Chapter Text
It started, appropriately enough, with a call from one Garth Fitzgerald IV. “Mr. Singer? I... I think I just killed the Tooth Fairy.”
“You... what?”
“I’m a dentist, and I... oh, gosh, I don’t know how to explain it, it all happened so fast....”
“Look, where are you?”
“I’m—N-Nashville.” He babbled an address.
“I have a friend who’s close by. He can be there in four hours. Lock it down, don’t let anyone in. He’ll be in a big black Impala.” With that, he hung up and dialed John’s number.
And John’s reply was completely predictable: “You want me to WHAT?”
“At least check it out. He sounded really rattled.”
“Well, why me?”
“You’re the closest.”
Bobby could almost hear John roll his eyes on the other end.
“Just check it out.”
“All right, fine. But you owe me for this one.”
He gave John the address. Still grumbling, John hung up.
Three days later, John and Dean turned up in Sioux Falls with a scrawny guy who looked to be about Dean’s age—and scared out of his wits.
Bobby opened the door. “What you doing here?”
“Garth here is a certifiable genius,” John stated. “Emphasis on certifiable.”
Garth flinched.
“He didn’t just gank the Tooth Fairy,” Dean explained. “He ganked the Tooth Fairy on the summer solstice, and now he’s got half the fae in Tennessee out for his blood.”
“Damn, you don’t do things halfway, do you?” Bobby sighed.
“I didn’t know,” Garth whimpered.
“Get in here, tell me your story. Here... have a beer.”
Garth took the beer and guzzled it gratefully as John pushed him through the door. “Oh, boy. I needed that.” Then he hiccupped and swayed a little on his way into Bobby’s living room.
Bobby sat him down and looked at John. “Tell me.”
John glanced at Garth, who was drinking the rest of his beer, and sighed. “Says he doesn’t even remember what he said, but the fairy turned up to gather some old teeth out of the trash and he caught her. Said the wrong thing, and... poof.”
“I di’n’ know,” Garth slurred and sniffled. “I di’n’ meanta... poor fairy....”
Dean rolled his eyes and said, “I’m goin’ to bed.” Then he headed up the stairs to his old room.
“An’ th’kids... all th’li’l kids—how they gonn’ grow up in a worl’ without no Tooth Fairy?” Garth let out something between a sob and a hiccup. “Izz all my fault!”
“Garth... you need sleep. Go rest. Upstairs to the left, third door.”
“Okay.” Garth sniffled and hiccupped, then wobbled up out of the chair—but faceplanted on the stairs.
Bobby got him up and into the right room, then came down the stairs and sighed in John’s general direction.
John sighed back. “Told him we’d bring him here, keep him safe while we figure out what to do for him.”
“Still owe you that rear full of buckshot. How’s Dean doin’?”
“He’s all right. Thinks I don’t know he snuck off to see Sammy last month.”
Bobby grinned despite himself. “And how’s he doin’?”
“Still growin’ like a weed, if you can believe it. Grades are good. Looks like he might have found himself a girlfriend.” And John smiled in spite of himself. “Pre-law. Way he always argued with me, he’ll be a damn good lawyer.”
Bobby grinned at him, then sobered. “You’re exhausted. When’s the last time you had a good rest or a good meal?”
John’s sigh was all the answer Bobby needed.
“I got some chili left over and am gonna make a grocery run in the mornin’. And I got a bed with your name on it.”
“Chili sounds good. Got more beer? I don’t even care if it’s got holy water in it,” John added with an amused glance at the bottle Garth had left behind, having not even noticed it was spiked.
“Finish his.”
“No, thanks. I don’t even finish Dean’s anymore. Besides...” John picked up the bottle and checked. “Yup, Garth drank all of his.”
“Why don’t you finish Dean’s?”
“Hell, he’s a grown man now. And... he came down with mono a few months back, caught it from one of his girlfriends.”
“And he’s still hunting?”
“Don’t you lecture me, Singer. We laid low for two weeks until he was back on his feet, and I stuck him on research duty for another two weeks after that.”
“He’s still not over it, is he?”
“He is well enough to hunt, with a few trips to Palo Alto on the side. And may I remind you—”
They were interrupted by the telephone.
Bobby picked it up. “Singer.”
“Mr. Singer?” said a scared young female voice. “My name’s Ch-Charlie Bradbury. Jo Harvelle gave me your number. Um... I... think I just killed a werewolf?”
“Oh, Lord. Kid, listen—this is vital. Did it bite you?”
“No? I mean, it d-didn’t get close enough. I don’t even know how I got hold of a silver-tipped arrow. I just—see, I’m a LARPer....”
“Okay, kid, listen. If you know Jo Harvelle, get to her mother’s bar and stay there till you can get on your feet.”
“I can’t. I’m... kind of wanted in Nebraska. N-not for murder or anything,” she hastened to add. “I stole a video game.”
“Where are you?”
“Minneapolis.”
“Get on a bus and get to South Dakota. Sioux Falls.”
“Okay. Okay. Sioux Falls, gotcha.”
“Call me when you get here.” He hung up and ran a hand over his face.
“Another one?” John asked.
“Another one. You need sleep.”
John sighed. “Can I eat first?”
“Yup.”
John headed to the fridge. “Where’s the bus comin’ from?”
“Minneapolis.”
“So it’ll be getting in... about four hours from now?”
“Six.”
“Mm.” John pulled out the chili and headed for the stove.
Bobby sighed and sat across from him when he got the food. “Anythin’ you wanna tell me?”
“Bobby....”
“No, I’m serious.”
John sighed. “I think I’m getting close.”
“To the demon.”
John nodded. “I’m still working out how to track it, still trying to get a line on the Colt. But I don’t think it’ll be long.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘then what’? Then I kill it, that’s what!”
“After that.”
John blinked a couple of times. “I....”
“Better think on that, keep that in mind. Make after your goal.”
“I mean, I know what I want for the boys. Sammy should get to finish his schooling, and Dean... Dean needs a home. He tries so hard, but I know, deep down, he wants to settle, put down some roots, maybe get married.”
“What do you want for you, John?”
John looked absolutely lost and couldn’t answer.
“I suggest you think tonight on it.”
“I don’t know if I can,” John confessed quietly. “There’s still so much I’ve got to do first. So many battles to fight. I can’t... I didn’t get through ’Nam dreaming about what would come after.”
Bobby tapped his fingers on John’s hand. “You need something to keep you going. That’s all I’m saying. Don’t go in there expecting to die.”
John ran a hand over his face and dug into the chili without another word.
“Go rest,” Bobby ordered when he was done.
John sighed and trudged upstairs.
Bobby watched him go and then dialed the phone again. “Elkins? Singer. We need to talk.”
Charlie turned out to be a petite redhead, about Jo’s age, who dragged herself off the bus and over to his Chevelle when he picked her up shortly after midnight. She looked exhausted and shaken, and she dozed off between the bus station and the salvage yard. He woke her up to get her in the house.
“Thanks, Mr. Singer,” she said as she followed him inside. “I really woulda gone to Jo’s mom were it not for the whole video game thing.”
“There’s a cot in the dining room. Go rest.”
She nodded and started that way, then paused. “Oh, hey, is there, like, any computer work I could do to pay you back? I’m wanting to go into IT anyway, and it would look good on my resume if I, like, had a real reference to go with my skill set.”
He smiled. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“‘Kay. Just... y’know, wanna earn my keep.” She smiled back and all but collapsed on the cot.
He went into the living room and curled up on the couch. And five minutes later he heard a car door slam, followed by limping footsteps crossing the porch toward the door. Bobby got up and opened the back door before the dogs could start up.
Ash looked up at him, his sleepy eyes twice as droopy as usual and his mullet matted with blood. “I messed up, Bobby,” he said miserably.
“What happened?”
“Ghost got the jump on me. I barely got the bones burned. I’s headed home, but I cain’t see straight....”
“Get in here.”
Ash limped through the door and had to catch himself on the desk.
“You can barely see at all, can’t you?”
“Ah di’n’ think Ah hit ma haid that hard....” His drawl was ten times thicker than normal.
“Go rest. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”
Ash nodded and tried to push off the desk, but his arm gave out. “Why’on’ Ah jus’ sleep here?”
“Yes. On this cot.”
“Ah mean’ th’desk....” But he didn’t get to explain further. His eyes fluttered shut, and his knees buckled.
Bobby tucked him in.
And just then Dean came downstairs. “Hey, Bobby. You got any sandwich stuff? I’m starvin’.”
Bobby got him some. “Heard you been sick.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gettin’ over it. Who are they?” Dean nodded toward the cots.
Bobby introduced the sleepers.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “What is this, some kind of home for wayward hunters?”
“That’s what I’m starting to think.” Bobby yawned.
“Dude, you go get some rest. I’ll take concussion duty for Lynyrd Skynyrd over here.”
He shook his head. “I got a package comin’.” But he yawned again.
“Bobby, it’s one in the mornin’. Go. I got this. Garth keeps cryin’ in his sleep; I can’t sleep up there anyway.”
Bobby nodded—and went.
Six hours later, he woke with a start and wove his way downstairs, following the smell of coffee. Dean was hard at work at the stove, and Charlie was mixing something just out of his elbow room. Ash was asleep, but someone had at least washed the blood out of his hair.
“Hey,” Bobby said as he walked in.
“Morning,” Dean and Charlie chorused.
“Smells good.” He nodded toward Ash. “How’d he do?”
“Dinged pretty good,” Dean reported, “but he’ll rouse all right. In fact, it’s about time to check him again.”
Bobby shook his shoulder. “Hey. Hey.”
Ash startled awake. “’Sit closin’ time?”
“Close enough.”
Ash drew in a deep breath and blinked at Bobby a couple of times. Then he relaxed. “Hey, Bobby.”
“Hey, son. Your head must hurt like a bitch.”
“Nnngh... worse’n a Jaeger hangover. ’S why I stick to PBR.”
Bobby pats his shoulder. “Think you can make it up the stairs now?”
Ash sat partway up, hissed, and lay down again. “No can do, amigo.”
“Then rest.”
Ash nodded and relaxed.
Bobby drifted back over to Dean. “Much longer and I’m gettin’ him to a doctor.”
“Don’t think it’s just his head,” Dean replied. “Cracked rib, minimum, and he did somethin’ to his leg, too. Dunno if it’s hospital-bad.”
“Yeah, forget longer. We’ll go soon as I get food in me.”
“You want me to take him? We still got Charlie and Garth to get settled.”
“Nah, you’re still recovering. You and your dad can get Garth settled while I’m there.”
“Um,” said Charlie. “What about me?”
Dean smiled at her. “You’re helping me.”
She smiled back at him, a little shyly but still pleased.
Bobby ate quickly, then lifted Ash in lieu of waking him and carried him to the Chevelle—just in time for John to come down the stairs and see this.
John frowned. “What the....”
“Tangled with a ghost and got his bell rung but good. We’re heading to the doctor. Need you to stay and take care of Garth.”
John grimaced, but Bobby was out the door before he could object.
He drove right to the hospital and carried Ash into the ER. It seemed to be a slow morning; the staff got to him right away.
“What happened here?” the doctor asked as Bobby carried Ash into the examining room.
“The ass tried to stop vandals in a cemetery and got worked over,” Bobby said.
The doctor hissed sympathetically and examined Ash thoroughly while Bobby stood by. After CAT scans and X-rays, the doctor found that Ash did indeed have several cracked ribs, plus a badly wrenched knee and hip.
“I don’t think we need to admit him,” he concluded, “but he’ll be in no fit state to travel for several weeks, even if he’s not the one driving.”
Bobby groaned. “Good thing I got the room.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Singer. I wish I had better news for you. But his injuries could have been far worse, and at least he had you to turn to. If you need any help looking after him, though, let us know.”
“Will do. Thanks.” He shook the doctor’s hand and carried Ash to the car again.
“‘M sorry, Bobby,” Ash woke up enough to whisper as they pulled out of the parking lot. “Shoulda called backup. Rookie mistake.”
“Well, it’s one you won’t make again. I’ll lay money on that.”
Ash snorted. “If’n I can still walk good’nuff to try again. You called Mama Ellen?”
“Gonna when we get home.”
“‘Kay. Thanks.” And Ash dozed off again.
Bobby carried Ash back into the house and laid him on the cot again.
He had just finished giving the others the news when Garth, looking definitely hung over, stumbled down the stairs, surveyed the scene, and asked, “What’d I miss?”
John and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, not speaking, with Bobby spinning the mobile phone instead of dialing.
It rang in mid-spin. Ellen’s number showed on the screen.
Bobby sighed and put her on speaker. “Hey, Ellen.”
“Bobby? You heard from Ash? He was up your way on a salt ’n’ burn last night, but he hasn’t checked in with me.”
“He’s here. Ghost was a bit more aggressive than he thought—rang his bell but good, broke his rib, badly wrenched knee and hip.”
Ellen swore. “Can I talk to him?”
“He’s asleep right now,” Bobby said.
She sighed. “All right. When do you think he’ll be up to calling?”
Bobby looked at John. “Tomorrow, you think?”
John hesitated. “Yeah. Likely. Hey, Ellen.”
“... John?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“You two made up, then?”
He shrugged. “At least a truce. Had to bring someone here from Nashville for safe keeping—kid got crosswise with the fae.”
She hissed. “And the boys?”
“Dean’s here. Sam’s...” John took a deep breath. “Sam’s at Stanford.”
“Well,” Ellen said. “I’m damn proud of him.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Hope you told him.”
“Maybe someday I’ll get the chance.”
“Don’t wait,” Ellen said. “Never know when someday is too late.”
“You don’t understand. The night he left, I... we fought. I gave him an ultimatum. And... and he left.”
Ellen was silent for a moment, then she said, “Fix it.”
“I-I don’t know if I can. And besides, I’ve got a line on the demon. Once I fix that, then....”
“John. This is your boy.”
“My boy who the demon’s after! Once I know he’s safe, then we can try to patch things up.”
“Does he know the demon’s after him?”
“No. And if I have anything to say about it, he never will.”
Ellen swore. “John, you’re all but using him as BAIT!”
“Ellen, don’t you DARE—”
“Wuzzalla yellin’ fer?” Ash interrupted from the cot.
Bobby took him the phone and then leaned over, hissing in John’s ear, “Get that stick outta your ass. She’s right and you know it.”
“I don’t need anyone to tell me how to handle my sons,” John snarled quietly.
“She wasn’t. Neither am I. But it’s a fact.”
Whatever John was going to say next, it was preempted by his realization that Ash wasn’t the only one talking to Ellen. So was Charlie—and Garth—and... aw, hell....
Bobby nodded.
“No, Sam’s fine,” Dean was saying. “Pre-law, the big nerd.”
Then he saw Dean straighten and slowly turn his way, his features shuttering. And he knew he’d suddenly lost a major part of the war.
“No,” Dean said. “He didn’t tell me. He didn’t tell me any of that.”
John’s heart sank.
“Thanks, Ellen. Maybe someday I’ll meet you, too.”
Dean hung up and brought the phone back to Bobby. Then he turned to John. “Listen, Dad, I think Bobby could use a hand herding cats around here for a while. Why don’t I stay? You can get back to... looking for the thing that killed Mom.”
“He’s staying,” Bobby said.
John frowned. “I am?”
Bobby nodded. “Least for a couple of days.”
“Bobby....”
“Where are you gonna go to find this thing?” Bobby asked.
“That’s none of your concern,” John snarled.
“In other words, you don’t know. I’m givin’ you a chance to use my resources, find it.”
“I don’t need your help. And even if I did, you think I could work with all this going on?” John gestured toward the living room, where Garth and Charlie were conversing quietly about classic video games.
“Yup. Cause you’re gettin’ off this suicide track right here, right now.”
“Who you callin’ suicidal, you old—”
“You,” Dean said, coldly. “You’ve been keepin’ secrets, old man. It stops.”
“Dean, you don’t need to know.”
His hands slapped the table in front of his father and his voice was low and very dangerous. “It. Involves. Sammy. I need. To know.”
“I am doing everything within my power to make sure that thing comes nowhere near your brother. That’s all that matters where you’re concerned.”
“I am not having this fight with you now,” Dean growled.
“No. You’re not. Because you’re staying, and I’m leaving.” And before anyone could protest further, John started for the back door...
... only to run smack into a thin, bearded young man with curly brown hair and blue eyes that widened in terror as he fell back several steps with a shriek. “Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Winchester—I’m sorry—I never woulda written it if I’d known....”
“... what the hell....” he gasped.
But the poor guy just kept babbling that he was sorry until John dragged him into the living room and shut him up by giving him a glass of holy water to drink.
No smoke. No black eyes. Just a babbler.
Garth finally got the first word in edgewise. “Dude, slow down. I don’t think any of us know what you’re talking about. What did you write?”
“My novel,” the guy said. “My name’s Chuck Shurley, but my pen name’s Carver Edlund.”
John frowned. “What novel is that and why should we care about me hurting you?”
“It’s the first in a series called Supernatural. Woman in White is the title, and... it’s—it’s about what happened to your wife and what maybe is going to happen to Sam.” At John’s scowl, Chuck continued, “I didn’t know any of it was real, I swear. I just had these dreams, and they wouldn’t stop until I wrote ’em down.”
“What is going to happen to Sam?”
“The demon’s going to kill his girlfriend.”
“When?” John demanded.
“I-I-I don’t know. He, um—it was November 2, and he had a law school interview the next day. But I... I don’t know if that’s this year, next year....”
“He’s got a year,” Dean piped up. “Four years of pre-law and then the interview.”
“Wuz so special ’bout Novemmer?” Ash asked muzzily.
“Everything,” Dean told him. “Go back to sleep.
“No, ’m not goin’ backa sleep. This soun’s impor’n’.”
“It’s when our mother was killed.”
“And the demon’s going to kill Jess the same way,” Chuck added. “Staged to look exactly the same, down to the nightgown.”
Dean clamped a hand on John’s arm. “We got a year.”
John ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know if I’m that close. We’ve got to get them off the radar—Sam, at least, and his girl if we can.”
“We’ll help,” said Charlie, taking a step forward. “I mean—I don’t know what we can do, but we can’t do nothing when somebody’s life is at stake, right?”
Dean nodded. “First thing, we research. We find out everything we know and everything out there about this thing and then we work on a plan. You, Tiny, you know things, right? You’re resource #1.”
Chuck gulped. “Okay. I’ll do what I can.”
Dean nodded, then turned to his father. “Anything to add?”
John ran a hand through his hair. “Place is gettin’ kind of crowded, isn’t it? I can’t imagine Bobby wants all six of us in his house long-term.”
Bobby nodded. “We’ll find someplace.”
And suddenly Dean had an idea.