied John, identifying the verse and not missing a single beat. He glared at the girl with disgust in his eyes, he had very little patience for her faux-preacher act.

“Well, well, well. Somebody’s been reading.”

“I’m wise to your game now Alvon.” John addressed the demon by her name and she beamed in delight.

“And we’re on a first name basis too? Why John, we’re practically friends!”

“I wouldn’t push it that far sister.” Scoffed Dean before John had a chance to reply, breaking up their little back and forth.

“Oh and I almost forgot about you Dean.” Alvon stretched out his name menacingly as she arched her back against the chair, “Then again, your father almost did too. What a pity he didn’t crush you when he ran us off the road. That would have been hysterical. I do love a little filicide, you don’t see it enough these days.”

John’s hand shot out to throw holy water on her with a flick of his wrist and Dean watched on in horror as the demon rived around in pain, twisting her body against the restraints in such a way that the hunter expected to hear the sharp snap of her bones breaking under the pressure.

“So inhospitable!” She yelled as the hissing smoke that had risen from her skin started to dissipate, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself!”

“You’re no neighbour of mine.” Sneered John.

“That’s where you’re wrong… Demons are human adjacent and human born.” Panted Alvon, her sickly smile returning to her face.

“Okay let’s skip the whole ‘we’re not so different you and I’ speech please, we’ve heard it a thousand times before.” Said Dean, wanting to get to the heart of the matter, “So you crawled your way back out of hell huh? Decided to pick up where you left off?”

“Are you referring to my little ritual with Bethany? I’m guessing that got you both a little riled up.”

“You killed a 20-year-old girl.” Broke in John in a low growl.

“Oh be fair, I’ve crucified a whole lot more than just one girl. Hundreds more.”

“Yeah, not helping your case.” Dean pointed out with a smirk.

“But John here already knows my case don’t you?” Alvon tilted her head to the side and glared at the older hunter, “My brother’s too.”

“Brother?” Asked Dean, taken aback that these monsters had family.

“Ravit.” John answered in a low voice.

“That’s right. You may know him better as Bobby Singer.” The demon paused for a second before then let out a soft chuckle, “Well at least that’s were he resides these days.”

“He doesn’t reside there- he’s trapped in there, dormant with no power over Bobby.” John corrected her as he stepped forward, a blade glittering in his right hand.

“Sure about that?”

“I said the damn incantation myself. And that sigil you carved into Bobby’s chest is the only reason that thing is still inside him. Once we get rid of that, he’ll be fine.”

“If you get rid of it.” Amended Alvon, “I’d be impressed if you found a way. And from what I hear Bobby’s not exactly all there. That little rite of yours broke his brain.”

“No. That brother of yours did.” Argued the older hunter despite doubt and guilt creeping in as it so often had throughout his life. He got past it some days with drink, others with anger, but most days with hunting. His particular brand of tunnel-vision hunting helped shelve all his pain and focus on the job at hand, which right now was getting Alvon to talk, “Now we want answers, on everything.”

“That’s not very specific John, does your knife know where I should begin?”

In response the hunter stepped forward and ran the blade across the demon’s cheek as a warning, “What’s your plan here?” He asked, “Why carry out a soul binding ritual alone?”

“Who said I was alone? This isn’t my plan I’m acting on Winchester, we’ve all been dancing to the beat of someone else’s drum…” The demon lent into the knife with a cocky smile, a trail of blood ran down her cheek as she continued, “And this someone has had his eyes on you and your own for a long time.”

Before John could ask what the hell that meant, his sound of his cell phone’s generic ringtone filled the room.

“Saved by the bell it seems.” Sneered Alvon as John turned away to check the number. Steve’s name appeared on the display and John stared at it for a moment, contemplating whether or not to answer.

“Dad?” Prompted Dean. John turned around, walked away from the demon and held the phone up to his ear.

“Yeah?” He asked gruffly, annoyed that Steve picked this exact time to call him. However, the ex-medic barely ever contacted him unless something was wrong, so it obviously wasn’t a social call. John awaited his response and tried to ignore the knot in his stomach.

“John? You still in Rehoboth?” Came Steve’s frantic sounding voice, in the background John could hear agitated mutterings that he could only assume belonged to Bobby.

“How do you kn-”

“I’ll take that as a yes then. Listen John, there’s been more demonic omens…”

“What?” Asked John, Alvon’s words just moments ago about not working alone were now all but confirmed, “Where?”

“Moab in Utah two days ago and now a small community called Rachel in Nevada.”

“Hmmm, pretty close.” John turned away from Dean who was mouthing at him ‘who is it?’ and wiped a weary hand over his brow. He glanced over at the bound demon and decided he needed to pick his battles, “I can check them out later but right now I’m kinda in the middle of something…”

“No John you don’t get it, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Said Steve with urgency clinging to his every word, “I’ve been doing some digging, trying to make sense of all this. I looked back at the omens you and Bobby investigated last year. You see there were signs in Hebron in Wisconsin and Bethel, Minnesota as well as Lebanon. You only investigated Lebanon because it was on Bobby’s doorstep and five human sacrifices had taken place there.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is there were two other places that lit up with demonic omen’s before you chose to go to Rehoboth wasn’t there? Gilead, Nebraska and Beulah, Colorado. Neighbouring states.”

“Just like Wisconsin, Minnesota and South Dakota.” Breathed John, spotting the pattern.

“Yes exactly! Demonic signs in three adjacent states starting from the East Coast. And I think these soul-binding rituals that Alvon and Ravit carried out are part of a bigger plan, they might even be a front for something a lot worse.”

“That’s a comforting thought.”

“Tell me about it. Look, whatever this is, it’s working it’s way across the country. Bobby, calm down a little please I’ll be done soon.-” Steve said in an undertone, turning away from the receiver for a second before addressing John again, “Utah and Nevada have thrown up omens, if any of the previous patterns are anything to go by there’s another state to go. This one could be the last stop, it’s going to hit the West Coast, after that there’s nothing but the north pacific.”

“You don’t think…” A slow sense of dread and realisation started to turn his blood cold as he calculated the last possible destination, one currently inhabited by his 20-year-old son, “You think California is going to be next?”

“It makes sense, I mean it’s-” But whatever it was, John never found out. Steve’s words were cut off as the sound of a sudden scuffle broke out on the other end of the line.

“Steve? Steve! You there?” Asked John urgently. But a different voice answered him.

“YE SERPENTS, YE GENERATION OF VIPERS, HOW CAN YE ESCAPE THE DAMNATION OF HELL?” Bobby’s voice thundered down the line, making John’s head recoil away from his phone. In an instant Dean was by his side.

“What is it Dad, what’s happening?”

John pushed him aside, focusing on the what was happening in Sioux Falls, “Bobby? Listen, just put Steve back on this is important-”

“He casteth out devils through the prince of the devils!” Continued Bobby as John listened to him struggling to keep possession of the phone. There was something in his voice, a desperation to be understood and something else. A warning.

“Do you know something Bobby?” Asked John, his grip was so tight on the phone that he was scared he might crush it.

“Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left. The one shall be taken, and the other left. The one shall be taken, and the other left. The one shall be taken, and the other left…” Bobby kept repeating this like a mantra even after Steve prized the receiver out of his hands, John could still hear him in the background repeating it over and over.

“Sorry about that, he’s been uncontrollable this last week. It couldn’t have spiked at a worse time, I’m meeting a curse-breaker in about an hours’ time, might be the breakthrough we’ve-”

“He’s trying to warn me.” Interrupted John, right now he couldn’t less care about Steve’s social plans. Pieces had started to fit together into an ugly jigsaw. Alvon admitting she wasn’t working alone, that there were eyes on both him and his sons… Steve figuring out a pattern that ended in California, were Sam was… Bobby’s biblical verses about vipers and devils, not to mention that familiar sounding phrase he kept repeating even now- one taken, the other left…

His children… Were they in danger?

“What, you think he’s making sense?” Steve blurted out in disbelief, “You’re the who said we should stop attempting to decipher what he says.”

“I know I did. But right now, after everything we’ve figured out, I can’t ignore it. Just… keep an eye on him Steve. Let me know if anything changes.”

“John wait-” Began Steve, but John ended the call before he could finish.

He closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to calm down and act rationally. When he opened them, Dean was stood in front of him with worry etched into his green eyes.

“What is it Dad?”

“You need to go Dean.” Said John slowly as he glared at the toothy grin Alvon now wore on her face, “Demonic omens are about to show up in California, you need to get your brother out of there.”

“What!? Does Steve think Sammy’s in danger?” His son asked desperately, worry now bled into his entire face- along with fear. John almost recoiled away from Dean, he never wanted to see him wearing that expression again for as long as he lived.

“After Alvon attempted to take you, there’s a chance he might be.” The older hunter said begrudgingly, not wanting to admit it.

He withdrew his journal from his jacket and tore a page out the back. Dean watched on as John scribbled down an address he could only assume was where his brother now resided. Despite his past ultimatum to Sam that if he was gone he should stay gone, John obviously still kept tabs on his youngest. When his father was done he handed the paper over to him.

“Go to Palo Alto, drag him out if you have to, and drive to Bobby’s- you’ll both be safe there. It should only be for a few days.”

“How d- What about you? I can’t leave you on your own…” Dean glanced at the demon, torn between leaving his father alone with the demon and racing off right now to get to Sam.

“Awh how sweet.” Alvon crooned, an expression of pure joy on her face, “Don’t worry Dean, you just get to your precious baby brother- while you still can...”

Dean leapt towards her instantly but John caught him and threw him towards the door.

“Go Dean. I’ll be fine.” John fished into his pocket and held out the keys to the Impala.

The younger hunter gave the demon one last look before sighing and grabbing the keys from his father’s outstretched hand.

“Be careful.” Said Dean solemnly.

“You too.” John gave him a sad smile, it was as close to a goodbye as they got. “Report in when you’ve got him.”

Dean nodded slightly and tore through the door. Within seconds he heard the Impala roar to life and race away.

He was lost in his overwhelming fear for the lives of his children for a few moments until a silky voice from across the room brought John back to his senses.

“Alone at last John.”

Chapter Text

“So…” The bound demon purred as John slowly turned back around to face her, “You finally going to go all bad cop now Dean’s ran off to save Sammy?”

“Shut your mouth.” Growled the hunter, advancing on Alvon steadily. He took her taunts with a pinch of salt, monsters often took verbal aim at his family, claiming to know everything about him and his sons. Most of the time his prey just ran their mouths off because they were pinned down like helpless bugs. John had learnt to let their poison roll off his back, but every now and then something found its way under his skin… Every once in a while, it was harder to work out if the creatures were manipulating him or telling the truth…

“John I thought the whole point of this was for me to talk,” Alvon titled her head to the side, “Not going to get anything from me if my mouth is closed are you now?”

“I only want answers from you, not goddamn mind games.”

“Well then you tied up the wrong creature. Are you going to start asking? Let me guess… You want to know what big bad wolf is coming for you Winchesters?”

John scoffed and glared down at the demon, “That would be a good start.”

“Well it’s same thing that’s always been coming for you John. But I need you to know that I really don’t have a stake in the matter at all.” The demon laughed slightly and shrugged as nonchalantly as she could in her tied up state, “Sure I hate your guts and I would love to see them, along with all your other organs, decorating this cabin. But all I really care about is crucifying beautiful souls and sowing a little chaos.”

Alvon winked at John playfully. The hunter ignored her bravado and knelt down so that they were both at eye level.

“Don’t lie to me. I know your movements, you demons aren’t exactly slick when you move across the country. Your sacrifices have been covering up something, intentionally drawing the attention away. What are you trying to hide?”

“Couldn’t Steve figure that out for you?” She asked lazily.

“Answer the damn question!” Shouted John, his patience now drastically wearing thin, his knife danglingly above her thigh with intent to stab. Alvon’s eyes flickered towards it for a split second but she quickly returned them back to John.

“You’re asking all the wrong ones to the wrong person, with the wrong weapon.”

The hunter ploughed on, ignoring her. “Some other demon been shadowing you hasn’t it?”

Alvon laughed at that and John took it as a yes. He once again held the knife up to her face and stared her down.

“He prefers to work in the shadows.” Alvon whispered, her black eyes boring holes in to the hunter’s deep brown ones, “We all have our Generals John, you of all people should know that.”

John smirked at the demon as he slowly took the knife away from her face. He gathered his thoughts for a second, head bowed, then he struck out like a cobra. The hunter brought the silver blade crashing down into Alvon’s right thigh and the demon screamed like she’d been electrocuted.

“Soaked in holy water.” John notified her monotonously, “Thought that might sting.”

“You bastard!” She yelled through her teeth, “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure. In fact you’ve practically told me yourself, some second rate demon who just wants to slice up a storm and steal souls. I’m not even talking to the head honcho am I? Just some puppet.”

“We each have our parts to play. You’d be surprised at how far this little game reaches.” Alvon was panting but it seemed like she had quickly got over the pain of the stab wound, even though John’s knife was still embedded in her thigh. The hunter was poised and ready to grab the blade and bury it into her other leg should she become uncooperative. But as of this moment John felt like he was finally getting somewhere. Demon’s loved the sound of their own voices, which meant that it was the easiest weapon to use against them. They’d spill all of their knowledge at your feet just to get you to quake in fear.

“Distractions have been pushing and your little family around the chess board for years…” Divulged the demon, clearly enjoying herself, “Daevas, hellspawn, black dogs, succubi… All from our side of the fence, and all to keep you busy.”

“So that I won’t figure out your little masterplan is that it?” Interjected John, trying to ride this wave of information and not let on to the fact that his paranoia had now reached unrivalled levels.

“Hmm mostly…” Alvon leant forward, egging John on to dig a little deeper.

“Well enlighten me. What are exactly are you gearing up for?”

“War.” Answered Alvon hungrily, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement, “War is coming John. I know you can feel it, perhaps you think you’re already in it but trust me- all your past trails and tribulations will pale in comparison to the storm about to roll in.”

Silence fell over the both of them as Alvon waited for a reaction to her little speech, but John stayed as stoic as ever, moves and strategies ran through his mind without ever showing a trace of intent on his face. He stood up slowly and moved over towards the dilapidated wooden counter at the side of the room, littered with various dusty items that John had left untouched.

Alvon watched on curiously as his hand reached out to grab a small bowl that lay by the dirty sink. She quirked an eyebrow when John turned back around to face her, clearly unsure of where this was going.

The hunter simply walked back into the devil’s trap hidden beneath the rug with steely resolve, the bowl clasped in his left hand. He came to a stop in front of the tied-up demon and knelt down.

John’s right hand moved to clasp the handle of the knife still buried deep in Alvon’s leg and offered her a smile as she gave a brief hiss of pain.

“Well if war is coming, don’t you think I should speak with your General?”

Sam hated bars with a passion. By rights he shouldn’t even be in one, he wasn’t legally allowed to drink yet. Not that that could stop him though, plenty of people at college had fake I.Ds of varying quality. And Sam had seen many fake I.Ds in his time due to his father owning an ever-growing library of identifications that belonged to many aliases and job titles. His brother got his first fake I.D for his 14th birthday much to Dean’s delight. Sam on the other hand had never wanted one or needed one, the fine upstanding citizen of the law that he was- or tried hard to be.

He had been dragged here by his friends Jerry and Zach, who had brought along his sister Rebecca. Sam had tried to wriggle out of going by using the whole underage thing but Zach shot that down quickly, mentioning that he’d also convinced Brady to come along and he hadn’t turned 21 either. So he’d relented, mainly because it would pass the time. The new semester didn’t start for a couple more weeks and his friends were just starting to return from summer break. So even though Sam disliked bars, he went.

“I’m telling you Sam you should have come down to St. Louis to see me and Beck,” Said Zach, who sat across from him in the small booth they’d all squeezed into, “It can’t have been much fun here all by yourself.”

“I don’t know, it was alright.” Shrugged Sam as he nursed his Diet Coke, “I picked up a few jobs here and there.”

“Man you just need to chill out more, I spent most of the summer on my Xbox ignoring my assignments.” Jerry laughed and nudged him light-heartedly. Sam smiled back, not really wanting to initiate any follow up questions. His friends knew he hadn’t returned to his family home for the summer like the vast majority of students had and he’d dodged too many inquiries about why he’d stayed in Palo Alto previously to peak their interest again.

“How can you live like that Jerry? I’ve read most of my new books cover to cover already and I’m pretty sure I’m behind before we’ve even begun.” Despaired Brady, thankfully drawing the attention of the group. He also was on soda, but he’d almost drank his glass and probably wasn’t worried if he had enough money for another one like Sam currently was.

“You’ll be fine Brady, you’re a pre-med. The hard work hasn’t even started yet.” Joked Zach as he downed the rest of his beer and belched. Rebecca hit him in the shoulder as she muttered ‘gross’ and he shoved her back. Sam watched the siblings play-fight with an air of sadness. It’d been tough adapting to being alone considering he’d been brought up with Dean tethered to his side constantly. Life jumping from one place to the next at their father’s command and staying in close quarters, or being cooped up in the Impala for days on end, had meant no personal space at all. And yet suddenly when he left his family there was so much of it that Sam felt like he was hovering in an abyss.

It had taken a lot of adjustment to get used to his new college life, but at times like these he couldn’t help but feel like a small piece of him was missing.

“So when are you next going home then?” Jerry asked Brady as Zach got up to get another round for those who had finished their drinks.

“Probably Thanksgiving, if I don’t have a breakdown before then.” The fair-haired man said self-deprecatingly and turned to the side, “What about you Sam?”

Caught slightly off guard, Sam combed his mind for some acceptable answer to that question… I have no home to go back to perhaps? My Dad practically told me to stay gone just for getting accepted into Stanford maybe? In the end he settled with a small laugh and said, “Not sure, I’ll probably have no time to go back.”

“Oh yeah I forgot you practically sign up for any lecture going.” Recalled Rebecca, “Last year you turned up for our Native American Art studies!”

“But your pre-law aren’t you?” Brady asked, confused.

“Well one day I might have a client who can only be proven innocent through the medium of Native American symbols.” Joked Sam and his friends laughed happily as he felt warmth spread though him too. It was nice to belong, to feel like he was one of them, a part of normal everyday life.

He’d spent so much of his life wanting to escape the nightmares and finally live in the real world that sometimes it didn't seem real. But Sam reminded himself that he was finally here, hopefully building a future where he could do what had been drummed into his head since he was young, save people. And he would do just that when he passed the bar, only in a more by-the-books way than the family business he’d ran from. Sam hoped that one day his father might understand, maybe even be proud of him. He wouldn’t hold his breath though, if there was one thing that John Winchester had perfected it was stubbornness.

Zach returned with a tray full of drinks, including another Coke for Sam. When he set it down in front of him Sam protested that he shouldn’t have.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved off kindly and soon changed the subject as he began telling them about the struggle he’d had trying to find a decent place to rent.

Sam listened to the conversation half-heartedly, letting his eyes roam across the room. Just as he returned his focus back to his group he spotted a familiar face at the bar. For a moment he tried to place the obscure looking man, who appeared to be around about his father’s age and wore a shabby pea coat, when it finally came to him. The man had been waiting at the bus stop with him yesterday and tried to start up a conversation. Sam had been polite enough, replying back with cut-off answers so that their talk had dried up pretty quickly. He’d been in quite a hurry to get back to his shared apartment and the guy just seemed to ooze bad vibes. The guy had also been wearing the same heavy-looking coat he was wearing right now, which didn’t seem so strange on the surface, but when you brought into consideration that it was late summer in California it was definitely odd. To top it off, the way that he’d looked at Sam with a strange calculating look in his eye just set him on edge and didn't sit right with Sam.

The stranger had asked him what bus he was waiting on and if he had plans, to which Sam gave the most mundane answers he could think of. When Sam’s bus finally turned up thankfully the guy didn’t get climb aboard too, but as Sam walked towards the back of busy bus for a seat he caught a glimpse him. The man was watching him with a smile on his face and nodded knowingly. As the bus pulled away Sam quickly took the nearest seat and glared out of the window to get one last look at the strange man, but there was no sign of him.

But there he sat at the bar, his eyes on the small TV screen displaying a rerun of some old comedy show and a disconcerting grin plastered on his hollow face .

“Sam? Sam?” His attention was drawn away by Jerry shaking his arm and pushing his vibrating cell phone towards him, “Someone’s calling you.”

In surprise Sam looked down at the number and didn’t recognise it at all. He debated whether or not to pick it up but he figured it could be important, so he pressed answer.

“Hello?” Sam said, cupping his left hand over his ear to block out the noise from the bar.

“Sammy! Thank god.” Gasped a voice hadn’t heard in almost two years but would know anywhere.

“Dean? What the-” He spluttered, taken by complete surprise.

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” Pressed Dean, the concern in his older brother’s voice alarmed him.

Each of Sam’s friends were looking at him, obviously wondering who was calling him, but he offered them no answer other than two fingers signalling he wouldn’t be long and stood up to find somewhere more private. Jerry and Zach moved so that Sam could get out of the booth.

“Yeah I’m completely fine,” Sam said bewilderingly as he slid out quickly and made his way to the exit, feeling eyes on him as he went, “Why are you calling me? And how did you get this number?”

“I just made a call to Stanford’s Administration Office, they gave me your contact number. Way too easy Sammy.” Replied Dean, avoiding his first question all together. The urgency with which he’d started off the phone call had also started to alleviate slightly. Presumably hearing his brother’s voice, proving that he was alive and well, had reassured him.

“Why are you calling me?” Sam repeated a little more forcefully. However, the very second after he asked that a million possible scenarios crossed his mind- none of which were good. That, coupled with how frantic Dean had sounded when he’d answered the phone, set alarm bells ringing in his head.

“Has something happened?” The 20 year old changed his tone, asking tentatively as he wasn’t sure if he could handle a bad answer to that question.

“I’ll tell you when I get to Palo Alto.” Avoided Dean. Sam could hear the rumble of an engine over the phone, making it pretty obvious he already on his way.

“You’re coming here?”

“Yeah I’ll get there in about 11 hours if I’m lucky, maybe less.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why?” Exasperated Sam, he was slowly pacing the sidewalk outside of the bar now and raking his free hand threw his hair in annoyance. He was pretty sure the people inside, including his friends, who could see his erratic movements through the large windows of the bar thought he was a lunatic.

“Sam I’m not going to explain over the phone alright?” Barked Dean as a distant sound of a car honking reached Sam’s ears over the phone, signalling that his brother was doing some pretty illegal driving to get here. He’d also obviously been taking note of the need-to-know basis that John had constantly kept them on and it concerned Sam, who found himself worrying that in his absence Dean had begun to morph into their father.

“Are you at your apartment?” Dean asked when he surprisingly didn’t hear Sam arguing back.

“How did- no, I’m not.”

“Okay, get back there- make sure you’re not followed, and pack a bag.”

“I can’t just leave!” Sam hissed down the phone, “College starts again in a few weeks!”

“Look I promise you’ll be back by then,” That desperate tone was back once more and Sam felt his stomach churn, “Just wait for me at your apartment and salt the windows and doors.”

“Dean you’re starting to scare me. What the hell is going on?” Sam pleaded with his brother, wondering what on earth must have happened for Dean to track him down, question his safety, pick him up from Palo Alto, and demand he wait in a salt-warded room until he got here.

The were a few beats of silence between them where all Sam could hear was the sound of Dean’s car in the background before his finally brother answered the question from the other end of the line.

“A couple of hours back... a demon tried to kidnap me.” He said flatly.

“What!?” Cried Sam, now as frantically concerned as Dean had been at the start of their phone call, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine Sammy, Dad caught her, but there’s been demonic omens near to California and he thinks you might be next.”

His words both soothed and alarmed Sam. He was glad Dean was okay, but fearful for himself. Suddenly he was on red alert, it was as though he could feel a target being placed on his back. Every person that surrounded him right now was a potential threat.

And as he planned to calmly but quickly walk back to his apartment, a dawning realisation hit him.

The man at the bar, was he tailing him?

Sam immediately looked through the large windows of the building for the man who’d spoke to him yesterday, his eyes searching the bar as panic began to set in. He caught sight of Zach who mouthed ‘You okay?’ at him. Sam didn’t know what else to do but to offer him a curt nod, quickly gesture that he was leaving, and then return to searching for the man.

But it was no use, he’d vanished. Just like the day before.

“Shit.” Sam swore as he turned and quickly set off at a quick pace towards his apartment.

“What is it?” Asked Dean in a nervous voice.

“Don’t freak out… but I’m pretty sure I’m being followed.”

“Shit!” Sam heard Dean slam his hand on the steering wheel in frustration, “Get back home now .”

“I’m going, it’s okay I’m only a few blocks away.” Reassured Sam as he crossed the road quickly, almost brushing the side of a car he waited for it to pass.

“Damn it, you better cover the place with salt when you get there, I’m talking salt truck spillage levels Sam.” His brother’s voice buzzed loudly in his ear as Sam made his way back home as fast as he could without breaking into a sprint. Every now and then he threw quick glances over his shoulder to check that no one was on his tail.

“How long did you say you’d be?” He asked between breaths.

“Now I'd call it 10 hours,” Dean informed his younger brother confidently, then paused, “- if I don’t get pulled over.”

“Maybe you should get off the phone then.” Sam reminded him as turned to take his usual shortcut through an alley which brought him into the middle of his street.

“Yeah maybe when you’re safe.”

“Well I can see my building, I’m nearly there. Wait-” Sam stopped for a second, wondering how Dean was going to find him, “You don’t know my address do you?”

“2082 Sixth Street,” Dean correctly said to Sam’s surprise, “not sure what apartment number.”

“Did the office tell you that too?”

“No, that was Dad.”

“God.” Sam exhaled. He didn’t know how to feel about that revelation. Happy that his father hadn’t completely disowned him? Or annoyed that after everything they’d said to each other during their last and final fight, John was still keeping tabs on him? He’d obviously drove up here to spy on his one disobedient son, gathering intel on his new life. Really it shouldn’t shock him, old habits die hard. Despite everything, Sam found himself feeling a little hurt that John hadn’t attempted to make contact with him.

He broke free of these conflicting feelings when he arrived at the run-down entrance of his building.

“I’m here.” Sam informed Dean as he searched his pockets for his keys.

“You getting salt?”

“Give me a minute, I’m not even through the door yet.” He juggled his keys and phone, finally getting the right key into the lock on the third try. Sam backed his way into the entrance before slamming the door closed. He tried to regain his breath for a second before going up the two flights of stairs that would take him to his apartment.

“You sound out of practice Sammy, not had time to fit in any laps lately?” Asked Dean as he listened to Sam huffing down the phone with a smirk on his face.

“Shut up.” Muttered the younger man who was striding up the stairs two steps at a time. Dean could tease him all he wanted, no laps and no ridiculous weapons training were just some of the upsides that had come with not being under his father’s thumb anymore. But he was quickly discovering that one of the downsides of being on his own was having no back-up, just as John had warned him about before Sam had left.

The young man approached his door and prayed that none of his roommates were in. Sam tested the handle to find that it was locked, which was a good sign that it was empty. Once again he had to find the right key and push his way into the apartment as the door had a tendency to drag on the carpet.

“Okay I’m heading to my room now.” Sam informed his brother, walking though the living space of the drab apartment and burst through his door. The student's room was practically empty due to the fact had had very few belongings besides his clothes, his modest laptop, and the furniture the room had came with. Sam bent down to blindly grab at the air underneath his bed until eventually, after moving aside a shoe and an old bottle of water, he got hold of a salt canister.

Sam might be out of the hunting life, but that didn’t mean he was suicidal. Sometimes his training really did override his need to appear normal. He guessed old habits also died hard for him too.

“You sealing all the entrances?” Asked Dean as Sam began to pour a salt line along his window.

“Uh-huh.” He answered as he worked, the phone wedged between his shoulder and head.

“Good.” His brother sighed happily, some of the tension that he'd felt left him now that he knew that Sam was protected. He turned his full attention back onto road, he’d been cutting it fine speaking on the phone for so long but there had been no way he could have made it through this drive without hearing from Sam. All that aside though, right now he had to focus on getting to California in one piece.

“Right I don’t want to, but I’m going to have to hang up and do some serious driving. Call me if anything, and I mean anything strange happens okay?”

“Yeah I promise.” Replied Sam softly as he finished laying down a salt line in front of his door. He stood up, surveyed the room, and wondered if this was going to keep him safe from whatever was out there.

He listened to the tinny sound of the car over the phone, gleaning as much comfort as he could from it whilst he stood waiting for Dean's goodbye.

“See you soon Sammy.”

The line went dead and Sam was left alone to wait.

Chapter Text

The room smelt of copper. It was a slick bloody smell that tinged John’s mouth and nostrils. The cabin had gone from a recluse’s dilapidated hideout to a backwoods murderer's torture chamber in a matter of hours.

His plan had been to summon Alvon’s leader here using a ritual, which he could work in a heartbeat. John had already filled the old bowl he’d taken from the counter with Oil of Abramelin, sand, and some ground-up Acacia flowers ready to work the summoning spell. The only snag he’d hit was the small matter of getting this demon’s name, which he needed in order to pull the right one here, otherwise he’d be calling out into the void and running the risk of broadcasting his location to any demon ready and willing to pick up the call.

But sadly Alvon wasn’t feeling too helpful on that part. She’d refused to give him a name but had gave John himself many colorful ones during the hours he’d spent attempting to make her talk.

Eventually, after hours of various questioning techniques and torture, they arrived at an impasse.

John was currently leaning against wall at the corner of the cabin, his eyes focused on Alvon whilst his mind raced through other possible ways of getting the demon here and away from its collision course with California.

Alvon herself sat hunched over in the chair she was bound to, a trail of blood running from her mouth into her lap, where it joined the spreading bloodstains from matching stab wounds in each of her thighs. John had completely shut down as he’d tortured her for information, not allowing himself to process Alvon’s human-like screams. But even though he’d mentally checked out, John figured they both needed a break.

Since he’d walked away from her to collect his thoughts Alvon hadn’t moved much at all apart from the visible rise and fall of her chest that indicated that the demon was still breathing.

John’s mind raced in endless circles, but his main thoughts were never too far from his two sons. He hoped that Dean had at least got in contact with Sam in whatever way he could.

The only current information he had to give to Dean was Sam’s address, and John had only gained that by following his movements for a day a few months back after he’d finished up a djinn case nearby. Sam hadn’t even noticed him, which was shocking because John had been particularly brazen, following him for more than 5 hours around his campus and back to his apartment. He told himself he was being bold in order to test his son’s instincts, but a part of him wanted Sam to notice him. After everything that had happened and despite what he told Dean, he missed Sam.

In the end all he wanted was for his boys to be safe.

But they never would be under the threat of this demon. John knew that Alvon could be yanking his chain about Sam being in trouble, but he couldn’t argue with the signs. The only option had been to send Dean to collect his brother, better to be safe than sorry. Plus Dean was better off away from here, John had been reluctant to let his son come to Rehoboth in the first place and look what happened- he got snatched by the very demon he was hunting.

He also couldn't help but wonder if this demon he wanted to summon here was the one he'd been searching for ever since Mary had been torn open and left to burn on the ceiling. It had taken him years to figure out what type of creature had murdered his wife and extensive research and first hand experience had ruled out everything but a demon. It had left behind demonic signs across the country back in 1983 and the only reason he hadn't spotted the omens this time around was because Alvon's and her brother Ravit's satanic sacrifices, along with what had subsequently happened to Bobby, had blindsided him.

But now he felt as though the wool was about to pulled from his eyes, and John was going to find out whatever it is the demons were trying to keep secret from him.

“I can hear you thinking from over here Winchester.” John’s head whipped up as Alvon croaked out her bitter words. She was glaring at him with those terrible onyx eyes, which coupled with her current bloodied and twisted state, made her look like a living nightmare.

“Have you got some more wrath to inflict? Because I don’t think poor Abbie here can take much more.” She jeered, nodding down to the name tag pinned to her chest which was now splattered with blood, obscuring the word 'Abbie' written in cursive.

“That depends,” Replied John, ignoring the taunt about the girl Alvon was possessing. Right now he didn’t have to luxury to care. The demon needed a body to communicate with John and if the girl died during interrogation…. He wasn’t going to let her die in vain.

“You ready to give me a name?”

Alvon laughed, or at least attempted to. The sound that came out of her mouth was a gurgling cackle, “I think you need a different tactic.”

The hunter stared at the demon, pondering his next move. Alvon was right, he needed to re-think his approach. One thing that torturing her had made clear was that she wasn’t going to break easy and give him her leader’s name.

“Why don’t you want me to summon him?” Asked John, genuinely perplexed, “If I bring your boss here isn’t he your ticket out of this cabin?”

“You’ve got this all wrong John.” She grunted and arched her back upwards importantly, “It’s not that I don’t want him here to peel the meat from your bones, it’s that I can’t give you his name.”

“And why is that?”

“That thou mayest regard discretion, and that thy lips may keep knowledge.”

John clenched his fist tightly upon hearing her answer- or lack of one. Alvon smiled, knowing that her biblical quotations had a way of getting under his skin. It was a sharp reminder of what her brother’s dormant presence had done to Bobby.

He looked away from the demon in disgust and his eyes wondered over to the bowl full of ingredients for the summoning spell that he’d left on the side of the counter. John was so close, all he needed was a name that he wasn’t going to get any time soon, and time was one thing he didn’t have.

What else could he do? Break each one of her fingers? Bleed the demon out?

Then it hit him like a freight train. A different tactic.

Maybe he couldn’t work the summoning ritual without a name, but Alvon could.

John shot across the room, grabbed the bowl from the counter, and emptied its contents onto the floor unceremoniously. Alvon watched on in confusion as John removed a switchblade from his pocket.

“A new knife isn’t going to do what the old one couldn’t.” She warned.

“This knife’s not for you sweetheart.” Grinned John, “It’s for me.”

John dragged the knife along the palm of his left hand, hissing with pain. He quickly moved his arm over the empty bowl so that his blood could flow into it. It was a nauseating sight watching the small bowl fill up with crimson, and the whole situation only got more disturbing as Alvon began to manically laugh beside him.

“Oh I didn’t give you enough credit John!” The demon cried as she threw her head back, obviously sussing out his new plan, “This truly is a stroke of genius. You want me to talk! Oh I’ll talk alright.”

“Save it for your boss.” Snarled John as he wrapped his hand with a bandanna to stop the bleeding. The bowl was full and ready, all Alvon had to do was use it.

He picked up the switch blade and some extra rope, then stood in front of the demon.

“You’re going to need your hands for this.”

“So you’re letting me go?” Alvon battered her eyelashes innocently and John scoffed.

“I’m not stupid- you need your hands. Doesn’t mean any other part of you is getting free.”

He bent down and tied the fresh rope around her elbow joints, making sure they were tight but also allowed for some movement. When he was done he cautiously cut loose the rope that secured her wrists to the arms of the chair and moved back quickly, just in case Alvon made a grab for him.

He needn’t have worried. John watched on as Alvon slowly lifted her hands upwards- allowing the rope around her wrists to fall to the ground. The demon was obviously severely weakened but it was still unwise to allow her full movement of her arms.

“Hmmm, almost there.” Huffed the demon, obviously annoyed that hadn’t cut her completely free.

John simply picked up the bowl full of his own blood and held it out towards Alvon. However, the hunter stopped short of her reach and stared the demon down whilst he spoke.

“You will get him to come here and away from California. If I hear any other talk I’ll knock the bowl out of your hands, you understand?”

Alvon quirked one side of her lip upwards as she considered her answer.

“Yes.” She whispered slowly like a hissing serpent and offered John her palm.

Tentatively the hunter lowered the bowl into her outstretched arm and took a step back. Alvon carefully moved the right arm that clutched the bowl closer to her chest and brought her other hand towards it. Considering that her elbows were tied down to the arms of the chair, she was doing a pretty good job- not that John would ever voice that out loud.

He watched on as Alvon sunk her index finger into the bowl and started to stir the blood inside of it.

She closed her eyes and spoke in latin, “Tire quiero patem me a di.”

Alvon moved her hand away but the blood carried on swirling until it suddenly went still, only to begin bubbling.

Her eyelids then flew open to reveal the black eyes beneath that practically glittered with delight.

“It’s John Winchester sir, and he wants to speak with you. Here.”

The blood inside the bowl now began to boil violently. A large bubble burst and splattered Alvon’s already blood streaked face with small freckles of red. The demon didn’t even flinch, instead she smiled happily and nodded as if she was listening to instructions that John couldn’t hear.

“What’s going on?” He demanded.

“Oh you’ll find out.” Alvon grinned ominously before she blinked to hide her demonic eyes. She started at John for a moment before throwing the bowl of blood to the side nonchalantly. It hit the wall closest to her and sent a splatter of crimson onto the cladded wood, hitting the bottom of one of John’s many sigils that covered the cabin walls.

“Damn it!” Cried John, moving over to the sigil and attempted to wipe the blood clean. Unfortunately he only succeeded in smearing the edge of the protective sigil further.

“Your scribbles aren’t going to help you.” Laughed Alvon as John worried over the smudged line.

The hunter turned towards her with fury in her eyes.

“You better pray to God or whatever fucked up son of a bitch you believe in that this demon shows up.” He growled menacingly at her, his words oozing with hatred.

“John, John, John, John, John…” Came a new voice for behind him that made every hair on his body stand on end.

He turned around slowly, feeling numb to his very core.

A pair of shining amber eyes stared back at him.

“I’m already here.”

Sam lay with his head on his desk softly blowing a pencil away from his face, only to roll it forwards again with his hand.

The desk looked out on the street below, the perfect vantage spot to watch for the approach of an jet black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

He’d spent the majority of his time at the desk researching frantically, combing the news for anything suspicious, anything that could give him insight into the world that his father and brother inhabited- and that he’d left behind. Not much came up apart from a drowning in Arizona, a possible haunting in Missouri, and a grizzly murder in New Mexico about a week back. Sam supposed his family could have been investigating any one of these possible cases, perhaps they where on one of those hunts when Dean had been taken by a demon. However, none of the stories sounded particularly demon-like, other than the New Mexico murder- but that came across as more of a cult sacrifice to Sam.

Locally there was nothing apart from reports of a freak lightning storm along with some crop failures in Nevada. Demonic signs perhaps? Sam didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, after all it was the end of summer, these things weren’t uncommon. Plus that was in Nevada, not California. If something happened on his doorstep he would have more cause for concern. Or at least, that’s what Sam kept telling himself.

After that he’d pulled himself out of the researching wormhole that was way too easy to fall into. If you look into anything too closely you can find patterns where there are none- a childhood spent around a bereaved revenge obsessed father had taught him that much.

So he’d shut the lid on his laptop, grabbed his law books and started reading. It didn’t matter that half of the words weren’t going in, he’d read them cover to cover three times during the long summer.

After a couple of hours or so he threw in the towel and when back to the laptop.

But after his second doze of paranoid web combing and glancing down into the street every time he spotted a black car, he’d finally given up and laid his head heavily on the desk next to his cell phone to batter a rogue pencil back and forth.

When his phone eventually rang the vibration from the device felt like a pneumatic drill against his skull. Sam shot upright as though he’d been electrocuted and scrambled to pick up the phone.

“Yeah?” He breathed.

“I’m outside Sammy.”

Sam looked out onto the street and sure enough, he spotted the familiar sight of the Impala down below. It’s door opened and out hopped his brother, the same old leather jacket swamping him like always. The younger man couldn’t help but smile.

“I see you. I’ll be down in a second.” Replied Sam and moved away from the window just as Dean looked up to try and catch a glimpse of him.

Just as he was about to leave Sam realised he hadn’t even packed a bag. Swearing softly, he put the phone down on the bed and grabbed his duffle and started to jam clothes inside it.

“Sam?” Came Dean’s voice from the phone.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Hollered Sam as he tossed his laptop inside, zipped up the bag and threw it onto his shoulder. He snatched up the phone and pressed it to his ear.

“On my way now.” He panted and hung up, pushing the phone into his pocket before locking up. Sam raced down the stairs and before long he was out on the street. He only had to lift his head to see his brother from across the street, who stood leaning over the car from the sidewalk, staring at him with a relieved grin on his face.

As soon as Sam crossed the road Dean pulled him into a tight hug. The move startled the younger man at first, but after a few seconds he clutched onto Dean just as strongly.

“Thank god.” His brother muttered quietly then let him go, only to slap Sam on the shoulder. “You look good Sammy!”

Now that Sam was up close he couldn’t say the same thing for Dean. His face had all the hallmarks of a bad beating, his left eye was particularly blackened with a dark purple bruise, along with a cut to his forehead that was smudged with dried blood, and a slightly swollen split lip.

And that didn’t even seem to be the half of it, the way he carried his body seemed to allude to more unseen injures.

“What happened to you?” He coaxed gently, his hand hovering towards his brother’s battered face.

“Get in, I’ll tell you on the way.” Dean ducked away quickly before Sam had a chance to examine him further. He turned and headed for the drivers seat, climbing back inside the car with as much bravado as he could muster in an attempt to show Sam he was completely fine.

Sam saw straight through it, but rather than challenging his brother he decided to pick his battles and simply tossed his duffle onto the back seat. Surprisingly his brother snorted from the front, “You just packed that didn’t you? Do you ever listen?”

“Not to you.” Quipped Sam and by God, it didn’t half feel good to see that fond smile on his older brothers face. Even if his face was marred by bruises.

As soon as Sam climbed inside of the familiar vehicle that had been both a shelter, a home, and a bed for all three Winchesters, Dean brought the car to life and gunned the engine- sending them flying out of Sam’s street with a screech of rubber.

Within seconds Dean was gesturing towards the phone lying on the dashboard.

“Hand me that phone, I need to speak to Dad- tell him I got you.” He ordered, making grabby movements with his outstretched hand.

“You’re driving Dean.” Sam reminded him tersely, he for one wanted to get out of California in one piece.

“I know that smart ass, just go on contacts and call him.” Dean gave Sam a quick coaxing glance and lowered his voice to a softer tone, “I promised I would.”

The younger man sighed, supposing that it would calm Dean down and make him free to fully update him whatever messed up situation they’d managed to get themselves into that was obviously so serious that it warranted his father to order Dean here to pick up Sam in the first place.

He grabbed the phone from the dashboard and pulled up Dean’s contacts. He marvelled for a moment about how little contacts he had saved. Though it did make sense, John and Dean were in the habit of tossing their phones every couple of months or so. Even if they didn’t Sam was fairly certain Dean wouldn’t have saved many numbers anyway, he would commit the important ones to memory.

Sam stared at the contact named Dad and swallowed. He knew he was going to hand the phone over to Dean as soon as he pressed call, but it still sent a shiver down his spine. He was about to do what he swore to himself he’d never do when John had banished him two years ago- call his father.

“Sammy?” Prompted Dean. Sam jumped to attention, stabbed the button and placed the cell phone quickly into his brother’s outstretched hand. He turned to gaze out of the window whilst he listened to the muffled sound of ringing that went on for far too long until a robotic female voice halted it.

“Damn it.” Dean swore and pulled the phone away from his ear only to quickly press call again, “Come on Dad.”

“He’s not answering?” Asked Sam, a sense of unease started to spread through his body.

“Yeah, it’s just ringing out.” Dean snapped the phone shut and tossed it to Sam. It landed perfectly in his lap and he stared at it until Dean spoke again.

“You dial.” He informed Sam and the younger man picked the phone up in a daze, found Dad’s name and pressed call.

The hollow sounding rings seemed endless until once more the woman’s voice chimed in to inform him that the person he had dialled was unavailable.

He tried again. But this time it didn’t even ring.

“It’s going straight through to voicemail now.” Sam informed his brother nervously.

“You mean he’s turned it off?” Asked Dean in disbelief. Only now did Sam discover that his knuckles were particularly torn and bruised as he watched his hands tighten on the steering wheel for second before his right arm moved up to wipe at this brow. “Shit. Scroll down and call Steve.”

“Steve?” Sam was completely thrown by this suggestion, “Who is he?”

“A hunter who’s looking after Bobby-” Supplied Dean reluctantly and Sam shot him another confused glare.

“Just do it Sam!” Yelled his brother, taking a sudden left turn that granted him with a series of loud honks from drivers behind him, “We have a long drive ahead of us and I swear to you I’ll explain everything on the way but right now just call Steve and give me the phone.”

Sam looked carefully at his brother who had been a stranger to him going on two years now. Back when he was 18 years old he couldn’t have imagined that there would even be a day upon which he didn’t know what Dean had been doing, let alone years. But here they were, in the Impala once more, and Sam was now beginning to realise that there was a huge valley between them both- filled to the brim with experiences that had happened without the other one there.

They’d turned into strangers, and all Sam could do was allow Dean to bridge the gap after he spoke to this new hunter Steve who for some unknown reason was caring for Bobby.

It was incredibly hard to suppress his curiosity but he managed to for the sake of waiting until Dean could tell him the whole story. So once more Sam scrolled through Dean’s contacts until he hit one named Steve.S .

He pressed call and handed the phone over to Dean took it with his right hand only to pass it to his left, ensuring it was further away from Sam who couldn’t help but resent the move.

The older man ignored Sam’s look of annoyance and listened impatiently to the ringing as he tapped on the steering wheel.

“Hello?” Came the sound of the ex-medics voice from across a crackly line.

“Steve, it’s Dean.” He all but sighed in relief upon hearing someone answer, “My Dad’s not called you has he? I’m just leaving California now with Sam and he told me to head up to you.”

“No, not since I called him about the omens.” Replied Steve, recalling when he’d perhaps inevitably sent him here to get his brother, “Why? He won’t pick up?”

“Yeah, he said to call as soon as I picked up Sam.”

“I wouldn’t worry, he’s probably still interrogating that demon- finishing up the hunt. Just keep trying him Dean, leave him a voicemail. You know what he’s like.”

“Yeah but I have a bad feeling about this Steve, it’s Alvon he has tied up and she has a bone to pick with all of us.” Dean had been reluctant to leave his Dad alone with the demon but when Sam’s safety had been called into question he had to do his job. However, they knew that Alvon doesn’t work alone and she’d practically admitted to being part of something a lot bigger than her and her brother Ravit’s usual soul-harvesting rituals. At the thought of Alvon’s brother, Dean began to think of Bobby and the episode he’d had when Steve had last phoned John.

“How’s Bobby has he said anything more?”

“Not exactly.” Replied Steve slowly, “He- well he got a little hard to handle, we had to lock him down in the basement. Thank god Father Peter was here, don’t know if I could have got him down myself.”

“Father Peter?” Dean blurted out, not recognising the name.

“Yeah I got a bite from that bulletin I sent out pretty much as soon as you left, he’s an ex-exorcist if you’d believe it- specialises in bound possessions.” Steve relayed to him and Dean swore he could hear muffled echo’s of Bobby’s frantic verses in the background along with another more calming voice.

“I think he could be the answer Dean.” He added with an air of hope and Dean breathed out, barely believing it.

“Really? That’s amazing.” Smiled the young hunter weakly, “Is he legit?”

“Gave me his credentials when he arrived, passed every test and trap. Came armed with a suitcase of relics and holy weapons like I’ve never seen. He’s down there with Bobby now. Hopefully by the time you get here, he’ll have kicked that demon out for good.”

“God I hope so.” Dean told Steve, praying that he was right. Just then, the voices in the background grew louder and the hunter could hear the sound of Steve’s name being called.

“Look Dean I have to go,” The man on the other end of the crackly line informed him. “The Father needs a hand with Bobby.”

“Okay, just fix him Steve. We need a win.”

“Don’t I know it. Like I said keep calling John, leave him a voicemail. Hell, leave him twenty. Just get yourself and your brother up here and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Placated Dean as the line began to get worse, “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon kid.” Steve’s voice was obscured by the crackle of the phone line before he hung up and Dean let the dial tone hum steadily against his ear for a while until he handed it to his brother and returned his left hand to the wheel.

He’d lied to Steve. Sure he was going to drive to Bobby’s house like his father had asked him to. Eventually.

A plan had already started to form in his head that involved a detour. Because John hadn't answered his calls...

Sam eyed his brother with scrutiny and recognised the determined look on his face.

“You’re going to do something stupid aren’t you?” Asked the younger man with warm resignation.

“Damn straight.” Replied Dean as he pressed down hard on the gas pedal.

Maybe they weren’t such strangers after all.

Chapter Text

John was paralysed by the sight of the new demon. The creature stood just inches away from the edge of the thread-bare rug that covered the devils trap, his right foot hovered on the threshold before withdrawing it sharply, as if he knew what lay beneath.

He wore a heavy looking pea coat with one button hanging loose, one thread away from jumping ship altogether. But despite the heat of New Mexico’s dying summer, the demon looked anything but uncomfortable in his thick clothing. The rest of his appearance was lost to the awful mustard luminous eyes that shone out of its face, rendering his other features completely forgettable and making John almost miss the pitch-black orbs of lesser demons.

A devious joker-esque grin crept up the demon’s face as he cast a throw away glance at Alvon and sized up the hunter who stood stranded in the center of the room beside his captive.

“You’ve finally caught up with us I see?” The yellow-eyed demon spoke in a musical voice, the ebb and flow of it akin to a salesman or vaudeville performer. He started to walk around the edge of the rug, as he slowly sauntered around John the demon shrugged playfully, “Gotta happen eventually I guess, where’s the fun in a chase if you keep on escaping?”

John turned steadily on the spot, feeling for all the world like a marionette, and followed the creature as he calculatedly prowled around the outside of the hidden devil’s trap.

“You’re not escaping anything this time.” John replied, his tone absolute but his voice hoarse.

“Oh John, quit being so…” Yellow Eyes came to a short sudden stop then turned and gestured at John as if trying to come up with a word before freezing and letting his face fall- “Well, you.”

He chuckled to himself gleefully before he began to stride forwards again, “We all know you only got my bruised and battered Alvon to summon me here for some answers to the messy puzzle that is your life.”

John knew that he was stranded in the middle of the mat, a no man’s land stretched out between them all even in the cramped cabin, with John as much trapped there by Yellow Eyes as Alvon was by John. But it was the hunter’s turn to laugh as he stared at the figure that circled the outside of the trap who so far had chosen not to take a step onto the rug.

“Are you the key to it all then?” Asked John, his eyebrow raised sceptically.

“The key? No, I’m the beginning.” Beamed Yellow Eyes as he came to another halt, “And let me tell you John, you’re treading on territory I don’t want you to tread on. ”

The last few words that the demon spoke came out of bared teeth, his playful charade dropping for a moment to reveal the true evil that lurked beneath the snark.

Its intensity made John recoil slightly before he regained the nerve to speak again.

“Well too late, whatever endgame you’re planning, I won’t let it happen.”

“Hmm, you sure will try won’t you? I have to say you’ve been such an annoying thorn in my side for a while now. Truth be told I didn’t expect you to go all man-at-arms after what happened to darling Mary…” He pouted mockingly before he turned the full intensity of his dancing yellow eyes upon John’s enraged face, ready to launch an artillery shell that would obliterate the hunter.

“It was a real shame I had to do that,” The demon smirked, “She was one of my favorites.”

White hot anger surged within him like a branding iron to his guts. John’s vision blurred as heat rose up around him, the memory of that terrible night consuming him. Mary pinned to the ceiling by some unseen force, dripping blood onto their infant son, her face a silent scream as fire lapped around her and started to eat her alive. A nightmare that would never leave him for as long as he lived.

The acknowledgement that he’d been right, that the monster that had murdered his wife was a demon and was standing right in front of him right now, grinning from ear to ear, flooded him with a dark feeling he couldn’t even describe. Confirmation of what John had only guessed at before was so overwhelming he couldn’t breathe for a split second. The only thing that tore him out of that darkness was his own words which bled with disdain and hatred like he’d never felt before.

“You son of a bitch, it was you.” John spat as he stumbled forwards.

“I guess we all join the dots eventually.” Sighed the demon playfully whilst his hazy yellow eyes swirled in delight. “Not going to do anything reckless are you?”

Furious vengeance clouded John’s judgement and for a second he forgot all his supernatural knowledge and common sense. The only thing that seemed logical in that moment was viciously stabbing every single part of the monster that had murdered his wife.

John’s blade was in his hand within seconds and before he could even think straight he ran towards the yellow eyed demon’s sickeningly ecstatic face.

John was within an arm’s length of the creature when the demon’s arm shot out lazily. Instantly the hunter was pulled backwards as though someone had attached a rope around his waist and yanked him out of the air. He landed in a heap at the other side of the cabin, bringing down a small shelf by the door and flattening two dusty crates.

“Graceful.” Said Yellow Eyes, his words bleeding with sarcasm. John was relieved that smart-mouthed voice didn’t come from above him now that he’d left the safety of the devil’s trap. He scrabbled upright to glare across the room at the demon who still wore that same maddening smile.

“It was on her John. I don’t like being interrupted.” He continued as though the hunter hadn’t made a reckless run at him. John, who was now back on his feet and standing firmly against the cabin wall ready for a repercussive attack, processed the demon’s words and their implications. They all but confirmed his worst fears, that Mary had walked in on someone attacking their son.

“What do you mean?” John demanded, “What did you do to Sam?”

“You think I’m going to hand you all the answers on a silver plate? No, that’s on you to figure out John-boy. Though you’ve gotta be pretty wise to my movements, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought me here and away from little Sammy.”

“If you’ve hurt him…” The hunter breathed, fearful that Yellow Eyes had made contact with Sam before Dean arrived in time. His thoughts strayed towards his eldest and his mission to extract Sam from Palo Alto and John had to repress the need to grab his phone and call him.

Before he could act on that impulse the demon scoffed at John’s threat and pushed it off easily.

“Please, I was just checking in on the kid. He’s such a scholar now isn’t he?” Yellow Eyes lip curled as he hissed out the word scholar like it was a dirty word, “I would say you must be proud but I think you and I are on the same wavelength here.”

“We are?” Blinked the hunter, wondering how on earth he’d share the same view as the demon, especially when it came to Sam.

“John, nobody wants an Average Joe. We want a damn gladiator. My children need to be big and strong, but some need pushing in the right direction.”

“Did you say your children?”

“Oh you think Sammy’s the only one I’ve been visiting? I haven’t been crossing the country just for kicks you know. He just so happens to have a lot of potential. And I know you have Dean on lookout for him right now but trust me, that kid is destined for great things.” The demon closed his eyes dreamily as if imagining his own perfect world. God knows what it contained and what role Sam had in it, but John was certain that he wouldn’t let it become a reality.

“You stay the hell away from him, from both my sons.”

This time Yellow Eyes was not laughing alone. Alvon, who’d stayed quiet throughout this entire standoff, began to laugh too as if she’d just found her voice.

“Please, Dean was easier to catch than a cold.” She spat at John as she twisted in her restraints and looked up at her leader almost as though she was looking for approval which she definitely did not get.

“You still lost him didn’t you?” The yellow eyed demon pointed out bitterly, silencing Alvon. She slumped in the chair and cast her eyes down as he began to lay into her, “He would have been one hell of a bargaining chip. Keeping the 'great' John Winchester in check and luring Sammy out of his humdrum life at the same time!”

Silence broke out after his little tirade. Yellow Eyes tilted his head slightly and sighed, swaying on the spot a little as he considered his tied-up kin before talking a step back.

“Still, you and your brother served your purpose I suppose, doing the Lords work… even if Ravit got himself trapped inside that old drunk.” His voice was soft as he spoke of the two demon’s murder sprees. The anger had disappeared and the shit-eating grin was back on his face.

“Not for much longer.” Hissed John in response. Unfortunately, he felt his pocket start to vibrate and he had to stifle the instinct to grab his phone. It had to be Dean calling him, he was sure of it, the only question was whether he was calling to deliver good news or bad. He glared at Yellow Eyes as the phone continued to ring and John swore he cast a glance towards his pocket as if he could hear it. Either way, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Is that so?” The demon asked before ducking his head and taking a step towards John. “Ha, I really couldn’t care less. Alvon and Ravit were just a convenient little front, keeping you all tied up. Handy to have in your back pocket, you just wind them up and watch them go! They’ve been doing that whole soul binding ritual since… when exactly?”

“The 1st Century.” Alvon beamed, obviously trying to get into her leader’s good books again. She straightened her back, not a trace of her true age appeared on the possessed young waitress’s face. It sent a shiver down his spine, he knew these things were pure evil but to hear how long demons had stalked the earth was truly unsettling. There was a strange glint in her black eyes that John could only describe as some kind of sick twisted nostalgia.

“When you humans began to crucify each other, it was… inspiring. My brother and I were mesmerised.” Sighed Alvon and the yellow eyed demon joined her in her reminiscing.

“Yes back then the hell and earth seemed interchangeable, they just don’t torture old souls up here anymore like they do in our humble home. I guess that’s where you two came in Alvon, but God-willing our new soldiers will bring that level of slaughter and violence crawling back.” He grinned menacingly at John, who kept his mouth shut, and took another step forward before staring at the hunter in curiosity.

“What’s a matter John? No ‘not on my watch’ action line? You’re letting me down here. Maybe I should finally swat you like the tiny fly you are.”

The hunter just continued to stare at the demon as he felt his phone continuing to ring in his pocket. No matter how much he wanted to answer, he couldn’t. John convinced himself that Dean was calling because he had retrieved his brother, but he couldn’t pick up to confirm and set both his and his son’s minds at ease. Instead he slid his hand into his pocket as inconspicuously as he could and held down the off button, stifling out his only line of contact, whist he spoke.

“You really want me out of the way that bad?” Said John, talking his back off against the wall as he turned the phone off to distract from the moment before he stood up straight and took a sober step forward. “Then why don’t you end me right here and now?”

“Right back at you John. Except you won’t kill me tonight and I’ll tell you why you won’t...” The demon was closing in on John now, they were only three steps left between them.

Yellow Eyes furrowed his brow and looked up at John, “You can’t kill a demon, can you?”

“I won’t sleep until I’ve found a way.” The hunter drawled, standing his ground.

“Come on, you’re just a man. So maybe your tunnel-vision kill-all-evil drive will get you somewhere… Hell, it is your professionalism that puts you leaps and bounds over all those other damaged drifters that have the nerve to call themselves hunters. I really don’t know where you get your get up-and-go from, maybe it’s that dead wife of yours...”

John clenched his fists but refused to rise to the bait. The two adversaries were frozen as they both considered each other carefully. The air inside the cabin was thick with heat and John could feel the sweat building on his brow, but there was no such hint of any kind of human reaction to the stifling feeling of the closed off room in the face of the demon. It’s unearthly yellow eyes swirled hypnotically as if it was looking into John’s battle-worn soul.

“You can’t spend your life putting the lid back on the jar John, sooner or later it’ll stay off…” The demon swayed were he stood as he began to inch closer, “Maybe because you’re not around to screw it back on.”

“Yeah maybe.” Agreed John. If there was anything that this job had taught him it was his own mortality. And yet he still believed in settling scores, no matter what it took,

“But I’ve waited twenty years for this, twenty damn years, to wipe you off the face of the earth.”

Yellow Eyes chuckled, “Well sorry to be a spoil sport. Because today is not the day, though it is yours.”

John watched as the demon clicked his fingers and pointed at John like he was aiming a pistol. Once more John as sent hurtling backwards but this time he hit the wooden wall and remained pinned there, a heavy force kept him crushed against it despite how much he fought to get free.

“I wonder how your boys are going to feel when they find your scattered remains painting this cabin red.” Pondered the yellow eyed demon to John’s increasing horror. The threat of his children finding such a scene chilled him to the bone, along with the thought of leaving Sam and Dean here alone to fight this battle.

He continued to struggle against the demon’s hold, hoping that the more he fought the harder it was for Yellow Eyes to keep him trapped there.

“How many times did Dean call you, before you switched it off?”

The hunter’s eyes flew up towards the demon’s glowing ones only for the monster to laugh in disbelief, “What do you take me for John? Of course I could hear your phone.”

Alvon joined the laughter again to insert her two cents, “Your little solider was supposed to report in when he got Sammy wasn’t he?”

“Adorable.” Sneered Yellow Eyes, casting a backwards glance to the tied up demon behind him before returning his attention to John, “So what will the boy do now that he has no further orders? Come back to daddy with his baby brother in tow maybe?”

“They have their orders, and they won’t be coming anywhere near you.” John hissed through clenched teeth. In his heart of hearts he knew that Dean might be so reckless as to come back to the cabin if he thought that John was in danger, which he most certainly was, but he hoped that his obedience to John’s last commands would win out. Because as bad as this situation was, at least his children weren’t caught in the yellow eyed demon’s grip too.

“Hmmm, even so… I’m sure we’ll have a family reunion soon.” Said Yellow Eyes as he took one final step towards John, “Though something tells me you won’t be here to see it.”

The demon breathed in heavily, closing his eyes briefly before his eyelids flew open. His full gaze aimed at John with deadly intent and the hunter began to feel like his entire body was being pulled apart from the inside. He gasped for breath as he left invisible hands underneath his skin, tearing at his organs. John fought against the urge to cry out in pain until he simply couldn’t stop himself.

All he could see out of his agony clouded vision were two glowing circles of amber taunting him as he yelled, waiting for it to stop. Waiting for everything to end.

John just wished he could have seen his sons one last time before he took his last breath. If only to tell them he was sorry. And to warn them of the dangers ahead.

He couldn’t accept his fate even as the pain tore through him. He stared into the yellow eyes that glowed through the darkness surrounding him, they had been one of the last things that Mary had ever seen and they would be the last things that he would. They would be united in death.

A strange high pitched ringing pierced John’s ears and his pain addled mind told him it was heaven calling to him. Strangely the pain subsided a fraction, as if the demon was faltering.

“What’s…” He heard Yellow Eyes say in confusion. John’s vision cleared just in time to see flashes of light illuminating the room, seemingly attacking the cabin.

It was lightning. And it hit the roof with deadly force and sent chunks of wood hurtling down into the room.

The demon’s hold on John was suddenly gone and John fell limply onto the floor. The ringing noise was growing even louder, he clasped his palms against his ears in an attempt to block out the sound but it didn’t help. In the chaos John scrabbled up right to see what was happening only to see the demon speaking words he couldn’t hear.

A white light began to fill the cabin alongside the deafening high pitched tone. John squinted up at the yellow eyed demon and was surprised to see it looking back at him.

They held eye contact for a second before the demon winked at him and vanished into thin air.

John felt a pang of anger as the demon fled the cabin but fear soon began to set in too. The white light continued to burn brighter as John peered around the room trying to find the source, truly terrified of whatever entity that had been threatening enough to drive Yellow Eyes away.

His eyes landed on Alvon. He could tell she was screaming by her open mouth even if he couldn’t hear it.

Light seemed to be burning out her black eyes.

It was too much. The light and the noise were building so high John felt like he might explode. He pressed his hands tighter to his ears and shut his eyes against the blinding white light.

Then in an instant his eyelids turned from shinning red to black, the sound vanishing along with it.

John eventually came too, completely at a loss over what had happened to him. He still had his eyes clenched shut as a reel of memories flashed through his mind, reminding him of his close brush with death and the bright light that had caused the yellow eyed demon to flee. He lay frozen on the floor, wondering what sight would greet him when he opened his eyes again.

Inch by inch his eyelids fluttered open, stars dancing before them.

As his vision came back to him he took in the state of the room. Debris scattered the floor and natural light had begun to creep through the exposed parts of the roof. It was as though a small hurricane had passed though the cabin.

John grabbed the wall to help him back onto his feet but nearly collapsed again when he caught sight of Alvon who was still tied to chair in the center of the room.

Her head was thrown backwards and her mouth hung open, stuck in the same soundless scream John had seen before the light became too much.

But one thing stood out more than anything else…. It was her eyes.

They had been burnt out of her skull.

The hunter swallowed hard against the shards of glass that seemed to be lodged in his throat and cautiously made his way over to the woman. He lifted the rug to see if the devil’s trap was still intact and he found that it was unbroken. When John approached Alvon’s side he placed two fingers carefully on her neck and waited for a pulse he knew he was unlikely to find.

There was nothing. The girl and the demon were gone.

John sighed heavily. He was willing to bet that whatever had appeared last night had killed them both, there was no way that Alvon could have smoked out of the waitress or vanished like Yellow Eyes had. In fact, both the devil’s trap and the binding sigil the demon usually marked her victims with had prevented her from leaving.

The hunter studied her face, which was now a mask of gore and horror. John had never seen anything like this before and for a moment, he had no idea what to do.

He needed help and answers.

And he needed to get the hell out of here.

Sam Winchester liked to think of himself as a seasoned passenger, especially when it came to their family’s 1967 black Chevrolet Impala. As a child he had felt like he’d spent more time sat in the backseat, staring out at America’s vast highways, than he’d spent in school. That made a hell of a lot of sense considering that their father usually up and decided they needed to hit the road when he and Dean should have been at school. Sam had spent endless nights and birthdays in this car, had read multiple novels and spent hours playing with Legos, toy cars, and army men inside this vehicle. He’d experienced a plethora of John Winchester’s wildly differing driving styles, from carefree to frantic, hunting-high to injured, and coffee-wired to hungover.

But sitting in the front seat next to his brother, who drove them down to New Mexico in record time whilst recounting the last 10 months, had felt more like coming home than anything else.

It hadn’t been an easy journey though, not by a long shot. Dean drove like a man possessed and Sam had felt his stomach clench several times as his brother executed manoeuvres that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a rally track. Add to that hearing the horrors that John, Dean, and especially Bobby, had gone through in this last year.

The details of the two demon siblings that they’d become entangled with and their soul-binding crucifixions were enough to turn Sam’s blood cold. Not to mention the fact that Bobby had been possessed and tied to one of them. Then subsequently driven insane by the demon who had been banished by John but still remained trapped within Bobby, powerless.

Sam had felt a spike of anger when Dean told him how John left Bobby’s after only a month of attempting to find a way of breaking the sigil the demon had carved into the hunter’s chest. Dean counter-acted Sam’s annoyance at their father by saying that he brought Steve in to replace him whilst he searched for answers on the road.

“He did his best Sam.” Dean had muttered as he ejected a cassette and reached over to grab another from the glovebox, “Dad’s best when he’s out on the road.”

Sam scoffed but didn’t argue, he could see how this situation could be comparable to his own decision to leave two years ago and he didn’t want to give Dean the easy shot.

However, when the conversation turned to what had happened more recently Sam couldn’t keep his cool. Dean played down the fact that he’d been kidnapped by a demon and thrown into the back of a car, which their father had then forced off-road, as though it was just another day at the office.

“God Dean, you could have ended up…” Sam trailed off, many different scenarios running though his head, all ending up with Dean possessed, tortured or dead. Back at Stanford Sam had become quite adept at burying his head in the sand when it came to his family. Worry bled through occasionally, but Sam convinced himself that his father and brother would be just fine or maybe even better off without the youngest member of the family weighing them both down. Now after hearing just a fraction of what they’d experienced since Sam had left he was unsure if he could return to the uneasy ignorance he’d lived with during his first year of college.

Dean had shook him from his scattered thoughts when he began to tell him about Alvon’s interrogation and Steve’s phone call to John. His brother explained how Steve had been tracking demonic omens and had uncovered a pattern that lead to California. Dean had given him a sideways glance as he told Sam this, as though looking for a reaction.

“When I finally got your contact number and called, you said you were being followed.” He said carefully and returned his eyes to the road.

“I said I thought I was,” Replied Sam, thinking back to the man at the bar, “I mean I only saw the guy twice but…”

“But what?”

“There was just something.... off about him. He only spoke to me at a bus stop and then I spotted him at the bar before you called me, but when I looked again he was gone.”

Dean looked worried and pressed down harder on the gas, making the engine rev greedily.

“Look Dean it could have been nothing.” Placated Sam, trying to convince himself as well as his older brother.

“In our lives? Do you really believe that?”

The silence that followed Dean’s words was quickly ended by the two brother’s laughter that helped elevate some of the unease that had been building up throughout the journey.

“So what was the plan, we're supposed to rendezvous with Dad at Bobby’s house?” Sam inquired.

“Yeah. But Rehoboth is on the way, and with Dad not answering his cell…”

“You decided to take a detour.”

Dean nodded gravely and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. After that their conversation flickered in and out. Dean’s full attention returned to the road, he even turned the music down to a less ear-splitting volume.

Eventually they entered New Mexico and according to the state sign that greeted them, they were entering the Land of Enchantment. Dean heavily doubted they’d find anything enchanting at the ramshackle cabin they were heading towards. He didn’t even know what to hope for, other than finding his father alive.

The Impala rocketed into Rehoboth around 20 minutes after they drove across the state line. Dean’s keen eyes kept scanning for the small turn off that would send them down a dusty farm track until he nearly missed the turning and had to pull the steering wheel quickly to right, shocking Sam as he slammed into the side of the door and the Impala’s wheels scorched the road.

“Shit Dean you’re going to kill us!” Yelled Sam in annoyance as he rubbed his left arm. Dean payed him no mind as he ploughed down the bare track in a cloud of dust, passing a few outhouses before spotting the familiar-looking cabin and grinding to halt.

Dean was out of the car before the dust had settled. He wrenched open the trunk and grabbed a shot gun before he walked through the small dirt cloud, coughing slightly as he glanced at the building and did a double take.

He knew that the cabin hadn’t been a palace when he’d left his father here, but Dean was certain that hadn’t looked like this when he’d drove away from the place.

The roof of the cabin had collapsed in three small places and every window had been completely shattered. Dean stared in disbelief at the state of it, wondering what on earth could have happened in his absence to cause this amount of damage.

Sam appeared at his side and shot Dean a worried look before he also stared up at the trashed cabin.

“Did- did it look like this before you…?” The younger man let his question hang in the air as they both took in the unnerving sight.

Dean’s silence answered for him.

The older sibling suddenly strode forwards towards the door of the cabin, which lay lopsidedly off one remaining hinge. Dean tore it open to reveal an equally wrecked room, carpeted by glass, wood, and other debris.

“Dad…” Whispered the hunter as he surveyed the room. He jumped a little as he heard glass crunch behind him and spun without a second thought, shotgun raised.

“Whoa, it’s me Dean!” Cried Sam, rising his hands up. His older brother lowered his gun, turned back around, and started to approach an empty chair that lay on it’s side in the middle of a filthy rug. Rope lay around the arms and legs of it and Sam guessed that they were remnants of restraints. He began to feel a rock forming in his throat as he watched Dean kick at the corner of the rug to reveal the red painted edge of a devil’s trap.

“No, no, the demon...” Sam’s eyes darted around the room frantically, trying to find some sign of either Alvon or his father.

He began to wish he hadn't when he found a large blood splatter on the wall, drying to a deep sticky brown.

“D-Dean…” Stuttered Sam to his older brother, who turned and followed were Sam’s hand was pointing towards.

The hunter face drained of all color and he blindly took a step forwards, a blank dazed look on his face, before the loud tones of a guitar broke through the thick air of the devastated cabin.

Sam and Dean looked at each other in surprise. Dean’s left hand padded his pockets before reaching into his left to retrieve his ringing phone.

He slowly flipped the cell phone open, pressed answer, and lifted it cautiously towards his ear.

“Dad?” He asked into the silence.

Chapter Text

A heavy pause fell over the phone-line, Dean didn’t know if the heavy breathing that crackled in his ear was his own or belonged to the person on the other side of the call.

“Yeah Dean it’s me.” Came the battle-weary voice of his father and Dean almost sagged to the floor in relief.

“Oh thank…” The young man wiped a subtly shaking a hand across his face. But his gratefulness soon turned to annoyance, “What the hell Dad! Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Have you got Sam?” John completely bypassed Dean’s question in a matter of which his son was sadly accustomed to.

“Y-yes, yeah of course I did.”

“Good.” Replied his father and Dean listened as he let out a small breath, “So you’re in Sioux Falls then?”

Sam stood in front of him, angling his head with Dean’s, attempting to catch his eye to give him that patented look of ‘what the fuck is going on?’. The older brother avoided the eye contact with professional ease and turned away from Sam, which earned Dean an exasperated sigh from his boxed-out sibling.

“Not exactly.” Dean answered his father in an undertone, slightly dreading revealing where they were. Their Dad was alive, but he had fled this place in the middle of what looked like a war zone. And if there was one thing that John Winchester did not run from, it was war zones.

“Well then where exactly?” Prompted his father, the authoritative tone bleeding steadily back into his speech.

“I er- drove us back to Rehoboth, we just got to the cabin.” Dean admitted and instantly heard John hit the steering wheel.

“Dammit Dean I gave you a direct order.”

The younger hunter shuffled his feet slightly, crunching a rogue shard of glass under his shoe.

“I know sir, it’s just you weren’t answering, and I had this feeling- then we got here and…” Dean looked up and took in the amount of damage that had been inflicted on the cabin since he’d left. Rays of sunlight shone through the missing roof panels as if to highlight any extra wreckage Dean’s roving eyes may have missed, “Dad, it’s like a bomb went off in this place. What happened? Did Alvon escape?”

“Alvon is dead.” Revealed John bluntly.

“Dead? How did you…” Dean let his sentence drift off as he let that statement sink in. His gaze fell upon the drying blood staining the wall that Sam had pointed out earlier. Maybe it was Alvon’s instead of John’s… But that still didn’t explain how Alvon was dead. Unless his Dad knew something that Dean didn’t, no hunter had knowledge of anything real that could kill a demon. They could even keep a host alive if the victim had died from a fatal wound years ago.

“Look Dean I can’t go into it right now,” Barked John, shutting any chance of a explanation down before softening his tone a little, “Just tell me you and Sam are safe.”

“We are, we’re fine Dad.” Dean reassured him. He turned to stare out of a glassless window to look at the calm rural land surrounding the cabin. The main farmhouse could just about be seen, Dean inspected it, looking for similar damage that had befallen this place, but he found nothing. The building was intact, a little run-down but unharmed. It seemed the cabin had bared the brunt of whatever had flew through here.

As he returned his sight to the room he stood in, his eyes skipped across the dusty road in front of the cabin and finally registered the absence of John’s truck. The 4x4 wasn’t normally easy to miss but upon seeing the state of the cabin when they’d arrived, Dean’s only thoughts were of the horrors that may lay inside and in turn it he’d forgotten to assess the situation fully. Now it made him wonder where John was and where he was going.

“Where are you? Are you headed to Bobby’s?” He asked, unsure if John would stick to the plan of meeting up in South Dakota considering Dean hadn’t.

“I’m almost there, yes.”

He felt relief flow through him at John’s words. Dean turned towards Sam, who was watching him eagle eyed whilst he learnt against the far wall. The older hunter signalled to him that they were leaving and made towards the only exit, debris crunching below his boots as he walked.

“We’ll be right behind you then.” Dean said as his hand wrapped around the edge of the battered and wonky door.

“Wait,” Interrupted John, and Dean swore he could hear cogs turning in his father’s head, calculating the next move, “How long have you been on the road Dean?”

“Ermm…” He froze for moment and heard Sam come to a halt behind him too.

“And I bet you wouldn’t let your brother drive to give you a rest either.” Said John exasperatedly, but there was something else in his voice too… “You should get outta Rehoboth, find a motel, and catch some shut eye.”

“I’m fine Dad, I can make it to Bobby’s.” Dean wrenched open the broken door and walked out of the cabin into the sunlight with Sam hot on his heels. “It’s where I was supposed to take us right?”

“Dean I’m telling you, take a day.”

The strange tone was back in John’s voice again, an avoidance lingering in between his words. It made Dean stop again once they’d reached the Impala. He laid his hand on his car’s baking roof, the heat of it stinging his palm.

“Is something wrong?” He asked John coaxingly.

“No everything’s fine- the case is done.” His father answered with finality, no joy lay in his assurance that the job was finished when Dean heavily suspected that it was anything but.

And because of niggling doubt, he couldn’t help but question John one last time.

“Are you-”

“Son I promise you I’m o-kay.” Cut off his father quickly, stressing the word okay. “Check into a motel say two towns over, rest, and make the drive up tomorrow.”

Dean let those orders wash over him and as they did, he felt the heaviness that lay behind his eyes threaten to overtake him for a moment. John was right to point out that he was running on empty, but Dean also knew it was a convenient way of keeping him at arm’s length.

The most annoying thing was that Dean let John win.

“And you’ll still be at Bobby’s?” He asked as he jingled his car keys in his hand and looked over the roof towards Sam who stood by the passenger side, waiting on Dean.

“I’ll still be there.”

“Okay.” Relented the young hunter, “Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Agreed John. The line soon went dead after his last word.

Dean sighed and closed his phone. He wondered why he always let his father lie to him.

“So, what now?” Came Sam’s confused voice from across the roof of the Impala. Both he and his reflection from the shiny black top stared back at him expectantly.

The older brother glanced down at his keys for a moment before he threw them towards his younger brother, who caught them with ease.

“You drive.” He said as he made his way over to the passenger seat.

There were some roads that you habitually knew, ones that you drove down in an automatic daze. John used to know the roads of his old town Lawrence like that, he could drive around that place with ease. His usual route from his home to Woodson’s Garage was still ingrained in his memory even if other small details of his life with Mary had fallen by the wayside in recent years. Now he didn’t know many roads like the ones he did in Lawrence. But one he did know like the back of his hand was the road to Bobby Singer’s house.

John thought about his phone call with his son as he drove into Sioux Falls and his tactics to keep Sam and Dean away from him for the time being. The hunter knew that Dean could see through his paper-thin reasons for making them check into a motel, but John relied on his eldest’s inability to call him out on his bullshit. That had always been Sam’s job after all.

He wasn’t thrilled that Dean had defied orders and gone back to Rehoboth to check up on him, but on the other hand it had provided John with an excuse for keeping both of his sons away for one more night. As long as they but some distance between themselves and the cabin, John figured they’d be safer apart for the time being.

He just needed his son’s out of the loop for the moment, at least until he figured out what exactly happened at the cabin, what the yellow eyed demon’s plans were, and what it meant for all of them. Also, if Steve was right about being close to curing Bobby then he wanted Sam and Dean to be saved from the sight of whatever that involved. Call him a pessimist but he was sure that dispelling the dormant demon once and for all was going to be neither quick nor painless, 10 long months of searching for a cure had taught him that much.

At least what he said to Dean had a foundation of truth, like the best lies always had. The boy had to be completely run ragged by now, he and Sam could use some sleep, as John himself could. But the weary hunter couldn’t rest today, he’d blackout later with the help of his old friends Jim, Jack, and José.

John was getting close to Singer’s storage yard now, and it wasn’t long until he came to a grinding halt outside of the familiar building. He spotted a split tin of paint amongst the various rusted car parts resting against the porch and noticed a lighter patch of blue on the wall. Steve had obviously been attempting to give the house a lick of paint before getting distracted.

Just as John jumped out of his truck to inspect whether or not the paint was still wet, a loud pained yell came from what felt like the ground below him.

Within seconds, the hunter was at his weapons arsenal concealed his trunk. He grabbed a shotgun and made his way towards the front door stealthily. John tested the door handle was surprise to find it unlocked. The door swung open and John turned his gun left and right, surveying the room only to find it empty. John was making his way to the kitchen when another booming cry came from under his feet.

“And if Satan cast out Satan, he is divided against himself!”

It was the nearly unrecognisable voice of Bobby Singer.

John froze where he stood and listened to the answering rumbles of someone else, their tone sounded calm and soothing even though the hunter couldn’t hear what it was saying.

With his shotgun still raised, John quickly walked into the kitchen and turned towards the door that would lead him down to the basement.

“Steve?” He called down the stairs apprehensively, his foot resting on the first step.

Suddenly a figure shot into sight and John’s trigger finger reacted to the threat before he did. The blast from the shotgun hit the bottom wall, causing plaster to fall on top of a body that had quickly dropped to the floor just in time.

“Jesus John!” Said the body as it started to get up again.

Steve Solomon, the medic who’d taken care of Bobby for almost a year, got to his feet and looked up at John. The hunter returned his stare and noticed the new lines that had formed on Steve’s face. These last few months had aged him, however the plaster had coated his hair with a powdery white, making him appear even older than he was.

“You could have answered first.” John replied, a slight smirk hanging on his lips.

“I was trying not to interrupt Father Peter.” Steve sighed, attempted to wipe some of the powder away before giving up and beckoning John down, “But good job on that.”

“Father-?”

“You know Dean’s been trying to call you?” Steve cut him off before John could get a chance to ask who this Father Peter was.

“I know, I spoke to him.” Said John as he descended the stairs.

“Good, seemed like the kid was about to do something reckless.”

“He already did, he was supposed to come here.” John checked his annoyance quickly and instead thought about how his boys were safer apart from him, for at least another night, “But this has actually worked out better.”

“What d’ya mean by that?” Steve asked, but he didn’t get an answer. Another yell, even louder than the one before now that John was in close proximity, interrupted them.

“HOW SHALL THEN HIS KINGDOM STAND? HOW SHALL THEN HIS KINGDOM STAND?”

“Later.” John said to Steve and he nodded in reply. They both quickly made their way over to the panic room where the cry had come from and Steve wrenched open he heavy iron door to reveal what was inside.

There was a small camping bed in the center of the pentacle than ran across the concrete floor. An occupied pine chair and a small table were pulled up to the bed. In the chair sat a hunched-over figure that blocked the face and torso of the man who lay on the battered-looking camping bed, but just from the old hunters boots alone, John knew it was Bobby.

The air was thick with an odd smoky fragrance that smelt to John like incense. He listened carefully to the sound of ragged and tortured panting that echoed around the room. The wheezing, almost death rattle, was like nothing he’d ever heard before.

Steve swallowed hard and walked over the room’s threshold. John followed him as they both strode over to the other side of the bed. Slowly Bobby’s entire body was reviled as they moved tentatively around the weapon-lined walls.

When they finally reached the bed and looked down at the old hunter, the state that he was in made John’s stomach turn.

Bobby’s hands and legs were tied down to the metal frame of the camp bed, his wrists bloody and torn signalling intense resistance. The man’s sweat drenched shirt was torn open to reveal the soul-binding sigil that Alvon and Ravit had carved into his chest in Lebanon last September. The wound should have healed to a nasty brand-like scar by now, but John was horrified to see it looked as fresh as the day he’d first seen it. Bobby was also tossing his head from side to side, murmuring and panting heavily.

“Mundans infirmare.” Said an unfamiliar voice as a hand softly covered Bobby’s moving head. John suddenly remembered the figure sat in the chair hovering over his friend. His eyes darted towards the man who had carefully slid his had away and was now reaching for a tarnished goblet, filled with a slick substance that looked like oil, which lay on the small table next to him.

John considered the stranger who he knew must be the Father Peter that Steve had mentioned. The hunter remembered him saying something briefly about going to meet with a curse breaker in their last stressful phone conversation in the cabin. But John, who had started to believe that only hoodoo or witches magic would be powerful enough to cure Bobby, never pictured the potential curse breaker to look like the man in front of him.

Father Peter appeared to be in his late fifties and had brittle looking grey hair that was scattered with stubborn patches of black. He wore dark clothes that seemed to imitate those of a Priest. However, he was missing a clerical collar- even though the black shirt he wore looked to be specifically made for one.

For some reason, that unnerved the hunter.

As Father Peter grabbed hold of the goblet, John studied the collection of objects that joined it on the table. This included a salt canister, a silver flask, a Bible, three rosaries, a leather-bound notebook, and a selection of blades. He also noticed a metal lantern-looking object with a single long chain attached to it that was smoking slightly. As John scrutinized it he realised it was a Thurible, swung by priests as they walked down aisles to distribute incense, explaining the strong smell that permeated the room.

“Mundans infirmare.” Repeated Father Peter, pulling John’s gaze away from the objects. He watched as the man angled the goblet above Bobby’s chest, “Mundans infirmare.”

“And the graves were opened!” Bobby snarled viciously at the man, as though what Father Peter was about to do had sparked up a fresh fight within his tortured body, “AND MANY BODIES OF THE SAINTS WHICH SLEPT AROSE!”

Father Peter payed him no mind and began to tilt the goblet, “Mundans infirmare.” He said calmly as he poured the oil onto Bobby, who in turn let out a blood curdling scream.

In his horror John half expected to see steam arise from Bobby’s chest, but nothing happened except the old hunter began to fight his restraints even harder. The old camp bed beneath him began to shake and rattle under the pressure. Without thinking John and Steve grabbed Bobby’s limbs to hold him steady, the former held his arms and the latter his legs.

As John got a closer look at the carved sigil on Bobby’s chest he could make out the red scars of a similar one below it. It was only when John cast another glance at the blades on the table he noticed that one was stained with blood.

It wasn’t the same sigil that Alvon and Ravit had cut into Bobby’s skin, Father Peter had carved an altered one on top of it.

“The devils besought him, say-saying, If thou cast us out S-SUFFER US TO GO AWAY INTO THE HERD OF S-WWINE!” Cried Bobby between grunts of pain. As John tried his best to keep his restrained hands down against the frame of the bed, Father Peter calmly picked up thin silver blade and the salt canister. He slipped the blade into his blazer pocket and then moved to hold the canister above Bobby’s chest, just as he had done with the goblet.

“Et impii non est alligatum.” Began the Father serenely, the Latin changing from his previous repeated words. He proceeded to pour the salt onto Bobby, but unlike the oil, he poured in it a heaped circle that traced the edge of the newly carved sigil.

The old hunter began to buck and shriek in pain. John winced as he watched on, putting all supernatural factors aside, he knew that pouring literal salt in a wound must hurt like a bitch.

“Professus sis te id quod non tuum adrogandum.” Said Father Peter as he dropped the salt canister to the floor with a metallic thud that couldn’t be heard over Bobby’s yells and now barely coherent words.

“Animam tuam ad excelsum confringetur.” The Father continued the strange rite and ritual whilst he withdrew the silver knife from his pocket. “Et conteram in vobis positus est ritus.”

Bobby suddenly whipped his head to the side so quickly John could hear the joints in his neck click in protest. The hunter fully expected to see black eyes looking at Father Peter with pure hatred, but surprisingly Bobby’s eyes stayed their same steely blue color. John found that he couldn’t see any loathing there, only pleading.

“Surely G-god is in thee, and there is none else.” He panted as Father Peter carried on reciting the complex Latin as though it was his second tongue, never even missing a beat.

John watched on feeling utterly helpless as Bobby choked out bitterly, “There is n-no God.”

There was a small flicker in Father Peter’s eyes that looked like anger at Bobby’s chosen words, but it was gone in a second. He turned his calm and unwavering gaze on the man below him as he held the sliver knife to his own palm.

“Ad quos eieci te de hoc exercitum.” The Father began to drag the blade across his hand slowly as he spoke. The memory of the ritual John preformed on Bobby rose to the surface so quickly that John felt like he was back at that church again, drawing blood from his own hand in an attempt to suppress the demon and give back control to Bobby. In the end it hadn’t done anything except scrabble the hunter’s brain and condemn him to more torture.

“Et ego servabo te huc solve fasciculos daemonium non ligat.” Father Peter turned his cold eyes upon John for the first time and nodded down at Bobby’s head, which had begun to toss and turn once again.

John understood. He let go of Bobby’s wrists to hold his head still whilst the Father hovered his bloody palm above Bobby’s mouth.

“In nomine domini, et angeli ejus!” Cried out Father Peter, his voice raising at such a powerful level John almost withdrew his hands from Bobby’s head, “Revelare verum tuae specie!”

And with that final word, Father Peter brought his hand crashing down onto Bobby’s grimacing mouth. Instantaneously a crystal blue light emitted from beneath his palm and began to shine out of the open wounds on Bobby’s chest.

John looked down in wonder and allowed himself to believe in miracles for a second before everything enviably went wrong.

A surge of energy pulsed through Bobby’s body and sent John and Steve hurtling backwards to opposite ends of the panic room as the blue light seemed to explode.

John landed awkwardly on top of a desk but was back on his feet quick enough to see a great swirling black cloud frantically circling the room, creating a small hurricane of papers from the books and boxes that scattered the room. The smoke seemed to be bashing itself against the walls in desperation- and that’s when John realised it was Ravit, finally freed from Bobby and attempting to escape out of the sealed room.

Father Peter, it seemed, had not been thrown across the room as Steve and John had. Instead he was stood above an unconscious Bobby, staring up at the black smoke with disdain whilst frantically reciting a traditional exorcism.

He was midway through the rite when the smoke changed direction and plunged downwards, straight into Steve’s mouth.

“No!” Cried John as he watched Steve’s eyes turn black and a devilish grin grow on his face.

Seemingly at exactly the same time both John and Steve simultaneously turned to grab a weapon from the many that lined the walls.

“…cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare... Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ!” Continued Father Peter as he grabbed the silver flask from the table and began to unscrew it whilst backing away from the demon.

John grabbed for one of Bobby’s shotguns, having dropped his own when he'd moved to hold the struggling hunter down, and prayed it was loaded with rock salt shells. He turned quickly to face the possessed Steve, who it turned out hadn’t grabbed a gun but a long jagged hunting blade.

“Hostis humanæ salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei, contremisce et effuge!” Roared Father Peter desperately as he threw holy water from his flask onto the demon.

Steve shrieked in pain and growled, his head shaking like a rabid dog. John stepped closer and took aim at the man and tried to tell himself that it wasn’t Steve, it was Ravit.

“Can’t pull the trigger John?” Hissed Ravit with Steve’s voice, a giddy laugh emitting from his throat, “How about I make the choice for you?”

Before anyone could react, the demon took the blade in two hands and plunged it into Steve’s stomach.

“And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.” Grinned Ravit manically as blood began to drip onto the floor below him. "Where are your sons now John?"

The hunter could barely register what had just happened. John's legs felt like they may give out at any second as he watched Ravit stumble towards Father Peter, who was still yelling the exorcism at the demon.

“INVOCATO A NOBIS SANCTO ET TERRIBILI NOMINE! QUEM INFERI TREMUNT! AB INSIDIIS DIABOLI… LIBERA NOS DOMINE!!” Once more he threw holy water at Ravit, interrupting his advances. John registered the words and realised Father Peter that was so close to finishing the exorcism. Shaking himself from his horrified daze, he knew that he couldn’t let the demon interrupt or harm anyone else.

John ran over to the demon whilst it screamed in pain from the holy water and tackled him onto the floor, taking him by surprise. The blade that was still stuck in Steve’s stomach cut at Johns arms as he struggled it keep hold of the demon.

“AB INSIDIIS DIABOLI, LIBERA NOS, DOMINE. UT ECCLESIAM TUAM SECURA TIBI FACIAS LIBERTATE SERVIRE!” Yelled Father Peter from above, poring more water onto them.

Ravit screamed in anger and attempted to use it’s shaking arms to grab the blade and yank it out to strike John with it.

“TE ROGAMUS, AUDI NOS!” Came the last words of the exorcism just as Ravit pulled the blade free of Steve’s body.

A guttural scream came from the demon as smoke streamed out of Steve’s mouth and disappeared into the ground, finally returning the monster back to hell.

The hunting blade fell to the floor with a clatter. Steve went limp in John’s arms and let out a rattling gasp.

“Steve!” Cried John as he manoeuvred the fatally injured man onto the ground. He contemplated attempting to staunch the flow of blood that was freely leaking out of Steve's slit stomach, but John knew it was too late.

“I-it had to g-get the o-only medic h-huh,” Steve coughed out with a small smile. “Lucky m-me.”

Father Peter knelt down next to John and Steve chuckled brokenly.

“T-time for l-last rites?” He joked and the Father smiled back at him.

“Only if you want them.”

Steve shook his head slightly and coughed up blood, gurgling a little as his blood-slick fingers clutched his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry Steve, it’s my fault.” John said in a low voice as he gripped Steve’s shoulder. Unabashed guilt and anger rose in John in equal measure before despair began to move in. He felt destined to watch everyone he knew and everyone loved die meaningless deaths.

“I h-had a debt.” Replied Steve, his eyes beginning to glaze.

“And you paid it Steve, you paid it and more.” Assured John, squeezing his shoulder tightly.

Both the Father and John watched on as Steve took his final shuddering breath.

Afterwards, the only thing that made a sound in the room was the whirr of the fan above their heads which cast dark shadows onto the floor below.

There had been a pile of cut wood neatly stacked high in Bobby’s yard when John eventually went out to build a pyre, as though it had been waiting there for him on purpose so that he could easily carry out this grim familiar job. The hunter looked down at the axe that lay near it and wondered if Steve had cut most of them, unknowingly chopping the kindling for a fire that would wipe his existence off the face of this earth.

John didn’t want to think anymore. Instead he threw himself into building the wood up into two large sturdy heaps. As he worked he heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps drawing closer. He turned his head and was met with the sight of Father Peter supporting a drained-looking Bobby. The bandages that the Father had wrapped around the old hunter’s chest acted as an undershirt to an old frayed flannel that John had found in Bobby’s depressingly sparse wardrobe.

He had regained consciousness only minutes after Steve had passed, causing the two surviving men to hurry over to Bobby with equal parts relief and trepidation.

The first word he’d croaked was “Water.” and John had deflated a little, fully expecting for him to launch right into a bible verse. But when he repeated the word and looked into John’s face, the hunter could see the recognition and lucidity that practically glowed in the older man’s eyes.

It had worked, Father Peter had performed a damn miracle even though they’d payed a heavy price, Steve had payed the ultimate price. God had opened a window for them and then promptly slammed a door.

But in that moment John was just thankful that Bobby could speak normally again. He almost fell over himself as he ran out to grab Bobby a glass of water. After the older hunter gulped it down he caught sight of Steve’s body that lay lifeless on the floor in a pool of blood and almost dropped the glass.

“Steve.” He gasped, Bobby’s face became flushed with fear, “Did I-?”

“No.” John broke in harshly and nipped the misplaced guilt in the bud, “The demon possessed him after…”

He let his sentence slide away and thankfully Bobby also began to slide back down onto the camping bed in exhaustion. Not long after, John and Father Peter decided to move Bobby upstairs onto a hopefully comfier couch and away from the panic room. However, soon as they had him settled John returned to the basement with some thin bed linen and rope to begin wrapping Steve’s body.

It wasn’t the first John body had prepped for a hunter’s funeral and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. As he carefully wrapped Steve up in the linen, the protection charm the dead man had given to both John and his eldest son slipped out from underneath John’s bloodstained shirt and hung down as he worked, mocking him.

John tucked it away hastily, just another millstone around his neck.

When he finished, John carried Steve’s body upstairs and placed it down onto the kitchen table before setting out to look for wood, which he found abundance.

Now he stood next to two near complete pyres with Bobby and Father Peter hovering cautiously behind him.

“You should be resting.” John said to Bobby quietly as he rearranged some branches lining the top of the pile.

“To hell with resting.” Grumbled Bobby in reply, “I’m worried about you. ‘There a reason why you’ve built two pyres not one?”

“I got another body in the back of my truck.” John admitted, and turned to look at Bobby in order to answer the unasked question of who it belonged to, “It’s Alvon, or at least it was.”

He walked towards his 4x4 with Bobby and Father Peter following him from behind. When they all reached the side of the vehicle John unwrapped the mess of tarpaulin and rope that he’d used to conceal Alvon’s body. As soon as the woman’s face was unveiled Bobby recoiled in disgust but oddly Father Peter did not, instead he seemed almost unfazed.

“Her eyes…” Murmured Bobby, “Have they been burnt outta her skull? H-how did you-”

“It wasn’t me who killed her.” Interrupted John in bleak tone, “It was almost me who ended up dead… I made Alvon summon her leader, and got way more than I bargained for.”

“So some boss demon did this to her?”

“This is not the work of a demon.” Stated Father Peter as he took a step forward to study the woman’s face. John watched on as his hand slowly reached out to rest his palm on her forehead. The Father’s eyes closed for a few moments and John could see his eye balls moving slightly below his lids as though he was searching for something.

Before the hunter could ask what he was doing, Father Peter withdrew his hand and looked up at John.

“Something saved you in that cabin. Not darkness, but light.”

“Y-yes.” Stuttered John, returning the Father’s gaze with uncertainty, “How did you know?”

“It left a mark.” He said calmly, nodding down to Alvon’s body.

“Do you know why? Why did it save me?”

A small smile crept up Father Peter’s face, “Perhaps it thought it wasn’t your time.”

Maybe his words had meant to sound comforting, but John found them to be anything but. In his experience, monsters only kept you alive to suffer more. He felt no comfort at all, only pure hatred for the yellow eyed demon who had orchestrated all of his pain.

John just snorted disbelievingly and turned away. After turning up here looking for help or an explanation, he found himself not willing to divulge everything he’d been told in that cabin. It would be unfair to unload it onto Bobby now that he was finally free and lucid. As for Father Peter, even though he’d been the one to finally cure Bobby and rid him of Ravit, John still found there was something he didn’t trust about the strange man.

John concluded that his secrets were best locked-up inside, hidden away from prying eyes.

Steve’s body was set alight with little ceremony. The three surviving men watched on as the flames grew higher and stronger, black smoke rising in a plume above them. John knew how easily it could have been one of them on the pyre and how quickly things could come to an end.

To the right of him, Bobby cleared his throat.

“I er, I didn’t know him as a sane man-” He began uncomfortably, but it was obvious that he felt he had to say thanks to a guy who’d saved and cared for him, “But from what I remember of you Steve… You were patient and kind- and if it weren’t for you… I’d still have a demon roommate and be spouting bible verses like a mad priest.” He chuckled a little before giving Father Peter a small glance, “No offence Father.”

“None taken.” He replied with a smile. “We have much to thank Steve for, his sacrifice will not be in vain.”

John bit his tongue as rage and guilt stirred within him. He had been the one to bring Steve here so that the man could settle his debt. Truth was, it had been payed a long time ago. John had saved his sister’s family from a banshee that was terrorising them and ended up teaching Steve, at this point an amateur hunter, a few things about the life. It wasn’t a particularly large debt, after all John had only been doing his job.

But he’d held it over Steve, who had become a particularly adept supernatural medic, and used it when John had been in need. Only this time, John’s request for help had ended being the death of him.

So to stand here listening to Father Peter list off clichés... well it set John’s teeth on edge. His hands clenched into fists in an attempt to abate the fury but to his surprise, Father Peter noticed.

“You’re not a religious man are you John?” He asked curiously, the question seemed to come a little out of left field to the hunter but he answered it all the same.

“Might have been once.” He muttered angrily as he glared at the hissing orange flames, “But things like this put an end to that a long time ago.”

There was silence for a few moments, as though the Father was contemplating how to reply.

“We don’t stop being who we once were, at least not fully anyway.” He said wisely over the cracking of the fire.

And John, who’d had enough of people preaching to him lately- be they demons or otherwise, had to resist the urge to punch him in the jaw.

Not long after John had put Alvon’s body on the other pyre and the night began to roll in, Father Peter decided to excuse himself. Although John couldn’t shake his distrust of the guy, he couldn’t deny that he’d helped save Bobby. So he ignored his instincts and decided to offer the man a ride into town after he noticed he didn’t have a car.

“Don’t worry about me John.” He’d said as he put a hand on the hunter’s shoulder. John felt himself shudder slightly as coldness spread from under Father Peter’s hand, “God will help me find the way.”

Within an instant he withdrew his hand and smiled at John with a strange serenity before he walked out of the house without a single glance backwards.

John was left to stare after him. After a few moments the hunter decided to go to the window watch the man walk away. He could hear the creaking of the porch steps and expected Father Peter come back into view soon after.

There was complete silence as John waited. He strained his ears to hear footsteps, but instead he could have sworn he heard the sudden flapping of wings.

Before he knew it John had made his way outside and was scanning the floodlit area for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen.

In disbelief he walked back into the house and dropped himself into a lumpy armchair opposite where Bobby was lying on the sofa.

“He’s gone then?” Asked the older hunter in a tired voice.

“Yeah, completely gone.” John replied, still gazing at the door in confusion, “Did he- did he say anything strange to you?”

“John, he was a damn priest. All priests are strange.”

The other hunter nodded and decided to let it go for now, he had bigger fish to fry. Now that Bobby was up and running again, he could pick up the trail of the yellow eyed demon using Steve’s research. John had to find out what it had planned for Sam and prevent it from happening.

Coming face to face with his wife's killer had been something he'd been running towards for 20 years and now that he'd found the son of a bitch, John was going to stop at nothing to find away to destroy the demon.

“I remember Dean being here, at least most of the time.” Bobby interrupted John’s vengeful thoughts to ask, “Where is he now?”

“With his brother.” Answered the hunter softly.

“Sam? How long has my brain been fried? He’s still in college, right?”

“Yeah he's still at Stanford, you were only out of it for ten months." John sighed and looked down, "When I captured Alvon, she was talking big about knowing Sam’s location. Then Steve… well he gave me some information that all but confirmed another demon was on his tail. So I sent Dean out to Palo Alto to get him and bring him here- to be safe.”

“Okay. Is there a reason they’re not here yet?” Asked Bobby rather sceptically.

“Spoke to them earlier, I told them to get some rest. Wanted to clean things up and spare them from… Well, they’ll be here to tomorrow.”

“Huh.” The older hunter readjusted the cushion behind his head and his shirt sleeve rode up to reveal the bandages that circled his wrists, covering the wounds he'd gained from the restraints, “Well Dean’s gonna be shocked to see that I’m a real boy again.”

“I guess he will.” Agreed John quietly, still studying his shoes. There was a heavy pause before Bobby spoke again, picking his words carefully...

“I’m not an idjit John, I know when you’re fixing to leave…”

The hunter caught John’s eye as he lifted his head, “You’re not going to be here tomorrow are you?”

“Look Bobby, I need to keep them safe… I can’t do that here.”

“John if that kid turns up here tomorrow expecting to see you, I don’t care if my recovery makes his goddamn year, he’s still going to be heartbroken if you’re gone.”

A hint of a smile played on John’s lips for a moment as he listened to Bobby. He’d missed the straight-talking old fool who of course was right, leaving would hurt Dean, as it always does. But he was sure that Bobby’s return to health would help him to get over John’s absence, not to mention getting to spending time with his younger brother who’d been gone for a year.

“He has Sam, they’ll have each other. That’s all they need.” He swallowed hard, trying to keep tears at bay.

The two of them were a unit that John had never really known how to fit into, so he took on the role of distant watchful protector. It was a tough role, especially when his fatherly instincts threatened to take hold. But it was one he'd imposed upon himself, and right now he was battling between them. One part of him wanted to stay and hold his youngest tight, the other knew that he could only protect him from whatever storm was brewing if he was on the road tracking Yellow Eyes.

“And what about you?” Asked Bobby softly, “Don’t you need them?”

Yes, he wanted to scream, yes he needed his sons more than anything.

“This isn’t about me. I’m trying to save them.”

“From what? John, from what?”

John refused to answer and instead stood up and walked to the kitchen. He poured himself a drink from a half empty whiskey bottle by the sink and downed it in one. The hunter half expected Bobby to come in here after him, but he didn’t. Perhaps he was too exhausted to argue with him and John couldn’t blame him, he felt the same way. Instead he stood leaning against the sink for five minutes, slowly drinking the warm whiskey from a dirty glass abandoned on the counter-top.

After gathering his thoughts he walked back into the front room and made a beeline towards an old chestnut bureau piled high with papers and books. He grabbed a piece of paper from the top and almost laughed when he saw it was a page torn straight from a bible. John read the first verse:

Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven.

Matthew 6:1... That dead man’s books were haunting him and Bobby even now. John shook his head and grabbed a pen to scrawl out a message to Dean. When he’d finished, he took a wad of money out of his wallet and folded the page around it before writing DEAN in large letters on the flip side.

The money, as he explained in his note, was for Sam's air fare. After all, John Winchester was no fool, he knew his youngest was as stubborn as he was and would become restless after a few days here back in the hunter's life he'd ran from. He couldn't stop Sam returning to college, no matter how much he wanted to. He could only eliminate the threats that surrounded them all in order to keep his family safe.

John grabbed the note and turned to face Bobby, who was watching him with scrutiny from the sofa. He didn’t say anything until John set the paper down on the small table next to Bobby.

“What am I going to tell those boys John?” He asked in defeat. John looked down at the hunter, noticing how gaunt and drawn Bobby was lying there on his own sofa with his mind finally back intact. The man looked downright haunted, and that’s when John realised that life was a lot more painful when you had your wits about you.

“Give this to Dean.” He said, tapping the paper and money, “And look after yourself.”

John walked towards the door and heard Bobby call feebly from behind him; “John wait-”

“Speak soon.” Said the younger hunter and walked out as Bobby helplessly watched on.

John strode across the Bobby’s yard and clambered into his truck rather ungracefully. He’d never managed to replicate the ease of which he’d folded himself into his Chevy Impala, an ease that he was proud to see his eldest son had inherited too. The hunter sat in the driver’s seat, his hand resting unsteadily on his keys.

Hesitation sank in. John felt like any minute now, the Impala's headlights could appear in his rear-view mirror. And he wanted to wait, he really did. But he didn’t know if he was strong enough to face his sons and burden them with uncertain guesses of their future.

Instead he looked out at Bobby Singer’s half bordered-up house, contemplating moves that could keep them all alive.

He thought about what was, what had been, and what there was to come.