Author's Chapter Notes:

Whew...sorry for the delay, but at least its done. Please bear with me as it is unbeta'd. Enjoy - Kel

Smith stood in the shadows of the giant pines and watched as the young couple made its way through the dense forest. He had to hand it to Julie, in all his planning he had never once counted on the young woman's luck. First, finding his bolthole a miracle akin to finding a needle in a haystack, and then to practically trip over the shaggy-haired youth she was now leading about by the nose.

Well, luck for Smith at least, given the fact that Julie was leading the lanky young fellow back to his place.

He idly wondered if he should keep the blonde as bait for every callow youth, with a penchant for playing Lancelot, passing through the area. He could end up with a never-ending smorgasbord of prey.

As the couple passed by, he melded deeper into the shadows. To his delight, he noticed his newest arrival was tall, probably close to three inches taller than the hunter who now occupied Smith's special bed. The balance pleased him. He had Julie's height to counter Christine's diminutive status and now the tall supple youth, and the shorter lean hunter, it was like Christmas come early.

A slight grimace marred Smith's aged features as he considered the hunter he'd left trussed up. It had been years, over a hundred to be exact, since he'd last encountered such a challenge. Despite the stranger's youth, he was obviously more experienced than the killer had counted on. It hadn't helped that the man had been ready to throw himself upon the proverbial sword to ensure Julie's safety. It's never easy to defeat a man who fights not to defend himself, but to protect others.

In the end, Smith had prevailed, but that wasn't to say he hadn't been given a run for his money.

Now as he watched Julie and her rescuer slink through the forest, he couldn't help but enjoy the twist of fate that had brought him the tall youth. This newest arrival would allow him to draw-out the pleasure of making the hunter beg for a mercy that would not come. Blood and gore had its place but Smith was a true connoisseur. He took his pleasure in the little things, like slowly ripping the defiant hunter into itty-bitty pieces as he begged and screamed for mercy. It would be pure ecstasy.

Nearly lost to his daydream, it took a moment for him to realize that something had changed. Coming to a standstill, he tested the air around him trying to get a handle on just what had caught his attention.

Then it hit him, the sense of overwhelming fear and despair that he'd left behind him at the house had somehow changed. Christine's fear, a scent that he would recognize anywhere, was no longer as strong. Now, there was an underlying feeling of hope emanating from the young woman.

With one last lingering gaze toward the couple that were trudging their way toward his home, Smith took to his heels. He had come too far to allow anything to disrupt his plans. If he was right, and he always was, the hunter had done something to give the young brunette hope.

It was a hope that Smith intended to crush. If need be he would sacrifice the green-eyed man, putting an end to any last dreams of escape Christine might harbor.

888

"He's going to come back," Dean hissed as he struggled against the bonds that held him. "Get it done."

While Christine's first cuff had come off fairly easy, the second one had proven to be much harder for the young woman. Dean had done what he could to talk her through it but lock picking really wasn't something you could explain. "Come on," he breathed, his every sense strained as he listened for some indication that Smith had returned.

"I can't do it, I can't," Christine moaned as she began jerking at the bond that still held her right wrist.

"Chris, stop," Dean snapped in his best big brother voice.

His tone caught the panicked girl's attention. "I can't do this," she pleaded as her large tear-filled eyes darted toward the door.

"You can," Dean urged. "You need to. If you don't, we're dead."

The young woman held his gaze for one long moment before she at last nodded and returned her attention to the cuff. "I can do this."

Satisfied there was little else he could do, Dean concentrated on the silence that filled the house. Call it a hunter's instinct or simply a sense of self-preservation, but the ever-increasing feeling of danger had become impossible to ignore. Smith was on his way back.

A slight snick caught Dean's attention, only to be followed by Christine's incredulous cry, "I did it!"

Smiling as much as his bruised countenance would allow, Dean praised the woman, "I knew you could. Now, see if you can find your clothes."

Staggering to her feet, the brunette shook her head and insisted, "No, you next."

Already sure their time was up, Dean ordered, "No, first pants, and shoes, and if you can manage it a shirt."

"I can get you free," Christine pleaded as she limped toward him.

The hunter shook his head and nodded toward his own pile of clothes. They were no longer running out of time, they were out. There would be no last minute rescue for him. The only thing left was to get the girl gone. "Please," he begged, knowing she wouldn't be able to refuse.

With a jerk of her head, Christine bypassed the bed. Once she reached the corner where his belongings lay, she rifled through the clothing. "He ruined everything but my sneakers."

"Don't worry about it, use my belt to cinch up the pants and just throw on the jacket," he urged.

As she set to work, he focused his attention on the door that led to the hallway. He wasn't certain, but he'd thought he heard what could be the slam of the front door. His focus was then drawn by a tug on his foot. He shifted his gaze from the door toward the foot of the bed, where Christine stood, his leg iron in hand.

She looked like a little girl playing dress up with Daddy's clothes. Instead of taking his leather jacket, she'd chosen his dark grey flannel, it was buttoned lopsidedly, the tails hanging over the bulge that his belt created. The cuffs of the pants had been rolled and she wore a pair of hot pink tennis shoes on her feet.

Before he could order her away, he felt a sudden release of pressure on his right ankle. As a surge of hope moved through him, he heard the distinctive sounds of footsteps pounding across the downstairs floor. "In the bag, grab the flashlight."

When Christine ignored the order, he shook the leg she now worked on and growled, "Christine, now!"

A second later, he felt the second cuff give way. This time there was no sense of hope as he heard boots hit the bottom step. Tipping his head backward he kept his gaze on the door and counted the pounding footsteps.

"I can-"

"Go!," he growled, "Use the flashlight, break the glass out of the window and go. Once you're at the edge of the roof, drop, you'll land on the steps, they should hold you. Then I want you to run, fast as you can. Go to ground and don't come out no matter what. Do you understand?"

"But-"

"Move!"

Christine flinched at his words, as she glanced toward the door. "It's not right," she choked out, at last moving toward his bag.

"Maybe not, but I'm okay with it as long as you make it out. What I won't be okay with is Smith killing us both."

With the long cylindrical flashlight in hand, Christine broke out the glass in the window. The sound of it shattering seemed to speed up the footsteps. She was actually hesitating in the window frame, one foot poised on the roof when she drew back and darted toward his bag once more.

When she turned back toward Dean, his shotgun gripped in both her hands, he couldn't help but grin with pride. Holding out his hand awkwardly, he accepted the weapon and shouted, "Go!"

Just then the door to the room slammed open with Smith poised in the opening. Dean didn't give the killer a chance to get his bearings, instead, lying on his back, he aimed backward and fired. Given the close quarters, the shot knocked the silver-haired man off his feet and into the hallway.

The hunter pulled his gaze from the murderer just long enough to check that Christine was making good her escape. The brunette was crouched just outside the window, a touch of hesitation in her features. Understanding what she needed to hear, Dean shot her a grin and lied, "I'll be right behind you."

888

"He's gone," Sam whispered as he picked up their pace. He'd first noticed the sensation of being watched once they'd left the protection of the cabin, but he hadn't wanted to say anything that would make Julie balk from leading him to his brother.

Then the sensation had abruptly disappeared, leaving Sam, if possible, even more nervous than before. If the creature wasn't stalking them, then that left his brother in Smith's sights.

"He's gone?" she questioned as she came to an abrupt halt.

Sam gave her a push to get her moving and whispered, "Smith was following us, but he's gone now."

Julie's gaze jumped from point to point as she tried to watch every direction. "How do you know?"

With a grim smile, the young hunter shook his head. "I don't, not for sure."

"You seem pretty confident."

Knowing there was no way to explain a childhood in which he'd learned to trust his instincts above all else, Sam shrugged and gave her another gentle nudge. "Just keep moving."

"Sam, what's gonna happen when we get to the house?"

As the heat of a blush coursed up his neck and into his cheeks, Sam couldn't help but give thanks for the darkness that pressed in on all sides. He wasn't yet ready to admit to the young woman beside him that he had no idea what came next.

Up to this point, his only thought had been to find his brother. Now that he was only moments away from his goal, he found himself at a loss as to what he should do next. Feeling much younger than his sixteen years, he did the only thing he could. He channeled his big brother. "We'll get Dean and Christine free."

Satisfied he'd given the words a properly menacing growl, he again focused his attention on the forest surrounding them.

"But how?"

With a sudden sense of pity for the endless questions he'd thrown at his older brother over the years, Sam groaned and replied, "Honestly, I don't know yet, but, I'll figure something out."

"You'd better figure something out quick, cause we're nearly there," Julie replied as she slowed even more.

As they stepped out of the heavily forested area into a relatively clear patch of land, Sam had a moment to take in the small, neat house that faced him. Looking more like a grandma's house, then the abode of a serial killer, he couldn't help the shiver that ran through him.

"It didn't look like that before," Julie whispered, her arm cradled against her chest.

Sam divided his attention between the neatly kept home and the older woman. "How'd it look?"

Even in the dim glow from the porch light, Sam could see the confusion in Julie's gaze.

"I'm not sure, I mean this is how it looked the first time, but not the last time."

The young hunter glanced toward the house again, taking in Julie's confusing statement. "You mean the first time with Christine, the house looked fine."

Julie's nod was her only response. With a glimmer of understanding, Sam went on, "Then when you came back with Dean, it looked..."

"Bad." Julie's inflection of the word made it clear she meant bad as in a nightmare from hell.

"Okay, so, bad. When you came the first time, it was after midnight?"

Obviously surprised by Sam's question, the girl nodded. "Yeah, it was."

Sam glanced back at the house, and concluded that whatever powers this thing had it must include a type of glamour. Most likely the creature was only able to work the illusion after midnight. Cataloguing that information for future use, Sam asked, "You ready?"

Now that she was actually facing the house, Julie's earlier bravery seemed to slip away. "I don't know if I can."

"Stay here then, or better yet head back to the cabin," the teen replied as he continued to study the house. It wasn't until the words were out that he realized it would probably be for the best. For as much as he did not want to enter the house alone, sending Julie back to the cabin might be the difference between them making it out alive or dying in the backwoods of Kentucky. "Listen, Julie, my father's coming. I don't know when, but I know he'll be here."

"You're father?" the young girl asked. "What, do you all wear tracking devices or something? How's he gonna find you all the way out here?"

"He's a hunter," Sam replied simply.

His understated reply must have rung true for the girl because she asked, "You really think he's coming?"

The loaded question had Sam considering his own earlier doubts. While he had never understood his father's priorities, he also knew, without a doubt that John would come for them. The teen only hoped they were still alive when he arrived. "He'll be here. He's following the same trail I did."

Now that she'd been given a task she felt she could do, Julie's hesitation seemed to slip away. "How will I know him?" she asked firmly.

With a snort, Sam assured the woman, "Trust me, you'll know who he is."

Julie glanced back one last time toward the house that sat bathed in the glow of a full moon and nodded. "I'll be back with help, Sam."

Needing the blonde to go, Sam reassured her, "It's gonna be okay, I'm gonna get them free."

As the young woman slipped away into the darkness, Sam drew a deep breath and focused on the house. "Hold on, Dean" he whispered as he moved out of the shadows.

888

Full of self-loathing, Christine crawled toward the roof-edge. She could just barely make out the shape of Dean Winchester, lying prone in the bed, the shotgun held awkwardly above him. When he'd assured her he would follow her out, she had assumed he would use the gun on his remaining cuffs.

She could now see that the idea held no merit. There was no way the young man would be able to shoot a cuff off without doing damage to his own hands. That meant the green-eyed man had no intention of following her out.

Even as she reached the moss-encrusted edge of the shingled roof, she knew she couldn't abandon him. Nothing that she'd seen so far indicated that her life should be worth more than his. In fact, given his selflessness, he probably deserved to live more than she did.

Decision made, she straightened slightly. Unfortunately, as her weight shifted, her foot slipped out from beneath her, causing her to hit the roof and slide right off.

With only seconds to brace for impact, she cursed herself for her clumsiness. Given her luck so far, she'd probably end up breaking a leg, leaving her stranded right on Smith's doorway.

Instead of hitting the ground as expected, she landed hard in a tangle of limbs and arms. As every ache and bruise began to clamor for attention it registered in her stunned mind that she'd landed on something warm and solid.

The sound of another shot coming from the room she'd just abandoned acted like a bucket of ice water, jolting her from her stupor.

"You okay?" Asked a slightly panicked male voice.

Unable to figure out what had happened, Christine opened her eyes and gazed up at the dark visage of a man obviously not Smith.

"You're Christine?"

With a nod, she struggled to sit up.

"It's okay, I'm Sam, Dean's brother."

At the mention of the green-eyed man, Christine relaxed slightly. "He's...Smith..."

With a fierce frown, the young man nodded and jerked his head toward the house. "I heard shots fired."

A sudden image of Dean's rogue smile had Christine grabbing fistfuls of the young man's shirt. "You have to help him."

The teen carefully wrapped his wrists around her arms and pulled, dislodging Christine's grip. "You need to go. I'll get Dean out."

Christine glanced from the baby-faced youth to the house where a serial killer was probably even now torturing Dean. "I'll go with you."

Dean's brother shook his head and drew himself up to his full height. "You need to go. I can deal with Smith."

She had to admit from her point of view the kid was a veritable giant, but that didn't change the fact that he looked all of fifteen. "I can help."

The sound of a thump drifted down to them from the open window, causing Sam to pull Christine into the shadows. "This isn't up for debate. Now go." With these words, the kid turned and headed toward the front door. He was on the stoop when he knelt down beside what looked like an old duffle bag.

As she watched, he removed a sawed-off shotgun from within the depths of a battered duffle bag and gave it a thorough once over. Once he'd apparently ascertained that all was well, he entered the house, weapon held at the ready. Given the competent way he handled the fire-arm, Christine had to admit maybe the kid wasn't full of show.

Afraid to follow, but unable to leave, she slumped in the shadows, her gaze centered on the window above.

888

Unable to tear his gaze from the doorway in front of him, Dean heard more than saw Christine's tumble from the roof. Hoping like hell the poor girl wasn't lying on the hard packed ground with a broken neck, he concentrated on keeping Smith within his sights.

As long as there was a chance she'd survived the short fall, the hunter knew she'd need time to get clear of the house.

Obviously, the shotgun, filled with consecrated iron, had hurt the bastard that was only now clawing his way to his feet. Dean only wished that Christine had had the forethought to leave him with more ammo before she'd finally followed his orders.

Needing a distraction, he sized up his situation. Christine had managed to leave him stranded with only one more shot, his hands still handcuffed to the bed, and the make-shift lock pick discarded somewhere under the bed. Near as he could figure that left him with only his natural charm.

Ready to do his best, Dean taunted, "Hey, dickhead, you want more? Come and get it."

Smith shook his head like a dog and then met Dean's gaze. The young hunter had to admit, the older man no longer looked quite so dapper. His shotgun blast had hit the killer high in the chest, peppering the right side of the freak's face with buckshot.

On its own, the damage would have been considered serious, though not life threatening. However, when combined with whatever kind of freaky mojo Smith had going on, and the fact that the rounds had been blessed and you were talking serious damage. Each bit of shot had ripped into the skin, leaving an oozing sore behind, some of which were still smoking ominously.

"Dude, you're smoking," Dean called out gesturing as much as he could with one hand.

"Look what you did," Smith hissed, gesturing to his destroyed face.

Dean was happy to find he didn't even have to manufacture a smartass smirk thanks to the creature's obvious pain. "Yeah, well it's about time you got your ass-whupped. Maybe it'll teach you not to play with your food."

At his words, Smith seemed to swell. Drawing on his imposing height, he charged the hunter, not seeming to care about the weapon that Dean still awkwardly clutched. More than happy to take another bite out of the bastard, the hunter pulled the trigger, this time the spray catching Smith low.

Again, psycho hit the ground hard.

Now out of ammo, Dean dropped the shotgun onto the bed beside him and began to slide off the edge of the bed. Using his toes to feel for the underwire, he kept his gaze on the spot where Smith had gone down.

888

Sam Winchester stormed into the house like an avenging angel. Rage pulsed through him as he headed straight for the staircase. The shots fired had come from upstairs, meaning just this once he was going to ignore one of his father's most important rules. He skipped the recon.

Taking the steps two at a time, he burst into a short upstairs hallway. There were two closed doors and one standing wide open. In that third doorway lying flat on its back, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling was a creature that could only be Smith.

Beyond the body, Sam could clearly make out his brother, handcuffed to a steel bed frame.

Beaten beyond belief, the older hunter nonetheless managed to shoot him a grin. "'bout time you caught up to me little brother."

Relief flooded Sam, making his knees buckle with weakness as he edged around the now smoking corpse. "Would have been here sooner, but someone deviated from the itinerary," Sam snarked.

"Trust me, kiddo, wont happen again."

Despite the levity of his brother's tone, Sam had little doubt that Dean meant it. "Lock pick?" He questioned. It was one of the few things he hadn't brought. He'd assumed this mission would be more of a 'kick the door in' undertaking rather than one that needed the finesse of lock picking.

"Bag," Dean grunted with a nod toward the corner.

The younger hunter followed his gaze toward the gear with a slight smirk. Ruffling through the belongings, he realized he should have noticed Christine's clothes looked familiar. "Nice pants, Dude."

"Ha Ha, you planning on yapping or getting me out of here?"

Having found the picks at last, Sam turned back toward his brother. "Told you someday you'd get caught with your pants around your ankles."

"I swear, Sammy, after the night I've had..." Dean let the threat linger, his hard gaze boring into Sam.

Not intending to let it drop, but also knowing that revenge would be all the sweeter for the wait, Sam let it go. "Consecrated rounds do that?"

"Yup, apparently it's his kryptonite."

Ignoring the superman reference, Sam quickly got to work on the cuffs that encircled his brother's wrist. The sight of his siblings abraded flesh, told the teen all he needed to know about just how serious things had gotten.

"I'm fine, Sam. Nothing a hot shower won't fix."

With clenched teeth, he ignored Dean's effort to reassure him. If only he'd acted on his assumptions earlier, rather than wasting time waiting for his father, Dean wouldn't have had to suffer.

As if he could read the younger man's thoughts, and really sometimes Sam was certain he could, Dean asked, "Where's the old man?"

With a shake of his head, Sam held back. He had no desire to tell Dean that their father had put a stranger's child before his own.

"The rawhead had to be destroyed, Sammy."

Dean's words had the effect of flipping a switch on Sam's control. "No, Dean, it didn't. The cold-hearted bastard is off saving other people's kids while you were being tortured. That's inexcusable."

"Sam-"

"No! Don't Sammy me. He-"

"Sam!" This time Dean's full-throated roar finally caught his attention.

Dropping the pick, the sixteen-year-old turned to find Smith only inches from his face. Still slightly smoking, the creature reached out and wrapped his hands around his throat, effectively cutting off his air.

The last thing Sam saw, as he faded out of consciousness, was his brother frantically trying to kick out at the killer that was intent on choking the life out of him.

TBC

Chapter End Notes:

Alright everyone, just a quick note of thanks for your wonderful support. I'm thinking we've got maybe three to four left, but depending on how quickly Papa Winchester moves it maybe a bit less. See you all next week - Kel ;)