"This place is even dark in the daytime," Dean noted as he and Sam stood in the middle of the warehouse, waiting patiently for the soul-sucker to rear its ugly head, "how long has it been since the maid cleaned? If she was my maid, I'd-"
"Bang her in my body?" Sam interrupted, cheerfully.
"I was gonna say I would fire her, then have fun. Less chance for a lawsuit."
"Oh, you are the master."
"Got that right," Dean smirked.
"Boys," their father hissed from his hiding place in the warehouse rafters, "keep it clean, please. I really don't need to hear about this."
"Sorry," they both whispered as something far off in the warehouse clunked loudly behind them. The brothers turned to find that a small tennis shoe had fallen into one of aisles of boxes and crates.
Slowly, Dean approached the shoe, keeping his eyes open for the soul-sucker as he did so. It appeared to be the shoe of a young girl, white and pink with a big picture of Hilary Duff on the side. He turned and looked up the aisle to find the witch staring at him, her eyes gleaming hollowly in dark sockets.
"So good to see you again," she hissed, pushing Dean back down the aisle, where he ran into Sam, knocking him to the ground, "I do so hate to leave a meal unfinished." Slowly, she slid over the dirty floor, getting closer to her intended victims, not finding it suspicious at all that they weren't running. They both seemed to be unconscious.
John gulped back his fear. He wasn't scared for himself, was hardly ever scared for himself nowadays. It was his boys. Sam… no, Dean had been thrown back through the building and had collided with his brother. The plan had been to stay put, but he hadn't been able to resist the urge to investigate the shoe.
Now both of his sons were lying on the cold ground, their eyes closed. Were they faking, or really in trouble? Did he need to abandon the plan and save them?
The witch grew closer, grabbing the boys' clothes in her grimy hands and lifting them off the floor. John felt helpless as he raised his gun and waited. The vapor, he needed to wait to see the vapor. But what if couldn't from his vantage point? What if he was positioned at the wrong angle? What if his sons died because of his own inability to protect them?
Finally, from Dean's mouth (or was it Sam's?) he noticed the first hint of a pale yellow smoke, just a little bit, but enough for him to tighten his grip on the gun and correct his aim. The witch inhaled deeply, drawing more yellow mist from his son's mouth and causing purple vapor to leak from the other's nostrils.
Now or never, John thought as both colors swirled and entered the witch's mouth. He pulled the trigger, launching a silver bullet straight at the creature's heart. The precious metal made contact, ripping through the creature's chest and embedding itself deeply in the warehouse wall.
The witch released his sons, who fell to the floor in a heap as the colored vapors returned to their bodies. He just hoped that everything had gone as plan and the souls had returned to their rightful owners.
The soul-sucker began to stagger, clutching at her chest and shrieking with unearthly power and volume as she disintegrated and fell to the ground beside Sam and Dean, turning to black dust as her cloaked body hit concrete.
John smiled. It was over. He wished he could stick around and see how things had worked out for his boys, but there a werewolf in the Rockies howling his name. he climbed slowly down from his place in the rafters and walked up to his sons. They were out of it. Maybe that was for the best.
