A/N: This chapter is what earned the rating and the warnings! Read at your own risk! And please review, it inspires me to keep going!
It was nearly midnight when it happened. Dean was showing the signs of exhaustion, but apparently he was well trained and refused to nod off, accepting my offer of coffee with a smile. As for me, my nerves refused to let me sleep or even sit down for more than twenty seconds. After his fourth cup of coffee, Dean excused himself to the bathroom, and I stayed in the kitchen as he walked to the end of the hall where my bedroom and bathroom were.
While he was gone, I got a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my instincts screamed at me to check on the kids. I forced myself not to run to their room halfway down the hall, then peeked through the slightly open door.
It took every ounce of willpower not to scream. My baby girl, barely a year old, was a bloody mess, and something that looked like a deformed version of my husband was over my two-year-old son, its face buried in a gaping hole in his chest. My world collapsed around me in that moment, and I knew I would never be able to banish that horrible sight from my mind.
Apparently, the thing sensed my presence and looked up. I ran back down the hall to the kitchen—I had just made it into the living room when it crashed through the wall right behind me. I didn't stop as I heard Dean yell my name, or heard the thing roar…I snatched the biggest knife out of the drawer and ran back into the living room, where Dean was ducking and dodging for his life. When I spotted his gun, I snatched it up off the table and flipped the safety off.
Rage filled me as I pulled the trigger, hitting the creature in its back, making it spin toward me in fury…it killed my children…it killed the only things that kept me going in life…I was hardly aware that I was still pulling the trigger until Dean gently took the gun out of my hands. It took me a moment to realize that I'd emptied the entire clip into the werewolf, and at least one of the bullets had found its heart because it was dead.
I jumped when the front door burst open a moment later and John appeared, gun in hand and raised to use. When he spotted the dead werewolf, he lowered his gun and gave a small nod to Dean.
"Good job, son." Dean gave a weak attempt at a smirk and shook his head.
"Wish I could take the credit, Dad. She killed it, not me." John's face revealed momentary surprise, then he studied me with an expression that I didn't care to read. It was then that I heard the sirens approaching fast, and they started talking fast about what to say to the cops when they arrived. I didn't listen; I felt empty and numb inside at what had happened.
The rest of that night was a blur; the police questioned all of us, and we all told them stories that pretty much lined up together. None of them seemed to question my lack of tears—apparently I looked as shell-shocked as I felt. When they finally gave us a card and allowed us to leave, I packed a few changes of clothes and followed them to their car.
"I'm going with you," I told them flatly. They looked at me in surprise, then shared a look with each other before Dean spoke.
"Look, Sarah—"
"It's not a debate, Dean," I said as firmly as I could. "I'm going."
He looked at his dad, and I met John's gaze. I knew if either of them could understand, he would…I had gathered enough from what little conversation I'd had with Dean to know that. Something in those eyes seemed to reflect what I felt, and I knew what was coming.
"Get in." Dean started to protest again, but John merely silenced him with a look, and they got in front as I climbed into the back seat. My apartment was near the interstate, and they immediately got onto it. We left Tulsa without stopping, and I promised myself I would never return to that God-forsaken city again.