a/n: I'm so sorry for for the wait! The end of the semester is coming up and I've been swamped with studying for last minute tests and finals. I don't know when I'll be update next but hopefully it won't be too long. Thanks again for all the support, I love you guys and your enthusiasm for this story! It means the world to me! A little reminder, all mistakes are mine! Hope you enjoy!
This couldn't be happening. No way in hell was this happening. He knew his conscience wasn't as squeaky clean as some, but it wasn't so damned that he deserved to live though this twice. He wouldn't let it happen. John Winchester would fight tooth and nail. He would walk into hell itself and fight Lucifer to the death before he let this happen again. Nothing was going to stop him, not hell, not high water, nothing. He would get his son back. He would save Dean.
He peeled into Bobby's junk yard, the Impala's tires squealing at the sharp turn. Adrenaline pumped through his system like wild fire. He ignored Sam's startled gasp as the car rocked from the shift in momentum, he only had one thing on his mind, finding Dean. Throwing open the car door, he took off into the darkened house, Bobby and Sam not too far behind him.
"Dean!" he yelled into the empty house. "Dean!" Bobby and Sam joined in searching high and wide for any sign of the wayward son.
"You won't find your mutt here!" A voice yelled up from the basement. "He's long gone by now!"
Gordon. John's vision flashed red as he tore down the stairs to the panic room.
"John, wait!" Bobby called after him but his warning fell on deaf ears. Idjit, Bobby cursed. "Sam, you stay here, don't want you down there."
"But Bobby-" Sam started to protest.
"No Sam." Bobby said cutting him off. "You stay up here, you hear me? Watch some t.v., read somthin' I don't care but do not go down stairs." Sam looked dejected but nodded none the less. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder giving him a sad smile. He knew this had to be hell on the Winchesters. It was hell on him too. After all, he was the one who saved Dean in the first place. He was the one that raised that smart ass, sheltered him, fed him, took care of him; hell loved him for the past six years. That kid was everything to Bobby. John wasn't the only one losing a kid if they didn't find Dean. He gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze before storming off after John.
He wasn't surprised to see John standing over Gordon a knife in one hand, a gun in another. He was however, surprised to see a wicked grin playing across Gordon's sweaty face.
"Where is he?!" John bellowed.
"It's funny; people keep asking me where things are today." Gordon snorted. "And you know, the crazy thing is, I haven't been offered anything in return."
"How 'bout I don't run this knife through you?" John spat. "How's that for somethin' in return?"
"Tempting but not nearly enough."
"You ain't in the position to be makin' deals Walker." Bobby said coming to stand by John. A small trail of blood ran down Gordon's dark skin opposite from where John was holding his knife. Bobby's heart sank at the thought of Dean standing where John was now, threatening Gordon just like his father
"I think I am." Gordon retorted. "You need me to find that pup of yours and unless I get somethin' in return, my lips are sealed and your mutt is as good as dead."
"I'm gonna kill you." John hissed pressing down harder on the knife in his hand, giving Gordon a matching wound.
"What do ya want Gordon?" Bobby asked pulling John back before he could do any real damage. John shot him a look of disbelief. They were on a clock; Dean's life was at stake here. They didn't have time to play Gordon's games. John knew how to get people to talk; a little cut here, a little slice there. When he was done working them over, they'd be signing up to spill their guts. Gordon was just trying to stall them, put off the inevitable. And there was Bobby, falling for his tricks.
"Bobby-" John warned trying to pull out of Bobby's strong grasp.
"We don't got time to water board him John." Bobby argued whispering low into John's ear. "We gotta find Dean now and if that means we have to make a deal with this bastard we might as well bite the bullet."
"He shot my boy!" John shot back still fighting Bobby's grip. "He almost shot Sam! I'm not letting him go!"
"We don't got another choice John." Bobby said sadly his eye just barely twitching. John fell still, no longer struggling. He nodded his head somberly and took a step back, leaning up against the panic room wall for support. He could feel the adrenaline start to leave his body, weariness crashing over him. John rubbed his eyes forcing himself to stay focused. He'll sleep when Dean is safe.
"I always knew you were the smart one Bobby. Though I'm still not sure why you kept that dumb ass mutt around and didn't kill him when you had the chance."
"Why don't you tell me what you want and we can ponder the 'what if's' later?" Bobby growled. "Tell me what you want."
"I want outta here and I want a promise that Johnny boy won't kill me." Gordon said with a smile.
"Don't count on it." John spat.
"Fine. Any more requests princess?" Bobby snapped.
"I wanna kill that mutt." Gordon finished.
"Outta the question." Bobby said with a shake of his head. "We'll let you go but you ain't gonna touch a hair on that boys head."
"Fine." Gordon agreed.
"Where's Dean?" John interrogated now that the negotiations were over. "What did you tell him?"
"I told him where to find the training house." Gordon said lazily.
"And where might that be?" Bobby demanded. Gordon rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. John pushed himself off the wall and was back holding the knife to Gordon's skin in seconds.
"Alright, alright, Jesus Christ." Gordon yelled wincing from the pain. "A bar in Harrisburg. The Fresh Horses Saloon, that's where your damn mutt will be. Now you gonna let me go?"
"No." Bobby said pulling John away from Gordon once more. John shook him off and began walking out of the panic room with renewed energy.
"Excuse me?" Gordon barked. "We had a deal."
"Yeah I know and I lied." Bobby laughed. "You really think I'm gonna let you go after you shot my boy? I knew you were stupid Gordon but not this dumb."
"I'm gonna kill you." Gordon screamed tugging at his bonds. "I'll kill you all!"
"Yeah whatever." Bobby said before slamming the heavy door shut.
"You had me goin' there for a minute there Singer." John said looking ten shades of relieved but nowhere near relaxed.
"Hey I might be a drunk but I ain't stupid." Bobby said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Now let's go get that boy of yours."
~o0**0o~
"Hey now, you wouldn't shoot a kid now would ya?" Dean said slowly rising to his feet, the cold metal of the gun still pressed against the back of his head. Nice going there Magnum, he berated himself. Way to go and get caught.
"You ain't no kid. I can smell the dog on you." the man sneered. Dean could smell him too; stale beer, bad B.O, and something not quite human. Great, Dean scolded himself. Not only did you get caught but, you got caught by another skinwalker. Bang up job there Dean.
"Well, all the more reason not to shoot me right?" Dean pressed on in complete damage control mode. Bobby always said he had a smart mouth. Maybe he could talk his way out of this mess without acquiring a new bullet hole. "I'm like you, we're like-like monsters in arms."
"Shut up." The man growled. Clearly their monster kinship meant nothing to him putting Dean right back to square one.
"Listen, just let me go, I swear I won't tell anyone who you are." Dean begged trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Just let me go, please."
"I don't think so mutt." The man chuckled. "I know some people who'd like to meet you."
Dean froze. Damn it, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. So not only was the man a skinwalker but he worked for the training house. Well what did you think dumb ass? Gordon said this bar was part of the training house's operation. Why wouldn't the owner work for them, dog or not?
"Yeah well, I'm kinda in a hurry…" Dean said licking his lips. He had to get out of here now. His eyes darted around the poorly lit bar looking for an escape route. There was the front door but that would be too predictable. He could try to overpower the man and make a mad dash to the back but that was a risky move. "So I think I'll have to meet your friends some other time."
"Don't move." The man said putting more pressure on the gun so it dug into Dean's skin. Shit, shit, shit, shit, c'mon Dean you gotta do somethin'. Dean heard movement behind him as the man reached for a phone with one hand. The pressure of the gun slacked off, a cruse escaping the man's lips.
"Where the hell did I put that…?" he muttered. Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight in preparation for what he was about to do. It was now or never. Swinging around, Dean grabbed the barrel of the shot gun and ripped it from the man's think hands. "Hey!" the man shouted in surprise but Dean didn't stop. With the gun held firmly in his hands, Dean brought the butt down hard between the man's eyes. The man stumbled backwards, blood falling from his broken nose. "Son of a-" the man cursed.
Dean let the gun clatter to the floor as he made a mad dash to the front door. He could almost taste his freedom but just as he reached out for the door handle, something cold wrapped around his neck tightly, pulling him crashing down.
His skin burned as if someone held a hot poker to his skin. His breathing was cut off by the chain the man had managed to lasso around Dean's neck. Dean attempted to claw at the chain to alleviate the burning pain and breathe in the much needed oxygen but he couldn't grasp it for longer than a few seconds without his fingers burning.
He choked and sputtered, tears of pain welling up in his eyes. He could feel his world start to dim, the lack of oxygen taking its toll. Through the blur clouding his vision, Dean watched the blood soaked man stand over him. He held the rest of the chain in gloved hands, his lips pulling up into a sinister grin, blood running down over his lips and onto his chin.
"I said don't move." He said thickly before giving the chain a hard tug sending Dean spiraling into the darkness.
~o0**0o~
Sam sat on Bobby's couch straining his ears to hear the conversation his father and Bobby were having in the kitchen. He caught snatches here and there of some place called Fresh Horses Saloon but his Dad and Bobby were making sure to keep the level of their conversation to a low whisper. The mere fact that they were conspiring without him only served to piss him off. This was his fault, damn it. Dean over heard him, not Bobby, not his dad, him. He was the reason Dean took off. He should at least take part in the rescue mission. Sam needed to right his wrongs and to do that he needed to be in there with the adults strategizing.
He felt like complete shit. He hadn't meant what he said and he definitely didn't think of Dean as a monster. In fact it was the opposite. Sam was the one who felt like a monster. He should have never said those things, even if it was to prove a point. He wanted Dean to be part of their family, he wanted his brother but he knew his Dad. John Winchester was not the most accepting man on the planet, especially when it came to the supernatural. He might be all gung ho now but who knows what could happen later on down the line. Dean might do something that pisses John off and John could hurt him. Then what? As much as he hated to think it, he feared that they may never be able to be a family again. The thought made Sam sick.
It wasn't fair. Why did Dean have to be a skinwalker? Why'd it have to be his brother? Why couldn't it be someone else's? But if Sam started asking those questions he'd have to ask the big one too. Why did his mom have to die in the first place? Life would have been so much simpler. His mom would be alive. There'd be no hunting, no demons, no monsters. Dean would be 100% human and maybe Sam and his Dad might actually get along. No matter how hard Sam wished for it to have happened, there was no changing the past. His mom was still dead, his father was still a hunter, and Dean was still a skinwalker. Sam growled. Enough was enough. He was going to save Dean if it was the last thing he ever did. Skinwalker or not, Dean was still his brother and Sam loved him. To hell with whatever Bobby or his Dad said, he was going to bring his brother home.
Sam heard the sounds of chairs scraping across wood and the familiar sounds of people preparing for a hunt. Anger coursed through his veins. His Dad and Bobby were sorely mistaken if they thought they could skip out on him. Pushing himself up from the couch, Sam stalked over to the sliding doors that separated the living room from the kitchen and pulled them open. His Dad's and Bobby's heads snapped up as he entered with what he hoped was a severely pissed off expression.
"Where are you going?" Sam demanded.
"Bobby and I know where Dean is, we're goin' to go get him." John said loading shells into a shotgun before tossing it into a duffle.
"I'm going with you." He declared.
"Like hell you are." John snorted. "It's too dangerous Sammy. You're stayin' here."
"No I'm not. I'm coming too."
"You're Daddy ain't messin' around boy, you could get hurt." Bobby sympathized.
"I don't care; it's my fault Dean ran off so it's my responsibility to get him back."
"How many times do I have to tell you Sam?" his father sighed in frustration. "This is not your fault."
"It is so stop telling me it's not!" he screamed. "Dean has been missing for an hour! For all we know he could be dead by now! We need to find him and every bit of help matters! I don't care how dangerous it is! You're the one who wants me to start hunting Dad! So here I am! Let's go hunting!"
"Sam-"
"Please Dad, you gotta let me go, please." He cried.
Bobby and John looked stunned.
"He's got a point Winchester." Bobby said finally.
"Not helping Bobby." John hissed.
"Dad, he's my brother. I've gotta save him." Sam pleaded. He plastered his best puppy dog eyed expression on his face and prayed that his father would fall for it yet again. His father looked torn. Yes, every bit of help mattered but John already had one son in danger; he wasn't ready to risk the other. But Sam was a Winchester, hardheaded and stubborn. And he had those damn puppy eyes that could make even the coldest heart melt.
"Fine, you can come." John said giving in. "But under one condition."
"Anything." Sam said earnestly.
"You follow my orders. If I say run and hide, you better run and hide. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Sir." Sam nodded.
"Good. Now let's go get Dean."
~o0**0o~
He was naked. That was the first thing Dean realized as he came to. He was naked and it was cold. Blinking open his eyes, Dean took in to the room before him. Every inch of the space was painted white. White floors, white walls, white ceiling, everything. There were no windows and only one door leading in and out. Sliver chains hung from the walls, the shackles hanging open, waiting to close around human flesh. Dean struggled to push himself to his feet only to be pulled back to the floor by his own chains wrapped around his wrists and neck. Then the pain came, crashing into him like a brick wall. His skin burned, his throat bruised and swollen. He tried to call out but all that escaped his abused throat was a pitiful whimper. Unadulterated fear washed over him as the sense of familiarity sunk in. The white room, the chains, the pain, sent waves upon waves of memories flooding into his brain. He knew where he was. He was back.
Dean pushed back against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible while his wild eyes scanned the room for a threat. This couldn't be happening. He was supposed to burn this place down to the ground, not end up back in its evil clutches. How the hell did this happen? You got caught snooping around the bar ass hat. The other skinwalker turned you in. Dean shook his head. No, this had to be a dream, a very vivid realistic dream. But deep down, Dean knew the horrible truth. He had failed and got himself caught once more.
He felt like he was five again, fearful and hopeless, nowhere to go and no one to save him. It wouldn't be long before someone recognized who he was and then there would be hell to pay. Runaways and escapees were not treated kindly at the training house. The torture that was inflicted upon them was the worst kind imaginable. The trainers used them as an example, parading their beaten bodies around to every cage, insuring that anyone who attempted to run would get the same treatment. Dean suppressed a whimper as he remembered looking into the lifeless eyes of the 'walker as it passed by his cage, its body still living but no one home upstairs, nothing left of its humanity, just an empty shell. That's the punishment that awaited Dean once they figured out who he was. And they would find out, it was only a matter of time.
As if on a cue, the door to the room opened and a tall man with a buzz cut entered. Dean instinctively curled up further as if he contorted his body enough he really could disappear. The man chuckled as he walked closer, an overjoyed smile playing on his face.
"Imagine my surprise." the man said shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants as he leisurely walked around the room looking anywhere but at Dean. "When I got the call from one of my mutts that he caught another dog snooping around his bar this morning. At first I was thrilled to be getting a new pup to add to my collection but when he brought you in," the man breathed his cold blue eyes snapping over to Dean, hunger burning in their depths. "Well, I was beside myself! My lost little pup had come home! I was so sure that I'd lost you to that hunter all those years ago but here you are, all grown up into a fine looking dog!" he said crouching down in front of Dean and grabbing his chin. His free hand ran through Dean's hair, sending shivers down his spine.
Dean recognized the man as the head trainer, the voice that haunted his thoughts. In his years of living at the training house he had never come to know the man's name. He had always been the trainer in Dean's eyes.
"It's so good to have you home mutt."
"I'm n-not a-a m-mutt." Dean stammered trying to sound stronger than he felt. The man chuckled before backhanding Dean hard across the face.
"Poor little mutt." He cooed. "All those years out on your own, you've forgotten your place. I guess I'll just have to remind you."
"N-no p-please don't" Dean cried earning another sharp slap to the face.
"Lesson one: mutts don't talk." The man sneered. "You got that? Say it so I know you heard me."
Fury pushed past Dean's fear at the man's condescending tone. Dean was older now. He wasn't that scared little five year old anymore. He was Dean fucking Winchester. If he was going to die tonight he sure as hell was going to go down with a fight. The trainer could beat him all he wanted, he wasn't going to break Dean, he'd fight to the end. It was all he had left. Sam didn't want him. John would kill him. He was just a burden to Bobby. Taking down the training house was all he could do. If this really was his end, the least he could do is take down these bastards.
"I've g-got people l-looking for m-me." Dean fought back. "They're gonna find me and t-they're g-gonna kill you."
"No one is looking for you." the man hissed grabbing a fist full of Dean's hair and pulling his head back. "No one cares about you, you worthless piece of shit!"
"You're w-wrong." Dean choked out.
"I see the usually methods aren't goin' to work on you." the man said releasing Dean's hair roughly and getting to his feet. "I've been on the outside for too long. I'll just have to get a little…creative."
"F-fuck you."
The kick to his side came out of nowhere, stealing the breath from his lungs. Dean doubled over as far as he could without choking himself, wheezing. Just as his breath returned, the trainer landed yet another kick, the sound of cracking bones filling the air. Dean let out a strangled yelp, pain clouding his eyes. The sound of the door opening and the low murmurs of someone talking barely registered in Dean's pain riddled mind. C'mon Dean, he coached himself. You've had worse, don't give in now.
"Now don't come crying to me when things get bad." The trainer said stooping down to Dean's level once again, a deadly looking syringe in his hand. "You brought this on yourself."
"N-no wh-wait." Dean gagged trying to move away. But the trainer's large hand wrapped itself around Dean's arm holding him still. He plunged the needle deep into Dean's skin, injecting the clear liquid into his blood stream.
"Sweet dreams mutt." The trainer laughed roughly pushing Dean's limp form away. Dean struggled to keep his focus, fighting vainly against the inevitable. A baby's cry echoed loudly in Dean's ears as he lost the fight with the drug, his sanity slipping away.
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