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As always, strong language and violence warnings.

Chapter Seven

John checked the time again, restless and unable to hide it. Dean and the girl were close to the Kansas border by now and though Sam drove like a man possessed, it was simply taking far too long for them to catch up. Again he started to order him to pull over, and again he held back. His youngest needed this, needed to be the one who brought Dean home, in ways their father knew he'd never fully comprehend.

So John rode next to his son, a passenger in the very car he'd once symbolically presented to Dean, and wracked his brain for what Sam needed to hear. Something normal fathers would know to say without thought, such as 'Don't be afraid of the dark, there's nothing there!' or 'You got a full ride, huh? Congratulations!' or the millions of other phrases he'd deemed useless long ago. The price to his practicalism, he knew now, had been Dean and Sam's nonexistent childhoods. But it was also a reason why they'd lived through what they had; he couldn't truly acknowledge regret.

Even if, perhaps, he should.

He hid behind his cell phone instead and allowed blind, raw rage to take over. That something would dare touch his sons and think he'd allow them to live through it... the first chance he got, he'd saw their fucking heads off with a plastic spoon and send the sons-of-bitches back to Hell in pieces. No one messed with his family, and especially not Dean. The boy was more of a man than he was, gladly surrendering any chance he had at a life in exchange for Sam's happiness.

However brief it had been.

John frowned at Sam's sudden muttering. His youngest continued to grip the wheel, the plastic beginning to curl under his fingers. As he watched, Sam shook his head wildly - moving the car with him.

"Sam!" he barked instantly, full attention on his son, apprehension further heightened when the boy didn't seem to hear him. Sam stared straight ahead, lips moving but no sound coming out. "Sam! Snap out of it!"

A horn blared. John tore his eyes away from his son... and realized abruptly that Sam had crossed the median... and a giant fucking truck was heading straight toward them.

"Shit!" he exploded, diving for the wheel.

But he wasn't fast enough. At the very last second, knowing his actions were futile, John shrugged off his seatbelt and grabbed his son, nearly cradling the taller man against the leather seat, putting himself between the truck and the boy.

Dean, I'm sorry.

The sound of steel ripping apart steel amidst the squeal of brakes tore through his senses, and consciousness fled in a haze of blood.


He'd actually managed to find a somewhat comfortable position, curling his legs up behind him and bracing his arms against the sides, lying somewhat against his back to avoid stretching his chest. It required precarious balancing and forced him to remain alert, which was probably a good thing.

She was talking, that much he could tell from what little he could hear, but her voice had utterly no inflection and he just couldn't pick out words. He sighed, again pulling against the ties, and again making absolutely no difference.

And then he landed in a tangle of limbs, slamming harshly against what felt like every damn side like a pool cue as the Honda abruptly jerked to a halt in an unmistakable squeal of brakes.

"Damn it!" he heard her yell, and another jolt earned a gasp from Dean as he thudded against the floor, his arms bending unnaturally under his full weight. With the cords holding him, redistributing himself wasn't easy. His chest throbbed, his cracked lips scraped against the gag, and his leg was an unrelenting pulse of fire. He really didn't need to add to his collection of hurts.

"Don't break," he chanted, trying desperately to rediscover his previous balance. His mouth was so dry his tongue had swollen to twice its size, but somehow talking aloud, even against the knots, helped. "Don't break don't break don't fucking break! Fuck!"


"Get away from me!" Sam hissed, cursing the lack of weapons he carried. There were theories, of course, that dreams showed the true representation of who you believed yourself to be. But his last name was a gun, damnit, why didn't his subconscious carry one?

"I will try to appear again," the thing wearing Missouri's face told him, in a show of sad reassurance. "Take care of your father, Sam."

Only when she disappeared did Sam realize someone else was trying to talk to him.

"Come on, Sammy! Sam!"

He wondering at the wetness over his eyes. Was it raining? Yet he couldn't bring himself to open them.

"Samuel John, fucking answer me right now!"

His reflexes obeyed before he fully realized it, the angry order snapping him out of his funk. "Sir?" he mumbled.

His father was off to his side... but not on the passenger side. He was pretty sure, anyway. They had to save Dean, what was he doing out of the car?

"That's it," John encouraged. "Come on, son, open your eyes for me. Please?"

It was the please that got to him, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard his father actually say it... to him and Dean, anyway. The civilians he charmed didn't count.

"Sam?" John couldn't hide his impatience.

"Okay," he sighed. Come to think of it, his arms hurt too. How odd.


"I don't know what to do, Father," Meg nearly pleaded. This was not part of the plan! They'd come too far for things to spiral out of their control! She needed to get a handle on this now, but to do that she needed to know how far the damage extended.

Her thoughts went to her cargo. If she had another captive to use, she would've. But she didn't have a choice. Shoulders set, Meg reached over and slid the dagger and cup out from under the passenger seat. And then she stepped determinedly out of the car, trunk key in hand. Dean couldn't help but blink away tears when the lid suddenly opened and harsh sunlight ripped into his eyes.

Caring little about his disorientation, Meg reached over and tangled her fingers in Dean's soldier-regulation-length hair. Quickly, she tipped his head back, exposing his throat. He tried to flinch away from her, but she was finished pretending human weakness. He wasn't moving anywhere until she allowed it.

"Just a little," she whispered aloud, possibly to Father or Dean or both. Her dagger came up, pricking underneath his chin. Dean couldn't help but swallow nervously, apparently non-fatal intentions not withstanding, that was a huge damn knife! "This won't make a difference in the ritual. I just need enough to find out - "

Even as he mentally logged her ominous "ritual" slip for future pondering, Dean still saw the approaching man before she did. He stiffened under Meg's grip, instantly trying to plan a way to keep her distracted that didn't involve yet another bleeding hole in his body. But with her standing over him, there was no way to warn the unsuspecting civilian, and the unforgiving Missouri/Kansas highway didn't exactly have any convenient trees or grass above knee level to hide behind.

Walk away, man. For both our sakes.

"Hey, ma'am, you okay? I saw you pull off like that and - holy shit!"

Startled, Meg released Dean before the dagger bit into his flesh. She turned her back on him, knowing her helpless Winchester wasn't even a minor threat.

But he still tried anyway, reacting far faster than she ever thought possible.

"Run!" Dean managed to yell, cursing his ineptness, putting every inch of his I'm the big brother and you'll fucking do what I say right the hell now Sam-voice to use. "Run now!"

Within seconds of his muffled command, the man spun around - clearly acting on reflex.

Dean fought with his exhausted, trembling muscles, trying to force his trussed legs underneath him, trying to establish some sort of control when he knew he had none, trying to fucking get his ass out of the goddamned trunk and stop the slaughter about to happen. Sensing his resistance, Meg whirled and threw him down in one blow before he achieved two inches. Taken by surprise, he landed on his carved leg and couldn't help a scream.

"Sorry, sweetheart," she dismissed, eyeing the other man attempting to get away from her. "We'll have time for that later."

Knowing she had to move fast, Meg snatched the civilian before he moved two steps and pulled him to the side of car on his knees, a smile of relief and mocking triumph on her face. The man died so quickly he doubtlessly never knew what happened.

But Dean did.

"No!" he cried in agonized fury. She'd stabbed so violently that what blood didn't land in her waiting cup splattered all over him.

Grieving, he turned away, hardly noticing the returned darkness when she slammed the trunk lid closed.

Yet another innocent dead because of him.


"I need you to tell me if you're hurt anywhere," his father said with that patented concerned/irritated that's-an-order tone he remembered so well from childhood.

Dean could match it flawlessly.

"Sam! We should go, but if you need medical attention - "

No response. Hesitantly, John opened the car door. His son still sat ramrod straight, one hand rubbing his right leg while the other protectively wrapped around his chest. The trucker had found his brakes right as John swerved away, resulting in an impact hard enough to destroy the Impala's front windshield and buckle the hood, but otherwise avoiding serious damage. Dean's baby was even still running.

"He okay?" the other driver asked, leaning casually against his barely-dented Ford, his eyes raking over Sam in a way that made John want to reach for the Glock hidden at the small of his back. Instead, he pasted a smile on his face.

"He's fine," John answered smoothly, standing solidly in front of his son. "Listen, I - "

Shrugging, the man examined the envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills John had given him. "Insurance would screw me," he waved off. "Far as I'm concerned, this never happened. You two gonna be okay? 'Cause I got things to do - you understand."

"I do," John replied, and this time his smile of gratitude was genuine. "Drive safely..."

The man laughed, opening his door. "Tom," he filled in, giving the Winchesters one last nod before heading off.

"Missouri," Sam said from behind him. His youngest had finally climbed out of the car, scowling. Blood ran down the sides of his head.

No traffic had appeared in either direction since they'd hit, much to John's relief. The last thing Dean needed was police slowing his rescuers down. But it couldn't last.

"Yeah, still. We'll be in Kansas in a few hours. Let's get you bandaged up and then we'll head out."

But Sam shook his head, jaw tightening with determination as he fought to remember. "She might know something."

He hesitated. The boy's head had smacked pretty hard against the seat when they'd hit. But the woman was a psychic.

Sam reached back in the car, pulling out the boys' battered first-aid kit. John accepted his unspoken wish, pulling out his phone.

She answered on the first ring. "Hello, John Winchester."

Sam kept one ear open as he tended to his wounds. He remembered Missouri fondly, especially as one of the few women on earth Dean's charms had no effect on. Quite frankly, it'd been awhile since he'd been certain one like her existed.

How did Meg know about her? What was she, to be able to appear like that?

John's short bark of annoyed laughter cut through his musings. Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dad?"

To say his father stomped back to his side would not be an understatement. "Here," John grunted, redialing as he threw.

"Hello, John Winchester," her voice greeted with absurd cheerfulness when Sam caught the phone and listened curiously. "38, -92. Let's see how you like it. I'll keep an eye out for your boy. Give Sammy a hug for me and tell him I'm sorry."

Sam found his father seated behind the wheel and glowering at the dashboard. In spite of everything, he had to bite his lip to stop probably suicidal chuckles from escaping. After all, Missouri would watch out for Dean, and Sam could almost pity Meg for that. Things were going to be okay. White always had a slight advantage over black. Damn it, he was going to win this game.

Memories of the non-dream were beginning to penetrate the haze which had surrounded him after the accident, but for now...

"Columbia is two hours away," John informed him, not bothering to check a map for either time estimates or coordinate validation. "Seat belt."

Sam buckled. They drove on.


"You are a disgrace, Meg"

She avoided the urge to cower, hardly able to look him in the eye. "I brought you the other one," she dared to remind him. Dean Winchester remained trapped in the trunk, a gift for the hitchhiker she'd picked up along the way. Through it all, he continued to defy her. She didn't know whether to be frustrated or impressed. Perhaps she'd been too set on Sam's importance to see the rare man his big brother truly was.

And not just because his coming death would give them what they'd sought for twenty long years.

"You subdued the sacrifice and wasted it with pathetic blunders caused by your own human weakness," he corrected. "You forced me to intervene and exert myself to suppress the psychic's meddling on the prize, yet still allowing John Winchester to draw breath." His voice grew louder every word he spoke, the temperature noticeably rising with his growing rage.

Locked away, trying in vain to loosen his bonds, Dean froze at the new voice speaking his father's name.

"Tom - " Meg pleaded. Father.

"Do not disappoint me again."

To be continued.


SG and I apologize for the unscheduled delay in updates! There's real-life stuff, but we're determined to hold to our once-a-week-at-least promise. :) Also, signed reviewers have replies. Thanks to sexybeast and dustori!