AN I: Here is the next chapter, I had a heck of a time trying to figure out how to get them out of the classroom… I hope you enjoy it; it is un- beta'd so I apologize for the resulting mistakes. I don't own them, but I wish I did.

The classroom was silent, its captive occupants struck dumb and deaf, by the collective fear of more bullets and blood. Black and ominous against the pale skin of Dean's hand, the radio continued to crackle and hum with impatient demands; until it too went suddenly and viciously quiet.

"That's it people, we need to move now." Dean winced and bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as Sammy flew into a frenzy of action. He pressed a folded compress made out of rags against the still sluggishly bleeding wound in Dean's shoulder and then wound it tight with duct tape, pulling a pained gasp from between Dean's tightly clenched teeth. Dean didn't even want to contemplate where his ever resourceful brother had found duct tape.

He gripped Sam's waiting hand and allowed himself to be pulled up and unobtrusively steadied against Sam's shorter frame. His head swam, reminding him of his less than stellar blood volume. He fished around in his pockets until he found a half opened package of peanut m and m's. Dean shoved a handful in his mouth and chewed resolutely, despite the rolling nausea and dry-as-dust sensation in his mouth. He was hoping for a small measure of energy from the sugar. Speaking of, he tapped Sam on the shoulder and shoved the remaining package into his clammy hand.

Taking the offering for what it was; purely soldier emergency rations, Sam shoved a handful in his mouth as well, chewing even as he began talking.

"Okay, guys. Stand single file by the door," advised Sam. "Only take what you absolutely need and what could be used as a weapon." At this Sam saw some students shove sharpened pencils into their pockets and Mr. Sternhull grabbed his letter opener off his desk.

"We need to move quickly and quietly and more than likely in small groups." Dean coughed and scratched his head, shoving deft fingers through the short spiky tips of his hair. "Sammy and I'll clear the way first and then motion you guys over."

"Don't panic," added Sam

"Don't be loud," cautioned Dean.

"Seriously, can we go now? I don't want to die," whined a shrill voice from the back.

"Yeah," nodded Dean decisively. "Just remember, don't separate and listen to us. The goal is to get to the science lab; down and out, head for the woods."

Several students, including Mr. Sternhull, voiced their assent and one by one, moved for the door.

Dean swallowed, gritted his teeth and then utilizing the iron will forged and molded by John Winchester, pushed away from Sammy's support and once again took the lead. He listened at the door, from the side, peering cautiously through the textured glass. Although, his view was distorted, Dean was fairly sure he didn't see any large dark moving shapes.

Better bite the bullet and just go, he thought, otherwise we'll be here all day like sitting ducks.

Gingerly, Dean pushed the door open and then quietly stepped out into the hallway. He stayed pressed close against the wall and slid against it as he moved, arms held out and ready in front of him. Sam moved behind him; close yet far enough away that both of their movement would be unrestricted.

Dean knew, realistically, he was in rough shape but the part of him that was Sammy's big brother, John Winchester's perfect soldier, couldn't let Sam take the lead. As good as he was Sammy was only 13 years old. Nope better for Dean to be in front, take as many hits as he could withstand. At least if he passed out later, Sammy would be fresh and could focus on saving himself.

Dean made it to the end of the hallway and paused at the junction of the adjoining hallway. They needed to make the turn and follow the faded linoleum all the way down passing by multiple classrooms to make it to the stairway.

He could hear stifled breathing behind him, hitching steps, and bitten lips. The fear emanating from his classmates was palpable, heavy and thick in the air. The hallway loomed, long and deserted, abandoned classrooms with open doors punctuated by blatant bullet holes and fallen bodies.

The thought that it wasn't supposed to be like this kept pushing through the fractured cracks in his focus, as he led the others over and around their fallen students. Monsters should be monsters, fur, fang, scales, and slime. But this was a war Dean had never fought and underneath all of his training and bravado he felt ill prepared to deal with the scope of evil specific to that of humans.

Dean knew that the life of the Hunter was rough and wild; dark and edgy. Was there someone in their past they had angered to cause this? Why would professional soldiers, hit men, be after him and Sammy? Sure, the Winchesters bent the laws more often than not, skirted the broken edges of society, but they helped people.

Shouldn't that count for something?

"Dean," Sammy hissed, breaking the flow of concentration, sending his thoughts and ideas tumbling around Dean's head like a pinball machine with a broken lever.

"What," he responded jerking his head around to find Sammy's pinched face behind him. Sammy raised a hand and pointed at the row of lockers next to Dean's head. He pointed one shaking finger at the grate on the front of the peeling faded red locker.

"Sulfur, look."

Dean let his eyes follow the direction of Sam's finger. On the grate right above his head lay the ominous yellow substance.

He swallowed, feeling a ball of lead settle in his stomach. On one hand, if demons were involved then this was a supernatural situation and that put Dean back on more familiar ground. On the other hand, he and Sammy had never faced a demon before. Their father had always been adamant that if the boys ever found evidence of one, they back away, and tell him immediately.

But the men he'd fought back in the classroom weren't demons, they hadn't been possessed.

"Dean."

Sam's voice was worried and tense, looking for the reassurance only Dean could provide. With his injuries, Dean was finding it hard to focus. He nodded once and then faced the sea of anxious faces waiting to follow his lead to safety.

"Don't worry, Sammy. Nothings gonna get you as long as I'm here." Dean clasped Sam's shoulder once and then addressed the group. "The plans stays the same, let's move!"

Dean pushed forward again, slowly, eyes scanning for anything he needed to put down. He and Sam each had a gun now, and he held his in front of him, capable and ready. Suddenly he tensed, muscles held rigid, barely breathing.

A shadow ghosted on the wall, originating around the corner, coming from the very stairwell Dean and his rag tag group of survivors were headed to.

Dean held up a fist indicating the others to stop and find shelter in the vacated classrooms. He could hear them behind him scattering like dirt washed away by the rain, and not for the first time he wished he could silence the twenty odd bodies he was now responsible for. Fear made them heavy and the sounds bounced off the walls, each one like a tick on the timer to a dirty bomb.

Tick, tick, boom!

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, Dean ignored the others and took aim at the opening to the stairwell. He could see Sammy out of the periphery of his vision and knew he did the same.

The shadow grew in height, equally disturbing for its lack of sound as it was for its presence. He saw the hair first, shaggy and dark, followed by the familiar leather and plaid. Training demanded he not lower his weapon, the presence of sulfur only strengthened that instinct. But it didn't stop the grateful surprise from leaking into his voice, causing it to tremor and shake like Sammy's in the middle of a puberty driven crisis.

"Dad?"

AN II: Thank you so much for taking the time to continue to read my story. Next up, we get some Daddy Winchester. If you are so inclined, please review! I would love to hear from you!