A/N: Dang, I struck a nerve with the last chapter, didn't I? I am not paying for anybody's medical bills or psychiatric counseling after this is over. Nope. I ain't responsible.!

Better late than never. More comments at the end of this thing.

Azazel's remark about "bruising this fine packaging" – yep, I stole that from "Born Under a Bad Sign."

Spoilers: Asylum, Devil's Trap

Then: Dean brings John back from the dead. Sam misunderstands, thinks Dean and

Coyote killed John, and he shoots Dean with the Colt.

Now: Dean's shot, and he's gotta deal with it. And all hell is breaking loose…

Dog Eat Dog

Chapter 36 – Big Bang Theory

One

…heart shot wonder why he didn't go for the head… thinks I killed Dad…he thinks I killed… couldn't tell him the truth not then, not now never believe me…

…no time I got no time…

Gunpowder flaring red and yellow white energy around the Colt…

… grab it …uhnnh… burns hurts like a son of a bitch whatever's inside is full-on lethal…silver bullets notched with an X inside a circle…white glow around the notch… firing the gun ignited whatever's inside… it'll kill anything gone wiped out but it didn't kill Dad not a mortal wound Dad wasn't a fugly he was mortal… whatever's inside the bullet didn't find what it was looking for… if I can trick it somehow take the hit and survive … make the damn thing think 'm human, mortal neutral bleed and hurt like everyone else… shield it somehow … I got nothin' left…

Something punched against his shoulder, hard. Dean felt himself being pulled backwards, a hard violent jerk that emptied all the breath out of his lungs.

…didn't work, Dean thought muzzily. …damnit…it…it…didn't work…He tasted blood in his mouth and through the growing darkness he could hear Coyote growling.

Gettin' pretty sick and damn tired of your friggin' family and friends takin' potshots at us. Stay with me, you crazy sumbitch, stay with me. Damn it, boy, you're not leaving me with this mess…

Two

Coyote Kiva

New Mexico

Bertha Two Dogs heard him before she ever even laid eyes on him. A loud snuffling sound, the faint padding of something big lumbering around the kiva, out of sight behind the upper stone wall.

She didn't flinch when the shadow fell over her, blocking out the sun and sky.

She glanced up. The bear stood perfectly balanced on his hind legs, staring at her with its head cocked slightly to one side, its forearms crossed in front of its chest. It looked like a black bear, but the size was all wrong. This one was too wide and too massive, the size of a grizzly, and grizzlies weren't native to New Mexico.

It quirked an eyebrow at her. Well?

She shrugged and finished laying down the last fistful of colored sand and crushed herbs on the floor of the kiva.

She knew a kachina when she saw one. Nothing much surprised or startled her anymore.

She straightened up, dusted her hands off on her jeans. It didn't pay to show too much disrespect, especially to a being whose help you needed.

It also didn't pay to act too needy.

Bright sunlight flared into a corona behind him and the bear shifted into a huge black man dressed in denim work clothes and boots. She could see a faint amber glow in his eyes through the darkness of the sunglasses he wore.

"I'm looking for Coyote," the black dude rumbled.

Bertha kept her poker face on, but she noticed with some amusement that he looked just like Michael Clarke Duncan, that huge black actor who was in that Tom Hanks' movie "The Green Mile".

"I haven't heard from the Old Man in years, and now he's called on us at least three times tonight," Bear rumbled darkly. "Didn't exactly part as friends the last time. I want to know what the hell is going on."

"He's not here yet," Bertha said simply, "but you can wait if you like." Bear nodded.

He stood there and watched as she leaned over and put down another fistful of herbs and sand.

Bertha figured that showing respect was all very well and good, but she had work to do.

Three

Sam lowered the Colt. His face was blank, but inside his heart felt like ice, brittle and shattered, bumping up against his ribcage. A part of him wanted to look away. He couldn't. He had to bear witness to his decision, fully claim his burden.

He'd aimed for Dean's heart. Once it struck Dean's heart, the killing energy would light up his heart, and then travel up to his brain. Bright light would come flooding out of Dean's eyes and mouth, lighting him up from the inside, making his skin transparent, showing his ribs and internal organs. Every muscle in Dean's body would seize up, completely, painfully, and then the light in Dean's eyes would go out forever, and he'd be at peace.

Sam waited. He didn't even blink.

None of that happened.

Sam stared, wide-eyed, as the darkness wearing Dean's skin touched the bloody hole in Dean's shoulder and laughed at the blood on his fingers.

Four

It started small, like most monsters do, as a smallcounter-clockwise movement of air two hundred feet over the Wal-Mart superstore.

No one bothered to look up. Even if they had, they wouldn't have seen it. Not at first.

The sky over the town was still subject to natural laws, even though the color of the sky was all wrong and there weren't any more birds. The wall cloud formed silently, slowly, gaining more mass, more rotation. That godawful maroon color concealed it perfectly.

It was a neat trick, one that hadn't been seen on earth in several hundred years, and absolutely no one noticed when the cloud began its descent…

Five

"Something's wrong." Bobby knew that he'd fucked up royally as soon as he said it out loud. Somehow the mental image of Dean being hit with a bullet from the Colt came to mind. Hunter's instinct, maybe. Or something that the youngest Winchester wanted Bobby to see, so that he could understand why what had happened, happened. That hadn't been Dean's voice inside his head. It was Sam.

John's face darkened. "What?" He pushed off the side of the GTO and swayed a little as he stood on his own two feet. He was still pale, still favoring that right arm of his, and Bobby knew That Look. That damn mulish look meant that shit was gonna get worse in the next few minutes. That look meant that John wasn't gonna get in the car quietly.

"I'm not leavin' my boys."

Hell, if the situation was reversed Bobby figured he'd probably do the same thing. He couldn't blame the man but yet and still they were out of their league.

But there was still too much of the hunter in either man for them to turn tail and run.

"Give me your shotgun," John growled. He flinched slightly as he flexed the fingers of his right hand. Condie got up, growling deep in her throat. She stared at Bobby for her cue. Want me to bite 'em, or leave 'em be?

"You gonna shoot me, Bobby? Go right ahead. I'm not leavin' my boys."

Bobby sighed. "Damn idjit. I'm not givin' you my shotgun." He reached inside, pulled open his duffel and pulled out another sawed-off. "You think I'm goin' in there unarmed, you better think again."

John growled something under his breath as he took the shotgun out of Bobby's hand, broke it open and checked to see if the gun was fully loaded. Jackass, Bobby thought to himself. You really think I'd give you an empty gun at a time like this?

D-Dad?

The sound was faint, a wavering echo that whispered at first.

DAD?

Loud, too damn loud. That one word spiked sharply in the space right between their eyes, made both men groan and flinch painfully. Condie whined and backed up, tried to get away from the sound. Somebody was playing around with the volume control and couldn't get the settings right.

John turned around. Dean stood there, swaying unsteadily on his feet. John stared, then frowned, shook his head. He was seeing things. This…this couldn't be right. They'd been on a job down in Baton Rouge together, cleaning out a nest of bogeys while Sam was safely back in Blue Earth with Pastor Jim. Damn things had tried sneaking up on them from behind, and Dean had been hit twice, one in the back, once in the shoulder, with poisoned darts while pushing John out of the way.

Three days. It took three days, and during that time John had cared for Dean while the poison on those darts burned through his system. The poison smelled like crushed lavender and sage but the effects had been anything but calm and peaceful.

Three days. At once point Dean became violent in his delirium, and John had to tie him down to the bed. Dean cursed and struggled against the ropes, all wild-eyed and confused, and he promised John he was going to kill him slow and painful if he didn't untie him right fucking now.

Three days of pure hell, watching Dean drug-dazed and bewildered, swinging backwards and forwards between still as death and raging. Three days of wondering if he was gonna lose his son, now and forever, and the memory of it all came rushing back at the sight of Dean standing there, but it couldn't be, it couldn't be the Dean he was looking at right now, because Dean was twenty eight and the young boy who stood before him all pale and ghost-like was all of twelve years old.

Five

"Come on, Sammy," DarkDean drawled lazily. "You can do better than this." He poked at the bloody hole in his shoulder; Sam flinched, and he laughed. "You always were such a girl. Finally grew a pair, huh?"

"You…you're not my brother," Sam rasped hoarsely. "You're not Dean."

"Oh? I'm not? You think so, huh? Better think again. Every time he gave up something for you, every time he bled or got broken for you, I got a little stronger. You made me what I am today, Sammy."

Redd and Slymm growled deep in their throats as they slunk past, low to the ground, smooth as water, with murder in their eyes.

"You killed Dad." Sam moved back a little, the now empty Colt useless in his hand. "I saw what you did, you bastard ---" He thudded up against something unseen and solid at the edge of the sigil and couldn't move any further away.

Redd and Slymm stopped short at the circle's edge, growling, their fur bushed out, tails lashing angrily.

DarkDean stared intently. He walked around the circle, stared down at the lines burned into the concrete. Sam stood there watching him, warily, his broad shoulders tensed for the blows he knew were coming.

"Dude, you oughta see the look on your face. You can't get out, can you, Sammy? You can't get out, but they can't get in either." He nodded towards Redd and Slymm. Redd growled at him and Slymm crouched there beside her sister, pure murder in her eyes.

"Bet you think that saves your sorry ass, don't ya?" DarkDean laughed and shook his head…and stepped inside the circle. His left hand shot out, moved so fast it was almost a blur, and his fingers clamped around Sam's windpipe and brought him slowly to his knees. A little telekinetic pressure around Sam's wrist opened his fingers and the Colt clattered harmlessly to the ground.

DarkDean smiled. "Better think again, bro'."

Six

He hurt.

He hurt all over, 'specially his right shoulder and his lower left side. Something sharp inside him in both places that pinched him when he breathed and he didn't know why. His head hurt too, felt too warm and his eyes felt funny, all watery and he couldn't stop blinking. It was hard to think but he remembered that he was supposed to keep on feeling this way or somethin' bad was gonna happen, but he couldn't remember exactly that somethin' bad was.

Dad was here, so it was gonna be all right. Dad would take care'a him, Dad would make everything better. Dean would have died before he'd said any of that out loud, but it was all inside his head where no one could hear, so it was all right. It was safe. He was safe.

He wouldn't say or do anything that would make Dad want to leave him.

Everything was too hot, too bright, and his skin felt stretched tight over his bones. It was hard to breathe and nothing looked right. Huh. Bobby was looking at him all peculiar. He didn't remember Bobby being on that hunt. Different dog, too. Not Rumsfeld.

Dad raised his hand, took a step towards him. "Dean…son---"

…no no no, don't touch me…

Dad's voice sounded all rough and weird sounding and wrong so wrong it hurt Dean's ears and he almost fell over himself as he jerked clumsily back out of reach.

Dean shivered all over, trembled like a damn girl, he couldn't help it, but it wasn't all bad. His head suddenly felt clearer after the shakes subsided. His fever was gone. He felt stronger. Bigger somehow. He looked down at his clothes, all ripped and torn, and cursed silently to himself. That poltergeist they'd been hunting was a vicious bastard; it threw everything at them inside the house including the kitchen sink. It was one time that Dean was glad Sam was away at Stanford.

Dad looked kinda banged up, too. Dean scowled when he saw the dried blood down the front of John's t-shirt. Gonna kill your sorry 'geist ass, Dean thought to himself, bring you back and then kill you all over again.

Son of a bitch.

Sometimes being a hunter sucked. Big-time.

"Dean, what the hell is this?"

Dean swayed on his feet, clutching his limp right arm to his body. He could barely feel his fingers. Shoulder dislocated, probably. Gettin' bounced off the walls like a tennis ball will do that for ya.

"Dean?" Dad's voice was low, soft. Like he didn't want to scare Dean or something. Dean couldn't understand why Dad was doing that. He'd show him. He was a man now, not some snot-nosed kid. Dean straightened up. No weakness. No way, no how.

"Dean? What's going on, son?"

"…have to do this…" Dean heard himself say. He couldn't feel his mouth move, but the voice sounded familiar. He was hearing things, but it wasn't enough to make him all concerned about it. It was his voice, wasn't it? There was a weird undertone to it, low growling echo that vibrated through the air, but it sounded like him. He frowned at the memory of Sam pointing something at him. Bright silver, pain in his shoulder…

"I don't…I don't know how long I can trick it…"

He took a deep breath that made his chest hitch. Tired. Damn, he was so tired. Something warm like fever curled and stretched just beneath the surface of his skin. He wanted to lay down, curl up and go to sleep, but he couldn't. He had to keep doing this.

"Dad, stay here. Stay outside. I'll bring Sam out. You have to be ready. You have to be ready to shag ass when I tell you to. Please, Dad…"

"All right, Dean," John nodded. "We will. What about you?"

Dean looked John directly in the eyes. "I'll be okay. I'll be fine." The outline of the cars and trucks behind the boy became clearer, more visible, and as John watched Dean faded completely away.

Bobby didn't say anything. He knew a lie when he heard it, and by the brief flicker of pain and grief in John's eyes he knew that John did too…

Seven

A flash of light in the sky above made DarkDean look up.

It was a wall cloud, a gigantic, impossibly thick doughnut of roiling maroon and black clouds. It was centered directly over the rooftop, and the whole thing rotated slowly, counterclockwise. The eye of the storm was a darker, blacker color, shot with stars, overlaid with a paler, thinner layer of clouds. Intermittent flashes of lightning pulsed inside the cloud like a heartbeat. Thunder rolled overhead shaking the building right down to its foundations.

Huh.

He'd seen a lot of things before, but this was something new. DarkDean stood there for a moment, head tilted to one side, transfixed. Anything huge, powerful and destructive immediately captured his attention. Always had. Like Dean, he loved storms, but for the wrong reasons. Dean loved the beauty and the power.

DarkDean loved the random path of destruction a storm could take, the lives lost or shattered.

He knew he was one sick puppy, but hey, he was okay with it.

The wind picked up, and the rain that came down was a gentle mist at first. It came in waves, misting, then increasing to a torrent, and the wind rose and whipped the rain sideways in sheets that stung the skin and eyes.

DarkDean closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He had wind in his hair, rain on his face, and Sam's blood on his knuckles.

Oh hell, it didn't get any better than this.

Sam made a choking sound just then, and DarkDean opened his eyes and looked down at him. Sam was on his knees, held upright only by the fist DarkDean had hooked into his jacket front. Sam's lips were swollen and one side of his face was dark with bruises and blood. DarkDean felt an immediate surge of irritation that made the palms of his hands itch.

He was just getting started and he wanted to make this last, because he was pretty damn sure if Dean or Coyote, especially Dean, came roaring back from wherever they'd got to, they were gonna make him pay for daring to lay a hand on the damn brat.

"To h-hell with y-you…" Sam whispered dully.

Trust Sam to throw a buzzkill on even this. Couldn't even enjoy a good thunderstorm in peace because of him.

"Language, Sammy, language." Sam's head rocked back as DarkDean nailed him right in the nose, and the thin trickle of blood that ran out of Sam's nose was mighty satisfying to see.

"Now is that any way to talk to your awesome big brother? You shot me, and this ain't the first time you've done it, now is it, bro'? If anybody should be cussin', it oughta be me. You had to shoot me in order to save me. Is that it? That's your excuse? Dude, that's the lamest thing I've ever heard."

So he hit Sam again.

Hey, I could break his fingers, DarkDean thought to himself. Make sure he won't ever be able to hold a gun ever again, much less fire one. Dean and Coyote didn't appreciate the fact that what he was doing would benefit them, too. Dumb bastards.

He looked down again. Sam grinned up at him, wide and bloody.

Oh, shit. That wasn't right.

Sam reached up and twisted the hilt of the knife in Dean's lower side. The second heart jumped sideways like a startled thoroughbred horse. DarkDean looked down, frozen by the sudden pain that swept through his body, wide-eyed in disbelief.

Sam's eyes flared murky yellow. "Now, now…can't have you bruising this fine packaging, now can we?"

000000

A/N One:Watching those scenes in the cabin in Devil's Trap gave me the idea for Dean's trick with the bullet. John didn't die when Sam shot him, so I'm guessing that's because John was human (even tho he still had Azazel inside him) and the fact that being shot in the leg wasn't a mortal wound, like the head or heart would be. The magic or whatever's inside the bullet seemed to stun Azazel a bit, disorient him; he didn't bail immediately like you would expect him to, and he left only when John gained control and begged Sam to shoot him. I figured if Dean used his TK to nudge the bullet into hitting him in the shoulder instead of the heart his "I'm only human, please don't kill me" psyche-out would probably work, at least for a while.

A/N Two: Kachinas are supernatural entities capable of influencing the natural world. They're the guys Coyote and Dean invoked several times for help. Bear wanted in, so I let him.

Took my time writing this because I wanted this to be memorable, hopefully something ya'll had never read anywhere else, but still distinctly Supernatural. Good, bad, or indifferent, or WTF, I'd like to know what you think.

Next chapter will be posted on Friday. Faster posts after this, I promise. I've already written up most of the last remaining chapters. We're in the home stretch, folks.