AN: Sorry this took so long guys. I hope you enjoy the story. I own nothing but the mistakes.
Dean bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, the tense and curled fingers, a polar opposite from the loose limbed way he held his arms. It was the same on any hunt; clear your mind, focus on the objective, keep Sam safe.
He tried to envision his father at his side, ready to lead, to help with the fight. Briefly tried to see the forest full of dark crevices and hiding monsters instead of humans with guns and a death threat hanging over Sammy's head.
The door pushed in farther cutting off Dean's wayward thoughts. Time to focus, this is just any other hunt, his primary objective was always the same.
Protect Sammy, try not to die.
The door slid across the floor, the desk forced to move as well, the old wood whining loudly as it shuddered and groaned its protest at the awkward stilted movement. Dean was glad the desk took away some of the gunman's option for stealth. He saw the muzzle first, black and sleek. Had it not been aimed at him he might of thought it elegant, almost beautiful with its smooth and hard metal lines. As it was, he threw himself back into Sam, knocking the two of them down to the floor as the gun opened fire, bullets spraying in a wide arc across the classroom. Screams erupted again, harmonizing with the sound of broken glass and embedded bullets in the walls and wood.
Fucking cheaters he thought, gracefully rising to his feet and repositioning behind the door, out of the line of fire. Dean spared Sam a three second glance, just enough to ascertain his position. Sammy was behind him, like always, ready to back him up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean hoped like hell, the rest of the civilians had followed his warning and stayed low, hopefully below the target line.
The muzzle of the gun entered the rest of the way, followed by a man in black Kevlar, head to toe. Only his eyes were visible. They were cold and empty.
"Winchester," he taunted his voice low and gravelly. "Come out, come out where ever you are." The man kicked a backpack out of his way, sending the blue Jan sport careening into a nearby desk. There was a startled yelp as the bag caused the desk to jolt into the student crouching behind. The man smirked and moved in the classroom a few more feet. "Dean-o, I know this is your classroom. I promise your death will be fast, one bullet to the brain Dean-o, nothing more. Sammy too."
Dean ignored the words and let him talk. The shooter advanced further into the classroom, his back now to Dean as he and Sam stood shrouded in the darkness, behind the half open door. The more he ran his mouth it seemed the more his guard went down. Dean was counting on the shooter's inner asshole being enough to give him an edge.
"Making me chase you, is really gonna piss me off. Maybe, make me use my knife on little Sammy, instead of the bullet. Wanna see Sammy's insides Dean?"
Dean itched to grab the gun from Sammy and ice the bastard, eliminate the threat in the quickest, simplest way. Except a single gunshot would differ in sound from the spray of the semi-automatic. It would alert the others to their location, and the luxury of taking down one gunman, only to be surrounded and defeated by the others would be a stupid move. So Dean bided his time and crept up slowly behind the shooter. This had to be done quickly and quietly.
Dean pushed the lingering thought away that he had never killed anything human before. The threat to Sammy was real. He tried to pretend they were werewolves, they always looked human. Holding the knife down at his side, his grip firm and ready, Dean stealthily crept even closer, barely breathing, ready to spring.
The man's muttered words were his only warning of his impending ass kicking.
"I don't think so kid." Fast as lightning the bigger man, whipped around and threw a freight train punch to Dean's head. The blow was solid and it sent Dean's ears ringing as his knees tried to buckle. His eye felt like it was on fire and he could feel the swelling start immediately. He forced his legs to stand and balled his fists. The man had the audacity to laugh.
"You gonna fight me kid? I was slitting throats and tossing skirts while you were a twinkle in your daddy's eye."
"Dude, did you not do your research." Dean coughed and spit blood to the side, trying to clear his head before he attacked. "My father never twinkled, and I'm a Winchester, damn straight I'm gonna fight you." Dean met the empty stare and stated firmly. "And I'm gonna win."
"Awful cocky huh," murmured the man but Dean was done with words and refused to rise to the bait. Instead he widened his stance and swung his fist in an arc towards the shooter's face. He wasn't actually expecting to land the blow, was counting on the man blocking it, and when he did Dean used the momentum of his body to shift the other way and knee the man in the crotch, hard!
There was a satisfying crunch as the man groaned and automatically and reflexively cupped himself. Using the moment of distraction, Dean grabbed a nearby chair and slammed it into the man's bowed head, driving him down to his knees. Then he took the handle of the knife still clutched tensely in his fingers and drove the blunt end up under the man's chin. Down for the count, the shooter fell back, unconscious.
"Dean," came Sam's hissed words as he made his way to his brother. "What are we gonna do with him?"
Before he could reply, Dean sensed rather than saw the shadow fill the still open entry way of the classroom door.
"Down," he yelled as he once again threw himself into Sam, trying to cover his brother's thin and coltish body with his own. He felt a searing numbness spread down his shoulder and into his fingertips. Must have grazed me he thought and sent up a silent acknowledgement of thanks that the bullet had only grazed his non-dominant side. Rising up, adrenaline fueling his actions, Dean crouched over Sam. He could see the new enemy stationed in the front of the classroom, gun razed, eyes just as cold as his predecessor. Without thinking Dean, drew back his arm and launched his knife, sending it sailing through the air, end over gleaming silver tip, until hurtling with a deadly accurate precision, it embedded itself into the chest of the masked man.
At the same time the gunman had managed to get off a couple more shots, each one growing progressively wider as his body struggled to adjust to the knife sticking 8 inches deep into his sternum. He fell back with a muffled thump and Dean rose shakily onto his feet. One of the bullets had hit him high above the graze, and he could feel the bullet sitting hot and deep against his collarbone, threatening to white out his vision and steal his resolve.
Dean forced himself to keep going. He needed to secure the room, take the weapons. He needed to save Sam. Dean swayed as he moved towards the door, his vision changing and swirling like the tilt-a-whirl at the fair, his stomach nauseas after too much cotton candy. Sammy's voice was far away, echoing in his ears. He needed to….he needed…
Without another conscious thought, Dean slid ungracefully to the floor. He needed to pass out.
And so he did.
AN II: Thank so much for reading! Reviews are loved and appreciated!