Dean looked down at the remains of the family with an arm wrapped around his stomach, willing his lunch to stay down. It shouldn't be affecting him like this, not when this was the third family he'd seen like it just this month.
A whole family torn to pieces- parents, grandparents, children. Every single one of them, coating the walls, the furniture, every last piece of them scattered around him.
The scent of blood was thick and it twisted his stomach so badly that, for a moment, he thought he was about to lose his meagre meal.
There was a slight scuffling sound and his gun came up immediately, slowly moving towards the source. It was coming from down the hall, from inside a closet. The sound stopped as he got closer, but he could hear the faint sound of fabric shifting behind the door. Steeling himself, he grabbed the doorknob and pointed his gun, only to bring it back down and curse when he saw what was inside.
A kid, no older than four or five, flinched hard at the sight of him and curled around the small bundle in his arms. A bundle that Dean could see was a baby. The kid was shaking and holding the baby close to him, even moving to try to shield the baby from him.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm here to help," Dean said reassuringly, putting the gun in the back of his pants and kneeling down. "I'm Dean. Are you guys okay?"
The boy peeked up at him with one eye, then slowly lifted his head up to look at him. "Is he gone?" He whispered.
"Is who gone?"
"The… The man. The tall man," he said, voice still a whisper. Whether it was from shock, fear, or just trying not to jostle the baby too much, Dean didn't know. "The man that put us in here."
"What did he look like?" Dean asked, trying to keep his voice even. Dimly, he could hear his dad outside, moving around. "Did he say anything?"
The kid shook and buried his face in the bundle, whole body starting to shake. "I want momma," he could hear him whisper. "I want daddy."
He didn't dare look back at the kid's parents' remains.
"Let's get you outta this closet and outside, alright bud?" Dean suggested, reaching for him. "And then we can-"
The kid jerked back hard, holding the baby impossibly closer to him. "You can't take him, you can't!" He said, almost imploringly. "He told me not to let go!"
"Not let go of what?"
"My brother," the kid whispered, voice shaking as he buried his face in the bundle once more, the bundle that was still asleep, innocent and untouched by the carnage that had happened outside the closet door. "He told me to never let go of him. Cause that's my job, I gotta look after him, cause I'm older."
Dean swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, the words all too familiar and ringing in his ears.
Along with his failure.
"Yeah, that's true," he said hoarsely. "And you're doing a great job, buddy. But now it's time to get outta the closet here, we gotta get you someplace safe."
"Are mommy and daddy gonna be there?"
"Maybe." He didn't have the heart to lie to him but he also couldn't tell the truth. ""But you gotta get outta here first."
"With my little brother?"
Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Yeah," he whispered. "With your little brother." He slid his jacket off and used it to cover the boy and his baby brother, carefully picking the both of them up. The kid reached for his shirt, his hand curling into the fabric as he stubbornly held onto his brother.
"I gotta take care of you," Dean could hear him whisper to the baby. "Cause that's my job."
He forced himself to swallow, keeping a hand on the back of the kid's head to prevent him from looking at the carnage, and walked on and away from the house, each step taking a great deal of strength that he didn't know how long would last.
"We saw the broken door and called the police. I went inside to see if there was anything I can do to help," Dean recited in a monotone voice. "I'm an EMT in training, I wanted to help if there was anyone that I could. All I found was… What you saw. And the kids in the closet."
"So he killed two other kids, but for some reason, he spared these two," the officer surmised, shaking his head. "Anything else?"
"No," Dean told him. "Just… Just what was there."
The officer nodded, closing his notepad. "Next time, don't go on the scene son, first thing you should know, don't-"
"Contaminate a crime scene," Dean finished. "I know. Just wanted to help."
"I get it, I do," the officer said sympathetically. "You're free to go son, thank you for your time."
Dean nodded and walked away, joining his dad in the hallway. "Anything?"
John handed him a cup of coffee- it was cheap and barely real coffee, as hospital coffee always sucked, but Dean shot it back gratefully all the same. They walked away from the room, passing one window through which Dean could see the kid; crying and still holding onto his baby brother.
He felt his stomach clench. He decided to blame it on the bad coffee.
"Same as the others," John said as they put some distance between them and the police. "Bodies completely ripped to shreds, no organ in particular is missing, but also in pieces. Kid showed no sign of trauma so that means he didn't hear any screams or anything like that."
"So it was like a… One time thing, before they even had a chance to scream?" Dean asked, throwing the cup into the trashcan they passed. "What the hell could even do that?"
"There was a forced entry, the broken door tells us that," John said, voice flat as he listed. "The television was on and there was burnt food on the stove, meaning that the family was awake and possibly together. Whoever came in either saw the family and decided on the spot. Or…"
"Or they were watching and picked this family in particular," Dean finished for him. "He grabs the family, has time to shove the kid and baby in the closet, and just… What? Eviscerated the rest of them?"
"It was hard to tell but they weren't cut, the pieces weren't sliced, they were jagged and rough, meaning that most likely, done by hand."
"Or by something else," Dean said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The kid's lack of reaction is what seals it. He wasn't acting like he heard screaming or crying. For him, he was put in the closet and he stayed there until I came. Door wasn't locked either, so that means the kid chose not to come out."
"Did he say anything? About the guy?"
"Said he was tall. And that he told him to look after the baby, cause that's his job." Dean tried but couldn't completely keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Said he had to look after his little brother."
His dad didn't say anything for a moment. Then he placed his hand on his shoulder. "Dean…" His voice had gone soft.
Dean shrugged it off, walking forward. "This makes the third family. They have nothing in common. We can't find any signs of anything supernatural other than them being torn into pieces, which, like you said, looked like it was by hand. They came from different backgrounds, different styles of life, religion. Nothing links them with the others. Other than their deaths."
"And this time, with two survivors, almost like they were chosen," John added, shaking his head. "I got no clue, son."
"Me either," Dean agreed, reaching their respective cars. "Bobby?"
"Already let him know, he said he'll get back to us."
"Great," Dean said, without humor or confidence. "Time to get a drink."
"Dean-" he hated his dad's delicate tone of voice. "-maybe you should cut down on the drinking? I can't remember seeing you actually ingest something that wasn't alcohol."
"Had a bagel this morning. I'm fine."
"Half a bagel. If that."
"Dad, I'm fine!" Dean said firmly, staring his dad in the eye. "Drop it. I'm getting a drink, join me if you want."
Not giving him a chance to say anything else, Dean got into the Impala, closing the door tightly behind him. He spared a moment to glance at the empty passenger seat, a habit he still couldn't break. Jaw clenched and shifting side to side, he started the car and got onto the road towards their motel, tongue curling in his mouth.
He really needed a drink.
He didn't end up going to the bar, remembering he still had a few bottles left from the last town in the trunk. He got into his room and locked the door behind him; it wouldn't stop his dad from coming in, but it would give Dean a couple extra seconds.
He ignored the second bed, not even putting anything on it. He threw his jacket to the side and collapsed onto the bed closest to the door, groaning slightly as his hand fumbled for one of the bottles he'd kept nearby for just this. He finally managed to grip one, not caring which one, and brought it up, turning onto his back so that he could pour it into his mouth a bit better, choking slightly as too much sloshed in and coughed, swallowing with some difficulty.
He relished in the burn of the drink, even as it made his stomach cramp and bile fill his mouth. Could be from the alcohol, could be from the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he had an actual meal.
Every time he tried to eat, he ended up getting only a few bites in before throwing up, so it was easier to just have an all liquid diet.
Also, at times, if he was lucky, it made the nightmares go away. You can't really dream if you get blackout drunk after all.
Dean stared up at the ceiling, unseeing, and brought the bottle up again, taking a deep pull. He drank until it hurt and coughed again, feeling his eyes getting heavier and closing them. He couldn't really focus on anything other than his own beating heart that sounded too loud and overpowering in his ears, so much so that he was tempted to reach into his chest and rip it out.
Not like he had much use for it at this point.
His hand came up to his chest, fumbling for something that wasn't there anymore. He had spent years getting used to the weight of the amulet, used to the leather cord digging into his neck, used to reaching up to grip it in reassurance.
But it wasn't anything there anymore, had been melted and destroyed in fire along with-
"Dean, it's okay. I'm okay like this, promise. Please don't send me away."
-the rest of his heart, hence why he no longer needed the organ beating in his chest.
Bringing the bottle up, he took another swallow, throat working as he drank the rest of it, letting the bottle hit the ground before he turned onto his side and curled into a ball. Closing his eyes, he already knew it was going to be a sleepless night.
Whatever scenes played in his head during the night, they were encompassed completely in fire and blood, Sam's pleas audible over the rest.
"Please don't do this!"
He didn't get that much sleep anymore.
I do not own Supernatural.
At this point, I don't think I'll catch up with the 365 but I'll give it a try anyway.
6/365
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