Check: A term used in chess when a player has placed his piece in such a way as to threaten his opponent's king.

Chapter 8

Dean awoke to the sound of crickets chirping as dusk lay heavily along the treetops. He had a wicked headache and his vision was far from being useful. He had no idea how long he'd been out. The night was fast approaching so it must have been at least five or six hours, maybe more. Dean lay on the ground slowly regaining his ability to move his limbs while he became acutely aware of his surroundings.

"What the f… ?"

He was somewhere in the middle of nowhere in what looked like a forest, trees everywhere, uneven land, lots of dead trunks, scattered foliage and dirt.

"Sammy, you here?" Dean called out as he attempted to rise.

Dean's memory began to return to him, though his limbs were sadly lagging. He remembered Denton's ominous call to Sam for help, the sound of his little brother exhaling loudly, the feel of Sam tugging desperately on his leather jacket, the fall….and…Denton's cruel words as he hovered over him... "check" the bastard had declared.

"SAM!" he frantically hollered scanning the area for his fallen brother, frightening a pair of crows from their perch high above him.

Dean listened for a moment, straining to hear something- a moan, a cough, his name, anything to indicate his brother's presence. The only response was a chorus of bull frogs and the hoot of an owl, a Great Horned owl by the sound of it.

Having now regained the full use of his body, Dean began frantically searching the immediate area. God only knows what Denton had done to his little brother. He could be lying somewhere close by bleeding to death, unconscious or too injured to respond.

Hundreds of tree stumps later, after anxiously searching the surrounding woodlands calling his brother's name over and over again, Dean was gripped by an overwhelming reality…Sam wasn't there. He could only guess where his little brother was but he knew with whom.

"I'll KILL THE BASTARD when I get my hands on him." Dean shouted into the darkening forest.

Anger bubbled up from the depths of his being as he kicked the knotted tree that towered stoically beside him, ripping off its lowest branch and hurling it at the image of Denton he had projected on a distant tree stump. The limb smacked the stump's bark causing it to crumble silently to the ground.

Fear and anger began to slowly dissolve into despair. Suddenly overwhelmed by his grief, Dean fell down to his knees which sunk easily into the soft earthen floor of the forest and buried his anguished head in his hands. Tears started to fall as despair overtook the young, defeated hunter. The truth of the moment was almost too painful. He had no idea where Sam was, hell, where he was for that fact, or how far he was from his little brother to even begin to try to help him.

"Oh God, Sammy," he whispered. Dean couldn't fight the feeling that he had somehow messed up and that his little brother was paying the price. "I'm sorry, man" the broken warrior lamented.

For a moment, it seemed as if forest offered up a moment of silence in sympathy for its new inhabitant and the despair which had overcome him.

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Sam awoke to the sound of steel rubbing against steel. It was a sharp metallic sound that slowly stirred him back to consciousness. As he raised his head, he became aware that he was hanging, cruelly suspended from the ceiling, in the middle of a dimly lit basement that was musty and smelled rank.

His mind was still foggy as he began to look around to determine the origin of the sound. It didn't take long for his eyes to fix upon a figure standing back in the shadows, making motions that were difficult to see. His eyes strained to make out the menacing figure and, as if responding to a question Sam never asked, the figure moved out into the dim light. Denton. He stood before Sam, sharpening a blade that he held proudly in his hand. Slowly, he drew the blade across the steel pole, back and forth, up and down look intently at Sam with a deranged expression on his sun darkened face.

"scriiiiiiiiiiitch….scraaaaaaatch…..scriiiiiiiitch….scraaaaaatch" The sound was ominous, spelling out Sam's impending doom.

The disturbed hunter continued sharpening his beloved knife as he took pleasure in watching Sam's anxiety levels increase. The tension in the cellar was overpowering as neither of them spoke and the blade drummed out its threatening tune.

Sam's eyes took in the room around him. Judging by the spider webs and dusty residue, the place hadn't seen the likes of man for quite some time. He couldn't make out all the details of the corners and under the steps because they were partially hidden in the darkness, but it was obvious he was alone with Denton. Dean was no where to be seen.

Unable to remain silent anymore, the youngest Winchester, vulnerable to the whims of his frightening captor as he hung mercilessly shackled and unable to defend himself, dared to speak, not knowing if doing so would provoke the daunting huntsman into action.

"Where's my brother?" Sam questioned hesitatingly as he glanced up at his demoralizing captor.

"Protector, you insolent bastard!" he commandingly corrected his prey. His frigid demeanor was eerily frightening. The thought of the prey considering the protector a brother, disgusted him.

"What?" Sam whispered, confused by the response. His fear for his older brother was growing and he pressed on.

"WHERE'S MY BROTHER!" he demanded.

The blade droned out its threatening tune, " scriiiiiiiiiiiitch…scraaaaaaaaaaaaaatch …scriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch…..scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch…" and then it suddenly stopped.

"You have no brother," the calculating chessman remarked in a revolted way.

"What does that mean?" Sam questioned fearfully.

The answer Denton had given was vague and Sam was terrified that the deranged huntsman lurking before him had murdered his brother. "Oh God" Sam mouthed silently "Dean". The thought horrified Sam and he could feel his eyes start to sting as they began to tear up, his strength began to drain from his dangling body.

The malicious huntsman sneered eerily as he relentlessly honed his blade into a more lethal weapon, moving it more slowly and loudly, allowing his silence and its blood curdling sound to further terrify his prey.

"What the hell does that mean; I have no brother!" Sam demanded as his fear gave way to anger. He wanted to know, no, he needed to know what had happened to Dean.

Sam shifted uneasily and looked up at his hands, helplessly restrained above him. His eyes began desperately searching for some way to free himself from this menacing predicament and find his brother.

The spiteful hunter slowly looked up and suspended his repetitive motion. "You never did," he retorted callously.

Confused, frustrated and scared for his brother, Sam desperately questioned, "Is he alive?" fearing the answer that might follow.

Denton suspended his sharpening, looked calculatingly at his watch, and cruelly replied, "For five more minutes".

Panic gripped Sam as he began yanking relentlessly at his chains trying to free himself.

"WHERE IS HE" Sam growled through clenched teeth.

Denton continued his sharpening tune as he drew his blade more slowly across the steel pole adding a tension to the air that was suffocating. He once again glanced down at his leather strapped watch and then vindictively held up four fingers out in front of his oversized body. He fed off the fear building inside of his prey; he could smell it, feel it filling the air around them, it was exhilarating.

"What have you done to him?" Sam question as he probed Denton's heartless eyes.

He'd played Poker many times before, hell, Dean had taught him everything he knew and he'd seen his brother masterfully play. Dean always said that Sam was good at it because he could read people. He studied Denton's eyes trying to see if the cold-blooded hunter was bluffing. If he was, he was very skilled at it because at the moment, Sam couldn't detect a bluff.

When he got no response, he questioned worriedly, "What do you want with me?"

The only reply he got was the slow scritch scratch of steel against steel. The scheming hunter smiled his toothy smile and asked Sam, "You play chess?"

Sam was surprised by the question. He was tempted not to answer, suspecting a hidden agenda behind it; something was going on behind those calculating eyes. Sam decided to lay down his fears which were clouding his thinking and let his hunter instincts take over. His first thought… draw the manipulative monster out of the shadows where he was lurking; draw him in closer, close enough to make his move. The depraved huntsman had already moved just within reach according to Sam's calculations…. one more step should definitely do it.

Sam began his attempt to draw Denton in. "I prefer poker, actually, but I can play chess" he replied carefully, looking to see if he'd gotten a reaction.

Denton noticed a change in his prey's demeanor….It wasn't the fearful creature it had been moments earlier. No, it was…..calculating its next move? It was recognizing the game and was trying to play… interesting, very interesting…The devious huntsman needed to force the 'king' back into his corner, remove whatever options he seemed to think he had on this evolving chessboard. Fear, the cruel chessman considered. He needed to confuse the prey with fear.

"Three minutes" the hunter bluntly declared beginning his tormenting blade sharpening dirge, this time, even more slowly than before, all the while admiring the growing sharpness of the weapon's edge. He hadn't moved forward as Sam had hoped, and it appeared as if he might take a step back.

Sam began tugging frantically on his chains. Fearing he might lose the only opportunity he might have, he grabbed hold of the chains connected to the shackles that bound his wrists and raised himself up while thrusting his long legs out striking the unsuspecting predator in the chest. The hunter stumbled backwards towards the unforgiving floor while the knife, knocked from his calloused hand, dropped noisily beneath him.

It was an unexpected move, daring at best, but ineffective none the less, causing little to change Sam's situation and potentially angering his captor. Denton righted himself before hitting the floor, the blade which would have been sandwiched between the huntsman and the floor never met its mark. The amused chessman delighted in the tenacity of his prey.

"Nice move," he chided, "not very effective, but refreshingly unexpected."

He was impressed; he hadn't seen this side of his prey before. The malicious hunter leaned over, picked up his blade, polished it a bit with his coffee stained shirt, and began sharpening it once again, the scritch scratch of the blade driving home the point that nothing, absolutely nothing had changed. The prey was going to be checkmated eventually and there would be nothing to prevent it.

"Guess it's my move….." he said, glancing at his watch, "…in one minute" he continued, looking at Sam with his cold, unfeeling eyes.

Sam's heart began racing. "If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you!" he threatened in a deeply panicked voice while he tugged furiously at his chains. His hunting resolve had quickly dissolved at the mention of his brother's demise.

Sam's eyes widened in absolute fear as the hunter slowly raised his arm, tauntingly to look at his watch.

He smiled evilly at Sam and in a sarcastic voice said, "Aww, you're too late. The protector has been removed from the board."

"You sick son of a bitch!" Sam cried out as tears welled up in his eyes.

The thought of Dean being dead sucked the air out of Sam's lungs. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. His world began collapsing around him. Gasping, he struggled to regain his resolve, but his grief was too overwhelming. "He can't be dead…" Sam replied softly. He looked pitifully up at Denton, longing for the man to tell him it wasn't so.

The deranged predator was quite pleased at how this chess match was going. The king was feeling cornered, helpless, fearing his army was defeated and sensing his demise. He smirked and returned to the blade sharpening he had discontinued for a bit. He stared back at his prey with an arrogant smile.

Sam sensed something when he looked into the huntsman's eyes. His poker face was good, but not unreadable this time and Sammy could tell that Dean wasn't dead. Denton had probably hidden him somewhere…but…. Dean wasn't dead!

Denton was taken aback. The prey was reading the predator, studying him, searching for his weaknesses. He was clearly disarmed by the scan. The prey had just robbed the predator of his thoughts, understood the strategy he was using, and knew that he was bluffing.

Relief washed over Sam as he exhaled loudly. Dean was okay, he could feel it. For some reason, the killer standing before him had spared his brother's life. Nothing mattered now. Denton could do whatever he wanted to Sam and he could find courage in knowing that his brother was alive.

Denton, trying to regain control of the board, to re-instill fear back into the prey, knew there was only one way to do it. He began sharpening the blade again. He touched the point and recoiled quickly as blood began to well up on his finger. He put it to his lips, sucked on it, and grinned maliciously back at his "Supernatural". The blade was finished.

Sam, seriously uncomfortable with what he feared was coming soon, continued. "What are you going to do with me?"

"What John should have done with you the day you were born!" the sick hunter barked.

Sam's eyes flew wide open. He knew the hunter intended to kill him. "Why!" he demanded. "Why the games? Why me? Is it just because I have visions? Does that make me so evil?"

"You…" the mad hunter shook his head. With absolute hatred he bellowed out his words dripping with revulsion and malice, " You are an abomination! Pure evil! How dare you ask 'why me'!

The old hunter paused, clearly finding himself tipping over the edge. The king, without any other chess pieces on the board to assist him, had momentarily cornered his oponent, turning his calculating mind into a mess of anger. He suddenly became eerily quiet and then calmly and callously whispered, "You must be destroyed."

Before he finished his sentencing, the vicious huntsman had flung the newly sharpened blade directly at Sam. The young, defenseless man saw it happen as if in slow motion. The knife left Denton's hand, its blade honed to a deadly sharpness, its tip a perfect point, and carved through the air with expert precision. Sam defensively twisted in a futile attempt to move out of its path. It hit slightly to the right of his ribcage and sank deep into Sam's flesh, slicing through layers of tissue that hung on his lanky frame.

The pain was unimaginable. Just as lightening shatters a midnight sky, sending fingers of light off in many directions, the pain shattered his body and splintered out to the very ends of his being. Sam gasped as the blade seared into his chest, slicing through skin and muscle, finding its resting place along side a bone. He glanced down, shocked to see the knife's handle protruding from his pain filled body, which now started to leak his crimson blood down the side of his shirt. He glanced back up at the cold-blooded killer standing before him, stunned, anguish leaking from his eyes.

Denton grinned as he sauntered up to Sam's helpless body. "You must be destroyed," he reiterated, "…but not before you are punished for what you are and what you would have done if allowed to exist." With that, Denton grasped the handle, jutting out from Sam's torso, cruelly twisted it and yanked it out.

Sam's eyes began to tear from the pain before it built to a level that he could no longer manage. He cried out, and then gasped, trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving, and his body uncontrollably shivering, he gradually slid into unconsciousness.

The vindictive hunter seemed unfazed by his prey's loss of consciousness. He began to tremble with hatred again and proclaimed, with malice in his voice, only inches from the unaware young hunter's face, " I'll make an example out of you...," he continued, " a message,that abominations like you will not be allowed to prey on the innocent anymore."