Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 14th, 2001, Waterville, Maine.

It is starting to happen again. Dad and Dean didn’t think Sam knew, or noticed, but he always does. It never fails, that after moving to a new place, they will start to act a certain way. It starts with small, secret looks, and quiet conversations that end abruptly whenever Sam enters the room. And then they will start disappearing for large chunks of time. It was less noticeable during the school year, when Sam was away from home most of the day himself, but during the summer it is all too obvious.

Dad and Dean will start to disappear for hours, sometimes even a night or two, at a time. And this will keep happening until inevitably they will come home from one of these long absences, pale and exhausted but looking happy. And now that they are getting settled into the small town of Waterville, Sam is starting to see the patterns emerge once more. In fact it is actually starting sooner than normal this time. When they pull up to the apartment that Dad has found for them to rent, Sam leaps out as usual, backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Hey kiddo.” Dad calls, and Sam looks to him curiously. “Why don’t you go pick the bedroom you want? Dean, help me with the bags.”

“Better hurry tiger.” Dean smirks over at him as well. “Before I get in there and swipe the better room.” Sam just rolls his eyes, grinning at the thought that loud, obnoxious Dean could ever swipe anything from him, and heads inside to check out the new place, knowing that whatever Dad wants to tell Dean, it has nothing to do with him. They had both made that clear, and he was trying to respect that decision. As best he could anyways. The apartment is slightly nicer than their usual digs, a fully furnished, three bedroom, two bathroom place, with a decent living room complete with a massive television, and a surprisingly big kitchen.

Ignoring everything else, Sam goes straight to the bedrooms, ignoring the master since obviously that one is for Dad, and chooses the bigger of the other two rooms. Which also just happens to have a view of the impala parked out front. Half-hiding behind his curtains, Sam watches as Dean and Dad pull their bags from the trunk of the impala, Dad looking grim and serious, and Dean eager and excited, although they keep their voices too quiet for Sam to hear anything from his room. Shrugging, Sam turns away from the window and drops his bag on the twin-sized bed, kicking off his sneakers, before leaving his room to go help his brother and father unpack. Dean and Dad walk in at the same moment as Sam enters the living room and both shoot him a smile.

“What do you think Sammy?” Dad asks. “Place up to your standards?”

“Yeah.” Sam grins. “Especially since Dean is getting the smaller bedroom.”

“That’s what you think, squirt.” Dean smirks back at him. “Don’t be surprised to come back from school one day and find all your stuff tossed out on the front lawn.”

“You know that would be a lot better of a threat if you had even an ounce of follow through.” Sam taunts back. Dean raised his eyebrows and grinned wickedly.

“You want follow through, punk?” He asks, stepping towards Sam.

“Boys.” Dad cuts in, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Knock it off. Sammy, Dean won’t touch your stuff. Dean, man up about the bedroom. You got the bigger one last time.”

“Sorry Dad.” Dean mutters, while Sam beams at his father and sticks his tongue out at his brother when Dad turns away. Dean sticks up his middle finger and Sam has to fight back a laugh, not wanting to get his brother in trouble by drawing their father’s attention to it.

“Dean, why don’t you take your brother and go on a supply run.” Dad says, handing a wad of cash over to Dean. “Get us stocked up for a while.”

“Sure.” Dean says easily, sliding the cash into his pocket, before tossing his and Dean’s bags onto the couch to unpack later. “Come on kiddo.”

“I’m eighteen.” Sam complains. “Not a kid.”

“Teenager, kid, same thing in my book.” Dean shrugs, reaching out and ruffling Sam’s hair. Sam ducks out of the way quickly, batting Dean’s hand away.

“Say that when I am taller than you.” Sam mutters.

“You say that like it’s possible.” Dean laughs. Sam just smirks proudly.

“Not only is it possible, but it is probably going to happen this summer.” Sam announces.

“Oh yeah?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“I’m already only an inch, maybe half an inch shorter than you.” Sam says smugly. “And I am still growing. Give it a month and I guarantee I am going to be taller than you.”

“Yeah, maybe. But only if that ginormous geek head of yours gets any bigger.” Dean scoffs.

“I guess I’ll just get to say I told you so when it happens.” Sam crows, heading towards the door as Dean grabs the keys to the impala.

“Keep dreaming Sammy.” Dean says haughtily. “Dad, any requests while we are out?”

“Coffee.” Dad says, as usual. He always asks for coffee when they go on a supply run. Especially when he is planning to have a later night. Sam tries to hide his frown, and shove away his curiosity. Dad was an adult, he was allowed to stay up late as long as he wanted. Still, it didn’t stop Sam from wondering why he bothered. Unless it was for a job, and Dad had already found and gotten one before they had arrived in town. Being in pest control, it wasn’t uncommon for Dad to have to work odd hours. That was how he explained away his and Dean’s nights away, anyways. They were off dealing with nocturnal pests, like opossums, or raccoons, or bats or something.

Since Dean was supposedly learning the family business, he was often allowed to go with Dad, especially as Sam had gotten older, although Sam never was. And that was one of the reasons Sam suspected that they might not be telling him the entire truth. Sam wasn’t lying, he isn’t a kid anymore. If the whispered conversations, or secret meetings, or long absences were just about Dad’s job, why wouldn’t Sam be allowed to be a part of them? Why wouldn’t they want Sam involved? He could help, maybe even join up when he finishes with college, since he is due to start at Stanford in September. He could major in business, or maybe even law, and be able to help with that side of things. Maybe it is time to bring that up with Dean, and get his input on the idea. Sam looks at his brother as he steps out of the apartment, and Dean follows, shutting the front door behind them. Together they move to the impala, and it isn’t until they have climbed in, Dean driving and Sam sitting shotgun, the impala rumbling down the road towards town, that Sam finds the courage to speak up.

“Dean?” Sam asks softly.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean asks, rolling down his window and leaning one arm against the door as the other rests lightly on the steering wheel.

“I was just thinking… you know how I am… going to school in the fall?” Sam asks carefully. A huge smile lights up Dean’s face, the way any mention of Sam getting into college does. Dad and Dean had both been absolutely ecstatic when Sam had gotten into Stanford, on a full ride no less. It had been one of the best nights of Sam’s life, celebrating his step towards a higher education, and the pride he had seen in his father and his brother had been worth every second of hard work that Sam had poured into his high school years. In fact, the only other time he can remember seeing them that fiercely proud had been at his actual high school graduation a few weeks ago.

“Course I know about that.” Dean answers Sam’s question, shoving Sam’s shoulder gently. “Hard to forget, with how much you never stop talking about it.” He continues, teasing. Sam rolls his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Well… I was thinking. About what I might want to major in.” Sam explains.

“Let me guess. Library Sciences.” Dean jokes. “No wait, How to be a Nerd 101, you would ace it.”

“Ha ha.” Sam rolls his eyes again. “Actually, I was thinking maybe something that could help you and Dad.” As Sam speaks, he watches with some surprise as the light, teasing expression on Dean’s eyes fade, and his eyes tighten, and harden. His shoulders tense and his hand, which had been loose on the steering wheel, tightens so much that his skin whitens.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, clearly still trying to keep his tone as jovial as it had been, and clearly failing miserably.

“Well, I want to help the family business.” Sam explains, still watching his brother’s every move, and growing curious at how… heavy, his eyes seem to have gotten. How almost… haunted they look. “I want to work with you and Dad, so I was thinking maybe… business? Or, like, law or something. Or even accounting, I like math…”

“Sammy.” Dean whispers his name and Sam frowns, looking at his big brother, genuinely concerned now at how pale he has gone. “No.”

“No?” Sam asks, confused. Dean shakes his head.

“Trust me, you don’t want any part of the family business.” Dean says, his voice a little stronger now, a little firmer. Sam’s frown deepens.

“How would you know?” Sam asks, frustration leaking into his voice. “How would either you or Dad know that I don’t want to be in the business? I can help!” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair, glancing over at Sam almost as if he is studying him, before his expression hardens again.

“No, Sammy, you can’t.” He says sternly. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t let you. It is way too dangerous.”

“Pest control is dangerous?” Sam scoffs. Dean’s face darkens. “Even if I bought that for half a second, I’m not talking about going out and dealing with the animals like you and Dad, Dean, I am talking about running the back end of things for you, to make it easier. You know, marketing, advertising, managing jobs for you guys, doing the taxes, that kind of thing.” Amusement has started to replace the horror in Dean’s expression and Sam frowns, more frustrated than ever. “What?” He demands.

“Nothing.” Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “Listen to me, Sammy. I know you want to help, I do. But you have a real chance at a good, stable life. Going to Stanford, getting a career, settling down in one place. I know how much you want that, kiddo. I can see how tired you are, with living the way we do. Moving from place to place all the time. But if you go to school and you pick something just to help Dad and I, you are wasting your golden opportunity, man. What Dad and I do… we love it. We are built for it. You aren’t, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is soft, but the words still sting.

“I’m not good enough?” Sam asks quietly, looking at his brother and not even attempting to hide how hurt he is by the accusation. Dean’s eyes widen in horror as he meets Sam’s gaze.

“No! No that is not what I am saying, Sammy. Not by a long shot.” Dean quickly tries to reassure Sam. “What I am saying is you are too good. You deserve better. Better then cheap motels, and tiny apartments, than constantly moving around and being in da… being the new guy in town.” Sam frowns, confused and frustrated. He never should have opened his big fat mouth in the first place, but now that he had, he feels like he surprised Dean into slipping in his usually perfect façade. What had he been about to say? Being in what? It almost sounded like he was going to say danger, but that is ludicrous. Almost as ludicrous as saying that it was too dangerous for Sam to pursue pest control like his family. Dean studies Sam and he must read the unhappiness and irritation in Sam’s expression, because he sighs again, looking back towards the road. “All I mean, Sammy is… Dad and I… we aren’t like you. We have different roles to play. Your only role is to go to school, get a fancy degree, and then an even fancier job. Get yourself a nice home and work hard, and have a good life. You deserve that much Sammy.”

“And you and Dad don’t?” Sam challenges. Dean’s face sets itself into an expression of grim determination.

“Dad and I… we have work to do, Sammy.” Dean says, not exactly coldly, but it isn’t the usual warm, light tone Sam is used to, and it more than shuts down any further discussion on the subject. Dean reaches over to the radio, turning it on and up, so that loud rock music starts blasting through the car. Sam frowns, looking down at his lap. That conversation hadn’t gone at all like how he wanted, but it wasn’t a complete surprise either. If anything, it just further confirms Sam’s suspicions. People don’t act the way Dean did about pest control. They just didn’t. Something more was going on, something Dad and Dean seem determined to keep him out of. Why, Sam isn’t sure. Dean says it is because they are just different, but there has to be more to it, right? Sam just wishes he knew what he did, or didn’t do, to be cut out like this. Stewing on that thought, Sam reluctantly follows Dean when they pull up to the grocery store, and, with a mountain of tension between the two, they shop quickly and efficiently for enough supplies to keep them going for a few weeks, including Dad’s requested coffee.

After paying, and loading their stuff into the car, they climb back into their respective seats and set a course back to the apartment. Sam keeps his eyes on the road straight ahead, but he can feel Dean studying him every so often, and he can hear the small, quiet sighs that Dean is making, but neither of them say anything more for the rest of the drive, especially not about the family business. It isn’t until they are pulling into the driveway that Dean finally breaks the heavy silence. “Sammy…”

“What?” Sam asks churlishly.

“I know you are frustrated man. I get it.” Dean says kindly. Sam glances at him. “But do you trust me?” Sam scoffs.

“What kind of question is that?” He demands.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Dean says solemnly. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” Sam says. Dean nods.

“Then trust me now, Sammy.” Dean pleads softly. “Trust that Dad and I know what we are doing. Trust that we are just looking out for your best interests. We just want to keep you happy, and healthy, and
safe. And in our line of work… believe me when I say you wouldn’t be.” Sam studies his brother, trying to find anything out of place in his expression but all he sees is sincerity and a desperation for Sam to trust him. And how can he not?”

“Alright.” Sam says softly. Dean visibly relaxes, a grateful smile flashing across his face.

“Good.” He nods. “And hey, this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pursue business, or law, if that is what you want. Personally, with how well you argue against me, I would say you’d make a kickass lawyer.” Sam laughs despite himself.

“Arguing against you isn’t exactly a challenge.” Sam teases. “It’s actually really easy considering how often you are wrong.” Dean puts on an expression of mock offense.

“How dare you, pipsqueak?” Dean catches Sam in a headlock, ruffling his hair again as Sam squirms, laughing.

“Let me go Dean!” Sam tugs against his brother’s annoyingly firm grip.

“Not until I hear you say big brother is always right.” Dean taunts. Sam tries to pull himself free a few more times before he finally sags in defeat.

“Fine. Big brother is always right. Happy?” Sam grumbles very unhappily. Dean smirks and lets Sam go. Sam sits back, rubbing his neck. “When did you get so freaky strong? And good at headlocks?” He demands. Dean just laughs.

“Big Brother Training School.” He teases, finally turning off Baby as their father steps out of the apartment, presumably to see why they are still in the car. Both Sam and Dean climb out of the car as Dad raises his eyebrows.

“You boys alright?” Dad asks gruffly.

“Peachy.” Dean calls, tossing a look to Sam as if daring him to mention their little wrestling match.

“Sammy?” Dad calls, a little more gently.

“Yeah, we are fine, Dad.” Sam answers, not daring to rat out his brother. One, because Dean actually is freakishly strong for some reason. Stronger than a twenty -one year old had any reason to be. Two, because of the brother code. They dealt with things between themselves and tried to leave their father out of it. And three, drawing attention to Dean’s ambush would just have their father watching them more carefully, which would make it a lot harder to get back at Dean without getting himself into trouble to. Dad nods once, happy with the report.

“Alright. Hurry up and get that stuff inside then. I have a client who wants to meet with us, Dean, to discuss a removal, so once you boys finish unloading I want to head out.” Dad calls. Dean grins, that eager, excited look he had had earlier back on his face. Which is also suspicious. Who gets that excited about getting rid of small animals?

“On it Dad.” Dean calls, and Dad smiles, before heading back inside. Sam looks over at Dean immediately, and grins his best mischievous grin.

“You know I am going to get you back for that headlock, right?” He asks softly. Dean snorts.

“Good luck, Sammy. But remember this one word. Nair.” Dean teases. Sam scowls at the reminder of the horrific prank Dean had pulled when he switched out his shampoo for Nair. Sam will never quite get enough payback for that one. Shoving Dean lightly, Sam reaches into the car, grabbing about half the bags of groceries before turning and making his way to the apartment. He hears Dean laughing behind him, before the car door closes and he knows Dean is following him with the rest of the food they bought. Dad had left the front door open for them, so they just march right through to the kitchen, depositing their purchases on the counters. Dad walks in, pulling on his leather jacket, watching as Sam automatically starts pulling the food from the bags, ready to sort and put them away.

“Sammy, are you going to be okay by yourself for a few hours?” Dad asks softly. Sam glances at him, then towards Dean who is looking at him with just as much concern. Sam refocuses on his father.

“Yeah of course.” Sam says promptly. “You think your meeting will take that long?”

“Yeah I think so. Seems to be a nasty infestation, and she wants us to get started as soon as possible.” Dad answers, moving forward and gripping Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll be back before midnight though, I promise. Remember to lock the door and keep the windows shut until we are back. Don’t let anyone in, and pick up if we call, alright?”

“Got it. Same rules as always.” Sam says. Dad smiles proudly.

“Make sure you have something for dinner, alright? And try to get to bed at a reasonable hour.” Dad continues.

“Yes sir.” Sam nods his head in understanding.

“Also it would be great if you could unpack all our stuff.” Dean adds in. Sam snorts.

“Fat chance. Unpack your own stuff when you get back.” Sam grins at him, delighted that the chance to get back at Dean for his headlock has presented itself so soon. From the annoyed scowl on his brother’s face, Sam can tell that Dean knows exactly what he is thinking. Dad just shakes his head and sighs in exasperation, reaching out and pulling Sam into a hug.

“Behave yourself, son.” Dad says sternly.

“Yes sir.” Sam says as his dad pulls away. Dean squeezes his shoulder once, smiling warmly at him, despite the irritation of knowing he’ll have to unpack his own stuff after they get back from whatever they were going to do while using this so called meeting as a cover. And then Dad and Dean are moving, leaving, the door shutting behind them. Sam moves over, locking the door as he was instructed, before returning to the kitchen to finish putting away the food. He listens to the sound of the impala starting up, before the loud engine fades away, and Sam sighs, feeling the weight of loneliness settling around him. He checks the time, seeing it is just after four pm.

Once the groceries are put away, Sam moves to the living room, grabbing his duffle bag and Dean’s bags and brings them to their respective bedrooms, dumping Dean’s bags on his bed, before returning to his own room. But as he opens his bag, he suddenly realizes he doesn’t want to unpack. In fact, he doesn’t even really want to be inside. Knowing his family will be gone for a while, Sam decides to go check out Waterville a little bit more. Leaving his bag where it is, Sam turns and heads back to the living room, grabbing the spare key and walking out of the apartment, locking up behind him.
Looking both ways, Sam takes off down the road to the left, the same way they had gone to look for groceries. The apartment Dad had chosen was only a few minutes’ drive away from downtown, so it isn’t long before Sam sees the usual small town amenities. Local shops, a few chain stores and restaurants, a park, a rec center, town hall, the postal office and, finally, the library. Sam smiles widely and starts striding happily towards it, although he pauses as he spots a familiar black 69’ Chevy Impala parked out front. Sam frowns, confused, although, logically, he supposed even a library might be in need of pest removal services. But the hairs on Sam’s neck stand on end, and he has a gut feeling that his dad and brother aren’t here for that. And his confidence that they are doing something other than just getting rid of people’s pests grows in Sam.

Making a snap decision, Sam keeps walking towards the library, wanting to see for himself what exactly his family has been hiding from him. He climbs the steps up to the library, pulling open the door and walking into the air conditioned foyer, looking around hesitantly. Not seeing his father or brother right away, he starts slinking through the shelves, keeping his eyes peeled. Finally, he notices the two men huddled together at a table near the far end of the library, both heads bent low over a pile of books. Sam ducks into an aisle near them, staying carefully hidden among what he quickly realizes are romance novels, and he strains his ears as he hears his father speak softly.

“Bobby says he can be here by tomorrow.” Dad is saying. Sam frowns. Uncle Bobby? Why is he coming? Is something wrong with the impala? Sam is pretty sure Dean would be complaining a lot more if that was the case. And Sam hadn’t noticed any issues when he and Dean had gone out earlier.

“Good.” Dean answers, and Sam refocuses as his brother sighs. “We could use his help. He have any ideas when you guys spoke on the phone?”

“He is pretty sure it’s a nest.” Dad says gruffly.

“Wonderful.” Dean groans. Sam frowns in confusion. Nest sounds like their kind of work and yet… why does he get the distinct feeling that he is still missing something? “What makes him so sure?”

“No idea. It all looks like one to me, but he has been doing this a lot longer than I have, so I’ve learned not to question his judgement.” Dad answers. Sam is even more puzzled than before. None of what he is hearing makes any sense at all. Nests means they are talking about a work thing, at least for Dean and Dad, but Uncle Bobby owns a scrapyard and auto shop. Unless, maybe it is a specific type of pest, maybe one that frequents scrapyards that Uncle Bobby might have some tips for on how to get rid of? Something like rats or something?

“Fair enough.” Dean says softly. “The man is a genius when it comes to this stuff.” Dad grunts in agreement and the two fall silent for a moment. Sam debates leaving, sure that he isn’t going to get anything more clarifying about what the heck they are talking about, but then Dean is speaking again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sit this one out, and let you and Bobby handle it? Someone should stay with Sammy.”

“I know you are worried son, but we are covering our tracks. There is no way anything can trace us back to him.” Dad says confidently. “Besides, if Bobby and I are right, then these things are rare. I know you don’t want to miss out on being able to hunt them. And with Sammy about to go off to school, you should be focusing on getting ready to do this full time. And he needs to be getting a little more used to being on his own. Or, more on his own at least.”

“Have you told him yet?” Dean asks softly. Sam’s curiosity burns even more, and he steps closer to the shelf, hoping to hear more.

“No, not yet. I was planning on surprising him after this job.” Dad admits. “I think he is feeling nervous about moving out to California, so I thought it would be a pleasant surprise to let him know that we will be finding a more permanent home base near Stanford while he is studying. I already found a place.” Dad was right. Sam is pleasantly surprised to realize his family isn’t just going to strand him in Palo Alto for four years, while they continue traveling all over the country. Warmth floods through him at the idea of all three of them having, as Dad put it, a permanent home base. Sam can’t help the smile the spreads across his face at the idea. Dad and Dean fall silent again, and Sam, feeling a lot better, despite the confusing things he had overheard, starts to slip away, before Dean is speaking again, softer even than before, and Sam freezes, straining to hear the words.

“What do we do with the one we know about?” Dean is asking.

“I think we take it out tonight.” Dad replies.

“Won’t that tip off the nest?” Dean asks, and Sam feels a chill run down his back. Once again, he has the odd feeling that his definition of nest, and Dean’s is entirely different.

“I doubt it.” Dad says nonchalantly. “Bobby will be here early, before noon easily. If it is a nest, they probably won’t be expecting the thing back before nightfall tomorrow.” Sam frowns, and the warm, happy feeling he had been feeling is quickly starting to dissipate. Nervousness is slowly starting to take its place, and he isn’t certain he wants to hear anything else. Still, something holds him in place.

“Did you find an address?”

“Yeah.” Dean says. “Two Eighty-Nine, Blackwood Crescent. Abandoned warehouse, far side of town. Isolated and no neighboring residential areas, no way anyone should be coming across it.” Sam is frozen, his heart starting to race as doubt and fear and confusion sweeps through him. This doesn’t sound like a normal job for pest control. And that doesn’t sound like his father and brother. Dean is supposed to be warm and teasing and happy. Dad is supposed to be kind, and gentle, if a little on the gruff side. These men sound cool, calculating and detached.
Suddenly, Sam wants nothing more than to get out of here, and away from them. Turning quietly on his heel, Sam leaves the aisle as quietly as he entered, hiding behind the shelves until his brother and father are out of sight, and he can slip unnoticed out of library. Without even thinking about it, Sam starts heading towards home, wanting to forget all about what he learned. What he overheard, and the dark pit that seems to have opened up inside of him where his stomach had once been. He tries very hard not to think, walking faster and faster until he is practically running back up the road, twisting and turning through the neighborhoods until he is back in front of the apartment.

And then Sam stops, breathing heavily, and staring at the front door. It is so close. All he has to do is walk over, put the key in the lock, and walk inside. Make himself some dinner, read a book maybe, look at some more pamphlets on Stanford and then go to bed at a reasonable time. Just like his father asked him to. But the things he had overheard in the library play over and over again in his head. Why was Dean looking up abandoned addresses? What kind of nest could they be trying to clean out? And why did they call in Uncle Bobby for something that didn’t seem to have anything to do with cars? It all seems so shady. But… then again, is it really so shady? What if Dad’s client was someone from the city, asking them to look at cleaning out some rodents from some abandoned or neglected property that they are looking to sell off, or renovate, or demolish? What if Dean was right, and pest control is slightly more dangerous than what Sam had been figuring, and they were looking at something deadlier than maybe a few stray rats, or rabbits or something?

That still doesn’t factor in the Uncle Bobby of it all, but for all Sam knows, maybe Uncle Bobby has more experience with pest control than Sam is aware of? It isn’t exactly like the grumpy old man likes to overshare after all. Maybe he genuinely just has some advice that can help his family. Sam’s heart rate and breathing both slow as his head finally seems to be listening to some logic, and reasoning and he almost blushes with embarrassment. What is wrong with him that he immediately jumped to the worst conclusions? Dad and Dean are just doing a job, their usual job, and here Sam is freaking out thinking they might be burglars or something. Sam snorts, shaking his head at his own foolishness. It must just be some sort of transitional anxiety, or something, now that he is going off to college. And dad was right, that Sam had been nervous about being alone, living on his own in California.

But now that he knows his family is going to be there, he feels a weight lifting off of his shoulders, and he just feels more and more ridiculous by the second over his reactions to both what he heard, and what he and Dean had discussed. Of course Dean would be upset by the idea of Sam joining the family business. He and Dad were strictly blue-collar. Hard-working, devoted to their jobs, and amazing people, but he knows they both want more for him. They want him to have a stable home, stable income. He knows that. So of course the idea that he might be what they consider stuck in the same life style would be devastating to Dean. Of course, that isn’t how Sam sees it, but he can see how they might. If only Sam can think of a way to explain it that might register with his brother and father. That he doesn’t want to get ‘stuck’ as it were, but that, with his degree from Stanford, maybe he could help them all find that stability, that home, that he knows they want just as much as he does.
Deciding that thinking on how best to broach this conversation from that angle will be his goal for the evening, Sam lets out a long, slow breath and starts for the front door again, but the sound of a car slowing down and turning into the driveway stops him. Not hearing the usual accompanying roar of the impala’s engine, or the loud whining growl of Bobby’s truck, Sam turns in confusion to see a beat up, plain silver Honda civic turn into the drive. The door opens and a young woman, probably close to Dean’s age, steps out, smiling widely at him.

“Hey kid.” She calls. Sam pauses, watching her curiously. “I uh… saw you running down the street. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her voice is sweet and gentle, and her smile is kind. Gorgeous blue eyes look over him sympathetically, and angelic blonde hair frames her face like a halo. Sam’s cheeks blush scarlet red from humiliation. Of course the pretty, attractive girl would have seen him running like a lunatic.

“I’m fine.” He looks down shyly, touched by her kindness, but deeply regretting his insane theories and paranoia even more now.

“Are you sure?” The woman asks, closing her door and stepping closer. “You looked upset.”

“I’m really good.” Sam looks back up, meeting her eyes and he tries to smile reassuringly. “Thank you, though.” The woman smiles a breathtaking smile, and Sam has the sudden need to know if she is single or not. Maybe it was worth embarrassing himself, if she is.

“My pleasure.” The woman says, that soft, melodic voice washing over Sam and all he can think about is how that silky looking hair might feel under his hands, or how her ruby-red, full lips might feel against his. Eternally grateful that his father and brother are not here, Sam eyes the woman as she walks even closer, and he admires the lovely sundress hugging her figure. “Actually, I should be the one thanking you.” Sam frowns at that, confused again. He is feeling confused a lot today.

“Why?” Sam asks. The woman grins, but the smile isn’t nearly as lovely this time. There is something dark, and menacing about it.

“I never would have found the Winchester hide out if you hadn’t led me right to it. Sam, right?” Sam freezes at her question. Unable to move, or even think properly through his shock, he only barely registers the passenger door of the civic opening, and a second person, one he hadn’t even noticed when the car first pulled in, climbed out. This one was male, and also looked to be about Dean’s age. Dressed in jeans, a dark shirt and thick leather jacket, Sam had a brief thought that he must be melting in the summer heat. That is, until he moved the jacket aside and Sam saw why he was wearing the jacket in the first place. A gun, some type of pistol, sits on his hip, and the man smirks when he notices Sam staring at it, wide-eyed. The woman starts speaking again, and Sam’s eyes snap towards her, as fear starts to replace the shock holding him paralyzed. “It is Sam isn’t it? Or are you Dean?” Sam stiffens at the mention of his brother, but stays silent. Every instinct he has tells him it would be a bad idea to answer that question. But then the man is moving closer, a hand drifting to the gun and Sam suddenly has a feeling that it would be a worse idea to not answer it.

“My girl asked you a question kid.” The man smiles politely, but it, like the woman’s, is cold, and menacing and dark and hides a promise of something terrible in it. Well, that answers the question on if she is single, Sam thinks slightly hysterically as he reluctantly answers.

“S… Sam. My na… name is Sam.” He stammers. The woman smiles in delight.

“Excellent. I was really hoping we would run into you.” She says brightly. “Would you be a dear and let us inside, Sam? I think it would be better for us to talk someplace private.” Glancing once more at the gun at the man’s hip, Sam swallows anxiously and nods, backing up slowly. No way was he turning his back on these two psychos who knew his name, and his brother’s. Dean.
Sam feels a sharp pang, thinking about Dean, and he both wishes desperately that Dean was here with him right now, and eternally grateful that he isn’t. The woman and the man follow after him towards the house, seemingly amused by his unwillingness to have his back to them. He finally reaches the porch and shifts sideways so that he can unlock the door while keeping them in his sights, before reluctantly leading them into the apartment. They follow quickly, shutting the door behind them, and then the man is pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Sam looks at them, his heart back to racing mode, and panic floods his body.

“Be a good kid, and turn around and put your hands behind your back, Sammy.” The man orders, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Sam bristles slightly at the use of the nickname that only his father and brother get to use, but he isn’t stupid enough to act on the anger. He has read enough books, seen enough shows, to know that if they wanted him dead, he would be already. But if he does something stupid, there are plenty of ways for them to hurt him, and make it that much harder for him to get away. So, slowly, trembling slightly from the force of his fear, Sam reluctantly turns around.
Dread creeps over him at having his back to them, leaving him vulnerable and exposed, even more so as he carefully places his hands behind his back. Swallowing back bile, and blinking hard to keep his vision from tunneling from the panic, Sam hears the footsteps behind him, and then the coolness of the metal cuffs is touching his wrists. He flinches, biting back a small whimper, as they click shut, but to his surprise they aren’t as tight as he was expecting. Secure, sure, but he doubted they would do much more than bruise lightly. Then the man is gripping his arm and steering him towards one of the kitchen table chairs. Sam stumbles along, tripping twice before he is pushed, gently, into a chair. Sam looks up at the man, who is standing beside him, hand on his gun in a clear warning, and then at the woman, who is studying the living room curiously. Licking his suddenly very dry lips, Sam decides to try to see if he can figure out what is going on.

“Listen…” He says hesitantly, his heart beating faster as both of them turn to look at him. “If… if this is about money… we don’t have any…” They both laugh, and Sam shifts uncomfortably, feeling like he is missing something important.

“We aren’t here to rob you, Sam.” The woman says after a moment, shaking her head. “You really don’t know, do you? We had heard rumors, but we thought they were just that…” She laughs again as Sam stares at her in blank confusion.

“Look, lady, I don’t know who you guys are… but my dad and brother will be home soon, and if you hurt me…” Sam begins, but he cuts off as the man grips his shoulder.

“Don’t worry kid. We don’t have anything against you.” The man says. “We aren’t going to hurt a hair on your head.” Sam frowns, feeling utterly lost, and almost exhausted by fear.

“As for your dear father and brother… now they we do have something against.” The woman says, a coldness creeping into her voice that sends shivers down Sam’s spine. “We are going to need you to give them a call for us. I am assuming Johnny has a cellphone, yes?” Sam flinches at his father’s name, his eyes widening.

“Yes… Bu…but it’s only for emergencies.” Sam whispers. She chuckles.

“Well, I would definitely say this qualifies, wouldn’t you kiddo?” The woman asks mockingly, picking up the home phone that came with the place, and walking towards Sam. “What’s the number?” Sam rattles it off quickly, desperate to not give these people a reason to hurt him. Maybe if they call his dad, he can call the police and they can come help Sam. The woman enters the number, holding out the phone as it starts ringing and putting it on speaker mode. It only rings twice before Sam hears his father’s voice.

“Sammy?” Dad sounds concerned, anxious even and Sam looks up fearfully to the woman, whose eyes are telling him she wants him to speak first. “Sam? You there?”

“D… Dad.” Sam manages to spit out. There is a beat of silence.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” Dad asks, suddenly a lot more calm, but a lot more serious. The woman lifts a finger to her mouth, telling Sam to be quiet and Sam nods once, still feeling the man’s hand on his shoulder.

“Hello again John.” The woman says. The silence lasts even longer this time. “Johnny, this is just rude. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me?”

“Emma.” Dad says, his voice ice cold now. Sam flinches, never having heard it like that before. “I swear to god, if you hurt him…”

“Don’t worry, your baby boy is fine.” Emma purrs. “We don’t hurt the innocent, you should know that… and he is more innocent than we expected. He doesn’t know anything, does he?”

“No.” Dad snaps.

“Good. If you want to keep it that way, we need to meet. And bring the other boy of yours. Dean. I would love to see him again.” Emma orders, grinning down at Sam. There is hardly any silence this time before his dad is speaking.

“Where?”

Chapter Text

Dean has seen his Dad in almost every type of emotion. He has seen him stressed, and angry, drunk and anxious, worried, even scared a few times. Rarely, he has even seen him happy, content. But now, sitting in the back of the library, surrounded by books and a map of the city, Dean watches as his father’s face goes from concerned, to anxious, to downright furious. An anger Dean has only ever seen on his father’s face when either himself or Sam is in danger sweeps over his father’s features, and that tells Dean all he needs to know about what is going on, on the other end of the call. Dean’s stomach drops, as fury and concern wash through him as well, matching his father’s emotions as he wonders just what exactly is happening to his brother. And then his father speaks, and dread decides to join the party.

“Emma.” The name alone conjures up unwanted memories of a hunt gone wrong. Three hunts, actually. Each one a mess, each one because of Emma freaking Wesson, and her moron of a brother Jack. Too slow, and too cautious, it was a wonder they hadn’t gotten themselves killed yet. They slow-walk every single hunt, and because of them, the hunts that they had worked with Dean and his Dad had taken twice as long, and they lost more people than they might have on their own. They were the kind of hunters Dean hated, who preferred to study the creatures, instead of killing them and ending the threat. They also, obnoxiously, believe that not every monster needs to be killed. As if there is such a thing as an innocent monster. Tuning back in to his father’s phone call, he just catches his father asking the soon to be dead hunter ‘where?’. Dean surmises from the one word question that she is asking to meet up, and Dean feels a surge of dark excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. Given the way the phone call had started, Dean figures she and her brother found Sam, and coerced him into calling their father.

Whether they just threatened him, or actually hurt him, Dean isn’t sure, but he does know that however she got a hold of them, she was going to pay ten fold for whatever she has done to Sammy. Dean fights back the urge to take the phone out of his father’s hand as he listens to whatever Emma’s response is, his father writing down an address quickly, eyes dark and promising the same violence that Dean is contemplating. Dean is desperate to speak to Sam, to confirm that he is alright, and his father seems to sense what Dean is feeling, sending him a sympathetic, but warning glance and Dean nods quietly, forcing himself to sit still. “I want to talk to Sam.” Dad’s voice is unequivocal, and nonnegotiable. Dean looks at his father, eyes wide, and pleading, and Dad nods at him once, shifting the phone and putting it on speaker.

“Dad?” Sam’s voice is soft, timid and far too scared for Dean’s comfort. Dad looks pointedly at Dean and Dean can read the message in his eyes loud and clear. Stay quiet, and listen. As hard as it is, with Sammy so vulnerable on the phone, Dean obeys the silent order.

“I’m here son.” Dad says gently, his voice as soft as Sam’s, but certain, and strong, and confident, not betraying a hint of the anger or worry on his face.

“I’m sorry Dad.” Sam says quietly. “I… I went for a walk, and they followed me home.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dad’s face twists in anger and frustration, though his gentle tone doesn’t change even a little, and Dean knows exactly why. There is a reason why Emma and Jack are letting Sam speak, and didn’t immediately hang up the phone when Sam let slip that they are at the apartment they just rented. Even if they left right this second to drive back to the apartment, Sam won’t be there by the time they pull in. And trying to rush, trying to catch them before they can get too far might cause Emma and jack to panic. Might get Sammy hurt. No, the only thing they can do right now, to ensure that they get him back in one piece, is to take a break, take a breath, regroup and come at this smartly. Even still, it takes every ounce of self-control and discipline that his father has drilled into him to keep Dean in his seat. “Sammy I need you to listen to me okay?”

“Okay.” Sam agrees.

“I want you to listen to them. Emma, and I am assuming Jack is there to, right?” Dad asks.

“I think so. There is a guy here… but they didn’t tell me their names.” Sam says quietly.

“Okay. That’s okay, Sammy. You just do whatever they tell you to do, alright? Don’t speak to them unless they speak to you first. Try and stay calm. Dean and I are on our way. We are going to get you out of this, I promise.” Dad says, keeping his tone comforting, but his voice becoming more firm. Confident.

“I… I will.” Sam says after a moment of hesitation. “Er… she, uh, Emma wants the phone back.”

“Then give it to her. Don’t be scared, Sammy. We are coming.” Dad promises him. There is the sound of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then a woman is speaking, and Dean is clenching his fists tightly. Usually he has a zero tolerance policy for hurting women, especially human women, but he is definitely making an exception this time.

“Nine pm tonight, Johnny. You and Dean. We’ll see you then.” Emma says calmly, and then the phone goes dead. Dean shares a look with his father, as he slides the phone back into his pocket. The fear, and anxiety and even the rage is gone from his dad’s face now, replaced with a calm, focused and determined look, the same kind he gets when they are done their research and about to begin the action part of a hunt. Dean tries his best to replicate it, to show his father he is taking the situation every bit as seriously as he is, as his father slides the address he had written down over towards Dean. Dean glances down at it, raising his eyebrows in shock, at the same time his stomach drops practically to his feet.

“Two Eighty-Nine, Blackwood Crescent.” He reads slowly, trying to keep his voice nonchalant and easy-going, despite the slight trembling in his hands. It’s the same address as the warehouse they had been planning on luring the nest of vampires they had come to town to hunt to. The address they had only just shortly ago decided was perfect for a little bit of private decapitation. “I would say this could just be a case of great minds thinking a like, but that would a little insulting considering it’s Emma and Jack freaking Wesson.”

“This isn’t a coincidence…” Dad says softly, studying the address. “One, or both of them were here when you mentioned the address…”

“Which means Sammy probably was to.” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t have been surprised. The first place that Sam finds his way to, no matter what town they travel to, is always the library. Even if they have tried to impress upon him the dangers of leaving home, so, so, so many times. But, despite the warnings, Sam is drawn to libraries, to books, the same way he and Dad are drawn to the hunt. And, after all, it isn’t like he or Dad can explain the real threats out there, like monsters, or stupid hunters who don’t know what’s good for them. Nor does he, or his father, have any inclination to find a way to loop Sammy in on what really is out there. He is too good, too innocent, to taint with that kind of knowledge. Still, this situation is exactly why they had wanted Sam to stay at home. Although he doubts Sam had seen him or his father in the library, and he knows for a fact that they haven’t been overheard, nobody would have followed Sam home if he hadn’t left home in the first place.

Dean supposes they should just be glad it was the likes of Emma and Jack that spotted Sam, instead of any of the vamps they are tracking. Dad is nodding silently in agreement with Dean’s guess about Sammy’s presence, and Dean suddenly shifts uneasily, not having intended to get his brother into any kind of trouble. Irresponsible he might have been, but it is also completely normal for a kid his age.

“Dad… it wasn’t Sam’s fault. He… he was probably just wanting to get some air, he didn’t think…”

“I know, Dean.” Dad says, looking at Dean with a weary expression. “He’s eighteen, and restless. I know we can’t keep him locked up, at least without telling him about why we want him to stay home. I’m not mad at him. But, you know, maybe this whole thing is a good experience for him.”

“A good experience?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows.

“If Emma and Jack are just using him as bait, the way I think they are, he won’t be hurt. And maybe this will make him a little bit more cautious. More likely to listen to us.” Dad says. Dean considers it, frowning. Knowing Sam, his father is probably correct. If the worst thing that happens to Sam is he gets scared a little bit, then maybe that little bit of fear can be productive. Sam will probably be shaken, and upset of course. As he should be. But he is also incredibly smart, and a stupid fast learner. Seeing the consequences of his actions, of defying their father, is bound to resonate inside his emotional, vulnerable little brother, in a way that will condition him quickly to not want to try anything so impulsive again. And, after all, Emma and Jack are humans. Psycho, moronic humans who have seriously crossed a line, and who will pay for that, but not supernatural freaks.

Maybe running into these douchebags is exactly what Sam needs to help weed out some of the youthful recklessness that he still has, and maybe embrace some of Dean’s and their father’s security protocols that he has been resistant to, without Sammy being exposed to the horrific, nightmare-fuel creatures that exist out there. The more he thinks about it, the more Dean can see the benefit of what his father is getting at. And then, Dean’s thoughts turn darker. Of what might be happening to his little brother. It has been a few years, after all, since the last hunt with Emma and Jack. Ironically, it had also been a vampire hunt, and those idiots had almost gotten themselves turned. If Dean hadn’t arrived when he had, his father hot on his heels, they would have been. That level of incompetence had been the last straw, and Dad had sworn then and there that they were never hunting together again. And, with hunters, a few years can be a lifetime. Who knows how Emma and Jack have changed since that hunt? Maybe all their sympathizing with ‘innocent’ monsters, has blinded them to who is actually innocent in this world. Maybe it doesn’t matter to them that Sammy is just a kid. Dean swallows as he thinks about Sammy, skinny and scrawny as he is, up against two decently trained, experienced hunters. They could hurt him, if they wanted. They could do worse. Maybe they are. “Dean.” Dean blinks, looking up at his father.

“Yeah?” He says, when it seems like his father is waiting for a verbal acknowledgment.

“I know you are worried about him.” Dad says softly. “But the Winchester name is well-known in the hunter community. You know that as much as I do. Hell, Dean, you are more than half the reason our name commands the respect it does. And the Wessons know what will happen to them, if word gets out that they dared harm a member of any hunter’s family, let alone ours. They won’t dare harm a single hair on Sammy’s head. I doubt they will even bind him enough to leave a bruise, if they bother tying him up at all. They’ll probably keep a gun on him, to control him, but Sam is smart. Smart enough to wait for us, now that he knows we are coming for him. He won’t do anything rash, or say something stupid. He’ll keep his head down, and they won’t do anything to risk their bartering chip.”

“He isn’t a bartering chip.” Dean mutters.

“He is to them, Dean.” Dad says pointedly. “Clearly, they want something from you and me. And they know that Sammy is the best way to get to us. So they won’t do anything to risk losing that advantage. And they are also smart enough to know that hurting Sam in any way will ensure we don’t do a single damn thing that they want from us. He is okay. He will be okay, I promise.”

“And what if they do hurt him?” Dean asks, worriedly. His father’s eyes flash darkly.

“Then we show them what happens when monsters cross the Winchester’s path.” Dad promises viciously. He stands up, and Dean follows suit. “Come on. Our hunt can wait until tomorrow, we need to go get some eyes on this warehouse. See if we can come up with a plan.” Dean nods once, and, abandoning the books and maps where they lay across the table, the two hunters quickly depart the library, and cross over to the Impala. Climbing in, Dean pulls out the small town map he had snagged when they had first decided to come to Waterville, and quickly directs his father across the city. Parking a few blocks away, to keep the impala safely out of sight, Dean and his dad quickly set out on foot and soon enough leave behind the residential area, heading into the long abandoned industrial park Dean had found.

Although most of the warehouses and factories have been torn down, leaving lonely, empty lots of cracked, weed-infested pavement and long gone-out lamp posts, one large warehouse remains, the metal panels and doors rusted and jagged, windows blown out and the stone and brick sections of the walls crumbling down in various states. It is clearly a dying building, slowly decomposing under the elements and time, and Dean stands by his decision. It would have been the perfect place to lure the vampires to. Now though, they are the ones being lured in, and his baby brother is the bait, so Dean restrains himself from making any comments. Quickly, and with the stealth gained from years and years of non-stop hunting, the two men cross the abandoned lots, and slip without hesitation into the empty warehouse.

The halls are dark, and littered with trash, and broken glass, and warped, rusted metal. They move cautiously, and silently, up the stairs, until they find the cats walk they are searching for, having been in far too many abandoned warehouses at this point to not know that there is always a cats walk, and they are always perfect for a stealthy recon of a situation. They still have a few hours to go, until Emma’s meeting time, but the more information they can get, by reconning now, the better prepared they might be for the meeting. Dean shares a sharp look with his father as they cross into the main, open space of the warehouse. Although it has clearly been years, if not decades, since anything has actually been stored in the place, the massive walls of metal shelves remain, some crumbled, some flattened, but most still stand as they were, creating a large, confusing maze of metal slates and poles, waiting to hold crates and boxes that will never been seen in here again.
His father starts moving, ghost-like, across the open space, to keep an eye on the opposite end of the room. Dean knows, without even having to confirm with his father, that they will stay here for exactly two hours. He checks his watch. Four-thirty. So by six-thirty, they should have everything they need. John Winchester lived by the golden rule that recon should never be more or less than two hours. To get in, observe the exits, the terrain, the advantages and disadvantages of the area, and/or the situation, potential civilians and hostiles, and to get back out should never take less, should you miss a critical piece of information, nor longer, should you grow restless, or impatient, or sloppy and make a mistake. Of course, in some situations two hours isn’t enough to gather everything, and, as his father likes to remind him, no plan is ever bullet-proof, but the two hours was always enough to get a solid starting place. Plus, this gives them time to sneak out, regroup, report on what the other has discovered, gather what arms they might need, and return in time for their meeting, with at least a dozen plans in place, ready to execute based on the likely moves of their prey, in this case, dangerous, rogue hunters.

Dean settles himself into a corner of the catwalk, using the natural shadows and darkness of the warehouse to help hide him. As hunters, Emma and Jack should have sharp eyes and honed senses for any intruders, but nobody can sense everything all the time, and Dean is hoping that they will think he and Dad are too overcome with emotion regarding Sammy to put together a sophisticated recon job. Not to mention, if they are worth their salt as hunters, they will have their attention focused on Sam. He may not be trained, or experienced, but the kid is fit, wicked fast thanks to his love of running, and more intelligent than any eighteen year old has any right to be. And, he is a kid. As much as he knows Sam will do his best to obey their father, as logical as Sam can be, he is a teenager, in a dangerous, scary situation. Emotions might make him act out, and that unpredictability is something both he and his father are going to have to consider.
Dean studies the warehouse below him, memorizing the layout of the shelves, while identifying every possible way in and out of the room that he can see, occasionally checking his watch. At five pm, Dean hears movements. His eyes flash towards two metal sliding doors as they screech open, and the horrific loud pitch of rusty metal being pried apart echoes through the massive space. Daylight spills in, illuminating the space, as three figures walk into the warehouse. Dean freezes, his eyes instantly latching onto the scrawny kid with the flop of overgrown shaggy hair, assessing his brother swiftly. His arms are bound behind his back, though with ropes, zip ties, or cuffs Dean isn’t sure. He also appears to be blindfolded, and is being led forward by a tall, masculine figure. Jack Wesson, Dean presumes, anger surging through him as he sees the strong grip on Sam’s arm and what is unmistakably a gun pressed into his back, though he forces it down. Absolutely no good will come out of him acting too quickly right now, certainly not for his brother. Forcing himself to look past the weapon, Dean relaxes when he sees his brother isn’t harmed in any way, not that he can tell from this far away at least.
No limps, no hesitant movements of his body, except for the slight pause in his steps, although that is easily explained by the blindfold. Everyone moves more cautiously when they can’t see where they are going. Dean studies his clothes, not seeing any stains, or signs of distress. The sight of the gun must have been enough to coerce him into compliance, then, without the need of a fight. Satisfied for the moment that Sam is healthy and whole, Dean returns his attention to the two hunters. Tall and lithe and fit, both siblings have the same pale blonde hair, Jack’s cropped short, and Emma’s long and thick. Dean knows that up close, they both have blue eyes, though hers are a deeper shade than his. And, unfortunately, both of them are also moving freely, and unencumbered, meaning neither of them are currently wounded, or weakened. Not that they will stay that way for long.

“Stay here with him.” Emma’s voice, though she speaks relatively softly, still carries easily through the entire warehouse, and Dean shifts ever so slightly, focusing his attention more specifically on her. Unlike Jack, who is dressed in typical hunter fashion, she looks more like she should be at a beach, or something, not holding a kid hostage. Her hair is loose down her back, easily grabbable in a fight, and she is wearing a long, loose sundress that is completely impractical for any kind of hunting. Unless, of course, she wasn’t hunting, per say, but being the bait. Suddenly, Dean has a pretty good idea of how his eighteen year old idiot of a brother got himself into this situation, and if there wasn’t a gun at his back, Dean might have found the whole thing a little funny. He still might, once Sammy is safe and away from these lunatics. “I’m going to do a quick check.”

“Don’t take too long.” Jack’s voice answers. Dean watches Emma head off in his father’s direction, so he focuses his gaze on Jack instead. As he watches, Jack pulls his brother over to one of the poles of the metal shelving units. Testing it quickly, by grabbing it and trying to shake it, Jack must decide it is sturdy enough because he slides his gun into the holster at his hip. “You aren’t going to give me any trouble, are you Sam?”

“No Sir.” Sam says quietly, respectfully. Dean feels a surge of anger, and pride. Pride for Sam’s calm obedience, exactly what their father had asked for, in the face of what he has to imagine to be a terrifying, confusing situation for him, and anger for the douchebags who put him in that situation to begin with.

“Good.” Jack sounds pleased, and, if Dean is hearing correctly, a little relieved. He turns Sam around, and Dean tenses, watching as Jack unlocks what he can now see to be a set of standard handcuffs from
one of Sam’s wrists, pulling both arms around the post carefully, before snapping the cuff back into place, effectively binding Sam to the metal shelves. Once Sam is secure, Jack exits the warehouse through the doors they entered through, but is back in mere seconds, carrying portable lamps that he uses to light up the surrounding space. He also sets a cooler and a folding chair down near Sam. “I’m going to take the blindfold off, okay kid? But it goes back on if and when I want it to. Understand?”

“Yes Sir.” Sam says, just as quietly as before, but with distinct relief in his voice. Dean can sympathize. Sight is critical, even for civilians like Sammy, so to be deprived of it for any length of time is torture. Dean watches as Jack moves over to the kid, removing the blindfold, and Sam blinks, looking anxiously around as he tries to take in his surroundings.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Jack asks, sitting in the lawn chair, resting his gun in his lap. “Don’t worry, you won’t be here long. Once daddy and big brother are here, your part in all of this is done.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Sam asks softly, fearfully. “With us?”

“You? Nothing. We know you don’t have anything to do with your father and brother’s… extracurricular activities.” Jack answers. “As for them… they have some things to answer for.” Stay quiet, Sam, Dean thinks to himself, eyes focused on Jack as he wills the moron to keep his mouth shut.

“What extracurricular activities?” Sam asks. “They are pest controllers, they work and then they come home.” Jack laughs loudly.

“Pest controllers? Is that what they told you?” Jack stands up laughing again as he studies Sam. “Well… it’s close enough to the truth, I’ll give them that.” Confusion sweeps across Sam’s expression, and Dean shifts restlessly, his eyes narrowing. Jack reaches out, patting Sam’s cheek condescendingly. “But no need to worry your head over it, Sammy. If they do what we say, I am sure you can ask them all about that tomorrow when you are back safe and sound in their loving arms.” Sam jerks away from the touch, scowling and Jack just grins. “Get comfy. It’s going to be a long evening while we wait.” Dean’s eyes snap up at the sound of footsteps, and he watches Emma return from the shadows. Clearly she has another stash of supplies in the warehouse, probably more than one, because she has changed out of the sundress into much more normal wear for a hunter. Jeans, boots, a tank top and a light jacket. Dean immediately spots the machete hanging off her waist, the hilt of a knife in her boot, and the gun holstered at her waist. Dean and Sam both watch her approach, cautious. She studies Sam, smiling slightly at him.

“Do you need anything, Sammy? We have some water, and some snacks if you are hungry.” Emma offers. Sam just shakes his head. “Alright… let us know if you change your mind.” She takes up a post by the door, leaning casually against it as she looks out. Jack seems to be doing the same with the rest of the warehouse. Silence falls over the small group, Emma and Jack still, and observant. Unfortunately, Dean notes, it seems they have only gotten better at their job over the past few years. Sam is the only one moving, shifting uncomfortably and twisting his arms behind his back, his eyes flickering between his two captors and the rest of the warehouse, and Dean wishes more than anything he can just drop down, and kill Emma and Jack, and get his baby brother out of here. That he could grab Sam, and tell him everything is going to be okay. But he knows that the slightest mistake right now will only end up hurting Sam, so he forces himself to be as still and watchful as the hunters below, satisfied that, at the very least, they truly don’t seem to want to harm Sammy. At least not yet. They don’t even seem to want to tell him all about what he and his father really do. They just wait. And watch. So Dean does as well, until, seemingly no time later, his watch ticks over to six-thirty.

I’ll be back, Sammy, Dean promises silently, as, ghostlike, he drifts back across the catwalk, each step made without sound, the light, skillful gait of the hunter. Slowly, carefully, he makes his way down the stairs, and out of the warehouse. Outside, the sun is barely beginning to set, casting longer and longer shadows that Dean uses to his advantage. Knowing his father will meet him at the car, Dean keeps moving, keeping his head down, until he finally reaches the road they had stashed the impala on. Moments later, as he arrives at the car, he spots his father jogging towards him.

“Report.” Dad orders, as soon as he reaches the car. Dean immediately tells him everything he noticed, including the probable stashes of supplies that Emma and Jack have, and the fact that Sammy is scared, and tied up, but unharmed and, while no doubt suspicious, still in the dark about the real family business. Dad relaxes at the news, nodding when Dean finishes his full sit rep, before giving his own. Like Dean had thought, Emma had gone to a stashed backpack near the corner Dad had been using as a hideout to get her change of clothes, which means that at the very least, they should expect Jack to also have a private stash somewhere.

But other than Emma’s brief appearance, there was nothing else that had happened to report, so Dad just tells Dean about the exits he saw, and potential obstacles or even last-ditch weapons they could encounter if they end up at that end of the warehouse for any reason. As unlikely as it might be, they had had to resort to Plan Z too many times before to discount the importance of the information. As they stand over the hood of the car, debating the best way to approach the Wessons, however, Dad’s phone rings. He pulls it out, cautious as he studies the number, before answering. “John here.” Dean watches, feeling a horrifying sense of déjà vu as the caution is replaced by fury, and anxiety, and Dean is suddenly positive that he knows who is on the other end of the call. “We agreed on nine.” Dad suddenly growls. He pauses, listening, hate flashing through his expression. “Fine. Give us ten minutes.” He snaps the cellphone closed, letting out a loud string of curse words.

“What is it?” Dean asks, fighting back a rising sense of dread.

“They want us to meet now.” Dad curses.

“So… Plan S?” Dean asks. Dad nods once, sharply, before climbing into the driver’s seat of the impala, Dean easily sliding into the passenger seat. Slamming their doors, Dad starts up the car, and begins steering her towards the warehouse they just left, Dean frowning out the window. He hated Plan S. It was designed for situations exactly like this. When they had an assigned meet up time with someone or something, that suddenly got changed, it basically meant be prepared for anything. They have no time now to pick the best route, the best tactic to manipulate the situation to their advantage. Which, no doubt, is exactly Emma’s intention. Instead, they have to go in as is, and be prepared to adapt to whatever is thrown their way on the spot. Dean really, really hates Plan S. Minutes later, Dean and his father pull up to the warehouse, driving across the empty lot they had just crossed on foot, his father heading towards the doors Emma and Jack had used, and that are still standing wide open. Shutting off the car, Dad looks at Dean and he nods, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out the two guns they always keep up front for quick, easy access. Of course, they both have a couple knives on them at all times, but the weight of the guns helps both of them feel more in control, more confident that they can act quickly if they need to. Climbing out of the car, Dean lets his father take the lead striding into the warehouse.

Somehow, walking in like this, despite Dean’s familiarity with the warehouse, and knowledge of the space, and everything he and his father learned during their recon, everything feels entirely different. Maybe because now they are on equal footing with the enemy, instead of looking down on the situation from the safety and security of the high ground. Or maybe it is because, from here, Dean is only a few feet from his bound and helpless little brother, and the threats standing guard by his side seem so much larger. As he and his dad walk into the warehouse, Dean’s eyes take in everything. The lamps lighting the space, the cooler, the chair. Sam, unharmed but clearly shaken, and confused, handcuffed to the same pole from earlier, his eyes once again blindfolded. Jack is at Sam’s side, gun out and pressed to Sam’s head, while Emma stands a few feet ahead of them, grinning.

“Hello Johnny. Dean.” Emma says pleasantly. “Long time no see.”

“Emma.” John says coolly. At his voice, Sam stiffens, and Dean can see the desperation crossing his face, even with his eyes covered.

“Dad?” He calls. Jack presses the gun a little bit harder into Sam’s head, and Dean glares at him murderously, the hate in his eyes only intensifying when he opens his mouth.

“Shh, Sammy. The adults are talking.” Jack mocks.

“It’s okay Sam.” Dad calls, glaring at Jack with as much venom in his eyes and tone as Dean feels in his. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“Not to him, anyways.” Emma says. “As for you two…”

“What do you want?” Dean snarls, growing more and more impatient, although his eyes never leave the gun trained to his little brother’s temple.

“To clean up the mess you left on that last job we worked together.” Emma says.

“We left?” John raises his eyebrows. “The one you caused and then we cleaned up, you mean?”

“The one you thought you cleaned up Johnny.” Emma answers. “Turns out, you missed a few… pests.” She grins, her smile widening as another set of teeth descend from her mouth. Dean’s eyes flash to the set of fangs as a horrible understanding comes over him. He hadn’t arrived in time to save Jack and Emma from being turned. And then, another horrible realization washes over him. Vampires sense things better than humans. So they both knew that he and his father had been here earlier. They knew the entire time. From the way Dad has frozen solid beside him, Dean knows he is coming to the exact same realization. The silence between them spirals horribly, and Sam shifts uncomfortably as Jack smiles, showing off his own set of fangs, and for the first time Dean is grateful for the blindfold, keeping Sammy from seeing any of this nightmare.

“Dad? Dean?” Sammy whispers, the fear of not knowing what is going on driving him to speak again, even as Jack once again presses the gun further against his skin. This time it is Emma who shushes Sam, pressing a finger to his lips, before stroking his cheek.

“It’s okay Sammy.” Emma says mockingly. “Daddy and Dean are still here. But they are going to come with me, nice and quiet, while Jack keeps you company. We have a lot to talk about.”

“If Jack is staying, so am I.” Dean declares. If they had been human, maybe he would have considered going with Emma, but now that he knows the truth, there is no way in hell he is leaving one of the monsters alone with Sammy.

“You really don’t get a say in this Dean-o.” Jack drawls. “See, I’m the one with the gun.”

“You and I both know what happens if you pull that trigger, Jack.” Dean threatens. True, he doesn’t have a machete on him to take the bastard’s head off, but he has a knife, and a lot of pent up rage. He’ll make do. Emma studies him as his dad shifts restlessly beside him.

“It’s okay, Jack.” Emma says after a moment. “Dean can stay. He knows the situation, and I doubt he is stupid enough to do anything, knowing exactly what we can do to his brother.” Dean meets her sneering gaze, ice in his veins and hate in his eyes at her words. “Besides, maybe it is better if just Johnny and I speak anyways. Grown up, to grown up. But if Dean tries anything, put his brother in the ground.” The direct threat sets Dean’s teeth on edge, and he is half tempted to pull out his gun and empty his clip into her on principle. But everyone here, except for Sammy, knows that bullets won’t do jack all to her. “Same goes for you, Jonny. Try anything, and it is Sammy who pays the price. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.” Dad says, his voice flat, and emotionless, and absolutely deadly.

“Dean?” Emma asks pointedly.

“Yes.” Dean says reluctantly. She beams, letting her fangs descend once more.

“Excellent. Then, Johnny, if you would?” Emma says, gesturing towards the doors they came through. Dean exchanges a long, dark look with his father, nodding his head once. His father walks out, Emma following after him, and he turns his attention back to Jack, who has shifted so that the gun is now down by his side, but his other arm is slung across Sam’s shoulders. Sam stands stiff, and frozen, trying not to move, but Dean can sense his brother’s discomfort. The gesture, while casual, is undoubtedly threatening, even Sam must be sensing that. And he doesn’t even know what kind of strength Jack is hiding. The kind that would let him crush Sam’s neck in a second flat. Unwilling to ever let Sam know exactly how much danger he is, Dean speaks in his softest, most reassuring voice.

“It’s okay, Sammy. You’re fine. I promise, everything is going to be okay.” He promises, hoping to God that he can actually follow through on it.

Chapter Text

John is an idiot. He and Dean had armed themselves with knives, and guns, but he had gotten sloppy. In the heat of the moment, when Emma had called to change the time of the meeting, his sole thought had been about Sammy. Getting to him, before Emma and Jack did something to hurt him. And because of that, because he let his guard down, it had never crossed his mind to grab more weapons from the trunk. To grab a damn machete. In a town, where he knows there are vampires, even if he didn’t know Emma and Jack had sprouted fangs. And now Sammy is the one paying the price. If he hadn’t been so stupid, if he had followed his training, Dean and he could have cut those bastards’ heads off and had been halfway out of the state with Sammy safely in the backseat of the impala by now. Instead, he is following a fang, who ironically does have a machete, while leaving one son with only a knife that might work against these things, and the other tied up and completely defenseless, in the presence of another fang, one who unlike his boys is fully prepared, on guard, and at full strength. He is never going to forgive himself as it is, for walking into such a stupid trap, but if anything happens to his boys… to Mary’s boys… Hell itself would be too good for him. He watches Emma Wesson carefully, noticing all the subtle changes that mark how different she truly is from the woman he had last hunted with, changes that signify what she is now. The hunter he had met had been good. Not perfect, but quick, light on her feet, and solid. The monster in front of him is much more graceful. There is a litheness to her, that, to less trained eyes would be a beautiful, captivating gait. To the experienced eyes of a hunter, it is dangerous. Strong, and agile, and perfect for crouching, for lunging, for hunting of a different kind. It is the walk of a faster, stronger, predator. And already, he knows exactly what she is doing, by leading him outside. She is taking him far enough away that they will be outside the hearing range of Dean and Sammy, but John has no doubt that Jack will hear them as clearly as if they were standing right next to him. Sammy may not hear anything that John doesn’t want him overhearing, but Dean won’t be able to hear a signal either. Not before Emma gets a warning off to Jack, and between his gun, and the vampiric strength… John swallows, not letting that thought get to completion. Emma finally stops, turning around with lightning speed, and John pauses, squaring up and lifting his head, not about to let her try to intimidate him, while being fully aware that she could snap his neck, drain him dry, hell, use his own gun to shoot him before he could ever react. Vampires on their own are deadly, dangerous. But a hunter turned vampire? It’s a whole different league of lethal.

“I’m impressed, John. With you, and Dean.” Emma says out of the blue. John raises an eyebrow questioningly. “For how you have managed to keep little Sammy in the dark, for so long. About things like you. Like me. How do you do it? Can’t be easy, especially with one son already in the life.”

“With Dean, I didn’t have a choice.” John growls. “I needed his help, and he needed to know the truth. He was there the night that Mary… that it happened. He deserved to know about what really happened, and he needs to know what is out there to keep Sammy safe. But Sam was just a baby. He doesn’t need to know about any of this. He is a good kid, a smart kid, who has a chance of a good life. I’m not getting in the way of that, I’m not ruining it by destroying any sense of normalcy that the kid has. And if you and your brother know what’s good for you, you won’t either.”

“Oh, I think we both know that me and my brother don’t have much of anything, much less anything good, after this anyways.” Emma says softly. John hesitates, pulled up short by the brazen statement. He meets her gaze, her eyes calm, steady. Knowing. “In your books, and in Dean’s I’d wager, Jack and I were dead the second you got the first phone call from us, isn’t that right?” She smiles a little, as if daring John to contradict her. He doesn’t.

“Yes.” He confirms. There is no point in lying when they both know the truth. For one thing, she and her brother are monsters. Vampires. Knowing that, there is no way he or Dean could let them go free. For another, they dared to touch Sammy. They took him, tied him up, and used him like a bartering chip. There is no forgiving that crime.

“Good. I’m glad we can be honest with each other.” Emma nods, looking thoughtful. John raises both eyebrows this time, confused, before it clicks, and understanding washes over him.

“You want Dean and me to kill you.” He says slowly. She smiles wryly.

“You two got Jack and me into this mess… it’s only fitting that you get us out of it.” She answers. John scowls, but she raises her hand before he can speak. “Don’t you fret your little head off Johnny. We haven’t fed on humans. We haven’t killed. Yet.”

“That’s not possible.” John says immediately. “Vampires need blood.”

“True.” She agrees. “But as it turns out, there is no specific kind of blood. Sure, human smells the best. Probably tastes the best to. But any kind will do. Animal is disgusting, but sates the thirst the longest. Ghoul isn’t bad. Werewolf is the best, but it barely even takes the edge off.” John frowns, growing more and more confused the longer she speaks.

“You don’t hunt humans…?” He asks slowly. John prides himself on his ability to read people, and as he studies the young woman… the fang, in front of him, he sees nothing but earnestness, and honesty, looking back at him.

“No. Not a single drop of human blood has passed either my lips, or Jack’s.” Emma says, folding her arms across her chest. “We may be monsters, but we are still hunters. We still value life. And if you need proof of that, look at your son. We could have taken him out of the state by now. We could have drained him dry. Tortured him. Killed him in any number of ways, you know how creative hunters can be. Have to be.”

“But you didn’t.” John says.

“But we didn’t.” Emma agrees. “Because we don’t want to. As I said, we don’t hurt the innocent. And Sam Winchester is innocent. Because of you, and Dean.”

“So why take him at all?” John asks pointedly. “Why do all of this?”

“Because Jack and I need something from you. Besides your skills with machetes and knacks for clean, quick beheadings.” Emma replies. “Although, we would like those as well.” John frowns, furrowing his brow.

“Why would we kill you?” John asks. “Or, I guess, why would you tell me you aren’t hunting humans, and then ask me to kill you anyways? You know Dean and I only kill monsters.”

“I do. And, I know how odd it sounds, but… Jack and I… can’t keep fighting what we are. We are slipping, day by day. We thought we could do it but…” She hesitates, and a look of desperate vulnerability enters her eyes. And it suddenly strikes John how young she looks. How young she will look for eternity, if he and Dean don’t take her out. And then he remembers that she and Jack are… were, about Dean’s age. Just kids. “We don’t want to hurt anybody. We don’t want to kill anybody, who doesn’t deserve it. So… if we can go out, before that happens…” She looks at John, imploringly, and John meets her gaze evenly. He understands where she is coming from. What she is asking of him. When he had served in the marines, it had been discussed. Going out on your own terms, taking yourself out before you could give up your brothers, your company. Dying proudly. Not losing yourself, not becoming the enemy. Some of the tension leaves John as he looks at the young woman, a newfound respect in his eyes. Because even in the hunting community, there was a code. You help each other, no questions asked. Whether its for lore, or for weapons, or for advice. Or for situations exactly like this. When the dangers of the job are thrown in your face in such an undeniable way. But, despite the respect he has for Emma, for what she is asking, there is still an undercurrent of anger.

“Why take Sam?” John asks softly. “Why not call me directly? Or track us down and talk to me in person?”

“Because… before you kill us, Jack and I need a favor. And this… this is the only way to get what we need.” Emma says slowly. “Before you hack of our heads, I mean. Because you and Dean… you kill, and you move on. But we need something more. Something that, when you bring it to us, we will give you Sam back.”

“What do you need?” John asks slowly, curious despite himself. He can see the dislike in her eyes, and he can sense that she has deep disgust for what she is doing. For the way she is using Sam, but he can also see that she genuinely believes she has no choice.

“Our maker.” Emma says slowly. “He’s in town. Starting a new nest. We want his head. And we want to take it ourselves. Payback, for everything he stole from us.”

“You can’t go after him yourself?” John asks.

“He knows our scent. He knows what we would be coming to him for, and he would either flee, or fight, and…” Emma hesitates, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if we could take him.”

“But you think Dean and I can.” John says slowly.

“Between the two of you, and Bobby Singer, yes.” Emma says. John raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. “We overheard you at the library. We know he is coming. The three of you are the best hunters in the country. I think you can take down the vampire who created me and Jack.” John and Emma watch each other, studying each other, sizing the other up. After a few moments of silence, Emma smiles slightly, and reaches towards her waist. John watches warily as she pulls out her machete, and then in bafflement as she offers it to him, handle first. “Of course… you could just behead me here. I’ll even tell Jack to stand down, let your boy go. Then you and your son, and Mr. Singer can track down Dante and his new nest, and go on like this was all just a bad dream.” John slowly reaches out, taking the machete from her, weighing it carefully in his hand, before meeting her gaze. And, in that moment, he knows he will kill her. But not tonight. Because, whatever they have turned into, Jack and Emma Wesson were hunters. Still are, at heart, and they deserve to be stopped before they destroy their legacy. They deserve the respect of dying with dignity. Dying because of their choice, not hunted down. And because John understands vengeance. The need for revenge. He understands how it takes root inside of you, and never lets you go. How far you will go, because of it. The desperate acts you might take. Like turning your four year old son into a soldier. Or kidnapping a kid, to try and make a bargain with their father. He can all too easily empathize with Emma. And, for the first time since that first phone call where he had heard Sam’s panicked, terrified voice, despite all the new information, or maybe because of it, John is absolutely certain that no harm will come to Sammy. Not at the hands of Emma, or Jack, anyways.

“Where is this Dante?” John asks gruffly, taking a practice swing with the machete. Relief shines brightly in her eyes.

“Where all self-respecting vampires hang out.” Emma jokes. “The abandoned warehouse by the docks. At present, he has three fledgling vampires, and one slightly more experienced. Five in total.”

“You’ll take care of him?” John asks, needing to hear the confirmation. “Because he is human… he’ll need food, water, bathroom breaks… It might take us a little bit of time to get this guy.”

“Sam will be fine.” Emma promises. “Whatever he needs, he’ll get. And he will be exactly as he is now, when you return.” John nods, taking a deep breath.

“How will I know which one is Dante? So I can bring him back to you?” John asks.

“He has a tattoo. Of a spider, on his neck.” Emma smiles slightly. “He was there… on that last hunt we had together. You even questioned him, before we knew it was vamps. You’ll recognize him, and he will definitely remember you.” John nods, and offers his hand. Emma shakes it. Wordlessly, they both turn back towards the warehouse, and head back towards where they left the others. Jack and Dean are standing exactly where they were when Emma and John left, Jack watching Dean with an easy smirk, Dean glaring at him murderously. Sam is shifting, twisting his arms uncomfortably, trembling slightly where he stands. Jack and Dean both look over at the sound of their footsteps, Dean’s eyes widening as he spots the machete in John’s hand.

“Dad, what-” He starts to ask, but John looks at him sternly, shaking his head once. Immediately, Dean goes silent, obeying John’s quiet command. John walks over to his youngest, making his footsteps loud enough for Sam to hear him approaching.

“Sammy.” He says quietly. Sam stiffens in surprise, then relaxes almost immediately.

“Dad.” He whispers, the fear evident in his voice. John places his hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it once to try and comfort him.

“Everything is going to be okay, son.” John says softly.

“Get me out of here.” Sam begs softly. “Please. I just… I want to go home.” John’s heart breaks a little at the desperate fear in his little boy’s voice, even if Sammy isn’t that little anymore. A part of John will always see the baby boy that Mary had left behind. The last gift she had given their family.

“I know.” John says quietly, gently cupping Sam’s cheek. “I promise, we will bring you home. But… before we can, Dean and I need to do something for Jack and Emma. And… until we do it, you need to stay here.”

“What?” Sam and Dean demand at the same time, Dean furiously, and Sam, petrified. John shoots another look at Dean, again silently ordering him to stand down, and again Dean obeys, but the fury and betrayal in his eyes flares bright, and clear. John looks back at Sam, whose terror is evident even with the blindfold. Tears slip past the cloth, and John can feel him trembling underneath his hands. The cuffs rattle slightly against the pole he is bound to.

“Sammy, Sammy listen to me.” John whispers, hugging his son to him as much as he can. “It’s just for a little bit, okay? Just a little bit. They won’t hurt you. They won’t touch you, I promise.”

“Why are you leaving me?” Sam demands softly. John has to fight back his own tears at that.

“I have to.” John says brokenly. “I have to, Sammy.”

“Can… can Dean stay with me?” Sammy whispers. John squeezes his eyes shut, his heart completely shattering, both at the request, and the answer he has to give.

“No, Sammy. Dean has to come with me.” John explains gently. “I need his help, so that we can do what Jack and Emma want faster, and then I promise, we will bring you straight home. I promise Sammy.” Sam whimpers, and the tears start to fall faster down his face. “Please Sammy… you have been so brave. So strong. I just need you to be brave for a little longer, okay? Do what they ask. And if you need anything, just ask, they will give it to you. This will be over before you know it.” Slowly, reluctantly, Sammy nods. John kisses his head, squeezing his shoulders once more, before he steps back. And then Dean is rushing over, taking John’s place. He hugs Sammy tight, and whispers something too quietly for John to hear into his brother’s ear. He wipes away his brother’s tears, and, like John, kisses Sammy’s head, before also stepping back. And John can see exactly how much it is costing his eldest to step away from the youngest of their family, Just as much as it is costing himself.

“We’ll be back soon, Sammy, I promise.” Dean says.

“Okay.” Sammy whispers, his voice tiny, and scared, breaking ever so slightly.

“Better get going, gentlemen.” Emma says softly. John looks at her, and nods once, before taking Dean’s shoulder and starting to steer his oldest out of the warehouse. It nearly kills him, to be walking away from Sammy, but its for the greater good. He is helping other hunters, and clearing out a nest of vamps. Besides, until those vampires are dead, with Emma and Jack is probably the safest place for Sam to be. So he forces his feet to keep moving, and he keeps a tight grip on Dean, knowing if he doesn’t Dean might just run right back to his brother and refuse to leave. In retrospect, when John thinks back on this evening a few days later, standing in an empty bedroom, with nothing but a note, and his son’s spare key to the house left behind, John realizes that he should have let Dean stay. Or pushed more insistently for Sam to come with them, to be set free. Instead, he walked away from his terrified, confused son, leaving him in the hands of monsters, and in doing so made the biggest mistake of his life. A mistake that tore his family apart. In the moment, however, John is firm in his decision, and he climbs into the impala, watching as Dean reluctantly takes his place in the passenger seat, before he starts up the car, and pulls away from the warehouse. From Sammy. Dean makes it exactly two minutes into the drive, before he turns wild, betrayed, confused eyes onto John.

“What are we doing, Dad?” He asks, his voice shaking with rage.

“We are doing our job.” John replies.

“By abandoning Sam.” Dean spits out.

“By keeping him safe.” John replies tensely, shooting a glare at his son.

“How is he safe with vampires?” Dean snaps.

“He is safe with hunters.” John answers. “Hunters we are helping. Dean, I know you are angry. Upset.”

“Damn right I am! We just left Sam!” Dean yells.

“I need you to trust me son.” John barks, loud and stern, to catch Dean’s attention. “Have I ever, once, done anything to make you think I would purposefully put Sammy in danger? Do you honestly think I would leave him there, if I didn’t have a plan?” Dean shuts his mouth, sitting back in his seat as some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

“He’s terrified, Dad. And he has no idea what is going on.” Dean says slowly. John swallows, focusing back on the road.

“I know.” John says slowly.

“We are going to have to tell him something.” Dean says.

“I know.” John repeats. “We’ll think of something… tell him… tell him that they were robbers, who took him to blackmail us. That we are working with the cops, which is why we had to walk away… anything but the truth. Agreed?” John glances over to his eldest, who is frowning, still angry, still hurt, but who nods anyways.

“He doesn’t need to know the truth… but I do.” Dean says slowly. “Dad, what happened with Emma?” John takes a deep breath, and as he drives them back towards the apartment that they were supposed to be settling into as a family right now, he tells Dean everything about his conversation with the young vampire, and his promise to help her and Jack. Dean listens attentively, frowning.

“So… they want us to hunt down their maker… and took Sam to make sure we bring the bastard to them, instead of just chopping his head off?” Dean asks. John nods.

“Apparently we have a reputation for being a little trigger happy.” John says. “It’s a simple trade. Sam, for the vamp. But also, if Sam is with Emma and jack, then…”

“He’ll be far away from this Dante guy, and his new nest.” Dean says slowly. He snorts. “So the safest place for him is with fangs. Never thought I’d see the day.” He takes a deep breath. “So what now?”

“We go home, wait for Bobby. Emma says there are five fangs in total, we’ll need the backup. When he gets here tomorrow, we will head straight out to the docks. Kill the nest, capture Dante, exchange him
for Sam, and then… take care of Emma and Jack.”

“Sounds easy.” Dean mutters sarcastically. John chooses to let it go. Nothing about today has gone the way he wanted, the way he expected. Dean is allowed to be a little stressed out. But better for him to get it out now, so that he is focused, and ready to go in the morning. They drive the rest of the way home in silence. Enter the apartment in silence. Dean looks automatically, snorting as he sees that Sam must have taken his stuff to his room after all. It seems like a lifetime ago that they had been bickering about unpacking. John heads towards the fridge, grabbing two of the beers that Dean had picked up earlier. He walks over to the table, silently offering one to Dean. He takes it, twisting off the cap as John does the same, and they sit together, drinking their beer, and not saying a word. When he finishes his, Dean gets up, leaving the house for a minute, as John turns his thoughts to the docks, to the warehouse where the ticket for his son’s freedom is waiting. Part of him wants to go, right this instant. Take Dean, and just slaughter his way through the nest. It wouldn’t be the first bloodbath he has been in. It wouldn’t even be Dean’s. But they can’t. John knows they can’t. They have to be smart, and patient. Vampires are too fast, too strong and too smart to just go leaping in blindly, and undermanned. That’s how you get yourself killed, in this line of work. They need Bobby’s set of hands. They need the advantage of daylight. And to catch the monsters as off guard as possible. John glances up as Dean returns with two machete’s from the trunk of the impala, and their sharpening stone. They don’t say anything. There isn’t anything more to say, not with the house so empty. Not with it missing Sam’s laughter, and bickering with his brother, and complaining about the chores John has given him. Not with the lack of his excited, endless chatter about Stanford. Both hunters feel the sharp pain of his absence, and both can’t help their thoughts from drifting to Sam, and where he is, and what might be happening to him. Even with John’s confidence in Emma and Jack not wanting to harm his son, he can’t help but worry. Wonder. So, instead of conversing, they sharpen their machetes. All three of them, since it is never a bad idea to have a spare weapon if possible. All night long, they sit, and they worry, and they prepare to go hunt down the fangs that got them into this mess. And John tries desperately to think of how he can explain this to Sam. Finally, at long last, the darkness of night starts to bleed into day, the sun breaking over the horizon and the first beams of dawn start to creep into the living room. Almost at the same time, they hear the loud roaring of a truck coming up the driveway. Both John and Dean are instantly on their feet, darting to the door and stepping outside in time to see the truck come to a stop. The watch as it shuts off, and the door opens, the gruff, rough figure of Bobby Singer stepping out. Dressed in the hunter’s signature look, of plaid and jeans and boots, with a canvas jacket and a machete of his own strapped to his waist, Bobby steps towards them, raising an eyebrow as he sees them waiting.

“Singer.” John croaks out in greeting, his voice coarse and rough from the lack of use,

“Winchesters.” Bobby greets, raising an eyebrow. “And here I was worried I was going to be waking you boys up.”

“The plan has changed.” John says firmly. Bobby’s eyes widen in surprise, before narrowing again shrewdly, his eyes flickering to the tension in both Winchester’s bodies, the heavy bags under their eyes, the desperation in their expressions, and knowledge enters Bobby’s expression, because only one thing on this planet could have both Winchester men on edge like this.

“Where’s Sam?” Bobby asks sharply.

“That’s why the plan has changed.” Dean says.

“You ready to go?” John asks. Bobby nods once.

“We got a destination?” He asks, already stepping back towards his truck.

“And a plan.” John says. He looks at Dean. “You know where the docks are?”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean says.

“Good. Go with Bobby, direct him, and tell him everything. Get him up to speed.” John orders.

“Yes, Sir.” Dean nods his head and moves instantly to climb into the truck with Bobby. Not one for wasting time, and clearly sensing that something has happened to the youngest Winchester, Bobby practically dives into his truck, the same way John jumps into the Impala. Both vehicles start up, and pull away from the apartment. John takes the lead, pressing his foot down hard on the gas as he heads towards the docks. Every mile he speeds down the road is bringing him closer to his son, and he can’t get there fast enough. The sun is starting to rise properly, and it looks like it is going to be a gorgeous summer day. Clear skies, bright sun. But all John can think about is using the light to burn and disorient the vampires. Of course, he might not need to. They should be heading to bed, being the nocturnal creatures that they are. With any luck, between the three hunters, they can kill most of the nest before they even notice anything is happening. Gripping the wheel of the impala tightly, John shifts gears in himself, putting aside the worried father, and becoming the seasoned hunter. Bearing in mind the enhanced senses of the vampires, John selects his parking spot carefully. Close enough for a quick getaway, far enough away to not raise suspicion. Behind him, Bobby pulls into a similar spot, and he and Dean exit the truck. Judging by the furious look on Singer’s face, John is guessing Dean managed to fill him in on everything. A rush of gratitude fills John. Singer has been a blessing for John and his family, both as a fellow hunter when Dean and John need it, and as someone as dedicated to protecting Sam and his innocence as they are. He has helped cover for John more times than John can count, and for that he will always be indebted to the man. Once Bobby and Dean have reached John, the three of them pull out their machetes as one, and slip quietly towards the only abandoned warehouse on the dock. A tiny thing, about the size of a house, but clearly rundown, practically a gust of wind away from falling into the water itself. They quickly circle the entire thing, finding only one way in and out of the place that is actually safe to use.

“Dean stay here, cover the exit.” John says softly.

“Wait.” Bobby breaths, staring at the entrance way, his eyes narrowed in focus. “Listen.” Both John and Dean freeze, straining their ears, but John hears nothing. There isn’t even any wind to whistle against the metal. But the silence isn’t a relief. It’s heavy, and oppressive. Ominous.

“Crap.” John says, turning, and slamming his foot into the warehouse door, knocking it open as he raises his machete, charging into the space. Bobby and Dean are right on his heels, their own weapons at the ready, but all three hunters freeze when they see what is waiting for them in the space. No nest. No Dante. Not a single living, or technically undead, thing in the small space. Just Jack and Emma’s headless bodies hanging from the rafters by their bound feet, their heads placed exactly under the corpses.

“Crap!” Dean’s eyes widen as he takes in the grotesque scene.

“Winchester.” Bobby says gruffly, nodding towards one of the corners. John follows his gaze, spotting a security camera in the upper right corner of the room, too new to not be anything except suspicious. Especially when John’s phone rings almost a second after John looks directly into the lens. John whips out the cellphone, practically growling into it.

“What?” He snaps.

“Dad.” Sam sobs from the other end. John goes rigid, the terror impossible to miss in Sam’s voice, but it isn’t the same kind of fear he had had yesterday. This terror is new. And old. John has been hearing it in the voices of witnesses since he began hunting. It is the kind of fear that comes from the unexplained. The fear of something new. Something ancient. Something dark and unnatural. Something that can’t be explained. Something that shouldn’t exist, whose presence goes against the natural order. And in that one syllable, John’s entire world comes crashing down, and he knows. He knows. He knows that Sam knows. All those years, of lying, and hiding the truth, of trying to protect Sammy, to keep him safe… its all gone. “Dad?” Sammy’s horrified voice, timid and shaken, repeats. John looks at Bobby and Dean, horror, and fury, and dread in their expressions. Most likely mirroring John’s own face.

“I’m here, Sammy.” John says slowly.

“There… there are some people here, Dad.” Sammy whispers, and John’s heart breaks all over again at the emotion in the young man’s words. “They… they came in. Right after you and Dean left. Attacked Jack and Emma, and one… one took off the blindfold. They made me watch while they… they… Dad, they beheaded them!” The shock and horror in Sam’s voice is overwhelming, and John is brought right back to the memory of the first time he saw a decapitation. He imagines he probably sounded as traumatized as Sam does. “Right in front of me… they… they took their heads right off. There was so much blood… and. And then the guys… they showed me their teeth. Dad, they have fangs!”

“Sammy.” John jumps in, hearing the rising hysteria in Sam’s voice, and knowing he needs to cut it off before it reaches a head. “Sammy. I know. Okay? I know. But I need you to breathe for me buddy. Just breathe.” On the other end of the line he hears Sam take several quick, deep breaths, struggling to obey his father. “Sammy, are the… are the men with the fangs still there?”

“Ye… Yes. They made me call you.” Sam whispers.

“Can you put them on the phone?” John asks.

“No. They only… only want to talk in person. At the.. at the warehouse where I am. Where Jack and Emma brought me.” Sam answers. There is a moment of silence, and then John hears Sam suck in a terrified breath. “He… he says you have twenty minutes. Or he’ll…”

“He’ll what, Sammy?” John asks, desperately hoping Sam doesn’t say what he knows he is going to say.

“Or he’ll rip out my throat.” Sam whispers. John closes his eyes, pinching his nose as panic and utter rage take over his mind. “Dad hurry, please.” The line goes dead, and John shakily lowers the phone, looking back at Emma and Jack’s bodies. Dante and his nest must have been right outside the warehouse. They must have gone in right after Dean and he had left, which means all night long, Sam has been in the hands of real monsters. The things he has seen… the things he now knows. Someone is going to pay Hell for this. John looks towards Bobby and Dean, both of whom are looking back with murder in their eyes. He supposes they must have heard and guessed enough of the conversation to know exactly what kind of danger Sam is in. What Sam now knows.

“Let’s go.” John says flatly, and the two men move without hesitation. The walk back to the car, and following drive back across town, pass in a haze of red, fury beyond anything John has ever felt clouding over everything, even his vision. The things he had seen in the war, the things he has seen hunting… even Mary’s death, nothing has enraged him like this. Sam’s innocence, the one good thing John had left in the world, has been shattered, and that can’t go unpunished. So by the time that he slams on the brakes, the impala skidding to a forceful stop outside the warehouse that John is determined to burn down, he can smell blood in the air. He can feel the violence pouring through his veins like venom. Pushing him, giving him strength. Bobby’s truck pulls up next to him, Bobby and Dean rushing to catch up as he is already striding towards the door. They walk in to a horribly familiar, and yet completely new scene. Five vampires stand ready and waiting, delighted, mocking grins on their faces. And Sammy is right in the middle. Still, miraculously, unharmed as far as John can tell. He was half-expecting to see Sam’s neck torn out, or his wrists bitten. Blood everywhere. But Sam is intact. Pale as a sheet, shaking violently, with a petrified, haunted expression on his face, but unharmed. He is kneeling in front of Dante, the vampire’s hand fisted in Sammy’s hair. Emma was wright, John recognizes him immediately. Even if his spider tattoo wasn’t vividly exposed, he would recognize the dark hair, and sadistic brown eyes anywhere.

“Johnny.” Dante grins, his fangs on full display. “Did you get my present?”

“Wasn’t much of a gift.” John growls. “Let him go. Now.”

“Or what?” Dante asks.

“Or we put each and everyone of your heads on spikes.” Dean snarls. Dante tsks.

“Now, now, baby hunter.” Dante sneers, lightly tugging on Sam’s head, not hurting him, but tilting his head backwards slightly more, exposing his throat. Somehow, the gentleness of the movement makes it all the worse. “Don’t want to risk hurting the little one, do we?” Dante’s eyes flicker to John’s again. “What is he, your boy? Seventeen? Eighteen?” His grin widens, his fangs bared threateningly as the sadism glows even brighter in his eyes. “I always did like my food on the younger side.” And just like that, John snaps. Dean and Bobby to. All restraint, all caution, is lost as they strike at the cocky, arrogant, evil beasts, faster than the vampires are expecting. The red haze that had been there as John drove, now comes back with a vengeance, encompassing his entire vision as he cuts, and hacks, and tears these unnatural abominations to shreds. Vaguely, he hears a loud screaming, but it doesn’t register enough to stop him. When the screaming turns to sobbing, it registers a little bit more. But it isn’t until he feels a hand on his arm, that he starts to come back to himself. Because he knows that hand. Slowly, John turns to meet the light blue eyes of his friend. Hard eyes, full of rage, and pain.

“John.” Despite the blood on Bobby’s hands, his clothes, the hardened stance of the hunter John had come to trust and rely on, John can see that it is his friend that is appealing to him at the moment, trying to ground him. For his sake, and the sake of his boys, John tries. He tries to clear the murderous red from his vision, to focus back in on his surroundings. Five decapitated bodies litter the floor, three of them, including Dante, cleaved completely apart around John, limbs and heads scattered randomly, blood drenching John, the floor, basically everything around him, splattered for feet around the scene of the gruesome murders. And, huddled near the door, Sam is curled into a ball, blood splattered all over his skin, his clothes, tears pouring down his stark-white face, sobs wracking through his body as Dean kneels beside him, gripping Sam’s shoulders and whispering urgently, desperately to his brother. Maybe, if John had gone over, and helped Dean help Sam, things might have been different. Maybe, if John took the time, to walk his baby boy through the shock of the horror he just witnessed, the terror, the pain, the confusion, if he had done a damn thing to be there for Mary’s precious baby, the way he was supposed to, the way he promised to, he could have stopped Sam from leaving, just a few days later. From walking out the door, with every possession he had packed into a single bag, and leaving a note saying he needs time. Time and space. But John doesn’t go to his in-shock, and traumatized son, who is being cared for by Dean. Instead, he and Bobby get to work, gathering up every shred of the bodies, and piling them to burn.

“Dean.” John barks out, still feeling the rage, the need for vengeance burn through him, but needing his boys to be safe, to be away from this place. Dean looks up, his face almost as white as Sam’s, his eyes desperate and pleading for guidance. Instead, John tosses him the impala’s keys. “Take Sammy home. Go. Get him cleaned and warmed up, and out of those cuffs.” John orders, glancing at the way Sammy’s hands are still bound behind his back. Dean gives John a shaky head nod, turning back to whisper to Sam, before pulling the kid to his feet. John watches his boys stumble out of the warehouse, one held tightly to the side of the other. Unharmed, physically maybe, but changed forever. Clenching his fists tightly, John turns back to Bobby. “Let’s burn this place down. Then we need to go clean up Jack and Emma.” His voice is hard, and cold. John knows he is shutting down. But he can’t help it. He has lost too much today. Sammy has lost too much today. If Bobby minds his tone, he keeps it to himself. They work in silence, a loud, heavy silence filled with grief and pain, as they first torch the warehouse Sam was held captive in, before driving back across town and doing the same thing to the one Jack and Emma were left in. And then, trusting Dean to be enough for Sammy, to be able to protect him when John has failed so colossally, John heads to the nearest bar. Bobby says nothing, does nothing, except keep John company as he slowly drinks beer, after beer. And then, when that isn’t enough, whisky after whisky. John drinks away the day, ignoring the horrified, scandalized looks thrown his and Bobby’s way. Ignoring the excuse Bobby comes up with for their blood-soaked appearance. John drinks away the memory of his son’s fear, the desperation, the pleading to not leave him behind. The way he looked covered in blood. The shellshock. With every resurgence of the memories, John drinks more. He ignores his phone, he ignores the bartender, he ignores Bobby. When they are eventually kicked out, he sleeps it off in Bobby’s truck. It isn’t until it is once more dawn, that he wakes up, as Bobby is pulling up to their apartment. He groans, rubbing his head, fighting the mother of all hangovers.

“You can’t keep going like this, John.” Bobby says softly. “Those boys of yours need you. Sam needs you.”

“I failed him.” John whispers. Bobby shakes his head.

“No, you didn’t. You tried to protect him. And now he needs you more than ever. He’s going to have questions. He’s going to be afraid. He needs his father.” Bobby says, not unkindly. “And he needs his father to not be drunk. You are the adult, John. The hunter. You need to guide him through this.”

“Yeah. Yeah I know.” John sighs, sitting up straighter. Bobby nods approvingly.

“Get going then, you idjit.” Bobby grumbles. “Go to those boys.” John nods, and opens the door, climbing out of the truck. He stumbles his way towards the door, but the closer he gets, the more he remembers Sam. Sam crying, Sam scared, Sam handcuffed to the pole, Sam on his knees. He steps into the apartment, and from down the hall he can hear soft talking, and soft crying. Maybe if he had gone to it first… Sammy would have stayed. Maybe. Or maybe, no matter what John did, Sam would leave. Because the things he saw… the revelation of the world Dean and John had tried so desperately to keep him from knowing about, it changed Sam. Broke something in him. Took away his innocence. And maybe time and space away, away from the men who butchered the monsters in front of him, the men who lied to him for his entire life, the men who couldn’t stop the vampires from destroying his life, was what Sam needed the most. At least, that is what John would tell himself in the coming weeks. Months. Years, as Sam slipped away to Stanford, to the only sense of normalcy he could cling to, while leaving the horrific memories of that bloodbath behind him, and, in a lot of ways, his family with them. Because John didn’t go to the whispered voices. Not right away. He turned to the kitchen, to the bottles of beer waiting in the fridge. Just one drink, he had told himself. Just one more drink, to settle his nerves.