Chapter Text
Sam knew he had to get his hands on that violin. There were so many deaths that were connected to that musical instrument. He'd found around ten deaths of musical collectors. Each one of them posted pictures of the violin in their own home.
"What are you working on?" Dean's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
Sam glanced up to see Dean taking a seat opposite him, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate with a hamburger in the other. The elder Winchester slid the coffee towards his brother.
"Researching this violin," Sam pointed at his computer screen.
"That gnome king dropped by today," Dean explained. "I told him to come back on Friday."
"Oh, I forgot about him," Sam admitted with a sigh. He had forgotten his promise to Thistlefoot to find the gnome's missing children. "I'll make sure to be here."
"And I know Elaine wants to talk to you about the kids, too," Dean said, taking a bite of his hamburger.
"The kids?" Sam looked up at his brother. "Did she say what she wanted to talk about?"
"The car situation," he chuckled. "She thinks you guys need a mini-van with a third kid on the way."
Mini-van? "Oh great," Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "You'll never let me hear the end of this."
Dean just laughed and took another bite of his burger. "Hey, I'm just the messenger," he said with a grin. "But in all seriousness, Sam, Elaine is just looking out for you guys. You know how crazy things can get with three little ones running around. You two love birds need a car big enough to hold all those little munchkins."
Sam nodded, knowing Dean was right. With their third child on the way, things were bound to get even more chaotic. He made a mental note to talk to Elaine about the whole mini-van situation as soon as possible.
"If you see her before I do, tell her I'll talk to her about it when I get back," Sam said, closing his laptop. I'm going to go see about the violin."
"Sam…you doing ok?" Dean suddenly got a serious look on his face. He could tell his brother was spreading himself thin.
"What do you mean?" he tossed the laptop in his bag.
"You're kinda taking on a lot," the older Winchester explained. "Soon, you're gonna have three kids, and you seemed stressed trying to balance that with hunting."
Sam paused, considering his brother's words. Dean was right - balancing family life with hunting had become increasingly challenging, especially with the impending arrival of their third child. The weight of responsibility pressed down on Sam's shoulders, threatening to overwhelm him. But deep down, he knew he couldn't ignore the mysteries surrounding the violin and the deaths linked to it.
"I'll be fine," Sam finally replied, a determined glint in his eyes. "I just need to figure out what's going on with this violin. It feels like there's something bigger at play here, and I can't let it go."
Dean nodded, understanding the drive that pushed Sam forward. "Just be careful, Sammy. I've got your back no matter what."
With a grateful smile, Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder before heading out the door.
———-
The little bell above the door chimed as Rowena stepped back into the music store. The air inside was thick with the scent of old wood and polish, a heady combination that clung to her senses like a forgotten melody. She moved with the grace of a dancer, her black dress trailing softly behind her, a stark contrast to the vibrant instruments that lined the walls.
Johnny looked up from behind the counter, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the woman who had returned the violin just days before. There was something about her—a dangerous allure that made him uneasy. He offered a tight smile, hiding his trepidation behind a mask of professional courtesy.
"Back again, I see," Johnny remarked, his voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in his chest.
Rowena smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that didn't reach her eyes. She stepped closer to the counter, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. "Aye, Johnny. I thought it was time we had a wee chat about that lovely fiddle."
Johnny's eyes darted to the golden violin, now safely ensconced in its glass case. "I thought you returned it. No more interest?"
"Oh, I'm quite done with it," the witch replied, her tone light, almost flippant. "But it seems we both know that instrument carries a bit more... history than most."
Johnny swallowed, feeling the weight of her words. "It's a rare piece. But it's just a violin."
"Is it, now?" Rowena's gaze hardened, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "I know what it really is, Johnny. I know who crafted it and who gave it to you."
The blood drained from Johnny's face. "What are you talking about?"
Rowena leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Don't play coy with me, lad. The Devil himself handed that fiddle over to you, didn't he? And in exchange, you've been living a life that wasn't quite your own, haven't you?"
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am someone who knows more than you realize," Rowena replied, her voice like a velvet caress hiding sharp edges beneath.
Johnny's hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the counter. "I didn't ask for this," he said, his voice barely audible. "He tricked me."
"They all say that," Rowena murmured. "But deals with the Devil are binding, no matter how they're made. Same thing with my son. Those deals can be awful hard to slip out of."
Johnny looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "What do you want from me?"
Rowena smiled again, but this time, there was a predatory gleam in her eyes. "I'm just here to say thank you, Johnny. You did me a grand favor by playing your part. My dear, departed husband left me quite the inheritance, you see. And now, I'm free to enjoy it. I'm living the life of the grieving widow."
"Why are you telling me this now?" he asked. "You were here earlier and didn't mention any of this."
Rowena's expression softened slightly, a hint of genuine concern flickering in her eyes before it was replaced by her usual sly demeanor. "Sam and Lucifer were here earlier," she explained with a sigh. "I didn't want them to see me. We're not exactly on good terms."
Johnny's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't you want them to see you?"
Rowena tilted her head, studying him as if deciding how much to reveal. "Let's just say, dearie, that our history is… complicated. Especially with Lucifer. You see, the boy you met, charming as he may seem, was—at least at one point—the Devil himself."
Johnny recoiled slightly, the revelation hitting him like a punch to the gut. "The Devil? You mean, that kid… was him?"
"Aye," Rowena confirmed, her voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and something else—perhaps pity. "He's been given a second chance, a new life in a way. But make no mistake, that power and darkness still linger within him. And it's a power you don't want to cross."
The reality of what she was saying made Johnny's skin crawl. He had been in the presence of the Devil and hadn't even known it. But there was another question gnawing at him that he couldn't hold back any longer.
"You said the violin was cursed," Johnny began, choosing his words carefully. "And that the Devil gave it to me. But you also mentioned you might be able to remove the curse. Why would you do that? What's in it for you?"
Rowena's eyes gleamed with mischief, and a soft, almost maternal smile curved her lips. She reached out, her fingers cool against Johnny's flushed skin, and gently touched his cheek.
"Ah, Johnny," she murmured, her tone dripping with something between affection and condescension, "not everything is about what's in it for me. Sometimes, it's simply about setting things right. Or perhaps… ensuring that certain things are in place when they need to be."
Johnny swallowed hard, trying to understand her motives, but the more he tried, the more elusive they seemed. "So you're saying you'll just remove the curse… out of the goodness of your heart?"
Rowena chuckled, the sound low and rich, filled with unspoken promises. "Let's just say I have my reasons. Reasons that you don't need to worry your pretty little head about."
The vagueness of her answer only served to heighten Johnny's unease. But what choice did he have? He had been trapped by this cursed violin for far too long, and if there was even a chance—no matter how slim—that he could be free of it, he had to take it. "How do we do it, then?" he asked, the desperation clear in his voice.
Rowena withdrew her hand, her expression becoming serious once more. "Leave the violin with me. I'll perform the necessary rituals. It won't be easy, and it won't be without risk, but I can sever the ties that bind you to it."
Johnny hesitated, his eyes drifting to the golden violin in its glass case. It had brought him nothing but trouble, but letting it out of his sight, especially to someone as enigmatic as Rowena, was a terrifying prospect.
"What if it goes wrong?" his voice trembled.
Rowena's gaze softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost human—almost. "I won't lie to you, Johnny. There are no guarantees in this line of work. But I'm your best shot, and you know it."
Johnny took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Alright. Do it. Take the violin."
Rowena nodded, a look of satisfaction crossing her features. "Good choice, Johnny. Very good choice."
With a flick of her wrist, the glass case unlocked, and the golden violin floated into her waiting hands as if drawn by an invisible force. She cradled it like a newborn, her eyes briefly glazing over with something akin to reverence—or perhaps something darker.
"I'll be in touch," she said, her voice almost a purr. "And when this is over, Johnny, you'll be free."
As she turned to leave, the little bell above the door chimed again, the sound haunting in the now-empty shop. Johnny watched her go, a mix of hope and dread swirling in his gut. He knew this wasn't the end—it was only the beginning of something much, much larger.
And whatever was coming, he wasn't sure he was ready for it.
——-
The sun had barely risen when Sam pulled up in front of the music store. The name "Sound of Georgia" was emblazoned on the sign above the door, the early morning light casting long shadows over the building. The store looked quiet, almost serene, but Sam could feel the tension brewing beneath the surface. His gut had been churning since the night before, and he knew he couldn't ignore the pull that had led him back here.
He pushed open the door, the little bell above it chiming softly, and stepped inside. The familiar scent of polished wood and varnish greeted him, along with the sight of rows upon rows of instruments, each more exquisite than the last. But Sam wasn't here for just any instrument—he was here for one in particular.
Johnny stood behind the counter, his usual guarded expression in place, though there was a slight flicker of surprise in his eyes when he saw Sam enter.
"Morning," Sam greeted, his tone calm but firm. "I'm here about the violin. The one in the glass case."
Johnny's expression didn't change, but Sam noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw and the way his eyes flicked toward the now-empty case before settling back on Sam. "You're a bit late for that," Johnny replied, his voice level. The violin's gone."
The hunter's brows furrowed, a sense of unease settling over him. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"I sold it," Johnny said, shrugging slightly as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Someone came in, made an offer, and I sold it. Simple as that."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't under the impression that it was for sale. I thought you were renting it out to potential buyers."
Johnny met Sam's gaze, his expression carefully neutral. "Normally, yes. But this customer was very… persuasive. Made an offer I couldn't refuse."
Sam felt a cold wave of frustration wash over him. He hadn't expected this. "Who bought it?"
Johnny shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm afraid that information is private. My customers' confidentiality is something I take very seriously."
The hunter leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "Johnny, you don't understand how important that violin is. I need to know who has it."
Johnny's eyes flickered with something—fear, perhaps, or maybe guilt—but he held firm. "I'm sorry, Sam. I can't give you that information. It's not just about business; it's about trust. And my clients trust me to keep their dealings private."
He clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his temper in check. "You don't get it, Johnny. That violin—it's dangerous. People have died because of it. I need to find it before more people get hurt."
Johnny's resolve seemed to waver for a moment, but then he shook his head again, more firmly this time. "I understand your concern, but my hands are tied. I've already sold it. It's out of my control now."
Sam stared at him, his mind racing. He could push harder, threaten to bring in the law, or worse, but something told him that would only make Johnny dig in his heels. Sam would have to find another way if he wasn't willing to give him the information.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. "Alright," he said, stepping back. "But if you change your mind, or if something comes up that you think I should know about, you'll call me. This isn't over, Johnny."
Johnny nodded, his face still a mask of professional detachment. "If I hear anything, you'll be the first to know."
Sam nodded curtly, then turned and walked out of the store, the bell above the door chiming softly behind him. Outside, he paused for a moment, taking in the fresh air and trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.