Five: The Creature

Cas ran after the gurney, watching the ER doors burst open as the paramedics rushed Sam in. They shouted things in medical jargon, but all Cas could make sense of was blood loss and bullet wound to the abdomen and shock. He'd tried calling Dean, but Dean wouldn't pick up, so his mind was spinning from it all. Everything seemed to be sliding in and out of focus, blurring together in a medley of images and voices and for a few minutes, Cas didn't even know that he was being spoken to until a voice called to him.

"Mr. Winchester?"

He blinked. Standing before him was a young doctor with a file in her hand. "Do you need to sit?" she asked him.

"No," he said, and swallowed. "Sam…"

"We have to get him to surgery. He has an injury to his spleen which is bleeding and has to be repaired. We need permission to go ahead. Are you a relative?"

"I'm his brother-in-law," replied Cas. "So yes, I am, technically his closest relative you can find right now." He took the pen from her and scanned the page before signing at the bottom. "How long will this take?"

She fumbled with her pad, looking tense. "I'll – I'll let you know."

Cas watched her walk away and dialled Dean again, receiving no reply. He knew Dean was driving. He knew what was likely to happen and he hoped Dean would just be a little calm about it for now.

As he took a seat in the waiting area he put his head in his hands, praying and praying and just praying on.

~o~

Dean stopped following Sam's attackers after a while. They could see him, they'd know he was after them and he realised he could track them more effectively without riding after them. He stared at his phone. He wanted to call Cas, wanted to know how Sam was doing, but he wasn't going to do that, wasn't going to stop until he found those assholes. Only then he'd call back. And, and if Sam were dead…

No. Sam was not dead. He could feel it. Sam was far from dead.

Convincing himself of this over and over again, Dean pulled over at a gas station to fill up the tank and buy some food. He needed to be equipped if those assholes were escaping to somewhere else. He didn't want to waste a single moment. They were heading towards Yankton right now, and Dean realised with a jolt that they probably had something to do with the murder there.

When his tank was full, he drove a little more and eventually pulled over on a shoulder to open the OnStar website on his phone. Those bastards probably thought they were going to mock him by attacking his brother while driving a fucking Impala. They should have known that Dean could beat their asses when it came to this car. Yeah, he'd find a good spot nearby, park the Impala, and keep an eye on them.

They were going to pay.

~o~

Henriksen found Dean Winchester at a gas station while he was on his way into Sioux Falls. Winchester was at the counter buying a bag of chips, and Henriksen watched him as he spoke to the cashier and then exited, seating himself in that car of his before driving off the way Henriksen had come in. He watched Dean just for a few seconds before scrambling back into his own car.

The bastard had lied about being in Sioux Falls, and now he was going towards Yankton? Henriksen was going to put an end to his antics.

He was, however, surprised that the husband wasn't involved in this. Seemed like he was either oblivious or an accomplice or an accessory; either way, Dean Winchester's luck had finally run out, and Henriksen couldn't be happier about it.

~o~

Cas was on his third cup of coffee, had given up trying to call Dean, and had already finished an interview with the police when Sam was brought out of surgery. A nurse patted him on the shoulder, looking pleased. "He's fine," she said. "We're keeping him in recovery for a bit so we can see how he's taking it."

"When can I see him?"

"You can grab yourself something from the cafeteria if you want," she said, as though that was a definite unit of time. "You should be able to see him when you're back."

"Thank you." Cas got up and dialled Dean's phone again, only to get no response. He sighed, then texted Dean to update him about Sam.

"Dammit, Dean," he muttered as he sent it. "What on earth are you doing?"

He could feel a headache building up, a manifestation of all his anxieties and worries, and he clenched his fists, hoping Dean wasn't doing something stupid right now, even if that was a wasteful thing to hope for, because Cas knew exactly what Dean was about to do. And, at this moment, he wasn't so fond of it.

~o~

Cas had tried to call many times, but Dean hadn't picked up because he didn't want to hear the words (Sam was dead Sam was dead… no). Didn't want to ever experience them being uttered. He knew he was worrying Cas, but he'd apologise plenty when he completed the task at hand; and complete this task he would.

When Cas finally gave up trying to call and just sent a text, Dean felt relieved, glad to know that he'd been right. Sam was alive and fucking kicking.

He watched from his spot in the Impala on the side of the road that his target had moved on ahead. They seemed to be making their way out of the state. Dean resumed his journey, not wanting to reach them too late. He'd given them an hour's lead and that was good enough. He realised this was a good idea later on when after what seemed like an eternity of driving and following them, they stopped for the night.

Once he had reached the area Dean got a room in a motel close the one where Sam's attackers seemed to be. Dean had not paid much attention to the scenery except for crossing the state border but he knew he was in Wyoming. His neck and shoulders ached from six straight hours of driving. It didn't matter all that much only because of the thought of revenge burning in the pit of his stomach. He knew it could keep him fuelled forever, too.

He was pretty sure they didn't know he had tailed them all the way here; they wouldn't have stopped if they knew, so Dean was confident he had them. If, somehow, his opponents did know of his presence and were going to be vigilant or had booby trapped their accommodations to take Dean by surprise, he was prepared to face that, too. He never went into battle without ammunition.

Henriksen, though. Dean sighed. That idiot thought he was being discreet, following Dean all the way from that gas station. He really wasn't that secretive about what he was doing, but right now, Dean couldn't care less about him. He knew Henriksen would come in screaming because Dean had lied about being in Sioux Falls.

Anyway, the agent seemed to have opted for the other motel in the area, probably to make sure Dean didn't see him after that shitty tailing job he did, so Dean was glad for his privacy.

He'd taken a room that was further from the view of the rest of the motel. He parked the Impala outside before unlocking the door and looked around as he opened the trunk of his car. The bottom had always been false, and Dean pulled it up, propping it up with supports as he surveyed the arsenal he had in there. He needed firearms this time, because those people had guns, too. He shoved a small knife into his pocket, just in case, and reached for his beloved Beretta and his sawed-off, staring longingly at his machetes as he shut the trunk. Then he took them into his motel room and waited for night to fall. It was time to avenge Sam and have some fun in the process.

~o~

Sam woke up briefly sometime around midnight, high on pain medication and incoherent. Cas was with him in the room, dozing on the uncomfortable chair when it happened. The beeps of the heart monitor changed rhythm suddenly, speeding up a little, and Cas's eyes flew open.

Sam was staring at him, pale as paper, eyes glassy and lips cracked. Cas was immediately on his feet next to Sam. "Hey, Sam," he said, raising a hand to place it on his forehead as Dean would, but unsure if he should actually do it. Twelve years of knowing Sam and approval from him that Cas was like a big brother to him, and yet, there were some things entirely personal between Sam and Dean that Cas didn't want to interfere with.

Sam swallowed, looking like it was the most painful thing for him to do. "D-Dean…"

"He's…" Cas licked his lips, "he'll be back. Why don't you sleep?"

"D'n."

Cas sighed, shoving away his internal battles as he finally palmed Sam's forehead. "Sleep," he said. "It's going to be okay."

Sam's trusting eyes locked with his just once before they fluttered shut, and Cas felt like he'd betrayed the only person he'd ever considered and loved as a little brother. He walked back to his seat with that thought pricking him and hoped once again that Dean hadn't done anything stupid.

~o~

Dean had to be stealthy getting to the right motel room to carry out his plan. It was a little past midnight, the perfect time to go ahead with it. He'd parked his car close by and he'd had to look around to make sure Henriksen wasn't watching him. He'd already checked out of his room, too. He had just needed it for a warm shower and some relaxation before he ate and prepared his moves and he didn't want anything to hinder his escape, lest Henriksen's team caught him somehow.

The lights were off inside of the room, indicating that these people didn't actually know that they'd been followed. Dean pressed his back against the wall outside and took a deep breath, reaching for his sawed-off that he'd somehow hidden inside his jacket, even though it was uncomfortable as fuck. He shut his eyes. This was it. This was the moment, and then there had to be a good escape, and—

"Not so fast, Winchester."

Dean opened his eyes to come face-to-face with Henriksen's gun. Okay, so slight mistake in calculation; Henriksen was definitely watching, but Dean didn't care. "Dude," he said, "just go back to your room and pretend you didn't actually do a shitty tailing job. This has got nothing to do with you."

Henriksen's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Having an orgy with some old friends," Dean grinned. "What does it look like? All approved by Cas, by the way, but it's not his thing, so—"

"Shut up." Henriksen pressed the gun to Dean's forehead. "You're under arrest."

"For?"

"Killing Clif Daniels."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Didn't do it, pal."

"Yeah?" Henriksen cocked his gun. "Well, pal, we'll see that in court, won't we?" He drew out handcuffs with his free hand. "Give me your weapons. I know you have them. And come quietly."

Dean eyed the handcuffs and smirked. "Kinky. But I don't come quietly. Cas could tell you that and—"

"Shut up!"

"Sorry." Dean raised his hands in surrender to the cuffs, readying himself for that second when the gun to his forehead shifted, about to dissociate from him.

Dean didn't wait another opportunity to knee Henriksen, grunting and pushing him away.

Henriksen's hand flew skyward and the gun went off, causing a chain reaction around them. Lights began to switch on, screams punctuating the air.

Dean drew out his sawed-off as the door behind him opened, revealing Sam's attackers. He knew at once that he'd seen them before, but didn't wait to empty shell after shell into them, blood spraying onto him, and when a bullet hit his thigh, a pair of arms gripping him from behind, Dean turned around and jammed the butt of his shotgun against Henriksen's head.

People were coming out of their rooms and the manager was there, but Dean took off, not waiting to see what was going on. He needed to get out. He needed to leave here before they called the police.

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his thigh, controlling the rising nausea as he staggered to his car. The Impala accelerated like he wanted her to and all Dean could think about as he fled from the scene and the town was that he'd messed up. Sam's attackers were dead, but Dean had fucked up big time. Too big.

~o~

When Henriksen came to, he was in his motel room on his bed. He didn't have trouble remembering what had just transpired; he just hoped it hadn't been long since it happened because…

He checked his watch. It was almost one in the morning.

Fuck. That bastard Dean Winchester was just as shady as Henriksen had suspected, and now he'd let him escape? Fabulous. Swearing once more, Henriksen hurried out of his room, only to be met with a full-fledged crime scene investigation. There was yellow tape outside of the motel room where the murders had taken place, detectives bent over the bodies, and Henriksen made his way to another detective who was interviewing a guest.

Henriksen dug out his ID and flashed it at the man, who dismissed the guest and nodded. "Saw that. You doing okay? You took quite a hit to your head there."

Henriksen gritted his teeth through the sudden pounding in his head that made itself evident. "I'm good. Where did he go?"

The other man pointed at a road to his right. "That way. But there's a crossroads a few miles away so we can't tell for sure which way he's headed. I've alerted all the nearby PDs…"

"You get his plate?"

"Some of it. He was long gone before we could chase him, so it's mostly just civilian knowledge. I put an APB on it."

"His name is Winchester," Henriksen supplied. "I have a file photograph somewhere. Or you can get it off the Internet. His husband's moderately famous."

"Should I alert the press?"

"Don't tell them who it is yet. We've been after him at the bureau a while now. I'll call them when I need to."

"Was he a suspect?"

Henriksen nodded. "The Creature. No longer just a suspect, though. I'm sure it's him."

"The folks he killed were packing, too."

Henriksen raised an eyebrow. "Licensed?"

"Yeah."

Henriksen pressed his lips together. "Must be some local thugs who they fought with. You get the ID?"

"Elias and Thomas Brady."

"Okay. I'll ask the bureau for a background check. Thanks."

"But… you say this is the work of the Creature?" The detective looked confused. "He shot the folks here. Ain't he supposed to butcher them?"

"He didn't have time. I almost had him. Dammit." Henriksen stomped the ground with frustration when he felt his phone vibrating. He took it when he saw it was Belle.

"Where are you?" she asked him the second he picked up. "I thought you'd call from Sioux Falls—"

"There's been two more murders," Henriksen told her, breathing deeply to control his irritation at Dean's escape. "I'm in Gillette. Wyoming."

"Wyoming?!"

"It's Dean Winchester, just like I told you it was. He's our perp."

"You caught him?"

"No."

"Then where is he?"

"I don't know. He attacked me and booked. I was knocked out."

"God, are you okay?"

"Yeah." Henriksen took a deep breath through his anger when he remembered the time again. "Why'd you call this late, anyway?"

"I wanted information," she said, "but you aren't over there, so…"

"Where?"

"Sioux Falls."

"Our culprit isn't in Sioux Falls anymore," he said.

"No, but his brother is, and if he hasn't run away yet, so is his husband."

Henriksen straightened. "They're still at Sioux Falls?"

"Specifically Sioux Falls General Hospital. His brother got shot last afternoon."

"Afternoon?! Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"Hey!" Belle protested, annoyed. "I thought you'd gotten there hours ago. When I didn't hear news from you, I alerted the local cops to look for the Winchesters and that's when they told me about it. The husband says he didn't see the attacker."

Henriksen shook his head. "Bullshit."

"I know. But there's a story here. We need to look into it."

"Yeah. How soon can I get there?"

"First flight I can find is eight a.m."

"I can drive by then."

"It's your choice," she said. "You've taken a blow to the head, so maybe—"

"I'm driving," he insisted, rushing back to his room. "Castiel Winchester is important, and I need to get there before he's gone. How critical is Sam Winchester?"

"He's had surgery."

"Let's hope the bastards haven't left."

"I'll check with the hospital and get back to you."

"Okay. Sure." Henriksen cut the call without a goodbye and started to gather his things, checking his gun and pocketing Winchester's photo so he could get it broadcast if he felt he needed to. Just as he'd hefted his bag onto his shoulders, Belle called again.

"Tell me it's good news," he muttered into the phone.

"They're still there."

"I'm out of here. Ask the cops to get a couple of officers to patrol the entrances. No approaching the suspects because I don't want either Winchester knowing that we're onto them. On the off chance that they don't know what's up with their beloved Dean, I don't want them alarmed and trying to escape. I asked the detective here to not talk to the press about who he is and I think I'm gonna have the news channels and press know as soon as I get his family. Did you get what I asked you to do?"

"You know, I do know all of that. You don't have to give me so many instructions. I'm flying to South Dakota first thing. SAC said you're not doing this alone anymore."

"Good." He grinned for the first time that day. "You're a good partner, Vargas. I'm just stressed today. Believe me, I don't want to order you around."

He heard the slight smile in her voice. "You got that right, Henriksen."

~o~

Cas's phone rang in the middle of his restless snooze, making him rush outside the hospital room so as to not disturb Sam. Cursing himself over not having silenced his phone, he took the call. "Where are you?!" he demanded of his husband.

"Is Sammy okay?"

"He had to have surgery, but he's stable now. Where are you?"

"I can't talk for long. You need to stay put. Keep Sam with you and take care of him. You get me?" Dean sounded urgent and tired.

Cas froze. "What did you do?"

"Cas—"

"What did you do, Dean?" Cas asked him slowly, making sure no one was listening.

There was a sigh. "I killed them."

"Dammit, Dean." Cas gritted his teeth. "Why do you not pay attention when I tell you to not take impulsive decisions?"

"I had to."

Cas took in a short breath. "Of course you did. You always have to justify your idiotic actions. Did you hide the bodies?"

"No, I… Henriksen saw me."

"What?" Cas's eyes widened, even though Dean couldn't see him. He paused. "Did you kill Henriksen, too?"

Dean took a moment to answer that. "No."

Cas could feel the growing anger in him as he found an empty stairwell. "I knew you were stupid, Dean," he said, voice rising, "but this stupid?!"

"Cas, please, I don't have time. Just… just stay there, okay? Tell them you have no idea what I've done. You always thought I was innocent."

Cas was tired of playing innocent and clueless, but he leaned against a wall and nodded. "They won't believe me, but all right. Have they got you on the news?"

"No idea. Probably."

"Great."

"Don't be pissed."

"What do you want me to say, Dean?"

"I… I need to go." Cas heard an audible swallow. "I'm destroying this phone. Heading to Rufus's. Don't contact me unless I talk first."

"Okay."

"Cas…" Dean trailed away, and Cas knew what he wanted to say. The anger drained out of him at once.

"I love you, too," he said. "Be careful."

"Yeah, you, too."

The call was cut and Cas pocketed his phone with a nagging ache in his heart and determination to get Dean out of this. He returned to Sam's room, his nerves working against him. Dean had no alibis, none they could even make up. Henriksen was a witness, and probably heading this way as Cas just sat there, watching over his brother-in-law.

He turned to Sam. Sam, who didn't know a thing about what had just happened, who was hurt and needed care and to see his brother, and if things went the way they were going now, Cas knew for sure that neither of them would ever see Dean again.

He sat there, thinking, planning, and setting up conversations in his head. He went through more coffees, sneaking peeks at the waiting room TV, but couldn't get himself to ask them to change the channel to the news. He didn't want the hospital realising he was Dean's family and calling the police on them. Henriksen was enough.

He waited, counting each minute as it passed while attending to Sam and talking to the nurses and staying extremely alert until, sometime after breakfast, there was a knock at the door. It could be a doctor, but Cas knew exactly who it was when he went to open it. So he wasn't at all surprised to see Henriksen there, sporting a painful-looking lump on the side of his head, but still smiling.

"I need to speak to you, Mr. Winchester," he said, and Cas was reminded of a cat finding a mouse.

He swallowed. "I don't understand."

"Oh, you will," said Henriksen. "If you'd just follow me, please. And leave your phone behind. No fiddling with it or contacting your husband while we talk."

Cas nodded reluctantly, put his phone on Sam's bedside table, and followed Henriksen out, heart pounding. Henriksen led him out past a couple of nurses, and into an empty room in a corridor shut off for renovation.

Cas clasped his hands together as he entered, eyes scanning the room, but Henriksen sat in a chair and gestured to another. "Sit."

"What do you—?"

"Just do as I say." Cas sat down, folding his arms and watching Henriksen smile. He just needed to get through this. He just needed to stick to the plan. That was it. It was going to be fine.

"So," Henriksen spoke, interrupting his thoughts, "where's Dean?"

"I… what are you talking about?"

"Sam got shot," replied Henriksen, "and we all know that. Did you see who shot him?"

"No."

"Okay." Henriksen reached for his phone and pressed a few buttons before shoving it under Cas's nose. "Recognise them?"

Cas found himself staring at a picture of two dead people, faces streaked with blood. The same people, he assumed, who'd shot Sam, and his heart skipped a beat as he realised who they were. He'd seen them last at Sam's friend's funeral. Tyson Brady's funeral. He looked up at Henriksen. "I don't know them, and please put these gory pictures away."

"Uh-huh, and it took you so long to not recognise them?" Henriksen narrowed his eyes. "As for the gory pictures, you put up a good act, you know, but I'm not buying it. Random people don't just shoot upstanding citizens out of nowhere."

"I – I told you…"

"Answer me. Now!" Henriksen's voice raised several notches as he stood up, making Cas flinch. "Where is Dean Winchester?"

"I don't know."

"Okay." Henriksen walked around to Cas, bending over him from the back. "Let's try this again. We all know that if I send your phone to the office we'll retrieve the record of that call you made to Dean—or vice versa—somewhere after the murder and before I came in. You deleted the record, of course, but we can work around that."

Cas gritted his teeth. "Take it, then. Take my phone."

"Oh, we're definitely going to do that," Henriksen told him, lowering his voice so that Cas shivered. "Had a great time showing me down with your intelligent lawyer brother-in-law, didn't you? Now, unless you tell me where Dean is, I'm throwing both you and Sam in prison."

"You can't do that."

"Can't I? I saw your brother kill those people, Winchester. Saw him. He's the culprit. Not even a suspect anymore. I have enough reason to believe you're at least an accomplice, if not more."

"Prove it," Cas spat at him.

"You bet. And when I do that, you're going to prison."

"You can't take Sam, he needs medical attention."

"They have that in prison, too, don't worry," said Henriksen. Cas watched him return to his seat, hands shaking as he clenched his fists. "So," he said, "you can confess right now and we can settle a plea bargain, maybe, talk to a lawyer, and—"

Cas let out a breath, his blood boiling. "Leave us alone."

Henriksen stopped in the middle of his talk. "What?"

"Leave. Us. Alone."

"Yeah, not happening, Winchester, I—" He didn't get to finish his sentence as Cas got up and punched him in the mouth.

Henriksen staggered back, blood bubbling from his lips, and Cas punched him again, catching him before he fell back. He turned Henriksen around and slapped a hand over his bloody mouth so he wouldn't be able to speak. Then Cas pressed his chest against Henriksen's back, his other arm wrapped around him to prevent him from escaping.

"I tried to be innocent and good," he whispered in the agent's ear, easily holding up against the man's struggles. "Those novels were fun, but I was honest with them. And, like Dean said, I really did try my best to stay good for you, too. But I don't think I can let you ruin my family anymore. And you can't ask me again, so, yes. We killed them all. Well, most of them. The last two weren't ours. We've been doing this for years. More than ten years. We buried the bodies. Burned the hearts.

"You know, the heart being outside the body means death. Dean started taking them after we found Bobby's killers. We like that tradition and sometimes we change it a little, like actually taking those hearts home—but that's not a concern for you, I think."

Henriksen squirmed, eyes enraged, elbows trying to hit Cas's abdomen. Cas just chuckled. "That's of no use. I am stronger than you think; I just look dwarfed by Dean's height sometimes. And it's amazing, you know, taking life. To watch them struggle, and they're such horrible people. You're not a horrible person, Agent, so I'm sorry I have to do this to you. It was fun until you came investigating. We decided on New Year's about two years ago that we wouldn't be hiding the bodies anymore because we knew you wouldn't find us. But God," he shook his head, "the Bradys really, as Dean would say, screwed us over. And you, too. I want you to remember that. You would be alive if it weren't for the Bradys' interference."

His hand slid down to Henriksen's chin, the other going to the side of the agent's head, and before the man could so much as move, Cas had snapped his neck. The satisfying crack brought a smile to his face and he stood back, letting Henriksen's limp body fall to the floor, then going to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands.

He knew he was going to get into trouble for this, but this also meant that he could be with Dean now, and honestly, that was all that Cas needed. Plus, Henriksen had signed his own death warrant the minute he'd started breathing down Dean and Cas's necks about the murders. He should have seen this coming.

Now all Cas needed to do was dispose of Henriksen so nobody could find him, and escape this place with Sam to get to Dean.

o

-Then-

One of the reasons Dean didn't trust the professor was that he'd heard a rumour about him. Many of the students who'd visited him claimed that the professor's tutoring services didn't come for free. That he did ask for payment. Just… not in the form of money.

Now, if there was a reason Dean didn't believe that, it was that the prof just seemed too wimpy to ask people to fuck him like that. But then again, no one ever actually did anything for free, and Dean had learned long ago not to judge people from appearance. Plus, many students stopped getting tutored after a few days, and unless the prof was horrible at teaching, Dean had to wonder if the rumour was true.

Honestly, as long as the professor and the students agreed to it, Dean didn't even give a fuck about that. He'd never cared to judge; his dad had judged him too much, judged Sam too much, and berated both of them more than he should have, and that was the main reason why Dean had killed him. He'd been sixteen; Sammy twelve, watching quietly as Dean carved into the bastard, enjoying himself as he listened to the screams. John had come home reeking of whiskey again and Dean had actually wanted him stone cold sober for this, but he'd been planning this too long to push it off for another day.

Sam was just sitting there in their basement, wearing his too-small pyjamas and rubbing his sleepy eyes while Dean made each cut on their dad. "This is for beating you up," he said to Sam amidst John's weak pleads and screams, but Sam didn't respond. "Remember that day?" Dean pushed him.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean," Sam had replied quietly.

"Well, he can't control us anymore." Dean grinned, turning to his brother briefly. "We're the ones who get to make him suffer."

Sam had just nodded at that without smiling. He watched Dean kill his father and huddled against him when they sat on the Impala's hood, watching everything burn before them. The fire had been just to make sure John died, and it looked to everyone like the house had caught fire, and no one found any flesh on John's recovered body to know how he'd really been killed. Later, when the police and CPS talked to them, Dean realised Sam's tears were real, and he'd apologised. Sam had grabbed his wrist and when Dean bent over, whispered in his ear, "You never need to say sorry to me."

After that, they'd been running away from worse foster parents, making Dean wonder if he should have let John live. He'd enjoyed slicing up his father, though, so he had no regrets about that. It had been a great exercise; a great start, and so, when the professor finally lost his temper one day and hit Sam (for wetting the bed no less, and okay, Sammy was grown but sometimes he had issues and these were their fucking so-called parents, even if they were foster parents, who gave them that name?). Sam getting hit meant that Dean had to do it again.

If it had been a one-time thing, Dean would have let the professor go after punching his face to a pulp—which Sam disapproved of, God knew why. He insisted they were leaving, getting free of this, so it would be best if they just left quietly and comfortably (comfortably? Sammy never slept well after that day, just to be sure he didn't wet the damned bed again). However, when the professor hit Sam another time when Sam accidentally slept well one night ("Dean, you're not punching him, it's my fault okay?"), and then was found in Sam's room one night, tugging at the kid's jeans when—thank fuck—Dean had just gone to randomly check in on his brother, it was over. Dean knew his moment had come again. He'd finally punched the professor that night, and Sam had woken up, confused.

"How dare you!" Dean had snarled, hitting the bastard again. "Get away from my brother." He blocked a hit from the professor, punched him again. "GO!"

The man leered. "You're only here because I want you here, you rat," he said. "No one cares what you think."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Leave, or you're gonna regret it. Your wife has no clue, does she? Sam's not one of your students. He hasn't agreed to this, and even if he had, he's a kid. Don't you lay a finger on my brother, get me?"

The professor rolled his eyes. "Tell me whatever you want, but this is your profession once you're back on the streets. I'm just giving him practice. I know all of you dirty street rats—"

Dean had never misjudged an innocent-looking wimp more. He clenched his fists. "Even if that was my job," he said, taking a step forward, "It's honest and I'll get money for something someone actually agreed upon. You're a fucking paedo. So just go." He'd raised his fist again, and the professor left the room.

Right after, Dean had gone to Sam's dresser to find his stuff. "Come on, we gotta go."

"No, Dean. Not until we finish school."

"Sammy."

"No."

That was the end of that conversation. Sam refused to budge, or let Dean budge, until graduation, because apparently education was more important than getting rid of an abusive, rapist bastard. Sam didn't want to go to CPS or the police or fucking do anything and Dean just stayed short of yelling at his kid brother because it had been a bad night. There was never a thing Dean didn't do for Sam and he wished his brother would stop digging his heels into the ground like this. However, Dean waited. He shared his room with Sam and kept an eye on the professor and let time go by.

He waited and waited for his graduation and then on that precise day found another reason to kill that sad, old, smelly bastard. It came in the form of Cas. Cas, whom he was going crazy for by then. Which was strange because he rarely cared about much outside of Sam and Bobby. He had no idea where this blue-eyed dude had entered his thoughts and conscience from, but it had happened.

Dean's graduation day made him ecstatic. He was leaving the house and he wasn't leaving just like that. He was going to take his and Sam's dignity with him, and the professor would finally know who he'd messed with. One evening of fun before he took Sam to Bobby's and they lived like a normal-ass, awesome family. He threw that stupid black cap up like all the other assholes in his class, got hugged by Sammy, and didn't accept a hug from the smiling professor.

Everything went great that day. Dean didn't care about the shit around him, didn't care about their loud-mouthed neighbour talking about his dead cat and criticising Sam and Dean about being brats, insisting they'd killed it. Really, Dean didn't give a shit until Cas came by in the evening looking pale and unsure. He'd felt his heart drop into his stomach then, when he realised this was probably the last time he would be seeing Cas.

So of course Dean winked at him, and—surprise, surprise—Cas didn't respond. He remembered Cas wouldn't really have a tutor starting today and, well, it was sad, but no one laid a hand on Sammy and got away with it. He'd be showing that professor who was boss and there was no need to feel guilty. Hell, he could already imagine making him beg and scream, it was like climbing a roller coaster, and no amount of real roller coasters equalled the thrill that came with this.

One last moment to declare his control. One last opportunity to show who had the reins. One last time to watch, admire the fear and hope in someone's eyes, which existed only because their life was entirely in your hands. Teasing them. Pretending to spare them. And then. Taking away all of it, and watching the horror unfold.

Dean ran a hand over the gooseflesh on his arms and tried not to smile.

However, things didn't go as planned for him.

It was late that evening, near dinnertime, when Dean heard the screams. Mrs Banks was out visiting her mother. Glad that she was out, Dean had finished packing, and came down to the living room when he heard those screams, but they weren't coming from the study. Horrified when he recognised the voice, he plucked a knife to follow the sounds, which he now realised were coming from the basement. Sam was by his side, and Dean squeezed his neck. "You should stay here, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Be careful." He seated himself on one of the sofas, clasping his hands together and touching his forehead to them as though he were praying. Dean nodded at him and headed to the basement, still listening to the voices.

"You're mine, bitch, stay still."

Pleads. Protests. Dean's heart skipped a beat. Cas.

"I said don't move, bitch!"

"HEY!"

Dean burst in, knife in hand, only to see Cas pushed against a wall, pants and boxers bunched around his ankles while the professor clutched his hair. And seeing them like that, watching this scene, Dean froze for a moment.

"You want to join in?" the professor leered. "You and that little brother of yours? I know you like boys, Dean, don't be shy."

The hiss of his words made Dean fling forward, landing his fist on the professor's face. "Don't you dare," he said. He caught the man's shoulders and kicked him, dropping him to the floor before pinning him down with one knee. He punched the man again. "Don't you dare lay a hand on anyone again."

The man turned aside and spat blood. "And are you going to be around to protect them all?"

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see that Cas had slid down the wall, still half-naked, face in his hands. Dean could hear his hitched breathing, could see the shake of his shoulders. He gritted his teeth.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm always going to be around to take care of douchebags like you." He plunged his knife right into the man's abdomen and revelled in the screaming that ensued.

||END OF BOOK ONE||

A/N: So now you know who the Creature is (are). Stay tuned for more, and please review, the lack of responses are such a bummer, especially after writing this fic for so long.