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Being A Wanted Man
Keeper of Dean's Quarters and Sammy's tears
Member No.: 4,830
Joined: 26-May 06
hi all, here you go. I hope you all enjoy. Thanks Aislinn. Sorry, not too many answers here...but hopr you like it anyway. LOL. Hugs and happy new year. Love, JJ.
The sheriff stopped just in front of him, glaring down at his cuffed and hunkered-down form. “I don’t like to be taken for a fool, gentlemen,” he said, hand resting dangerously at the weapon at his hip. “I don’t appreciate it.”
And John felt his stomach drop to somewhere in the regions of his knees. Last thing that he needed was threats from all sides, while still being cuffed to the blessed freaking table. He damn well wanted answers, but, at the moment, one problem at a time. He was getting no answers until he got the hell out of here.
Step one: get the bloody hell out of this room.
Step two: figure out just what the hell.
Preferably while living to see the dawn, thank you very much.
“Now, sheriff,” Agent James said, instantly on his feet. “I don’t know what...”
However, despite the ‘agent’s’ words, John noted that Barney Fief’s eyes were trained on him and him alone. The weary hunter had a pretty good idea why. And he didn’t think that it had anything to do with them not being who they said they were...at least not in the way that he’d originally thought.
He didn’t think that their ‘cover’ had been blown.
In fact, given the look on the man’s face, he had a sneaky suspicion that it was just the opposite...that the sheriff actually did believe that they were just who they said they were.
That they truly were FBI.
The sheriff just might have actually bought their tail. Which meant that he was pissed at him alone, for not copping to being a Fibbie just as soon as he’d been arrested. Armed with that knowledge, he did the only think that he could think of to do...punted, and hoped like hell that he had the acting skills to pull it off.
John sighed, slumping down in the chair, the picture of dejection, before tilting the hard set of his chin up to meet the lawman’s gaze. “You have any idea what it’s like to work with those God-awful cretins day in and day out for so long,” he said. “The things that they did...the things I had to do to stay under all those months.”
He shuddered. “Vile. Disgusting. Asinine things that I’ve never even dreamt of doing.” He dropped his gaze back to his hands once more. “Digging up graves. Mutilating corpses of good, decent folk,” he continued, nearly choking on the words. “But the worst part...” He lifted his eyes once more. “...the worst was seeing the anguish in the ones left behind after we’d caused our destruction.”
“John...” Agent Murphy said, this time playing off the hunter’s cues. “You did what you had to do to try and stop them. You know that.”
And he let out a bitter laugh. “Lot a good that did, apparently,” he muttered, rattling the metal on his wrist angrily. “All it got me was locked up...and the rest of ‘em that I was after gettin away Scott free.” He pressed his lips together firmly. “Did a real bang up job on this one, didn’t I?”
“I still don’t see...” the sheriff began, but once more John cut him off.
“Didn’t mean to make a fool of you, sheriff,” he said honestly. “Please believe me when I tell you that doing so was never my intention and if that was the result of my actions then I am truly sorry.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you just tell me who you were right from the get-go,” he demanded, in response, slamming his hand down on the table between the two of them...the bang sounding impossibly loud in the otherwise stillness of the room. “You let those guilty SOB’s get away.”
“You think I don’t know that, you son of a bitch,” John thundered suddenly, still playing the part to the best of his ability...needing to just get the hell out of there. He’d sort the rest of it out later.
He wrenched himself to his feet. And though, the cuffs caused his to hunch slightly over, he lifted his head til he was staring the sheriff dead -straight in the eye.
“There was this one job,” he said quietly, anger seeming to deflate. “I’d just finally infiltrated the gang. Been inside about a month or so, you know,” he said. “Probationary period, I guess. And it was a little boy about ten or so,” he said. “Bastards I was working with said that he was killing people from beyond the grave,” he said derisively. “That that cute little thing was a monster.”
He swallowed hard, recalling all the horror that the child’s ghost had c caused before he’d been able to stop him. “That we needed to get rid of ‘em the old fashioned way. Which, in case you’re wondering means salting and burning the bones after we’ve dug them up.”
The tick of his jaw was the only outward sign of the true thoughts tunning through his head. “Course,” he continued, licking his lips. “That’s not very-well something that can be done in the light of day...people might object, you know. So we made our way there bout two or so one night, real late like and just stared digging the poor babe up.”
Agent James’s hand was suddenly on his arm, giving it a soft reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, John,” he said softly. “It happens.”
But the prisoner shrugged his off angrily. “It shouldn’t.” He let out a low warning growl from the bottom of his throat. “I shouldn’t have let it...should a made sure I had all the facts before going there that night.”
He looked at the sheriff once more. “Seems that the boy, Chazz was his name,” he said softly, eyes turning misty. “Had a twin sister. Parents thought that it’d be detrimental for her to see him in the casket, so they didn’t take her to the funeral. Seems she’d been sneaking down to the graveyard to see him real late at night when she knew her folks were sleeping. Just cause she was missing him so, you know.”
“And she found you all there,” the sheriff said, though clearly it wasn’t really a question and wasn’t voiced as such.
But John nodded anyway. “We’d just gotten the bones dug up and were preparing to drop the match into the grave when she showed up,” he continued, playing fast and loose with the facts.
His lips curled up into an affectionate smile at the memory of the little spit-fire and the bruise he’d sported for weeks from where she’d nailed him with the toe of her boot right in the shin. “Little thing was pissed that we’d try and hurt her brother,” he said softly. “Linnie was her name, I found out later,” he said. “Attacked the head digger. Never been so damn proud of a kid in my life, let me tell you,” he said. “She kicked him with all her might.”
Then his smile faded as suddenly as he’d began, remembering the moment that her dead brother’d showed up to join the fray. And he remembered the noise that the poor little girl’s head had made as he’d sent her crashing into the nearest headstone...it’s seemed impossibly loud in the otherwise stillness of the night.
“‘Fore I could stop him, the head guy turned around and knocked her backward,” he said. ‘Fractured her skull.” His eyes truly did fill with tears them. “Child nearly didn’t make it.” He worked to force his jaw to firm. “One and only time working this case that I didn’t finish the job. Grabbed the babe in my arms, after some real quick field dressing that I’d learned in the Corps and rushed her to the nearest ER.”
John would have swiped at his eyes, embarrassed that the pools in his eyes were beginning to overflow, but the shackles made that impossible and the damn traitorous droplets just had to fall. “Made sure she was taken care of and then went back and found the bastard that had hurt her.”
His eyes turned deadly, as he thought of the satisfaction he’d felt dropping the match into the freshly dug grave...realizing for probably the first time that once someone was dead, they weren’t the same. The person wasn’t there anymore. The little boy wasn’t that child anymore. He was a monster.
Realized that his own wife wasn’t coming back...that if she did, she wouldn’t be his anymore either. That if one day she did re-appear, he’d have to do something about that too. But that was a whole nother can of worms that he was still trying to work through.
But, regardless, was a moot point unless he got the hell out of his current status quo.
“Made that son of a bitch pay for what he’d did to her,” he said, still playing fast and loose with the facts and making it sound like it had been his FBI agent mark that he’d made pay and not the ghost.
Keeper of Dean's Quarters and Sammy's tears
Member No.: 4,830
Joined: 26-May 06
hi all. Thanks for reaadiing. I'm glad that you are liking this one. And answers are coming soon, I promise...just not yet. LOL . Gotta get a little more John posturing out of the way first. Hope you all enoy. Hugs, JJ
John met Agent James’s eye then. “Thought I screwed up the case, that night,” he said. “I didn’t finish the job that I’d been sent there to do...I attacked my partner for what he’d done to that innocent little child.” He laughed bitterly.
“Thought I was gonna get myself killed or at the very least out on my ass and away from them from beating the holy snot outta one of their own.” He shrugged then. “But apparently, that was what finally convinced them...that act of pure rage and unadulterated violence, beating the hell out a that bastard...that I was suited for their team. Must a figured that if I was stupid and or reckless enough to attack one of them surrounded by a dozen or so a his closest allies on their home turf that I was ‘good’ enough to be one of them.”
He shook his head. “But I’ve never forgotten that little girl,” he said, voice turning soft. “Never forget what happened to her...what these bastards are capable of.” His gaze once more swept to the sheriff. “That’s why I do what I do, sir,” he said, eyes imploring that he be believed. “To protect those innocent ones. The ones that can’t protect themselves...and to make sure that ones that hurt them are punished. Brought to the justice they deserve.”
The sheriff nodded. He could relate to that.
“So, I’m sorry that I lied to you about who I was sheriff,” the cuffed-man continued. “I wasn’t trying to hinder your investigation,” he said. “It was never my intention to make you for a fool. Fact, the last thing I wanted was for these bastards to get away scotch free,” he said, pounding his fists together as best the cuffs would allow for emphasis. “Pisses me the hell off so bad that my actions may have let them get away,” he said. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you I was an agent under deep,” he said. “Please believe me...if I’d told you, then I’d a blown my case wide open. All that work would have been for not. All those innocents that I could have possibly saved in the future would be dead.”
“But we could have arrested them on the spot,” the lawman countered. “How would that have been bad?”
“True,” he said and nodded for emphasis. “I mean, sure, this group would a been out of commission,” he agreed. “And that would, of course, have been a plus.” He paused. “But that’s not who I’m after. I agreed to go under cover for the long haul...and I don’t want the penny-ante stuff,” he said. “I’m not looking for the little peons that take orders.”
His gaze swung briefly to meet his fellow ‘agent’s,’ wondering fleetingly if that wasn’t, in fact, who he was playing with just then anyway...and deciding to make a few ‘warnings’ and or ‘threats’ of his own...before turning back to look the sheriff in the eye.
After all, two could play that damn game.
“I want the bastard that’s making the rules,” he continued coldly. “I want the evil son-of-a-bitch that’s calling the shots in my rifle scope. That’s what my goal is. That’s why I put up with all the crap I did...why I did all the horrid stuff I did.” Another pause. “Cause each move put me that much closer to the one I want. And if we’d arrested the peons, then the big Cohuna’s would a scattered into the wind. It’d be years before I could find them again...if I even ever could. ” He nodded to him. “I felt like I was getting close. That’s why I’d rather get myself arrested than blow my cover.” His eyes turned hard once more. “I’d a done hard time in a heartbeat if’n it meant that I had even the slightest chance to nail those bastards dead to right.”
“You’d a been willing to do prison time...even if it meant years...just to catch these guys?” the sheriff asked.
And the hunter nodded, knowing that the ruse was most important now as he could tell the sheriff was buying it hook, line, and sinker. But, that really wasn’t surprising. After all, the best lies were the ones tinged with truth...and in this case, his emotions about the job he’d been doing were spot on.
He may a just fudged the details about the who and why and all.
He lifted his gaze to meet the sheriff’s. “I’d a done any damn thing in my power to stop these evil bastards that are causing so much terror,” he said, meaning every last word. “So, yeah,” he said, nodding resolutely...noting silently that he wasn’t really talking about grave desecraters, but those creatures that he, himself, desecrated just to protect the common man. “You’re damn right I would.”
Then John’s anger deflated, switching once more from hunter to supposed FBI agent completely, as he sunk back into his chair with a thud. “But apparently that’s just another thing I f***ed up on this case.”
“I don’t...” the sheriff began.
“That’s easy, sheriff,” he said bitterly. “If there was any kind of a chance for me rejoining the case and going back under, then my partner here wouldn’t be here,” he said. “Not with all the bells and whistles like he is.” He turned to the still standing man. “Isn’t that right Agent James,” he commented. “You’d a whisked me outta here and made it seem like I’d escaped or somethin if there was any chance that I could still make the case...if there was a chance in hell that I could get back under.”
“That’s right, Winchester,” Agent James said, not necessarily unkindly. “And I’m sure that’s gonna have play a real heavy part in the not-so-little convo that you’re gonna have with the director just as soon as we get back.”
John shrugged. “You think that’s what’s bothering me,” he said. “Then screw you. I deserve to get my ass chewed out for this damn screw-up. Deserve to be...I don’t even know. I mean, I blew the case for Christ’s sake,” he snapped, no small amount of self-loathing evident in his voice. “So I’m a little more worried about the people that I no longer am able to protect, than a well deserved ass-reaming as you so eloquently put it earlier.”
And John Winchester blew out another hot breath, before turning back to the sheriff once more and going in for the kill shot.
“So,” he said, slumping back down into the chair. “Can you please let me the hell outta these damn cuffs,” he said. “Cause I got a feeling I’m gonna need to be updating my resume...and that’s gonna be a little difficult to do seein as how I’m still shackled to the freaking table.”
Keeper of Dean's Quarters and Sammy's tears
Member No.: 4,830
Joined: 26-May 06
hi all, here you go. i hope you all enjoy. Probably one more update after this one. Hugs, JJ.
The sheriff stared at him for a long moment, and John never faltered. He simply stared back resolutely into his eyes, never, for a moment, portraying the bundle of nerves he really was. Because, though he’d often stared into the face of pure evil and hadn’t batted an eyelash, this was somehow different.
Because this shot was for all the marbles. The sheriff didn’t buy the load of bull he was peddling, then he was never gonna get to look in the face of pure evil again...
...nor the face of pure innocence.
Cause if the sheriff didn’t let him outta here, chances were that he wasn’t gonna see his babies again.
And that right there, well that, scared him more than anything.
John held his breath as the lawman crossed toward him, and when the lawman stopped directly in front of him, it was all he could do not to flinch at the man’s unwavering scrutiny. But having been schooled in the art of subterfuge long ago and simply stared back at him.
Anchored to the table.
And submissive in his very posture, if not his thoughts.
Because, though his stature didn’t look it, every fiber of his being practically hummed with the tension that was tempered with the knowledge that he was cuffed, helpless, and near impotent...with only the mysterious savior giving him any hope of ever seeing freedom again.
He still didn’t know whether that said ‘savior’ was there to save him or to damn them all. Because if the man was truly a friend, then there was a slim chance that things were going to end up alright. And even if the man was truly an agent, there was a minuscule chance that he could make it out of this in one piece. But...and this was a big but...if the savior was an enemy in disguise, then chances were pretty damn high that they would all be dead before the night was over.
Because the fact remained that he couldn’t easily save himself or Barney Fief over there when he was bent over in a prone position and secured...much to damn tightly for his liking, he might add...to the damndable table.
If the agent was foe instead of friend or federal boy, then he was probably never gonna see his precious little ones again. And for John Winchester, it was the thought of his sons that finally caused him to crumble. Because he couldn’t even be sure that his boys had made it to Bobby’s. Couldn’t even be sure that Dean had gotten to implement the ‘Emergency Escape Plan’ that he’d drilled into his little head so many times...and damn if that didn’t make feel like a first rate bastard that he even had to have such a plan.
And to what avail.
Because when it came down to it, he couldn’t be sure that his two sweet little ones weren’t somewhere alone. Scared. Frightened. Abandoned. Hurt. Or worse. And he unfortunately knew without a doubt that there was ‘worse.’
The worse was unimaginable. Unthinkable. But he thought it and he imagined it anyway. And the speculation slammed into him like a punch to the gut, physically knocking the breath right out of him.
His boys. Oh, please, God, please let his boys have made it to the safety of Bobby’s when he didn’t make it home on time as planned. He hadn’t prayed in years, but right then John prayed with everything that he had that his boys were safe. That he hadn’t gotten them killed.
And without saying a word, his semi-rigid posture went slack, all his remaining resistance waning in an instant. To his horror, and unable to do a damn thing to stop it, he felt two tears slip unbidden from his eyes and cascade down his tanned cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice husky with emotion. His gaze dropped to the floor in embarrassment and self reproach over not being able to school his feelings any better than that. “God, I’m sorry,” he said. “I screwed things up so badly.”
In that moment he was lost in his own private prayer...meaning, of course, his two young sons and the fact that he’d left them alone and defenseless...and had meant his words for God’s ears alone, they were audible to everyone in the room.
The country lawman, hearing the whispered words, understood them to mean something else entirely. Something akin to pity crossed the elder man’s face. “It’s okay,” the sheriff said, voice taking on a sudden fatherly vibe. “I’m sure that you two will sort all this out and that you’ll solve this case eventually,” he added, giving John’s shoulder a brief reassuring squeeze.
The cuffed man looked up at him, startled out of his thoughts more so by the gentle touch than the reassuring words. “Sir...” he said softly, eyes turning questioning.
“Things are going to be fine, son,” the sheriff assured. “You’ll see.” Then his lips curled upward into a semi-smirk and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Cept, of course that whole being bent over backwards and that ass reaming thing that you boys were talking about before.”
John let out a surprised bark of laughter, realizing, at once, how his words had been misinterpreted. Then blushing once more, he turned his head to wipe his wet face on his right shoulder. “Yes, sir,” he agreed readily.
“Alright, son,” the lawman said, holding his shoulder and turning him around slightly in the chair to give him ready access to his still bound wrists. “Let’s get you out of these damn things, shall we?”
“Hell,” John said, standing, at last free of the cuffs. He sighed in relief as he rubbed his wrists, grateful to finally be free of the pinching silver shackles and he proceeded to rub the tender digits, trying to massage some feeling back into the abused flesh. “You won’t hear any arguments from me.”
As slow as the night had gone, the next few minutes practically flew by. With a few handshakes, a series of signatures, and a promise to let the sheriff know the outcome of the investigation either way, John found himself a free man once more.
Or at least a semi-free man. Cause he still wasn’t entirely sure just how free, free really was. Probably was gonna depend a lot on how much of a ‘savior’ his savior was or how much of a devil in disguise Agent Murphy James turned out to be.
He glance at his fellow ‘agent’ as he was escorted out the door.
“Follow me,” the man ordered gruffly, voice soft enough for only to be heard by the two of them. “Walk out of here like you’re supposed to be doing so and, Winchester...” he said warned. “...Don’t look back.”
John blew out a hot breath.
Out of the frying pan and into the fryer much? he wondered silently, knowing his very existence could very well depend on the very answer to that particular question.
One way or another it was time to end this. Come hell or high water or supermax...it was time to lay all the cards on the table. So, with that in mind, he took a deep breath, steeled his shoulders and turned to face his companion. Time for some answers, however damning they may be.
“Okay,” he said, as soon as they’d rounded the corner and were out of sight of the jail...after all, no sense begging trouble, as his Mama used to say. “Not that I’m not thankful to be out a there,” he said, wishing, not for the first time that he had some sort of weapon at his fingertips. “Because, believe me. I definitely am.”
Another pause and then John Winchester geared himself up for wherever the next few moments were going to lead.
“But,” he continued, staring his counterpart straight in the eye. “Now, what I’d like to know is whether I need to be real grateful...or real worried.”