The Illusionist

Chapter 9 : Gimme Shelter

"You only have two choices. Your firstborn, or your baby. So, what's it gonna be Winchester?" The demon's black eyes gleamed maliciously, a victorious grin turning up the sides of her lips. When she was met with silence from the bound man, she taunted on. "If you're gonna be like that, then I'll just rid the world of them both..."

Those words got his attention.

"Don't you even dare, you bitch! I swear to God I'm going to squeeze—"

"Ah ah ah," she said, waving a thin finger in his face. "Keep talking like that, and I promise, you won't see Dean or Sam ever again. All you'll have left of them will be memories. Just like the ones you have of your wife..." The smile was back, perfect white teeth appearing between two thin stretched lips.

"You will never lay a hand on my boys, you got me?" he shot back, dark eyes gleaming just as fiercely as hers, though there was fear swimming in them as well. He had to bite back the thought of the endless possibilities she'd laid out before him. This was going to come to an end. After five days of being tied up, tortured, and threatened, this was going to end.

Now.

"Oh, John, big bad John," she mocked, getting right in his face. "Trust me, sweetheart, you'll do more harm than good with that mouth." She back-handed him, harder than he'd ever felt before, the force causing one of his teeth to tear open the flesh inside his cheek. "Now, which is it gonna be? You've got less than an hour left, John, so you'd better make up your mind. Little Sammy here," she cooed, holding up a picture of his boys. "Or Dean, your little shadow."

He looked back up at her, his jaw clenched so tight he thought it might break. He slowly let it release and mumbled a reply.

"What's that?" she asked, leaning further towards him. "Did John Winchester just say what I think he did?"

"In your dreams, bitch!" he growled, spitting the blood he'd been collecting in his mouth right into her eyes.

"Oh, that was cute. Real cute. Looks like I'll just have to do the deciding for you. Poor baby Sammy it is..."

"You wouldn't dare..." He growled, the fear growing larger in his brown eyes. His heart was pounding so loud, he could hardly hear the demon's next words.

"Oh, John. In the past few days, I think we've really gotten to know each other," she started off, actually pausing to sit down next to him and sling an arm around his shoulder like they were old acquaintances. "And from what I gather, I know you're one of those true-to-your-word type of guys. And see, well, I'm one of those true-to-your-word type of gals. So you should really know better than to fuck with me!" she shouted, grabbing him by the back of his head and slamming his face into the nearest wall.

Stars swam in his vision as she went on.

"So, you've got ten seconds. And I promise—no, I swear," she said, that dangerous grin coming back to her lips. "I swear to God if you don't decide then it will be over with for the both of them. Ten...nine...eight..."

He listened to her count down, sweat and blood running down his forehead and into his eyes, burning his already shoddy vision.

"Seven...six...five..."

He could feel the hate beginning to flood his bloodstream, it coursing through his veins at a dangerous pace.

"Four...three...two..."

It wrapped itself around him tighter and tighter, inserting its thorns into his heart, and taking up residence in his soul.

"This is the big one, John. You ready? One..."

He did. He hated himself. Through and through. He was responsible for getting himself into this mess. Him and him alone.

His throat almost closed up on him as he choked out the name.

"Dean."

There was no turning back now.

He was fucked for life.

He nearly lost control of the car as he snapped back to reality, bloodshot eyes refocusing on the road ahead and then glancing at the passenger seat next to him.

He's alright. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Winchester. Thanks to you, he'll never be alright.

John stared at the sleeping form of the twenty-three year old, feeling the great stabbing pain he felt every time he looked at the kid rise again in his chest. The moonlight that landed on his resting son showcased how much of a bastard he'd been being, even more so lately.

He could tell Dean had lost weight, that much was evident in the prominence of his cheekbones, and as his brown eyes traveled further down to the jacket sleeves that had ever so slightly ridden up, he saw how much thinner the younger hunter's wrists had gotten. No matter how many watches or bracelets he tried to hide it with, the truth was still there, right in his face.

John winced at the thought, because he knew it was all his fault. Everything was his fault. But at the moment, he felt like there was nothing he could do to correct it. Instead, he just continued to take it all out on the young man; all the anger, all the hate, he directed it all towards his oldest boy and hated himself to the core for it.

His brow narrowed as he zeroed in on the dark circles that had become permanent accessories on his son's face, and the black eye he was now sporting, courtesy of John himself. His glance flicked to the kid's hands again, a large purple and blue bruise running down the knuckle of his right index finger to his wrist. It was yet another reminder of the man he'd become since Sam had left.

Things had been bad for a long time before that, but now, a year after his youngest son had went off to college, things had become down right horrible.

He knew he treated Dean badly, even worse since the kid had accidentally shot him, and he knew it wasn't his son's fault—he knew this—but he just couldn't stop. He could see the pain, and the hurt in those damned green eyes...looks just like his mother...but he just couldn't stop. The anger would simmer and simmer until he couldn't take it anymore, and before he knew it, it would bubble up past the surface and he'd explode, screaming and yelling until his face had turned a dark shade of red, and Dean's black and blue.

He wanted to scream now—right now—but he couldn't. Even though he knew Dean couldn't hear him, he knew the boy would somehow sense it and wake up, asking the man if he was alright, and like the asshole that he was, John would just shrug him off and ignore him until the younger hunter fell back asleep.

Drops of rain started to pelt the windshield, softly at first, then growing louder and louder until he was forced to turn the windshield wipers on.

It was early November, and he'd gotten a call from Caleb about a poltergeist in Pennsylvania. They'd just got done with a salt and burn in Washington state, not more than three hours previous, and John had made sure they were on their way. That's how it had been; one never ending hunt after bullshit hunt. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time they'd taken a break.

He was just about to turn the radio up a bit, just enough to keep him awake, when he heard Dean's phone start to vibrate. His brow narrowed at the unexpected distraction, his mind racing as to who it could be.

Maybe it's that girl he left back in Ohio...

After it buzzed for a full minute without Dean so much as moving a muscle, John reached into the younger hunter's jacket pocket and pulled it out. Glancing at the road, then at the phone, he felt his heart nearly stop as the name SAMMY blinked across the screen. Feeling the snake of anger start to slither through his veins, he flipped open the phone, and pushed the TALK button to accept the message.

The car came to an abrupt halt when a video of his youngest son popped up on the screen, California sunlight shining behind his smiling face as he started to sign out a message, but John didn't have to understand the sign language because luckily for him, Sam was speaking as he signed.

"It's been awhile since I heard from you, jerk. Text me back and let me know if you're okay. Okay? Talk to you later."

John wanted to yell and scream and cry at the same time.

They've been keeping in touch this whole time.

He desperately wanted to control the anger that was starting to shake his hands, make his knuckles turn white, but he couldn't push it back. He wasn't strong enough.

Before he knew it, his hardened gaze had traveled to the passenger seat, a wide-eyed Dean staring fearfully back at him. He could faintly hear the murmur of "I'm sorry, sir," but the blood rushing through his ears drowned it out. His hands reacted before his brain could control them, grabbing at the kid's collar with all his strength, and pulling him forward, much too easily than before.

"Something you've been meaning to tell me?" John shouted, retrieving the phone from the floorboard (where he'd dropped it) with one hand, the other still holding on tightly to his son's collar. He pushed the small electronic device into Dean's face, all the while hating himself for the fear that showcased itself so brightly in his eldest son's eyes.

"I'm supposed to take care of him...Th-That's what you always told me to do... It's the only way to keep in touch. I-I'm sorry, Dad."

John hated it. Hated the way Dean's voice was shaking so badly when he spoke, knowing that what the kid was saying was the truth. But the anger just wouldn't go away. He could feel it intensify, and his hand reacted immediately with a slap to the twenty-three year old's face. He watched his son recoil, albeit just barely, the kid trying to remain strong as he accepted his punishment. Even though what he did wasn't wrong.

Stop it, John! He was only doing what you told him! What you've been telling him for years! Can't you see that?

He almost felt possessed—hell, he almost wished he was—because at least that would be some sort of justification for the way he was treating his own child. But he wasn't possessed. Not by a demon anyway, just by his own twisted mind.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean? Huh?" He stared at his son, his right hand clenched into a fist, ready to strike again if he received the wrong answer. Hell, just about any answer was wrong these days though.

Get yourself under control! He's been keeping tabs on Sam all this time. You should be happy! Thankful, not angry...You should've been the one doing it yourself though. You know this.

"He still needs us, Dad. He needs us."

Everything hit John at once when Dean voiced those words. He now heard the reason his son hadn't stirred when his phone had went off—he was sick, voice deepened by what sounded like a fairly bad cold. He'd been so wrapped up in everything that he hadn't even been paying attention, let alone really listening to him. And then, of course, what Dean had said. John knew it to be true, that's what hurt worse. He knew Sam still needed them, but in all actuality, they needed him more. But the seasoned hunter was so stubborn and set in his ways that he could never admit it; not out loud anyway.

He's safe. Sam's safe...

The rain started to pound harder on the car, and for a moment, John just sat there listening to it, letting his breathing even out. He shot a glance Dean's way, feeling absolutely horrible for the state his son was in.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered, letting his eyes linger a moment longer on Dean's confused face. The kid slowly nodded and curled back up in the seat, knees to his chest and his head against the window.

John started the car up and began driving, his mind traveling back to Sam's smiling but worried face in the video.

There were plenty of supernatural things happening in California. He was sure something would pop up there soon.

A/N : Well, what do you all think? I hope I did John a little justice. He's working on it, but by no means will he be perfect. There's still plenty more angst and hurt!Dean to come. Thank you all once again for your reviews. I truly do appreciate them! :)