Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dean was a man on a mission. He stormed from the house, letting Sam lock the door behind him, and made a bee-line for his car. Instead of climbing into the driver's seat, though, he ignored the screaming of his knees to drop down onto his stomach and wriggled underneath the vehicle.

He stubbornly pushed past the intense feeling of claustrophobia that came with having a metal barricade scant inches over his head, and rolled over onto his back. It was dark but his questing fingers knew every detail of the Impala's underbelly and he swiftly found what was out of place. He yanked it off and hoisted his body back out into the open.

"Dean, what-?"

Dean took a moment to breathe before he held up the small electronic tracking device. "Bastard low jacked my car. It's how he found me the first time and he fucking told me that, but I forgot that crucial little bit of information with all the rest."

Sam's face had paled. "I never even thought to check if she had been tampered with. God, Dean, I'm so sorry. When I gave you back your car, I told him exactly where you were."

"I doubt he ever lost me."

"That's doesn't make it any better. I just left you here alone, with no memories, no way to defend yourself. I swear, Dean, if I had known-"

"It's done, Sam." He didn't want to think about 'what ifs' because if he did the blame would inevitably come around onto him – if he hadn't walked out in a huff that night, if he hadn't been stupid enough to give a stranger the chance to slip a roofie into his drink, if he hadn't failed to escape, if he hadn't lost his memories, if he hadn't left the house unlocked, then maybe Cas wouldn't be in trouble right now. But beating himself up over it wasn't going to help Cas. They needed to get there.

"At least we can trace the signal back to him," Sam said.

"No need." Dean dropped the tracking device into a plant pot so the car would appear to be sitting in the driveway. "I know where he is. At least this way he won't see us coming."

"Dean… how much do you actually remember?"

"Enough." Too much. If Cas wasn't in danger the memories would probably send him screaming to the nuthouse. As it was, he was struggling to stay calm and composed; he just had to hope Sam couldn't see him shaking.

Time to change the subject. "We need weapons."

Sam nodded and went around to the trunk of his car. "What are we dealing with?" he asked as he rummaged around. "Demon, shapeshifter-?"

"Human."

Sam looked up in surprise. "A human did this to you?"

Dean stiffened. Whether Sam intended it or not, the implication was that a mere human shouldn't have been able to break him. Truth was, Dean couldn't understand it either. He had been tortured in Hell for 30 years by a demon who had turned inflicting pain into an art form; seven months being knocked around by a human should have been nothing in comparison.

In the past, nightmares and a drinking problem were the extent of his PTSD. But this time his brain had decided to opt for dissociative amnesia, anxiety and severe panic attacks, as though what the bastard had done was far worse than anything he had experienced in the past. That was bullshit, and Dean knew it, but knowing didn't lessen the terror he felt at the thought of confronting the man who had brought him to his knees in every sense of the word.

"Pathetic, I know," he bit out.

"No, Dean, that's not – it's just, humans aren't really our jurisdiction. Monsters are one thing, but I don't know if we can play judge, jury and executioner when a human is involved. There are laws. Due process, and all that. Jail-"

"-is too good for that bastard."

"Dean-"

"Sam, I'm not going to call the cops on this guy in the blind hope that they will get to him before he tortures my husband to death, and I'm sure as hell not going to testify against him in a courtroom on the off chance that they'll put him away for life. I don't want to be jumping at shadows and constantly looking over my shoulder. I want him dead, and if you get in my way so help me-"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

Dean hadn't even realised that his breathing was going haywire; he clenched his fists and willed his heart-rate to settle.

"You don't have to be a part of this, Sammy. I can deal with this on my own."

"No," Sam said. For a moment, Dean thought Sam was going to cite his borderline panic attack as proof that he clearly couldn't. But all he said was, "You don't have to."

"I'm not going to show him any mercy," Dean warned. "If I see the shot, I'm taking it."

Sam didn't argue with him. He just pulled a side-arm and a pair of knives out of the trunk of his car, flipping one of the blades in his hand to pass it over by the handle. "Fair enough."

Dean already had his gun, but he pocketed some extra ammo. "We're going to need some heavy-duty bolt cutters. And possibly an axe to break down the door."

Sam picked up the additional items. "Anything else?"

Dean eyed the grenade-launcher. He wanted to blow the whole place to hell, and doing it from a distance would spare him from having to confront the sadistic bastard directly. But he couldn't risk Cas. "No. Let's get going." He headed for the Impala.

"Ah, Dean? Mind if I drive?"

Dean's gut instinct was to refuse. But he knew why Sam didn't want him behind the wheel; if he had a panic attack (and given their intended destination that wasn't at all unlikely), he didn't want to end up wrapped around a tree or splattered all over the road. Not unreasonable. But Dean hated to admit to any form of weakness, because if he couldn't even drive without flipping out how was he supposed to handle an all-out fight?

Because it's Cas, and I have to, Dean thought stubbornly. Once they got there, he would just have to get his grit together. But for now, he should probably make sure they survived the journey.

"Fine." He tossed over the keys and moved around to the passenger side.

"Where are we going?"

There was a part of him that wanted to drive in the opposite direction, to drive and keep driving and never look back, but he knew he couldn't. He clamped down hard on the fear twisting inside him. "Haileyville, Oklahoma."

Sam pulled out onto the road, and Dean watched his house shrink in the rear-view mirror. It had never been the sanctuary he had believed it to be, but he still felt the urge to barricade himself within those four walls, as though he could somehow be safe there.

He had never felt like this before a hunt. Sure, there were some big bads that had scared the crap out of him, and the risk of dying had constantly hung over their heads. But this time, death wasn't the worst that could happen.

He forced his eyes to the front and focused on not ruining the upholstery.

Sam cleared his throat. "Can I ask what we're walking into?"

The last thing Dean wanted to do was talk about where they were going, but he couldn't expect Sam to go into this fight blind. "Small town, quiet neighbourhood, average house. The locals think it's haunted, but we ganked that bitch more than a year ago. Unfortunately, her husband took offence. Ungrateful bastard."

"Is there… anything about him? Anything I should know?"

"He's stronger than he looks. Smart. And… he got off on it."

Sam's grip tightened around the steering wheel but he kept his eyes on the road and didn't press for details.

For some reason, the words wandered out of Dean's mouth of their own accord. "It was about revenge to begin with, but after a while he started enjoying himself. Got more creative. Experimented. He had this notebook where he'd record my responses and-" Hot bile rushed up his throat; it took all of his willpower to swallow it back down. "-and a camera."

Sam's knuckles were turning white. "He took photos?"

"Hundreds. Developed them himself. He showed me his favourites." His gut clenched and he doubled over, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. The images flashed before his mind's eye – he saw his defiance crumbling, his dignity dying, his body being torn apart. He saw the moment when his captor won, when Dean became everything he said he was.

"-ean. Dean!"

He hadn't even noticed the car pulling over to the side of the road, but suddenly Sam was there, crouching beside him, reaching out but not touching, trying to call him back from wherever his mind had taken him.

Dean forced his fingers to unclench from his hair and lifted his head.

Sam looked devastated.

"I'm fine," Dean rasped.

"No, you're not."

There was blood under his fingernails and his scalp felt sticky.

"No, I'm not," he admitted. "But I won't be until we get this guy. We have to keep going."

"Dean-"

"Sam, get back in the car and keep driving."

He could tell that his brother wanted to argue. He could almost see the cogs whirring in his brain as he contemplated taking a detour to the bunker so that he could leave Dean behind.

"I need to do this."

"Dean, I get that you're worried about Cas, but I can handle this one. I'll bring him back to you, I promise."

"It's not just about Cas. I have to face this thing, or I might never-"

He couldn't put it into words.

But Sam understood him anyway. "Okay, Dean." He squeezed his shoulder in gentle reassurance, then moved back to the driver's side.

As the tires hit asphalt again, Dean hoped that he wasn't making a mistake that would get them all killed.

ooOOoo