A/N: I would have posted this last night, but the site was down for maintenance. I'm also a little behind in answering reviews, but I will answer each and every one today. Chapter title is taken from Robert Frost's poem "Stopping in Woods on a Snowy Evening."

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

Chapter 25a – promises to keep

Abraham's smile was yellowed, fierce and stained. "Well, now." He cocked his head to one side as he stared Dean up and down, like a hyena searching for a weak spot. His eyes settled on Dean's face. "Finally grew a pair, huh boy? Decided to come out an' play? After all this time?"

"Drop the fucking rifle," Dean said flatly.

"So what if I don't, huh? You gonna shoot me in cold blood?"

"Yep." Dean tightened his grip and raised the gun a little higher.

Abraham nodded at John. "Your Daddy's here, so now it's time to play like you're a big damn hero now, ain't it, boy?" He grinned, sly and knowing. "You never came out during a hunt before. Didn't do a damn thing to stop us from hunting. You ever wonder why?"

"Dean," John said slowly, quietly. "Don't listen to this bastard. Don't."

"You wanted to hurt those people we hunted. You enjoyed it." Abraham stood there, relaxed and easy, like he was talking to a fellow hunter before they went out to hunt deer, or rabbits. The rifle barrel pointed down at the ground now.

Remember that blonde bitch that looked at you like she was smelling a gas leak? Gabriel whispered inside Dean's head. Bitch wasn't so high seddity after we got through with her, now was she?

Dean blinked at the memory. Darla Green. Cheerleader. He could almost remember the name of the high school…

Other one we bagged that night at Kugel's Keg looked just like her.

We? No, no… I didn't…

Yeah, you did. Why the hell do you think I picked her out in the first place?

Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

"I don't give a damn," Dean snarled at Abraham. "You're not hurting my Dad anymore."

"There's no shame in liking it, boy. Having a life in your hands, seeing the light in their eyes go out, makes you feel powerful alive. It's what people like us were put here to do."

"I'm not like you," Dean snarled. "Shut your damn mouth."

"Dean!" John snapped loudly. "Get ahold of yourself. Don't listen to this bastard." It was John's command voice, the one voice that Dean never failed to pay attention to. Dean jerked, straightened his back in response.

Abraham looked doubtful. "You're not? Huh. You fit right in with us, boy. When we brought you in that night, I seen the scars on your body. Bet you got 'em helping folks." Abraham wrinkled his nose in disgust, as though that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.

Remember, Dean? Gabriel again. Remember that one, looked like that sheriff up in Washington State? He spat on you, called you poor white trash.

Dean's gun arm didn't waver, but John wasn't fooled. Dean was on the edge.

My God, he's listening to this bastard. John sat up slowly. The teeth in the bear trap bit more deeply into his flesh. Pain washed over him, and he could feel the world pull away from him as black spots bloomed along the edge of his vision. Don't black out, you bastard, John told himself. Not fucking now. John leaned forward slowly. His head and vision swam, but he blindly reached out and grabbed either side of the jaws of the trap.

Dean stood frozen where he stood.

You tried to help his family, and what did he do? Gabriel murmured slyly. Dumb sumbitch had you locked up, and they all died.

John pulled. He bit down the scream that rose up in his throat.

"Bet they didn't appreciate what you did for 'em. You bled for them, and as soon as you left town they forgot all about you." Abraham nodded at John. "You ever stop to think why your old man took his own sweet time tracking you down, if he's as good as you think he is?"

Sam, Dad always did know when to let go of a lost cause.

"My brother Gabriel ain't goin' anywhere. You know that deep down inside, don't ya? You were a gift to him. God's gift to me and mine. You look just like he did when he was your age. Now why don't you just be sensible about this? Put the gun down, walk away."

Abraham raised the rifle just high enough to endanger John. Gabriel made the muscles in Dean's arm twitch downward.

Dean pulled the trigger.

The bullet punched a hole in Abraham's thigh. He went down on his hands and knees.

Gabriel screamed inside Dean's head. Dean flinched.

Abraham laughed as he struggled up on his hands and knees. "You can still have a life here with us, boy. A roof over your head, with people who ain't gonna ever leave you ---"

Dean's arm jerked upwards, even as Gabriel screamed Nononononono.

A single gunshot echoed through the woods.

Sam froze halfway up the stairs. Two shots. John had the knife and the machete, not a pistol, unless he managed to get the drop on the Benders and take one of their guns away.

He'd found a small cloth bag in the kitchen, loaded it up with a box of matches, lighter fluid, and a box of salt. The bag grew suddenly heavily in his hand. What if I'm too late? What if Dad shot Dean because of Gabriel?

Bobby turned from the doorway of the living room, shook his head as he limped for the front door. "Keep looking, kid." His face was grim as he broke open the double barreled shotgun in his right hand and checked the loads out of habit. Bobby patted his left pocket for the extra box of ammo, then nodded. "I got this." He looked up at Sam and his expression softened slightly. "You find the damn bible. Torch it. I'll see about Dean and John."

Sam nodded. Missy's room should be up on the second floor. Easy to spot, right? She was the only female in the house.

Bobby ignored the pain that shot up his leg with every step. He had work to do. If the Benders ran from him or at him, he'd shoot them. Simple as that.

Hell, if he saw 'em, he was blasting them right to hell. Except for Dean, of course.

Two minutes later Missy Bender crept out of the kitchen. She had her favorite knife in her right hand, and that small steel ax from Pa's tool bucket in her left.

Missy ignored the pain in her head. She had work to do too.

Abraham Bender lay on the ground, eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky. There was a round, neat hole right between his eyes.

John waited, hunched over, his eyes gone to slits, as he rode a rising wave of red hot pain that threatened to pull him right under. He was dimly aware of the blood running down his leg on both sides, and his finger slipped on the metal edges as he pulled the jaws open wider.

Dean staggered around John. He knelt down in one smooth motion, put his back to his father. His gun slipped from his fingers as his hands hooked into claws. His broad shoulders shook and he balanced on the balls of his feet, his hair a long thick curtain around his face.

John pulled. The steel jaws of the trap gaped wider, despite his bloody fingers. A little more...

"D-Dean?" John gasped. "A…a little h-help here?"

Dean took a deep shuddering breath as he slowly ran his fingers though his hair. John's Bowie knife stuck out of the ground by his left hand. Dean's fingers shook as he reached backwards for it and curled them around the hilt.

"Dean?" John turned sideways a little to look at his son. His grip was slipping. He could feel it.

Dean looked at John over his right shoulder just as he pulled the knife completely out of the ground.

John froze.

A single tear ran down one lightly freckled cheekbone. Gabriel Bender stared at John with those dark green eyes of his.

Missy stood in the front hallway. Her face hurt, and her eyelids and her mouth felt fat, but she could open her eyes a little wider now. She couldn't understand why Jerry was down on the floor like that. Pa wouldn't like it, no sleeping during a hunt.

Slick copper blood on her tongue and Missy stared at the door and then at the stairs. Her head still hurt, and it hurt worse than it had when that old man hit her with the car door.

She was missing something. Had forgotten something. It nagged at her, bobbed underneath the surface of her mind. She could remember what it was if her head didn't hurt so such. She felt glimpses of it. A tree. Somewhere safe and warm, and then just like that, it was gone, pushed under by a wave of sound.

Missy could hear voices now. They roared and snapped inside her head, right behind her eyes. Sometimes they sounded like Pa

Kill 'em all ---

and sometimes they sounded like Gabriel

---you kept me warm, first time I saw you, you did ---

And sometimes the voices sounded like a rolling thunderclap, the voice of God

--- I promised him to you, you above all others ---

She liked what they were saying, but she was only one person and she couldn't be in more than one place at the same time but the sound was kind of nice, like listening to the echo of the ocean inside a seashell.

Missy knew what a seashell was. She'd found one inside the bag of some meat they hunted one time.

The voices got louder and louder. Missy swayed in place, was rooted to the spot. She liked the idea of cutting the old man's throat, but then the shaggy haired boy was upstairs and she hated him just as much. She saw the look of fear in Gabriel's eyes whenever he looked at him. He tried to hurt Gabriel, and he hurt her.

Missy was completely over the edge now. She never had a firm grip on reality in the first place, and the beating Sam Winchester gave her didn't do much to help matters.

She closed her eyes, and the nursery rhyme came back to her.

Eeny, meeney, miney, moe…

This time the old man wasn't around so she could cut off more toes, but maybe the rhyme would help her decide anyway. Missy closed her eyes, felt her body sway back and forth.

Eeney…

This little piggy…

…meeney…

Shaggy boy…

…miney…

This little piggy…

…moe…

Her fingers brushed the worn wood of the staircase, and Missy smiled to herself as she opened her eyes.

She was going to see Shaggy Boy.

The edge of the photograph caught fire immediately. Sam watched as the flames crawled up the paper, curled the edges black.

Gabriel Bender sat on that back porch steps so long ago, and he stared at the camera. He was the spitting image of Dean Winchester, except for that shoulder length sandy blonde hair, and it was plain the camera loved him as much as it loved Dean. Gabriel's image stared at Sam, and Sam couldn't help it, he lifted up the thick lock of hair, with a bright yellow ribbon tied around it, and held it up as though Gabriel could see it.

I promised myself, Sam thought. I promised Dean. Promised I'd get him clear, bring him home safe and sound.

Sam struck another match as the flames hungrily ate the paper, as Gabriel's face turned to black ash. He held the lock of hair by the end, and then he dropped it into the flames. The hair blackened and twisted into fine yellow sparks and light grey smoke as it burned completely up.

Fuck you, you son of a bitch, and get the hell out of my brother.

Shaggy Boy had his back to her. Misty smelled smoke in the air.

The voices suddenly vanished inside her head. She felt lighter, lonelier all of a sudden.

He burned what was in my bible, a little voice inside her head purred. Missy's inside voice giggled. And it's not gonna work.

Gabriel was still here. She knew he was.

Missy remembered. Pretty pictures and memories came flowing back to her, Tree bark, cool and rough underneath her fingertips, yellowed bone and thin strips of grey skin.

The lock of hair was only part of Gabriel, not all.

After she killed the freak she'd take his head back to Gabriel, show him that he didn't have to be afraid of him anymore. They'd go someplace safe and warm, and maybe Pa would come too. She didn't know if Pa would let Jerry come. Jerry was sleeping down in the kitchen. He was lazy. Pa wouldn't like that.

We know a secret. Missy felt so happy that she'd finally remembered, her feet did a little dance as she ran forward.

This Winchester boy had such a broad, strong back. She wanted to see what he'd look like red and wet and bleeding.

Missy gripped the ax, and swung it at the back of the freak's head.

Gabriel Bender didn't say a word.

His breath stuttered in his throat as he rose to his feet. Gabriel's fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife. The air was too thick; he couldn't draw it into his lungs. He glanced over at Abraham's body, and his face twisted into a mask of inconsolable grief.

Dead. Abraham was dead. Gone.

Gabriel looked up at the moon above. Hunter's moon. Wolf moon. Clear and bright and merciless. He and Abraham hunted underneath a moon like that many times. They ran smoothly in the dark after their prey, even howled at the moon after the meat was run down and killed. Abraham was family. Hunting was their life's work.

And now Abraham was gone.

The moon wavered in Gabriel's vision as more tears came. He couldn't feel Dean anymore, and for a crazy moment Gabe felt like taking the knife to himself, carving a deep damn hole until he could reach in and pull Dean out.

That moment passed.

Gabriel's body moved even though his mind was frozen. He moved in John Winchester's direction, reached out, grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him back down on the ground. Gabriel ignored the choked-off scream of pain as Winchester lost his grip on the steel trap. The jaws closed, bit into his leg again. Gabriel straddled him, bore down on him with his weight.

Gabriel was blinded by tears now.

He raised the knife up, and when he brought it down again Gabe felt the knife stutter in his hand as the blade entered flesh, the knife tip skipped against bone.

John Winchester screamed out, in rage and pain, and Gabriel smiled a little.

The second part of this chapter (25b) will be posted on Friday.