Leading in the Darkness

By Tidia, September 2007

Beta: Ridley C. James

Rating: Let's say teen

Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Supernatural or its characters.

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Chapter 3/6

Dean pulled the collar of his shirt. It was early spring and there was still a coldness in the air, winter was trying to hang on. Dean and Sam were without overcoats, remaining in the Impala, being warmed by the sun through the windows. Dean waited while Sam finished his phone conversation, drumming against the steering wheel to a tune in his mind.
"Thanks, Bobby." Sam closed his cell phone, and tucked it into his suit pocket. "He said he'll see what he can find. Between his information, and hopefully whatever this Father Gomes can provide, then we should get a better idea."

Dean opened the car door. "Might have fifty people to investigate instead of two hundred." They had reviewed the list of people in contact with the objects, and it was too large for them to investigate. They needed to wheedle it down, and then decide what to do next. Dean had also totally convinced himself he was not hearing a voice telling him kill the boy. They led a violent lifestyle, and it was probably effecting him. Once this job was done, then they would take a few days off.

He hoped the priest they were going to talk to would be of assistance. Dean couldn’t believe how many names were on the list-everyone who worked at the church, paid and volunteers had access. It was making their job difficult. "God, people are so trusting." Dean could count on one hand those he trusted. Two were family, and his father was deceased. A small list.

They walked up to the rectory and rang the bell. An elderly woman answered, and then Father Martin interrupted, "Sara, I'll take care of them. They are here to see Father Gomes."

Sara nodded, and the young priest escorted them to a side room. "He'll be with you in a minute. He's very informative." Father Martin gave them a smile and left them to wait.

Father Gomes entered without an introduction. Brown haired, graying in his late fifties, the white collar of the priesthood was stark against his olive skin.

"Father Martin said you were with the FBI. Which office?" The priest kept his hands by his side.

Dean didn't expect such a hostile reaction from a man of God. Especially, a priest in a church which allowed everyone to view and borrow priceless objects. "Out of Philadelphia." The older Winchester matched the priest's clipped tone. Dean knew there was an FBI office in every major city.

"I'm good friends with Brian Sullivan," Gomes retorted.

"Good man." Dean responded with a nod. The older Winchester rubbed a spot above his eyebrow. He really hated when people tested them. They didn't get paid for their work, and they did good work, helping people, yet their motives were always questioned. "Sir, we just want to help, if you have a problem. . ."

"No problem, Dean."

Dean frowned at the familiarity. Father Martin must have given him their names, but he studied the priest more carefully. He was a threatening man, but did give off an aura of power.

Sam used his brother's lapse into silence to question the older priest. Dean deferred to his brother to take the lead. "We wanted some information on the objects stolen- what they were used for, and what was supposed to be the result."

The priest gestured for them to sit. He waited until they were seated, and then leaned back in his own chair and crossed his legs. "All depends."

Dean frowned. Simple answers. That is all he wanted. "Depends on what?"

"You have to believe." Gomes smiled.

"Have faith? Neither of us are Catholic, Father." Sam answered. Dean wondered if his brother was going to mention how he prayed on a daily basis.

"This isn't about religion. This is about deliverance, salvation and peace."

Dean was losing his patience. He counted to ten in his head before vocalizing his thoughts. "And if we had all those, then what would the objects do?"

The priest waved his hand. "Whatever your deepest desire, I would assume. Some of the objects have been reported to bring about healing. Isn't that what most people want?"

Dean licked his lips. Yes, he was like most people, not a freak on the fringe. He wanted the best for his family, and the best was for Sam to survive.

"Do you have a lot of sick parishioners?" Sam inquired, shifting in his chair.

"Desperate ones you mean?"

"I guess it does take a desperate person to steal from a church." The younger Winchester commented, and fleetingly looked at his brother. "Terminally ill, perhaps?"

Dean knew the lengths Sam had gone to have Dean healed after the electrocution, and then what his father had done for him after the accident. . Right in front of him he had two desperate people, and he would have done the same, anything to save them too.

This job was not simple. It was complicated, very complicated.

"We like to be generous, and loan out the objects to parishioners on occasion. There is no need to steal." The priest stood up, summarily ending the conversation.

"Father, wait, can you give us a list of your terminally ill parishioners." Sam asked, glancing at his shoes. "Preferably, those receiving home hospice care."

"I don't think so." Gomes started for the door.

"Why?" Dean asked. The items had been stolen. One of the commandments was 'thou shall not steal,' and a priest should want to follow that one.

The older priest crossed his arms. "Because if it is one of my parishioners, which I do not believe it is, but if it is, and one of these people who are dying, their family mourning, and you are going to swoop in and what? Arrest them? Punish them?" Gomes shook his head. "No. There will be no more suffering. That is not the purpose of those objects."

Dean wanted to reply, something to the effect that was the best case scenario-some sick person wanting a miracle, the worse case was the one they usually dealt with, and was more often true than not-people using antiquities to gain power. But Sam interrupted him.

"Father, we promise, if it is one of these people then we will come to you first. We won't make any arrests." Sam nodded.

Gomes sighed, "Very well. Give me a moment." The priest left the room.

Dean rolled his eyes. "He's so helpful."

"Yeah, well, he has a point." Sam shrugged.

"Kill the boy."

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed. He opened his eyes, and Sam was looking at him.

"You okay?"

Dean brought a hand to the collar of his shirt to cover up his nervousness. He had heard the voice three times. Two times he could ignore, but three made it a pattern. "Yeah, just this tie and shit. . ."

Sam colored, and cleared his throat as Gomes returned. He handed Sam the list of names. "Here are the ones that I am aware of." He gestured to the door. "Gentlemen, have a good day."

"One more thing," he didn't give Gomes the choice of deciding whether or not to reply. "We met Jimmy and his mom-"

The priest's eyebrows furrowed in irritation. Dean recognized the look. When John was mad he had the same facial reaction. "Jimmy Reardon? Surely you don’t suspect a child."

"No, no, Father." Sam frowned at his brother, and pushed him towards the door. "Thank you again for your time."

As they walked to the car, Dean already had loosened his tie, and rubbed his forehead.

"Why did you ask about Jimmy?" His brother said over the roof of the Impala. "Jesus, Dean, the guy already doesn't like us."

Dean ignored his brother's question.

Sam was unable to discern a problem with his brother, and kept rambling. "I hope Bobby gives us some more information. That priest was cagey."

"You would think he'd be nicer, since he works with people." Dean started the car. He grinned at his brother. "Like us."

Sam rolled his eyes, shrugging out of his jacket, folding it up, and laying it on his lap. "We lie to people to get information."

"But we're nice about it." It wasn't their lies that were the issues. When people lied to them, there were usually problems. "So what do you want to do next?" He gestured the list in Sam's hand.

Sam scooted down the seat. "Guess we have to check them out."

Dean sighed. There job was difficult in the best situations, but this, entering some family's home under pretense when their loved one was dying. It sucked. "I think we should split up." Before his brother could interrupt him, he continued. "Hear me out. Two guys going into someone's home is going to make them nervous. One person isn't threatening. Get in, get out and see if there is anything suspicious. We'll get it done faster too."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, what cover do you want to use? I don't want to go in as an FBI agent."

"We got those priest outfits in the trunk . . . offer a blessing, take a look around. . . "

"Is this where I say I really hate this job sometimes." Sam commented, and wiped his mouth. "If one of these families has the objects, then I say we let the keep them and tell the priest. He can deal with it. Okay?"

"Yeah, if that's the case, then I'll be happy to have someone else take care of itI hear you."

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Splitting from his brother also gave Dean the opportunity to focus on his dilemma. The haunting voice was worrisome. Thankfully, it didn't have any control over him. But, it was obviously connected with their current investigation, and Dean had the feeling he couldn't dismiss what had happened in Pittsburgh before. There was a connection he didn't want to admit, and couldn’t figure out.

Father Gomes had given them five names. Sam took three, losing the coin toss. He Dean slipped into the first house as a missionary connected to the hospital. He was taken to the elderly woman's room by her son. He The son appreciated the visit, and the prayer, said in Latin for the repose of her soul.

The woman, stricken to bed, reached out to Dean, and he wanted to shirk back. He accepted the touch, and squeezed her cool hand. A look around, a few questions and he was gone to check the next person on his list.

This time he was invited in by a teenage granddaughter. "I do my homework with Gramps when I get home from school."

They had a hospital bed set up in the living room. Dean immediately spied the statute of the Virgin Mary, but nothing else.

"Gramps! You've got company. Hospital sent him." The teenager gestured for Dean to get closer. "He's hard of hearing so you have to get closer to talk to him. And talk loud too."

"Hi, the hospital asked me to check in on you." Dean felt funny yelling at the pale man.

The sick man smiled. "That's nice of them. Did Melanie send you? She was nice to me the last time I was there."

The teenager nodded, prompting Dean to do the same. "Yes, she did."

"Can we pray?" The bedridden man asked. He lifted up his hand, and his granddaughter clasped it. She stretched out her hand to Dean.

Winchester sighed, but he completed the circle, and held hands. He led them off in a Hail Mary. The contact was awkward. He had never prayed with his father or brother. The closest they came to communing on this level was an exorcism.

In the Impala, Dean divested himself of the priestly vestments and drove to the location of Vince Eder's home. He had burned it to the ground, but wanted to make sure there was no further supernatural activity.

The burned out shell of a home he had left ten years ago had been replaced with a three story duplex. On the lawn were toys and the home seemed well cared for. The EMF didn't react. Dean knocked on the door; spoke to the lady of the house. He told her he was interested in moving into the neighborhood. She kept him at the door, but gave him enough information about the area and the house to assure him he had done the job right. Vince Eder had vacated the premises ten years ago.

It was still early, and he went by Jimmy Reardon's house. He had looked up the address in the local phonebook. There was one C. Reardon that lived within Saint Anthony's parish. He didn't knock on the door, just watched from outside, looking for anything suspicious. But nothing happened, and Dean didn’t believe anything would. ,

The voice couldn’t make him kill Jimmy, but whatever was behind it wanted the little boy dead. He remained there for thirty minutes, deciding not to tell Sam. If he told Sam then he would have to admit what he had done ten years ago, and he didn't want to worry his brother just yet.

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June 1996, Saint Marie, Idaho

In the backseat of the Impala Sam was not relishing the idea of spending the summer in Idaho, hidden away in an encampment, neither was Dean. Surprisingly, Dean was being vocal about his displeasure, while Sam continued to stare out the window at the passing scenery.

"Dad, it's the summer. We always hunt with you."

"Stop whining, Dean." John answered, curtly.

Sam had to agree, it really did sound like a whine. His brother was acting strange; usually Sam got reprimanded for whining.

School had ended. John was packed up, and had the car ready when the boys got home. Summer vacation was usually spent on an endless road trip stuck in a hot car. Maybe Idaho was better. On the road Dad had revealed his plan.

"I have a friend from the Marines. He's willing to help us. You'll be staying with him, while I take care of some things."

Dean turned around, looking for sympathy from his brother. Sam just shrugged. Dean turned back around and kept silent until they reached their destination an hour later.

They were stopped by a rudimentary fence, and two guards with rifles. John spoke to the guards, and they waved him in. He glanced at Dean. "These people believe in their rights as American citizens and the Constitution of the United States."

Dean frowned. "The militia?"

Sam was uneasy. Hunters were their own subset of society, a minor one with fire power, but they didn't live on a commune either. This was dangerous. But, Sam noticed there was a satellite dish. They were at least more modern than most hunters.

A man waved to them, and John glided the car to a stop in front of him. Their father opened the car door and was caught in an embrace and a rough pat on the back.

Dean and Sam both exited the vehicle, and interrupted the two men. John placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Marlon, these are my sons, Dean and Sam."

Marlon was John's age, but his hair was white and in a neat crew cut.

He held out his hand to both boys, and gave a strong shake. "John Junior," he commented to Sam. The younger boy was insulted, more so with Dean nodding in agreement.

"You keep them in line," Marlon gestured to Dean. "Must be a full time job. I know how hardheaded your father can be."

Weird that a perfect stranger recognized the family dynamics, except Sam wasn't like John at all. Sam assumed he was like their mom, easy for him to believe since he had never met her and the fact she seemed so different from his father and Dean.

"I took orders." John grinned.

"But you didn't like it." Marlon snorted. He leaned against the Impala. "You said you needed a place to stay. If you keep walking down, there's a cabin with some potted plants on the pathway. Lester's place. He won't need it where he's gone."

Sam frowned. He was tired and wanted a bed even if they were surrounded by gun-toting zealots. He hoped that this Lester person hadn't died there, then to make it Winchester livable the cabin would need a spirit cleaning. "Is he dead?"

"You're a morbid kid." Marlon shrugged his shoulders. "Him and his wife bought an RV and are traveling the country."

Marlon handed John the key. "I'll check on you in the morning." He winked at Dean. "The place is stocked. Did it myself."

They drove over to the cabin, parking right in front. They carried their duffels inside, fanning out and looking around the place. New places lost their novelty, but they did have to be checked for security. It was a small two bedroom, one bath and an open room with a kitchenette, a table, a couch and television. A fireplace took up one whole wall.

It was early evening, the drive taking two days with a quick motel stop for a few hours of sleep. They had eaten on the road. The boys had taken their belongings to one of the rooms, but their father remained in the kitchen.

"Dad?" Dean questioned when John didn't retire to his room. He gestured for the boys to take a seat, and he was solemn.

Sam heard Dean sigh.

"Look, I thought you two could hole up here for the summer. It'd be fun and Marlon and this bunch can teach you a lot. There are some hunts that I need to get to. . ."

"You’re leaving tomorrow." Sam stated. He itched a spot on his arm. He always felt like Dean and he were hindrances to their father, a reason for him not to commit to the hunt because he had to protect them too.

"Dad, who's going to watch your back? You've taught us everything you know, what more if there to learn?"

"Don't interrupt me, Dean." His brother slouched in the chair, boneless from having lost the battle with John. "This is a good opportunity for you both to make some connections. . ."

"With the militia?" Sam didn't want to be G.I. Joe. From the stories his dad occasionally told, it didn't seem the military life was one that he would find agreeable. He enjoyed questioning too much.

John raised his eyes to the ceiling. Sam knew it was John's way of trying to calm himself and ask for patience when dealing with his youngest. "Yes, they are military experts. They will teach you tactics. There are some former special forces operatives too….you two will be teaching me a thing or two when I get back." He squeezed Dean's shoulder as he went to the refrigerator. "I'll check in, I won't leave you for two months on end." He pulled a beer out, twisted the cap off. "Pull your weight, help them out. You know what to do, Dean."

Dean nodded, and the brothers took the acceptance as a dismissal and headed quietly to bed.

Sam slept. He was accustomed to his father's trips, and trusted Dean to watch over him. He awoke to a quiet house, cleaned up and pattered out to the kitchen, wearing denim shorts Dean had made by cutting his too short jeans, and a t-shirt with a faded gas station emblem.

Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. Dean didn’t have a greeting for his brother. "Dad's gone. Left me the Impala, borrowed a truck from someone here. Said he'd meet up with us soon."

Sam wondered what time their father had left as he went through the cabinets and found some cereal, balanced that with a bowl, spoon and milk from the refrigerator. He settled in the chair across from his brother. Dean hadn't moved from his position. "Something wrong?"

Dean shook his head.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know why he kept asking Dean the same question when he always got the same answer. He poured himself a generous portion of Cheerios and dug in. "What're we going to do today?" he asked in between spoonfuls.

"Guess we have to check in with Marlon. They run maneuvers here, preparing."

"Preparing for what?" Sam knew about Oklahoma, and hoped this group of militia wasn't involved. "I don't want to play army games."

Dean shrugged. There was a soft knocking, and Dean glared at the door before standing up. He went to the door, peering out through the eyehole. Since he didn't alert Sam, the youngest Winchester continued eating, safe that all was well.

Sam heard the conversation at the door.

"I'm Adam. I'm 14, heard your brother, Sam, was 14 too. Wanted to know if he wanted to hang out or something?"

Sam pushed back his chair. He wasn't expecting there to be someone his age, yet alone someone who sought him out and wanted to be his friend. He was excited, Dean would call it geeky, but day in day out the only people he was allowed to depend on was his father and brother. He wanted and craved new people.

"Sam! You have a play date." Dean announced, and opened the door wider.

Adam was a little shorter than Sam, wore glasses, had a wide grin and brown hair worn in a crew cut.

"Please, Dean, please," he whispered his plea to his brother. He rather spend time with a perfect stranger than his brother. They spent too much time together, and safe people were a rarity.

"We're just going fishing." Adam shrugged and then looked at Sam. "If you like fishing?"

Sam nodded. "Fishing would be good." Sam gave his brother another pleading look.

Adam had stepped inside the threshold. "We'll meet up with you for maneuvers."

Dean shook his head, and gestured with his chin to the other boy. "What's your name again?"

"Adam. Adam Bastille. We're at number 3, down at the other end. My dad's Tom." Adam stood up straighter when giving the information. It also sounded like he was used to dealing with paranoid older brothers.

Dean sighed. "Go ahead, just check in with me and let me know where you're at."

Sam bounded out of the house with Adam. "I'm Sam." He introduced himself to his new temporary friend.

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