Again this is my Christmas gift to TraSan, a wonderful friend and writer. And this time, any mistakes are mine, not my wonderful beta's but if I didn't get this chapter out today, I wouldn't get it up until after Christmas. And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment - they are very inspiring! Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Bye Baby Buntin'

Chapter 2

John Winchester was tired and cranky. This hunt had turned into a cluster fuck, they were already a couple of days overdue and it didn't look like they'd be finishing this up tonight either. Contrary to popular belief, John hated leaving one of his son's behind knowing that the separation made them vulnerable but sometimes there were other more important considerations such as the negative impact or residual effect that a particular hunt might inflict on his boys and this was one of those hunts. They were after a shapeshifter and while it was one thing to kill a monster or salt and burn a corpse, it was quite another to kill something that could very well be wearing your own face. He had enough reservations about having Dean along on this one and his first born was the more battle worn.

Sitting at the small motel room table, John tried to ignore his older son as Dean paced in front of him, the young man's agitation over things just as strong.

"Dean, sit," he finally ordered when his nerves could take it no more. He understood his son's desire to get back to his brother but the hunt wasn't done and driving John nuts before then wasn't going to do either of them any good.

Dean stopped pacing but didn't sit. John let it go. Instead the twenty year old just stood in the middle of the room, his fingers flexing and relaxing as his arms dangled loosely by his sides. The young man was a picture of tension and actually jumped when John's phone rang.

Seeing BS come up on the call display, John's heart leapt into his throat. Bobby wouldn't be calling unless there was trouble. "What's wrong?" he barked into the phone as Dean came to stand right in front of him, his son's hazel eyes burning hard with question.

He held Dean's gaze at Bobby's, "John, we got a problem…" but before he could even ask, his old friend continued. "Your shifter went after Sam." John felt light-headed as his mouth went dry,

"What?"

"I got the kid," Bobby was obviously trying to make him feel better, but it wasn't working as John stood and grabbed his duffle bag, one handedly stuffing his stuff back in the bag. Dean unquestioningly started to get his stuff as well. "He's pretty messed up but I think he'll be okay."

"And the shifter?"

Bobby hesitated and that was answer enough.

"We're on our way," John barked. His mind was stuck on 'Your shifter went after Sam'. No, he shook his head in denial; Sam was supposed to be safe. That's why John had left him behind. A half a day away should have been far enough. God-damnit. "Bobby-"

His old friend cut him off, his gruff voice husky. "Don't worry, John. Just get here."

Hanging up, John ran a hand across his face, sighed heavily then looked at Dean. The younger was actually vibrating with anxiety. "We got to get back," he stated needlessly, "Sonnofabitch went after Sammy."

Dean paled, his eyes wide as they searched his father's face. "Is he – is he okay?"

He's pretty messed up…

John grabbed his boots and pulled them on. "He'll be fine, Dean. Let's go."

It wasn't really an answer but they were a half a days drive from Sam and John didn't want Dean any more agitated during the drive then the younger man already was but Dean pressed, "Dad-"

"Dean," John straightened up and shouldered his duffle. "He's with Bobby. He's safe. Now c'mon, you're wasting time."

"How'd he get away? Is the shifter dead?" Dean pressed as he followed his father out of the room.

John unlocked the truck doors and tossed his bag in behind the seat, his son did the same. "I dunno," he was forced to admit, "and no, it's still on the loose."

"Good," the coldness in Dean's voice made John stop and look at him, "'cause I wanna kill the bastard myself." And John knew exactly how his son felt because he felt it too. This creature had crossed a new line when it went after Sammy.

With a curt nod, John slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, started the engine and tore out of the parking lot. They were almost 12 hours away, he intended to be at Bobby's in 8.

------

Sam couldn't sleep for very long, even drugged. The pills just made it harder for him to think clearly and he kept waking with a start, heart pounding and breathing heavily, images of the shifter grinning down at him.

"You okay?" Bobby's voice asked from somewhere in the room but Sam didn't try to see him, his vision blurry at best. All the cuts and nicks on his body itched furiously and he tried to scratch, gasping with pain as his shoulders protested the movement.

The shifter's breath was hot on the back of his neck as the creature slowly began to twist Sam's arm behind his back. The teen bit back a cry as his arm was cruelly manipulated and then screamed into the gag as he felt it pop out of the socket.

"Whoops," it laughed, mirthlessly, "Did I do that?" Sam sobbed and struggled but not-Dean gave him a hard shake. "Stop it or else I won't put it back in place for you." And then before the kid had a chance to recover, the shifter popped the shoulder back in place -

"Sam?" Bobby was leaning over him again.

Hot tears of humiliation burned Sam's cheeks and he turned his face away from the older man, he didn't want Bobby to see how upset he was. Here he was safe and yet the teen couldn't seem to shake off what happened.

"M'sorry," he mumbled and heard the hunter sigh.

"Nothing to be sorry for." He was told and wished it was true. "Sam…" Bobby had more to say, "It's okay if you're still scared, you know that right?" Sam almost smiled at the guff awkwardness in the man's voice but he knew the sentiment was genuine and didn't want Bobby to think he didn't appreciate it so he just nodded, even if it didn't really make him feel better. "Anyway," the man continued, "your Dad and Dean are on their way back."

Relief jumped Sam and he sagged against the bed.

"Yup, they'll be here in a couple of hours."

"They know?" He asked tiredly. He couldn't sleep for very long but he couldn't seem to stay awake either. Man, it so sucked being him right now.

"Yeah, here drink this," Bobby was holding out another mug of something and Sam carefully sat up and took it, sniffing it before he took a drink. Chicken soup. It was good. "Your Dad's pretty pissed. Doesn't like his hunt doing the hunting."

Too bad the skin is the one doing all the catching…

Sam shivered. "Guess not." He finished the rest of his soup quietly then handed the mug back to Bobby. "Thanks."

"Get some sleep, Sam, your family'll be here soon."

Sam nodded and slid back down under the covers again. He didn't want to sleep, he was – gone before Bobby sat back down.

------

Bobby wasn't surprised to see John's truck growl towards the house 9 hours later. He figured the man would burn rubber to get here and he wasn't disappointed.

"How's Sam?" Dean was out of the truck and demanding even before his father had put it in park. John cursed something but Bobby hid a grin, he wouldn't have expected anything less from the younger man. When it came to Sam, Dean had a one track mind.

"Sleeping," Bobby hoped anyways but while the kid had no trouble falling asleep, staying that way was a bigger issue. But he usually got about a half hour between incidents and it'd only been ten minutes since the last time Sam had passed out. "Dean," he called out to the younger man as Dean hurried past him towards the house.

Dean stopped and turned around, impatience tensing his body, reminding Bobby of a rattler coiled and ready to strike. He tread carefully. "I need to talk to you and your daddy first, before you go rushing up them stairs." When the younger Winchester opened his mouth to protest Bobby held up his hand and added. "Sam's okay. I promise, Dean. It can wait five minutes while I bring you guys up to snuff."

"Fine," Dean bit out, obviously unhappy with this. "Five minutes."

"Dean," John's growled warning was lost on his young pup as Dean met his gaze steadily. For his brother, Dean would face down the devil itself.

"Jesus," Bobby grumbled. "Just git inside, will ya?" Without waiting for an answer, the older man pushed past Dean and went inside. He led the way into the kitchen and poured two black coffees for them, a shot of whiskey and put them down on the table. It'd been a long night. The younger men acknowledged the drinks with nods but didn't sit down or touch them and Bobby didn't expect anything less knowing how anxious they'd be. "Like I told you, John, Sam was attacked by a shifter."

"Sonnavabitch," John muttered, although he already knew that part.

Bobby agreed with the sentiment then with an apologetic sigh, he looked at Dean and dropped the bombshell. "It was wearing Dean's skin."

------

Dean felt sick. All the blood drained for him face and then quickly rushed back in as rage overtook nausea. "It looked… like me?" The muscle in his jaw was so tight, it hurt. Bobby nodded, his face looking ten years older. Beside him his father growled.

"How bad?" the young hunter had to know. "How bad did it hurt him?" Please don't let it be bad, please don't let it be bad.

"Mostly cosmetic," Bobby offered. "He's been beaten but nothing broken, no internal injuries. But-"

The twenty-year old swallowed hard. "But?"

"But," Bobby wasn't looking at Dean anymore, "the thing played with him… He's all cut up. Nothing life threatening… just painful and -"

Dean wasn't sure he could hear any more and only vaguely noticed his father standing beside him, his mind horrified by the image of himself hurting his brother. Not himself just something looking like him. Oh God, Sammy.

"-and then it just let him go. Dropped him on the side of the road about two miles from here and took off."

"Damnit," his father slammed his fist against the wall, "God-damnit!"

"Dad?"

"Son. Of. A. BITCH!"

Bobby grabbed John's arm, yanking him away from the wall. "Keep yer voice down," he growled. "You want to freak your boy out anymore then he already is? The kid can't hardly rest as it is!"

Dean was tired of listening. He needed to see his brother and see him now. Without waiting for permission, he pushed past the older men and took the stairs two at a time, and Bobby must have valued his life because this time he didn't try to stop him.

------

"It's baiting me," John stated as he watched his son clunk up the stairs. "Bastard knew Sammy was mine and went after him."

Bobby nodded, figuring pretty much the same thing. "Smart, that's for sure. Using Dean like that? It wouldn't have to kill Sam to hurt both your boys…" he paused, then added, "or you."

"Shit," John scrubbed a hand across his face, then slumped down in a chair by the table. Bobby nudged the mug towards him and waited a beat until the man finally took a drink. His friend looked like shit.

"What happened on your hunt, John?" Bobby pressed, sitting down across from the other man and dumping the shot of whiskey in John's mug when the hunter put it back down. A grateful look flashed across the man's face and he savored the next mouthful more.

"I don't know, Bobby," that was a huge admission from the hunter. He leaned forward so his elbow rested on the table and raked a hand through his hair. Bobby knew the basics, John had gotten information about a particularly brutal shifter nearby and had asked him if he wanted to back him up but Bobby had turned him down, a prior commitment coming in the way. "It was screwed from the start. The intel was good… or so I thought but we just couldn't nail it down. Damn thing even had us crawling through sewers and scoping out abandoned warehouses but all for nothing more than an old skin."

"Sounds like it had you chasing your tails while it went on a little hunt of its own." Bobby surmised, reaching behind for the whiskey bottle.

"I don't get it though… How'd it know about Sammy? And why all the subterfuge? Why didn't it just kill him outright? It's almost like -" An odd look filtered across John's face.

He knows, thought Bobby, he knows.

"Oh… shit," the words were a low whisper dragged out over a breath. John lifted his head and bloodshot eyes burned through the older hunter's. "Pay back. The damn thing is out for revenge!"

"Huh?"

"Last year I hunted a shifter outside Seattle… it ended in hand to hand and the damn thing swore, not swore, promised, that this wasn't over, that it's brother, can you imagine? A family of shifters?" he shook his head and then continued, "That its brother would make sure I paid. That I'd hurt… damnit," John was on his feet in an instant, heading towards the stairs. "This isn't over yet, Bobby," he warned, "not by a long shot." He turned briefly, his face dark, "It's coming." Then bounded up the steps.

Bobby felt a shiver down his back. It's coming? Just swell. Shoving to his feet, the aging hunter cursed his aching knees and hurried towards his weapons stash to get the silver. Hunting he didn't mind, being hunted? Definitely not cool.

------

Dean stood in the doorway of the small bedroom and watched his brother. Sam looked like hell and new anger bubbled in the older hunter's chest as he got his first look at the damage. Bobby was right, it was pretty much cosmetic - the kid looked awful – but that didn't actually make it any better. Sam had still been hurt. As Dean quietly drew closer, not wanting to wake his sleeping sibling, he didn't think he'd ever seen Sam so beaten up before.

"Oh, kid," he whispered as he peered down at the badly swollen and bruised face, and winced. His brother's vision was going to be screwed until some of the swelling went down, that was for sure. Dean's own eyesight dimmed with fury as he saw what Bobby meant about the gashes and wondered how much more his brother's clothing hid. "Shit, bro," he murmured in sympathy, his hand reaching out to lightly finger a particularly spectacular bruise. Dean started to smile when he saw his brother's eyes open then startled when Sam's eyes widened in fear. The kid yelped and lurched away from Dean, jerking with a whimper when he hit the headboard.

"Whoa, easy!" Cursing himself for not expecting something like this, Dean's hands flew up in supplication as he tried to calm his distressed brother. "Easy, Sammy, it's me… Dean. The real Dean!" But the kid just scrambled to the side of the bed, his long legs buckling when he tried to stand. Worried that his brother was going to hurt himself and gritting his teeth in frustration, Dean stepped back giving Sam clear access to the door. His hands clenched and unclenched in helplessness as he watched his brother's gaze dart from him to the hallway and then back to him again. His hatred of the shifter escalated to a new level. It did this to them.

Dean's move seemed to confuse Sam and though the need to bolt was strong enough that even Dean felt it, the kid didn't run. Instead he cocked his head and just stared at the older hunter. Dean held his breath, not sure exactly what Sam was seeing. C'mon, Sammy, this is me… you know me.

"Dean?"

The word was hesitant and a bit slurred but to Dean his brother had never sounded better and he slowly nodded his head, letting Sam determine how this played out. "Yeah, Bitch, just me."

Sam actually sagged with relief, his white-knuckled grip on the mattress the only thing keeping him off the floor. "'bout time," his brother managed before managing a very shaky smile. "Missed you… jerk."

Dean cautiously approached, noting with relief that Sam didn't shy away when he crouched next to him, his worried gaze drinking in the slightly drugged glint in the teen's eyes. "I can see that." He reached out and carefully helped his brother back up, pausing when Sam winced. "Sammy?"

"Sorry," his brother gasped, slowly settling back down on the bed, "shoulders… sore."

"Dislocated?" It didn't look out of place.

"Not anymore," Sam admitted wearily.

Dean pulled the blankets up, frowning when his brother shivered, then sat down on the edge of the bed, relieved when the kid wrapped chilled fingers around his wrist and held on as if afraid Dean would just disappear. The older hunter put his other hand over Sam's and squeezed back lightly. Not going anywhere, bro. Sam's lips quirked as if he heard the thought then closed his eyes and slowly relaxed.

"Bastard put it back… then pulled it out again… then put it back, couple of times …" Sam mumbled, then snorted bitterly, "Liked to hear the pop, or me scream… can't remember which..."

Dean stiffened. He felt sick, bile rising in the back of his throat. "Probably both," he whispered and swallowed it back.

"Probably," Sam was almost asleep now so Dean didn't comment, just continued to sit there watching his brother as the younger Winchester shifted restlessly; it'd be hard to find a comfortable position even with the drugs in his system Dean had no doubt Bobby had already given.

The young man recognized the sound of his father's boots on the stairs moments before the man was standing in the doorway. John waited until he was sure Dean knew it was him before coming into the room not wanting to get a bullet in the gut as he knew his son would be wired to kill right now. There was just something about standing guard over his injured brother that tossed the other brother a few shades past lethal.

"How is he?" John asked, keeping his voice to a gruff whisper as his brown eyes took in the damage, darkening almost to demon blackness in anger.

Anyone else would have been terrified, Dean just sighed and admitted. "Freaked out." He gave his father a dejected look. "Don't think I'm going to be on his favorites list for a while… Kid just about jumped out of his skin," his face twisted liked he'd bitten into something sour at the unintentional pun, "when he woke up and saw me by the bed."

John moved to the side of the bed, standing next to Dean and looked down at his younger son. Dean watched a myriad of emotions flicker across his father's face until the man completely shut down, slamming a hardness across his features that would make the darkness shiver.

"He knows it wasn't you, Dean," he stated then tilting his head to the side, John leaned over Sam and gently brushed back some of the hair that had curled around the side of the boy's neck. Dean expected his brother to bolt awake again but the kid must have, on some level, realized who it was because he didn't move at his father's touch. Watching the man carefully, Dean felt a chill prickle down the back raising goosebumps across his flesh as John's eyes narrowed. He gently probed an odd shaped mark on the side of Sam's neck. Hidden by the hair, Bobby wouldn't have seen it, no one would have, unless they knew where to look and apparently Dean's father knew exactly where to look.

This did not bode well.

"Dad?" Dean didn't even try to keep the concern out of his voice.

"Damn," John muttered quietly. He straightened slowly then rubbed a shaky hand across his face. "Damn, damn, damn."

Dean stood, previous concern turning to outright fear. "Dad," he repeated, "What is it?"

"You remember that shifter I hunted when we were in Seattle last year?" John didn't have to wait for Dean to confirm, he knew his son would remember. Dean pretty much inhaled all the older man's hunts. "Well it would seem that hunt isn't over yet."

"Wait," Dean stared at his father, "I thought you got it…"

"I did," John growled, "but before I did, damn thing told me it had a brother-"

"Brother?" the younger man interrupted, he didn't think these things had families.

"Yes, a brother, and apparently that brother is back looking for its pound of flesh."

"No," Dean shook his head, "Dad, that's impossible."

"Impossible or not, son, this attack on Sammy is related to that hunt."

"How-"

John cut him off, "That mark on Sam's neck is the same as the ones the Seattle shifter left on its victims as a calling card."

Dean turned back towards his brother so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. Risking startling Sam, he carefully leaned over and took a closer look for himself, all the blood draining from his face when he recognized exactly what it was.

A bite.

The bastard had bitten Sam.

"Bastard bit them. Marked them." John's growl echoed Dean's thoughts as he stalked towards the window and looked outside. "Then enjoyed playing a sick game of cat and mouse with them until finally, days later, it'd finally make the kill."

Dean's eyes widened, horrified. "It let him go."

John turned back to him, "because its not done yet."

"It can't have him," the younger man vowed, his heart pounding at the idea of that thing coming after his brother again. "It can't."

"And it won't," his father vowed, his voice cold and deadly, "Stay with your brother, Dean, keep your guard up." He started towards the door. "Keep your gun close, any doubts? Shoot and we'll deal with the consequences later. Got it?"

The younger man nodded, not needing to be told twice, and once again wow'd by the amount of trust his father had him in. And then John was gone, clumping down the stairs to get silver.

TBC