an original fan fiction
written by: jennifer s. a.k.a. assassinelektra
I do not own The Covenant movie, Supernatural, or their characters. This is a fan fiction story meant only for the enjoyment of myself and other Covenant and Supernatural fans.
Title: Doomsday Averted
Setting: Right after The Covenant/Before Sammy & Dean find Daddy Winchester in season 1
Rating: R (for language & violence)
Summary: After hearing about an 'incident' involving the murders of two students of Spenser's Academy, Sam and Dean Winchester stumble upon an entry in their father's journal that mentions the Ipswich Witches, where the witchcraft of the Salem trials really began. Thinking it's the next clue to finding their father, they quickly find themselves in Ipswich, surrounded by a dark secret only The Covenant was meant to know.
Author's Note: It is just too easy to combine these two fandoms….And yes, the title came from the Rasputina song Doomsday Averted. Putnam's warrant for arrest based on Rachel Clenton's--who was the only accused witch of Ipswich in real history.
"Once it started
The frail and fainthearted
Just withered to the floor
Oh so sadly
We examined hands burned badly
By that which no man fears more."
Rasputina "Shirtwaiste Fire"
To the Constable of Ipswich --
There is Complaint Exhibbitted to the Honored Court now
holden at Ipswich
Behalfe of their majesties. against John Putnam of Ipswich on
grounded Suspision of witchcraft,
& whereas Recognizance is Enterd, for prosecution --
are hereby Required in their Majesties names forthwith or as
soon as may be to apprehend seize & bringe before the Honored
Court to be holden at Ipswich the sayd John Putnam on the next
morrow morning at Eight a Clock In order to an orderly Examina-
tion , & Conviction & hereof fail not at Your perrill & for so doing
this shall be your warrant of which you are to make a true returne
as the Law derects:
Ipswich March 29'th 1692)
P Curiam Tho's Wade Cler
( Suffolk Court Records Case No. 2660 Page 140 )
(Warrant for Arrest of John Putnam)
Caleb Danvers stared at what remained of the Putnam Barn—nothing more than debris and dust. Yet the place still had life radiating from it. Horrific, torturous, hateful life, but life. Or death. It was hard to tell the difference lately.
Hands held out on either side of him, barely an inch from his sides, palms facing down, he closed his eyes and tried to shut it all out. The Power was incredible. When he opened his eyes again they were completely black, glazed over with a darkness that somehow seemed to resonate light.
It was a sign that he was 'using,' that the Power of his bloodline—now increased hundredfold by his own father's sacrifice—was being employed. How amazing it was to feel the earth itself speaking to him, whispering secrets of generations long past, nightmares of the future, revelations of the present. It was easy to lose yourself in the Power.
All at once his eyes faded back to their natural color, and Caleb fell to the ground, gasping for breath. He hadn't meant to do that, hadn't meant to use at all. The fact that he'd had no control over the entire thing scared him more than anything. If he couldn't control the Power than what did that make him?
He shook that thought away, trying to sit up, but finding himself too weak to even do that. It was the ground he sat on, the wreckage around him that seemed to suck his energy, his very strength. It was John Putnam centuries after his execution, still controlling the Covenant without a way for them to stop it.
No had ever known this kind of Power. Not the early colonizers of Ipswich, desperate for a land that would not be prejudice against what they practiced. Not even Chase Collins, who had also had his father's Power.
Caleb realized that, knew that he was the first to experience this raw force, the living Power that now encompassed more than just his body and mind, but his soul as well. Every movement he made now was subconscious using. He couldn't avoid it.
Scary isn't it? This new Power you get when you Ascend.
His muscle was powered by a force both archaic and legendary, his mind driven by memories not his own and glimpses of the future. He knew things mortals shouldn't. He saw otherworldly things that humanity couldn't even imagine. He could create worlds and destroy them all in one hand. He had the Power to do anything.
Caleb Danvers was falling apart.
"Dude, honestly, what the hell are you doing?" Dean Winchester was watching his younger brother Sam from the chair where he sat, one leg propped on the chair next to him, opened bag of chips in hand.
"If we don't put things in folders, we'll never find them," Sam replied, as if that were some sort of answer. He continued clicking and dragging the folders on his laptop screen, organizing them in ways Dean didn't even want to understand.
"That's just a little OCD," Dean pointed out sarcastically, throwing a chip at Sam.
"Sometimes people like to keep things organized," Sam told him.
"Sometimes people are a little anal over nothing," Dean replied.
Sam glared at him and brushed the greasy chip Dean had thrown off of his shirt, ignoring it where it landed on the floor next to his feet. "Dad's research is important enough to not get confused," he told his older brother. "I mean honestly, how do you ever even find anything in there?" he asked, glancing at their father's journal.
Dean looked at his brother, "Well I pick the book up and look through the pages. It's a simple process really." Sarcasm: Dean's true language.
Sam couldn't help but smile a little. After all they'd been through lately getting made fun of for organizing your computer files was the least of his worries. In fact it was almost a comfort, because if Dean wasn't mocking him, he was hating him.
"I never realized he'd learned so much," Sam commented after a little while of chip-crunching silence. "All these years, and I never…" Sam looked at the journal. "He wrote everything he found in there."
"Uh huh," Dean agreed absent-mindedly. He'd moved on from the bag of chips and was glancing at a bag of M&Ms that sat behind Sam's laptop, considering whether it was worth the effort of getting up to reach for them. He decided to take his laziness to the next level and not get the candy.
Instead, Dean turned on the TV. It was a daily ritual of theirs to check the news—just to be sure there wasn't anything about their dad on there. They both knew it was ridiculous, but still they checked. After all, John Winchester had been on the news before for one of his finds—not taken seriously, but still reported. Dean was trying to decide whether the beautiful news reporter's blond hair was natural or not when Sam interrupted his thoughts.
"Did you know dad was looking up the Salem Witch Trials?" Sam glanced at Dean, seeming surprised by it.
"Yeah," Dean replied as if it were nothing. "Sammy, he was researching everything."
"There's a lot in here," he argued, ignoring the casual use of his childhood nickname. There was one person, and one person only who could get away with calling him that.
Dean shrugged. "He mentioned something about it before…" Dean paused and there was a nervous moment of silence. Then he broke it with a simple, "He mentioned it a while back."
Sam glanced back at their father's journal, reading over what had been written in John's scratchy handwriting. He could tell at which points his dad had started to get tired—probably while he was on the road—because the letters seemed to drift off.
Dean glanced at Sam, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "What?"
"It says here that the witchcraft originated in Ipswich, not Salem," Sam said.
"Ipswich," Dean laughed quietly, "Say that five times fast."
Sam glanced up at him with an almost motherly look of unamusement.
"Eh, same state," Dean told him. "Sometimes historical facts are confused or tampered with. Not uncommon to mix up places."
"Dad seemed to think it was a big deal," Sam said, and suddenly he had Dean's undivided attention.
"What do you mean?"
"Well he's got an entire page in here telling about Ipswich," Sam said, "I think he was planning on going there."
Dean stood up and grabbed his jacket, bringing his car keys out of his pocket. "Let's go," he started for the door, then turned back and glanced at Sam when he realized he wasn't being followed. "Are you coming?"
"Dean, where are you going?" Sam asked.
"If dad was planning on going there, it should be our next move." He said it as if Sam should have known already, as if questioning the logic was crazy in itself.
Sam scoffed. "You can't just pick up and head to every single place he mentioned in here," He held the journal up.
"Look, you wanna find dad?" Dean asked, and Sam's expression hardened. "I'll take that as a yes," Dean said. "The only way we're going to find him is by looking. So, unless you want to just wait around and pretend you want to find him, I suggest we get going."
Sam's expression had turned to a glare now. "Dean, you know I want to find dad as much as you do—if not more." Dean sighed, "So why do you continue to make stupid comments like that, insinuating that I'm not interested in finding him?" His voice didn't raise, but Sam did sound upset.
"We don't have time for this," Dean said, opening the door. "Come on." He walked towards his car.
"What's our gig?" Sam asked, and Dean paused before getting into the car. "We've got to have a reason to go there besides hoping dad will be there. He wants us to help people, remember?"
"So if we just randomly show up in a town and find him, and he asks why we're there he won't be happy to know we were looking for him while there are people out there who could use our help." Sam explained.
"Call it research," Dean said, "on witchcraft."
Sam bit his lip and shook his head. "No," he said.
"No?" Dean asked, irritated.
"No, we're not running off to Ipswich on a whim." Sam told him.
"Look, Sammy, it's my car," Dean pointed out. "So either get in or stay behind. Your choice."
For a moment Sam considered staying. Wouldn't things be easier if he just found a way back to college and normality? Even after all he'd done and seen he could be normal again, right? He almost laughed as that thought ran through his mind.
Sam looked at his brother, then gathered his laptop and walked towards the car. It was going to be a long drive to Massachusetts.
"I still don't understand why I'm here," Sarah told him.
The therapist looked at her for a moment, and then very calmly repeated what he'd told her before, "You've just been through a very traumatic experience. The school wanted to make sure we did everything we could to help you overcome this difficult time."
She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes and tell him all about who Chase Collins really had been. "So tell me again, what happened that night?"
Sarah looked right into his eyes, past the greasy glasses with a prescription strong enough it actually magnified his face. "We were on our way to the dance,"
"The Fall Fest," he interrupted.
"Yes," Sarah said, getting a bit aggravated. They'd been through this before, twice already. "We drove past the barn and it was…"
"I thought you wanted me to tell the story," Sarah said a bit sarcastically, smiling at him to cover her irritation.
"Yes, I do, but I'm confused about one thing." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then spoke quietly, "Mr. Danvers was with you?" Sarah nodded, getting nervous at the mention of Caleb. "You said you were both near the barn when it…exploded?" She nodded again. "Mr. Danvers didn't have a scratch on him," the therapist glanced at the cut on her forehead above her left eye as he said this. "You, on the other hand, had some minor injuries."
"He was standing behind me," she told him, thinking quickly.
"If you had in fact been as close to the explosion as you claim, and you were standing in front of him, the chances of your survival are…well you wouldn't be alive right now." Sarah looked at the ground, hating the direction he was taking this. "Why are you lying to me?" he asked her. "What really happened that night, Sarah?"
She looked up at him. In all honesty she wasn't completely sure what had happened that night. She'd woken up to the sight of Caleb's rain-soaked face looking down at her, and all she could remember before that was standing with Tyler and Reid outside the school. After that everything was blank.
"Look, I've told you everything I can remember," Sarah told him. "Can I go now?"
The therapist looked at her for a moment, as if considering keeping her there a bit longer, and then nodded. She stood up and left the room, relief washing over her as she closed the door behind her. How many more times would she have to lie about that night?