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 4/6

'Kill the boy!'

Dean thought he was going crazy, clawing his head, but the mantra kept repeating. He picked up the gun, sparkling silver, unnaturally shiny and pointed it at Jimmy.

'I'm sorry.'

And he awoke with a start. He looked immediately at the other bed, but heard the running shower, relaxed back and used the time to think.

While Sam was away he had figured out his hunts on his own. He could figure this out. He knew one thing. It was connected to the church. The voice started speaking to him upon entering the church, and meeting Jimmy. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

So Sam and he only had to figure who was stealing the religious antiquities. The problem was this hunt was not going smoothly. Sam's investigation hadn't yielded any results either. He had to give his brother credit for the initial idea of looking at the terminally ill in the parish, but either the person was just a visitor of Saint Anthony's Chapel or the person who had stolen them was not dying. As Dean had thought before, this hunt was complicated.

Dean took in a deep breath, released it, then fumbled for the remote control on the nightstand. He needed some background noise. He found the E! Channel. It was good to catch up on the latest entertainment news, and feed his pop culture habit.

He shook his head as he thought he heard Ryan Seacrest say, 'Kill the boy.'

He was not going crazy, and would not shoot Jimmy. He glanced at the bathroom, weighing the pros and cons of telling Sam. The cons were winning. He didn't want his brother to needlessly worry about him.

He heard the shower turn off, and a minute later Sam exited with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"They're making a Smurf movie." Dean gestured with the remote control, pretending everything was normal.

Sam shrugged, uninterested in the animated cartoon.

But, Dean continued. It was the little stupid things that were necessary to keep up appearances. "Wonder if they will all be blue, 'cause that's kinda racist."

"I called Bobby." Sam abruptly changed the conversation.

"Aren't you Little Miss Sunshine." Dean commented, wondering how he didn't awake during Sam's conversation. He hoped Sam had missed the nightmare tossing and turning, since his brother didn't mention it, then he probably did.

"All those items stolen—all have to do with healing, just like Father Gomes said." Sam gathered his clothes and returned to the bathroom.

Dean sighed, wishing Bobby had come up with more information. The older Winchester changed channels, settling on the local all news network. The image flicked from the anchor person to a picture of Saint Anthony's Chapel. Dean put the volume up.

'Police have arrested a man they suspect is behind the robbery of artifacts at Saint Anthony's Chapel.'

"Sam!" Dean yelled out to his brother. "Get out here."

Sam had shrugged on a t-shirt. "What?"

Dean pointed to the television, and explained what his brother missed. "Some parishioners saw him put it in his pocket and they practically lynched him."

There was a portly, confused man being escorted into a police car, his head being pushed down. Cameras flashed as he looked out the window, and the police car pulled away.

"So that's it? It's over?" Sam stared at the television as he buttoned the shirt he placed on over the tee.

"Listen to the news while I take a shower." Dean stood up. "But, I doubt it. Winchester luck doesn’t work that way."

Sam snorted. "'You're right."

Dean went into the shower, and shut the door. He leaned against the closed door. They caught someone stealing an artifact. Like he had just said, the Winchesters wouldn’t be that lucky. He would have to go back to the church and see if the voice came back, and even then he didn't know if he could just leave. What if something went after Jimmy? He pushed off from the door. He would have to tell Sam.

He was going to relish his moments in the bathroom alone.

Dean brushed his teeth, keeping the water running. He looked in the mirror, surprised to see not only his face, but a shadow. He spit out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth and looked again, hoping he was just tired or it was the way the fluorescent overhead light hit the mirror.

But, the shadow was more distinct. He stepped back, and looked closer. His image disappeared, and the other image, the shadow, took shape-a human shape.

He licked his lips, and regained the step. He quickly glanced to the door, wondering if he should make a run for it, or call out to Sam. But, he was enthralled by the shadow.

His hand went to the edge of the mirror, seeing about prying the it off the wall. The shadow shifted, swirling again and forming a sinister figure- A bald man, face passive, stared at Dean.

'Kill the boy.'

"That isn’t going to happen," Dean answered. He dropped his hand from the mirror, and backed away. "I burned the house around you, you bastard." His hand went to the door, but the image was faster. A gray hand came out of the mirror, like a glittery claw, dripping beads of mirrored water.

One swoop of the hand had Dean pinned against the white tiled wall.

He tried to yell out for his brother, but one of the fingers of the claw spiraled up to grip his throat. He tried to move, desperate to get air as he took in a gulp in, but stayed stuck in his throat.

He was released for a second then slammed against the wall once more. Surely, his brother would hear something, anything. It was like he was reliving his first meeting with Vince Eder all over again.

'Your promise or another will. Kill the boy.'

Sam knocked on the door. "Dean?"

Dean tried to yell out his brother's name, and came out with a raspy exhale.

It was enough. Sam kicked down the door. The wooden door slammed against the wall, making contact with Dean's right leg. Dean wanted to scream as his knee throbbed, but the distraction also caused the spirit to release Dean.

He landed in a heap on the floor, hitting the side of his head and back. He couldn’t give into the pain. He tried to get to his feet as the claw came through again.

White granules rained down. He lifted his head; Sam was above him with loose rock salt still gripped in his hand.

The younger Winchester bent down, and pulled Dean by grabbing a fistful of his brother's t-shirt. Sam got Dean through the door, slammed it shut and placed a line of salt in front of it.

Dean stayed sitting on the floor, watching his brother. Sam crouched down.

"You okay? What was that?"

Dean tried to shake his head. He wanted to make a joke about throwing the salt, "You seasoned the spirit?" But nothing came out except a whisper sounding like, "SSSSSS."

Sam's face swam in front of him, and Dean lifted his hand to his head. It was wet and then the encroaching darkness narrowed to a pinhole and there was nothing.

The first sensation Dean felt was a cold wetness on his right knee. He started his assessment from there. He felt sore. He had a distinct headache. He could feel heat emanating from his throat.

He wanted to remain unconscious, but his injuries were calling for painkillers. He opened his eyes. Sam sat in a chair beside him, bent over, hands clasped.

Dean cleared his throat.

"Dean?" Sam moved forward. "How're you feeling?"

Dean loved the fact Sam's peppering of questions allowed him time to gain some composure. He rubbed his throat and winced.

Sam must have understood. He handed Dean a bottle of water. Dean used his elbows to sit up. Getting up, he saw the icepack on his knee, explaining the cold sensation.

Sam helped him by setting a bracing arm behind his back. Dean took a few tentative sips, letting the cool water sooth his throat. "Painkillers?"

Sam nodded. The first aid kit was open on the other bed. He pulled out a bottle and shook out two pills. Dean washed them down one by one as it irritated his inflamed throat even more.

"Do you know what that was? Because I have a pile of salt by the bathroom door, and I don't know if it's enough."

Dean shrugged and felt his back twinge. It would take a bit for the painkillers to work. "I have an idea." Dean plucked at the sheet.

"Care to enlighten me?" Sam asked.

Dean kept his eyes down. "I've been hearing a voice-"

"What?" Sam sat straighter in the chair. "Since when?"

Dean sighed, and looked at his brother. He was going down a slippery slope. He had to share the information with his brother, but he didn't want the reaction. "Since the first day at the church."

"What's the voice telling you?" Sam said calmly.

Sam could get a high and mighty attitude, and the condescending tone that sounded like Sam was speaking to a five year old, irritated Dean. "Damnit Sam, I'm not crazy. Just let me tell the fuckin' story."

Sam put his hands up. "Fine."

"Remember that kid? Jimmy?" Dean swallowed. "Well, that spirit wants me to kill him." He cleared his throat, trying to work out the hoarseness. "That 'thing' that you just got up close and personal with. . .well, that was Vince Eder."

Dean saw Sam's vacant expression and was slightly disappointed his brother didn't remember. "About ten years ago, we had this hunting gig in Pittsburgh. This guy, Vince, had killed his son about ten years earlier and was haunting the place. Dad and I went in, and Dad ended up getting hurt. I decided to finish the job."

Sam remained quiet, but rubbed a hand over his mouth.

Dean licked his lips, and plunged forward with the explanation. "Wasn't the best idea, but Dad was in no condition, and you wanted to get back to wherever we were staying 'cause you had a test or something." Dean waved his hand. "Didn't matter. The job needed to be finished." That's what he had told himself at the time. But he also knew he thought by going back he would make his father proud. He had been ill-prepared and too cocky, believing where John Winchester had failed, Dean Winchester would excel.

He walked into the house. He had memorized the ritual in the car. He started on the first floor of the colonial style home. He had to purify the house, and did this by burning sage. He started up the stairs on alert, but it wasn't enough. He felt his legs give out underneath him; he fired as he stumbled down a few steps, but then dropped the gun as he was lifted from his two feet. He was propelled by an unseen force so that his body, head first dangled over the landing. Dean struggled, trying to reach out to the banister. If he was dropped he would crash thirty feet into the hard wood floor below.

"I was dangling over a staircase. No one was going to save me. Dad was hurt; you thought I was at the store. So he offered me a deal." In truth he had shamelessly begged for his life, unwilling to die for his stupidity. "He would spare my life, but one day he would call on me and I had to do what he asked." Dean shrugged his shoulders, wincing as his back flared up. "I took the deal, then burned down the place, figuring the double cross would do him in." Dean wiped his palm with his thumb, recalling how nervous he had felt that whole summer. Even more scared no one picked up on the change in his demeanor. He had covered and then returned to normal. Life went on and there were other crises more pressing than an agreement he had made for his life, which may or may not be collected.

Sam took his brother's silence as the opportunity to speak. He stood up, pacing two steps. "You made a deal, Dean-"

Sam was not going to lecture him about deals, about the crossroad demon, about Dad. Not going to happen. The Winchesters played cards, pools and games of chance. They excelled in cons. Their lives were about deals, whether they wanted to admit it or not. It was the ramifications they never considered. It was why he was still considering the crossroad demon's deal. "I made a frigging, brilliant deal-best one of my life. I didn't want to die at 18, Sam. I didn't, not like that." He didn't want to die alone. He wanted to die saving his father or brother.

"Calm down, Dean. I get it. It's just making agreements with something evil..I-"

Dean felt guilty for raising his voice. "Yeah, I know."

Sam rested his hands on the back of the chair. "I'm glad you made the deal, man."

Dean appreciated the sentiment. He had stayed alive for his family, for Sam.

Sam took his seat once more. "So, Vince is calling in his marker?"

"Yeah, but I don't get it. I've heard the voice three times, all at the church. This doesn't fit."

Sam shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry, call me crazy and start looking up the symptoms for schizophrenia or something." Dean smirked, bringing some levity into the situation.

"How about we get out of Pittsburgh, regroup, figure this out. . ."

"Can't leave. Started here and ends here, and if I don't do the job, then something else will go after that kid. That's what he said." Dean pointed to the bathroom. "I'm not leaving that kid defenseless." Dean shifted his legs over the bed.

"Whoa, where're you going?" Sam placed a restraining hand on Dean.

"Bathroom." He still really wanted his shower, and more urgently his kidneys were about to burst.

Sam chuckled. "You wanna go in there? I think we should find a new place."

Dean rolled his shoulders. It hurt, but everything was working. The painkillers were removing the stiffness too. "Just take down the mirror." Dean thought for a moment. "Break it too," he added with a wry grin. "If it happened here, it'll probably happen in some other motel too." Dean flicked his brother's long hair. "Guess you're not going to be able to do your hair just right, Princess."

At the mention of his hair, Sam raked a hand through it.

Dean shook his head, stood up, and wavered a bit, but Sam was there to steady him.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's forearm.

Dean gripped his hand around Sam's forearm, letting his brother know he was fine. Sam released the grip first, and went to the bathroom. He made quick work of the mirror, taking it out with him, breaking it and muffling the sound by placing a towel over it. "Dean, you burned the house. How it this spirit attached to anything or anyone?"

"Beats me." Dean answered, halfway in the bathroom. "I went back to the house. It's clean."

"Go take a shower. Let me see what I come up with." Sam said as he went towards his laptop.

Dean smiled. This was one of the pros about telling Sam. They could work through it-each of them looking at the situation from a different angle. The bathroom was strange without a mirror. He was slightly unnerved by taking a shower the same place he was attacked. But, facing one's fears was a Winchester family trait. Right up there with stubbornness.

A quick shower and Dean toweled his hair dry. He gently patted the cut in his hairline. He was thankful the painkillers were working. He had seen his knee and the bruising was spectacular.

He exited the bathroom, and noticed the stick figure drawings on the wall. Sam never excelled in art. "Don't give up your day job."

Sam had his arms crossed, studying what he had taped to the wall. Dean took it all in—three columns, one for Vince Eder, one for the church and one for Jimmy.

"It's not a possession, is it?" Dean pointed to the posted information.

Sam had written Vince Eder's birth date, death, and when the house burned down. Near the church were the articles about the antiquities.

Sam opened his computer. "Says here that they haven't found all the stolen items. Someone still has them, and it's not this poor guy. I think he's just the patsy." Sam pulled down a list from the wall. "And I think it's one of them-one of these people at the church that we've come into contact with."

Dean raked his hand through his still slightly damped hair. "So we have to figure out the connection to the church." He didn't see how this all fit. There was no coherent pattern.

"Why Jimmy?" Sam interrupted his thoughts.

Dean cleared his throat. "The kid is what-six or seven? Who did he piss off?"

"But, like you said, this isn't a simple possession. I think there's more to it."

Dean rubbed his forehead. "Okay, geek boy, then what the hell is it? Something like possession, but not quite. . ."

Sam frowned, and pushed Dean out of the way, reaching for their father's journal. He flipped through the pages, then thrust the open page at Dean. "What's like possession, but not?"

Dean frowned. "Is there a punch line?"

Sam tapped the journal. "Reincarnation."

Dean glanced down. He was familiar with the journal. "Dude, reincarnation is about nirvana, ultimate happiness. . ." And Dean gave his brother's idea some thought before he dismissed it. "So Vince isn't going to be happy until he kills his son?" Dean tapped Jimmy's photo. "And he thinks this kid is his son reborn…" His father had just mentioned reincarnation in his journal, nothing more. Evidently, John didn't give it that much weight.

"Kinda strange. But, there is stuff that we've seen that Dad hadn't, and we usually stick to Christianity, but every religion has its issues." Sam rubbed his chin.

"We're all about fairness; don't want anyone to be left out. Maybe we can throw in some Judaism too." But Sam was ignoring his brother. Dean recognized the look in his brother's eyes. He was relishing the challenge.

"Give me a sec, and let me see if I find a Buddhist temple we can visit." Sam stated.

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June, 1996. Saint Marie, Idaho

Sam saw his brother a couple of times during each day- meals, maneuvers and bedtime. Surprisingly there was a lot to do in the compound. Adam had grown up there, and introduced him to other teens. They were home schooled year round by Adam's mother, and she was thrilled Sam wanted to join in. They were abbreviated days, but Sam believed he would benefit by keeping ahead.

Dean excelled in different studies, and even though they were surrounded by inherently warlike people, it was peaceful. His brother seemed uncomfortable at first without their father, but relaxed over the next few weeks. He split his time between helping with farming, and mechanic work to learning about covert operations.

Over lunch or dinner Dean would inform Sam about things he was learning while Sam was occupied, just in case their father was to ask. However, John had been gone three weeks straight, calling to check in with his sons with a promise to return soon.

"Did you know that marinas are good places to hide out?" Dean said between muffled chews of a ham sandwich.

"Why?" Sam couldn’t figure it out. As a family they hadn't spent much time near the water.

Dean smiled. "People are always moving in and out and there is hardly any crime there."

Sam was impressed. It did make sense. "Don't tell Dad. Next we'll be living on a houseboat."

Sam continued to be impressed and slightly scared of his brother. For all intents and purposes Dean was learning how to be an expert terrorist.

One evening, the weapons were placed on the coffee table for a thorough cleaning. Dean had made extra thick salt lines by all the windows and doors. Sam noticed they were always there. Usually they only set the salt lines at night and swept them away in the morning. Sam didn't question his older brother about his new pattern.

Sam was reading The Grapes of Wrath, and the television was on in the background with a repeat of The Dukes of Hazard. "Shooting is a science, Sammy," Dean commented as he cleaned methodically. "It's about how fast the bullet takes off, retains energy, flight path, and atmospheric conditions."

"Sounds like a religion." Sam turned the page.

Dean finished with the .45 and went to the next gun. "The guys want me to shoot instinctively. You need to look at your opponent, not the sights, then two shots in the same spot-fast to make sure it's fatal."

Sam frowned and closed the book. Spirits and evil were what the Winchester family had committed to fighting. "Dean, we don't kill humans." Sam sickened slightly at having to remind his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know that, Sam, but it is all about responding to the unexpected."

"I guess." Sam bit his lip and returned to reading his book.

A few days later, Dean stumbled in the cabin, worn and tired. He went to the kitchen, opening the faucet, placed his mouth hungrily underneath and drank. He stood up when he was finished, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you grab some lunch?"

"Yeah, at Adam's house. His dad said you were on some sort of hike?" His friend said they weren't required to the hike, instead there was some map plotting for them, and time to play a game of baseball.

"Hike?" Dean laughed as he rolled his shoulders. "Eighteen miles with a forty pound rucksack."

Usually, Dean took care of their lackluster meals. Sam took the initiative and opened the freezer. "We got a frozen pizza I can make?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good, Sammy, let me take a shower."

Idaho had been practically a vacation for Sam while his brother was training without complaint. Dean could easily have been a slacker, since their father was not around. But, Dean had thrown himself in and allowed Sam a reprieve. It was an unusual situation, they both fit in; Dean with his soldier like understanding, and Sam taking advantage of being fourteen. He was different than Adam, and the other kids. They were all planning military careers, and Sam's dreams were a bit bigger. Sam thought about thanking his brother, but found it unnecessary. The pizza showed gratitude.

A few days later, after class, Adam pushed Sam out the door when usually they lingered. With only twelve students they were all friends and made plans to get together later.

"Come on, hurry up, they're working on the cars today. It's too cool."

Sam dragged his feet. His brother and father enjoyed fixing cars, were good at it, but he didn't participate in that particular Winchester trait. Instead of cars being placed on blocks, Sam saw them going around a makeshift track. The cars slid around the dirt track, kicking up dust with each movement.

"That's Dean!" Sam exclaimed, seeing his brother behind the Impala's wheel. This was a lesson he couldn’t wait for Dean to show him.

Adam waved his arms in the air. "Yeah, Moses is teaching him how to bring a car to a controlled stop, slides, braking and reversing. . ."

Sam felt like an idiot. He was usually much more mature, but there was something about watching Dean drive the Impala. It was fun and exciting. Sam cupped his hands around his mouth. "Woohoo!"

June came to a close with preparation for the fourth of July. The militia believed in having a big celebration. Sam sat next to his brother at a picnic table as fireworks lit the sky in no apparent order. And Sam thought this was the way it should be with his brother by his side.

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