Author's Notes: Well, here we go. I would just like to say thanks to everyone that's reading, thanks for all the wonderful reviews, and thanks to whoever nominated this fic for the ungen awards, you guys are the greatest!! - Kel ;)

I would also like to thank Bayre for the super quick beta, any mistakes are as always my own as I tend to keep tweeking my work up until the moment I hit that little add story button (and sometimes even after) - Kel

Chapter 9

888

Chapter End Notes:

Alright, roll on Wednesday. - Kel ;)

John shifted slightly trying to ease the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his lower back. The pain was a combination of the position he'd now found himself in and the hard fall he'd taken earlier. It didn't help he was being held completely immobile.

"You still breathing!"

Exasperation rolled through John at the old codger's shouted question. It was bad enough the geezer had taken it upon himself to act as the harbinger to Daryl, the mysterious man that John's rescue apparently depended on, but he did so by randomly shouting out questions. John had yet to answer a one, but it hadn't deterred the bearded man from asking.

The old man's insistence that Daryl was on his way did nothing to ease his anxiety. The longer he remained a captive of the beam, the more his worry for his boys increased. He had little doubt by now, the stubborn jackass that was his youngest son had most likely given up on him completely. When it came to his father, Sam already had major trust issues. John was well aware this newest failure wasn't going to help.

The eldest Winchester could only hope Sam followed protocol and left him some indication of where the teen's research had led him. Otherwise, he was going to have to start from scratch. He couldn't afford to waste precious time trying to track down leads, time that could otherwise be spent ensuring the safety of his boys.

"Daryl's here,"

John's reverie was interrupted by the old man's crowing. The excitement in the coot's voice did little to soothe John's anxiety. The floor shaking, dust inducing footsteps that were crossing the flooring above him didn't help either.

All in all, the six-foot one-inch hunter found himself suddenly wishing he hadn't lost his shotgun in the fall. The weapon had landed only feet away, but, pinned as he was it might as well have been a hundred.

Following the sound of the footsteps with his gaze, John listened as Daryl's heavy tread reached the stairs. Perhaps daunted by their dilapidated state the footsteps paused for a moment at the top step.

Even with Daryl at a standstill the much abused floor of the run-down school house groaned in protest. If ever the floor was going to give way, now'd be the time.

John waited for at least three minutes, ready to scream in frustration, before there was the dull thud of something massive stepping down onto the first stair.

A soft light accompanied the sound allowing John to see the stairs more clearly. As much as the hunter needed to get free he understood all too well the dangers this stranger was taking for him. Unable to allow the man to proceed without some kind of warning, he called out, "I don't think the steps are gonna hold you."

His only response was a ruff grunt of acknowledgement.

"They'll hold," The old man called down indignantly. "I built 'em myself back in forty-four, solid as a rock."

John held his tongue at the geezer's prickly reply rather than point out how absurd that statement was. Fifty years of neglect and exposure to the elements wasn't something that quality craftsmanship could counter. Instead, he focused on the massive black boots that had just stepped into his line of vision.

The man descended slowly giving John an opportunity to size him up.

First, came the impossibly huge boots. A third longer than the size fourteens his own son wore, it seemed impossible that shoes could even be found that large. His thick tree-trunk like legs came into view next. Legs that were encased in what looked like a pair of homemade canvas pants.

As the man continued to make his way down the protesting stairs, John could see his bright red flannel shirt. The hunter's eyes widened in shock as Daryl's torso came into view. Wide as any NFL linebacker and yet as long as any NBA star, Daryl's form could only be described as solid. Solid as a rock, hell, amended John, solid as the entire mountain.

Head hunched slightly forward, the man stepped down onto the dirt floor, his weight and tread kicking up a cloud of dust that filled the air.

If pressed, John would have guessed the Kentuckian's height to come in just under seven feet. Though not as tall as many players in today's NBA, he was, however, at least twice the width of any ballplayer.

The soft glow of the flashlight that dangled from the man's meaty paws threw his face into relief. With his wide forehead and deep-set eyes, Daryl would never be considered handsome. Add in his lumpy nose and thin lips, there was little to recommend the fellow.

"You doing okay?" the big man answered obviously choosing to ignore John's staring.

Embarrassed by his own lack of tact, the dark-haired hunter blinked away his shock and replied steadily, "I'm fine. I'm thinking I got off easy."

The monster of a man, nodded solemnly and replied, "I'm thinking your right."

With a gesture toward his trapped legs, John asked, "Do you think you can ease some of the weight off? I'll slide my legs out."

"No worries, I can lift it."

Given his Herman Munster visage, John was surprised by the big man's smooth voice. There was nothing back woodsy about it, and it held only a trace of a southern twang.

"I appreciate it," John replied as he looked expectantly at the giant.

The man made no move toward the beam, instead he stared down at John with a slight frown marring the wide expanse of his forehead. Knowing that he was being sized-up, the hunter found himself hoping he met Daryl's expectations. He had no interest in fighting his way out of town, especially against the man starring at him right now.

"I understand you found those boys? That right?"

Understanding the fine line he was treading John replied honestly. "Yup, I stumbled across them here."

"That's what they said. They also said you killed the man who hurt them. That right?"

John's gaze unwillingly darted toward his fallen shotgun as he again offered the truth. "That's right. I was tracking the bastard, my search led me here. I did what needed to be done."

As if he'd weighed in on the hunter's honesty and found it true, Daryl nodded. "We're in your debt. We'd been unable to find the...," here the man hesitated, "person that's been taking our children."

With a solemn nod, John replied, "It's what I do."

"Well, then lets get you free so you can continue on." The huge man put action to words. He set his light on the floor and moved toward the huge, thick floor joist. He placed his massive hands on either side of the wooden support and asked, "You ready?"

John swallowed back his uncertainty and nodded firmly. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Bending his knees, Daryl adjusted his hold and then stood. Without so much as a grunt of effort, he lifted the floor support.

His legs, long since numb from lack of circulation wouldn't respond to his commands, so instead, John placed his hands flat on the ground and worked to slid his entire body out from under the wood. Once clear, he called out, "Let 'er go, I'm out."

Rather than drop the piece, Daryl carefully set it on the floor. For a moment both he and John paused, listening for any signs that the pile of debris was going to collapse.

As he sat, the blood now pounding through his lower extremities, John found his breath and offered, "Thanks."

888

Julie stared at the shaggy head bent over a faded map and blew out a breath. She had to admit though there was little physical resemblance between the two Winchester brothers both had the same dark edge.

Even Sam, as young as he was, exuded a confidence that was very nearly scary. In fact, if it wasn't for the flash of fear that flared in his green gaze every time his brother was mentioned, Julie would have found it impossible to trust him. Those few moments, when his guard was at its lowest made it clear that he understood just what was at stake.

"You're sure the cave is here?" The young man asked without lifting his head.

Julie glanced down at the map spread over the floor and confirmed, "Positive."

"'kay, I gotta gather some supplies, then we'll be on our way."

With a swallow that sounded loud in the tiny room, Julie argued, "Go, no, we can't go anywhere. Dean said to stay here. He said there'd be help."

Sam turned toward her, giving her his full focus. "You did the right thing. You got him help just like he told you to."

"But..." Julie gestured toward Sam, certain that a sixteen-year-old freshman hadn't been what Dean had in mind. "You're....you're a baby. What can you do against this freak?"

Sam's features shifted slightly, all traces of his earlier compassion wiped away, as he snarled, "I can make him regret he ever touched my brother."

His response had Julie pulling back slightly. She suddenly wondered if she hadn't somehow managed to stumble across the more lethal Winchester.

Then as quick as his anger had overtaken him, Sam seemed back in control. "We can do this, Julie, we can help them both, you, just gotta trust me."

Unsure that she really had any choice, she nodded and gestured with her good hand. "After you."

Sam's rapid-fire smile, had Julie's heart doing flips as the kid assured her, "No, I insist, after you."

With grim determination, the young blond squared her shoulders, grabbed up the tire iron, she'd somehow managed to retain, and headed out into night.

888

"Don't turn around!"

Dean rolled his eyes at the woman's modesty. "I can't tell you how to pick the lock if I can't see you."

"I doubt you need to look at me to tell me what to do," Christine replied gruffly.

Actually, she had a point.

Still, when you were strapped half-naked to a table, waiting for the lower half of your legs to be amputated by some frigged up sociopath, what else was there to do but stare at the bare-breasted woman who may or may not save your life.

"Fine," he agreed with a sigh. "I won't look."

"Good," Christine agreed. "What do I do?"

"Okay you've got the underwire?"

"Yeah," the girl replied.

"What you need to do is put a ninety degree bend in the very tip of the wire. It'll be easier if you use your teeth."

As he listened to the brunette struggle with the wire, he worked on easing the tension that gripped his body. Ever since he'd awoken on Smith's bizarre 'bed o' torture' he'd been one big muscle knot. He needed to get his body under control if he hoped to get them out of here. Despite being at Christine's mercy for the moment, it was his skill that would bring on Smith's downfall.

Drawing in a deep breath, he started with his bare feet. Flexing and relaxing each muscle, he worked his way up his body categorizing all his aches and pains. "How we doing?"

"I think I got it"

"Well, cover up 'cause I gotta see to be sure. Otherwise there's no point going on."

"I can't fasten my bra, my arms ache."

The self-pity in Christine's words reminded Dean of just how much damage had been done to the pretty brunette. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do to help her until he'd gained his freedom. Unable to do much than take the edge of her agony, Dean put on his best grin and rolled sideways.

Too weak to sit up, the woman lay on the floor, her arms slipped into the now ragged bra, a slim piece of white metal gripped tightly in her hand. At his roguish smile, Christine's lips lifted in slight smirk.

He wasn't sure if it was in answer to his smile or just the absurd situation, but he was glad to see the much abused young woman hadn't given up on him yet.

"You can't help yourself, can you?"

Dean's grin widened as he dropped her a wink. "Nope." Focusing on the task at hand, He instructed her, "Okay, you've got a good bend going. What you want to do is insert the pick in the lock with the curve pointing down then work it downward."

"That's it?" Christine asked doubt clear in her voice.

"Yup, basically. You have no clue what you're doing, so you'll just have to keep working till you get it."

The woman's large brown eyes widened with fear. "What if Smith comes back?"

Christine had spent hours in Smith's company, Dean knew the woman, more than anyone, understood just what would happen should the killer come back. What she was looking for wasn't the truth, but hope.

Hope, he could do.

"Just keep trying, even if Smith comes in. Just keep working that lock. I'll do the rest."

"I can do that," the woman stated firmly before following his instructions.

The young hunter watched with interest as the undone bra began to gape with her every movement. When she at last caught his stare, he shot her a rascal's grin and pleaded innocently, "I'm only watching to offer you the benefit of my experience?"

What his earlier words did to give her hope, his last statement put a bit of a blush on her cheeks and a spark in her gaze. "I think I can manage, eyes front."

Dean rolled flat on his back with a sigh. "Man, talk about self-absorbed, you act as if I'm trying to oogle your goods."

"Oogle my goods," Christine snorted.

"Yeah, your goods," Dean stared up at the ceiling and continued, "You know, your assets, the girls, the puppies, your ta-tas, hooters..."

"I got it."

"You sure, cause I got more...knoc-"

"No, I mean I got it!"

The hunter swung his gaze toward her in surprise. She lay on her side, staring at her now free wrist in surprise. Without sparing her nearly bare body a thought, Dean snapped, "Get the other one done. Now, Chris, move it!"

With a jump, she seemed to realize she was wasting time. "Right!"

Forcing himself to relax, Dean eased back down onto the bed and focused his gaze on the dirty ceiling once more. "Where was I, oh yeah, knockers, jugs..."

888

A bump on his shoulder brought John back to reality. Exhausted by the last twenty-four hours, not to mention his time spent trapped, the weary hunter gazed up at the giant nudging him with a familiar-looking glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

John smiled wearily and accepted the bottle from Daryl. "Thanks," he croaked more than spoke. As he tipped back the booze and took a quick hit, he savored the heat making its way down his chest before flaring in his gut.

"Don't be giving him that."

A familiar voice growled, just before the bottle was yanked from his hand. Surprised, the dark-haired man watched as the old man from his rescue began chugging down the whiskey.

"Now, Ketch, we owe him a debt of gratitude," Daryl chided as he carefully lowered himself into a large wood-framed chair.

After his surprisingly simple rescue, Daryl had led him here, a tiny cabin on the outskirts of town. If John had to guess he would say the snug little building housed both the giant and Ketch.

Somewhat revived by the warmth that even now lingered in his system, the hunter pushed himself up and out of the swayback chair he was in. With a groan, he wiped a hand across his gritty eyes and worked to steady himself. "It's fine. I have to head out anyway."

"Got another job?"

Daryl's deceptively simple question had the hunter doing a double take. All of a sudden, the big man's easy acceptance of John's presence in the school seemed suspect. "A job?"

"Well, you're a hunter ain'tcha?"

Ketch's blunt question had John grabbing the bottle out of the old man's tight grasp. With a hefty belt boosting his courage, he replied, "What do you know about hunting, old man?"

"We know a bit," was Daryl's easy reply. Despite the calm in his tone, the big man was still the dominant factor in the room.

"We knew them kids weren't no victim of a loony, like the sheriff done said."

Grief settled itself on Daryl's features as he admitted, "We knew it was something wrong, but it wasn't enough. We didn't know how to find it or destroy it."

Sympathy softened the hard lines on John's face. He knew all about the guilt that dogged you when you were unable to save them all. "Nothing more you could have done."

"Maybe," Ketch conceded as he held his hand out for the now severely depleted bottle of Jack. "My momma taught me some simple tricks, but I ain't never come across anything that would steal young'uns."

Surprised, John asked, "You're mother?"

Daryl leaned back in the seat that had obviously been made especially for him, crossed one huge booted foot over the other and answered, "We're a tight community, don't like outsiders much and we have long memories. You're kind have hunted here before. We pay attention and remember."

Truly curious now, John leaned forward. "What do you remember?"

A slight twinkle appeared in the big man's beady black eyes. "Salt, iron, and silver for protection, blessed water and Latin for purification."

"We can add electrocution to the list now," Ketch guffawed.

"You don't play around, you need at least 10,000 volts," John corrected.

Daryl tapped his temple and nodded, "Long memories, we'll remember."

"I can leave you my phone number, you need help again, I'll come," John offered.

At his words, Ketch began to cackle, his face turning cherry red from the exertion.

"I say something funny?"

With a wave of his hand toward Ketch, Daryl explained, "We don't ask for help. We do for our own."

"But-"

"We do for our own," the mountain man interrupted, his earlier humor all dried up.

Having done all he could, John stood more than ready to take his leave. Too much precious time had already been taken from him, he needed to gain back some ground.

"You could stay the night," Daryl offered as he stood also.

John tilted his head back and met the man's solemn gaze. "I've got my own to tend too; my boy was on his way here and went missing."

"Your own boy was missing, yet you stayed to help us?" Daryl asked, his head tilted slightly to the side in surprise.

Uncomfortable with what he saw as censure, John defended himself. "Kids were dying. Dean's strong. He can look out for himself till I can get to him."

Daryl placed one massive paw on the hunters shoulder. "We owe you more than I thought."

"Where was he coming from?" Ketch asked as he drew closer to the two men.

"From the north, Charleston, West Virginia."

"Lovely," Ketch spat.

Unsure of what had the grizzled, old, man upset, John looked toward Daryl.

"Your boy's not the first to disappear near the town of Lovely."

"People been disappearing on that route since before the town even existed," Ketch insisted.

"You'd know old-timer," Daryl teased. Then with sorry eyes he explained, "No clue what's out there, but the locals all learned long ago to stay away. The tourists on the other hand, well let's just say there's some dangerous mountain roads out that way, they take the blame."

Having been handed the lead he'd needed, John held out one hand to Daryl and promised, "We're even now."

As the two men shook hands, Daryl smiled grimly and said, "I'm thinking we won't have to worry about Lovely any more."

John's feral grin was answer enough as he took leave of the two men.

TBC