From inside the apartment over the garage, William watched.
It was the scrawny kid. This was all his fault. He'd single-handedly silenced the Word. William's father thought of him now as a disappointment, a failure. All his life, William had tried to please the preacher, and all his life he'd failed.
But this latest debacle - it wasn't his fault.
It was the kid's.
Dean, Jaime - all of them - they'd been in. They'd rededicated their lives to the Word, and everything would have been fine, would have run smoothly. If the kid had just gone away. If Dean had just killed him like he was supposed to do. If Jaime's shot had worked. If William had succeeded in burying the brat alive.
That damned psychic kid. He had more lives than a fucking cat.
But William knew his father wouldn't see it that way. He would pin the failure, the disruption, on William. He'd say he wasn't strong enough - not determined enough.
Disloyal.
But it wasn't true. William was devoted to his father and to their mission. And he'd die to protect both.
He'd kill to protect both.
And he'd start by finishing off the kid with the smart mouth.
By the look of things, it would be easy. The kid was in a wheelchair. He was pale and shaky and looked like he could pass out at any minute.
The only hitch was that Dean never left his side.
And William did not want to go up against Dean. He'd seen the man in action.
So he watched.
And waited.
And smiled. When the time was right, he'd take his time.
The kid was going to suffer for what he'd done. He'd taken everything away from William.
Everything.
Oh, that little bastard would pay.
William fingered the stud welder absently - flicking the electrical current on and off repeatedly. He'd picked the tool up on his way up the stairs, recognizing it instantly from those two days he'd spent helping Evan repair his father's pickup after it had been vandalized. The sizzling sound the tool made was immensely satisfying.
Immensely.