Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
When he seeth the blood upon the lintel, and on the two side posts, the Lord will pass over the door, and will not suffer the destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you. Exodus 12:23 — King James Version
War didn’t exactly destroy Dean Winchester. No, he was broken long before. Or so he would say later. When he returned home that day, trudging through a cloud of late September dust on the high road into Falls, he didn’t say anything at all.
Droves of shirtless schoolboys in rolled up trousers accosted him and demanded facts. Where had he fought? What was his weapon? Did he kill a demon prince? Did angels really look like dragons? Everyone said so but didn't it seem like the demons should be shaped that way instead? Why’d he leave before it was over? They heard of an ambush at Deerfish. That was only thirty miles away. Whole valley turned to coal and salt, people were saying. Had he seen it?
Dean grimaced and shooed them away. He wasn’t a goddamn newspaper, he told them, and they scattered, whooping like the black-eyed men running from the sheriffs in all those penny-curtain shows. He didn't tell them that angels weren't real. Or that by the time you saw black eyes you were done for. They'd lose their innocence soon enough.
Ellen, the innkeeper, managed to wheedle a story out of him with the assistance of a friendly serving of lemonade. It fell out in jagged bits, and it wasn’t much of a tale.
Where had he been keeping himself for the past four years?
Dean was at the Battle of Burning Field. Yup, right in the damn middle of the mess.
Was it all decided now at least?
No, there hadn’t been much of a winner to speak of. Maybe someone else would know. He only saw what was right in front of him and that weren’t much most days. They were holding the Line. The Line hadn’t moved. That’s all he knew.
Speaking of, had Dean heard tell of anything about Matthew? Aaron? My girl Jo? Went up to join the Alpha girl’s medic brigade last summer?
No Ma’am. Sorry, it was real crowded over there. Lotta boys and not a lot of time to socialize. Sure, like as not the letters from the front were delayed. S’pose Jo ain’t got time to write, not with the casualties being what they are.
It’s too bad, really. People out there dyin’ and Falls boys dyin’ when they’d be safe enough at home. That’s the Deal, and maybe they oughta be more grateful for it. Was Dean feelin’ grateful enough to sit his ass down and plant some roots?
Yes, Dean meant to stay this time. Was Bobby still up to his elbows in torn-up tin lizzies over at the Yard?
Of course. Where else would that old rascal go? Other than saving Rufus from one tight spot or another.
Dean would take his leave then, please and thank you Ma’am. Mighty grateful for the refreshments.
But did he need a hand? Seemed like he favored his left foot too much for comfort. Was he sure? Ellen could probably wrangle a horse from someone unsuspecting or generous.
No, it wasn’t worth the trouble or the felony, but she was real nice to offer. Maybe he could return the favor some time.
Bobby didn’t bother with the same niceties. That was the important thing and maybe the best thing about the old Beta mechanic. As soon as he knew what nonsense a fellow was about - good or bad - they got his honest opinion on the matter. No cushioned replies. No long roundabout ways of saying “Get lost.” Just a loaded shotgun and a three-second warning when the situation called for it. As it was, Bobby did what no one else in their little town would dare to do. He hugged Dean tight before he even started the demon sickness tests. Bobby knew his boy too well to be fooled. One good hug wasn't near enough to make Dean talk, but when Bobby pulled away after a long moment, Dean could breathe again.
He kept breathing until the fog rolled in.