Chapter Text
______
Chapter 1
Salvation, Iowa
It is here.
The thing that killed mom. The demon. His yellow eyes flash.
The baby is crying in her crib, like Sam himself must have done in his nursery, so many years ago.
Sam aims.
A voice. Estranged to him. A deep, logical, almost cold voice says, “Don’t hesitate.”
Sam Winchester doesn't hesitate. He puts a bullet from the Colt right between the demon’s eyes as he thinks of the mother he never got to know and the girlfriend who was taken away from him.
Fire bursts over Rosie’s bed. She cries loudly. Her mother is screaming from the floor, tangled in her white nightgown.
Dean runs into the room, the sound of his boots unmistakable on the wooden floor.
The demon twists and flashes as an incredible amount of energy is released around him. The fire dies as one last lightning strike passes through Yellow Eyes’ body and he collapses on the floor, his eyes a normal shade of brown, lifeless.
Monica takes Rosie in her arms while Dean screams at her to get out of there, to go somewhere safe.
Sam is still holding the gun. His arms are locked in a shooter's stance, his muscles so tense they’re shaking. Dean’s hand on his shoulder is a shock and his whole body shudders.
“He’s dead,” Sam chokes.
“I know, Sammy. I know. You did good. Come on, we gotta wrap this fucker up and go help Dad.”
Dean’s voice is soothing. Which is strange, coming from him. He takes the gun out of Sam’s hands, unlocking the fingers one by one.
“It’s over,” Sam says. He can’t believe it, not really.
“Not yet. We gotta get to dad.” Dean rips the curtains from their pole and Sam stands there, wondering what the hell he's doing until his brother starts wrapping the demon’s corpse in them.
The curtain makes a poor shroud. Dean curses, tries to hide the body the best he can, mumbling between swears.
“You son of a bitch,” he snaps when he finds himself within inches of the demon's bloody face. “It’s over. You won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
That’s what makes Sam snap out of his trance. The hint of desperation in Dean’s voice, the enormity of what’s going on just behind his eyes.
“Let me help,” he says as his body finally gets with the program.
“Yeah. Come on, Sammy.”
Within minutes, the demon’s corpse is shoved in the Impala’s trunk. It's a tight fit, but they don’t exactly have to be careful.
Rosie’s family is standing on the porch, the three of them shocked, but unhurt. They stare at each other for a long, silent second.
“We can’t stay here,” Dean finally tells Sam, patting him on the back.
He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car, the familiar rumble of the engine soothing something in Sam’s confused, over-sensitive mind. He follows Dean’s lead, his body heavy, exhausted even.
It’s over, Sam keeps thinking.
But it’s not.
::: :::
Deep in the woods, on a makeshift bonfire, the corpse of the Yellow Eyed Demon is burning, the salt they'd practically buried him in making the fire pop with a thousand small sparks in a way that seems somewhat joyful.
Dean is on the phone, trying to get in touch with Dad. He’s getting more nervous by the minute. They've lost so much time, stopping to burn the demon, but they couldn’t just keep on driving with the corpse of a supernatural creature wrapped up in curtains hidden in the trunk. Dean had wanted to wait for John because he'd felt it was something the three of them should do together, but Sam had been adamant. They don’t know a lot about demons, not enough to be certain of anything. Even dead, the creature has to be destroyed, the faster the better.
As the flames rise in the dark night, Sam feels cold and close to tears, strangely detached, although not in a bad way.
“He should’ve answered by now,” Dean repeats for the tenth time in less than half an hour. “You think she knows? Meg? Think she can sense it somehow because damn it, Sam, if Dad is…”
“Dean. Dad knows what he’s doing. You spent your whole life telling me that.”
They can’t leave yet, not before they’re sure the body is well on its way to nothing but ashes and that they haven't set the woods on fire in the process. Time suddenly stretches and, in Sam’s mind, he shoots the demon again and again. He sits heavily on a tree stump and looks at the fire, a haze settling over him.
“What? Who’s… Meg?”
Dean’s voice breaks the spell he’s trapped in. The mention of Meg’s name makes him shiver and Sam stands up to try and understand what’s going on. Dean’s eyes look huge in the light of the fire, shadows of fear dancing on his pale face. He takes the phone away from his ear, looks at it like it’s some kind of alien device. His thumb slide uneasily on the buttons before he activates the speaker.
“…Right here with me, I got him, do you understand me, Dean?” Meg spits her voice tiny but still, the rage in it is unmistakable.
“Dad?” Sam asks, feeling like he’s five years old all over again.
“He won’t talk, he can’t, Sam.”
“You bitch you let him go right now,” Dean growls. “You let him go!”
Meg laughs. “Your precious father’s gonna die, Dean.”
“No! You’re a liar, you demonic bitch. I bet he’s not even with you.” It’s a plea from Dean, to whom, Sam has no idea.
“You fucking killed him! Why should I spare John? Do you think I’m afraid of having blood on my hands, you pathetic moron? He… he was supposed to lead us all, he was supposed to bring about the rise of the Fallen One and you fucking-“
“I wanna talk to him, let me talk to him,” Dean yells over the demon’s voice.
“You wanna hear daddy? Well let’s hear him, shall we. You boys are gonna hear everything I do to him until all that’s left is a mound of torn flesh and broken bones.
The horror of Meg’s words swells in Sam’s throat. He can see how badly Dean’s hands are shaking, can see that his older brother believes everything the demon is saying.
There's a muffled noise, then…
“Dean, Sammy, I’m proud of you, don’t you ever-“
John’s voice, agonized but still strong and proud.
“Enough,” Meg cuts him off just as Dean asks, “Dad?”
Then John starts screaming.
::: :::
When they get to the warehouse, it’s too late, just as they'd known it would be. There's no demon in sight, everything is silent and the sun is rising through the stained windows.
The smell of blood fills the air. They see their father lying on the ground as soon as they get inside. Dean starts running, calling John’s name, like he still hopes, even after the screams of agony they'd heard, that John had somehow survived.
When Sam gets there, his brother has taken off his leather jacket and is kneeling in front of their father’s body, or what’s left of him anyway.
Dean’s head is bent, his hands closed into shaking fists. He doesn’t say a word. Sam knows he’s crying.
He looks at John’s torn up face. One eye is missing and part of his jaw. It’s obscene, seeing John Winchester, almighty hunter, reduced to a mound of flesh.
Dean covers their father’s upper body with his leather jacket.
Sam steps back on shaky legs, falls on his knees and vomits on the dirty floor.