Chapter 11

The devious hunter began his slow descent down the rickety basement stairs with a can of gasoline in his calloused, blood stained hand. A box of wooden matches bulged in his torn jean pocket. His demeanor was malicious and arrogant.

"Time to purge the world of another 'Supernatural' freak," he cruelly boasted hoping to terrify his helpless prey. "You're gonna go out in style, Sammy boy." "In fact," he laughed maliciously, "you're gonna set the house on fire."

The ruthless hunter continued arrogantly down the stairs as he spoke, not bothering to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting that lay below him. His heavy footsteps boasted of his oversized frame and weight. The decaying wooden stairs creaked and moaned as they were imposed upon to hold him.

"First, we're gonna clean those wounds of yours…..with gas-o-leeeeen" the cold-hearted degenerate callously remarked, "and then, when you wake up to the agonizing sting of petrol in your open wounds and your pained eyes plead for mercy, I'm gonna strike the match…."

"Click"

Denton stopped abruptly at the bottom of the staircase when he heard the click of a .45 being readied to fire.

"Dean" the huntsman stated flatly turning to look beneath the steps.

"Looks like" Dean retorted, his voice deep and threatening, his words dripping with hate.

"The protector rallies…," Denton quipped with a smug look on his partially shadowed face "…impressive, a little late, but none the less impressive," the evil hunter acknowledged. It was clear he was taking pleasure in the newest challenge his opponent presented in this deadly game of chess.

"I aim to please" Dean hissed sarcastically through clenched teeth, his eyes sharp as daggers, his .45 aimed directly at Denton's head.

"Thought you were smarter than this" the old hunter disappointingly chided.

Attempting to confuse and test the determined protector by personalizing the conversation a bit, Denton continued. "I pity you...

"Really? Huh...I was thinkin the same thing." Dean interjected, icicles hanging solidly from his words, as he continued to hold his .45 aimed between the huntsman's eyes.

Denton, amused by the protector's ordasity, continued. "You've been used, Dean… manipulated by a God damned 'supernatural'! It has cunningly deceived you into protecting it, defending it, even loving it as a brother."

"Yeah? Well,... at least I got a family." Dean quipped. ..."The way I see it, you're all alone" he continued spitefully.

"Oh, and just for your information, if anyones doin any deceiving and manipulating around here, that would be you" Dean countered continuing his casual demeanor wondering how long he could keep his weapon's charade going.

In his concern for his fallen brother, the soldier in him had forgotten to pull double duty, to be a medic and a sentry. Denton's arrival had caught him off guard. He had no time to study his surroundings in order to use them to his advantage. He had taken up position under the staircase to avoid detection, however, the needed weapons to eliminate the enemy lay beyond reach on the solid wooden bench.

Dean's thoughts roamed back to Sam. Dean couldn't see his brother from where he was. Denton had deliberately positioned himself between them. Feeling his emotions begin to rise to the surface where they might be detected and used against him, the young hunter turned them off, shut them down as he had been trained to do.

Denton, annoyed with Dean's audacity, continued. You know what a freak is, Dean?"

"Don't even get me started," Dean cooly replied keeping Denton engaged as he considered his options.

"...evil personified, Dean, a weapon designed to annihilate the innocent, an abomination…that's what this freak is." he said, callously pointing to the collapsed body of his prey. Woulda thought by now you'd recognize evil when you came face to face with it, hell, you been huntin it practically all your life!"

Dean stared accusingly at Denton, his eyes burrowing deep into the huntsman's soul, his weapon trained directly ahead. "Oh, don't worry; I know evil when I see it."

The chessman, annoyed by the protector's implication stated indignantly, "You may be a noble warrior in an honorable war, but here you're fighting for the wrong side. Your commitment is commendable; but your cause…. is repulsive!

Hearing his little brother described as a loathsome inhuman thing, a freak, a 'repulsive abomination', with such revulsion infuriated Dean. His professional composure began to dissolve as hatred grew within him. It was blinding. His emotions began taking over causing him to falter with a moment of confusion.

The brother inside of him wanted nothing more than to splatter the bastard's head all over the cement wall behind him and bask in the hollow stare of his dead eyes for what he had done to Sam. The sick son of a bitch deserved nothing less. But, without a loaded weapon, Dean's revenge would have to be more physical, straight out, one on one, a struggle of wit and strength, a fight to the death. Surely the sick hunter should be killed with one of his own weapons, used mercilessly, as it had been used on Sam, until he lay dead on the floor.

The more objective soldier in him, recognizing that his weapon was inoperable and that the enemy was entrenched between himself and the civilian he was duty bound to protect, knew he must first reposition himself and then engage his enemy in mortal combat. Clarity struck him, clearing a path straight through the densely wooded forest of his warrior emotions, revealing his next move to him; he was both a brother and a soldier and his next move would blend the two. It would be……

"Ever play chess?" the calculating huntsman slyly questioned deliberately interrupting the young protector's thoughts, trying to engage his opponent as he adjusted his strategy to the unexpected shift in the game. His eyes searched the piece before him attempting to determine its next move…..chastisement or revenge.

"Actually, I prefer poker," Dean seethingly retorted to the depraved man that stood before him.

Denton, recognizing the protector had not exacted his revenge, having been given plenty of opportunity and words that should have provoked the pull of a trigger, became suspicious.

"Ah, poker" the huntsman acknowledged, smiling evilly, his eyes communicating a discovery… "A game of deception, not as sophisticated as chess, but having its own merits," he continued as he took a step towards Sam's semi-hidden form barely covered by Dean's leather jacket. He seemed to show no concern for the weapon the young hunter held aimed at his head.

"Stay back." Dean stated flatly with venom in his voice as he continued to project his weapon's charade. Realizing the window might be closing, he decided it was now or never. "Get down flat on your stomach, hands straight out in front of you..."

"Chess…now chess is a game for hunters" Denton continued unphased as he secretly unscrewed the cap on the gas can and placed a small rag into its opening. "It's a complicated game that requires great skill and strategy…. evaluating your opponent and the threat that he poses, acting….. reacting…. you know ,….. you make your move……. I make mine…" The shadows in the dimly lit room covered both his movements and his demeanor. Only his words and the tone with which he spoke painted a picture of the battle that was about to begin.

Unable to see clearly with his opponent lurking in the shadows and sensing a need to get himself between Denton and Sam, Dean began circling the huntsman heading in his younger sibling's direction. He continued his facade, though he was fairly confident at this point that it was known as just that, by both players. Denton was better at poker than Dean had realized. His game had been turned back on him; His weapon was no longer perceived by the huntsman as a threat, maybe never was, although when and how he knew was beyond the experienced gambler.

"It's not your move" the huntsman authoritatively reprimanded as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a match. "Guess the chess master will decide who gets purged tonight," he quipped as he struck it and moved to ignite the dangling piece of cloth hanging purposely from the can.

Dean threw his useless weapon to the floor and literally flew at the oversized hunter; his bare hands extinguished the match instantly before it could ignite the rag and potentially cause Sam any additional harm.

Denton took the full impact of Dean's enraged body poorly, his head making an abrupt acquaintance with the solid basement floor. The gas can fell noisily much in the same way Denton did, only its injuries were imperceptible. Fortunately, the rag remained stuffed inside helping to keep the flammable liquid from swimming across the floor, though now the fumes were threatening to become an issue.

The stunned hunter had been surprised by the swiftness of the protector's actions though his dedication to the prey was not unexpected. Perhaps he had underestimated this piece on the chess board. The protector wasn't a pawn, limited in movement and easy to capture, as he had first thought, no, he was more like the queen, infinitely more powerful capable of moving anywhere across the board in defense of the king. Denton vowed not to make that same mistake again, not that the protector would be among the living for long, he reasoned…even queens can be captured. It had become clear that the only way to kill his prey was to go through the protector. The 'queen' had to die.

The cruel hunter responded almost instantaneously, his reaction and response, though slower than Dean's, were expertly executed. As the young hunter spent his energy and attention righting the gas can, the predator made his next move. He violently rolled to his left, tossing the protector to the opposite side of him from the prey.

"My move?" Denton taunted as he moved towards his prey, striking a second match against the cement floor. He knew it probably wouldn't light, in fact, with all the fumes in the room right now, he hoped it wouldn't, but the motion would definitely distract the annoying young hunter, thus giving the huntsman the edge. The misguided protector was determined, to a fault, to save the prey. He was counting on it.

Dean righted himself easily and lunged for the unlit match. The scheming hunter made his move, grabbing him by the throat and mercilessly hurling him back to the floor. The impact was intense. Dean felt his ribs give way to a world of pain as he heard the crack that accompanied it. A direct hit to Dean's head followed, causing his world to spin momentarily. His father's training enabled him to focus and recover quickly.

Denton, though annoyed that the protector was not down for the count, smiled and egged him on.

Fisting his hand, Dean countered with a strike so forceful it sent Denton reeling. He followed up with another solid hit and shoved the murderous hunter in the opposite direction, away from Sam.

Now bloodied, the aged hunter experienced a tidal wave of pain as he crashed into the wooden bench covered with the bloody weapons which had been his arsenal against his prey hours earlier. He smiled a toothy smile, grabbed the closest weapon, and before Dean could take cover, threw the well aimed knife in his direction.

The blade met its mark, plunging deep into Dean's left shoulder causing him to gasp and stumble back, nearly tripping on his little brother lying helplessly on the floor behind him.

"Son of a Bitch!" he cried out.

Dean's left arm was rendered practically useless. He knew he had to end this and soon. It wasn't a battle of pride or wits, a battle to prove who was right and who was wrong. It wasn't even a game of chess anymore. It was a battle for life, his life and Sammy's.

Wrapping his trembling, bloody fingers securely around the handle and praying that the knife was a straight edge, Dean tore it from his flesh. He was sickened by the wet, sucking sound it made as it was removed. He was starting to feel light headed when he looked up at Denton.

The cold-hearted predator gleamed, pleased with himself as he watched the protector stumble. He arrogantly began counting aloud the number of seconds it would take for the wounded warrior to drop. He had anticipated 10, maybe 15 seconds at best.

"ONE," he declared loudly, cruelly taunting the pained young hunter who held the bloodied weapon in his hand unable to wield it.

"Twooooooo………."

Dean heard the number as if spoken under water as his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. It was garbled and confusing.

"Threeeeeee………" Denton's sickening smile mocked the struggling Winchester as he stumbled and swayed having lost his bearings…up from down. He unwillingly sank to his knees.

"Foooooour"…..He mercilessly continued.

"Fivvvvvvvvve….." The numbers penetrated deep into the fog of Dean's pain filled mind.

Surprisingly, the protector, Denton surmised, was a more challenging opponent than expected; of course, queens usually are. Nevertheless, the egotistical hunter knew his victory was close at hand. He could see it in his eyes. The soldier was losing his strength, his fight, his will. He could see the protector's chess piece being captured before his eyes and knew that the prey's piece was soon to be checkmated.

"Ssssss..i….x"

Dean's vision swirled around in front of him in slow motion as he looked over to Sam and back again to his little brother's tormentor. He was Sammy's only chance of survival. Denton was a sickening excuse for a human being and Dean would be damned if he'd leave his younger brother to be victimized any more by him. Fear and love for his brother renewed the warrior heart in him and gave him a strength that was unexplainable. With eyes blackened in rage and teeth clenched, he summoned all his anger and hurled it in the form of the knife he held in his bloodied hand, at the gloating hunter.

Dean's aim was literally dead on. The blade drove deep into the deranged hunter's chest, slicing between his ribs and piercing his heart. Gasping for air his lungs and damaged heart could not provide, the overcome huntsman looked at Dean in shock as his body began to slowly bleed out. The defeated hunter looked at the protector with a desperate, pleading expression.

The eldest Winchester brother coldly stared back into his dying eyes."Go back to hell where you came from!" Dean commanded.

"I..I'll b..be wwwai...ting f..for y..you.", Denton stuttered breathlessly. Then he dropped to the floor like a massive redwood tree that had just been denatured by a ruthless lumber jack and exhaled his last breath upon his arrival there.

Dean watched as Denton's ruthlessly cold, unfeeling eyes closed for the last time.

"Checkmate," Dean declared through clenched teeth as he stared briefly at the fallen hunter.

The match was over. The protector had prevailed; the predator's king had been removed from the board.

Dean's word hung in the air for a brief moment interrupted only by the sound of Sam's distressed breathing.

"Sam?"

Dean's attention was quickly drawn behind him to his brother's wheezing sounds. His broken body struggled to capture the few breaths of fresh air the gas fumes had forgotten to overcome.

Sam stirred having been aroused by the battle that had ensued around him which had shattered the quiet unconsciousness of his mind. His body shuddered as shock began to gradually overtake him

"SAM!" Dean hollered when he saw his brother trembling, painfully drawing air in and out, in and out with great difficulty. His bloodied chest struggled to rise; his lungs begged for more air.

Dean stumbled to his fading sibling, gently touching his arm to let him know he was there. He tried to settle his brother's shaking hands, but was unsuccessful.

"Shhh, Sam, shhh."

Sam slowly struggled to open his eyes, the swelling making it impossible to get but a glimpse of his brother. His lips moved but no sound came out. Dean clearly recognized even in the dim lighting that it was his name Sam was trying to say.

"I'm here, Sammy…. It's over," he offered, hoping his voice and words would soothe and give comfort to his suffering sibling. He wrapped his right hand around his little brother's and grasped it firmly enough to let Sam know he was there.

Dean's vision blurred slightly as his own pain and loss of blood began to threaten him as well. He pushed on past his own dizziness, fully focusing on his brother. He was determined to remain at Sammy's side; he would not allow his little brother to slip away.

Returning his attention to Sam, Dean began to asses his brother's condition. He lifted his leather jacket which rested gently on top of him and glanced over his brother's broken body, tearing as the damage and pain his sibling was enduring overwhelmed him. He readjusted his bloodied shirt over the deepest wound on Sam's side in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding and recovered him when he saw his little brother begin to shiver from the cold air as it blanketed his exposed chest.

Dean, hearing no emergency vehicles or sirens yet, worried that the ambulance was still too far away. He'd made the call more than 25 minutes ago. The farmhouse had been out in the middle of nowhere and he feared help would come too late.

Sammy's eyes fixed on Dean for a moment, a tear silently made its way along his temple and down his bloodied ear.

Dean gently wiped the tear away, smiled sympathetically into his brother's surrendering face, and nodded his head. He knew what Sammy's eyes were saying and he understood. With tears welling to the point of blurring his vision further, Dean watched as his little brother's eyes rolled back in his head; his hand stopped shaking as it fell lifelessly down to his side.

"No" Dean barely whispered. "Aw, Sammy."

He reached out his hand and rested it on Sam's chest comforted by its rise and fall, even though labored. His brother was still with him. In the brief moment when their eyes had met, his little brother had begged him to let him go. Though Dean understood Sam's need to be free of the pain, having exhausted all that he had trying to make it through... Dean couldn't do it; he just couldn't let his little brother go. Not now, not ever,...not like this.

"I'm here, little brother." Dean reassured. "You stay here with me" Dean's soft voice cracked under the sadness that was overwhelming him.

The soft wail of sirens could finally be heard off in the distance growing louder with each passing minute. Dean sat with his little brother on the cold floor readjusting his leather jacket once again while gently attempting to wipe the blood from his little brother's face.

He looked at his brother's helpless, unconscious form longing to take away his pain- all that he had suffered in the past twenty four hours, hell, the past week… month…. year, damn….. lifetime.

A deep sadness fell like a heavy woolen blanket over him. Sam looked so young to Dean, so vulnerable. How could someone so young have suffered so much? The death of a parent, hell, two parents with the weight of guilt Sammy had placed on himself, and then there was Jess; that alone would have crushed anyone. Then Caleb and Pastor Jim, Sam blamed himself for both of their deaths…and now this, brutalized at the hands of a madman. Dean sadly shook his head.

"Damn, Sammy, I never wanted this for you, hell, I never wanted any of this for you."

Sam began to cough and it became evident, as his older brother had feared, he had internal injuries.

Dean moved in closer, almost face to face, and gently wiped the blood from his little brother's mouth as tears welled up and made their escape down his anguished face.

"If you can hear me, Sam, fight this. Please, Sammy" he pleaded.

The sound of the ambulance, the rush of the medics, the hollers for equipment, the questions, the paddles, the oxygen mask, the blood…it all swirled in slow motion around Dean as he became overwhelmed and succumbed to his injuries, joining his little brother in the sweet world of oblivion.

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Author's note: SPOILER WARNING

Let me put your minds at ease, this is not a death fic for our sweet boys, they have only lost consciousness…so please don't kill the author! (smiling…still smiling, phew….. no tomatoes….yet….)