Supernatural: War of the Sons (26 page)

“Legend has it that it’s a battle plan, right? So let’s start from the end. Eisheth is already on our tail. Let’s just cut to the chase. We can always go back.”

“You have a point. Okay. Let’s get started.”

Walter opened up each and every one of the books that he had brought. Leaning over the parchment, he traced a symbol with his finger then started paging through a book looking for its match.

“Grab one, this is how it’s done.”

Sam sat down on the floor, grabbed a book and started thumbing through it.

“I’m going to go get some air,” Dean said.

“Me too,” Julia agreed. “Dad, you okay?”

Walter waved her away.

Dean and Julia stepped outside. There was an awkward silence.

Julia broke first. “I bet you don’t call a lot of women after you spend the night with them.”

“Not usually. No.”

“So this is good, you can use my father just like you used me.”

Dean looked her in the eyes. “I didn’t use you. And as far as your father is concerned, he’s a grown man. He knows the deal. You’re hunters, right? Sometimes you use people for information—just like you used Sam and me back in New York.”

“That was different, I needed to find out who you were.”

“Well, now you know.”

“I’m not sure that I like you, now that I know the real you.”

Dean walked away from Julia across the parking lot.

“I wasn’t untruthful.” Julia followed him.

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming either.” He spun around. “All that bullshit about your father being a scholar, and then you show up here with an arsenal taped to your back. What else are you hiding? I mean, I like a girl with a hint of danger, but you’re far and away the most dangerous piece of ass I’ve ever had.”

Julia slapped him hard across the face.

“My father was a scholar. He
is
a scholar. But we have another life.”

Julia looked up at Dean with tears in her eyes.

“I have no choice. Don’t you understand that? Look at every other girl my age. They’re married, have a house, a husband. Kids. Do you know that by the age of nine, I knew I would never have that? Ever. That is not a normal existence. So excuse me if you didn’t get all the information. I had other things to do.”

“Like saving the world?”

“We don’t know what’s on the scroll. Maybe there is a part for me to play. I hope so. I don’t know. But I don’t have a choice. Do I?”

“No, you don’t. Nobody does. I’m finding that out.”

Standing next to Julia, watching the grass swaying in the warm evening breeze, Dean felt a brief moment of happiness.
Strange as that is
, he thought.

“I didn’t mean to slap you.”

Dean lifted her chin gently in his hands. He gave her a slow, deep kiss.

“You’re forgiven,” Dean said.

“That wasn’t an apology,” Julia huffed.

“It’ll do. Let’s get some coffee.”

Sam and Walter worked diligently into the evening translating the text. Walter knew a lot of symbols that weren’t in the books. It would have taken Sam a lot longer if he had done it on his own. But still, the process was laborious.

* * *

Dean and Julia sat in the café across the street from the motel.

“So, no picket fence for you?” Dean said, stirring his coffee.

“Don’t think so,” Julia absent-mindedly scribbled on a napkin. “So what about Eisheth, what can we do about her?”

“I don’t know. She’s supposed to guard the scroll that essentially tells the secret of how to destroy her husband. She’s going to go after it with everything she’s got. That’s why it’s so important that we find out what it says. If she shows up again, I have a feeling that she’s going to have made a lot more friends.”

A few hours later Dean and Julia headed back to the motel room.

Sam and Walter were wide awake and still working hard, though Sam’s hair was wet, so he must have just taken a shower. Walter peered at his daughter and Dean as they stood in the doorway.

“Shut the door. The scroll shouldn’t be exposed to the elements,” he said.

Dean sat down.

“Have you found anything?” Julia asked.

“Yes, and no,” Walter replied as he peered through a magnifying glass at the scroll.

“What does that mean?” Dean said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Well, the text on top says that the battle lines are drawn with people’s faith. The believers versus the non-believers. In order to defeat Lucifer it says this, ‘The Adversary’s undoing lies in a trail of blood across the ages. All that become hosts must become ash.’”

Sam looked at Dean. They knew what hosts becoming ash meant.

Oblivious, Walter carried on. “But often the writers of ancient scrolls tried to hide something beneath the actual text. They would create a chemical reaction which would reveal the true text. Sam and I finished and the text seemed pretty cut and dry. But then, Sam took a shower.”

“He always makes a mess, doesn’t he?” Dean said.

“Yes, he does. But the steam coupled with the water droplets coming off his body as he reached for another towel... Well, it produced this.”

Walter gently held up the last pages of the scroll. Though Aramaic script could be seen plainly on the page, another page seemed to be underneath it.

“It looks like a list,” Julia said.

“Yeah, it does.” Dean looked closer at the parchment.

“Can you tell what it says?” Julia asked.

“They’re names,” Walter said.

“Names?” Dean said, alarmed—your name on a scroll that Satan was trying to protect. Well, it couldn’t be good.

“But that’s not the most peculiar thing,” Walter said. “Some of the names belong to angels.”

“That’s weird.” Dean looked at his brother. Was there something more? Sam was eyeing Dean. Dean knew that look. It was the
We gotta talk
look.

“I think I have something in the car that can help,” Sam said. “Give me a sec.”

Sam and Dean walked outside to the parking lot.

“So, what did you really find?” Dean asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Walter’s right, they’re names—paired up with the names of angels.”

“So what, that’s what Don wanted us to find? A list of angel names.”

“Don’t you see, Dean, if the angels don’t have vessels, there’s no war. Yes, our names are on the scroll. But there’s more. It’s basically a roster of all the soldiers in a battle. But we’re here for a different reason.”

“That was his plan? No vessels, no fight?” Dean punched a car hood. “That’s ridiculous. I’m going to kill him when I see him.”

Sam nodded. “The demons aren’t going to kill these people... Abaddon sent
us
to do it...”

The four of them sat in the motel room largely in silence as Walter transcribed the names, slowly but surely teasing out the angels’ most monumental secret.

The scroll associated each angel with the bloodline of his or her potential vessels. Sometimes only one host was listed, sometimes many. When Walter got to the line that read, “‘Castiel—borne by the progeny of Ishmael: Gregory Novak, who begat James Novak, who begat Claire Novak,’” Dean’s jaw clicked shut. Sam looked over at his brother. They had met Castiel’s vessel, Jimmy Novak, and his daughter Claire, while Cass was being interrogated in Heaven.

The process dragged on, as each name required Walter’s deliberation. Meanwhile, Sam had surreptitiously started translating from the bottom of the page, where the very last name seemed to read: “Michael—borne by the Sons of Light, John Winchester, who begat Dean Winchester.” It would take Walter another hour to get there.
And then,
Sam thought,
they’ll know everything
.

“Stop,” Dean blurted out suddenly.

All eyes turned to him.

“Stop writing.”

Walter let slip an exasperated breath, but continued to scan his magnifying glass over the tiny sigils.

“Every minute the scroll spends exposed to moisture degrades the pigment,” he muttered impatiently.

“Good,” Dean said, “’cause we’re not doing this.” Grabbing the battered and fragile parchment away from Walter, Dean made for the door.

“What are you doing?” Julia asked, hurt in her voice. “We finally get a chance to read the thing, and you want to walk away?”

“Are you not paying attention? Damn thing wants us to butcher a thousand innocent people.”

“More,” Walter corrected simply. “At least 2,000.”

Dean held the parchment up to the light. “We’re in this to save lives, not end them. This list—these people haven’t done anything wrong.”

Walter never took his eyes from the scroll, as if breaking his gaze would cause it to crumble.

“They’re angelic vessels,” he said calmly. “Both sides in the final battle are angels... and with no hosts, they can’t fight. No Apocalypse. One of the people on this list will be Lucifer’s host on Earth, and we have the chance to kill him.”

Dean looked to Sam to back him up, but his younger brother was looking away, lost in his own thoughts.

“Dean, remember why we did this. All of us.” Julia stepped closer to him, her hand beginning to reach out for the scroll. “We want the same thing, and this is how we get it.”

Dean’s mind was racing. After all, their points were entirely valid. One way or another, the angels were ultimately responsible for the Apocalypse, and killing their vessels would rob them of their foothold on Earth.

It would also rob the entire Winchester family of their lives.

“The price is too high,” Dean said softly, despite his thoughts to the contrary.
If only dying was enough.

“What happens to mankind when Lucifer rises?” Walter demanded. “‘And they came forth, winging from Heaven and Hell to the place between. The fates of men hung on their swords, in a place called Armageddon.’”

Dean recognized the curious quote from one of the more gruesome editions of
The Book of Revelation
that John Winchester had carried.

“Billions dead,” Walter said.

Lost in his thoughts, without acknowledging the others, Sam pulled himself out of his chair and left the room. Dean stared after him, imagining how he must be feeling.
A 2,000-year-old scroll just told him his family has to die so that he can’t destroy the world. Probably not feeling great.

“I know the figures,” Dean said to Walter. “Planetary enema, half the world on fire, all of it. That doesn’t change what’s right and wrong.”

“None of it is right. But there are two options, and one of them is a lot less wrong.” Walter’s lower lip trembled with emotion. “Three
billion
strangers versus 2,000 strangers.”

“The difference is who kills them,” Dean shot back.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Walter said. “But I can’t live out the rest of my life knowing the end is coming, and... and not
do anything
.”

“What if it’s wrong?” Julia said hesitantly.

Walter stared at her for a moment, not understanding.

“What if the list is wrong, and none of these people are vessels?” she persisted.

Walter huffed at her, incredulous. “This document was written
millennia
ago, and it lists a ‘Craig Masterson’ and a ‘Danny Fuller’. Do those names sound ancient to you?”

“So they were clued in to the future,” Dean said. “The future can change.”

“No, it can’t,” Walter replied. “
Destiny
does not change.”

“My life hasn’t been decided, buddy,” Dean blurted.

Walter paled, his frown deepening.

“There will be another way to stop Lucifer,” Dean insisted. “There has to be.”

With a nod, Walter sat back down. “When I was eight years old, my father bought an automobile. The first in our town. Every boy in my class wished their father could do the same, but... for most of them, it would be years before they could afford it. Two weeks later, my father was the first person in town to crash a Model T. First person to die in an automobile accident.”

Dean didn’t know where the old man was going with the story, but decided he was better off listening than interrupting. He knew from experience that “dead dad” tales were a sensitive subject.

Walter continued. “My mother told me, ‘This is what God wanted for him.’ That there was a plan. But deep down, I knew there wasn’t. It was senseless and stupid and unfair. For years, I hated her for saying that. And then, after I’d grown up a bit, I learned the truth. It hadn’t been an accident. My father had been killed by a demon. Protecting me while I slept.” Walter paused for a moment, observing Dean’s muted reaction. “There was a purpose to it. A plan. He gave his life for mine, so that I could be here for
this
.”

It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes.

“This moment, this choice, it’s what my mother warned me about. It’s fate—”

“It’s bull,” Dean snarled. “That’s a swell sob story, but I’ve got one just like it. Only my dad didn’t give his life so I could go on to murder innocent people, he gave his life so... so I could get a fair shake. That’s it.” Thinking about John Winchester was always difficult for Dean, especially when he was forced to marginalize his sacrifice. “If he could have kept me from this life, he would have. Same with my mom. I’m sorry to say it, but just about everyone in this line of work loses someone to it eventually.”