Part 1: Truth and Grief
It was in the dark of night when she fled her home, with her five year old child bundled in her arms fast asleep and completely unaware of what was happening. She had made a huge mistake, one that would cost her her life and her sons well being for as long as he took in a breath, but she couldn't kill him not her own flesh and blood. So, when the clock struck midnight and the howling of the hellhounds broke through the silent of the night, Mary Campbell ran to save her baby boy's life. She packed up whatever scarce belongings she possessed and made her way to the only place she knew would keep her baby safe from the clutches of his father.
The howling of the hellhounds was on her heels, their growls and snapping jaws making Mary falter in her hurried steps. "Just a few more, then you'll be safe," Mary clutched her son to her breast and made a determined last sprint towards the Chapel where Father Beaver performed his Sunday rituals. Father Beaver had been a wonderful friend and mentor to Mary Campbell in her time of need, he gave her shelter and food when she was down on her luck and struggling to keep her new born child alive and safe. She had never told him who the father of her child was and believed it the best thing for his safety if he didn't know. "We're almost there love," Mary whispered to her sleeping child, "Father Beaver will make sure you're safe." The howls grew closer and the wind picked up causing a ghostly noise through the trees and making the place surrounding the Chapel seem menacing and other worldly. But this didn't deter Mary one bit. She knew it was Lucifer's way of taunting her and showing her that no matter what – she wouldn't be able to keep their child from him. But she was determined as well, and she would die before allowing Lucifer to get a hold of their son, to corrupt and poison him.
The doors to the Chapel rattled with the strong winds outside, the force causing the doors to seem to come off it's hinges. Father Beaver was in the midst of blowing out the candles and placing little black books on the benches, when he suddenly heard a wailing noise. At first he thought it the wind, but when it came again he was certain it was a human being's voice, one that was in distress. Father Beaver ran down the long isle towards the large wooden doors, he unlocked them and the force of the wind caused them to swing violently knocking Father Beaver to the ground, unconscious.
"Oh God! Please Father forgive me! I need your help-" Mary was clutching a now wailing baby and trying her best not to fall over, with the force of the wind blowing fiercely at her back. "Father?" She faltered towards the unconscious body on the floor, Father Beaver lay sprawled out, a large bloody wound covering his head where the edge of the Chapel doors had hit him. "I'm so sorry Father, please forgive me my sins." Mary whispered as she placed her crying baby near the priest's fallen body.
The howling of the hellhounds had stopped, and for a second Mary allowed herself to believe that they had left her be. But the huff of breath on the right side of her face indicated that they were close enough to have her. With a shaky voice she spoke what would be her last words to her son, "you're a good boy Sammy. You have a good heart, you will grow up to be strong and mighty and you will use your powers to help the innocent. You are mine Sammy, not his … mine … I lo-" and before she could finish her last words, she was dragged from the Chapel by the hellhounds, a blood curdling scream cracking through the stormy night air.
Sam sat on the cold chapel floor, tears and snot covering his small face, his tiny hands clutching at Father Beaver's shirt. He sat staring out the open doors, small shivers and hiccups racking his body, fear making his slanted eyes dilate till they were as big as saucers. He slowly laid down next to Father Beaver curling up into a fetal position, and fell asleep.
It was still night out when Father Beaver woke up, he was welcomed with a throbbing headache and he couldn't remember what had happened. One moment he was preparing his place of worship for Sunday prayer and the next he was being struck in the head by his own Chapel doors. He vaguely remembered the wails of a person- was it a woman? He couldn't quite remember. Jim Beaver slowly sat up, squeezing his eyes shut and allowing the dizziness to subside. When he re-opened his eyes, he was met with a surprising sight. Laying next to him on the floor, a small body curled in on itself and face buried in his large coat, was Sam campbell, Mary Campbell's son!
"Oh Lord... Mary what have you done now?" Jim Beaver whispered, shaking his head sorrowfully at the little boy sleeping beside him. Jim slowly took in his surroundings, "there was a storm, that much I remember." He noticed the leaves and sand covering the floors of his chapel, and to his horror papers from his books torn from their covers and crumpled on the floors as well. He also noticed how the massive heavy brown doors hung loosely on it's hinges. Jim shook his head in disdain, "come on son, lets get you safe. Then we'll see what is to be done with you later." Jim slowly stood swaying a bit before bending over to scoop Sam up into his arms. He slowly carried the sleeping boy to his chambers, where he laid him down on his cot, covering him with a woolen blanket. "I'm sorry son." Jim sighed, sitting on the the edge of the bed, a mournful look in his eyes for the boy's loss.
John Winchester stood at the open doors of Jim's Chapel, his mouth turned down and eyes wide with horror. "Daddy, what happened?" John just stood there staring at the mess that littered the floors, his eyes wandering slowly over the broken doors. "I have no idea son, but it looks like Father Beaver will need our help fixing this place up." John looked down at his nine year old son and smiled encouragingly. "Yes, sir!" Dean Winchester slid his hands from his father's and ran inside. His first order of business, to pick up all the pages he recognized as the holy pages from the books he and his dad, along with the people of the town, read from every Sunday morning. John stood there, taking in his surroundings and logging every little detail he noticed about the ruins in his mind and in his journal. He knew something supernatural happened here and he was going to do whatever it took to find out who or what was responsible.
Jim Beaver had finally settled a distraught Sam down for a nap, the child had been crying all day about wanting his mother. When Jim told him that his mommy went to a better place and she was now an angel watching over him, Sam fell into a quiet depression. Jim was scared for the child, Sam wouldn't speak. When Jim tried feeding him, Sam knocked his bowl of cereal to the floor refusing to eat it. He sat at the window of his room and just stared out into nothingness. Jim tried to coax him to go outside and get some fresh air, but he knew the child was only mourning his loss. His mother was the only family he had left, and now the child was orphaned and all alone in the world. Jim allowed Sam to have his time, to let him greave, he was only worried that perhaps the child was never going to come out of his catatonic state.
A few hours later, when Jim came back to check on Sam he found him exactly where he left him, at the window staring out into the bleak afternoon light. He was nodding off, head lulling from side to side. Jim's heart broke for the kid, it was like Sam was waiting for his mother to come pick him up and take him home.
"Son, lets get you to bed." Jim picked Sam up from where he sat and that's when all hell broke loose. Sam started kicking and screaming, wailing and shaking his head back and forth. Tears streaking his face, hair matted down on his sweaty forehead. Father Beaver was caught off guard and almost dropped Sam on the concrete floors. "Sam! Sam, come on son, it's okay, shh, it's okay." Jim tried to calm Sam down, Sam continued to cry and kick, "I want my mommy! I want my mommy. Tell Heaven to bring her back! Please, please tell them to bring her back."
"Oh God! … I'm so sorry Sam ..." Jim Beaver managed to subdue Sam's flailing limbs, hugging him tight to his chest.
"Please father Jim, tell heaven to bring my mommy back." Sam sniffled in Jim's coat. The small child shaking and sobbing. With silent tears Jim sent a prayer up to the Heavens.
"Father Jim! Are you here?" John Winchester was sweeping the place with his EMF meter and the signals were going haywire. John was concerned, the Chapel felt like a ghost town, and he was afraid that Father Jim wasn't alive. "Jim Beaver!" He yelled again. Dean looked up from where he sat on the floor picking up pieces of pages. "Dad?" He could feel his father's tension and he immediately stood up to go stand by his side, "dad? Is everything okay?"
John had a really bad feeling about things, it didn't feel right. The air felt heavier and it was hard to breathe, which was strange in itself seeing as how it was crisp clean air outside, albeit very bleak, that was blowing into the Chapel. "Everything is fine son. Just stay close to me." John took out his Smith 'n Wesson and held it at the ready. "We need to find Father Beaver. Stay close and keep your eyes peeled. Got it Dean?"
"Yes sir." Dean held fast to his father's leather jacket, something he always did when on a hunt with his dad. It was a method John taught him, a way to give him peace of mind, to know and feel exactly where his son was when he was along for a hunt. Dean kept his eyes peeled as his dad taught him, keeping his head forward but moving his eyes to see around the room and for anything that would try and creep up on them.
Foot steps had John raising his gun and Dean hiding himself behind his father's wide frame.
"Father Jim," John lowered his gun upon seeing his good friend emerge from one of the rooms. "Father Jim, what happened here? Are you okay?"
Dean peeked out from behind his father, smiling as he saw father Jim, a sigh of relief escaping his chest.
"I'm not sure John, but something horrible happened here last night and I'm left believing it was the devil's doing." John noticed how Jim's eyes were squinting, the man looked haggard and worn out, he held a white towel to his head, "are you hurt? … let me take a look at that." Jim waved him off, "I'm fine John, just a little bump to the head. It won't seem to stop bleeding... come, we need to talk and I'm afraid this place isn't safe."
They made their way down a dark corridor and towards a large metal door. On the floor outside the metal door was a pentagram painted in red. John, Jim and Dean crossed the threshold into a medium sized room adorned with a small work table, a cot big enough for one grownup and a metal cabinet, no doubt filled with weapons and arsenal. Jim closed the metal doors and bolted them tight, making sure no one or nothing could enter. Inside Dean spotted something on the cot, it was a small boy sleeping. Dean frowned – what was a little boy doing down here all alone and why did he look so sad? Dean cocked his head to the side, an attempt to try and see the boy's face. He was laying on the cot curled up in a fetal position, face buried in his knees and long shaggy brown hair covering the rest of his face.
"Father Jim, who's that?" John looked up from where he was crouched, checking his duffle for the weapons he brought with him from his car. He noticed the same small figure of the little boy laying on the cot, brows furrowing he stood up and walked over to Jim, whispering so Dean wouldn't hear. "Is that the thing that caused this?" Jim turned his head to look at what John was referring to, "good God no! John he's just a child who just recently lost his only family." John looked at Jim with questioning eyes.
Father Jim let out an exasperated breath, scrubbing a calloused hand over his face, "his mother died last night." Dean gasped. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he lost his mommy. Perhaps lay there in a fetal position like the small boy was.
"How did she die Jim?" John sat down in one of the empty chairs, pulling Dean with him to sit on his lap.
"I'm not sure John. I was locking up, when suddenly I heard this crying and pleading voice. I went to check it out, I opened the door and everything went black. I know there was a sudden storm, an angry storm. I remember praying, hoping that the storm doesn't take any human life in it's wake. Everything else is a bit fuzzy."
"What's the child's mother's name?" John asked, an iron clad grip on his son. He couldn't imagine what the little boy was feeling, he didn't want to imagine what he would do if his precious wife and mother to his son should ever die.
"Her name was Mary Campbell. She was someone who lost her way, but fought to find it once more. She used to come here every Sunday and sit with me, talking and praying. It's truly sad, she was a good person, she did some bad things, but her soul was good. Now, she's dead and I'm not sure how." Jim leaned in to whisper, "all I know is that something ain't right here and that little boy needs protecting."
"Daddy, your hurting me." Dean was squirming in his dad's lap trying to loosen the too tight grip around his waist. "I'm sorry son," John loosened his grip, "why don't you go check see if your old man didn't forget anything important, while me and Father finish talking." John kissed Dean on the top of his head, "dad!" Dean protested which only made John ruffle his hair up and playfully nudge him away.
Dean could feel the on comings of something huge, the way his dad had gripped him when father Jim was talking about the little boy losing the only family he had, losing his mother. His father's tense gaze and furrowing eyebrows, the clenching of his jaw, all signs that John and father Jim were talking about something supernatural, something horrible had happened and it somehow involved the little boy sleeping in the cot.
He couldn't help but stare at the kid, Dean was so curious about what the kid looked like. He couldn't help but hear a couple of things said in John and Jim's whispered conversation, things that had his mind thinking – what if this kid wasn't human, what if he's the reason the Chapel was ruined. Shaking his head, Dean went back to his task at hand, counting the amount of bullets they had and writing them in a notepad for inventory.
"Listen to me John, this storm, that little boy, his mother … I don't know, I mean I'm not sure, but there's something not right here, I can feel it deep inside my bones. John. I've never felt so scared and empty in my life, when I woke up and that little boy was laying on the floor beside me, I knew something horrible had happened. When I saw the state of the Chapel, the air around me... I felt … misery. John I can't help but feel the devil's at play here and somehow that little boy is stuck in the middle of it."
John turned his eyes to see if Dean was in ear shot, satisfied that his boy was doing as he was told, and seemed to be engrossed in it, John turned his attention back to Father Beaver. "Father I understand what you mean, I felt the same way when I walked in here. There was something evil and sinister in the air, made it hard to breath. But the devil? Are you sure? I mean... what does he have to do with Mary and that little boy?"
Jim shook his head, "I'm not sure John, she came to me one night pregnant and crying. She wouldn't tell me what happened, just that her family kicked her out and she had no place to go. I gave her shelter, helped her with finding a job and drove her to the hospital when she went into labor. She never told me who the father was, never told me anything beyond what she told me that night when she came to me lost and afraid. I never pushed. But there was something strange about her and when her son was born, there was-" The sound of Sam screaming erupted through the room, causing the three of them to cover their ears, wincing in pain. "What the hell is that Jim?" John screamed, face contorted in pain. Dean was on the floor screaming for his father while trying his best to shield his head from the quaking of the little boy's screams. "Dad! .. daddy!" John rushed towards his son's screams, but it felt like he was being held back by an invisible force, making it hard for him to accomplish his goal of reaching his son and protecting him. This was exactly what it felt like earlier in the Chapel, only on a much lower scale than this one. "It's okay buddy, hang in there." John finally reached his son in what felt like days of crawling when it was truly just a few seconds. He was panting and sweating, but his resolve to reach his little boy and protect him from whatever this thing was gave him the strength to scoop Dean up in his arms and use his large body to shield him from the onslaught of the little boy's screams.
Father Jim needed to reach Sam, he needed the kid to wake up now before everyone in the room went completely deaf... or worse! His breaths coming out heavy and labored, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead, his hands shaking with the effort to push himself off the floor and make his way to Sam. Jim felt like he was walking through a sand storm covered in mud, while being subjected to the worst siren scream in the history of his hunting life! It was a horrible task, one that had him believing his speculations to be true … the devil was at work here and somehow it involved Sam Campbell.
Sam continued screaming, mouth wide open and face scrunched up in pain, his small hands were fisted in the cotton sheets and his head was thrown back so far it looked like it would snap right of his shoulders. "Mommy! Mommy! NO! NO! Leave her alone! Mommy!" When Jim finally reached Sam's side in what felt like centuries, he did the only thing he felt would stop Sam from his hellish screams and wake him from his horrible nightmare. He slapped him hard across the face, knocking Sam's little frame down on the bed rendering him silent and unconscious.
John uncovered his son's ears and immediately started checking him for any injuries, "son you okay buddy?" John wiped a stray tear from Dean's face, grimacing as he noticed the small amount of blood seeping from his ears. He took a tissue out of his pocket and gently began wiping it away, he was so occupied with making sure his son was alright, John didn't notice he too was bleeding from his ears.
"Son look at me," John searched Dean's eyes for any signs of pain or any abnormalities. Aside from the stray tears and Dean's crinkled up nose, John was satisfied his son wasn't hurt too bad.
"Dad I'm fine... your bleeding." Dean reached up to wipe at the blood staining his father's ear.
"Okay Dean I need you to go sit over there, Father Beaver and I need to check up on something."
Dean nodded and did just as his father instructed. Dean couldn't help but look a bit worried at the small unconscious form laying on the cot, the kid must have had a really bad nightmare to let out such an ear splitting scream. Dean used to have nightmares when he was a kid, but he never could remember any of them, he wonders if this kid will.
Jim Beaver was sitting on his knees at the edge of the cot where Sam lay, his head was bowed in prayer. John's hand squeezing his shoulder had Jim looking up, a haunted look in his eyes. "John... I'm afraid this boy... I'm afraid he's ..." John could tell this was terrifying the man, and even though Jim hadn't said it aloud John suspected what it was Jim was trying to speak. "Father how do we handle this?"
Jim shook his head in dismay, "there's only one way John..." he looked at the small child, his face contorted in fear and pain, small hiccups and moans making his small frame shake. "God help us all." Jim lifted a shaky hand to gently brush a stray strand of Sam's mop of hair away from his forehead. "Forgive me son."
Stull Cemetery, Kansas
"Okay son you stay here, keep the windows up and the doors locked, don't open them and don't leave this car. I mean it Dean, no matter what you hear or see do not leave this car. Got it." John knew he was probably scaring his nine year old, but he needed to make sure Dean would stay safe. Dean nodded, "yessir. Keep the windows up and doors locked and don't leave the car no matter what." John patted his son on the head, "good boy." John closed the door to his 1967 Chevy Impala, gently patted the roof – 'take care of my boy'- and made his way to where Jim was waiting for him. Dean quickly rolled up all the windows and locked all the doors, he couldn't see much of anything on account of it being pitch black, but he could make out the various crosses sticking out from the ground and the creepy looking trees looming over them. Dean couldn't help but search for the little boy, John and father Jim had bundled him up in a blanket and carried his limp body out of the panic room. He wasn't sure where they were taking him, but he had a bad feeling that it wasn't good. There was something wrong with the kid, maybe he was one of those bad creatures he spotted in his dad's books and journal. Dean's mind wandered, his imagination getting the best of him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a sudden growl broke through the silent night. "Get a grip Dean, it's just a dog!" he berated himself. Just to be on the safe side though, Dean grabbed the shot gun filled with salt rounds and crawled across the back seat over the gear shift to sit in the drivers side. Peeking out the window he searched the black night for any signs of anything supernatural. "Mommy's gonna be pissed!"
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do Jim? I mean kill a kid? Are you sure he's-"
"Yes John, I'm sure. Now we have to do this, if we don't he'll grow up and there will be no stopping him then." Jim laid Sam's limp body on the death stricken ground. He knew this was a big risk, bringing Sam Campbell, son of Lucifer to the very place it was said he would rise and take over the land man had roamed. But it was a risk he was willing to take, he would die making sure Sam didn't grow up to fulfill his destiny.
"John hand me that dagger."
The silver dagger was like nothing John had ever seen, and he's been hunting for a long time. "What's this Jim?"
There was a look on Jim's face John couldn't quite make out, "it's a special dagger that kills only the most powerful beings to ever grace our existence. This will make sure Sam Campbell doesn't live to be his father's son." Jim took the dagger from John's hands and slowly raised it above Sam's body.
Sam's eyes snapped open, and before either man could react a bright light flashed through the dark skies.
Back in the impala Dean sat with the shot gun in his lap, the sudden bright light nearly knocked him back, his eyes instinctively closing against the white flash.
Just as the place was bathed in a bright flash, it was quickly plummeted back to pitch black. It took a few minutes for Jim and John to adjust their eye sight to the sudden change from light to dark, and when they finally could see, Sam was gone.
"Daddy!" John spun around to the sound of his sons voice.
"Dean why the hell are you out of the car, I told you to stay put no matter what!" John was sprinting towards his son, it didn't escape him how Dean was rubbing his eyes and stumbling in the dark clutching the sawed off shot gun. "Dean I gave you an order! Why did you leave the car?" Dean just turned around and pointed towards where the impala was hidden. "What is it son, talk to me," John's eyes focused to where Dean was pointing. He scooped Dean up in his arms, slowly backing up to where Jim Beaver's truck was parked, "Father Jim, we need to shag ass... now!"
"He's gone John, Sam is gone! We need to -" John's shouts had Jim snapping out of his panic state where he was searching the ground as if by miracle the boy was still laying there, invisible to the human eyes. "Oh my God!" Jim could see what John was running from and he knew if they didn't get out of dodge fast, it would be their end.
In front of the impala stood Sam Campbell, the five year old boy who lost his mother to the mysterious yet charming young man in a suit with an offer Mary Campbell couldn't refuse. His small form trembling with sadness, loss and fear. White light flashed through the darkness again, and with it the shouts of the distraught five year old, and the barks of the invisible dogs. Blackness covered the skies once more, and with the last flash of bright white light everything and everyone within the vicinity of the large cemetery vanished. Leaving Sam Campbell completely alone.
It was in the dark of night when Lucifer came for his child, it was only a matter of time before he got what was rightfully his.
"Don't worry son, they can't hurt you anymore... come on lets go see your mommy."
Lucifer scooped Sam up into his arms, Sam was still sniffling and hiccuping but his tremors were slowly subsiding. Lucifer gently swiped away a stray tear, and gently brought Sam's forehead to his mouth, placing a soft and loving kiss upon it. Sam snaked his little arms around Lucifer, burying his face in his neck. "Don't worry Sammy, all will be well. You can see your mommy and we'll be one big happy family." Lucifer couldn't help but smile fondly as his son's breathing slowly eased and calmed, warm on his neck. "Sleep... and when you wake up, the world will be yours for the taking."
With one last satisfied glance towards the empty, death stricken land Lucifer and his son disappeared into the darkness. The sound of hellhounds echoing through the air.
To Be Continued...