Title: nothing left to lose
Summary: In hindsight, killing Dean Winchester wasn't the smartest thing Victor Henricksen ever did.
Spoilers: General for "Nightshifter" and "Folsom Prison Blues"
Pairings: None
Warnings: Character death
Category: Angst, deathfic
Word Count: 400
Disclaimer: Not mine; not getting paid; I'm just playing with them.
----
In late summer 2007, Victor Henricksen shot and killed Dean Winchester.
If Victor is totally honest with himself, he knows that he probably didn't have to shoot. The guy might have been going for a gun, but he probably wasn't, and it's a line Victor had never crossed before. But it got a murderer off the streets—permanently, this time—so Victor doesn't let himself worry about it too much. Doesn't let himself think about the surprise in Winchester's pretty hazel eyes (killer that handsome and charming had to be a sociopath) or the way he whispered "Sammy" through the blood welling up in his throat. Because yeah, those Winchesters did have a screwed-up family bond going on, and at the end it was kind of pathetic, but it doesn't make them any less sick.
So Victor doesn't think too much about Dean's death; he throws himself wholeheartedly into searching for Sam, but it's like the younger Winchester has fallen off the face of the earth. Again. No surprise there—those Winchesters are sick bastards but they're good.
Turns out, though, Victor doesn't have to worry about finding Sam, because Sam finds him.
It's three months since they buried Dean, and Victor's almost to his car when a gun barrel presses against the side of his head. Victor has pretty damn good instincts, but the kid—he's like a shadow, like he just appeared out of thin air.
Victor looks at Sam Winchester and knows he's going to die.
Despite everything, Sam had always managed to look somehow idealistic, his young eyes hopeful and almost innocent. He doesn't look like that any more. He looks like the ice-for-blood killer Victor always thought his brother was.
"How'd he die?" Sam asks, low-voiced, and Victor knows answering won't save him, but he answers anyway.
"It was quick," he says, not quite sure why he's talking—stalling, maybe, postponing the inevitable, hoping somebody will come. "He said your name. Said 'Sammy'."
A muscle twitches in Sam's jaw and his eyes glisten and for an instant he's a scared kid who just wants his big brother. Then the instant is gone, and Sam's a killer again, and he puts the gun to the side of Victor's head and pulls the trigger.
In hindsight, killing Dean Winchester wasn't the smartest thing Victor Henricksen ever did.
In fact, it was almost as stupid as underestimating Sam.
-fin-