Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. Spoilers about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.
Disclaimer: With my skills as lacking as they are, 'tis a very, very good thing better writers get paid for Supernatural. I just use Winchesterverse to vent a whim or several.

COGITATIONS
115: The Benders
by Sade Lyrate

He watches the man take a gun, the old man talking to his heart's content, the girl quiet and compliant and just plain fucked up. It takes a moment for the words to sink in through the barrier of pain, but when they do, he can feel his heart grow colder than ever while his skin still burns.

This whole damn thing's gone wrong from the beginning.

He waits, along with the rest of the sick fucks, heart rate picking up, racing with his thoughts, stopping when the gunshot rings out, and there's nothing but silence.

"You hurt my brother, I'll kill you, I swear." The old man hardly spares him a glance as he gets up. "I'll kill you all! I will kill you all!"

Moments follow each other like pearls in a string,

But there's no answer. No second shot.

And Dean realizes.

Sam made it.

Sam had to make it.

He's better than all of these yahoos put together, smarter than that cop.

The old man seems to feel how wrong his plan's gone, too. The men leave, guns ready, the girl and the knife and the bound man alone in the house filled with death.

The ropes are too tight, the knots too well-made, his thoughts too erratic for him to squirm loose. Even if his shoulder didn't send out new flames every time the muscles moved, pulled, even if his head wasn't still ringing from the blow that took him out.

She watches, quiet, amusement dancing in her eyes as he still struggles to break free.

They wait, and there's silence.

Sam must've gotten the cop out, too. Otherwise the bastards would've shot already. And now they're running.

God, he hopes they're running.

Long enough, and he almost begins to trust that hope. He'll get out of this. He's been in worse. He just wishes Sam's smart enough to keep himself alive. Sam's a hunter, too, after all. And he knows, Dean thinks Sam must have figured out what these stupid sons-of-bitches are doing. No way could they manage to get Sam, cut him up and quarter him like all the others. Not if he has a chance.

Three shots ring out, too close for comfort, and his fears kill his hopes. Not long after, and there's more, until even the echoes of the sixth die.

Then there's only silence and he hates it.

Missy circles him, eyes as small and sharp as the knife she trails just above his skin. Mischief glints cruelly in both, mocks all the ways he's failed.

There's nothing outside. No steps, no words, no shots, no sounds of strife or success of anykind.

The girl glances at the door, her attention returning quickly. She kneels down in front of him, raises the blade, begins twirling its sharp point on the fabric covering his thigh.

His head drops, eyes closed, trying to ignore her, trying to keep himself calm, trying to think through the throbbing. He can't move. Not much, anyway. Dad taught him better than this. Much better.

The steel digs through the denim, pricks his skin.

Suddenly, the sensation vanishes and there's a flurry of sound, Dean's head snapping back up. Sam's holding the girl, her face twisted in anger, hissing and spitting like a cat as she struggles to free her arms, tightly held behind her back. The tall man glances up, hazel meets green momentarily. Without a word, face hard, he picks up the girl, shoves her into a closet, blocks the door. She struggles and screams, banging on the door, calling for her father.

"You cool?" Sam asks as he unties the ropes on Dean's arms.

"Yeah. What about the rest of 'em?" Dean answers as he snatches his hands free, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, and attacks the rope on his legs.

"In the cages. Kathleen's watching the last one. Any more of them?"

"Don't think so."

As soon as he's free, they storm out, single shot akin to a siren's song.