A/N: When it comes to fanfiction, I like the idea of deviating from canon very early on in the story. Why rehash something when you can build off it? Spin it in a new direction?

…..

S1E22 – the deviation

"You boys really screwed up this time."

The voice on the end of the line sends a chill down Dean's spine and suddenly he feels cold all over.

"Where is he." It's a demand, not a question, bitten out between clenched teeth.

The she-demon makes no effort to hide her smug satisfaction. "You're never going to see your father again."

The call ends and Dean snaps the phone shut with stiff, uncoordinated fingers. If Meg were in front of him right now, Dean would lunge. He wants to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until he never has to hear her low, mocking drawl ever again. As it is, he can barely muster the patience to answer Sam's frantic questions.

The situation is dire.

Dad is captured, maybe even dead, but it's not like he and Sam are any better off. There are only three bullets left in the colt and no way of knowing what's coming for them. They need to leave, now.

'Grab the gun, the duffel, your brother and get out. Grab the gun, the duffel, your brother and get out. Grab the gun–' The words cycle through his head on repeat, in a voice that sounds uncomfortably like his father's.

"Dean? Dean! What are you doing?!" Sam is looking at him with his brow furrowed, clearly oblivious to the urgency of their situation.

"What do you think?" He snaps. "We gotta go. Grab your stuff."

"What? No!" Sam steps forward, clearly agitated. "This is the perfect opportunity. The demon knows where we are. We need to stay, set a trap – end this once and for all!"

Times like these, Dean wonders how on earth Sam grew up to be so goddamn thick. "Are you out of your mind?" He takes a breath, tries to reel in his frustration. "We're not ready. For all we know, there could be dozens of demons on their way right now. We need to get out, find someplace to lie low and come up with a plan."

Sam's jaw clenches and he looks ready to argue, but there's no time. "We're leaving. Now." Dean doesn't wait for a response, stalking out before his brother can get another word in. He's almost past the threshold when he finally hears the sound of Sam following after. It's a relief, but it's also painfully short-lived. He still needs to figure out where they should go and come up with a plan to get their dad back.

He starts thinking about their next course of action on the way to the car, but nothing that comes to mind seems like a viable option. He doesn't know enough about demons and what they're capable of. Besides that, their opponent is a smart son-of-a-bitch, to have evaded Dad for this long. It'll spot any trap Dean comes up with a mile away.

'Damn it!' Frustrated, he slams the trunk and climbs behind the wheel, barely waiting for Sam to slide into the passenger seat before peeling out. He doesn't slow down at all on the way out of town – red lights and stop signs be damned.

"I still think we could've taken them." The words shatter the silence.

"What we need is a plan," Dean reiterates. "They're probably keeping Dad alive, so we've just got to figure out where. They're gonna want to trade him for the gun." Talking aloud helps, it brings a bit of order to his otherwise chaotic thoughts. If he can just get the facts out there, maybe he and Sam can come up with something.

Only… Sam's not saying anything.

Dean glances over to find his brother shaking his head in apparent disbelief.

"What?"

"Dean–" Sam clears his throat, starts again. "If that were true, don't you think Meg would have mentioned a trade?" A sinking feeling enters Dean's stomach. "I mean, for all we know, Dad could be d–"

"Don't." Dean's not sure what he's asking. 'Don't say it,' or 'don't let it be true,' but his brother stops all the same. Unfortunately, Sam's never been too good at keeping his mouth shut for long. He starts going on about killing the demon, about how Dad would have wanted them to finish the job.

"Screw the job, Sam!" Why is Dean the only one in this godforsaken family who cares more about their lives than revenge? What good is the demon's death going to be if none of them are around to enjoy it?

Sam's voice is almost gentle when he speaks next. "I'm just trying to do what Dad would want."

"Quit talking about him like he's dead already!" Dean roars. It's ironic that Sam wants to follow in their father's footsteps now, when he's spent his entire life so far fighting the man tooth and nail on every little thing. He takes a steadying breath. "Listen, we're going to get Dad back." They have to. "That's our priority right now. Everything else stops until we do. You understand me? Everything."

Mercifully, Sam deflates with a quiet sigh. "Okay, how are we going to find him?"

"We can go to Lincoln, start at the warehouse where he was taken. Maybe there's some sort of trail we can follow."

Sam scoffs. "You really think they're are going to leave a trail? They never have before."

It's true. In all the years their family has hunted the thing, there's never been a trail. Signs before it strikes, sure, but never anything to follow afterwards. It all boils down to the fact that they don't know what they're dealing with, not really anyway. If only there were some way to find out more– "You're right." Sam looks over at him in surprise. "We need help." And Dean has just the man for the job.

.

.

.

Bobby Singer is a wealth of information. With his help, they might actually stand a chance. Even Sam seems to see it, flicking through Bobby's book with something like wonder in his eyes.

"And these protective circles – they really work?"

"Oh yeah," says Bobby. "You get a demon in one and they're trapped. Powerless too." He chuckles. "Like a satanic roach motel."

Dean walks over, smirking. "Told you he could help. Bobby knows his stuff."

Bobby dips his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. "I'll tell ya something else too." The older man looks back and forth between Dean and his brother. "This is some serious shit you boys have stepped in."

"How's that?" asks Sam.

"Well, in a normal year, I hear about three, maybe four, demonic possessions total." He shakes his head. "This year, there've been twenty-seven… So far." Dean feels his frown deepen as Bobby continues. "More and more demons are walking among us. A lot more."

"Do you know why?" Sam takes the words right out of Dean's mouth.

"No," Bobby admits. "But I know it's something big. And you boys, your daddy – you're smack in the middle of it."

Dean exchanges a grim look with his brother, but is spared the trouble of coming up with a response when Bobby's dog starts barking. The sound is abruptly cut off. They don't have to wonder why for long.

Meg kicks in the door with a grunt. "No more crap, okay?"

Holy water in hand, Dean stalks forward. He barely makes it two steps before he's thrown violently into a stack of books in the corner. The blow to his head knocks him senseless for a moment, but he does his best to shake it off.

Slowly, so as to give Sam time to draw the demon into the other room, he gets his feet under him and shuffles after them. He makes it just in time to hear, "…Did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

"Actually," Dean says. "We were counting on it." She looks confused, so Dean lets his eyes flick upwards.

Her expression when she sees the circle overhead is the best thing he's seen all day.

"Gotcha."

.

.

.

The events that follow are a blur. Exorcising the she-demon, speaking to the real Meg, watching her die, using the colt, finding their father… It's all too much.

Then Dad starts saying things Dean knows he doesn't mean. Saying he's proud of Dean, that he made the right choice. God, it's just one more fucked up thing to deal with on an already fucked up day.

"You're not my dad."

There's a heartbroken expression on Dad's – no, the demon's face. "Alright then," he says quietly. "If you're so sure, pull the trigger." He looks resigned to it, letting his gaze drop to the floor as if he can't bear to look at Dean any longer.

Dean's gun arm trembles, but he doesn't lower the colt. Of course, he can't bring himself to shoot either. If there's even the slightest chance–

"I thought so."

The yellow eyes are no real surprise, but it still hurts like hell when Dean realizes he was right – his dad would never be proud of him. Especially not for something as weak as choosing family over his quest for revenge.

Being slammed into the wall is almost pleasant in comparison.

"This thing has caused me quite a bit of grief." Yellow Eyes picks up the colt and examines it with obvious distaste.

"It's you," Sam says, the tendons in his neck straining as he fights the demon's hold. "I'm gonna kill you."

"That'd be a neat trick." The demon is grinning with their dad's mouth. "Here," he places the gun on the table. "Go ahead psychic boy. Use your powers – make the gun float to you." Sam glares. "No? Alright then." Yellow Eyes turns his back on him, stepping towards Dean with obvious excitement.

"I could have killed you a hundred times today," he says conversationally. "But this? This is worth the wait." He tilts his head. "You know, your daddy's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit." The glee in his voice is unmistakable. "He's gonna tear you apart."

Dean fights to turn his head, trying to make eye contact. He wants this bastard to see the murder in his eyes. "You let him go or I swear to God-"

"What are you and God gonna do? Huh?" He stalks closer to Dean, gets up in his face. "As far as I'm concerned, this is justice." His voice gets deeper, harder. "That demon you exorcised? That was my daughter. The one you shot? That was my son."

Dean feels his eyebrows creep upwards. "You've gotta be kiddin' me."

"What?" the demon asks. "You think you're the only one that can have a family? How would you feel if I killed yours? Oh wait," he says. "I already did."

Dean opens his mouth to retort- "I wanna know why," Sammy says, beating him to the punch. "Why'd you do it?"

Yellow Eyes turns and approaches his brother. "You mean why I killed your mommy and pretty little Jess?" The demon starts taunting him, really getting into it – but Dean's no longer paying attention. A girl is peaking around the doorway to his right, wide eyed and scared. She looks like a runaway. How the hell did she get in here without us noticing? He feels his stomach sink. They don't need any more innocents dragged into this mess.

Making sure Yellow Eyes is completely focused on Sam, he jerks his head at her, mouthing 'go' as silently as he can. She hesitates, looking unsure. Please, Dean thinks desperately, just go!

She does, finally, and Dean takes the opportunity to draw the demon's attention away from his brother. "You mind getting this over with? Because I really can't stand the monologuing."

"Funny," the demons says. "But that's your M.O. isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth."

"Oh yeah? What truth is that?"

Yellow Eyes grins. "They don't need you, not like you need them." Dean fights to keep his face impassive. "Sam is clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."

Pressing his lips together so they don't tremble, Dean forces a smile. "I bet you're real proud of your kids too, huh? Oh wait. I forgot – I wasted 'em."

A horrible tearing sensation wipes the false smile from his face. Sam starts calling his name, clearly worried, but Dean can't spare him any thought. He's too preoccupied with the way the demon in his father is carving him open.

BANG!

For a brief moment, his Dad's face morphs into an expression of shock. Then, suddenly, the yellow leaves his eyes and a wide, relieved smile spreads. The force holding Dean to the wall disappears and together the two of them sink to the floor. "Dad?" Ignoring his own pain for a moment, Dean looks down with his heart in his throat. With his father prone against him, he can just make out the bloodstain spreading across his upper back. "DAD?!"

"It's okay, son." The words have barely left his lips before he slumps sideways, eyes fluttering shut. Sam's there before he can hit the ground, dropping to his knees and cradling their dad in his arms. He and Dean exchange shocked, helpless looks as the last flashes of the colt's magic drain their father's life from his body.

All too soon, he's gone.

"You're losing a lot of blood," an unfamiliar voice says from behind Sam. "Please, let me help." It's the girl from before – the one he saw in the doorway. She's white as a ghost, but her mouth is pressed into a thin line and her eyes are hard.

Sam looks from the girl back to Dean, and his eyes widen as he takes in the extent of the lines ripped into Dean's chest. "Dean-" he starts.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean cuts his brother off. This girl may have killed the demon, but she also killed their father. They have no idea who she is or what she wants, let alone how she found them in the first place.

She seems to realize this because she lifts her hands up, palms out. Unfortunately, the fact that she's still holding the colt ruins the gesture. "Leigh – I'm a psychic." She reads the skepticism on his face and grimaces. "Look, I can explain later. Right now, I just want to get my first aid kit and help."

Usually he'd argue, but he's seconds away from passing out. "Sam, go with her." After everything that's just happened, she's too suspicious to be left alone. The last thing they need is for her to mess up the salt lines while he's bleeding out on the floor.

"But Dean-"

"Go!"

Sam gently lowers Dad's prone form to the ground before following after her. Dean only closes his eyes for a moment, but the next thing he knows, he's spread out on the floor with his head in Sam's lap. The girl, Leigh, has her knees on either side of his chest and is intensely focused on some point beneath his collar bone. "What's-"

"Shh," Sam hushes him. "She's on the last row of stitches. We can talk when she's done."

Too tired to argue, Dean closes his eyes again. He doesn't re-open them until he hears Leigh say, "Last one." She makes quick work of it, lightly tugging the stitch to the side to offset the knot from the center of the wound. "Done."

She moves back so Sam can prop him upright. "We need to leave – all of us."

"No shit," Dean mumbles.

The other two ignore him. "How though?" Sam asks. "Yellow Eyes is bound to have followers. Hell, they're probably waiting outside."

Leigh shakes her head. "He wanted to handle you alone," she says. "None of the other demons know what he had planned. They're waiting for his signal."

"How do you know?"

"I'm psychic, remember?" She starts packing up her first aid kit. "Anyway, they won't wait forever. The sooner we get out of here the better our chances of survival." She shoves the kit into a backpack Dean's only just noticed and checks her watch. "We don't have much time. Grab the colt. I'll help you get your brother to your car."

"Yeah, okay."

Barely conscious, Dean lets the rest of their conversation wash over him as an incomprehensible jumble. He stays awake only long enough to make sure he and his brother make it safely to the Impala. After that, he's out like a light.