Chapter Two:

Sam was extremely happy today; at last he confessed his real feelings to Jessica. Their trip to New York was perfect for spending his birthday and sharing the night with the girl he loved. The Big Apple was so full of surprises; watching a musical in Broadway, dining in Savoy and taking a late night walk in Central Park.

Jessica was so happy, wearing a beautiful pink dress and pink shoes with pink stripes tied all around her long, soft legs. She smiled at him and whispered as she held his strong arm close to hers; "This is the best night of my life".

Sam returned the smile whispering "Me too."

"I wanna give you something."

"Something…?"

"Yeah, but you gotta close your eyes first."

Sam looked at her surprisingly, but her confident smile calmed him down. He closed his eyes and sighed in worry.

He was really afraid; that would be his first kiss, ever, apart from that bartender in Massachusetts, so literally that was his first kiss, how good would he be?

From his former experience with that bartender, he wasn't such a good player, he just got slapped and cursed so he decided to give it up, he swore not to kiss again, specially that he became the laughing stock of Dean for a whole week.

Dean! Why does he remember him now? No, every single day and night though he pretends to himself that he doesn't care.

"Sam! Sam! Happy Birthday, Sam. You can open your eyes, now."

Sam shot his eyes open; slightly disappointed but glad. She didn't really wanna kiss him, maybe they were just best friends after all, but thank God he wouldn't have to go through that kissing-embarrassment thingy.

What he saw was really impressive, though "Nintendo DS? Man I'm so lucky!"

She laughed from the heart, her wide black eyes laughing along with her full pretty red lips, "Happy Birthday, Sam."

He looked at her, he could see all of the beautiful moments they spent together; swimming in the pool, the few arguments, the special cookies she made for him every time he was pissed.

Everything started and ended with her, as if the whole world revolved around her, she was the source of his safety and all his precious secrets were held safe within…

No! Not all, actually, but most of them.

"Jess, I wanna tell you somethin'."

"Sam, what is it?"

"I love you!"

This time his kiss was very passionate that they almost fell to the ground! He held her up high in his arms, kissing her with all the love in his heart and soul.

When Jessica whispered breathlessly, "Sam, I…"

He just kissed her again and again, without hesitation, without saying anything he just held her and headed to the nearest hotel.

They filled the bed with roses. Roses of all kinds and colors. The nectar spread all over their naked bodies as they held on to each others.

Sam attacked her, a moment he was as fierce as a lion, another he was calmer than the River Nile.

Jessica was very cooperative, giving in to the heat of the moment, doing moves of her own, licking nectar off his strong, muscular body whenever she could.

Their lips met; once, twice, hundreds of times. She lay beside him on the bed after a steamy night; her naked body shivering from the cold and the dread of what'd come next.

He was beside her, the sight of her perfectly shaped body that smelt of soap and Givenchi evaporated the memory of the Massachusetts bartender as if it never existed.

"So, what now?" she asked in a small, quirky tone.

Before he could answer his phone rang. With an 'Ugh' and a frown he reached towards his cell phone and picked it looking at the caller ID. His frown increased as he watched the screen silently for a second, then he changed the cell phone to silent mode and threw it away.

"Who was that?" Jessica asked half sleepily.

He replied while shifting to a better position on the bed, "Wrong number I guess."

Deep down, Sam wished he could find the courage to pick up the phone, but hell he never would.

Dean gave up after the eleventh call, either Sam is deaf or he's ignoring him on purpose.

He sighed sadly and tossed his cell phone on the ground, Sam never answered his calls since he left. The only call the guy made was abrupt and cold, just to inform them that he was in Stanford and he was fine.

After that, he heard nothing of Sam, he could easily reach him-that was an A B C hunting trick, tracking others-but he really wanted to give him space.

CRASH!!

Dean jumped off his bed when he heard the sound. What the hell was that? He looked at his Dad's bed, the guy already had his eyes opened, blinking heavily as the sound must've woken him up from a long, soundless sleep.

That meant his Old Pops was okay, usually the man snored like the engine of a crooked truck.

"What was that?" John's question broke Dean out of his karma, he answered in an alert tone, "I don't really know, Sir. I'll go check it out."

John jumped off his bed, putting on his jacket and demanding, "Not alone."

Before Dean could argue, John opened the door and walked out, shotgun in his hand, a very cautious expression on his face.

He peeked through the open door, nothing but blackness and bleakness. John turned and ordered Dean, "Spread salt all around our beds and all over the room. Don't leave a corner or a hole uncovered, this night might be rough."

Dean stood up excitedly, he took out his hunting knife and slid it through his pocket. Standing up he headed towards their backpacks and zipped them both open; he looked at his Dad while taking out the salt cans and as he pulled their lids open, Hell broke loose!

John was nearly hit on the head with a crowbar, but the old man's good training and perfect sense of fight allowed him to react fast and avoid it.

Black men stormed through the open door and John yelled at Dean while fighting one of them with a wooden stick, "It's a trap! Dean get outta here!"

Dean laughed as he shot one of the men right in the head, screaming "Too late, Dad. I'm already with ya".

The two hunters kept fighting; kicking and punching, shooting and shouting. Most of the attackers got hurt or killed, until one huge man hit Dean hard on the shoulder with the back of the gun.

Dean screamed in pain and that was enough for the man to pick him up like a little girl.

John was soon distracted so got hit on the head. He fell to the ground, while all men attacked Dean, tying him up firmly with ropes and beating him continuously with the backs of their guns and punching him with her stony fists.

John tried to stand up but was hit on the head again and he was semi-unconscious.

"Dad! Stop beatin' him you sonovabitch!" Dean was soon gagged with a scarf inserted firmly in his mouth and tied behind his neck. John was held up to his feet by two strong men, he tried to push them away but to no avail; they tightened their grip on him, his fearful stares could only meet Dean's angered glare.

"Don't you be afraid son, you'll find a way to fight. I'll find a way to save you."

Dean was almost carried by the men who inspected their dead buddies in anger and frustration.

One of the men said smugly as he pointed a pistol at Dean's chin, "We got your son, so you behave like a good damned boy, Johnny and wait for the orders, don't pretend to be that Marine bastard, 'kay dude?".

Finishing his words, he clicked with his fingers and John was thrown to the ground, kicked by the men several times till blood poured from his mouth.

Dean fought restlessly against his bounds, grunting and crying through his gag, but his captors didn't give him a chance. They threw a black bag over his head, and carried him through the door.

Outside, a man said in frustration while leading the way to a black Jeep, "Man these two fight like shit street fighters, we already lost six men and Scott is hurt fuckin' badly."

The huge man who carried Dean in his arms roared in frustration, "That's so fuckin' unfair, man! We gotta teach a lesson to that John piece of shit".

Dean struggled through his bounds and blindfold, while another man said in a commanding tone, "I say we got our dough from Wayne, okay? Let's have it all straightened down here. Buddies are gone, I say screw them; at least we get to share the bucks between a lesser number. Old man and son fighting like demons; we kicked the sonovabitch's ass and got the kid just like Wayne said. Mind your own fuckin business, that's the biggest lesson of all. Karl, you shut your friggin pie hole man and carry the kid."

Dean still fought at the ropes, till his wrists got raw, he nearly cried at his helpless state and tried to tear the gag with his teeth, but the most painful of all was the sight of Dad on the ground, bleeding, beaten violently several times and vulnerable.

"Dad!" his mind screamed as he was thrown into a narrow space that nearly fit his body, he assumed it to be a car trunk as he heard the door slam shut above him and silence prevailed.

He fought at the ropes just to have his head bump the metal above him. He slowly lost consciousness, as physical pain and defeat overtook him. Yet he remembered that old Seether song "I'm so ashamed of defeat. I'm so afraid of defeat." Hell he was so damn right! He hated defeat.

Where the hell are you Sammy? Maybe none of this would've happened if you weren't gone.

John was bleeding heavily and his head was on fire. All he could think of was Dean.

They took his boy; they took his shield, his soul, his support. God why was he so weak? How could he allow it? He should've fought to death, till he lost the last drop of blood, how weak! How ashamed he was of himself!

"Dean, I'm sorry son" He nearly cried, his hands held to the torn pieces of the carpet and his body shook badly under the pressure of the incident.

He must find his son; he must go after him and kill the bastards, but most of all. He should kill Wayne. He's behind it, he knew it and he should've expected something like that, he always knew that Wayne's appearance always meant trouble in the way; the man never forgave him for Bradley's death.

Bradley, well that was different!

Maybe Wayne thought it was John's fault, but it wasn't. He went to hunt with the boy when he was eighteen, unlike John, hunting was a family thing that Garry inherited; it was the main job in their family started by their great great grandfather.

He remembered the day so clearly, they were trying to kill that Mothman that scared a whole town and snatched some of the locals.

Bradley was really strong and witty; he kept joking and talking about his girlfriend, John was quiet as usual, but Bradley stole a few laughs from him.

They were attacked by the Mothman and they prepared everything; their shotguns, night vision glasses, their bows and arrows. They were so sure of themselves and thought it was the easiest of jobs; they've taken more serious and more dangerous stuff. But they were wrong.

The Mothman was very huge, gliding in the air like an enormous bat, its ruby red eyes sparkling in the night like red flames. It flew at a very low height and hurt John with one of its enormous black wings.

John was distracted by the cut in his arm and the non-stop bleeding so Bradley left him and ran after the creature alone.

"Don't go too far, Brad!"

The boy ran after the Mothman shouting excitedly, "Don't ya worry, man. I'll kick that sonovabitch's ass while you sit here, wailing like a girl."

John cut a piece of his shirt and tried patching his wound up, he could hear Bradley's quick scared breaths and the creature's angered roar. He thought the kid was fine, could handle himself so well, but when he heard the first scream, he knew he was wrong!

John closed his eyes; whenever he remembered that he'd start shivering and mourning the kid.

Bradley was never meant to die. He was too young for that, maybe Wayne was right, John should've been in his place.

But why would Wayne do something so stupid? What did he want… kill Dean?!

"Shit, never. I'm gonna fuckin' kill you before you do it, Wayne. I swear to God I will".

John looked for the nearest table or chair; something to hold on to. Finally he rested his palms on the wall and tried to stand up; little by little he killed the dizziness in his head and stood straight, gasping air in weariness.

He suddenly realized he wasn't alone! A tall shadow moved outside the motel room door, maybe one of them came back to kill him; finish him so that nobody looked for Dean. Fuckers!

John picked a knife from beside him and took a full attacking position, but the shadow walked in with sharp, loud footsteps. To John's surprise, a familiar voice said,

"What're you doin' here, John?"

John threw the knife down, mouth opened in astonishment. He couldn't believe it! It was her! What the hell was she doin' here?!

She walked into the room, confident and tall. Her slim body shinning under the pale, sad moon light.

"What the hell are you doin' in Kentucky, John? I thought you…"

She noticed his wounds and ran to him, fear and worry showing in her pale green eyes.

John, though strong, fell in her arms and mumbled, "Violet! It's been a long time!"

Those were the last words he said before he fainted!