Fic: Wayward Son
Sep. 6th, 2012 09:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wyndewalkerTitle: Wayward Son
Author: Wyndewalker
Xover Fandom: Supernatural
Series: Karaoke
Summary : Sam suggests a guy who might be able to point them towards the yellow-eyed demon.
Challenge: twistedshorts August-Fic-A-Day
Authors note: This takes place Season 1 of Supernatural and post series for Angel and Buffy. I’ve decided Lorne reopened Caritas in the same place after Angel the Series ended. And I know Wendigo took place in Blackwater, Minnesota but I moved it to the general Lake Tahoe area for the sake of the story.
Rating: R for some bad language
Word Count: 2,721 words according to Word
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All rights belong to their owners and I merely borrow the characters for your amusement.
“What do you think we should do next?” Sam asked, waving goodbye to Haley and Ben as they pulled away from the park.
Dean shrugged. “We do what Dad would want. Find another hunt while we keep looking for him. It’s a no-brainer, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam, jerk, and I don’t think it’s a no-brainer. What makes you so sure this is what Dad would want? I mean what makes you think he even wants to be found?”
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean demanded. “Weren’t you the one who was all gung-ho to hunt down and kill that yellow eyed son of a bitch who killed Mom and Jess?”
“Yeah and I still am but, Dean, Dad’s been hunting this thing for over twenty years and he hasn’t found it yet. Now he’s gone and disappeared.”
“And? What? You want to just sit around twiddling your thumbs waiting for Dad or the demon to show up with all the answers? It doesn’t work like that.”
“I know that,” Sam huffed frustrated, “but aren’t you tired of just blindly following Dad’s orders, hoping that this is the hunt that will finally lead us to the yellow eyed demon?”
“No. I’m not,” Dean growled. “Yeah, it would be nice to finally take out old yellow eyes but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop hunting, Sammy. There are a lot of evil sons of bitches out there and every one of them I kill means at least one person will get to live their lives without being touched by this shit. That’s why I hunt, Sammy. Killing demons saves lives. So, no, I’m not tired of this. We’ll look for Dad. We’ll look for the yellow eyed demon and while we’re doing that we’ll kill every demon we can in the meantime. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sam agreed after a moment, feeling a little stunned by the passion behind Dean’s words.
“Okay,” Dean echoed gruffly. Before anything else could be said he reached forward turning on the radio. The Impala was filled with the sound of Def Leppard.
Sam let it go for a couple of songs knowing how much his brother hated anything that could be labeled a chick moment. He’d been surprised by what Dean had said. He’d always assumed that his brother hunted for the same reason their dad did: to avenge the death of their mother. Dean had known her, had four years to know her love. Sam had never had that. For him their mother was an idea, a concept, rather than an actual person. Now to find out his brother hunted less for vengeance and more to prevent others from going through what he had…
His brother was a hero.
“I’m hot, sticky sweet,” Dean belted out along with the music, grinning at Sam. “From my head to my feet, yeah! Sing it, Sammy!”
Sam shook his head. Yeah, he was a hero but he was still a jackass.
Sing it, Sammy. That phrase stirred a memory in Sam giving him an idea but how to sell it to Dean? Better not tell him everything. At least not until he had to. Reaching forward, he turned off the radio.
“Hey!” Dean frowned. “You know the rules. Driver picks the music.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll turn it back on in a minute. I wanted to make a suggestion.”
“Uh-huh. What kind of suggestion?”
“I don’t disagree with the idea of taking hunts while we look for Dad and the demon. I’m just thinking what if there was a way to maybe get some information to point us in the right direction?”
“I’d say what make you think you could have a source that Dad hasn’t already shaken down? And why haven’t you mentioned it before?”
“I don’t know if Dad would have known about this guy or been willing to trust him if he did.”
“Then why should we? What kind of source is this, Sammy?”
“The summer between sophomore and junior year at Stanford me, Jess, Luis and his girlfriend at the time took a road trip, driving the Pacific Coast Highway. We spent a few days in LA. One night we ended up at this club. The guy who runs it is, well, he can tell the future. It’s not perfect and he doesn’t see everything, just the ‘highlights’ as he puts it.”
“Some dude who runs a nightclub in LA can see the future. Sure, Sammy. Just how drunk were you?”
“Ha ha. I wasn’t. I’m serious, Dean. This guy is legit. He was really accurate with the things he told Luis and Jess. I,” Sam swallowed, “I think he may have told Jess she’d die if she stayed with me.”
“What makes you think that?” Dean asked quietly.
“We broke up for about a week shortly after that. Jess was the one to break it off. When she came back she made a comment that I hadn’t really paid attention to at the time but… She said something like, screw the future. It’s what we make it.”
“That could have meant anything. What’d this guy have to say to you? I bet that was interesting.”
“I didn’t do it.” Sam shrugged at Dean’s look. “I was afraid he’d tell me I’d never have a normal life.”
Dean contemplated that for a moment, his gaze fixed on the road ahead of them, before glancing over at Sam. “You really think this guy is the real deal?”
“I really do.”
“LA is about a nine hour drive from here.”
“Dad’s driven farther for even less of a rumor about the demon.”
“Alright, we’ll give this guy a try but I reserve the right to make a lot of bad jokes.”
“I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Sam muttered.
“So, is this guy named John Edwards?” Dean smirked.
“Just drive, jerk.”
“Bitch,” was the happy retort.
********
Close to twenty four hour later they pulled into the parking garage down the street from the club. They could have been there sooner but Sam insisted they stop for food and sleep first. He didn’t even want to contemplate a sleep-deprived Dean inside Caritas. Before he could get out Sam grabbed Dean’s arm.
“You can only bring one knife with you, Dean. You’ll have to give it up at the door, there’s a very strict no-violence policy, but I won’t ask you to go unarmed between here and there.”
“What the hell kind of place is this, Sammy?”
“Neutral ground. Anyone who walks through the door is safe while they’re in there. Please trust me, Dean.”
“I will make you run behind the car if anything happens.”
“Nothing will happen. I promise.” Sam figured it would be better to explain the anti-violence wards after they were inside. Dean grumbled but left everything except one knife in the Impala’s trunk. The closer they got to the club the more Dean frowned. They were almost to the door when he began to balk.
“Is this some kind of weird Hollywood costume bar or something, Sammy, because that guy looked a lot like a…”
“Yes, it’s a costume bar,” Sam agreed hurriedly, grabbing Dean’s arm to drag him the last few steps. “Don’t worry. It’s all Hollywood makeup.”
“But…”
“Please hand over all weapons on your person, sir,” the bouncer just inside the door politely asked. Dean stared. The guy was easily twice as wide and a solid foot taller than Sam. And his skin was a dusky purple color. “Caritas has very strict anti-violence wards so you wouldn’t be able to use your knife anyway but after we had a Grshak use his sword to filet his food we prefer to not let any weapons in at all. It will be returned to you when you leave.”
“Sam,” Dean growled.
“Please, Dean.”
Dean huffed but handed it over. He regretted it a moment later when they walked into the club proper. Everywhere he looked there were demons. A few people that could be human unless they were possessed.
“Sam.”
“It’s safe. I promise, Dean,” Sam quickly guided his brother over to an empty table and forced him into a chair. Sam had barely sat down himself when the Host was at their table. It was only Sam’s grip on his arm that kept Dean from bolting at the sight of the green-skinned, red eyed and horned demon.
“Lambchop,” the Host practically gushed. “I didn’t think I’d see you back here. How’s the lovely Jessica?”
“Dead,” Sam said quietly, his suspicions confirmed when the Host looked crestfallen. “You knew.”
“It was a good possibility. I told her what I saw but in the end it was up to her what she did with the information.” The Host gestured to the bartender who brought over two bottles of beer and a blue drink for the Host. “First round is on me. So who’s this handsome drink of water?”
“You don’t know?” Dean snarked. “Sammy said you were some kind of psychic. Shouldn’t you just know who I am?”
“You didn’t tell him?” The Host looked at Sam who shrugged.
“I had a hard enough time getting him in here. I knew if he knew certain facts ahead of time he’d never agree. Dean, this is the Host. Host, this is my brother Dean.”
“Sammy.”
“Please call me Lorne. It’s like this sugarplum,” Lorne said sitting down across from Dean. “I can read the highlights of your future but only if you sing for me.” He gestured towards the currently empty stage. “I think it’s because I come from a dimension with no music. Who knows. Most of the time the future I see can be changed if you want to and you work at it. Every now and then an event is immutable. You might be able to change the how but not the end result. I’m not always the bearer of bad news. Seventy-five percent of my clients get good news actually, but I don’t have control over what I see. Believe me I really wish I did some times. Which one of you is going to sing for us tonight?”
“I am not getting up there,” Dean insisted.
“Please, Dean.”
“No.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Fine.”
Facing off, they each smacked there right fist into their left palm three times before displaying their choice. Dean’s hand was fisted while Sam’s was held flat. Paper covered rock.
“Two out of three?” Dean suggested.
“Dude.”
“Fine,” Dean grumbled. Shrugging out of his jacket, he looked at Lorne. “What do I do?”
“Just go on up and announce which song you plan to sing. The system is run by magic so it knows any song you might pick.”
Still grumbling he got to his feet. He grabbed what looked like a shot of whiskey off the tray of a passing waiter and downed it before Lorne could stop him. His face turned bright red and he coughed several times letting out puffs of smoke.
“What the hell was that?” He demanded.
“Firewhiskey. We serve more than just Earth based alcohol.”
“Right. Uh-huh.” Dean squared his shoulders and marched up to the stage. Lorne glanced over at Sam.
“You knew what he’d choose in your little game.”
“Yep,” Sam grinned. “Dean always picks rock. Has ever since we were kids.”
Lorne chuckled. Dean reached the stage tentatively stepping up to the microphone.
“Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC.” A second later the music started. There was about thirty seconds of instrumental giving Dean time to get over his nervousness and into the groove of the music. When the vocals started he was ready, growling into the microphone.
The moment Dean started singing Lorne moaned clutching his head. He bent over practically double from the force of what he was seeing. He barely noticed when a glass and several pills were pushed into his hands. He downed them both without a second thought, holding the glass up for a refill which he drank just as quickly.
By the time Dean finished rocking out on stage Lorne was practically comatose and Sam was afraid to find out just how bad it was going to be. Returning to the table, Dean stared at Lorne then looked at Sam. “Dad’s dead, isn’t he?”
“No,” Lorne managed. “Poppa Winchester is alive and well for the time being. You,” he pointed at same. “Hum something. Anything. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for all I care. Just hum. Don’t sing.”
Giving Dean a wide-eyed look, Sam did as instructed. He barely got out a dozen notes before Lorne was waving him silent. Lorne staggered to his feet.
“Come with me you two.” He led them to his office where he proceeded to dig out a bottle of prescription pills, downing two followed by a full glass of whiskey. He refilled the glass then dropped into his desk chair. “Sit.”
"How bad is it?” Sam finally asked. “Which one of us dies?”
Lorne laughed hysterically, taking several minutes to pull himself back together.
“Let’s put it his way, lambchop,” he finally managed. “If they handed out frequent flyer miles for trips to the afterlife the two of you would have enough points to book an entire 747 every day for a decade and still have points to spare. The two of you treat dying like it’s a weekend trip to the beach.” He took a steadying breath.
“Here’s the deal,” he snorted at his own bad pun. “This yellow eyed demon you’ve been hunting, he’s just the beginning. Yes, you’ll stop him but on your current path Sammy-boy dies, you sell your soul to bring him back, the Gate to Hell is opened long enough to let out some really bad demons. You go to Hell, Dean, and an angel brings you back but not before the End of Days is started. We’re talking Biblical apocalypse, not just your everyday one. The Four Horsemen and Satan himself will walk the Earth.”
The two brothers stared at him shell-shocked as he gulped down more whiskey. They hadn’t really expected good news but this… They were going to be responsible for Hell on Earth.
“How… Can we stop it?”
“God, I hope so,” Lorne muttered. He pulled out a pen and paper, scribbling down a name and phone number before passing it to Sam. “First, no deals with demons.” He seemed to rethink that. “No deals with demons who have yellow or black eyes and have to possess someone to affect anything. Second, the dead need to stay dead. I’m sorry but that’s important. Third, call that number. Ask to talk to one of the Scoobies. They’ll know who I’m talking about. Tell them Lorne sent you. They’ve dealt with apocalypses and can tell you why resurrections are a really bad idea. Do me a favor? Tell Mario on your way out that I won’t be doing any more readings tonight.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed getting to his feet, understanding they were being dismissed.
“What? That’s it? Just, hey, you’re going to cause the end of the world, call these people, good luck? You don’t have any details? No instructions on how to stop it?” Dean demanded.
“Be grateful I’m lucid enough to tell you as much as I have, Winchester,” Lorne snarled. “I’ve already given you some pretty good advice. Don’t sell your soul and you’ve got a pretty good chance of preventing this whole mess.”
“Dean,” Sam hissed when he started to open his mouth again. “I’m sorry, Lorne. It’s just…”
“I get it. Believe me, I do. I’ve seen it.” Lorne tapped his temple with and unsteady finger. “Once my brain has stopped trying to dribble out my ears I’ll write down what details I can and send it to the Council. Call them. They can help you. Destroying prophecies and stopping the end of the world is what they do.”
“Thank you. We appreciate everything you’ve told us,” Sam said pushing Dean out the door. Lorne waved him off.
“Oh,” he called, “don’t trust a thing Ruby says. Stick her knife in her the first chance you get.”
“Uhm, sure” Sam agreed pulling the door closed behind him.
“I really need to put up that sign saying superheroes, do-gooders and white hats aren’t welcome here,” Lorne muttered pressing his glass to his forehead. “Save myself some headaches.”
Finis
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All rights belong to their owners and I merely borrow the characters for your amusement.
“What do you think we should do next?” Sam asked, waving goodbye to Haley and Ben as they pulled away from the park.
Dean shrugged. “We do what Dad would want. Find another hunt while we keep looking for him. It’s a no-brainer, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam, jerk, and I don’t think it’s a no-brainer. What makes you so sure this is what Dad would want? I mean what makes you think he even wants to be found?”
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean demanded. “Weren’t you the one who was all gung-ho to hunt down and kill that yellow eyed son of a bitch who killed Mom and Jess?”
“Yeah and I still am but, Dean, Dad’s been hunting this thing for over twenty years and he hasn’t found it yet. Now he’s gone and disappeared.”
“And? What? You want to just sit around twiddling your thumbs waiting for Dad or the demon to show up with all the answers? It doesn’t work like that.”
“I know that,” Sam huffed frustrated, “but aren’t you tired of just blindly following Dad’s orders, hoping that this is the hunt that will finally lead us to the yellow eyed demon?”
“No. I’m not,” Dean growled. “Yeah, it would be nice to finally take out old yellow eyes but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop hunting, Sammy. There are a lot of evil sons of bitches out there and every one of them I kill means at least one person will get to live their lives without being touched by this shit. That’s why I hunt, Sammy. Killing demons saves lives. So, no, I’m not tired of this. We’ll look for Dad. We’ll look for the yellow eyed demon and while we’re doing that we’ll kill every demon we can in the meantime. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sam agreed after a moment, feeling a little stunned by the passion behind Dean’s words.
“Okay,” Dean echoed gruffly. Before anything else could be said he reached forward turning on the radio. The Impala was filled with the sound of Def Leppard.
Sam let it go for a couple of songs knowing how much his brother hated anything that could be labeled a chick moment. He’d been surprised by what Dean had said. He’d always assumed that his brother hunted for the same reason their dad did: to avenge the death of their mother. Dean had known her, had four years to know her love. Sam had never had that. For him their mother was an idea, a concept, rather than an actual person. Now to find out his brother hunted less for vengeance and more to prevent others from going through what he had…
His brother was a hero.
“I’m hot, sticky sweet,” Dean belted out along with the music, grinning at Sam. “From my head to my feet, yeah! Sing it, Sammy!”
Sam shook his head. Yeah, he was a hero but he was still a jackass.
Sing it, Sammy. That phrase stirred a memory in Sam giving him an idea but how to sell it to Dean? Better not tell him everything. At least not until he had to. Reaching forward, he turned off the radio.
“Hey!” Dean frowned. “You know the rules. Driver picks the music.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll turn it back on in a minute. I wanted to make a suggestion.”
“Uh-huh. What kind of suggestion?”
“I don’t disagree with the idea of taking hunts while we look for Dad and the demon. I’m just thinking what if there was a way to maybe get some information to point us in the right direction?”
“I’d say what make you think you could have a source that Dad hasn’t already shaken down? And why haven’t you mentioned it before?”
“I don’t know if Dad would have known about this guy or been willing to trust him if he did.”
“Then why should we? What kind of source is this, Sammy?”
“The summer between sophomore and junior year at Stanford me, Jess, Luis and his girlfriend at the time took a road trip, driving the Pacific Coast Highway. We spent a few days in LA. One night we ended up at this club. The guy who runs it is, well, he can tell the future. It’s not perfect and he doesn’t see everything, just the ‘highlights’ as he puts it.”
“Some dude who runs a nightclub in LA can see the future. Sure, Sammy. Just how drunk were you?”
“Ha ha. I wasn’t. I’m serious, Dean. This guy is legit. He was really accurate with the things he told Luis and Jess. I,” Sam swallowed, “I think he may have told Jess she’d die if she stayed with me.”
“What makes you think that?” Dean asked quietly.
“We broke up for about a week shortly after that. Jess was the one to break it off. When she came back she made a comment that I hadn’t really paid attention to at the time but… She said something like, screw the future. It’s what we make it.”
“That could have meant anything. What’d this guy have to say to you? I bet that was interesting.”
“I didn’t do it.” Sam shrugged at Dean’s look. “I was afraid he’d tell me I’d never have a normal life.”
Dean contemplated that for a moment, his gaze fixed on the road ahead of them, before glancing over at Sam. “You really think this guy is the real deal?”
“I really do.”
“LA is about a nine hour drive from here.”
“Dad’s driven farther for even less of a rumor about the demon.”
“Alright, we’ll give this guy a try but I reserve the right to make a lot of bad jokes.”
“I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Sam muttered.
“So, is this guy named John Edwards?” Dean smirked.
“Just drive, jerk.”
“Bitch,” was the happy retort.
********
Close to twenty four hour later they pulled into the parking garage down the street from the club. They could have been there sooner but Sam insisted they stop for food and sleep first. He didn’t even want to contemplate a sleep-deprived Dean inside Caritas. Before he could get out Sam grabbed Dean’s arm.
“You can only bring one knife with you, Dean. You’ll have to give it up at the door, there’s a very strict no-violence policy, but I won’t ask you to go unarmed between here and there.”
“What the hell kind of place is this, Sammy?”
“Neutral ground. Anyone who walks through the door is safe while they’re in there. Please trust me, Dean.”
“I will make you run behind the car if anything happens.”
“Nothing will happen. I promise.” Sam figured it would be better to explain the anti-violence wards after they were inside. Dean grumbled but left everything except one knife in the Impala’s trunk. The closer they got to the club the more Dean frowned. They were almost to the door when he began to balk.
“Is this some kind of weird Hollywood costume bar or something, Sammy, because that guy looked a lot like a…”
“Yes, it’s a costume bar,” Sam agreed hurriedly, grabbing Dean’s arm to drag him the last few steps. “Don’t worry. It’s all Hollywood makeup.”
“But…”
“Please hand over all weapons on your person, sir,” the bouncer just inside the door politely asked. Dean stared. The guy was easily twice as wide and a solid foot taller than Sam. And his skin was a dusky purple color. “Caritas has very strict anti-violence wards so you wouldn’t be able to use your knife anyway but after we had a Grshak use his sword to filet his food we prefer to not let any weapons in at all. It will be returned to you when you leave.”
“Sam,” Dean growled.
“Please, Dean.”
Dean huffed but handed it over. He regretted it a moment later when they walked into the club proper. Everywhere he looked there were demons. A few people that could be human unless they were possessed.
“Sam.”
“It’s safe. I promise, Dean,” Sam quickly guided his brother over to an empty table and forced him into a chair. Sam had barely sat down himself when the Host was at their table. It was only Sam’s grip on his arm that kept Dean from bolting at the sight of the green-skinned, red eyed and horned demon.
“Lambchop,” the Host practically gushed. “I didn’t think I’d see you back here. How’s the lovely Jessica?”
“Dead,” Sam said quietly, his suspicions confirmed when the Host looked crestfallen. “You knew.”
“It was a good possibility. I told her what I saw but in the end it was up to her what she did with the information.” The Host gestured to the bartender who brought over two bottles of beer and a blue drink for the Host. “First round is on me. So who’s this handsome drink of water?”
“You don’t know?” Dean snarked. “Sammy said you were some kind of psychic. Shouldn’t you just know who I am?”
“You didn’t tell him?” The Host looked at Sam who shrugged.
“I had a hard enough time getting him in here. I knew if he knew certain facts ahead of time he’d never agree. Dean, this is the Host. Host, this is my brother Dean.”
“Sammy.”
“Please call me Lorne. It’s like this sugarplum,” Lorne said sitting down across from Dean. “I can read the highlights of your future but only if you sing for me.” He gestured towards the currently empty stage. “I think it’s because I come from a dimension with no music. Who knows. Most of the time the future I see can be changed if you want to and you work at it. Every now and then an event is immutable. You might be able to change the how but not the end result. I’m not always the bearer of bad news. Seventy-five percent of my clients get good news actually, but I don’t have control over what I see. Believe me I really wish I did some times. Which one of you is going to sing for us tonight?”
“I am not getting up there,” Dean insisted.
“Please, Dean.”
“No.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Fine.”
Facing off, they each smacked there right fist into their left palm three times before displaying their choice. Dean’s hand was fisted while Sam’s was held flat. Paper covered rock.
“Two out of three?” Dean suggested.
“Dude.”
“Fine,” Dean grumbled. Shrugging out of his jacket, he looked at Lorne. “What do I do?”
“Just go on up and announce which song you plan to sing. The system is run by magic so it knows any song you might pick.”
Still grumbling he got to his feet. He grabbed what looked like a shot of whiskey off the tray of a passing waiter and downed it before Lorne could stop him. His face turned bright red and he coughed several times letting out puffs of smoke.
“What the hell was that?” He demanded.
“Firewhiskey. We serve more than just Earth based alcohol.”
“Right. Uh-huh.” Dean squared his shoulders and marched up to the stage. Lorne glanced over at Sam.
“You knew what he’d choose in your little game.”
“Yep,” Sam grinned. “Dean always picks rock. Has ever since we were kids.”
Lorne chuckled. Dean reached the stage tentatively stepping up to the microphone.
“Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC.” A second later the music started. There was about thirty seconds of instrumental giving Dean time to get over his nervousness and into the groove of the music. When the vocals started he was ready, growling into the microphone.
The moment Dean started singing Lorne moaned clutching his head. He bent over practically double from the force of what he was seeing. He barely noticed when a glass and several pills were pushed into his hands. He downed them both without a second thought, holding the glass up for a refill which he drank just as quickly.
By the time Dean finished rocking out on stage Lorne was practically comatose and Sam was afraid to find out just how bad it was going to be. Returning to the table, Dean stared at Lorne then looked at Sam. “Dad’s dead, isn’t he?”
“No,” Lorne managed. “Poppa Winchester is alive and well for the time being. You,” he pointed at same. “Hum something. Anything. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for all I care. Just hum. Don’t sing.”
Giving Dean a wide-eyed look, Sam did as instructed. He barely got out a dozen notes before Lorne was waving him silent. Lorne staggered to his feet.
“Come with me you two.” He led them to his office where he proceeded to dig out a bottle of prescription pills, downing two followed by a full glass of whiskey. He refilled the glass then dropped into his desk chair. “Sit.”
"How bad is it?” Sam finally asked. “Which one of us dies?”
Lorne laughed hysterically, taking several minutes to pull himself back together.
“Let’s put it his way, lambchop,” he finally managed. “If they handed out frequent flyer miles for trips to the afterlife the two of you would have enough points to book an entire 747 every day for a decade and still have points to spare. The two of you treat dying like it’s a weekend trip to the beach.” He took a steadying breath.
“Here’s the deal,” he snorted at his own bad pun. “This yellow eyed demon you’ve been hunting, he’s just the beginning. Yes, you’ll stop him but on your current path Sammy-boy dies, you sell your soul to bring him back, the Gate to Hell is opened long enough to let out some really bad demons. You go to Hell, Dean, and an angel brings you back but not before the End of Days is started. We’re talking Biblical apocalypse, not just your everyday one. The Four Horsemen and Satan himself will walk the Earth.”
The two brothers stared at him shell-shocked as he gulped down more whiskey. They hadn’t really expected good news but this… They were going to be responsible for Hell on Earth.
“How… Can we stop it?”
“God, I hope so,” Lorne muttered. He pulled out a pen and paper, scribbling down a name and phone number before passing it to Sam. “First, no deals with demons.” He seemed to rethink that. “No deals with demons who have yellow or black eyes and have to possess someone to affect anything. Second, the dead need to stay dead. I’m sorry but that’s important. Third, call that number. Ask to talk to one of the Scoobies. They’ll know who I’m talking about. Tell them Lorne sent you. They’ve dealt with apocalypses and can tell you why resurrections are a really bad idea. Do me a favor? Tell Mario on your way out that I won’t be doing any more readings tonight.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed getting to his feet, understanding they were being dismissed.
“What? That’s it? Just, hey, you’re going to cause the end of the world, call these people, good luck? You don’t have any details? No instructions on how to stop it?” Dean demanded.
“Be grateful I’m lucid enough to tell you as much as I have, Winchester,” Lorne snarled. “I’ve already given you some pretty good advice. Don’t sell your soul and you’ve got a pretty good chance of preventing this whole mess.”
“Dean,” Sam hissed when he started to open his mouth again. “I’m sorry, Lorne. It’s just…”
“I get it. Believe me, I do. I’ve seen it.” Lorne tapped his temple with and unsteady finger. “Once my brain has stopped trying to dribble out my ears I’ll write down what details I can and send it to the Council. Call them. They can help you. Destroying prophecies and stopping the end of the world is what they do.”
“Thank you. We appreciate everything you’ve told us,” Sam said pushing Dean out the door. Lorne waved him off.
“Oh,” he called, “don’t trust a thing Ruby says. Stick her knife in her the first chance you get.”
“Uhm, sure” Sam agreed pulling the door closed behind him.
“I really need to put up that sign saying superheroes, do-gooders and white hats aren’t welcome here,” Lorne muttered pressing his glass to his forehead. “Save myself some headaches.”
Finis
