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Hunters of the Dark Side (Part 17)


Chapter Forty-Nine


Exactly seventeen standard minutes later, John was locking the exterior door to the Royal Museum of Alderaan’s main entrance in the Modern Republic wing. Having just run a bioscan of the wing and set the programmed randomized laser grids protecting each gallery in the wing after confirming no personnel other than authorized security were in the area. Then he’d exchanged pleasantries with Winters, a blond-haired woman in her early thirties who always had swing-shift, and possessed far too much energy, in John’s opinion, clocked out, changed into his street clothes, and locked the door behind him.


He took too deep gulps of air and steadied himself. He’d known by coming here, by deciding to hunt the Rune instead of staying on Azazel’s tail, he’d run into them. He knew it was important too. Hope and pray as he might, even with the Runes, there was no guarantee they would stop Azazel. And even if they stopped him from bringing back his followers or comrades, or whatever he wanted to call the sixty-six Sith souls currently trapped in the Dark Side, there were no guarantees the Runes would kill him. He’d translated the Neti legend Dean had sent him, and it suggested the Runes would trap him if he was not possessing a host when the Runes activated. Even if he was trapped didn’t mean he wouldn’t still break out later, figure out some way to come after Sam.


Like it or not, John wasn’t feeling very confident of his chances of long-term survival, and he knew he needed to spend some time with his sons now, mend fences, set aside old differences—or there might not be any time left.


Collecting himself he walked the tree-lined block to the benches where his sons waited. “Com on,” he said, motioning with his hand for them to follow. “It’s this way,” he said pointing down the broad avenue that led up to the museum and had a dedicated elevated walkway for pedestrians.


Sam and Dean rose silently and followed him up the spiraling ramp to enter the walkway and head south towards John’s apartment and the spaceport.


“You call Chevy?” he asked, trying to make conversation. This was a lot more… awkward… than he had expected, which was saying something. He knew his behavior had been trying, so he thought it would be difficult. But this was worse than he’d expected. Sam couldn’t seem to decide if he was pissed off or thrilled to see John, and Dean looked hurt, abandoned, like he was not sure if John was really there.


“Yeah. She’s en route. Any droid detectors or problems or shit she’s gonna have to deal with that I should warn her about? I don’t like making her run around unfamiliar cities by herself when it’s not an emergency,” Dean answered.


“Nope,” John said with a sigh. “I specifically got a place that’s droid friendly. That and sound-proofed walls were pretty much all I looked for, which is why I’m about a twenty-minute walk away.”


“Why, did’ya get a droid while you were missing?” Dean asked sardonically.


Ouch! Ok, I deserved that, John thought. With a sigh, slowing his gate to keep pace with Dean (who was probably intentionally walking slowly to prove a point), John said aloud, “No, I just came here planning to run into you boys, and I wanted to make sure I have a place where we’d all be welcome. That’s why there’s a pull out couch in the living room and two beds in the bedroom,” he added hastily, wanting it to be clear he didn’t expect the boys to have to fight over who got the couch and who got the floor or both try to cram their nearly two-meter tall frames into one smallish bed.


“Then how come Chevy hasn’t picked you up tracking beacon?” Dean shot accusingly.


“’Cause I’m an idiot and forgot to turn it back on,” John admitted sheepishly, catching Sam’s eye as he did so. Sam seemed amused and maybe a little relieved to see John getting shit from Dean. He knew Dean had a tendency to follow him too blindly, although that had changed a lot over the four years Sam had been away at school. This interaction, while stinging, was probably good for Sam to see. 


“Well, Sammy left his on,” Dean added.


Sam shot John a look that was just short of sticking out his tongue. Resisting the urge to reprimand him for is behavior, John said, “Good for you, Sam.”


Sam let out an audible snicker. It was the first sound John had heard his younger son make since they’d left the museum, and it felt good. Good to know that after all this, after loosing his lover and his home, after finding out he was probably doomed by a prophecy that just might spell annihilation for the entire galaxy, after learning that he was sensitive to the Force, that Sam could still be a normal, happy person. Still laugh. John hated the weight that had been placed on his son’s shoulders—on both his sons’ shoulders, and evidence that it hadn’t broken them yet, was about the best kind of reassurance he could find.


After walking in more companionable silence, they arrived at John’s building, and took the lift to the twentieth floor. As expected, there was Chevy looking particularly perturbed, waiting—actually trundling around in long ovals back and forth up the hall, pacing essentially—for the human members of her family to arrive.


“Hey there, Chevy,” John said, reaching out his hand and patting Chevy’s rounded dome. It felt good to see her. Marry had designed her and built her with Dean’s help, after all.


In response, Chevy made a noise that sounded a lot like a purr, followed by an angry bleat-stop, a sarcastic whistle, and a series of trumpeting hoots that expressed just how pissed she was at John. She concluded by extending her dataport arm and discharging energy through it, giving John a harsh shock near his right knee.


“Ow, shit, that hurt!” he yelped in spite of himself, hopping around on one leg.


That started Sam and Dean laughing. First one of them would snort and snicker and then the other, and they just kept on going, both triggering each other to laugh harder for what felt like minutes.


“All right, all right, I deserved that. I’m sorry I fell off the grid, boys, now, if it’s OK with you, shall we enter?” he asked, when their laughter finally died down.


“Yeah, ok,” Sam answered, turning a nervous smile to John.


Dean gave a silent nod, but John was happy to see much of the anger and desperation from earlier was gone.


John quickly keyed open the door, punching in his security code. The door slipped open, revealing the ubiquitous protective salt-line (protection from lost spirits) that John had been putting in every doorway of every room he’d stayed in since he’d first talked to Miss’Ouri after Mary’s death.


“So, you’re Cade, now?  What happened to Idanian?” Dean asked, as the door closed behind them.


“Jackets on the hooks by the door, boys,” John said gesturing to an array of hooks to the left of the door before answering. When Sam and Dean followed his example, John answered, “I was Idanian on Naboo. Figured he needed to disappear for a while. I cleaned out and wiped his accounts, and…”


“Cade was the next ident in the rotation,” Dean answered with a nod.


“Idanian? Cade?” Sam asked, confused.


“They’re two of the long-term aliases we set up that I was talking about,” Dean explained.


“You have aliases too, Sam,” John said, hoping the revelation would soothe Sam, whose temper seemed to be flaring again.


“Why, ‘cause Dean insisted?” Sam started.


“No, ‘cause Dad insisted,” Dean answered, solemnly, his head hanging.


“Not that Dean didn’t want to,” John said, hoping Dean would stop looking like a kicked puppy. He knew his son felt guilty because he hadn’t insisted John set up the IDs for Sam that John wanted to set up in the first place… he really had fucked up. He never wanted to see either of his children that twisted up inside. “I just insisted before he could push the issue,” John explained. “I’d realized… my mistake, in how I approached the issue with school, and I wanted to make sure you had options even if you weren’t hunting with us. Figured something supernatural could come after you, and you might need it whether you were hunting or not.”


“Yeah,” Sam said with an attempted sarcastic snort, and John saw that there were tears in his younger Son’s eyes.


Without hesitation, John stepped forward and enveloped Sam in a hug. Immediately, John felt himself soothed, the nagging ache, the sense of irreparable loss he’d felt since his child had left—since he’d said those stupid, awful words, and realized a second too late he’d made the wrong call (and was too stubborn to take it back)—start to recede. This was his son. His flesh. His blood. His genes. His family. The kid he’d loved and raised and would sacrifice himself for a million times over. How could he have let his fear send Sam away. John felt whole in a way he hadn’t in years. His hopes and dreams for the galaxy had been pinned on his sons since he’d first held their tiny squalling bodies in his arms, since before, since he’d first seen the blip of their heartbeats on the holoscan, since he’d found out Mary was pregnant, since they’d made love… and that glimmer of hope and pride and everything good was right here, back in his arms again, and for a minute, he could comfort and protect Sam as if he was a child. Family meant everything to John, and somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten how to show that.


And at the same time, he felt the strength and accomplishment of the man before him. Sam was grown. No longer a gangly boy. Built and strong and muscular. A man. And a good handful of centimeters taller than John now.


Sam was sobbing quietly, breaking under the strain of too much pressure for too long, and John just held him, letting him quiet down. “I was so scared you wouldn’t want to see me. That you were staying away because I disgusted you because I… I can feel the force,” Sam admitted sadly.


“No, Sammy, no,” John soothed, horrified that his actions had led his son to that conclusion. “I wanted to see you and Dean so bad. I was so scared…” his voice hitched, “when I visited your apartment and they didn’t know if you were dead or not. Knowing that it didn’t feel like you were gone, that I’d taught you well, that you are strong and stubborn… that was all that kept me going while I was talking to that stupid conceited Jedi. I just… I was afraid I would lead Azazel to you. Or that if I let him out of my sight, if I stopped following him, he’d just go take you and kill you, and I’d have no way to stop him,” John admitted shakily. “I’ll admit, I came here because I got to Chandrila too late. I saw Azazel was headed here too, and I remembered your message about the Rune… I wasn’t sure what I was going to do until I got here, and I figured a chance at stopping him was better than waiting for him to kidnap more people and not being able to do anything about it.”


Sam looked down at him with an expression that said John was extremely stupid. 


“It made sense in my head, Sam. Just like the stupid ultimatum did,” John admitted.


“Ok,” Sam said, giving him another squeeze, “ok,” and then he stepped back, calmer.


John turned to Dean. His older son looked lost, hesitant. John stepped forward and hugged him too, trying to slip a little more tenderness into the embrace than the normal crushing, back-slapping hug they usually shared, and was surprised when it felt like Dean was clinging to him. 


Dean squeezed tight and then pulled back, looking up at John. “Dad, don’t ever do that again. I was so scared you were dead, or that I’d never find you,” his voice rose to a squeaky whisper, “and I’d be all alone, just me and Chevy with no one. Don’t… don’t sacrifice yourself, Dad. I miss Mom, too, but it’s not worth it…” Dean tried. “I mean Sammy’s worth it,” he added with a smile at his brother. “But we’re stronger as a family. This Sith is hunting us, we should hunt him, together.”


“Ok,” John said, not entirely sure he believed himself. “I’ll try.”


“We can start by figuring out how to get that Rune,” Sam said, flopping down on John’s couch without asking permission.


“Sam, when you were uh, exploring with the Force,” Dean said sitting down on the arm of the couch so he was facing both John and Sam, “Did you find anything? I mean maybe Dad knows about the alarms and sensors, but…”


John froze, still surprised to hear ‘Force’ and his son’s name in the same sentence. It didn’t really make sense that he would be upset considering he knew Sam had been training with Miss’Ouri and had a Sith Lord on his tail, but still, John’s old phobia of Jedi that had grown out of his time in the Corps was still threatening to rear its ugly head, but he tamped it down, and met Sam’s equally nervous expression with a smile.


“Well,” Sam began. “There’s a pressure sensor attached to a silent alarm and there’s a tracker in the bulk of the piece itself, but the Rune is actually separate. It’s just held on by the Force, so if I can touch it, let it scan me without tripping the sensor, it should just come off in my hand,” he explained. “The question is, how do I do that without getting caught, or showing up on the holocams?” Sam asked.


“Well, I have an idea that might work,” John began. It felt great to be reunited with his sons, even if the fate of the galaxy was hanging over their heads.


John explained that on the night shift, there was only one guard per Wing, and the night shift overlapped only ten minutes with the day shift (but thirty-five with the swing shift), and the end of the night shift coincided with the recharge rotation for the MSEs (so there would be fifteen precious minutes between batches of droids roaming the halls). John also had keys to each wing and security codes to shut down the cameras and laser grids to move around. The laser grid alarms would only go off if the grid was interrupted for more than five minutes. The scanners at the entrance were turned of at night, so Chevy could come along, and they could bring all their equipment.


In two days, John would be on the Day Shift. The plan they formulated was for John to let them into the Pre-Civil War Art Wing thirty minutes before the end of the night shift, giving them twenty minutes before the day shit arrived. Dean was going to slice the laser grids and the cameras, and make sure both were reporting back normal, empty halls and properly functioning grids. Sam was going to use the Force to stabilize Guardian of Souls while he removed the Rune to avoid setting of the alarms.  John was going to stand guard and use his knowledge of the museum and the guard and droid rotations to lead them out, just before he himself was supposed to show up for the day shift. While Chevy was going to run an active scan for approaching humans or Droids (in case Sam or John missed anything.


“So, after we get the Rune,” Dean explained. “That will be three. Bobby’s en route from Myrkr with the fourth. We’re supposed to call him and meet on Carida when we have it. After that, whether or not Azazel’s come and collected his twenty-two hostages, we should go to Manaan because that’s where he’s headed next.”


“Manaan,” John asked, surprised. “Isn’t that a water planet?”


“That’s what I said,” Sam laughed.


“Well, there’s an abandoned floating city where Azazel’s taking his hostages. It’s twenty-two from each of the three worlds the traitor Jedi were from. We think he’s going to use them as hosts for his followers when he frees them,” Dean explained.


But John wasn’t really listening. He was basking in the joy of having his sons around him, reunited as a family. For the first mysterious hyperspace distortion or possibly since Mary’s death, he actually thought they might be ok.



Chapter Fifty


They crept through the deserted halls of the Royal Museum, the rosy glow of dawn just beginning to send glowing shafts of light through the museum’s windows.


Dean had spent the last two nights sleeping on the softest beds he’d ever felt, and being a family again with Dad, Sam, and Chevy. It felt too good to be true, and even though they had a solid plan that was currently unfolding smoothly, he kept getting a nasty, twisting feeling that something was wrong.


The plan was in action. Dean was crouched in the corner of the Pre-Civil War Art Wing’s third floor gallery with a datapad in each hand monitoring the status of the holocam and laser grid systems. Chevy had come along since the scanners were turned off, and was monitoring the museum for any approaching droids or humans. John was standing guard on the far end of the gallery, and Sam was standing in front of Guardian of Souls, fidgeting. Or it looked to Dean like he was fidgeting, but Sam was probably prepping himself. The pressure sensor really didn’t give Sam much leeway to work with.


“Sam, how’s it coming?” Dean asked, keeping his voice quiet. Their recon and John’s intel about museum security hadn’t returned any evidence of audio recording, but Dean didn’t want to take and unnecessary risks. He was nervous. Getting through the security on the laser grid had taken two minutes longer than expected due to a ghost program that had given him a bit of a fight. If Sam didn’t hurry up, they might not get out before the guards came back on duty or the droids started their rotation.


“Just getting ready,” Sam said before slipping his eyes closed and slowly, carefully extending his hand toward the Rune.


Dean held his breath even as he kept one eye on the systems monitors.


The moment Sam’s fingers touched the Rune, Dean could tell that the Force was scanning Sam again, much like it had on Dxun with the Force-field, only here, without the pink glow. Sam froze, trying to stay stock still and not react to the probe.


Then, as Sam let out a sigh and visibly relaxed, the scan completed, and the Rune fell forward into his hand.


Dean watched Sam open his eyes and look down at the Rune. It was free, in his hands, just as square and blue-green centered as all the rest. 


Where the Rune had been at the center of Guardian of Souls, Dean saw there was now a slightly recessed image of the same design. It still looked like the Rune, but it was indented, so the color-changing ripples around it curved in gracefully to meet it.


“Ok, let’s go,” Sam said at last. “I can feel someone coming,” he said.


“What?” hissed Dean and John at almost the same moment.


Chevy gave a soft blurt of disagreement. 


“No one’s coming on your scanners girl?” Dean asked.


Chevy trilled in the affirmative.


“They’re not here yet, but they will be,” Sam said. “We need to go now.”


“Hey, no disagreement from me,” Dean said, raising his datapad laden hands in surrender.


John nodded. “Let’s go,” he agreed, slipping down the hall past Guardian of Souls towards the far end.


When everyone including Chevy had cleared the gallery, Dean carefully extricated himself from the laser grid system, and watched it spring back to life behind him, as he let out a sigh of relief, jogging silently down the hall after his father, brother, and droid.


Now he only had to worry about the cameras on their way out.


They almost made it. They had reached the ground level and were about ten meters from the door when all of a sudden Sam exclaimed “someone’s here,” at the same time Chevy let out her emergency squeal (quietly of course).


In front of them, unlocking the main door to the Pre-Civil War Wing was the curator and director of the museum himself. Dean recognized him from his holo was prominently featured on the Royal Museum’s holonet page.


“What is the meaning of this!?” he exclaimed upon seeing the Winchesters. They hadn’t even had time to hide.


“I was just escorting—” John began.


“Nonsense!” The curator said with alarm. “There are no alarms. You do not have them in restraints. You are helping these thieves rob the museum, and this our most precious—”


“Please, sir, I can explain,” Sam said, stepping forward slowly, hands held in front of him, the rune still firmly grasped in his left hand, not in surrender but in placation. 


The Curator looked very intently at the small stone square and then at Sam and at the square again.


For a moment Dean thought Sam might try to use the Force to convince the curator they weren’t thieves. Instead, Sam cocked his head to the side as if sensing something. He went for the truth.


“This Rune, is one of the four Runes of the Light the Jedi Protectorate hid around the galaxy five thousand years ago. This one was hidden in plain sight at the heart of Guardian of Souls. The Force released this to me, without damaging the art or setting off any alarms, because I am the Chosen One of the Lost Prophecy, and I need this to defend the galaxy from the plot of the Dark Lord of the Sith, Azazel. Azazel is here, now, on Alderaan, and he is going to kidnap twenty-two people—”


“By the Force!” the Curator gasped eyes wide, almost comical. “So the Prophecy is real?”


“Wait, wait, excuse me?” John asked stepping forward to put himself between Sam and Dean and the curator as if to protect them. “You know about the Lost Prophecy?” 


“Every curator of the Royal Museum has been asked to view the holocron of Anna Angelia,” the curator started, his tone still shocked.


“She left instructions, an explanation,” Sam finished, giving a nod of understanding.


The curator nodded quickly, his head almost bobbing on its shoulders.


Dean looked towards the transparisteel doors over the curator’s shoulder and could see people approaching, it looked like the security team for the day shift.  They were still over a hundred meters out, but… “Um, not to interrupt, but could we take this to your office, perhaps? Or could you let us go, maybe out the side door? Right now, we’re not showing up on the holocams, but the security detail is on their way to the Wing and…”


“Right, right,” the curator said, hurriedly, his eyes flicking from Sam to Dean to John to Chevy in rapid succession. “This way,” he said, motioning for them to follow. “You could have just asked,” he added smiling at Sam.


“I would have, if I had known you knew of the prophecy, sir,” Sam said solemnly. “Thank you for your understanding.”


Dean didn’t get exactly what was going on with Sam and his oddly formal interactions with the curator, but he had a feeling it had something to do with information Sam was getting through the Force.


“Yes, yes,” the curator said. “Follow me this way,” he added as he finally glanced over his shoulder and noticed the security staff approaching. “I’ll tell your boss, Mr., uh, Cade,” he added, looking at John’s nametag, “that you called in sick.” He added as he led them down a narrow service hall and around a corner, unlocking a door that led them out into a large courtyard that ran between the Pre-Civil War Art Wing and the next building over. Tourists were already gathering as they waited for the museum to open. But they didn’t seem to pay the Winchesters any heed as they were let out. “The piece, can it still be displayed?” He asked.


“Yes,” Sam said seriously, giving the curator a funny little bow.


And just as suddenly as their near detour into detention had begun, it ended. Dean was reeling with surprise as the doors closed behind them, only remembering to back out of the holocam system as an after thought, hoping no one had noticed themselves not showing up on the monitors.


“What just happened?” John asked, a giddy smile spreading over his face. “Did we just get the rune with the blessing of the museum’s curator?”


“Looks like he was another Marker of sorts,” said Sam. “I figured it out when he stared at the Rune, his mind was searching for someone to say it was about the Prophecy,” Sam explained.


“So, wait, what, this is our third rune, and we know Bobby picked up the one on Myrkr,” Dean asked, not really able to believe his own counting skills.


“As soon as we meet with him we’ll have all four!” Sam confirmed with a tone that bordered on actual joy.


It was great news! So why was Dean’s heart beating fast? Why was dread clutching in his gut? Thy did he have that horrible sinking feeling that everything was about to get very, very, bad?


The wind whipped up around them suddenly, the air crackling with static electricity, at the same time John’s comlink chimed with the Folly’s alarm code and the DED in Dean’s pocket began to squeal.


There was a loud popping sound from behind them as something came flying out of one of the transparisteel windows on the third floor of the Pre-Civil War Wing, sharp shards of transparent metal raining down around them. 


Dean threw himself to the ground pulling John and Sam with him as Chevy quickly trundled out of the way, dodging the projectiles.


Beside him, Dean saw Sam reaching out with the Force to direct the shards away from them and the museum patrons who were gathered in the courtyard. Probably no one else noticed, but Sam had just likely saved their lives.


“What was that?” John asked, his voice shaky and uncertain, a gruff, tense undercurrent seeping in as he climbed to his feet.


Dean watched the long silvery, cylindrical shape that had burst out of the museum and was now arced over the crowd and falling into the waiting hands of a man with yellow eyes. Well, that would explain the bad feeling he’d had all morning.


“Looks like Darth Azazel just collected his lightsaber, or someone’s lightsaber,” Sam answered tightly cimbing to his feet as the crowd began to scream at the sight of the new arrival.


“We have to do something,” said John. “I can’t let him take those people.”


Dean chilled. He had heard that voice before, on every ill-advised hunt he had never been able to talk his father out of undertaking. He could see the Darth Azazel start to pull people towards him. He knew there would be twenty-two. He could hear the whine of repulsor lifts now as a large shape began to descend into the far end of the courtyard, just barely squeezing between the museum’s buildings. It was the Queen’s Yacht Azazel had stolen from Naboo. He must have the pilot under his thrall or be controlling it with the Force, Dean reasoned.


“Dad,” Dean said, sensing his father’s determination building, “Dad, let’s take the runes and go. We can meet with Bobby then catch Azazel at Ahto City on Manaan.”


“Yeah, Dad, let’s go,” Sam agreed, turning to his father and tugging at his arm. “Please, don’t disappear on us again.


Dean could hear Azazel begin to shout over the crowd, but he couldn’t really make out the words. It didn’t matter, he knew what Azazel would be saying. He could see the people being dragged by invisible bonds to the ship, which was now lowering its boarding ramp.


“Sam,” John said, turning to face his younger son and gripping him by the shoulders. “I can’t let him hurt you. If he’s taking these hostages, and you’re sure they’re the last ones, then I’ve got to stop him. He’s going to kill you.” He turned back to face Azazel, continuing with his voice tight and stern, “Go to Carida. Meet with Bobby. Get the fourth Rune and meet me on Manaan. I’ll hold him off, buy us time.”


“No, Dad,” Sam pleaded, expression stricken. “Don’t go. Let me try and stop him!”


Before Dean could speak, Sam was striding through the crowd, towards Azazel, and reaching out with the force, trying to do what, Dean wasn’t sure.


He saw Azazel or his host flinch, frozen momentarily, then turn, slowly, to face the Winchesters.


“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Chosen One,” he said with a sickening chuckle. “Nuh, uh, uh,” he said teasingly, reaching out with the Force to shove Sam back sending him sprawling. “None of that, Sam. It’s not quite time yet.”


“Azazel,” John shouted, projecting his voice over the screams of the crowd and the whir of the ship’s engines. “Let them go!”


“We’ve been over this, John,” he sneered. “I don’t take orders from you.” Shoving his hostages towards the waiting ship faster, Azazel turned to Sam and said, “see you soon,” and turned to join his hostages on the ship, lightsaber, grasped firmly in his hand.


Dean watched his father shudder as he heard Azazel’s words. No, there’d be no deterring John Winchester now.


“Dean, take your brother to Carida and get the Rune; don’t follow me until you have it. That’s an order, Son, are we clear?” John snapped at Dean, his earlier affection gone, hidden behind his shield of military precision.


“Dad, please,” Dean pleaded trying to catch John’s eye. “Don’t do this. You have no way to stop him.”


“I have to try,” John said solemnly, smiling sadly at first Dean then Sam. “Now take your brother and go. I’ll see you on Manaan.”


John turned and began jogging in the direction of the spaceport where the Folly was berthed. 


“Dad! Dad, come back!” Sam yelled. But John did not stop or waver. “Dean, Dean,” Sam pleaded, pulling himself back to his feet. “Stop him. You gotta stop him. We need him. He can’t sacrifice himself for me. You can’t let him.”


“I can’t stop him, Sam. He won’t listen,” Dean said sorrowfully, feeling the crushing weight of failure descend upon him again. They had been so close, but now…

Master Post | Part 16 | Part 18


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jul. 10th, 2009 04:41 pm (UTC)
Oh John, John, John. *sighs* Guess it was John doing the sacrificing I could feel coming, but it's not over yet, he may still survive, you never know, lol.
I love that they could have just asked the Curator for the rune, lol, that's just classic. :)
Can't wait to see what happens next. *clicks*
Jul. 10th, 2009 07:59 pm (UTC)
Ah, you'll just have to see! John is John after all; I don't think I change him much (if at all) from his real SN character, just by using his POV, seized the opportunity to spell out a lot of things going on in his head.

And I couldn't resist with the Curator. Of course they'd NEVER think to ask, but then again, it really would have to be that easy... after all, the Protectorate didn't know what kind of training the Chosen One was going to have (all they knew was that Azazel would mark him to make it very difficult for him to use the force--and impossible for Jedi to detect) before Azazel was ready to "activate" him. They certainly didn't know they'd be getting Sam Winchester.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )