The Slave Thread

[avengeful]

The Slave Thread

Continued from this very long, 500-comment (cries) thread here.

Warnings for non-con/sexual assault, PTSD, eating disorders/issues, self-harm, substance abuse, mentions of suicidal thoughts, violence, gore, adult themes and sexual situations, death, self-worth and image issues -- basically if there's something that makes you uncomfortable, tread lightly.

Comments

[ramble_on]

[Dean wishes he had done a little less drinking tonight.]

There've got to be others. Word gets around in hunters' circles, Sammy. We're not the only ones who get tied up in shit like this.

[He looks at Sam, wondering what he's getting at. Is he trying to imply that Bobby and John have something to do with this? There's no way. For all the issues that Dean might be having with his father right now, he can't believe that John would tell other hunters — or participate in something like that himself. And Bobby — there's no way.]

The other hunters from that night...they could've talked. They knew a hell of a lot more than us.

[There's something much bigger than them at work here.]

Do you know where it was?

[Investigating it, like it's a case, is a bad idea. For Sam, at least. He shouldn't go back into the fray, where crap like that is going on, especially so soon. But someone should take a look. Dean should take a look, but he knows that Sam won't want to buy into that, and the last time Dean left Sam, he got into trouble.

So who?

Maybe Bobby could get someone he trusts on it.]

[avengeful]

I couldn't tell where it was. [It's said with defeat, because goddammit, he should have been able to pick up on a location. He should've... They might not even be dead yet. But they could be anywhere. They're fast approaching the cabin when Sam shakes his head.] I didn't -- I didn't mean that Dad or Bobby would... I'm just worried that they're in trouble. Maybe someone tried to get information out of them, like before.

We should call them and make sure they're okay.

[Because if they're not... it's Sam's fault and he needs to do something.]

[ramble_on]

[Not knowing where puts them in a difficult position, because it means they can't get anyone to check it out. Dean frowns, trying to think through possibilities of what they could do.

Sam's right, though — calling their father and Bobby seems like the best choice. Dean has been meaning to talk to Bobby, too, so this will give him a chance to touch base.]

We'll call when we get there. You can talk to Dad, I'll talk to Bobby.

[Sam'll be distracted, so Dean will be able to check on the progress of Bobby's research. He'll probably make himself some coffee, too. Try and sober up a little more.]

[avengeful]

Alright. I'll... yeah, I'll call dad. Maybe he's noticed something, since he's been out around hunters. And Bobby, he's got all those ties, he'll probably be able to give us a heads up or let us know what's going on.

[Sam parks, exits to their cabin without much else to say. He's already got his phone in his hand, dialing for their father, praying he'll answer. He's got to answer.

Shockingly, he does. Within the first few rings.]

Dad?? Hey, uh — are you... alright?

[And as it turns out, he is. Actually, he's a bit breathless, and it worries Sam for a moment until he can hear a car door slam and the faint rumble of another voice. Turns out it's one of their old hunting friends. John excuses himself from his company long enough to talk to Sam.

He doesn't say he knows anything, that he's alright and they were just hunting for a revnant, has been as off the radar as he can with what happened before. Overall... nothing from dad that would warrant concern.

"Is Dean doing alright?" he asks, and Sam wonders if maybe he should watch what he wishes for. This new, slightly concerned father is such a drastic swing, sometimes. The one that calls them and then answers on the first call. The one that sounds a little sadder, a little more vulnerable — just enough that Sam feels it subtly through the phone.

He admits to his father that he saw visions of boys dying.

His father is silent for a long moment.

"I'll look into it."]

Be safe, dad. It's — If they're looking for people like me, you gotta watch out. Don't look into anything that'll get you in trouble. We're doing okay where we are.

[It's all he can hope for.

Things can't fall apart again. He has to try to make things okay.

When he hangs up, he feels a little like gravity is winning. Slowly.]

Dean? You get anything from Bobby?

[ramble_on]

[As Sam makes his phone call, Dean heads inside to get the coffee maker going before dialing up Bobby. Then he goes back outside and dials Bobby's number. When Bobby answers, Dean speaks quietly into the phone, hopefully low enough that the coffee maker and the walls will keep him from being heard.

The first thing he asks about is whether or not Bobby's made any progress on research. It's better to get it out of the way before Sam comes looking for him again. Bobby tells him that he has a couple of leads, but nothing conclusive yet.

Which leads into —]

Hunters are killing 'em. The other people like Sam. Special children, I guess is what they're calling 'em.

[So they need to rush this, they can't take their time.

Bobby asks him how he knows that, and Dean explains, which is followed by cursing and Bobby muttering about how trouble just finds them.

It isn't the most orthodox way of finding out if Bobby is okay, but the questions are answered: Bobby didn't know, and he's safe at home.

Bobby says he'll call as soon as he finds something. That he'll check the network and try to find out if he knows anyone who's hunting down the special children. Then Dean hangs up.

He's cold, a little shivery when he hangs up the phone, but it helps sober him and keep his mind off of all the other shit that happened earlier. He goes inside in time to hear Sam's question.]

He's safe, but he hasn't heard anything. Said he'll ask around.

[The coffee hasn't finished brewing yet, but Dean pours himself a half-cup anyway, to help himself warm up and get even more level-headed.

A pause, and then —]

Sam.

[He's sorry he fucked up, is what he wants to say. Again. He's sorry that he tried to storm off, because this kind of shit always happens when he does, when he goes in some other direction from Sam, and you'd think he'd have learned that lesson by now.]

I'll cut back.

[It isn't an apology, exactly, but it's close.

It's a promise. That he won't turn into Dad. That he'll do better, and find a way to cope with the night someway else.]

[avengeful]

[Sam nods. Finds himself silent his name, the small not-promised promise. Because when Dean says he'll do something, Sam doesn't have to hear a promise to know if it's legitimate or not. He drops the thoughts on his vision for a minute, hands clutching the back of the chair rest. Breathes a sigh.]

Look — Dean, it's not like... I don't get it, y'know? I mean... I'm probably a hypocrite for pretending I'm much different. Because if I weren't popping pills, I honestly don't know where I'd be at. So. I don't want you to think I'm high and mighty about all this.

[A soft breath.]

I just wanna look out for you, too. And I don't wanna see you coming back here and blacking out down the road. However long down it it is. I still remember how Dad deals, sometimes. Can't see that happen with you, dude. It means alcohol's the only thing you think you got to make things easier.

And maybe it is, but.

[He stops himself, shaking his head. Alright, Dean's 'sissy moment' is probably thoroughly filled in by Sam, so he just lets it go for now, because at least Dean's thinking on it, knows there's something going on here. Because this other shit? Kind of a big deal.]

So what now? Kids're dropping dead, but we don't exactly know where they are around the country. If they whacked these two, then... they'll probably be looking for me. Maybe front and center.

[His voice lowers, tightens, shame creeping up out of nowhere.

Oh, yeah.

He's a freak of nature.

Forget that, once in a blue moon.]

[ramble_on]

[He doesn't think that. He knows that Sam has been struggling, too — that it's been even harder on him than it has been Dean. He's got the visions, the hunters going after him — everything. And it's because of that — and their shared experience at the mansion — that Dean knows he gets it. Maybe not entirely, because he and Dean have always been different when it comes to sex, Dean using it more to fill some kind of void — but enough to be able to get the struggle.

It's why Dean's trying to be more earnest here. Suffer through the semi-apology and the words that Sam offers after, even if it puts him in a position where he feels like brushing them off. There's a lot of shit going on; the least he can offer is a promise to not fuck up so much anymore.

Of course, that doesn't stop the slight annoyance that creeps up within him, an ingrained defensive mechanism despite his efforts to try and level with Sam. His tone is a little biting — and really, it's because Sam mentions their father again.

He's still himself, even if he's trying to be better about all of this.]

I got it.

[He'll work on it.

He's glad for the subject change — to be focusing on the matter at hand again. Dean takes a seat, setting his mug down and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands.]

We'll be good here for a while.

[He sets his arms down on the table.]

But we'll need to be ready.

[Because eventually, they'll be found. Not all hunters get their information in ethical ways, which means that Dean and Sam could be halfway across the world and still eventually get found.]

We might even wanna go to them.

[Hunters hunting hunters feels wrong, but Dean doesn't want to sit around and wait for them to pick off Sam.]

Ask around, get some names. Try to talk sense into them.

[Although Dean is pretty much all for offing them if they can't be reasoned with. He isn't going to let anyone get Sam. If it's him or the hunters, Dean chooses Sam.]

[avengeful]

... Yeah. We can keep our noses clean here, I guess.

[He's quiet, back turned away to Dean as he leans on his hands and seems to lapse into quiet, deep contemplation. Memories of the night he'd killed those hunters flood into his mind, blanching his face slightly, and his voice is heavy when he speaks.]

We're not killing a bunch of hunters, though, Dean. I'm not letting that happen again.

[He's already a killer, he doesn't... want to add anymore bloodshed.]

Maybe we, we can warn some of those kids. Max, he was troubled, but — they can't all be like Max. And they're not all born into this with a lucky break, knowing what could cause their powers; they might be scared and confused.

I just don't know if we should lay low, or... try to find out more out there.

[He's scared. Of risking Dean. He's scared of it, goddammit.]

I don't even really know how we'd find them.

[ramble_on]

Sam.

[Firm and unyielding. It's screwed up — that they're in a position where they even need to consider going against hunters — but this isn't a mild turf war. This is them against the hunters — it's about survival.

Sam doesn't need to lift a finger against them if he doesn't want to. Dean will do it for him. But he sure as hell isn't agreeing to that.]

This is us against them. If it comes down to it, I'm choosing us.

[He doesn't know about warning the kids, and it shows in his skeptical expression. He doesn't trust the special kids. Just because Sam is one of them doesn't mean that Dean is comfortable with them. This is too serious — too dangerous. And they're technically on the wrong side because they're hunters.]

Bad idea.

[Dean sits back in his chair, hand around the mug.]

Look, if you don't wanna talk to the hunters, I get that. [He'd prefer that.] I'll go alone so you don't have to.

[He knows Sam won't go for that, as much as Dean wishes he would.]

I don't wanna hurt them either, but I'm gonna do what I gotta do to make this stop.

[And keep him safe.]

It ain't right.

[avengeful]

You're not going anywhere without me. Last time you guys left, I almost lost you.

[It's a sharp, unhappy reply - one Dean will probably read into, see the fear echoed and masked in each word. He doesn't like this. And he doesn't like killing a bunch of guys who don't understand the situation, who think they're hunting something evil. Not human. He turns, jaw squaring off.]

They're just doing their jobs, Dean. This is what a hunter does. It hunts things that're not —

[He stops, looks down.]

They hunt dangerous people, things that shouldn't exist. What I can do... it scares them. And it scares you. And that's just the cold hard facts. If you're going to go running off and getting into a hunter brawl again... No, I'd rather just wait here than risk that.

I'm not getting you killed because of me. I don't care if you're doing it because you wanna help me or that it's for family. I won't let you do that.

[ramble_on]

[It does scare Dean. It isn't natural, and it's incredibly dangerous. He's worried about what it means for Sam.

But more than that, he's worried about losing Sam. He isn't going to let anyone come near him, and if the price of that is killing more hunters, then he'll do it. After everything that went down in the mansion, Dean isn't going to hesitate. He learned a lesson about going with things, seeing how they play out, biding their time.

Not anymore.

He isn't going to argue the matter with Sam, though, because Sam's right, to an extent. They are just doing their jobs. It just doesn't matter.

He sips his coffee, sighing silently after he sets the cup back down. He won't go off without Sam if Sam doesn't want him to — he's learned that doing that screws them over, too — but he isn't making promises, either.]

We'll wait. But if it comes down to it —

[Sam isn't going to convince him otherwise.]

I'm not letting it happen, Sammy.

[avengeful]

[He nods. Because that's all he can do right now. He can argue with Dean until he's blue in the face (and trust him, he's willing to), but it won't change Dean's mind on that. Sam'll just have to play it safe, make sure things don't escalate.

Which is a challenge, because exactly one week later, things go bad again in his head. That week, he wakes up from a dead sleep, tangled in the sheets; it's not the mansion dreams, or the nightmares with the hunters, but a vision — it's a vision of a girl with blonde hair screaming while a hunter brings down his blade on her face; the same band of hunters, only it's a little bigger, solemn-faced and dark.

It was a house. Nondescript, unhelpful.

He tells Dean about it, but there's nothing to be done. It could have literally happened anywhere, and it's as unhelpful as the first vision; no, less helpful, even. He just sits in his chair, turns a soda around in his hands (drink, he remembers his dad saying once for the sugar), and thinks that maybe things won't just magically solve themselves. Fancy that.

The third vision happens when Sam is out with Dean, shopping for supplies, especially since they're laying lower than usual; they spend the whole lump Sam got from the bar and tell everyone there not to tell anyone, anyone where they are; tell anyone who comes along you've never heard of a Sam or Dean. Verlin nods in agreement, doesn't question it. Nobody does. They know the cover story, after all.

In the center aisle of the store, Sam bows against the cart, nearly knocks down a few things from the shelves. He hates it, the crumpling and reeling; hates the distorted images assaulting his brain every which way. This time, it's a girl named Ava. He knows because the man in her bed yells out for her, before someone hits the guy with the butt of a rifle.

They cut off Ava's head.

By the time Sam's unceremoniously shuffled back to the Impala and they're driving back home, goods temporarily left to be bought later, Sam's nursing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He tells Dean everything again — tries not to let the slow-festering panic edge his tone. Poor Ava. She had been screaming that she just saw things, that that was all — she just saw things.

He swallows a lump in his throat.

He thinks he saw the flash of a familiar wedding ring somewhere in there, but he doesn't dwell on it. It's a stupid thought. He can't let paranoia eat away at him, not like that. No way.]

[ramble_on]

[This is getting bad.

Dean's used to Sam having visions by now, but he isn't used to hearing about hunters going after victims of circumstance. And Sam's visions are taking a lot out of him — whether due to the content or the fact that they overpower him like that. Or both.

The stress is getting to him, but in a good way, as awful as that sounds when he thinks about it. It keeps him on the straight and narrow. He cuts down on drinking — though not entirely, he at least scales back — and his own issues are able to get set to the back of his mind.

The worst part of all of this is that they can't do anything. Sam can't tell where they're taking place, Bobby can't seem to find hunters who have any specific details, and their father doesn't seem to have any information, either, although he says he's getting closer to the yellow-eyed demon, which is something.

It's shortly after Sam's vision — when they're back at the cabin and Dean has shoved some pain relieves at Sam for the headache he knows he has whether Sam wants them or not — that Dean gets a phone call from Bobby.

He steps outside, because he doesn't want Sam knowing that Bobby isn't just looking into hunts, and is also looking for a way to fix Sam somehow and make this all go away — yeah, right, like they'd get it that easy — but Bobby's only calling because special children are the talk of hunter's circles now. Some are in favor of killing them, others are against it. It's becoming a polarizing issue, and hunters are talking about organizing and forming different sects. There have been bar brawls and arguments and hunters cutting ties. Extremist hunters are quoting the Bible and talking about second comings.

It's getting bad, as word spreads. Now there are rumors of innocent people dying, too.

Dean tells Sam all of this. He debates keeping it quiet, but Sam's been filling him in on everything, and Dean's trying to work on this — all of it — so he doesn't skimp over the issues.

This is real big. And bad.

After that, though, it's nothing — a few days pass and Sam doesn't have visions and aside from updates about the hunters, Bobby has nothing to offer, either.

The fourth night after the grocery trip — which they finished that morning, and which should probably have been a red flag, since apparently grocery days are bad days — Dean and Sam are both sleeping, and John breaks into the cabin.

Dean's upstairs, and he tends to be a light sleeper, but having Sam sleepwalk around has fixed that a little — he sleeps more deeply, now, unless Sam sounds like he's in distress.

That's probably why John manages to get into the living room area before Dean hears a creaking floorboard loud enough to bolt him up. He reaches under his pillow for his knife, and then under his bed for his gun, and he's on his feet — stumbling a little gracelessly when he doesn't compensate for having been off his ankle for too long, the damn thing healed but still giving him trouble occasionally, especially in the mornings. He points the gun at John just as he steps out of the shadows.

Dean doesn't lower the gun.]

What're you doing here?

[It's suspicious, that his father would just show up, and Dean's worried about possession or any of the other things that could be wrong. Sneaking into a hunter's home is never a good idea, and John knows it.

"I need to lay low," his father tells him, stepping forward so Dean can get a better look. And sure enough, he's injured — there's blood leaking through his shirt on his arm, his face is bruised, and there's a cut along his mouth. "I wrapped it," he says when Dean takes a second look at his arm, that gun still up, "But it needs stitches."

This is really suspicious. His father can stitch his arm easily, and he certainly doesn't come to Sam and Dean in fits of weakness.]

Sammy!

[Dean calls it out, not sure if Sam is awake and hoping it doesn't jolt him too much and spur a nightmare. They've been better, but Dean's still wary.]

I need holy water.

[That should be under his bed, too. Dean's been more focused on the hunter problem than demon problems, but he should have a horde of crap under his bed.

To John, nodding toward him to indicate his injuries:]

What happened?

[avengeful]

[Sam's already up the stairs by the time John scoffs a little, their father wiping his brow and nodding at Sam without looking at him: giving him permission to splash him with a little of Dean's holy water; lucky him, the bleeding sort of solves the other test. John's willing enough to cut with a silver knife anyway. Sam flicks on some lights and John's shoulders relax, but he still looks uneasy, maybe sick.

"Black dog got me while I was out hunting with scrawny ol' Joshua." It's said smoothly, like he's reciting an old hunter story at the bar. His face is gleaming faintly with sweat, though, and he glances at Sam before sighing. "It was the biggest I'd seen in years. I got lucky."

Sam's still trying to blink and focus. Thankfully, being called and seeing his dad bloody has kick-started his brain plenty.]

Joshua okay?

[John waves it off. "Guess the damn thing saw I had more meat on my bones. And better running distance to get me." He winces. "Should've had it stitched up, but I underestimated it. Think it might be getting a little infected." Sam crouches down as John sits, checking the injury out with a steady hand. John's fingers are shaking faintly and his brow is slightly warm, and Sam frowns at that. Pulse is kind of beating fast in his wrist, too.]

What is it with you two and getting into crap like this? You guys both are crappy at treating yourselves.

[A pause, as he looks back at Dean. John closes his eyes and leans back into the couch, looking ragged. Drained. It's not an unusual look for him after hunting, but Sam hates when he gets like this anyway. The stupid old bastard.]

... Yeah, I think it's getting infected. We still have the strong stuff?

[It's kind of hard to come by stuff in town, but there's a pharmacy owned by an older woman, very solemn but very sweet. She gave Sam compresses a while back, free of charge. Maybe they should ask her about some better pain meds tomorrow. After Sam and Dean thoroughly interrogate their dad about what he's been up to since Sam last called.]

[ramble_on]

[Dean relaxes a little after the holy water proves that John is John. He sets down the gun and the knife and rubs his face as the adrenaline of the moment leaves him. As soon as that happens, he feels a little groggy. Squinting at his watch, he sees that they'd only been a sleep for three hours or so.

Since Sam is tending to John, Dean retrieves some whiskey and pours it for him, walking over to the couch and handing it to him. It's the post-hunt ritual of every hunt gone somehow wrong — one that peppered Dean's childhood.

He listens to the story — and it looks like his injuries are consistent with that, although Dean harshly wonders why his father didn't do a better job of fixing himself up. Dean learned all his first aid from the man — getting sloppy with aftercare isn't part of that package.]

Yeah, hang on.

[He goes to their kid and takes out a couple of pills. Saved for emergencies, like this. He also brings the kit itself, so they can get those wounds tended.]

These two're it. We need to make a run in the morning.

[Dean doesn't sit. He leans against the wall, watching Sam finish checking him over, and while he's doing that, Dean still thinks that this situation is off. It just isn't sitting right with him, but he's been harsh on judging his father lately — his opinion colored by what went down with all of them.

John is still his father. He's injured. And he also has a lot more interest in checking in with them lately, after finding out about the mansion.

He's probably being too suspicious. That kind of thing happens when you're expecting hunters to find you eventually.]

You got any news?

[Maybe they should let him rest up a little, first, but this is important. This is about Sam. Dean needs to know if John has any information on the hunters. Now that word has spread, John should have something.]

[avengeful]

[Sam grows more grave at the question, but it's one he's wanting to ask, too. John isn't much further off him Sam's as he drinks from the glass Dean offers. Sam figures he might as well sew his father up, get him to rest; he starts collecting the right medical kit equipment to work on his dad.

"Outside of what you know? It's been a little worse off out there. Hunters are aiming less for the usual creature and trying to find more demons, more of the kids like Sam." He swallows hard, and Sam feels sick again at the thought of Ava. "I got some tips from Ellen at the roadhouse - you probably don't remember her much, but she's really handy to learn what hunters've been up to. A good family friend, if you ever need anything. Anyway... I've just been trying to see if I can catch anyone on a kid's trail. So far, though... they've been sneakier than I thought they could be."]

Yeah, well. Hunters. They're pretty good at being quiet about their jobs.

[Spoken softly or not, Sam expected John to roll his eyes or scowl or something in annoyance, but he really is exhausted, sighing as Sam cleans off the wound to start working the needle through the skin. It won't take too long, but it's hurting him like a bitch, and he drinks the rest of his liquor being gripping the couch arm tightly.]

How about you guys? Anything come up?

[ramble_on]

[Hunters are pretty quiet about their jobs, but the climate is changing. This issue is on the forefront of a lot of hunter's minds. There's got to be some talk out there.

Dean needs there to be some talk out there. They need to solve this before it gets too far and someone tracks down Sam.

Seeing his father like that, though — in genuine pain, looking so tired — abates some of Dean's suspicion. He's got nothing to be suspicious about, really. If his father is himself, then Dean needs to just let go of this nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

So he does. For now.]

We heard the hunters are fighting. That word is getting out.

[He gauges his father's reaction, but it isn't surprised or annoyed. Just closed off, and tired as he listens.

Dean hesitates.]

We don't gotta talk about that now. You should get some sleep once Sam's done with you.

[He can revert back to the old, concerned Dean of his early hunting days, when he would help patch up John and get him to bed.]

[avengeful]

[John nods, lays back once the wound is stitched up, disinfected, re-wrapped. Once it seems the pills and bloodloss have thoroughly knocked John out, Sam wanders off with Dean out of earshot, and it's clear by his own expression that he isn't sure about what's going on, either. He folds his arms, fidgety, and keeps his voice low.]

... He seems off. [But the concern is palpable with it.] I mean, can't blame him. How off have we been lately? Especially with everything that's happened with us, what he's probably been trying to work with out there...

[And the guilt is also present there, when Sam speaks. It's really hard to have that same outlook on his father when he'd been through so much on Sam's account. Yeah, he should be a little pissed about a few things (getting knocked out by his father comes to mind) but...

God. They haven't left this cabin. Sam isn't sure what it's like out there.]

He was involved with that night, too, y'know? People've got to know that by now...

[ramble_on]

[Dean rubs the bridge of his nose, glancing in the direction toward where John is resting, face open uncertainty. It isn't that Dean thinks that John is going to try anything stupid — it's his father, for Christ's sake, not some random hunter — but the situation makes him uncomfortable.]

I think there's something he isn't telling us.

[Not that he's withholding anything that could hurt them, but that he just isn't sharing the whole story. He should know more about the hunters, by now, maybe even have an idea of whether or not they're closing on more special kids. It's the talk of the community.

And it's the way their father is. Once upon a time, Dean trusted that — let him call the shots and hide whatever he felt necessary to hide. Now, Dean knows that there's only one person who can well and truly protect Sam — and that's himself, even if he screws up sometimes. He's here. So he should be let in on information. This isn't about revenge; it's about keeping Sam alive.

Dean just doesn't know how to reconcile his love for his father with his newly established opinions.]

Yeah. I dunno. We'll ask more when he wakes up.

[Dean looks at his watch, squinting in the dark.]

Get back to bed. I'll hit the pharmacy first thing, re-up our supplies.]

[avengeful]

... Yeah. Maybe.

[And he doesn't sound entirely doubtful of the idea that John's hiding something, either. After all, if there was anyone who complained more about their father's secrecy issues, it was Sam. But then, Dad's been more open about... some things. Been more talkative. He's not sure how much he loves the change sometimes, because it makes noticing the silence a little harder. Makes it a bitch to get a read on the left-outs and the not-spokens.

But then Sam yawns, and he figures all bets are off on actually thinking much on it; he's gonna pass out the moment he hits that bed. That's been the abrupt, stupid change in his daily life, thanks to... well, whatever shifty issues he has. Go to bed, sleep, wake up at the wee hours of morning. Maybe walk around the back, where the trails are. Why not? Dean seems to worry a bit too much, but Sam needs a little freedom.

He turns back toward the basement, where there's no doubt a fox curled up in the furthest corner, huffing breaths and unaware of her old enemy re-entering her home.]

We'll sleep on it, man.

[It's kind of nice. Even if nightmares and sleepwalking still plague him like a bad hangover. Those days are bad for everyone, and it usually ends in Sam sitting at the table at three in the morning nursing a cup of coffee. Not that he always tells Dean. Why ruin his chance to sleep in?]

This is the best we've passed out in a while. But we'll figure out what's
up with him, one way or another.

[You can count on it, with Sam here.]

[ramble_on]

[Dean nods. That's the best that they can do at the moment — sleep and address everything in the morning.]

Yeah, we will.

[Because his father can't hide everything forever. If nothing else, Dean will force himself to make it clear that it isn't going to fly this time. It'll be difficult, because that's still new territory for him, but he isn't going to sit around and accept it this time. There's too much on the line.

As Sam heads downstairs, Dean goes to his own bed, gets in, and finds himself having a hard time getting sleep. He shifts, tosses, turns, but it isn't until a couple of hours later that he finally manages to sleep. Which doesn't last long, as he hears his father grunting in pain just as he's finally hitting a deep sleep.

Dean gets up, decides trying to sleep in is a no-go, and heads into the living room, stopping in front of the couch. His father is still asleep — eyes closed, breath seemingly even. Dean pauses there for a moment, then heads back to get changed, brush his teeth, and get ready to greet the day.

He leaves a note for Sam, telling him that he's heading to the pharmacy, and then he leaves.

Before he's out the door, though, he pauses, thinking of the last time he left Sam with his father. For a moment, he considers getting Sam to come along with him, but that's stupid. This is his father, and he's injured — Dean needs to suck it up and trust him a little more again. It wasn't completely his fault, what happened with the hunters. And Sam needs his sleep.

So Dean leaves, gets in the Impala, and heads to the pharmacy. It's only as an afterthought, as he's pulling into the parking lot, that he decides to take out his cell phone.]

1/2 YEAH YOU KNOW WHATS COMING

[avengeful]

[So it goes, something Sam had rarely dealt with growing up: being alone with their father, having anything of value to say. Usually they have something to argue about, something Dean will without a doubt have to walk into, separate, make right again in this weird little fuck-up of a family. But Sam almost doesn't have the wind in his sails to even comment about how their father needs to stop taking sips of strong liquor while their brother runs off to get pills.

It's familiar, he'll give it that. Usually Dean spared Sam the burden of having to help a slightly too drunk father to his bed if he'd stumble in ragged every so often. Especially on anniversaries. Or when a fire would break out on a hunt, in a house. He still remembers his father hugging him once, hair full of the scent of burnt wood and smoke. Before Sam had lost his faith in his father's way of life.]

Dad, give me that. [He expects some grumbling, because Dean and John both seem to grumble their way through depressing drink binges. But John lets him take it away, and he can't even scowl at the bastard.

Well, no, he can scowl, but still.]

You alright? You've been kind of weird. Something's up, isn't it?

[He applies the sincerity to that tone, the same he uses when he just wants to know the truth. Before the fury comes. Everything is all wrong, and John doesn't tell him he doesn't know what he's talking about, or tells him to go to his room (ha, wouldn't that be something, though). John presses his palm into his eye and bows a bit where he sits.

"It's just — dammit, Sammy... Dammit. I just want you to know — everything that's happened. You didn't deserve any of this. And I should've been able to fix it. I should've..."

It's the most vunerable Dad's been when it comes to him in a long time. Even before Meg had attacked. And it genuinely alarms him, how tight his father's voice becomes. He reaches out, puts a hand on his father's shoulder.]

It's okay. Or — I don't know. It will be. We'll deal.

[Or try to, anyway. That's their goal. To keep trying.

John's bowed head shakes faintly, and when he finally looks up, he's smiling, but it almost looks more like a wince than anything. He pats Sam's hand and is silent for a moment, and Sam studies the crown of his dad's head, as if trying to figure out what's going on in there. Because it's always been hard to tell. It's why he hovered toward Dean more; he understood his brother.

"I know I don't tell you enough, but... you're a good kid, Sam." And John stands up, pulling his giant, scrawny son into his arms and clasps onto him tightly, fingers curled into Sam's shirt. It's like he's holding on so nobody falls, like they're balancing each other, and it catches Sam off guard. Had he been drinking that much? Something warm drips into his shoulder. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Sam. I'm sorry, but I'll make sure nothing ever hurts you again, son."

Sam's too stunned to let the emotion sting his vision, and moves to pull away, but his father has one arm curled around him protectively.]

Dad, you're being—

[avengeful]

[There's a ear-ringing pop, and for a moment Sam thinks that's what makes him jerk backwards. He realizes, quickly, that it's his body being rattled against the muzzle of a gun, one that presses against his chest — against the whereabouts of his heart — and fires off two more shots. Pain blossoms mercilessly and arches his back and he lets out a choked, cut-off sound of shock and agony; he can't tell in his confusion, but one of the bullets punches through him, spraying blood on the coffee table, as the two of them begin to sag slowly toward the ground. John has him still, still has that arm guarding him, holding him as he starts to weigh against his father.

Sam's silent, awed expression lands on his father's face, and for a moment, he's clinging onto him and staring into his eyes and sees that tears are falling freely now; his father's face is crumpled with immediate grief, triggered the moment he fired.]

... Dad...?

[There's no hiding the fear, the betrayal and confusion.]

Dean...


[Death itself is not instant. It's slower, the pain ebbing away into numbness, and his fingers stop clenching at his father's back. The light-headed struggle to keep his eyes open takes over with the slow fade into darkness. His eyelids flutter, eyes hazel slivers that flicker and slide shut, and he can hear it — he can hear his father gasping like he's the one dying. John begins to lay him on the ground carefully, as careful as he's ever felt John move.

A hand leafs through his hair as his head touches against the floor, resting along his hairline. It's the last thing he feels before everything's gone, but he swears he hears soft, strained words blurring together before it all just. Stops. Stops before he's even completely settled against the cold wooden floor.




Time passes.

John wipes his face, stumbles to his feet, and begins to tear the sheets from Dean's bed. Begins to decide how to wrap his son's body, so that he can burn him up completely.... so that he can leave before Dean gets back (he knows what this will do, he knows it'll hurt, but it's what needed to happen, what was ultimately the best choice they have - ). So that he can find and kill yellow eyes, make him suffer. And then...

And then he's not sure.

But this was for the best.

He can at least convince himself of that much, moving with as much purpose as he can dredge up and rubbing his thumb against Sam's splayed, motionless palm. The air is thick with blood and gunpowder, and his ears are still humming. He shakily pulls the blankets around him and tries to get the image of tucking a three-year-old into bed out of his head. Red blossoms immediately when he curls the white sheet over Sam's chest.

He did what he had to. He wouldn't have been their kid for long.

He saved Sammy.]

1/2

[ramble_on]

[He doesn't know if it's the way his father is acting, or if it's born out of his newly established lack of trust in John — or if it's just, at the core, an unfounded feeling that something is off. Regardless, Dean sits in the pharmacy parking lot, keeping the Impala running so that he can sit in the heat, and calls Joshua.

The hunter answers, voice gruff but smoothing into something a little more receptive once he realizes who's on the phone. "Just saw yer Daddy couple days out."]

Yeah, that's what he told us. Said you two were hunting together.

["No choice when it comes to those damn special kids, or whatever they're calling 'em. Go by yourself an' you're deader'n a thirty point buck during deer season. Hell, even if you go with someone, it's a good chance yer gonna die. Yer daddy —"

Joshua is known for being chatty when it comes to rehashing the details of hunts, but Dean doesn't hear much after special kids. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Dean interrupts, keeping his voice as steady as possible.]

You're hunting special children now?

["Yer daddy's idea, and a damn good one. We got a couple down already, you shoulda seen what some of 'em can do. Sick shit, Dean. When I got started hunting, it werewolves and vampires here an' there, easy targets, but now it's more an' more demons, special kids, vampire nests like I've never seen. There's something big coming."

But has already hung up the phone and tossed it on the passenger seat. Which is where Sam should be — if Dean had trusted his instincts, if he had waited just a little longer for Sam to wake up. He fucking left him again, should have known — did know — that this visit from their father was bad news.

He peels out, tires screeching, Baby taking the abuse with ease while Dean speeds down the road. The sick feeling that's settling in his stomach is secondary to the adrenaline — to the desire to get the hell back to the cabin before it's too late. It's all he's focused on — he doesn't think of what could be there waiting for him, nor does he plan ahead to how he's going to handle it.

There are no more justifications. Dean doesn't even try to reason it out, to tell himself that his father wouldn't kill Sam, even if he's one of the special children.

There's only one refrain in his mind: Save Sammy. Get there before it's too late.]

2/2

[ramble_on]

[It takes too long to get back.

Dean enters the cabin with his pistol drawn. He doesn't know if he could kill John, if it came down to it, but he sure as hell can hurt him if it means protecting Sam. He walks in without shutting the door, morning light filtering into the dim space and illuminating enough of the scene —

John standing, blacksplashed with red, something on the ground covered by a sheet. And blood, splattered across the table, the wall, the floor. Like a Pollock painting, Dean's mind supplies as it suffers through shock — as though it can't digest the scene in full all at once, so it makes comparisons to Seven Red Paintings, something Sam would tease him for knowing.

It's strange, how Dean can see blood so frequently in his day-to-day life, but the moment it's Sam — Sam who's under that blanket, blood blooming through fabric, Sam who's splattered on the furniture — it takes on a new light.

That transpires in a matter of seconds — the sight, the shock, the poor attempt to think through it, and then in full: realization. He drops his arm, gun hanging uselessly at his side — running forward, shoving at his father as he comes to kneel beside Sam, pulling those blankets back to reveal his face.]

No — no, no, Sam — no.

[He sets his gun on his side, opposite of John, hands hovering above Sam's face before he rests them on his cheeks, looking down at him like Sam might look back.]

Sammy. Sammy, hey.

[After everything. After Stanford and the mansion and fear monsters and demons on airplanes and reapers and every god damn thing they've faced —

after all of it, Sam's killed in the one place he was supposed to be safe. He's killed because Dean left him alone.

Dean lifts his upper body, pulling Sam into a hug, feeling drying blood and the stillness of a chest that isn't breathing as his hands move along his back.]

I got you, Sammy. I got you.

[Except he doesn't have him, but Dean's wracked by grief and disbelief, rocking Sam a little, mumbled promises that he's going to take care of him. That'll he'll be okay, that he'll fix it. It doesn't matter that John is standing there, bearing witness to all of this — Dean thinks he hears his name, feels a hand on his shoulder, but he pulls away and won't be parted from Sam — Dean leans his head against Sam and doesn't try to hold back his grief.

He promised. He promised he'd be better, he promised he'd protect Sam, he promised that if it came down to the hunters or Sam, he'd choose Sam.

But he failed. Again.]