Dean revved the Impala's engine and swerved into the gravel lot of the old shipyard. It was abandoned for the most part, except for the skeletons of colossal metal ship hulls left to rot in the mucky water. He looked at his watch, Sam would be here in a little bit and that gave him time to look around. Dean walked around to the trunk of the car and opened the secret compartment that held the weapons and ammo of the Winchester Brothers. He picked out a knife and a few more goodies, stuffing them discreetly in his leather jacket pockets.

Dean shut the trunk and looked around to make sure no one was near. It was clear. He began roaming the area, careful to not make loud footsteps in case any unwanted demons nearby decided to pop in for a visit. He was fully prepared with his multiple charms and weapons to take anything that came to him. The lot was mostly empty, there was no real danger present at the moment and from what he could see.

There was the yellow taped crime scene up ahead; he walked over to it. His boots crunched in the gravel and he leaned over the side, looking at the chalked body outlines scribbled into the ground. The crime scene should be cleaned up soon, the investigation being wrapped up as unsolved.

He heard a crunch in the distance.

Dean whipped his head around and kept a hand on the knife in his jacket, "Hello? Who's there?" he called out aggressively.

No reply.

"Hello-"

The crunching sound grew louder now, all at once a crescendo of noise like a dozen boots hitting the ground hard.

"What the?" he looked around, Dean's eyes caught movements in the shadows of the abandoned docks. They were humanoid shapes, but he wasn't going to be able to take them all at once. Dean jumped over the yellow crime tape and sprinted in the opposite direction towards his Impala.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to outrun these guys, demon, human, or whatever they were. This case that he and Sam decided to take one was obviously much more than it seemed and-Sam! His brother was supposed to meet him here and if he did, they'd both share the same fate.

Dean sprinted ahead and dove behind a few crates. This would give him some cover for a little before his pursuers could find him and do God knows what. But that would not be for his brother. He ripped the phone out of his pocket as the advancing footfalls grew nearer.

"Come on, come on," he cursed his fumbling fingers.

Dean flipped open the cover of his phone and pressed the digits down. He turned his head as he heard gruff voices behind him.

"Don't tell me we lost him!"

"Nah, he's around here somewhere. Keep looking!"

"Sam, come on, come on-"

"Hey, boss, I found him, I got him!"

Dean cursed as he felt the cold metal barrel of a heavy gun buried in his skull.

"Damn it," he hissed.

"You bet, guy," he heard the man above him speak, "drop the phone. Now."

He held onto it reluctantly for a moment before dropping it into the dirt. The dial screen looked at him mockingly and his heart skipped a beat at the prospect of not being able to warn Sam. It was like he could practically hear the voice of his dad scorning him for not fulfilling the duties he swore to long ago.

He had a chance to look up and examine his assailant. The man had on black heavy gear with dark glasses and a helmet. The only skin visible was the slim line of his neck as plastered on his bulletproof vest across his chest was the word "SWAT".

Damn it, they were humans.

That meant this was no demon case, this was no murder scene, this was an elaborate scheme. A trap to rope the brothers in with a promising case that was a fake created by the FBI…and he knew exactly who was behind it all.

"Good evening, officer," he looked at the man above him with a smug smile.

"Shut up," the growl uttered to him was harsh, "I got him here, Captain!"

"Good job, Nichols," he patted the man's back as four more SWAT members besieged him and pointed their fatal barrels at his vulnerable body, "Dean Winchester?"

"Uh," he looked round at the possible bullets that might pierce his skin, "yeah?"

"You're coming with me," the captain nodded to one of his men, "you know what to do, Jenkins."

"Right, sir," a man from behind wielded his gun, his hand held on the trigger.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he tried scrambling back, but the barrels pressed harder into his skin, "Hey, what's going on here?!"

"Now, Jenkins!"

"Wait, can't we talk about this-"

Dean felt something hit him in the back of the head hard and he fell to the ground.

Sam stopped the cabbie a block away from the docks just in case. He was dressed back in his beige corduroy jacket and regular outfit; it was a lot more comforting than that suit he always hauled around. His shotgun was tucked away in his pocket over his flannel shirt. Dean was supposed to meet him here and they were going to check the area for any remaining spirits lingering around before they did the usual routine.

First things first, he needed to find his brother.

"Dean?" Sam looked around cautiously, his hand on the handle of his weapon, "You here?"

There was no sound, just the sound of crunching gravel. Sam was already on high alert and he hid behind one of the wooden support beams for the dock. There was no following sounds and the air was tense and cold.

Something was happening here and Dean might've gotten caught right in the middle of it. He needed to find his brother, salt and burn this thing, and get the hell out of New Mexico.

Sam took a quick look out towards the dock again; nothing was there. If this spirit was trying to taunt him, it was going to have a hell of a tough job. Dean and him were expert hunters, brought into the life when they were born. He kept his shotgun close and stepped out again, prepared to take on whatever came at him.

"Sam," a voice called in the dead silence.

He froze.

And he dove to the ground, crawling to the safety behind the post.

"I've almost got him," an FBI sharpshooter was high above the docks on a nearby building. Through the scope of his gun, he only saw the beige sleeve of the target poking out from behind the wooden post, "Boss, do I have a go on taking the shot?"

"Just wait, I want to talk to him first."

"But, sir-"

"You have your orders, listen to them," came the growl in his earpiece.

The sharpshooter ground his teeth. He wanted these two out of the way before they terrorized any more American lives. If he had it his way, these two would've been dead already instead of taken into custody. He tightened his grip on the gun and ground his teeth in restless anticipation.

"Sam" came the voice again, it was eerily familiar to his ears, "Sam Winchester."

He finally placed the name to the face: Viktor Henricksen. It was the FBI agent who had been on his and Dean's tails for months now. He was at the bank vault robbery before and had been trailing them down ever since-especially since Dean was a suspect for murder.

"Henricksen!" he shouted back angrily.

"So you remember me, Sammy?" came the amused reply, "just come out so we can talk."

"And then what? You and your squadron of soldiers will take me and my brother out?" Sam said defiantly, "No way."

"Listen, I know I've been hunting you and your brother all over the goddamn country, I mean aren't you tired? Hell, I'm tired. So why don't you come out, let's talk, Dean won't be there to give his smart replies, and-"

"Don't talk about my brother," Sam growled, "where is he?"

"Dean? Oh, he's right here, come on I'll show you."

Sam almost took the bait. If it involved Dean then of course he would, his brother might be in danger. Worry clawed at him. What if Dean really was there? What if gun was pressed to his head and the minute he stepped out then they'd pull the trigger.

"No, you're lying," Sam concluded, "you think you can get me out, huh? I bet you've got men lining this whole dock at this point to shoot me down and me and my brother will be dust in the wind, right? Not a chance."

"Sam?"

The younger Winchester froze. His entire body was filled with dread. It was a frighteningly familiar wasn't Henricksen talking-it was Dean. He sounded tired and hurt, something was definitely wrong.

"Dean?"

"Sammy, you stay right there and run. Don't you let them take you."

"Dean, I'm not going to leave-"

"Sam, you turn around right now and go! Before this bastard gets the both of us."

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam was torn, he was never going to leave his own brother in the hands of people worse than demons, "What's wrong? You don't sound good."

"They got me, Sammy, what can I say?" Dean tried to puff out a laugh, "It's my job to look out for you, you have to go now. I'll find a way out."

"All right, that's enough," Henricksen interceded, "don't listen to him, Sam, you'd never leave Dean behind."
"Henricksen is trying to pull you in, Sammy, you need to go now!"

"Sam, you come out here, all I want to do is talk to you, okay? Nothing is set yet, I can still make this all go away, I've got the power to do that."

"What about my brother?" Sam returned, "You can make it all go away for him too?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Viktor's tone dropped, "but your brother is a convict on suspicion of murder and so many other crimes that you weren't involved in. I can tell the judge that you were persuaded by your brother, that your dangerously co-dependent relationship made you believe that there were demons and ghosts running around."

"Sam, if you come out here, so help me-"

Sam threw his shotgun on the dirt floor by Henricksen's feet. Dean watched from the hands of two SWAT officers holding him down, it was his brother's preferred weapon. Another officer came by and snatched it from the ground before running back. Viktor had a smug smile on his face.

"That's it, Sam, you're making the right decision."

"Damn it, Sammy, no-"

"Henricksen," Sam called, "if I come out there, will you let me see him?"

"Who? Dean? Sure, Sam, why not," Viktor smiled, ready to reel his fish in.

"Sam, please, don't do this, they're going to shoot you if you do," Dean tried to plead with his brother one more time, "don't come out here, turn tail and run!"

"Okay," Sam breathed, "I'm coming out."

From the top of his perch, the sharpshooter smiled, ready to receive the order. His partner next to him was getting anxious, not about the target, but about him. His partner could tell that he was ready to kill these Winchester Boys, and he was afraid that he would kill them both against orders.

"Hey, just take it easy, Brian," Mike, his partner looked at him, "you don't have any orders yet."

"I know," he smiled sadistically, "just waiting."

Mike had a grim look on his face but continued to watch the exchange.

"That's it, Sam, come on out," Viktor saw the bare palm of Sam and then half of his broad form come out from behind the post. Both his hands were in the air and his eyes immediately zeroed in on Dean. His brother had a black eye and a small bleeding cut in his skull, but his face was horrified as he saw what Sam was doing. It was a look of betrayal.

"Keep your hands in the air!" an officer with the voice of a drill sergeant yelled from Henricksen's side. There were two SWAT vans, about 15 ground soldiers, two of which were holding Dean down, and probably more up above with their guns trained on him.

They weren't going to shoot him, they couldn't. If they killed Sam unarmed then they'd be in hot water. This was America, people had to deal with situations with reason.

"Dean-" Sam's eyes focused on his brother who was resisting the bonds of the two men holding him down.

"Sammy, why didn't you run!" Dean angrily shouted at his brother who was slowly walking over to them, his hands above him in surrender.

"Dean, I-"

There was movement from Henricksen, and Dean watched as he pressed a hand to his ear. He was talking through an ear piece, "No, Brian step down, that is not your order-"

Dean already knew what this meant in a second. They were in danger.

"Sam, get down!" the older Winchester shouted.

His brother made eye contact with him.

There was a flash from the top of the dock. The booming sound of a gunshot echoed through the abandoned shipyard and a spurt of blood from Sam's leg. Sam yelled and he hit the floor, cringing in the dirt as he tried to scramble away.

"Sam!" Dean yelled.

Henricksen's eyes were wide with confusion and dismay, "STOP!"

Another gunshot and this time it was targeted closer to Dean. He tried to break away from the clutches of the two officers who were still in a confused commotion. Dean tried to run to Sam but was hauled back and buried to the ground by the officers. Enraged, he kicked out and hit one of them in the face.

You could add resisting arrest and assault of an officer on his list of crimes.

"Sam, get out of here!" he yelled again as his brother tried to claw his way through the rocky dirt for shelter. Henricksen was shielded by two more officers and taken away to the shelter of the SWAT van. Other officers were clamoring all over the place trying to climb up the docks and stop the shooter. There were series of shots just blasting from the barrel and inching ever so closer to Dean.

One of them met its target. A bullet ripped through his shoulder and an excruciating pain engulfed him. He was blasted back and finally taken out of the hold of the two men as he writhed on the floor. He looked for his brother. Sam wasn't able to move anymore on account of the bullet in his leg so he was curled up on the floor, both arms over his head in a final act of protection.

"What's going on up there, Crow's Nest?!" Dean heard the urgent voices of the officers, "Who's opening fire?!"

"It's Brian!" came the crackled reply, "He's opened fire against orders, I can't get him to stop! He's targeted the Winchesters!"

"Brian, cease fire, Brian cease fire!"

There was one lone shot that rang through the abandoned docks and the firing stopped. From up above, a body fell over the ledge, dressed in a SWAT officer's uniform.

Dean felt woozy, his vision starting to blur as the wound in his arm and the one blow to his head made him feel faint. Rough hands grabbed him and hoisted him up; he ground his teeth when someone brushed past his injured shoulder.

"Sam?" he uttered, looking with blurry vision from officer to officer, "Where's Sam?"

He was dragged to the back entrance of the van, his feet sliding in the rocky gravel.

"Watch his shoulder," he decided to just let whatever was going to happen, happen. All he cared about was where Sam was and if he was okay. Damn Henricksen and his stupid bloodhounds of SWAT officers messed everything up.

Dean's head was pounding and bleeding again from his wound. Bastards.

He was pulled into the van forcefully and thrown against the metal interior roughly. His foggy mind barely registered the cuffs being slapped on his wrists. The pain that was sprouting from his shoulder was clogging his mind and making black dots dance across his vision. He'd be out soon if the excruciating pain continued on.

"Sam," he stopped one of the officers right in front of him, "where is he?" his tone was serious and his voice low.

"The other one?" the SWAT officer looked at him and snorted, "Down there," he nodded his head towards the floor outside the van, "he'll be taking the ambulance back home."

"W-what?" Dean's eyes were closing, but he snapped them back open, "Ambulance?"

In his fog, Dean tried to stand up and go outside to his brother, but the officer pushed him back down.

"Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?" he had an edge to his voice and his other hand rested upon the hilt of his gun, "Sit back down."

"Leave him, Josh" another officer came up to them both as Dean still struggled against his cuffs, "Jenkins hit him hard in the head, he doesn't know what he's doing."

Dean's blurry vision caught the name inscribed in his uniform: Mike. From what he remembered, that's the guy who was up there with Brian that damned shooter. He was the one who saved them. His eyes were downcast and shirt stained with blood. This guy must've shot his partner to get him to stop. There was a body bag being wheeled away into another car with men surrounding it and some in tears. That was him, Brian the shooter who propelled off the cliff once Mike here shot him.
"Whoa, Mike," Josh turned to his fellow officer covered in the blood of one of their men, "what the hell? What happened? Brian was up there and someone opened fire-"

"Yeah, that was Brian too," Mike dry washed his face, "I didn't know what else to do. He would've killed somebody. I tackled him down, b-but he was gonna shoot me so I-" he trailed off, unable to continue, "Look, it was the right move, okay? I don't care what anyone thinks, he'd have shot these boys dead if I let him go on."

"One of them was already hit," Josh nodded his head to where he described Sam was.

"What?"

"Sam," Dean lurched forward again as a bout of clarity hit him. His brother could be dead and he was in here.

"Sit back down, pal," the Josh yelled a little and pushed him back by the shoulder.

"Hey, man," Mike said, warily, "I don't think he looks too good."

"Well, how hard did Jenkins hit him then?" Josh said impatiently.

"I don't know. Wait-" Mike moved closer, "look at his shoulder. Ah, damn it, Brian shot him."

Dean's eyes closed, his legs buckled, and he fell against the metal chair.

"Oh, Christ!" Josh moved forward to catch Dean, "Damn it, someone get me a medic here!"

There was a commotion of sounds that hit Dean's ears as he started to fade out and he barely felt the cool air as he was hauled out and rested on the floor.

"He's got low BP."

"Someone keep a crash cart on standby."

"Sam?" he tried to get up one more time, "Where-"

On the floor right beside him he saw a blood stained beige jacket.

No, no, God, no.

"Sam?" he was trying to convince his rattled mind that this wasn't his brother before him. He reached out and barely choked, "Sammy?"

"Keep him down, damn it!"

His brother was lying right beside him, his blue jeans soaked with blood that seeped into his signature jacket.

"What the hell did you do to him?!" Dean shouted and fought. His breaths were coming out as labored puffs and his headache was threatening to reel him over.

"Oh, crap, he's crashing."

Dean fell back down again as his lung felt like it was constricting, not enough air to stimulate his body. His whole chest burned like fire, Dean was half convinced that smoke might start pouring out of him on account of the acid feeling eating at his lungs.

"Lung collapse, come on, where's that needle!"

His head hit the floor, a long needle flashed across his blurry vision, there was a stab in his heart, and his world went black.

Leave me a review/fav/follow, tell me what you think!