Dean struggled up the gentle hill to the orphanage. The wet ground made it difficult to keep his footing. His leg throbbed, showing him not a bit of mercy. The rain picked up, driving into his eyes and mouth as he puffed and wheezed each breath.
Stopping halfway up to catch his breath, Dean gripped a partially decayed post, leaned into it for a second. He'd promised Sam…promised him…that thing wouldn't get them, wouldn't take Sam, wouldn't snatch Dean away. Anger well up, bubbled over and erupted.
"Goddamn!" Dean let loose; his foot flying into the post, which did nothing but add insult to his wounded leg. His head filled with thoughts of his brother, in there, alone, having just seen Dean stolen away, pulled into some dark cloud. He had no idea where in the orphanage Sam was. They'd come in through the front of the building. Dean had been tossed to the back.
"Was that helpful?"
A shiver ripped down Dean's spine, he spun, nearly throwing himself off balance. "Would you stop sneaking up on me?"
Craven snorted. "Some hunter you are." He pointed at the orphanage. "I couldn't find more than four of them, the other hunters."
"Did they see you?"
"Please."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam?"
"I found him, but I couldn't get to him. He's trapped in some sort of lower room, under the main floor." Craven looked down at his feet. Dean wasn't sure, but he thought the ghost lost some color, became more transparent for the briefest of instants. "I already told you, the only one who can fight that thing, that demon, is you."
"Is he okay?"
Craven sighed, and Dean found himself wondering, as Concha had, why did he do that? "He's stuck in a dirt room under a floor, alone, and only partially able to defend himself against that demon. How do you think he is?"
Dean growled. "Is he hurt? Were you able to talk to him?" Pushing away from the rotting wood post, Dean limped as fast as he was able.
"I couldn't get close. I don't think he was hurt, or at least not badly." Craven actually sidestepped when Dean's eyes slid in his direction for a few beats. "They know he's there. Who is Steve? They were talking about Sam paying for some Steve."
Running one hand over his forehead, trying to find relief from the constant rain running in his eyes, Dean groaned. "Steve Wandell. Year and a half or so ago, Sam was…" Even now saying it churned Dean's insides, squeezed his heart into a too small place. "A demon we'd dealt with before, she wanted revenge. Possessed Sam, made him do things." Dean stopped, braced hands against knees and fought a wave of dizziness. "He slit that guy's throat. Wandell, he was a hunter. That and the visions, things others heard, wrong things, makes some of them think Sam is some monster. That he's going to—" He couldn't even continue, say the words.
"That's why your father told you you'd have to kill him?" Craven asked quietly.
Dean stared at the ground, rain mixed with tears to blur the grass. He nodded. "I told Sam, the only person who could choose to make him evil was him."
"You were right."
Lifting his head, meeting Craven's eyes, Dean saw sympathy and earnest belief. Hearing someone say he was right made all the difference. He was grateful beyond words, knowing he wasn't the only one bent on keeping his brother safe, whole, alive. "Sam would never hurt anything, never kill some innocent man. It's hard for him; he doesn't know what he did. The bitch had him for a week, he lost a week."
"I don't think those men in there are as compassionate."
Nodding, Dean straightened and staggered the remaining distance. Reaching the building, he found a door, boarded as the others had been. The wood had warped and bent from unknown years of exposure. Ignoring pain lancing through his fingers, Dean worked and pushed in until he had a good enough grip and managed, with a wordless shout between clenched teeth, to jerk the board free.
Slipping inside he followed Craven's directions, leading him back to where he and Sam had been attacked and separated. They stopped just outside the records' room. Craven silently pointed over Dean's shoulder. Pressed to the wall just outside the room, Dean hunkered down, close to the wall and stretched far enough to see inside the room. Toward the back, near the last place Dean remembered Sam standing, was a dark, nasty gash where the floorboards there splintered and cracked, creating a gouge probably just large enough for Sam to have fallen through.
From his angle, Dean couldn't see into the dark hole. He couldn't hear much besides the voices of the men standing guard over the hole. The hole his brother was in. Dean wasn't so concerned with the hole; those were easy. A bit of rope and Sam would be free of the hole. Even if injured in the fall into the hole, Dean could deal. He figured it must be a deep enough hole Sam couldn't extract himself, or he would have climbed out right after dropping in.
It was pretty obvious by the men's stance, how they looked down, then up at each other, there was someone—Sam—down in that hole. Dean could only hope there wasn't a something too. Quieting his breathing, stilling every muscle, Dean melted against the wall, listening, able to hear every movement of clothing, every word spoken.
Their conversation confirmed, they had Sam, whether by design or accident, Dean didn't know. It didn't change the fact they now knew Sam was trapped in the room below their feet, at their mercy. Leaning his head back against the wall, taking a few deep breaths, Dean considered his options. It didn't take him a lot of time. His options were pretty limited.
He could get a few shots off. If he was darn lucky get two of them before they got him. Which left Sam completely at their mercy, as one stated, like shooting fish in a barrel. One shot would drop his brother; he'd have no hope of escape. He could try distracting them long enough, and hope Sam might be able to climb out, but that brought him back to the thought, if Sam could have he would have already.
Option three was try and draw at least one of them out here, increase his odds. Craven flickered into sight near his right elbow, crouched down, mimicking Dean's position. Tipping his head toward the men, Dean raised one eyebrow. "I need them separated."
Craven cracked a grin, looked downright gleeful. Dean swallowed a chuckle. "Maybe I can get one out here. Throw something, make some small noise."
Nodding, Dean felt around next to his leg until his fingertips brushed something small and metallic. One quick movement had it scooped up, a flick of his wrist and it whizzed through the air, clanking off the wall opposite him.
The voices in the room hushed. Dean heard the men moving around. Craven disappeared from his side, reappeared a second later in the doorway. Waved cheerfully at the room's occupants and vanished again, only to reappear at Dean's side grinning like a loon.
Footsteps, barely audible, closed the distance to the hall, and Dean. He doubtless ever saw Dean coming. Slipping up the wall, using it as a brace against his back to make up for his wounded leg, Dean saw the man's eyes widen as he oozed out of the shadows, a shadow himself, and struck fast and sure. Seconds later the man was unconscious, tied and gagged with his own shirt.
The other men fanned out, moved away from the hole in the floor, away from Sam. Dean heard their boots hitting the floor, in three distinctly, subtly different patterns.
This was as good as it was likely going to get.
Pistol up and ready, it preceded him through the door. He wheeled around, shoulder pressed to the door jam, covering his limp as much as possible, Dean filled the doorway. He didn't give them time to recover from the shock of seeing him, he moved just far enough into the room to be clear of the door, barking, "Where's Sam?"
One guy, young and painfully skinny jerked forward. Without so much as a flinch Dean fired. The kid recoiled; ducked away as the bullet went by him, close enough Dean was sure he probably felt its wind against his ear before slamming through the wall beyond.
"Y-you m-m-missed."
"No. I didn't." Dean kept the kid pinned where he was with a glare. He was acutely aware of the other two just a bit farther away and to the left.
One of them took one step, stopped, eyes focused on Dean as if he were some ghoul to be hunted, or a dangerous, wild animal to be out maneuvered. Dean let his gaze slide for a second to this man, pegging him immediately as the leader. The shudder wanting to creep down his spine was suppressed. Ears attuned to any movement, sound from the hole, Dean settled his weight on his heels, ready to strike.
"You know we can't let him go. You either. See, we was just gonna kill the two of you, but maybe the other one, maybe he's got a use after all. You, however, are nothing but trouble." The man was older, maybe Bobby's age. Thin, but not the gaunt, underfed look of the kid in Dean's pistol sights just then. His gray beard moved as he spoke. This man was the hunter, the others following his lead. "That thing, whatever kind of demon it is, seems to like the boy. I can use that. He can make amends for what he did to Steve. Don't worry though, we'll feed him, give him water."
Dean knew arguing, trying for an explanation, reasoning would be futile. His chest pressed in on itself at the thought of Sam used as a demon flytrap. He also realized this man was trying to bait him into making a foolish move. "You're not going to do that, use my brother as some kind of demon lure. Not while I'm breathing."
"Well, we can fix that." The third man smirked, drew out a gun from behind his back.
Craven flickered just in front of the man, "Uh-uh. No, very impolite."
The guy stumbled back a pace, obviously caught completely off guard by the appearance before him.
Some warning tingled along Dean's neck, slithered down his back in cold, thin lines. It barely registered, the skinny kid moving to one side, grabbing up a sawed off shotgun, pulling it up, taking aim. The thought frightened children shouldn't be allowed to play with guns was followed immediately by the realization the kid had the shotgun pointed at him, but the kid's eyes were skittering sideways, to Dean's right.
The burst from the shotgun exploded across his vision a split second before the sound reverberated through the room. Something flashed to his right, just inside his range of vision. It wasn't gunfire, and Dean had but a brief instant to consider the streak of brown and tan coming at him was solid before his entire left side exploded in shock and pain from the jolt of hitting the floor.
Sam broadsided him, the both of them crashing to the floor.
It was sheer instinct that had Dean's hand coming up, wrapping securely around the back of his brother's head and pulling down so Sam's face was against his shoulder. The discharge from the shotgun careened well above them, Dean heard it hit a wall, bits of wood and plaster sprayed across their heads and shoulders.
"Shit. Shit!" Sam hissed, one hand hitting the floor just beyond Dean's ribs, his other hand latched onto Dean's shoulder while he shoved the two of them away from the spot they'd landed on.
The floor groaned and cracked, Dean felt it bow beneath the stress of their combined weight hitting so suddenly.
"Crap." Dean rasped out. Catching sight of the third man coming at them steadying up his aim at them spurred Dean along faster. Using the fact Sam was pulling on him to get halfway to his knees, Dean rolled far enough to get his own pistol free. Pushing against Sam, Dean reversed their positions, pinned Sam behind him to the floor with his shoulders, keeping himself between Sam and the other hunters.
Using Sam's bulk for support, Dean pushed them away from the groaning floor boards with his feet, at the same time fired off a few shots at the armed man, then twisted far enough to get one at the skinny kid, sure he'd hit them both.
Feeling Sam drop a few inches while at the same time hearing more cracks and pops from the floorboards beneath them refocused Dean's attention downward.
Time to go.
"Dean, the floor's not going to hold."
"Yeah." Struggling to get his good leg under him, Dean shoved away from Sam's side, ignored his brother's grunt when his elbow dug against Sam and tried pushing himself over to get his right leg in position to support his weight.
Sam got the idea Dean was struggling more than he should be, braced both palms against Dean's shoulder blades and pushed Dean away from him far enough Sam could wiggle free and scramble to his feet. "C'mon." Was all Sam panted, irritably Dean thought, before looping one arm under Dean's shoulders and hefted him far enough up Dean got both feet under him.
"Sam…go!" Dean shoved against his brother, urging him forward.
"Your leg."
Honestly, did the boy pride himself at having some weird need to make inane conversation in these sorts of situations?
"Is going to be under the floor if you don't move your ass!" Dean tried to not generally make it a habit, snapping at Sam, or try to make him feel guilty over something, but some days it was the only recourse he had.
Sam moved his ass.
Towed Dean's ass right along with him.
Sounds of the floor splintering, shattering and dissolving right under the men they fled from filled the old building, surrounded them from all sides. Gritting his teeth to the pain rocketing up his leg, using Sam for balance, he herded Sam toward the front entrance. A quick glance behind confirmed they weren't currently being followed. Dean didn't put much stock in that staying the case for very long.
Finally the two of them sprinted free of the building.
Only to be hit with pelting, sharp rain that literally dug into any of Dean's skin left exposed, and wind strong enough it drove them back a few steps. Dean turned his head, squinting against the water and air assaulting him, to get a look at the beach beyond the orphanage. Nasty, angry waves assaulted the shore, churning the water to nothing but white froth. The sky was nastier, angrier, dark and foreboding clouds tipped in white obliterated the horizon.
Sam's fingers tightening on his arm, the horrified gasp the kid pulled down his throat and the strangled, "God, Dean, I'm so sorry, this is my fault, you were right we should have waited till after the storm passed," that rushed out of Sam's mouth, made him turn away from the ocean and face Sam.
Sam wasn't looking at him, however. Sam was staring wide-eyed, through soggy bangs smeared over his face at a point of ground farther from the beach than the orphanage and higher still.
Dean's voice caught, some garbled noise spewed from his mouth. He nearly fell over when Sam let go and darted away, heading for the higher patch of ground.