LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 24: Hope
Singer Salvage, South Dakota -- 1997 (One Week After the Columbus Hunt)
I can't stop replaying it in my mind. A demon - an actual demon - not just exorcised, but destroyed. Hunters have been fighting these black-eyed bastards for centuries, always knowing we could only send them back to Hell. Never end them completely.
Until now.
"Run it by me again," Bobby says, pouring more whiskey. It's his fourth time asking, but I understand why. This changes everything.
"The sword," I explain, watching Dean clean the weapon in question across the yard. "When it cut through the smoke, the demon didn't just get sent back. It burned. Actually burned out of existence."
"Impossible," Bobby mutters, but we both know what happened. News is already spreading through hunter channels. Three calls today alone, veterans wanting to confirm the rumors.
A Winchester killed a demon. Permanently.
"That blade of his," Bobby nods toward Dean. "Jim says it's old. Real old. But this..."
"I know." I take another drink. "And that's not all. The demon knew things, Bobby. About my father, Henry. Called him a Man of Letters."
Sam's reading on Bobby's porch, looking more tired than usual this past week. Probably from all the excitement. Dean hasn't stopped grinning since Columbus, proud of his first demon hunt. But something's nagging at me...
"John," Bobby's voice gets serious. "You realize what this means? Every demon topside is gonna hear about this. They'll come looking."
"Let them," I say, but my hand tightens on the glass. "We found a way to kill them. Actually kill them."
My boys are changing the game. Dean with that sacred sword, becoming something more than just another hunter.
Though sometimes, when the headaches aren't so bad, I wonder about those other demons in the factory. The ones that fled from... something.
The phone rings again - Caleb this time. Word's spreading faster than I expected.
"John Winchester, you son of a bitch," his voice crackles with excitement. "Tell me it's true. Tell me your boy actually ganked one of those black-eyed bastards."
"It's true," I confirm, pride mixing with caution. "But Caleb, keep it quiet about-"
"Quiet?" He laughs. "John, every hunter from here to Texas is talking about it. First time in recorded history a demon's been actually killed, not just sent back downstairs."
I watch Dean through Bobby's window, still practicing with that sword. Each movement more confident than the last, like the weapon's teaching him things no human could.
"The other hunters," Bobby says after I hang up. "They'll want to know how."
"Let them wonder," I reply, but we both know it's not that simple. Hunters are already starting to gather, drawn by the news. Three trucks parked outside Bobby's gate right now, more probably on the way.
Sam looks up from his book, something unreadable in his expression. He's been quiet since Columbus, but that's Sam - always thinking, always watching.
"You know what this means," Bobby pours another round. "Everything we thought we knew about demons... all the lore saying they can't be killed..."
"Was wrong," I finish. My boys just rewrote centuries of hunter knowledge. Dean with that impossible sword, and Sam...
The headache starts again, right when I try to remember exactly what happened in that factory. How did those other demons just smoke out all at once? What scared them so badly?
But before I can chase that thought, another car pulls up outside. More hunters coming to hear the story, to see the boy who killed what couldn't be killed.
"Dad?" Dean calls from the yard. "Got more company."
I stand, pushing the headache aside. Time to manage this situation before it gets out of hand. But I can't help feeling proud - my son just changed the hunting world forever.
Even if I'm not entirely sure how he did it.
The crowd at Bobby's grows by sundown. Joshua, Martin, a couple of hunters I barely know - all drawn by the story. Dean shows them the sword, carefully wrapped but humming with that strange energy.
"But how'd you know it would work?" Martin asks, eyeing the weapon like it might bite.
"I didn't," Dean admits. "It just... knew what to do."
I watch the gathered hunters, noting their reactions. Some skeptical, some almost reverent. Can't blame them - we've all lost people to demons, watched them smoke out and knowing they'd just possess someone else.
Not anymore.
"John," Joshua pulls me aside. "That demon... before it died. You said it mentioned the Men of Letters?"
Something pulses behind my eyes - another headache starting. "Yeah. Said something about my father, Henry. But I never knew him, he disappeared when I was kid."
"Might be worth looking into," Joshua suggests. "If your family's got some connection to-"
A crash from Bobby's study interrupts us. Sam knocked over some books, looking pale.
"You okay there, son?" I call out.
"Fine," he answers quickly. Too quickly maybe, but before I can press, more hunters arrive.
The story gets told again and again. Each time, I notice new details:
- How the sword moved almost on its own
- The way the demon recognized our bloodline
- That moment when all the others fled in terror
But something's missing. Something about shadows and cold and...
The headache spikes. I lose the thought.
"Your boy's gonna be famous," Bobby mutters, watching Dean demonstrate the sword's weight to an attentive audience. "Might not be a good thing."
He's right. Fame in the hunting world is usually fatal. But this... this is different. This is hope.
For the first time, we can fight demons on equal ground. Better than equal - we can end them.
All thanks to my sons.
Though sometimes, when the pain in my head gets bad enough, I wonder if I'm missing something important about that night.
Something about Sam...
Night falls, but the hunters keep coming. Bobby's house hasn't seen this many people since... well, ever. Pastor Jim arrives just after sunset, his expression troubled as he watches Dean demonstrate the sword's abilities.
"Jim," I greet him. "You knew about this? When you gave him the sword?"
He shakes his head slowly. "That's what concerns me, John. I've had that blade for decades. It was blessed, yes. Special, certainly. But this..." He gestures to where Dean is showing the weapon's gleam to fascinated hunters. "It never had this capability before."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying maybe it's not just the sword." Jim's eyes follow Dean's movements. "Maybe it's Dean himself. Something in him that... changed the weapon. Enhanced it."
The headache pulses behind my eyes. Something about that feels significant - about Dean changing things, about power that shouldn't be possible...
"Changed it?" I keep my voice low, though the gathered hunters are too focused on Dean's demonstration to listen. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know," Jim admits. "But that sword... I've used it myself against demons before. It could hurt them, yes, but destroy them completely? Never."
He watches Dean handle the blade with growing confidence. "Something about your boy awakened something in it. Or perhaps..."
"Perhaps what?"
"Perhaps something in Dean awakened to match the sword."
The headache spikes again. Images flash - Dean's sword blazing with impossible light, shadows moving wrong, power that felt older than the blade itself...
"John?" Bobby joins us, concern in his gruff voice. "You're looking pale."
"Dad?" Sam's voice breaks through the pain. He's standing in Bobby's doorway, looking worried. "Maybe you should rest. You don't look good."
He's right. The headaches are getting worse, especially when I try to remember certain things. Like what really happened in that factory. Like why those other demons ran...
"John Winchester!" A new voice booms across the yard. Daniel Elkins, of all people. Haven't seen him in years. "Let me see this demon-killing blade of yours!"
Dean starts another demonstration again, the gathered hunters watching with fierce attention. My boy, changing everything we thought we knew about fighting evil.
But Sam... Sam just watches from the shadows of Bobby's porch, something old and tired in his eyes.
"It's fine," I lie. "Just trying to understand. Jim, you're saying Dean did this? Changed a blessed blade into something that can kill demons?"
"The sword was always special," Jim says carefully. "But now? Now it's responding to Dean like it's found its true wielder. Like it was waiting for him."
More hunters arrive - word spreading faster than I thought possible. They gather around Dean, hope replacing the worn-down look most hunters carry. For the first time, we have a real weapon against demons.
But if Jim's right, if it's not just the sword but something in Dean himself...
"Your boy's special, John," Jim says quietly. "Maybe in ways we don't fully understand yet."
The headache threatens to split my skull. There's something else, something about both my boys being special, about power and destiny and...
Sam watches from Bobby's porch, and for just a moment, I swear the shadows around him shift like living things.
Then the pain hits hard enough to make me stagger.
"Dad?" Dean's voice, worried.
"Just tired," I manage. "Been a long week."
But as the hunters continue to gather, as Dean's story spreads, I can't shake Jim's words.
Something in Dean awakened.
Something changed.
Something special.
And somewhere in my pain-clouded mind, a voice whispers that maybe Dean isn't the only one changing.
Past midnight now. Most hunters have either left or crashed in Bobby's spare rooms and junked cars. Dean finally got a break from demonstrations, though he's still riding that high of being the hunter who changed everything.
I'm on Bobby's porch, nursing a whiskey and my latest headache, when Jim sits down beside me.
"There's something else," he says softly. "About the sword. About Dean."
"More good news?" The pain makes me sound sharper than intended.
"When I first blessed that blade, years ago, it rejected the ritual." Jim stares into the salvage yard's darkness. "Wouldn't take the blessing properly. Like it was waiting for something specific. Someone specific."
The whiskey doesn't help my headache, but I drink anyway. "And now?"
"Now it sings for your boy like it was forged for him. That's not just unusual, John. That's unprecedented."
Through the window, I can see Dean cleaning the sword one last time before bed. The weapon's soft hum reaches even here, a sound that should worry me more than it does.
"You think..." I struggle past the pain to form the thought. "You think Dean was meant to have it? Like destiny or something?"
Jim's silence says enough.
Inside, Sam's fallen asleep over his books. Research about demons, about our family name. Looking for answers about what that demon said regarding Henry and the Men of Letters.
"Your boys," Jim says finally. "They're changing things, John. Dean with that sword, and Sam..."
The headache spikes so hard I nearly drop my glass. Every time I try to think about Sam, about that factory, about how those other demons really fled...
"Get some rest," Jim stands. "Tomorrow's going to be busy. Word's still spreading."
He's right. By morning, every hunter in the country will know about Dean Winchester and his demon-killing sword. About how my eighteen-year-old son did what centuries of hunters thought impossible.
But as I head inside, as the headache finally starts to ease, I catch a glimpse of something in the darkened hallway:
Sam, not as asleep as he appeared, watching his brother with an expression I can't quite read. And just for a second, in the shadows behind him...
The pain blinds me before I can complete the thought.
Some things, it seems, I'm not meant to remember.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Just to clarify, the signs John, Bobby and Dean know about weather changing because of Sam etc, don't make them think Sam can make demons run.
Sam unconsciously trying with his abilities to make them not think about it, also isn't helping.)