(A/N: This chapter contains one scene, at the end and in italics, that is a hallucination. It is violent and involves two children. In order to conform the rules of some sites I have altered the scene from its original form. If you wish to read the full, uncensored version it maybe found at bayre dot webs dot com / ssch13alternate dot htm The rest of the chapter is the same. As always thanks for reading!)
Dean slid a glance at Concha as he shut down the engine. The truck she'd brought was made to go through rough weather and deep water and got them closer to the orphanage than he'd dared leave the Impala on their first trip.
Leaning forward, one hand against the dash as she peered out the front windshield, Concha seemed oblivious to him watching her for a few seconds. She didn't look too freaked by this all, though Dean wasn't thrilled with trusting his brother's life to anyone. Even if those people were Concha and Dante. The position she was sitting in now made his heart ache and this throat close around itself. It was a position Sam commonly took up and did nothing but further remind him that Sam had been taken.
"You okay?" She asked without looking at him.
"Yeah."
"This place is sort of creepy."
Dean shoved out of the truck, "Yep, and watch your step, it's not the world's most stable building either. The floors are rotting in places."
She stepped up beside him as he scanned the scene. They were maybe a football field from the orphanage, parked inside the line of trees. This time he was coming at it more from the side then head on, as before. He saw not only the orphanage but also the pile of rubble he'd landed in, and the churning ocean. From this angle he saw the land the orphanage sat on jutted out slightly and curved enough it was a bit more protected from the surge moving inland.
Wind and rain pelted them, forcing them to bend into the current of air rushing at them. Stopping near the final trees before the open expanse of land between them and the orphanage, they knelt down.
"Hello, Auggie." Dean smirked, pointing out the skinny kid standing near the main entrance. "See anyone else?"
"No."
Dean twisted on his heels, scanning the area. "He's going to see us coming, no cover."
Concha stood, handed Dean her rifle and the bag she had slung over her shoulder. "Not a problem. I'll distract him."
Before Dean could stop her, she yanked her shirt from her jeans, pulling it up and tied it over her mid-drift then darted into the open. Waving at the boy, Concha called out, "Hey! Help!"
Halfway between where Dean lurked, covered by the trees and the orphanage, Concha stumbled, dropping to her knees. Dean shook his head and couldn't stop the slow smile when the kid darted forward. As soon as he reached Concha, he grabbed her arm, helping her to her feet. She leaned against him, breathing into his ear, at the same time moving so the kid's back was to Dean.
"Oh my God, I got lost and my car broke down." Concha panted near the boy's face, placing one hand on his chest, Dean saw how she let it slide toward his belt buckle.
The boy put his arm around her. Looked from her to the orphanage and back again, obviously unsure what to do.
Silently Dean left the trees and smoothly, noiselessly closed the distance between them. "Auggie, shame on you, being that easy."
When the kid turned far enough to see who was behind him, Dean grabbed his shoulder, spun him around and punched him hard enough to knock him out. He hoisted the kid over his shoulders and headed back to the trees. Dropping the boy onto the ground, he took off the kid's jacket and used it to tie him to a tree. "He'll either get out of this in time, or become fish food." Dean shrugged when Concha arched one eyebrow.
Blissfully, she shut her mouth and followed Dean to the orphanage. They slipped inside without incident.
"Any idea where they might be?" She whispered in his ear.
"No, I—" He glanced down at her and sighed, using one hand to put her at arm's distance. "Put your clothes back on please."
Concha slapped his shoulder, but untied her shirt and let it drop down so it rested below her waistband.
"We were over there, but that's where the floors are bad, or one of the places."
"Maybe more to the back of the building?"
It was as good a place as any to start, so Dean led the way in the direction she'd pointed out. Keeping close to the wall, they moved as quietly and quickly as possible, peering into each door they came to. Finally, in a smaller hallway running the length of the building near the back, they heard voices from one of the rooms.
"I'll go check on him." It wasn't Calgary's voice, so Dean surmised it was probably Malloy's.
"Okay. No idea how long it'll take. But I don't want to give it time to get a hold of him enough to kill him. We might need to use him again."
Dean recognized Calgary's voice.
"I told Jack to go round up August and find out what happened to Martingale, he's late checking in."
"Damn. We're going to move on this and get the hell away before Winchester shows up." Calgary said.
"You think he got away from Martingale?"
"I have no idea, but not chancing it. If that demon doesn't show, just leave the boy down there. This place will flood before this storm is over, that'll take care of him. We'll worry about the older one when he and if he shows up."
Dean felt a cold, hard knot form in his middle. They had Sam somewhere, baiting a demon and then were planning to leave him to drown. He growled in a sharp intake of breath. Concha's hand on his shoulder stopped him from rushing the men in the room.
"On second thought, you try to get a hold of Martingale. I want to go check on that kid. I want to see him suffer."
"Hey, you're head clear for this, Stew?"
The sheer viciousness of the man's next statement was heard loud and clear. "He killed Steve." Calgary spat the words out. "Whatever else happens, he pays for that."
Dean caught a glimpse of the man with Calgary swiping two fingers gently over Calgary's cheek. "He will. I promise."
When Calgary left the room, Concha pulled Dean farther back into the shadows. "One tied up, two missing, one in there and one heading to Sam." She whispered.
As much as he wanted to follow Calgary, free Sam and then beat the life out of Calgary, Dean knew they had to even the numbers first. His leg was just painful enough he had doubts about a full on fight with any of the men. There were four men left here, and he had no idea what shape Sam was in. If his brother was injured, that left Concha, Dante and himself to deal with these men. Dean wanted better odds.
"We need to take him out." Dean tipped his head at the room Malloy was still inside. Concha nodded, she seemed more than willing to follow his lead. Again he was faced with the situation of confronting an armed man head on. Not the best of choices. "Think you could distract him?"
"I don't think I'm his type."
Dean turned to face her fully. "Huh?"
Rolling her eyes, Concha shrugged a bit. "He's gay. Ya know, doesn't get all excited by girls."
Dean actually felt his face fall. "I…um…he…me?" He slapped Concha's hand away when she started tugging on his shirts. "What are you doing?"
"Show him some skin." Concha grinned mischievously and gave his bicep a squeeze, "Or some of those muscles."
She stood blinking at him. Dean stood blinking right back.
Using both hands on her arms he moved her back a few steps. "Just be sure to get him and don't let him shoot me." Grumbling, Dean straightened his shoulders, "or defile me," and headed for the room. "Things I do for that damn kid." If it'd been he and Sam, they'd have probably just rushed the guy. All this stealthy crap was for the birds. Dean wanted his brother back.
Slipping from the hall to the doorway, Dean let his arms drop to his sides, and remembered to take the snarl out of his voice and drop it low. "Interested in a trade?" He leaned, casually he hoped, against the doorframe.
Malloy snorted, turned and looked Dean in the eye. "Another of my friends dead because of you Winchesters."
Dean moved into the room and tried to imagine Malloy as a woman: a really ugly, mean, dangerous, never-gonna-get-laid woman. Spotting a desk against the far wall, Dean headed there; casting what he hoped was a sultry glance at Malloy as he moved past the man.
"I came here to talk to you." Dean leaned back, aiming one hip at the corner of the desk so he could arch back over it.
He missed the desk, stumbled backwards and nearly landed on his ass in the corner of the room.
Malloy visibly bit back a laugh. Well, at least Dean had distracted him somehow. In the next instant Malloy was grabbing at his neck, mouth working, voice wheezing as he stumbled backwards.
Recovered from his botched attempts at sexy, Dean pushed off the wall and launched at Malloy. Arm across the man's neck, he moved them back, pinning the man to the wall with his weight. "Here's the deal," Dean snapped out, voice harsh and with every ounce of threat he could put in it. "You tell me where Sam is, and she," he tipped his head at Concha, "doesn't put a bullet in your brain."
Concha smiled sweetly and held up a pistol, complete with silencer.
"At the end of this hallway is a passage down to some cells. He's down there." Malloy coughed and choked.
"Get your clothes off." Dean snarled.
"Huh?" Malloy paled a few shades
"Seriously, dude, you aren't worth my time, so get over yourself. Clothes. Off now." In one move, Dean stepped back, took his own gun from behind his back and aimed it at the man's head.
Shaking and muttering, Malloy shed flannel and jeans.
"That's enough, I sure don't want to see you naked, might traumatize me for life. And there's a lady in the room." Dean snatched the jeans and flannel. Using one of Malloy's socks as a gag, he used the other clothes to securely hog tie the man, leaving him on the floor in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. Kneeling next to the man so he could speak right in his ear, Dean chuckled. "So not my type. If my brother isn't down there, I'm coming back for you." He tapped the barrel of his gun against the man's temple, then cracked his head hard enough the man slumped into unconsciousness.
"We're going to have to work on your seduction skills." Concha sort of giggled the words out.
"My seduct—?" Dean straightened his spine and rose to his full height. "There isn't a damn thing wrong with my seduction skills and I can give you references."
Concha snorted out, "Whatever. You fell off the desk."
"It moved." Dean was moving and out the door, down the hall before she could say anymore.
They were nearly to the entrance to lower section and the cells—Dean didn't even want to think why an orphanage would have underground cells—when a crash and the sound of shattering of wood from one of the rooms drew their attention that way.
Dante and the guy froze in their respective positions for a few seconds, simply staring at one another. The man must have been jolted from his surprise at the same time as Dante, because when Dante rushed him, the man met him head on. Dante was bigger, but he never let his guard down because of that. He'd learned long ago, his sheer bulk wasn't always going to give him the advantage.
The man roared wordlessly, hands out; he hit Dante with his full weight, trying to get hands around Dante's neck. Bringing one hand up between the man's arms, Dante slammed the heel of one hand into the man's jaw. He reeled away from Dante, but didn't go down. Sort of bouncing off the wall, the guy got a kick to Dante's middle, doubling him over and forcing him to stumble back with a grunt.
Hitting him again, this time the man took Dante down. They rolled and scrabbled on the floor, punching and each trying to pin the other. Dante finally got a few good shots with his fists to the man's head. Rolling to his knees and pulling the man up with him, Dante landed a good, solid punch to the man's face.
The man was mostly unconscious when Dante shoved him over the edge of the cell door he'd just come out of, dropping him down. Not caring if the guy was alive or not, Dante stood, leaned on his knees, panting for breath. He staggered a few steps to Sam's cell, looking down.
"Sam." He wheezed, one arm gripping his midsection. When he looked down, he saw Sam all right. Sam and that damn boogeyman demon thing. What small amount of Sam he could actually see barely twitched at the sound of Dante's voice. Dante wasn't even sure Sam heard him. Brown hair, a foot and one hand was all of Sam Winchester not covered by the black cloud.
He had no way of knowing for sure, but it looked as if Sam's situation had gotten worse.
Movement from the hall outside spiked his adrenaline again. Dante straightened and spun to face more assailants. It took a minute before his brain caught up to what his eyes were trying to tell him. Sagging a bit, leaning hands on thighs again, Dante caught his breath and pointed to the cell bars in the floor next to him. Pointing to the nearest one he panted out, "One of them in there." Arm swinging a bit farther, "Sam's there."
Dean's face morphed into something close to flat out fear as he rushed through the room, dropped to his knees near the bars. Gripping them, he gave them a jerk, "Sammy?"
"I tried already." Dante tried desperately to ignore the look on Dean's face, in his eyes when he saw Sam completely surrounded by the boogeyman demon. It was nothing short of sheer horror and panic. "The corridor below is covered with glass and metal shards. That's how we have to get in."
Dean's head swiveled around, nodding.
"Old trick shanghaiers used in San Francisco," he muttered. When Dante and Concha did nothing but stare at him, he shrugged and blinked, making a face. "History Channel, great research tool, Sammy likes to watch it." He stood slowly, eyes darting from Dante to the bars over Sam's cell. "They'd, uh, leave the captives barefoot in these tunnels under the city streets and cover the escape route with broken glass. If the men tried to get free they'd get their feet ripped to shreds. Hell, I don't know, maybe they'd even bleed out."
"Where's Calgary? He was going to check on Sam." Concha said. "There's him and one other still unaccounted for."
She'd no sooner gotten the words out than the second unnamed man appeared in the doorway. Dean was quick as a viper, drawing his handgun drawn and widening his stance. He took aim and fired. The shot hit the man in the chest. The two steps he took beyond that probably were nothing more than muscle reflex. Dante was sure he was dead when he hit the floor.
Dante had maybe a second to comprehend Calgary had used that man as cover. He'd sacrificed one of his partners to protect himself and give him a better chance at attack. Handgun swinging at Concha, Calgary smirked, and then laughed outright. "For Steve." He barked out.
The gun fired.
Dante didn't give it much thought. He stepped in front of his sister.
Sam was pulled down farther, though he still had the vague feeling of lying on a hard stone floor. Squeezing his eyes as tightly shut as possible did no good. It still forced itself into his mind. The more he resisted, the more it pushed in, thrust itself upon him, overpowering and brutal.
A hot fire of pain started in his belly and rolled outward to his chest and limbs. Beads of moisture and sweat dotted his skin. The air around him was frigid, making him shudder uncontrollably. The contrast between the fire his insides were and the bitter cold encasing his skin sent his mind and sense reeling into overdrive.
The bottle of holy water rolled uselessly from his numb, shaking fingers. The packet of herbs he carried, as well as his rune were in his pocket, but they might as well been on the moon. His limbs refused to work well enough to grasp them.
He was battered with images. There was no avoiding them. No matter what he did, he was forced to watch.
…It started simply enough, Dean striding through the halls of some building, a school maybe. Sam couldn't be sure. A second later it didn't matter. Shotgun in one hand, Dean marched down a hall, anger and hate on his face. More anger, more hate than Sam had ever seen on his brother. Dean barely stopped in front of a door before kicking it open, firing the shotgun into the room.
Sam heard screams and pleas, sobbing and shouting. Dean was in and back out again, now dragging some girl, ten at the most, by her long, wavy blonde hair. She kicked and struggled, but Dean ignored her. He ignored how she'd fall and her knees would scrape bloody against the floor as he yanked her along. She scrambled to her feet, beating small fists against his brother's broad back.
When Dean turned far enough to punch her face, Sam cringed back then surged forward, barking at Dean to stop. Dean ignored him. He literally threw the girl into a room.
No matter how Sam tried, he couldn't block her sobs. Or the sound of Dean's shotgun ending her sobs. The feral look of gratification on Dean's face when he left the room was worse than Sam's knowing what Dean had done.
Sam's mind begged it to stop, begged Dean to stop. This wasn't Dean. Dean protected children. He didn't hurt and kill them.
Next Dean had a boy, maybe fifteen. One of Dean's arms around his throat, the kid didn't stand a chance against the power his brother owned. All the while Dean laughed, low and maniacal. It was a cold, evil, hollow sound. Not Dean's laugh, it was Dean's voice, his face, but that wasn't Dean who beat the boy to a pulp with his fists, leaving him dead on a linoleum floor.
"His true nature. What he was meant to become," a chilled voice whispered through Sam's head.
"NO!" Sam's mind screamed. Dean was good, a bright light, and a safe harbor to anyone in need. He wasn't this.
"He will be." The ice cold whispered, "Killer of innocents. Destroyer of innocence."
Sam could do no more than whimper repeatedly, "No, I'll never believe it—no." He fought back, tried pushing it away and succeeded in only causing himself more agony…
Sam curled on his side, pulled his knees to his chest, and tried tucking his chin between his knees. Every movement sent slivers of agony coursing through him. It hurt, the more he denied it the more powerful the pain. It seared through him, wormed its way into every bit of his being, relentless and all consuming. Pain turned to a roar vibrating through his ears and head. It grew louder, coming from everywhere at once.
Trying to move his hands to cover his ears, Sam's limbs seemed stuck in place. The roar escalated. Something crashed above him. Then it seemed the entire world broke apart.