Title: Devil's Spawn
Summary: The second they stepped into the bar, John knew that they were walking into a set-up. Pre-Series. Slight AU. Psychic!Sam. Protective!Dean. PapaBear!John.
Warnings: Rated T for guns, violence, bad language and physical abuse of a minor. Plus psychological torture.
Disclaimer: Just borrowing the boys for a bit of fun. I don't own the show or the characters.
The Impala raced down the dark, two-lane blacktop like a steel ghost, silent save for the deep, confident rumble of her engine. The car and its three passengers sped past shadowy outlines of houses and trees, mile after mile of tarmac eaten up by the squelching tires as John Winchester floored the gas pedal. He glanced at the speedometer, willing it to go faster.
"Are you sure it was Riverton?" John demanded, his voice cutting through the tension-filled silence as he threw a poignant stare at his youngest over the rearview mirror. "In your vision, did you see a road sign, or a street name or—"
"Dad," Dean cut him off with an impatient edge to his voice. His older son was hovering over Sam like an overprotective mama bear would over her newborn cub. Ever since Sam had had the seizure on the motel room floor, gangly limbs thrashing in unnatural, involuntary movements, Dean had been glued to Sam's side, fretting over him. And while John was thankful for Dean's caring nature, it didn't change the fact that an innocent woman's life was in danger.
"Sam, I need you to concentrate, okay?" John persisted, ignoring Dean's disapproving stare. They didn't have time for Dean's motherhenning. Not when an innocent woman's life depended on them. "I'm gonna need you to tell me where to go, so we can get to her in time."
"Dad, he's still recovering," Dean insisted, throwing John a glare from where he sat in the backseat, one arm wrapped protectively around his younger brother. Sam shifted on the leather bench next to Dean, his movements still slow and uncoordinated as he continued to press the cloth to his nose to stop the alarmingly free flow of blood that now coated his chin and even parts of his neck.
The sight of so much blood on Sam made John sick. He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel and returned his focus to the road, trying not to look at his youngest. Dean got a handle on this. It was just a stupid nosebleed. Sammy was fine. That woman, on the other hand was going to die if Sam's vision could be trusted.
"Sam." John raised his voice to get Sam's attention. "Any time now, son."
"I, uh…" Sam started, visibly upset now that the urgency of the situation became more apparent. He was wrapped in one of Dean's hoodies, the one with the washed-out AC/DC logo in the front, and he was still pressing the washcloth to his face to stop the nosebleed. "The bus plate read Wyoming. I- I'm pretty sure—"
"Not good enough," John cut in. "If you're wrong about this like the other time—"
"I'm not," Sam protested. "I recognized the town hall. We've stayed in Riverton before."
"Maybe you could try to hit the replay button," John suggested from the front. "Try to zap yourself back into the vision and look for an address, a point of reference."
"Dad, enough!" Dean snapped from the backseat, his voice booming through the Impala, loud enough to put an end to the discussion. "Pull over."
"Dean—" John sighed.
"I said pull over!" Dean hissed and when John met his son's eyes in the rearview mirror he saw a glint of steel in Dean's gaze. John knew if he didn't do what his oldest was asking for, Dean would make him stop the car, so he let out a sigh and did as he was told. So he pulled into the driveway of a highway diner and idled the engine.
Sam looked at them both like a deer caught in headlights as he glanced at Dean to their dad and then back at Dean again. He was ashen and still shaky and he looked like he'd been hit by a car or something with all that blood drying on his skin.
"Stay in the car, Sammy." Dean yanked the car door open to get out. John followed suit, slamming the front door shut with a rusty squeak.
Dean was seventeen, going on forty. He had never had that awkward teenage phase where he sprouted like summer weed, outgrowing his own limbs and then gangling about like a wobbly baby giraffe while he waited for the rest of his body to catch up. Instead, Dean had just kind of stretched himself taller, filling out as he went. He had gained a lot of mass around his chest and shoulders in particular, bulking up with the marine-like training John kept him busy with. But the changes in him were more complex than just your average teenage growth spurt. He'd taken on a lithe agility that came close to those of an athlete and he had a body awareness that showed in every line of his posture.
But it wasn't just Dean's body that had changed. His oldest was growing more mature with each passing day. Slowly but surely, without John even realizing it, Dean had turned from a boy to a man and a capable hunting partner. He was already one of the best out there.
So yeah, Dean had changed. But there were some things about Dean that would never change and one of them was how fiercely protective he was of his younger brother.
"What the hell are you doing, dad?" Dean demanded, eyes flashing angrily over at his father where they stood toe-to-toe, facing off in the middle of the vacated parking lot. "He's had a seizure not even twenty minutes ago. His nose hasn't even stopped bleeding, yet! This is by far the worst vision he's ever had and you want him to revisit it?"
"We're wasting time, Dean," John growled, fingers curling into fists by his side. "The woman Sam saw could be getting torn apart by that vamp as we speak."
"Then make time!" Dean snapped. "This is Sam we're talking about. He's not some circus freak you can ask for a repeat performance."
John didn't need Dean to spell this out for him. What his son was really saying was 'make him your priority and not this stranger. For once in your goddamn life, make us your priority'.
John drove a hand through his hair and let out a cleansing sigh. He often wondered what Mary would think of him if he could see him in situations like this, speeding down the highway with his thirteen-year-old in the back, not because he was swooping him off to a hospital (like he probably should) but because he was trying to save a woman he didn't even know at the expense of his son's health. Dean was so much like her, it was painful to listen to his oldest, sometimes.
A soft metallic creak had them both turning around to find Sam staring at them, wet crimson still streaked across the too pale skin. Having momentarily forgotten about the nosebleed in the midst of all the chaos, John only now noticed how bad Sam really looked, how frail.
The thirteen-year-old was trembling in the cold, sniffling against the welling tears and… god.
John couldn't believe he'd yelled at his son not even five minutes ago.
"Sammy," John sighed, momentarily stunned as his eyes cataloged every inch of his youngest, noticing the hunched over stance and the dark circles beneath his son's eyes, indicating sleepless nights and exhaustion. It had been the kid's third vision this month and it had been by far the most vicious one he's ever had. "What kind of a nosebleed is this, huh?" John sighed and closed the gap between him and Sam. Crouching down, John rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "C'mere. Let me look at you."
Sam tilted his head obediently when John cupped the side of his face.
"Told you it was bad," the teenager complained in a subdued voice that lacked its usual rebellious undertone.
"You're a mess, kiddo," John commented with huff of air. Sam offered up a fleeting smile, just there and gone again.
"You're a mess," he returned lamely and John huffed out a wry laugh.
"We gotta work on your comebacks." John smiled and then returned his attention back to Dean. "The med kit should be in the trunk. Try to get the bleeding under control," John instructed his oldest, knowing Dean would take better care of Sammy than John himself ever could. Fishing a few wrinkled dollars from his jeans pocket, John handed his oldest the money. "Buy yourselves something to eat. I'll put someone else on the case."
Dean held John's gaze for a moment longer than necessary, probably hesitant to believe what he was hearing. "Thanks," he eventually said and slipped an arm around Sam's shoulders, veering him off towards the diner while John made his call.
"C'mon squirt," Dean murmured softly, ruffling his brother's bangs. He was glad their dad had seen reason before things got out of hand. Sam was still trying to wrap his head around the whole 'being psychic' thing and he took the blame for every person they couldn't save, carrying their losses like a personal cross to bear. The last thing the kid needed tonight, was to tap his powers, only to watch that woman get torn apart again, least of all, arriving in that town too late to save her.
It wasn't like Dean didn't want to save that woman. It was just that a choice between a stranger's life and Sam's wellbeing, was no choice at all. Sammy would always be Dean's priority.
"What do you say we get you cleaned, fed and drugged up, huh?"
Sam's lips twitched at the corner, appreciating Dean's effort to cheer him up, but there was a lingering sadness in Sam's eyes that didn't sit well with Dean.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Do what?" Dean asked absently, opening the door to the diner for the kid.
"Stand up to dad," Sam said, trudging inside, blood still streaking his face and neck, making him look like he'd just walked out of a Jigsaw trap. The thought made Dean shudder. "Dad was right to ask those questions. After I messed up last time—"
"You didn't mess up, Sam," Dean insisted and blocked the curious stares of the few diner guests with his body, shielding Sam from their gaze. He quickly steered his little brother into the bathroom, thankful to see that it was unoccupied and relatively clean.
The kid went rigid next to Dean and he didn't have to listen to Sam's hiss of pain to know what was happening. Cursing under his breath, Dean switched off the fluorescent light in the bathroom, remembering that Sam's visions usually preceded a terrible migraine. Sam moaned, bowing forward to clutch the ceramic sink and Dean was right there, one palm splayed against Sam's shoulder blade in comfort and reassurance as he turned on the faucet.
"Think you're gonna hurl?" Dean asked quietly. He hated that his brother had to endure this, that he couldn't take on the pain and the blood and the damn visions himself.
"N-no… I'm good," Sam said, even when he looked pretty damn far from good.
"Sure you are," Dean sighed. Supporting the kid's forehead with his palm, Dean gently lowered Sam towards the stream of lukewarm tap water running from the faucet. He cupped his free hand and brought water to Sam's face, washing the caked blood from his sibling's face with the tender care of a concerned parent.
"Is it too hot?" he asked softly.
"No," Sam sighed, relaxing against the sink as Dean methodically worked the grime off his face. Under different circumstances, Sam would never let his older brother wash his face like that. So the fact that he didn't even offer up a protest at being 'treated like a baby' was a clear testament to how crappy the thirteen-year-old really felt.
Dean rubbed Sam's back, feeling Sam's muscles quiver beneath the threadbare fabric of Dean's old hoodie.
"Easy," Dean hushed, even as his own heart slammed away frantically in his chest, the panic at having to watch his brother seize on the motel room floor still sitting deep in his bones. It was an immense relief to finally rid Sam's face of all that blood, to watch the crimson swirling in the water before it disappeared down the drain. Although they weren't exactly new at the whole premonition thing anymore, Dean couldn't deny that witnessing Sam's seizure – watching his baby brother turn blue from lack of oxygen as he thrashed and gasped and damn near choked on his own tongue – was a memory that would haunt Dean until his dying day. Seeing Sam like that had knocked something loose inside of Dean's chest and now it all felt jumbled and wrong.
What if the visions would continually grow worse? For now, it may just be a headache or a nosebleed Sam suffered from, but what if they grew strong enough to do some internal damage? What if, one day, Sam wouldn't wake up after a seizure? The thought was unbearable. Dean blinked, trying to shake the thought off and refocusing his attention on Sam, lightly rubbing the kid's forehead with his thumb as he listened to the white noise of water whooshing down the drain.
Sam took a few shuddering breaths, his arms trembling as they braced against either side of the ceramic sink, head sagging into Dean's hold. "Dean—"
"Right here," Dean hushed. "Take your time. It's just the two of us, man."
And that was the way Dean liked it. As much as he loved their dad, the last thing they needed was for John to try and take care of Sam after one of his visions hit him full force. They had tried that before and it never went well. The week before, when Dean had been on a supply run and Sam had been hit by a similar, less severe vision, their dad had been at a complete loss. John had readily paved the way for Dean and made himself scarce once Dean returned, letting Dean work his big-brother-magic.
Dean sighed again, noticing Sam's steady breathing, the kid now having regained enough strength and composure to wash the last remnants of blood from his neck by himself. His bangs were wet with sweat and water, hanging into his hazel eyes when he peeked up at Dean. "Can we leave? I don't want to eat anything ."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Thought so."
They could get something on the way. Dean had only taken their dad's money to buy them some time, figuring Sam might take a few minutes to gather some strength before they went back out.
"How's the head?"
"Still hurts," Sam admitted miserably and Dean nodded, before shutting off the water. He straightened and shuffled Sam over to sit on the closed toilet lid. "You gonna be okay for a couple of minutes? I'm gonna grab the med kit from the car. Get a clean shirt for you to wear."
Sam squinted up at Sam, staring up at him from behind soggy bangs and looking about four years old. Dean's heart clenched with unease at the thought of leaving his little brother's side when he looked so damn vulnerable and young.
"I'm only gonna be a minute," he said, more to reassure himself than his brother.
Sam nodded, biting his lower lip and Dean felt a pang of guilt in his chest for having to leave his brother behind like this. "Be right back," he promised and then gently squeezed Sam's shoulder before he made his way back outside, past the diner counter and outside to the parking lot.
"Where's Sam?" John asked, shoving his phone into his jacket pocket when Dean trudged up to the black muscle car.
Dean opened the trunk of the Impala, retrieving their med kit and snatching one of his old AC/DC shirts from his duffle. It was gonna be too wide on Sam, but it would be comfy and familiar, something to make it easier for the kid to fall asleep once they hit the road. "Inside. I'll just get him dosed up and into a set of new clothes. Did you get a hold of anyone?"
"Yeah," John said in a gruff voice. "Alan's on his way right now. He'll do what he can."
Dean bit his lip and nodded, not feeling the least bit guilty over having given up on the case, even when it meant the woman Sam had seen in his vision had less of a chance of getting saved in time. Maybe he should feel guilty for handing over the case so easily, but then he remembered the way Sam's lashes had been clotted with tears when he came to on the motel room floor, the way his brother had trembled uncontrollably in Dean's arms as he recounted brokenly what he'd seen in his vision.
Sam had been through enough for one day.
And Dean would be damned if he allowed their dad to drag Sam into a vampire hunt in the state the kid was in. Nuh-uh. Wasn't gonna happen.
Alan would take care of it. He was an old hunting buddy of theirs and they had worked enough cases with him to know that he could be trusted.
"Let's go get your brother," John said, locking the Impala and slamming the trunk shut with an audible squeak. John took the lead, walking toward the diner with determination and wrapping his fingers around the doorknob.
Instantly Dean sensed it, a tension so thick the cloud of smoke that permeated the room seemed more like a breeze of fresh air in comparison. John noticed it too if the way he tensed was any indication. There was a bunch of guys in the center of the diner and from their stance to the expressions on their faces, the threatening vibes rolled off of them in waves.
Hunters.
John reached for his gun and shoved Dean further behind himself, trying to shield him with his body.
Dean's eyes shot over to the bathroom almost frantically as he thought about Sam. They must have seen him come in with Sam earlier. Dean should have noticed their presence, should have been more attentive towards their surroundings but he'd been too preoccupied with Sam to notice anything strange about their surroundings.
Dean pulled his colt from the back of his jeans, but he never got to level the gun with any of them. Just as John was about to take aim, the door suddenly slammed into them from behind, crashing into Dean's shoulder and knocking his weapon from his hand. He stumbled back into their attacker just when hunters across the room decided to make their move. They shot forward, three of them lunging themselves at John, while the other two came after Dean.
Shooting down to try and dive for his gun, the newcomer slammed himself into Dean with full force, yanking him to the ground and landing a hard blow to his face. Dean grunted, trying to regain his footing when a solid kick to the ribs had him hit the ground with a loud groan.
"Dean, get the hell out of—" John was cut off when one of the large men he fought landed a harsh blow to his ribcage, causing the older Winchester to double over.
"Dad!" Dean yelled, not about to leave his father's side. He doubled his efforts to fight off the bulky guy who was making his move on him, trying to help his father, but they never stood a chance.
"Dean, behind you!" John shouted in warning and Dean turned just in time to see an aggressively looking hunter pulling his fist back to launch another attack. Lightning-fast, he rolled to the side, narrowly-missing the blow and before the guy knew what was happening, Dean charged forward, landing a hard right cross into the man's abdomen. The guy grunted and sank to his knees. Dean took full advantage of the situation and rolled to his feet before drawing his leg up to kick the man in the stomach. The guy dropped back against a nearby table that cracked under his massive weight and crashed into a pile of wood against the floor.
Sending a frantic glance towards his father, Dean was relieved to see that John had also managed to knock out one of the three hunters that had cornered him. His dad was back on his feet, but bleeding profusely from a gash somewhere above his left eye as he planted his fist into one of the men's throats. The guy gasped and coughed, both hands shooting up to his throat as he gave a rattled, choked-off breath, his airways having collapsed from the force of John's blow. Dean couldn't help but smile at his dad's speed and agility. The older Winchester was a lot older than any of the men that had ambushed them, but he was better trained than all of them combined.
Confident that his dad was capable of defending himself against these yahoos, Dean turned back to the man he had sent to the ground earlier, still trying to gather his bearings. Dean briefly wondered where the other guy, his second attacker, had vanished off to, but quickly dropped the thought when he spotted his gun lying discarded a few feet away from him. Picking the weapon back up, Dean walked over to his disarmed attacker and punched him into oblivion. The guy fell back against the broken furniture in a boneless heap. Unconscious.
"Dean!" John's voice had him whirling around. "Watch out!"
Dean turned just in time to face his new assailant and before he got a chance to lift his arm in defense he felt strong arms wrap around his middle in a restrictive hold, squeezing the air from his lungs as he struggled to free himself. The guy was restraining him so that Dean was facing the bathroom door as his face slowly turned blue from lack of air.
And at that moment, Dean suddenly felt sick for a whole different reason other than being choked.
Sam.
Sammy.
They needed to get the hell out of dodge before any of these fuckers remembered the third Winchester that was hidden away in that goddamn bathroom stall.
Thinking about Sam instilled a fear in Dean that flooded him with a surge of adrenaline. Bending over toward the floor in a swift move, Dean leveraged his weight just right to flip his attacker over, causing him to lose his grip on Dean. Sucking in a few greedy breaths of air, Dean moved in again before shoving his elbow forcefully into the disoriented man's face, breaking his nose in the process. The guy grunted, blood shooting from his nose as he collapsed to the floor.
Another hunter was swift to move in on Dean, but not before Dean whirled around, arms stretched out as he leveled his gun with his attacker's forehead. "Stop right there."
The guy froze mid-step, his expression falling as he watched the sure aim Dean had on him, the way the teenager's grip didn't waver, the way the eighteen-year-old didn't even flinch, his finger tight on the trigger in ice-cold determination and warning. Yeah, Dean wasn't bluffing.
Where his family was concerned, there was no price too great to pay, not even if it meant killing a guy. These sons of bitches could all go to hell. They'd chosen the wrong family to mess with. "ALL OF YOU, back the fuck off, now, or I'll—"
"Or you'll do what, exactly, Winchester?" a wry, smoky voice suddenly interrupted, causing Dean's breath to catch in his throat. He turned slowly, gaze skirting over toward the direction of the bathroom stalls.
What he saw made his blood freeze to ice in his veins.
About ten feet away from them, stood another hunter that Dean hadn't seen before. His face was carved out of stone with what seemed like nonchalance, as if he was merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in his hand. Except that he was standing over Sam and had a '45 pressed to his panicked-looking little brother's skull.
Sammy.
"Step away from my brother," Dean growled, thankful for the way his voice didn't waver. "Get your fucking hands off him, now."
The guy had an aura about himself, call it charisma or confidence or whatever, but the way he rested against the wooden doorframe with that sickening smile on his face, could only mean that he was the designated leader of the group. The fact that he was smiling as if something good was about to happen, had the world falling through Dean's feet with fear.
Good for him was likely bad for them.
Very bad.
Dean sent a questioning look toward his father, waiting for the older man to give him a cue, but John wasn't meeting Dean's eyes. Instead, the older Winchester had fixed his gaze on the leader, a glimmer of wary recognition filling his eyes.
"Kinsley," John said.
The guy's smile widened creepily, a flash of white teeth showing. "Hello, John."
"You know this guy?" Dean demanded, shock and surprise making his voice brittle. He glanced at his father, but then immediately refocused his attention on his little brother, running his eyes appraisingly over Sam's body and taking mental stock of the injuries that were visible. Apart from Sam's obvious fear at being held at gunpoint, the kid had a split lip and a dark shadow on his cheekbone, courtesy of the fucker's backhand. Dean felt a surge of anger so fierce, it took about every ounce of self-control he possessed not to kill the guy then and there. Knowing that bastard had smacked his brother around when Sam was half the guy's size and a quarter his age flicked every protective big-brother switch in Dean's mind and made his finger tighten threateningly around the trigger of his gun.
"Kinsley, whatever this is about," John raised both his hand in surrender as his gaze bore intently into the guy that held his youngest at gunpoint. If John felt any of the fear that ratcheted in Dean's chest at the sight of a cold steel barrel pressed against Sammy's head he didn't let it show. "My boys got nothing to do with this."
In a second the guy's expression changed from sick glee to wild fury, every feature of his expression hardening with a hatred that had festered over decades. Sam let out a scared sound of protest when Kinsley grabbed a fistful of Sam's strands and roughly twisted his head back before resettling the gun against the bottom of Sam's chin and pulling the safety back with an audible 'click'.
"No." Sam's voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears as they glanced helplessly from their father to Dean and back to his attacker. Eventually, his pleading gaze latched onto his number-one-source of comfort, the one person that never failed to make him feel better. "Dean," Sam choked out, struggling to hold back tears.
Dean's heart leaped frantically in his chest. "Don't hurt him," he hissed.
"Kinsley, don't," John forced out through gritted teeth, forcefully ignoring the sound of both his sons' distress as he glared at the other hunter. "He's just a kid, damn it! He's got nothing to do with this."
"Just a kid," Kinsley bit out viciously. "Just like my son, you mean? Jim was fifteen when that Rugaru slashed into him and he bled out in my arms!" the man sneered, anger rolling off of him so strong that it took all their breath away. His fingers shook the trigger, Sam's eyes squeezing shut as tears streamed down his face.
Dean's heart was beating so frantically in his chest he could barely hear his own racing thoughts over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. His aim wavered. He couldn't risk taking a shot at the guy with the bastard's gun pressed to Sam's chin and with the safety flicked off.
"It was an accident," John said slowly, intently, his eyes only focused on Kinsley as if he didn't dare to even just look at Sam out of fear that the wavering attention could cause his opponent to snap. "You know that I tried everything to save your son—"
"YOU DID NOTHING TO SAVE HIM!" Kinsley bellowed, causing them all to flinch at the sound of his grief-stricken voice thundering through the diner. The guy was crazy. Whatever must have happened on that damn hunt, had obviously spurred some sort of mental breakdown. "You were just trying to save your own ass, Winchester! You could have stepped in to save him but you chose to do nothing!"
There was a lot of things John Winchester could be accused of, but Dean didn't believe for even just one second, that his dad had allowed a Rugaru to tear into a fifteen-year-old if there was even the slightest chance at saving the kid.
Instead of defending himself, John raised his arms a little higher in a clear sign of surrender, eyes still trained on Kinsley's face as he spoke in a calm, even tone. "You're right. I should have stepped in, Wayne. I should have saved your boy before it was too late and I'm sorry."
"Dad," Dean let out in a low, warning tone. What the hell was he doing? Taking the blame for the kid's death was only going to enrage the other hunter more.
But neither of the two men were paying Dean any attention.
Kinsley leaned closer. "You're fucking sorry?" he bit out incredulously. "'Sorry' won't bring me my boy back, you fucking piece of shit!"
Kinsley glanced down at Sam's head, a cool, calloused sneer spreading across his features. With a growl, he pressed the mouth of his gun harder against the kid's temple.
"Woah, woah, woah. Let's think about this! Huh? Wayne, is it?" Dean questioned, remembering the name their father had used on the guy earlier. Dean slowly put the safety back on his own gun, shifting his grip on the gun as he held it up pleadingly in a non-threatening 'stop' motion. His eyes were filled with terror as he gave up the only leverage they still had to spare his brother's life. "I don't know what happened between you and my dad and I'm sorry for your loss, I am. But you don't seem like the kind of guy that would kill an innocent kid just to get back at another hunter."
"Dean—" John warned, trying to get his oldest to shut up, but Dean didn't listen.
"Trust me," Dean pleaded with the older hunter. "Killing my brother isn't gonna make you feel any better."
Kinsley paused, jutting out his chin. "Eye for an eye, boy. Hunter's rule. Seems to me your father chose this." Dean watched in horror as Kinsley brushed a strand of hair from Sam's forehead almost lovingly with the barrel of his gun. Sam squirmed in his grasp, blinking tear-filled eyes open to stare at Dean. It was as though the younger boy could feel the cogs in Dean's mind turning. As though he knew what Dean was about to do.
"Take me," Dean suggested, causing their dad to fix him with a shocked gaze.
"Dean," Sam choked out, shaking his head imperceptibly at his older brother. "No."
Kinsley raised a curious eyebrow at him just as John shook his head in denial.
"Dean, no."
Ignoring his father's protest, Dean locked his gaze with Kinsley. "You wanna get back at my dad? Fine. Take me and let my brother go."
"NO!" Sam yelled, more tears falling from his eyes as he started to struggle against Kinsley's hold.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean hissed, eyes still fixed on the hunter as he waited for Kinsley to make his move.
The other hunters had spread out evenly around the Winchesters, giving them no chance to back out or get away. They exchanged a few wary glances, some of them still busy tending to their wounds from the earlier fight, but none of them seemed to have the guts to step in and put a stop to Kinsley's plan to shoot a goddamn kid. Dean let out an incredulous huff of air. And these bastards dared to call themselves hunters. They were no better than the monsters they hunted on a daily basis.
"Don't you fucking do it, Wayne," John growled, low under his breath. A muscle ticked in his cheek as Kinsley made him live through his worst personal nightmare, the idea of losing either of his sons being the thing that kept him up at night. "You touch either of them and I will kill you."
Kinsley didn't look concerned as he glanced back down at Sammy, seemingly enjoying the terrified expression on the kid's face, enjoying to know that Sam was obviously the Achilles heel of the family, the weak link, young and innocent and protected. Taking Sam from them would render both John's and Dean's life a living hell on earth and Kinsley saw that. Dean could see the realization sinking into the man's eyes, he could tell the exact second when Kinsley made the decision in his mind, deciding to pass Dean's offer up in favor of taking the Winchester son whose death neither of the remaining family members could ever survive.
Sammy.
The sick clawing feeling of fear in Dean's stomach flipped every fucking muscle, every nerve and cell inside his body into protective mode. He no longer thought about reasoning with their attacker. His eyes darted to Sam, an ugly purple mark discoloring half of his face from where Kinsley had slapped him and Dean then Kinsley's trigger-finger twitched around the metal.
John's eyes widened in panic.
He saw it too – what Kinsley was going to do, what was about to happen.
And just before the world came crashing down around them, John's mouth opened and his voice filled the air like thunder. "He's got visions!" he blurted out desperately, tears stinging in his eyes as he gave up the one thing Dean and John had sworn to never tell anyone, least of all anyone in the hunter community.
Hunters didn't mix well with psychics. For most of the guys in the community, someone with psychic abilities equaled the supernatural creatures they were taking down for a living, which meant Dean and John had beant over backward to try and keep Sam's abilities a secret from any and all people that could be a potential danger to the youngest Winchester.
Dean's heart stilled in his chest, panic clouding his brain and he was numb with fear, paralyzed with how scared he was of losing his brother to this psychopath. He didn't care. Didn't care about what his father was saying. Not if it meant it would buy them time, not if it meant his brother would live for even just a second longer.
"He's a psychic," John explained, desperate to save the life of his youngest.
Sam blinked up at his father with a flicker of betrayal in his eyes, snot, and blood and tears mixing on his pale skin making him look impossibly younger. God, he looked terrified. Dean wanted nothing more but to pull Sam into his arms and let his little brother wrap himself in Dean's chest like he used to when he was little.
"He's got premonitions," John went on. "Visions. It's the reason we were on our way to Riverton. Sam saw a woman die in his last vision. She got attacked by a fang near the town hall, right Sammy?"
Sam looked at his father in a mix of fear and accusation. "Y-yeah," he gave back with a shaky nod, tears clogging his throat.
"Why the hell should I believe a word you say, Winchester?" Kinsley sneered.
"Because it's on the fucking news," Dean spat out, thanking his lucky stars for their dad's timing when he spotted the TV hanging atop their heads on the wall opposite from Kinsley and John. Dean sent his father a thankful look when the lady on the news channel announced the tragic death of a lady in Riverton, courtesy of what the cops thought to be a gruesome 'fetish killer' that drained the woman of her blood. Alan must have come too late to save her and Dean had never been so fucking thankful for anyone dying in his whole goddamn life. "That's the woman he saw in his vision. She died because we got held up on our way to save her."
"You're bluffing!" One of the other hunters growled out.
"Only one way to find out," Dean snapped back at the guy with a furious look in his emerald eyes. "In case you need it spelled out for you, that means you won't be killing any innocent minor's today. Sorry to disappoint."
"Dean," John hissed at his oldest, sending Dean a warning glare. But it was too late.
The hunter Dean had been mouthing off to shot forward and punched him square in the face. Dean's head snapped back with a grunt, blinding pain shooting through his skull and the back of his eyes at the force of the impact. He had seen the blow coming but feared for his brother's life if he were to defend himself and pick up the fight where they had left off earlier. He took the full blow and then doubled over when the guy drove his knee in Dean's stomach, sending him to his knees with a wheeze of agony.
"Dean!" John cried out, but there was nothing John could do to protect his oldest from the assault.
"Jeff, go check on Mike and Daniel," Kinsley ordered the other hunters, probably referring to the two guys John and Dean had knocked out during the earlier combat. "Kenneth, I want you to tie our friend John to one of the chairs and opposite of him the two boys." The whole time, Kinsley kept his gun trained steadily on Sam, knowing the kid was his only leverage, the only thing keeping Dean and John in check and cooperative. "Make sure you tie them up good," Kinsley instructed, a slow grin forming on his lips as he clapped John's shoulder in fake playfulness. "Papa Winchester is gonna get a front row seat to the show."
"What show?" John challenged, roughly yanking his shoulder out from underneath one of the other hunter's calloused hands when they tried to manhandle him into one of the chairs. "I told you Sam's a psychic, Wayne. You saw the fucking news! How the hell did you think we'd knew about that vamp attack before it even happened? You're gonna need him alive if you wanna see the full potential of what he can do."
John was babbling, trying to buy them time, trying to get that damn weapon away from Sam's head.
Kinsley chuckled and the sound of it turned Dean's stomach.
"We'll wait and see if little Sammy here turns out to be the psycho freak you make him out to be," the hunter spat out viciously, roughly shoving Sam down into one of the chairs Kenneth had lined up across from John, the weapon still holding its aim on the youngest Winchester. "If he does…" Kinsley grinned and pretended to make his gun shoot off without actually pressing the trigger. "I'll make it easy on you and take that devil's spawn out like the monster he is."
Sammy flinched at the words, more so than at anything else that had been done or said to him during the whole damn torment they'd been put through and Dean made a silent vow to be the one to take Kinsley out when all of this was over.
Sam was struggling with his fate enough without anyone adding to the guilt and insecurities he carried on his shoulders. To hear these cruel words from a hunter's mouth was a confirmation to every flicker of self-doubt and self-loathing Sam had ever felt and Dean was gonna make him suffer for putting his little brother through that.
"And if you're wrong and he doesn't prove to be the freak you say he is," Kinsley went on cruelly, before leaning down to whisper in John's ear; just loud enough for Dean to hear it. "I'll take out only one of them and you'll be the one to choose."
John's eyes went wild at the words, breath stuttering in his lungs. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am," Kinsley insisted. "Dead serious."
John eyed the guy as though he wanted to smother him just as Dean was roughly yanked up from the ground and tied to the chair next to his brother. A gun was trained at each of them now, their hands tied behind their backs. Sam's chin and lips were coated in blood from where his lip had been split and Dean was sitting hunched over in his seat from where the guy had cracked his ribs during his earlier attack. John looked at them both, noting their injuries, eyes filled with nothing love but sorrow. "Kinsley," he said in a weary voice, lifting his gaze to meet his opponent's eyes. "There's not a thing on this world you could do to make me choose between my boys."
Kinsley was quiet for a moment before he nodded. "If you refuse to choose one of them, I'm going to shoot both of them right here, in front of your eyes. And you'll watch them bleed out to death, nice and slow, just like I was forced to with Jimmy. How's that sound, John?"
John struggled against his ropes, but they held tight, the knot looped under the seat of the chair, too far out of reach for John to free himself. One of the hunters was busy frisking him, while two more were doing the same to his sons, taking away any blades, guns and picks they could find, rendering them all defenseless. John chanced a look at his oldest son, only to find the same deep-rooted panic in Dean's eyes that he knew was reflected in his own.
They were weaponless, tied up, injured and outnumbered.
The situation, predictably, was grim, Winchester luck not even allowing for an hour's break between Sammy's terrifying seizure and their current predicament.
"One way or another," Kinsley said, breath hot and threatening against John's ear. "You'll walk out of here with one son less than you came in with, John."
A/N: Thanks for reading! I don't know where this came from or where it's gonna go. If you'd like to see more, please let me know in the comments! :)