Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the show, the boys, or the network. Don't hate, don't sue =)
Another warning: This story contains curse words, detailed violence, and references to gambling. It includes discriminative/offensive comments that do not represent my opinion as an author. In one part one of the characters mentions a "seriously gay" shirt, but I think that this is just a figure of speech, even to this character. As the author (of this text), I would like to distance myself from the discrimination of homosexuals.
I'd like to thank my wonderful Betas: Jennifer & MagicianMana
OK, people so here I go getting this show on the road:
This trilogy, contains the three most important lessons John taught his sons.
Yes, I am one of the people who LIKED John. Maybe he wasn't the kind of father the boys would have needed sometimes, but he was the only father they had. And he loved them.
So as far as I'm concerned, that's pretty much as good as it gets with parents. Let's not forget the tiny fact that John went to hell for Dean. So, as I said, I liked John.
The first part contains references to: Route 666 (1.13), Provenance (1.19), Salvation (1.21), In my time of dying (2.01), Bloodlust 2.03, Hunted (2.10)
In the first part we get to see a little more of Gordon, the hunter the boys met in Bloodlust (2.03). It is meant to be a third encounter between Gordon and the boys, Hunted-style. Imagine it taking place after Born Under A Bad Sign (2.14).
The second part will be set between Born Under A Bad Sign and Tall Tales (2.15), I'm just stretching the time between the two episodes a little. I know it was probably less than a month, but bear with me.
The third one will be an alternative to Fresh Blood (3.07).
Some facts you need to have in mind:
Pastor Jim and Caleb have been killed by Meg, John has gone to hell and handed the Colt over to Azazel. They have met Gordon and found out what kinda batshit crazy guy he really is when he tortured Lenore (the vampire girl).
Also, Gordon has tried to shoot Sam, taken Dean hostage and as a result, the police were more than happy to give him his own pair of handcuffs.
As far as love interests go, Cassie Robinson is Dean's ex-girlfriend and Sarah Blake is Sam's fling from Provenance. Btw, I know that Cassie's Dad is dead (what with being killed by the truck 'n all) but they are still celebrating his birthday.
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LOYALTY
Anchor the night, open the sky
Hide in the hours before sunrise
Pray for me not, I won't lose sight
Of where I belong and where you lie
*Audioslave – Heaven's Dead*
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Loyalty – that was one of the three ideals their father had taught them by actually living it, Dean thought as he slowly came to and realized Sam's hands were supporting him.
The second the bullet had pierced him, he knew he was hit badly and, guessing by the pain he felt stabbing through him with every breath, he had probably broken a few ribs, too.
The bullet had caught him as he was throwing himself in front of Sam. He'd crashed into a line of bar stools rather spectacularly – or that's what he wished to remember.
Sammy would later declare that he'd dropped to the ground like a clay pigeon and landed on his side, letting out an undignified grunt as the pain hit him.
Now that he was back to his senses, the first thing that came to his mind – right after Dad's loyalty lessons and that these wounds had better leave impressive scars - was how people always said that being shot was almost painless, because right after the bullet entered your body the shock would kick in.
Apparently his body had its own rules about tormenting him. Being shot in the guts turned out to be as much fun as getting your intestines twisted by that yellow-eyed son of a bitch wearing your dad as its meat-suit.
He knew beyond doubt that he wouldn't be able to walk on his own, even trying to crawl on all fours would prove difficult with his blood spilling all over the greasy floor.
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They had walked into this unguarded. All they'd wanted was to down a few beers before leaving town the next morning. They'd finished their job here and were planning to go over to Minnesota to pay Jim's family their respect.
Of course he'd tried to talk Sammy out of it, but that stubborn bitch had to have it his way.
He'd never seen John take the time to mourn over the dead and he personally thought that they couldn't afford to take the time, but Sam said they wouldn't continue down the road their dad had chosen to go, even if that meant taking some time off to drive cross country to talk to people they'd never seen in their lives.
This was a whole new level of 'caring and sharing', even for Sam, and he assumed it had a lot to do with the fact that Sam needed to prove to himself he was a social, kindhearted human being - no closer to being a killer than Dean was. Dean wasn't really looking forward to searching for Caleb's nearest relatives, though. With Jim it had been a piece of cake 'cause he had a permanent residence.
Anyway, none of that mattered now, seeing as they weren't gonna go anywhere for at least three weeks, assuming he was going to survive this.
He'd definitely need professional care this time. Removing bullets from shoulder wounds was something Jo might manage, but not even Bobby could stitch viscera back up.
Sam somehow manhandled him to a standing position, ignoring the weak protest Dean gave as a matter of principle.
A quick look around confirmed what he'd expected: the few other guests and the bartender had obviously decided to save their own asses; the bar was abandoned. In towns like this most people didn't even bother calling the police; you couldn't expect small town cops to stop clipping their nails or polishing their garden gnomes for a bar fight. You'd have to show them the knife in your back to get them moving.
Dean's head was swimming, but he could see that Sam had shattered most of the furniture in his fight with Gordon. He was guessing that with his back against the wall Sam had unleashed his freak a little. Somehow he always missed out on the fun.
A wave of nausea hit him, but he fought against it. His legs felt like jelly. Not that that was particularly new to a Winchester, but he was still grateful for those hands holding him up… Sam's hands.
It should've scared him that his thoughts were far from coherent, but instead he heard himself squeezing out a sound that was closer to a wheeze than laughter.
How had Gordon gotten out of jail anyway? Him and Sammy would always get each other out, but last time he checked Gordon didn't seem like the type who had hunting partners, let alone close friends…
Dammit! Focus!
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Dean looked up to see his brother eyeing the entry of the bar as if Gordon could return any minute… So he hadn't killed him. Good.
This hunter's blood would have been on Sam's hands, not Meg's - in a Sam costume.
"Come on, Dean, we gotta hurry. At least try to help me here!" Sam snapped, but then reined himself in again. Sam was pulling his sleeve and Dean knew he should be worrying about Gordon's return, too, but oddly enough his senses seemed to be immune towards fear.
Somehow, with Sam dragging him along, they made it out of the deserted bar, but every step made him feel more queasy. When the cold winter air hit him like a wall he started retching and a coppery taste filled his mouth.
"Sam?" His brother seemed too busy with hauling him off to hear him, but a small twitch of his mouth indicated he'd registered Dean. "You know, you could've at least hit me over the head. This sucks."
He could see Sam biting back his reprimand and grinned to himself. Shot or not, he was still the funnier one. The pain did serve him right, though. He had screwed up. Had he been watching Sam's back as was his duty, there would have been no need to throw himself in front of his little brother in this haphazard superhero way Sam hated so much.
"Sam?"
"Don't tell me to beat you unconscious, Dean."
He tried not to laugh. "Nah, we have more pressing issues."
Sam seemed satisfied with that answer and yanked Dean closer to be able to cover more ground while dragging him along. "Sammy, I'm sorry."
Sam's steps faltered a little and Dean closed his eyes against the vertigo.
"Dean, you're not dying, so save the apologies."
"OK, grouch. No dying taking place!"
He was still sorry, but they could talk about that later. He'd been light-headed tonight. He'd already won 250 bucks in his second round of poker that evening when Cassie texted him. Of course "Hey Dean, Mum asked if you two'd like to spend the weekend with us. Sunday is my Dad's birthday and she wants you to celebrate with us." didn't really fall under 'best pick-up lines of 2007', but he could see right through it.
Sam had probably spread the news that they were close and Cassie wanted to make sure they'd stop by. 'Close' still meant a nine hour drive from Independence, IA, to Cape Girardeau, MO, but that was a cinch to a Winchester – if your fucking ribs didn't crack open like a walnut.
Anyway, he was still going to kick Sam's ass sooner or later- if Sam didn't like it to be "pimped out" to Sarah, he shouldn't be rooting around in Dean's emo career either.
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Dean had never been patient and he felt like they'd been walking – or stumbling- along for freaking ever, his baby still out of sight.
"Sam, I'm never letting you drive her again. You parked like a million miles away!"
Sam attempted a wry smile. "I'm sorry princess, aren't you the one who told me I need to work on my stamina?"
Damn. Sam and his memory like an elephant's. "You'd put on five pounds in a week. When you were twelve."
Sam looked down and gave Dean the sunniest smile he could manage under the circumstances. "Want me to scoop you up there-"
He suddenly stopped and, between at least 20 curses Dean would have congratulated him for under different circumstances, told him to press his hands over the oozing wound.
Of course! Dean couldn't help laughing at how he could forget the basics when it came down to it. Blood spurted through his fingers and dribbled on the street in front of him as his belly rose with a gurgling laughter. His legs gave way and he sank to the ground with Sam hovering over him.
"Trust a shot in the guts to put me in my place any time," he rasped, feeling kind of irritated at how strange his own voice sounded.
"You're not making sense, dude," Sam replied and gave him one of his bewildered looks.
"At least that hasn't changed."
Sam pulled him closer and then carefully laid him over his shoulder – this time Dean didn't even bother to protest. So that's what backpacks felt like…
Dean heard teeth chatter and realized it were his own. He tried to clench his jaw shut, but even the smallest effort sent white-hot pain stabbing through him.
Hanging with his head upside down, his blood-stained clothes rubbing off on Sam's seriously gay purple greyhound shirt, he felt his senses fade quickly.
"Sammy, I'm gonna…" and then everything went blank for a moment or two, until the hard shaking of Sam's firm strides on the asphalt woke him again.
"Sam, could you try not to give me a concussion here?" he asked and found his voice irritatingly unsteady.
"You can bitch about that later, Dean" Sam replied under his breath.
"Right now we're worrying about keeping you from bleeding to death like a pig."
Dean tried to think of a repartee, but decided to shut up for once. If he was really gonna die tonight, at least he wanted his last words to be something extra smooth.
Apparently a silent Dean didn't keep Sam from having a discussion. He could always fill in the gaps with his inner Dean voice, just like he had in Stanford when he thought no one was watching.
"Dean, that was the most stupid thing you've ever done. And don't you dare give me that crap about that waitress in Tampa now." Dean chuckled and immediately regretted it.
"And don't tell me you just did it to catch a cheap ride to the car." Damn, his brother really knew him. "Don't always throw yourself in front of me, Dean. If you'd stayed put for once, maybe things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand."
"Yeah, right. Stay put my ass. He pulled a gun on you. Just 'cause you're a Winchester, doesn't mean you're bullet-proof."
"But you are?"
"Sammy, Sammy, you just never listened when Dad was talking to you…"
"What does Dad have to do with this?"…"Dean?"
When they'd reached the car and Sam had carefully laid Dean down on the sidewalk, Dean had long passed out again.
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