Disclaimer: If I owned "Supernatural", do you really think I'd be working at this damn day job? Yeah, I said it.

A/N: More Dean-angst, Sam's in peril, and so is Bobby Singer. Remember, that's not Dean with Bobby. Dean's with Coyote.

BlackIceAngel: The chapter I will post tomorrow contains the last session with Drugged/CoyoteDean and Lockridge. Thank you for giving me the idea. This chapter would have been way too long if I'd tried to include it here.

Also: heather03nmg, if you thought the scenes at the old house between John and Dean were sad before, wait until you see what happens inside the house.

(I told y'all, that damn muse is working overtime….)

Dog Eat Dog

Chapter 11: Nine Kinds of Crazy

One

FBI Headquarters

Washington DC

Special Agent Anita Dufresne glanced at the printout again. She couldn't help it, but she allowed herself a slight grin. Road trip. The destination was Bumfuck, Kansas, also known as Norwood, Kansas, but hell, she'd take it.

Not only were they going on a road trip, but this probably meant the end of long weeks of frustration, of being snapped and snarled at by her boss. She liked the guy, enjoyed working for him most of the time, but working with Victor Hendricksen on a daily basis following that weird business in Milwaukee, Wisconsin had turned into an endurance test. The Winchesters had given him the slip by posing as SWAT team members, and Hendricksen had been hell to work with ever since.

Damn, he needed a massage, a cruise, a good fuck, something. She thought about offering to help him with the last one, then thought better of it. Hendricksen was strictly by the book, and Anita had no desire to commit professional suicide.

Hendricksen looked up frowning as she walked into his office. Eight o'clock at night and they were both still art work. Oh well. She played it cool, a little coy maybe, and he started to growl at her until she put the printout down on the desk in front of him and pointed one well manicured fingernail at the mug shot on the left hand side.

The look on Hendricksen's face was priceless.

"Dean Winchester?"

She nodded. "Norwood State Hospital, Norwood, Kansas."

"Did you—"

"Called Norwood PD, informed them of the situation. They've notified the hospital to put Winchester under lockdown and they're sending two men out ASAP. Also sent them a photo of Sam Winchester; got a state-wide BOLO on him. If Dean's in Norwood, Sam might not be too far away. I called for transport. The jet's fueled and ready."

Hendricksen was up and slipping on his suit jacket before she finished the sentence. He reached in his closet for his duffel and slung it on his shoulder.

"Confined to a mental institution." Hendricksen shook his head as he walked out the door. "Gotta admit, I'm not surprised. Always knew there was something off about that kid. Him and his geek brother."

"Funny thing is, we got a hit a day or so ago from McCoy, Indiana about Winchester." Dufresne followed Hendricksen out and walked alongside him down the hallway. "McCoy sent us a query with fingerprints. When I contacted them about it they said it was a screw-up."

Hendricksen raised an eyebrow. "But Dean Winchester is definitely in Norwood?"

"Yes, sir. At the State Hospital there. He's a John Doe."

"Good. I don't doubt he was in McCoy. Gave 'em the slip, probably, and the locals were too damned embarrassed to admit it. Kid's stealthy. Moves like a cat, hard to pin down. He's nine kinds of crazy, but he and Sam know how to drop off the grid if they don't want to be found. If he was picked up by Norwood PD, little podunk town like that, something happened. Whatever it is, I'll take it. Good work, Dufresne."

"Thank you, sir."

She felt like she could breathe again.

Two

The clerk inside the 7-11 stared when that short stocky guy came in with his damn dog. "Hey, mister," A.J. called out. "You're gonna have to leave your dog outside. We don't allow 'em in the store." A.J. could swear that the dog was grinning at him. Its eyes didn't look right…too large, too black. Fur didn't look right…hell, it almost looked like something was moving around underneath its skin.

A.J. shook his head and sighed heavily. It had been a long night, and he was tired. And now it looked like he was going to have to call the popo on his guy, because instead of moving towards the door, Short Round ignored A.J.and moved down the aisle towards him. The dog's tail wagged and it brushed up against one of the customers in the aisle. The woman made a strangled noise, and her body stiffened. She had her back turned to A.J.so he didn't see her eyes turn black, but he sure as hell saw it when she turned around and started walking towards him.

The dog darted down the aisle, towards two more customers, and their eyes blackened up like the woman's had. They turned and walked down the aisle. A.J backed up. He didn't feel secure, even with the barrier of the counter in front of him.

The next thing A.J. knew the damn dog jumped up on the counter.

Something dark that screamed slid into the pores of A. J.'s skin, and it pulled him down screaming. Being bored and tired were suddenly the least of his worries.

A couple of minutes later the demon inside Hank Darrow's body started up Hank's F-150 truck and pulled off the parking lot. The dog, A.J., and the three customers from 7-11 all sat inside, staring out at the night.

You can never have enough warm bodies.

Three

Norwood State Hospital

Norwood, Kansas

They were either going to pick up their wounded and leave, or swarm him. It could go either way, and Coyote knew it. He could tell they were rattled. He didn't know what the female Trickster had told them about him, but it was clear they hadn't expected him to fight back, not like that. He was supposed to be weak, and he had to admit that his strengths, his powers weren't working the way they always had. He was also pissed off that the female had picked up on that fact so quickly. That kind of thing could make a bad day worse in a hurry.

Now Coyote looked at each one in turn, and he smirked. Dean's face was extremely well suited for that expression, just like his body was a pure joy to use in a fight. Coyote flexed the fingers of his right hand. "Well? There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the way out."

The blue on the floor moaned, and one of the others cautiously edged forward, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him backwards towards the door. He groaned when they touched his shoulders, and the spines on his head clenched up again.

The one with the icy blue eyes growled. "You killed my family."

"Did I?"

"We had to eat. Everyone eats. We did that for years. Just the little ones. The small ones. Just those. And you came, you and that other one, with those two other men, and you killed my family. I was the only one left."

"Little ones," Coyote repeated. He frowned. "Small…you mean babies. You and your family ate children." Blue eyes stared at him as though Coyote was the insane one. "Huh." Coyote smiled, and the smile reached his eyes. "Guess what, sweetheart, I've been looking for you."

It was a lie, a trick, but he was still a Trickster. It was one of the things he did best.

Blue Eyes flinched and stepped backwards. He was obviously the leader, and he was still too much alpha male to cut and run, at least not yet. The female Trickster hovered by the door, staring back at Coyote, and she seemed confused, uncertain. She'd been so sure they had him, so positive that he couldn't fight back. Coyote figured Blue Eyes was good for another thirty seconds or so before he decided to head for the door.

Another minute was about all Coyote had left.

In the past Dean had been carried enough times by his Dad, carried out of places unconscious, half dead, shot, stabbed, feverish. Gently loaded into the passenger side or the back bench of the Impala. Carried into numerous motel rooms and back cabins to be stitched up, sedated, his skin dug into so that bullets could be removed, even tied down to the bed while fever burned and raged through his body and addled his brain.

He knew the feel of his Dad's body, solid and heavy. His skin remembered the feel of John's broad strong fingers around his arm, his shoulder. Dean knew the beating of his Dad's heart as well as he knew his own. Right now he could smell the faint spicy aftershave that John wore, felt the slight scrape of stubble against his own jaw line as John steadied himself, stood upright with Dean's arm slung across his shoulder as they paused in front of the front door of their old house. Everything was just as Dean knew it from before, and he knew it was all wrong. His face felt cold and damp, and he hated the weak, rubbery feel of his muscles.

"It's okay," the thing that looked like John Winchester murmured. "Son, I'm here."

No! You're not my dad! This isn't our old house! He didn't yell, he screamed inside his head, for all the good it did him. They kept moving forward, closer to the door, and his legs wouldn't work, and he couldn't stop this. The door lock clicked shut behind them, and they were in the front hallway. It looked the same, smelled the same as it did before, only now the place suddenly seemed…smaller.

He didn't even remember going up the stairs. They were on the second floor and the Dad-thing had vanished. Dean was alone.

And he was standing in Sammy's old nursery.

It didn't look old at all. The crib, the toys, the wallpaper, everything in the room looked as new as it had when his Mom and Dad brought Sammy home from the hospital. The mobile over the crib swung around slowly in the still air, first one way, and then another, and Dean's heart pounded so hard in his chest he felt dizzy, weak. His knees turned rubbery and he backed away, put his hand out and managed to sit down hard on a small chest of drawers near the door.

He was breathing too hard, too fast, and the sound of it echoed inside his head. His hands shook. Something on the ceiling caught his eye, and he looked up. He immediately wished he hadn't.

Mary Winchester lay on the ceiling over Sam's crib. Her blonde hair fanned out around her shoulders, and her skin was pale, almost waxy. Her white nightgown was stained by the large bloody gash across her stomach. She stared at Dean with sunken red-rimmed eyes, and her mouth moved, slowly.

Dean…

"Mom," Dean whispered hoarsely. He shook his head from side to side, and one devastating tear dropped from his eye, ran down his finely cut cheekbone. "Mom…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…."

Dean…

He closed his eyes. I couldn't stop this. I couldn't save her. My fault. All my fault. Dad's gone, and that's my fault too. It was the second time he felt like screaming in this place, and he hunched over, crossed his arms over his chest, as the sheer weight of everything pressed down on him.

Watch out for Sammy, Dean…

Sure, Dad, you know I will…you're scaring me…

Don't be scared, Dean.

You have to promise me, Dean. Promise me that you'll watch out for me. And if I turn, you have to do it. You're the only one who can…

Don't ask that of me…

You have to promise…

His head felt like glass, and he felt something splinter inside, behind his eyes.

Dean's eyes were bone dry when he opened them again. He stared up at the ceiling. Nothing was there. He sat up straighter on the chest of drawers, and he stared at the crib. He stared at it for a long time, then he got to his feet.

They were backing up. They were leaving. The female Trickster cracked the door open and vanished in a shimmer of heated air. The other two put Mohawk between them and finally got him on his feet. He stumbled and his arms hung limply, at awkward angles.

That left Coyote with Blue Eyes, and the other two, the one with the scaly skin, and the vessel with the darkness just underneath the skin.

Dean walked over to the chair by Sam's crib. It was a straight back wooden chair, the same chair his mother used to sit in as she read Dean a bedtime story. Dean had insisted Sammy be included, even though he was way too young to understand the words. It was the same chair that Dean pulled over to Sam's crib, the same chair he pulled over to the crib and stood up on, when he made the toys dance in the air over Sam's crib. It was the same chair.

Dean picked up the chair and smashed it into kindling on the floor. He pulled the mobile down and threw it into the far corner. The crib was next.

Outside, Coyote flinched.

A searing hot pain punched him in the ribs, made him stagger. He caught himself. He didn't fall down on the floor screaming like he really wanted to, but he brought his hand up to his side, before he could stop himself.

Blue Eyes caught the motion, and his eyes narrowed, searched Coyote's face for some sign of further weakness.

Fuck, Coyote thought.

Dean dumped the mattress and bed sheets out on the floor, and he picked the crib up with both hands and smashed it against the wall. It was heavy and awkward to lift, and he shouldn't have been able to lift it so easily, but he did. By the time Dean was finished the crib was reduced to a pile of broken wood and metal springs. Mary Winchester had hung up posters of animals, pictures of the alphabet. Dean pulled the pictures down from the walls. He smashed the frames with his bare hands and pulled the prints out, and then he tore them up. His hands didn't bleed. Not once.

He didn't grunt. He didn't say a word. Dean moved so he wouldn't have to think. If he stopped and thought, really thought about where he was, and what he was doing, it would break him. He felt incredibly angry, rageful, and you wouldn't have known it by looking at him. Dean's face was carefully, eloquently blank. He felt like smashing something, and he gave himself over to the feeling completely.

He loved his family with all his heart, would die for them without hesitation, but sometimes they were the very ones that could hurt him the most. They knew which buttons to push, which nerves to poke and prod at, and they weren't shy about doing it, either. And the hell of it was, he needed them more than they needed him. That fucking demon was right about that. Dean knew that.

And that pissed him off to no end.

Dean felt the house shake all around him. He went after the chest of drawers next.

Blue Eyes grinned. "You're hurt." He took a step forward.

Coyote stood up straighter. His face was carefully blank. A sharp spike of pain behind his eyes made him blink. Slowly. The edge of his vision was slowly turning a soft hazy grey.

Dean heard the footsteps behind him. He had in his hand the top railing of the crib and he turned as the Dad thing walked right up behind him. Dean didn't hesitate. He didn't flinch. He turned and used an underhand motion to punch the railing of the crib neatly, cleanly, thru the Dad-thing's chest.

Outside, Coyote swayed on his feet.

Dean stood nose to nose with the Dad-thing. He stared into its eyes, turned his head slightly to one side as he stared at its face.

Dean was screaming inside.

How the fuck could you do that? Make a deal with the damned thing? How the hell am I supposed to live with that?

"John" blinked. He stared back, and his lips trembled. The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly.

"Dean...son…please…"

Dean quirked his lips slightly and pushed upwards, harder. The thing that looked like his dad threw its head back and screamed. It vanished in a snap of displaced air and dark static.

Dean blinked.

Every window in the house shattered, blowing outward in a thick spray of silvery glass. Dean looked up just in time to see the roof as it came down on him.

Coyote had to force himself to breathe. Had to force himself to stay upright. He felt his back bump up against the wall, and Blue Eyes took another step forward.

"He's sick. Something's wrong."

The vessel stared at Coyote, its eyes darkened as the darkness inside slid over its face. It put one hand on the Blue Eyes' arm. Blue Eyes flinched angrily, and the vessel shook his head. "Tricky. This one. Think. Might be just what he wants you to do."

They stood there for a moment, considering. Coyote knew he was good for about another twenty seconds, if that.

They backed away. They left.

When he heard the door finally click shut Coyote stood upright longer than he had to. His muscles were no longer holding him; his knees had locked up. That lasted about another five seconds or so. He felt broken up inside, and he knew it was Dean. He knew, but he couldn't do anything about it. Everything loosened up then, his muscles, his bones, everything. Coyote sank down to his knees, and the grayness swallowed him up.

Dean Winchester walked out of the ruins of the house. Dean raised his face to that fake blue sky overhead, and he gripped the bed railing in one hand. He was too much of a hunter to release his hold on a weapon. Coyote would be coming along soon, or he wouldn't.

Right now Dean just didn't give a fuck.

He walked over and sat down under the large tree in the front yard. The tree trunk felt rough against the back of his head. Dean pulled his knees to his chest and just sat there, staring.

Four

Roadway Inn

Room 19A

Vashon, Illinois

The chairs at the Inn were sturdy, just right for what Bobby had in mind. He went back out to the truck and brought in a large coil of thick rope. He let Condie out of the truck and she followed him back inside. She kept looking backwards, towards the highway, and she never stopped growling, low in her throat.

He tied the thing he thought was Dean Winchester into a chair, and Condie stood watch as Bobby went back outside and packed his supplies in. He pulled another chair over and drew a large devils' trap on the ceiling, then he pulled "Dean's" chair underneath the trap.

The salt lines on the windows were still good, but Bobby put an extra layer on each one anyway. He reinforced the one on the door with a fresh layer of salt and cat's eye shells. He hung a protection charm in the hole where the door lock used to be, and he hung several more right in the middle of the door and in the middle of the windows. Condie never stopped growling. She sat there and stared at "Dean", and she would also turn and stare at the door. Something was coming. Something bad.

Something bad was already in the room.

"Dean" woke up slowly, with a harsh exhale of breath. His eyes blinked open and he stared down at the thick ropes around his wrists and ankles as though he'd never seen anything like that before. He looked up at the ceiling, and his green eyes went to pitch black, then flared reddish-orange when he saw the devils' trap.

"Deja fucking vu." He laughed and shook his head.

"You don't mess with the classics," Bobby said flatly.

"No, I guess not. So, how the hell you been, Bobby?" "Dean" said lightly.

"Where's Sam?"

"I don't know." "Dean" shrugged. "Sam's a big boy. He can take care of himself. You're better worry about yourself tonight, old man."

"Better demons than you have tried and failed, boy. How's about a nice trip back home? See the folks. Take you a while to claw your way back up, won't it?"

"Dean's" eyes widened at the sight of the rosary and the book in Bobby's hands. "You move on me, I'll stop his heart."

Bobby laughed, shook his head. "While you're sitting under a devil's trap? I don't think so. This must be your first time at the rodeo. Try it. Go ahead."

"Dean's" eyes narrowed. "I hunted your kind when places like this didn't even exist. I pulled them down and I ate them alive and screaming. You're no different."

Something thumped on the ceiling above them, hard, heavy. "Dean" looked up and his eyes went back to normal. He smirked. "Anyway, I think my family might have something to say about your travel plans for me."

Another thump, two more.

Bobby frowned, and then shrugged. He wasn't about to show fear, even though he felt a small pit form in his stomach. He knew there was always the chance that he wouldn't make it some day, that his number would be up. That kind of thinking didn't seem to be the kind of thing he should dwell on, but it was there all the time. He couldn't control it, and when he thought about it, he let quickly it go. Death came to everybody, in one form or another. When his came, Bobby wanted to take as many of the sumbitches with him as he possibly could.

"Dean" watched with some satisfaction as Bobby put the rosary and the book down on the bed, but his eyes widened slightly when the old man pulled a Sidewinder assault rifle out of the duffel bag. Bobby popped the clip, and checked it, just to be sure.

Before Jim Murphy's death last year, Pastor Jim was the one who blessed all of Bobby's ordinance and ammo. Nowadays, Bobby had to travel a little farther afield. The pastor of the church over in Dunlap, South Dakota had looked at him a little funny when Bobby first rolled up with a truck full of guns and ammo, but the preacher came highly recommended by other hunters and the blessing was no problem.

Condie swung around growling as something thumped hard against the door. She backed up, and her hackles were standing straight up.

Another thump overhead. Scare tactics so far. They were testing the boundaries, trying to see what would happen if they pushed a little.

"You can let me go now," "Dean" said smoothly, "and I promise we won't play too rough with you. We can always use another warm body." He sulked when Bobby ignored him. "No? All right, fine. Be that way, then."

Bobby eased over to the window and pulled the curtain back. At first his mind had a little trouble processing what he was seeing. It was dark, but the parking lot did have overhead lights. That wasn't the problem.

Bobby shook his head, and looked again. There were chimpanzees sitting on his truck. Three of them. One had a crowbar. The other one looked back at Bobby and grinned wildly, and its eyes were black as pitch. The third one looked at Bobby and raised its arm in a friendly wave.

"Son of a bitch…"

A man stood on the sidewalk next to the Impala. He had a baseball bat in his hand and he grinned as he swung the bat around at his side. Several stray dogs sat on the hood on the Impala, and Bobby knew if Dean were in his right mind he'd have a conniption if he saw that.

Black eyes all around.

More dogs walked up and sat on the sidewalk, and they all stood or sat there, staring at Room 19A. Another thump on the roof overhead.

Bobby switched the Sidewinder to semi-automatic.

Five

"I did this for you, Sammy," Dean sounded sad. "I did this all for you." They stood on this rooftop somewhere, somewhen, watching the people and the traffic in the streets below. Dean's voice was lower, rougher than usual. It sounded like he was growling and Sam ignored it. He ignored it the same way he ignored the way Dean's eyes glowed in the blue veil of the night.

Dean was back. Everything was okay. It was fine.

It had to be.

Dean glanced at him sideways, and shook his head. "I've done everything for you, Sam, and it's just not enough. I know that now. I've gotten hurt for you. Tried to keep you safe. I've even killed for you, and Dad." He shook his head. "It's not enough. It never was. You're embarrassed by me. I'm a freak. Everyone I love leaves me, and you will too. So go. Now. I don't care where you go, as long as you're not around me."

"Dean, that's not right. Why are you saying these things to me?"

"Because it's true." Dean tilted his head to one side as he looked at Sam. The pupils of his eyes glowed a deep, smoldering red.

Sam didn't move.

"Leave now, Sam. I mean it. Otherwise, I'm not responsible for what happens to you."

It was just like before, but different somehow, and Sam thought he could change it. He put his hand out, meant to touch Dean on the arm, and Dean was ghostlike, untouchable, just like he'd been before.

Dean snarled then, and he changed. He went down on all fours, became ancient and fearsome, bristling with fur and teeth. He lunged at Sam, and Sam had just enough time to realize that they were being watched before Dean's teeth fastened on his throat and his life bled out…

Maureen Reddington sat by the bed and watched Sam Winchester struggle against the ropes. He was tied down to all four corners of the bed by his wrists and ankles. Sam moaned in his sleep and Maureen stroked his forehead with her cold fingers. She pushed Sam slowly into a deeper sleep.

The yellow-eyed one gave strict orders not to hurt Sam, so she didn't. She just couldn't resist taking a look inside that shaggy head of his. She thought he was cute, and it intrigued her to find out that there were folks out there in the world whose families were even more fucked up than hers had been.