Authors Note: As always, thank you to everyone who is still reading, and to the few who are constantly reviewing. I hope everyone enjoys this part.

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Any and all mistakes/ typos are mine. Please point them out so I can fix them! =P

Disclaimer: I own none of the rights to Supernatural or its characters. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.

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Redemption: Part Nine: Murder and Mayhem

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Dean and Bobby drove two hours to the abandoned rope factory on the side of the old interstate. It was long passed full dark, and there were few lights along the barely travelled road. The building itself was brick with dirty broken windows, and overgrown weeds and vines. It stood proudly in the night like the ruins of a castle.

The entire building was crawling with Hunters. They passed the cars parked on the side of the highway, and a line of them sat outside the building. Here and there flashlight beams shone out of the windows of the factory as if the men and women inside were jailers on patrol.

"How many Hunters, do you think?" Dean asked as he carefully shut the Impala door. He had ditched the soccer mom car, and refused to ride shotgun. He didn't remember insisting on the Impala, but he figured he must have. Not that hiding the car in the first place had done much good; the demons basically crawled around inside Sam's head, and the Hunters had found them anyway.

Bobby's gaze locked on the building. "Tucker said twenty, right?" he asked.

Dean nodded as he rounded to the back of the car, and opened the trunk. As soon as Bobby stood beside him, Dean started handing out weapons: guns, salt, jugs and vials of holy water, a random can of spray paint. "Doesn't this seem like more than twenty to you?" Dean said, stuffing his pockets full of holy water and salt.

Bobby nodded. "I'd say it's about double that." He shoved weapons into a once-green duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he started filling a second.

Dean pursed his lips and slid his hunting knife into the waist of his pants. He passed Bobby a flashlight then took one for himself. "Tucker decided to have a party," he said as took the second stuffed duffle bag as Bobby handed it to him.

They shot a Hunter immediately after entering the building. Their flashlights were off, and they were blinded by a light in the face. Bobby paused, but Dean opened fire with once-in-a-lifetime luck.

"You realize you just called every Hunter in here down on our heads?" Bobby said as he looked blindly into the darkness.

Dean shrugged and it was more a creaking of leather and rustle of fabric than a motion as their eyes adjusted to the dark. "Good. Then they have less time to try and kill Sam." Dean nudged the body with the toe of his boot as they passed. "You know this guy?"

Bobby stood over the dead man for a moment, bending down a bit for a better look. He shook his head. "Nope."

They moved on.

The factory itself was a maze with traps of Hunters in every room and corridor. After the gunshot in the entrance, the Hunters were searching with weapons drawn. Bobby and Dean avoided run-ins when they could in order to save time, and avoid any fatal accidents. They were methodical in their search: downstairs first; left side, down the center and then up the ride side. They found nothing on the first floor.

Dean lost his patience by the second floor.

Every new hallway blended into all the others: bare, rundown and dark. The silence made it simple to hear the approaching footsteps of patrolling hunters. Most of them they hid from, others Dean or Bobby knocked unconscious. They knew the alarm was going to be raised as to their whereabouts sooner rather than later, and it impressed upon them the need for urgency.

"I'm sick of this," Dean muttered as they entered the second to last hallway on the second floor. They had found nothing, not even a clue. There was still a third floor, and they hadn't checked to see if there was a basement. Dean was ready to find Sam, and find him now.

Across the hallway, a single door was open into darkness. There was no flashlight beam from the room, but there was the scuffle of shoes on dirt-covered cement. Dean moved slowly towards the door, Bobby following close behind, ready to play back-up.

Dean peaked into the room. The space itself was large, filled with random articles of abandoned furniture covered in white sheets. To people fifty years before, the space would have looked like it was filled with ghosts. Dean still had a difficult time believing people were truly that stupid. But his father hadn't been joking when he'd shared the bit of history with Dean. John had thought common people were stupid, too. Which was probably just one more reason why Sam's quest for "normal" baffled John so, Dean figured

A Hunter stood at the opposite end of the room, silhouette by one of the large factory windows. The man was a few inches shorter than Dean and lanky. His guard was down, gun pointed at the floor. It was all Dean needed to sneak into the room and grab him from behind. The Hunter struggled, but only minimally as Dean placed his well-honed hunting knife to the other's throat. The Hunter's gun clattered to the floor and echoed in the empty room. Dean realized in that moment that his captive was maybe no more than sixteen. The kid had wide puppy-dog eyes like Sam.

Dean's stomach rolled.

Bobby's back was to the room, shoulders stiff as his eyes scanned the dark hallway. "Hurry up and ask him before someone comes along," the older Hunter said, not sparing a glance back. Dean wondered how well Bobby was able to see in the darkness. He obviously didn't see that Dean was scaring the crap out of some teenager.

The kid spoke before Dean could: "You're Dean, right? You're here for Sam," His eyes, as he looked over his shoulder at Dean, turned from puppy-dog eyes to resolution-hardened.

"I'm here for Sam," Dean said, ignoring the urge to trust the kid just because he knew Sam's name and had the same kicked puppy look. "And if you tell me where he is, I just might not kill you."

The kid kicked his own gun away. A sign of surrender or a death wish; Dean wasn't sure which. "Third floor, down the right side hallway," the kid said quietly.

Dean saw Bobby turn to the room out of his peripheral vision before the older man said, "And how do we know you're not leading us into a trap?"

The kid shrugged. "Sam helped me when he didn't have to. He's a good guy, even if he is kind of crazy."

Dean sighed. That sounded like Sam: he could bury himself into anyone's heart if he gave enough puppy-dog eyes and was allowed a chance at a heart to heart. To Dean, it was like magic. He couldn't figure out how to do it. John had said that Sam had compassion, and the tone of voice he said it in made Dean glad that he didn't seem to have any.

Dean removed his knife from the kid's throat, but brought the handle of his flashlight down on the kid's head hard enough to knock him out. Dean caught him before he hit the floor, and gently settled him against the wall.

Dean glanced over at Bobby, who had gone back to guarding the doorway. "You think his family's here?" he asked.

Bobby glanced over his shoulder, and nodded. "Without a doubt." He readjusted his trucker's cap on his head. "How many times did you leave a reluctant Sam in a room that didn't really need a guard?"

Dean looked down at the teenager at his feet. He wasn't the only one who saw Sam in this kid. "Right," Dean said, and stood. "Let's go."

***

They were in the third floor hallway when the room furthest away exploded. The entire building shook and black demon smoke burst outward like a sonic shockwave, knocking both Dean and Bobby off their feet.

Dean didn't remember getting up; didn't remember running down the hallway; didn't remember jumping over knocked out Hunters and dropped guns. He wasn't even thinking at that point. Years of auto-mode had kicked in: get to Sammy, protect Sammy, look out for Sammy.

Dean froze in the doorway, his breath stolen from his chest.

Ruby had been right; Dean was too late.

Sam lay motionless in the middle of giant devil's trap, slack-jawed and eyes closed. For a moment, Dean imagined the ground beneath his brother was muddy, and a sky full of jewel-bright stars replaced the network of rusted pipes that comprised the unfinished factory ceiling. He could almost feel the blood cooling on his hands all over again.

Then Tucker bent over Sam to administer mouth to mouth, and the trance was broken. The stars and mud were gone, and there was no blood on his hands. But Dean knew that stillness, had spent days staring at it before starting him and Sam both on a path that would lead them to Hell itself.

Sam was dead.

Tucker pulled away from mouth-to-mouth and restarted chest compressions. He didn't look up, but said, "Are you going to help save him or what?"

The dissonance between Tucker first killing his brother and then trying to save him held Dean immobile for a few seconds. He wasn't sure if he wanted to shoot the man in the face, or curl up at his feet and beg him to bring his brother back. There was a gunshot from the hallway behind him and he jolted into motion.

He was on the cold cement floor beside his brother within a few breaths, shoving Tucker away with an unintelligible growl. He was still on auto-mode when he started the CPR.

One, two, three, four, five.

There was a discarded plastic bag laying less than two feet away. In his peripheral vision he saw Tucker stand and draw his guns as a pale demon the size of a toddler climbed along a pipe overhead.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

There were scratch marks on the sides of Sam's neck. None of them were bloody; just angry red welts rising along the sensitive skin. There was an enraged screech from overhead followed by the rapport of a gun. Dean suspected he'd be deaf before the end of the night.

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

Bobby yelled something from the doorway, but Dean didn't understand what he said due to the ringing in his ears. A demon-possessed human ran at them from the side, but soon met the ground as a bullet shot through the human's heart. Dean leaned over Sam and gave two puffs of air and watched with relief as his brother's chest rose and fell. That meant his neck hadn't been damaged, that it was clear for air.

"Come on, Sammy," he said as he sat up to start chest compressions again. He tried to push away the terror rising in his veins. CPR alone wouldn't save his brother, wouldn't restart his heart. His brother needed an ambulance that would never arrive in time to save him.

Several more gun shots rang out, along with a few curses that only Bobby could spout. Human screams of pain and panic reverberated from other parts of the factory; some muted by walls, others as close as outside the door.

Murder and mayhem.

The air was thick with the smell of sulfur. Dean felt like he was choking on it. Tucker dropped back down beside him, yelled something in his ear that was drowned out by a demonic screech and a whirlwind of black smoke.

A high-pitched whine broke through Dean's deafness, and Tucker gave him a hard shove away from his brother. Even as he fell to the floor, Dean's eyes never left Sam. It was as if life had snapped into a bad slow motion sequence.

Dean felt his shoulder hit the cement with a thud as Tucker ripped open Sam's shirt. A demon on the other side of the room smiled in the darkness and started slinking towards them, its eyes fixed on the non-moving Sam like a cat with new prey. Dean's gaze was suddenly shooting between the demon and Tucker spreading gel on his brother's bare chest. He shouted to his body to move, but he couldn't, unsure of which place to be.

A pair of dark-blue jean-clad legs stepped in front of him, cutting off his sight of the demon, just as Tucker placed two paddles against Sam's chest. Sam's body stiffened but didn't jolt like it showed in the movies or TV. Dean recognized the jeans before him as Bobby's as the older man pulled up a sawed-off shotgun and fired.

The demon kept moving, and Bobby threw a vile of holy water and started reciting Latin. Tucker checked Sam's pulse and swore; Dean didn't hear it but saw the other man's mouth form the words. A second later and Sam's body stiffened again. Dean didn't want to think about how Tucker knew how to use a defibrillator. There was another explosion of black smoke and Bobby turned back with a self-satisfied smile on his face, and Tucker leaned to check Sam's pulse.

Tucker paused with his hand on the side of Sam's neck. He nodded at Dean and the world returned to normal pace. "He's got a pulse!" Tucker yelled as Dean pulled himself off the floor. Tucker continued mouth-to-mouth while Dean checked for his brother's heartbeat himself. He held his breath as he pressed his hand to his brother's pulse point, barely daring to hope. When he felt the thump-thump against his fingers, the rush of relief was dizzying.

Tucker announced something better a moment later: "He's breathing!"

Dean carded his fingers through his brother's hair. "Good boy, Sam. Hang on, okay?" Then he leaned over and punched Tucker in the face.

***

The warehouse turned into a guerilla warfare battlefield; every corner turned was filled with hunters and demons fighting. There was gun fire, explosions and even the clang of swords. Dean was amazed the building hadn't fallen down around their ears yet. Although, judging by the way the floor was shaking, the warehouse wouldn't stand for much longer.

Dean shifted Sam's weight, and felt Tucker do the same on the other side. There was a splash of black and crimson on the wall and floor that they gave a wide berth to as they passed. Bobby muttered something from behind them that sounded suspiciously close to a prayer.

"How much further?" Dean asked. Tucker's nose was still bleeding slightly, he noticed with triumph. He had probably broken it with that one punch. It was petty, but it made Dean feel better. Tucker deserved far more after killing his brother, Dean believed. Unfortunately, they needed him to get the hell out of the demon-infested building. Safety in numbers.

"Not much further," Tucker said, aiming one handed at a demon crawling along the wall towards them. His shot hit it between the eyes, but didn't slow it down.

Dean started the Latin chant to send it back to Hell, and it scurried away.

"Not too eager to go back, I see," Bobby observed. Dean didn't volunteer the information that demons were cannibals and the small fries without contracts didn't survive very long.

An explosion rocked the ground and the wall beside them cracked. There was a roar on the other side of the wall, followed by human screams unnaturally cut off. "What the hell was that," Dean asked without expecting an answer.

"Let's not stick around to find out." Bobby said. "Which way, Tucker?" They had come to the end of the hallway, their only choice to go left or right.

"Left." Tucker said, and Dean cursed. The roar had come from the left.

They turned the corner slowly, Bobby going first, shotgun aimed. The hallway was empty: no bodies or lesser demons crawling along the ceiling or walls. It looked like everything had been painted a rich, deep red. Then Dean noticed the dark chunks slowly slipping down the walls, and he had a flashback of the bedroom window at Bobby's. There was a molar imbedded in the wall nearby, and a finger under Dean's boot. This time, Dean was relatively sure the victim had been human. The carpet was cheap and thin, not as absorbent as a plusher carpet would have been. Instead of making the sickening sucking sounds of sneakers through mud, it was like walking through a shallow puddle with each step taken carefully incase the puddle unexpectedly grew deeper or your shoes leaked. Dean remembered why he didn't wear sneakers.

They moved slowly, Bobby scanning before them and Dean and Tucker taking turns checking behind them. The hallway was entirely too quiet. "So, where's the big baddie?" Dean asked.

Tucker's eyes glinted with anticipation, a grin spreading across his face. He looked less than human with drying blood smeared around his chin and swollen nose from the nosebleed. "He's probably not far." Even his voice didn't hold back his excitement.

Dean wanted to roll his eyes and call the other Hunter a lunatic. But he couldn't. A few years before, he had been the same way about the Hunt. Killing off evil had been the light of his life. Now he was just perpetually tired.

Suddenly Sam's weight doubled as Tucker pulled away, and Dean struggled not to drop his brother. "Jesus, Tucker, some warning next time."

Tucker turned to him with a broad smile as he checked the ammunition in the two pistols he carried. "Sorry, Dean," he said, all thick Texan drawl and charm. He turned to Bobby next, and Dean swore he could almost see the excitement rolling off him in waves. "Bobby, you have any holy water left?"

The ground shook beneath them, and Dean tightened his grip on Sam. He could only imagine how much his brother would bitch if he was dropped in a small lake of human blood. Bobby stared at Tucker for a moment. "You're going to pull something stupid, aren't you?" he asked.

Tucker shrugged. "I came here to hunt demons. That's probably a big demon. Are you really going to stop me?"

Bobby glanced back at Dean and Sam. "Nope," he said. He dug in his pocket, eyes still shifting in front of them from time to time, and pulled out two small vials. Then he handed over one of the duffle bags he had been carrying. "It's not much," he said, "but it's better than nothing."

Tucker shouldered the bag and turned to Dean, smile still on his face. "Take care of your brother." Then he turned, and with a loud whoop, stomped down the hallway. More blood spattered the walls as he walked, droplets kicking up behind him to splatter black on his blue jeans. He was only ten feet away when an invisible force grabbed him and tore him through the wall.

Dean stared for a moment, and then Bobby was hefting up the other half of Sam's weight and smacking Dean upside the head. "Move, you idiot!' he said.

Dean didn't look when they passed the human-sized hole in the wall. The gunshots reverberating through the unnatural silence were the only sign Tucker was still alive by the time they made it to the emergency exit at the end of the next corridor.

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To be continued…

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