AN I: Thanks for reading, this story is now complete. I hope it answers some questions and satisfies y'all. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope to see your reviews!
The school was deathly quiet. If there were students left in the building, hopefully they were out of the way and hiding. But not Dean and Sam, no the Winchesters were moving stealthily through the deserted hallways, familiar guns gripped in competent hands, warrior eyes trained ahead, watching every shadow.
Three shooters and a sniper, Dean reminded himself. Four human obstacles potentially between Sammy and safety. Not to mention, whatever demonic presence was here, given the evidence of sulfur from back by the lockers.
Dean shivered and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat as he stepped around the fallen form of a teacher. He was a math substitute from the east wing, Dean hadn't even known him. He looked like he'd just fallen where he'd stood, a cheap shot, between the shoulder blades. Poor guy hadn't even had a chance.
"Dean," hissed Sam, nudging him with his foot. Dean hadn't realized he'd stopped, the blood loss was effecting him more than he could afford to let it. Thankfully Sammy had alerted him before John noticed his perfect soldier falling off point. He flashed a tired smile at Sammy and was rewarded by a brief glimpse of dimples before his brother fell behind to cover his six.
It irked Dean raw that Sam was covering him, he hated to have Sammy in any position of vulnerability. But it had been decided, and rightfully so, that with Dean less than full fighting form Sam would take the back.
Dean knew his innocence was gone, his childhood up in the same flames which burned Mary Winchester to death. But Sammy…..even with the life they lived, Sammy still believed in better things. Rainbows, and puppies, and fairytales, all that shit cause Sammy was just that kind of kid. And Dean didn't want Sammy to lose that, it was why he ran point as often as he did, and fought John to have Sam research more, off the front lines.
But Sam was still a damn Winchester, and Winchesters were soldiers, even if one of them still slept with a night light.
Dean shook his head to clear it and refocused on the mission.
Both boys stopped as John Winchester held up one arm, listening intently, head cocked to one side, finger on the trigger.
They didn't have to wait long.
Their father gave a surprised grunt as a body ripped itself out from the shadows and catapulted, launching an iron grip around John's middle. Even as he went flying, John fired a shot, hitting the merc point blank in the chest.
The gun for hire kept coming, he didn't even slow down at the impact of the bullet.
The oldest Winchester brought his weapon up and around, ready to fire again, but his center was already thrown off, and he hit the floor with dull thud. The Mercenary, seemingly weaponless, brought both hands up around John's throat, tightening his gloved fingers, effectively cutting off John's air supply.
Dean growled and aimed the gun in his hands, willing his arms to stop shaking with strain and muscle fatigue. He squeezed the trigger, like he had a million times before, and the shot went wide, missing the target entirely.
Dean never missed, even inured. His jaw slackened in shock even as he efficiently re sited and prepared to shoot again. But Sammy was quicker.
John was making awful noises, harsh in the empty hallway, throat squeezed, oxygen deprivation setting in. He'd somehow lost his grip on his gun, but he'd found his knife and was using it to slash into the soldier trying to kill him repeatedly. The knife made a sick wet sliding sound, over and over, but still the assailant managed to continue to strangle John. Sammy knew Dean was pushed past his last reserves and father was dying in front of him. The fact that the monster was human registered in the back of his mind, but he shoved it aside, swallowed down the rising bile burning his tongue…..and fired. The sound the bullet made when it entered the man's head was louder and quieter than any sound Sam had ever heard. The soldier slumped down on John, blood coating his father's front as John shoved the man off, dragging in ragged puffs of oxygen through his swollen and damaged airway.
Sam stumbled, hit his knees, and threw up everything he'd eaten that day. He'd just killed a man. What kind of monster did that make him? Even if it was to save his father; that man had still been somebody's son. And Sam…..Sam killed him.
Sam didn't even hear Dean come over or wrap his arms around him. Dean jerked Sam up, threw his limp arm over his shoulder, and together they made their way over to John. Their father was rolling over on all fours, trying to push himself up, while the urgency of the situation weighed down heavy and oppressive over them all.
"Sammy," Dean's voice sounded like it was coming from a long tunnel, echoed and far away. From the sound of the freaked out annoyance coloring his normally unflappable brother's tone, Sam guessed he'd been saying his name a lot.
"I think he's in shock Dad, he doesn't seem to be hearing me."
"Go son, give him to me, we got to hump it out of here, now. Something's not right."
"Not right Dad, like a school shooting not right? Or something else?" Dean's voice was sarcastically brittle as Sam felt his weight being shifted between the two men."
"It didn't go down, Dean. Not my bullet, or the knife."
"It did when Sam shot it, between the eyes, one shot."
"I killed him, Dean. I killed a man, a human. I did…." Sam was babbling now, like water over rocks, he could hear himself, but he couldn't stop. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was hysteria.
"It's okay, little Dude," whispered Dean gruffly, "it was a monster, nothing more, nothing less."
Sam didn't respond, just shut his eyes. He swallowed, once, then twice before he shakily moved to stand on his own two feet. He'd killed a man, he didn't deserve for his big brother to comfort him. "We need to go, right? I can walk and we're wasting time."
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but John nodded once in approval, and the group began making cautious strides to the exit.
"So two mercs and a sniper left," whispered John, his voice strained and weak. "Stay alert boys."
It was Dean who noticed the bodies first. There were two men, in black Kevlar, sitting side by side, against the far row of lockers, necks broken. Their weapons were still in their limp hands.
"What in the hell," murmured Dean. He watched as John bent over, lithe grace even after almost dying, and checked their wallets and pockets.
"No identification papers, no wallets, nothing except extra ammo….and pictures of you boys."
"Well…..isn't that special," remarked Dean trying to mask how much that one simple fact gave him the heebie jeebies. Sam remained uncharacteristically silent. "So….no mercs now and one sniper," questioned Dean.
"I don't know," groused John. "If the count was right, then we should just be down to the sniper. Either way we can't be here when the authorities come, this can't fall back on us." Dean agreed and they started moving again.
The walk across the grass to the car was the worst. Dean felt like he had a rifle pointed at his back the whole time, who knows maybe he did. But they made it to the car without further incident. John and Dean bundled Sam into the backseat, and peeled rubber away from the scene. When they got far enough away, dean used the burner and placed an anonymous 911 phone call.
Sam didn't make any noise in the back, no tears, none of his normal antics and arguments. Just stony silence and vacant looks.
So, this is how his childhood dies, thought Dean.
Yellow eyes had been having the best time. He'd possessed several guns for hire, killed some innocent people, and toyed with the Winchesters. After all his plan was coming along nicely, and this was only the beginning stages. He had such ideas.
He still wore the body of the sniper, his mind had been fun to crack. Just for shits and giggles, Azeazle had make the man kill his family before they'd left to go Winchester hunting. The man's soul had cried the whole time. It was such a…delicious sound.
Yellow eyes had killed the last two buffoons himself. Once the boy had taken a life, the game was pointless. Sammy needed to marinate a little longer before he was ready, although it tickled him to no end that he would be the one to put all of John Winchester's good training to use. Breed your little soldier for me Johnny, I know just where I can stick him.
Maybe, he'd have him kill Dean-o, just for the final test. But that wouldn't come for much later.
The boy had to be prepared after all. And now he had blood on his hands. Playing with Dean's gun, forcing Sammy's hand, well that had just been a stroke of genius. With any luck, little Sammy would suffer pangs from his conscience and distance him from Dean-o all by himself.
Angry isolated boys always made the best future leaders of demon armies.
AN II: Thanks for reading. I hope this tied up the story for everyone. I'd appreciate any thoughts you'd like to tell me.