Chap

"Jim? Wake up. Your phone's ringing... Hey! Jim, you want me to get that?" John Winchester wearily rubbed fatigue from his eyes, then reached across the table to pick up the sleeping pastor's phone. Couldn't blame the man for drifting off in his chair; this was the start of the third day they'd been awake. No sense pointing out that John had been the one exhausted from a long hunt before this even began.

"Winchester."

"Shuman. I'm a friend of Murphy's. He called me last night; I think I found what you're lookin' for. This Weaver's been doing his own calling around, I've got a number. You got a piece of paper?"

"Yeah, shoot." John quickly scribbled a number and address, not asking Jim's friend how he got his information. Their world didn't work that way. Dawn sent its first tendrils into the sky as the two hunters piled into the impala, laws of physics being rewritten as John raced for a small town a few states away.

"Something still doesn't fit, Jim. The files we looked at... he never requested a specific child before. And I 'd being willing to bet he's the one who kicked Sammy in the first place. Since I seriously doubt he's got a beef with the boys, it has to be with me. I just can't place him. The name, his face, totally unfamiliar. There has to be something..." John was unconsciously running a hand over his beard, talking far more to himself than his passenger. He appreciated the pastor's help, especially as the man was one of the few all three Winchesters called friend, but rage was winning out over pastor appropriate behavior right now. Course, Jim looked more than a little angry himself.

"Wait, look at the map for Conner's Landing again." John kept talking as he heard Jim refolding the map to their intended destination. "Check about ten miles south. Boman, UT, right? Four months ago, Derrick Weaver changed his behavior and now he's practically in Bowman."

"You think he was there four months ago?" Jim wasn't quite following this train of thought.

"No idea, but I was. That last check he deposited, that's what I overlooked. I was focused on recognizing something about Weaver. Parrish Industries in Bowman signed his last pay day four months ago exactly. And precisely four months ago I was in the same town hunting a witch. A witch named Betty Parrish. I was right, this is about me."

"Still not your fault, John."

"No? Whose then? Yours? Dean's? The mailman's? Not mine, of course, because every parent gets involved with monsters that turn around and steal their children, or worse. I've gotta make this right."

"We will; you've got to have a little faith in that." The pastor resisted an urge to put a hand on his friend's shoulder. It might comfort his parishoners, but John wouldn't welcome the gesture, not when he was busy with recrimainations.

"You know I don't. Not since Mary..."

Jim gave a resigned sigh. "So you drive and I'll pray and have faith for both of us."

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Derrick woke around nine, the three short hours of sleep inadequate, but it had taken most of the night to soldify his plans. As he suspected, his old friends were more than happy to work together again, as long as there was a percentage in it. Abigail didn't need to know.

He started down the stone stair, aware of her presence in the hall ahead of him.

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The lighting faded as the torch burned down, yet Dean could feel morning encroaching on them, feel the anxieties tumbling about in his head ratchet up another notch. Could really use some help here, Dad. I don't see a way out of this. Gonna try though. I have to for Sammy. What am I supposed to tell him? Derrick's supposed to kill you?. What can I say that will make him understand he absolutely has to get away and not scare him so much that he can't? Maybe you could hurry Dad? Please?

"Rise and shine, little brother, wake up. Sammy? Come on." Dean's fingers tapped on Sam's shoulder.

Sam startled awake, eyes skittish until they settled on Dean. "Morning again?"

"I think so. Look, Sam, start walking around, stretch your legs out. If the chance to run comes up, we want to be able to take it."

Sam started to protest since the last time Dean told him to run he hadn't followed, but Dean was already pacing, stomping cold numbed feet every fourth or fifth stride. In truth, he was probable stiffer than Sam, having been on the more recent receiving end of the kicks and punches. Sam propped a foot against the wall, leaning in to stretch out hamstrings.

Dean gave an approving nod. "Listen, ok? Whoever comes down here this morning, you have got to get out that door."

"You told me that last night, Dean."

"I know, just thinkin' out loud. Still, I say go, you go, promise?"

"Promise. Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I think ... I think I'm a scared." He dropped his eyes, embarrassed.

Dean remembered the speech he'd gotten from their dad when he'd said the same thing. Not the one most people would have expected from John, but one Dean knew he'd always remember. Time Sam heard it. "Want to know a secret?"

"What Dean?"

"I'm a little scared, too. It doesn't make you weak to be scared; you just can't let whatever you're fighting know. Being a little scared keeps you alert, makes you notice things that could hurt you. Never being afraid means you're either unobservant or stupid, and probably both. Don't be ashamed of being scared Sammy, use it to your advantage."

"But you're always brave..." Sam sounded tentative.

Dean smiled at his little brother, shifting his voice from serious to swagger. "Of course, I'm awesome! And so are you. Bravery isn't about being fearless, it's about getting your job done anyway. Right now, your job is to get out of here, make sure Derrick doesn't hurt you, and find Dad. Whatever it takes, ok? Kick, bite, scratch... what's fair and right and wrong don't really apply on this one. I plan on going with you, but if I don't, tell Dad everything you can remember about this place and the witch. He'll find me." And sometimes being brave is about lying to your little brother when there's no chance of getting both of us out.

"I don't even know her name, Dean."

"Huh, that's right, you were asleep. Abigail Williams."

"Ooooh, someone calling me? So glad to know I'm popular with the miniature hunter set." The soft feminine voice belied the cold stare as she stopped on the other side of the bars.

Dean suppressed a groan. He had hoped Derrick would come down the stair alone, or at least with someone who wasn't a witch, and instead he was getting just the witch. Getting Sammy free just got a lot harder. "Popular ain't what comes to mind, bitch."

"Ah, Dean. Isn't there some sort of rule that you have to at least be a teenager to have a mouth like that? Your Dad's a foul mouthed one, too. Now your great grandfather, there was a Winchester with some manners." She gave an almost lovelorn sigh.

"Great grandfather? How old are you?" The words slipped out before Dean could stop them. Never listen to some supernatural thing lie.

"Definitely no manners to ask a lady that. Still, no harm in telling the soon to be dead. Let's say I was born after the Spanish Inquisition and before the Mayflower. Your Dad didn't explain me to you, did he? In fact, I don't think he even knows. Everything on heaven and earth is a balance Dean. Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, witches and hunters. Each side needs the other to exist."

"My Dad hunts a lot more than witches."

"Samuel. Nice to hear your voice at last. Of course he does, forgive me if everything doesn't fit in one sentence. Tell me Sam, what do you know about fairies or dragons or giants?"

"They're not real." Sam had stepped forward as he started to talk to her and startled slightly as Dean put a hand on his torso, making sure he stayed between them.

"Very good, they're not real, or not anymore." She arched an amused eyebrow at Dean's effort. "How about werewolves or spirits?"

"Real, but most people don't think so."

"Right again. John did teach you something. The thing is, most people did believe in all those things once. Now, there aren't as many of us and they don't have to."

Dean gave a snort. "More demons than there ever were."

"Hmm, correct also. Someday it will come to just humans and demons, I think. Not sure if the heavens will help with that one or sit back and wait for the fallout. I meant the middle realm, creatures, witches, hunters. We're all dying out, families that have been tied together for centuries. Including mine and yours."

"We've got nothing to do with the likes of you."

"Believe what you want Dean, but I've killed the first born male Winchester every fourth generation for six centuries now. You don't really think those hunter instincts fell from the sky do you? Your family is as much as part of the supernatural balance as I am. I'm sure a good genealogy class would prove it to you, but it's sort of your turn and I'm short on time."

"Abigail? You down there?" Derrick's voice bellowed from the middle of the stairwell.

"I am. Discussing old, ah, acquaintances. But you have an appointment with Samuel, I believe?"

Dean tensed, slipping closer to the door, pushing Sam to his right. He looked hard at his brother, message clearly on his face. I'll block, you run.

Sam dipped a tiny nod, then silently mouthed something that took a minute to register with Dean. "I'm sorry for taking the skateboard."

Abigail stepped aside, remaining outside the cell as Derrick unlocked the bolt, handing her the keys as he entered.

"Come on, brat, time to go."

"No." Sam spoke at the same time as his brother.

"Get away from him!" Dean launched a kick at the man, wondering if the same trick could work twice.

Apparently not.

Derrick grabbed the rising foot, twisting it sideways and pulling up until Dean fell backwards, head connecting with the stone floor with a resounding thump.

He took advantage of the boy's momentary confusion, landing a kick of his own to roll Dean onto his stomach before dropping to knees. He knelt across Dean's lower back, grabbing his right hand and wrenching the arm behind him, smiling as the shoulder gave a squelching pop.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear his fogged vision. Unfortunately the only thing he could see from this angle was Abigail pushing the door closed. Sam couldn't run. He tried to buck the large man off, but only succeed in intensifying the pain in his shoulder. It wasn't dislocated...yet..

"Leave my brother alone!" Sam's voice rang from behind Derrick just as he pounced on his back, arms wrapping around the man's throat as his legs circled the waist in a bizarre version of a piggy back ride. Small teeth sank into an ear as short fingers tried to poke at eyes.

"Sonuva.." Derrick rocked backwards, trying to dislodge the smaller of the Winchesters, shifting his weight onto Dean's arm so he could use own hands to pry Sam loose. "You just gonna watch, Abigail?!?"

Her tone alone remained soft and unconcerned. "Well, it is quite entertaining..."

Derrick was on his own with the boys. He grabbed a fistful of brown hair, tugging Sam's head back enough to free his ear, although he was fairly sure a layer of skin went with the teeth. Little rat. He stood rapidly, leaning backward into the wall just enough to feel the kid go limp. After all, he didn't want to actually kill him, no matter what Abigail, or Dean for that matter, might think. As soon as he felt the little limbs untwist from his torso he moved forward, letting a breathless Sam slide to the floor.

Dean had pushed himself to hands and knees, or hand and knees more accurately as he held the right arm tightly against his body, panting as nausea let him know just how hard he'd knocked his head. Abigail was unlocking the door again, Dean knew this was his last chance to save Sam. He could see his brother struggling to his stand, mimicking Dean's own effort to pull in a lungful of air. He pushed to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his head and shoulder, waiting until Derrick half turned to pluck Sam from the floor. Dean narrowed his eyes at the three Derrick's he could almost see and threw all of his eleven year old body into a left handed punch at the middle one.

...And missed.

The momentum of the swing carried him back to the floor, nausea flaring again as he jarred the shoulder. Derrick had swerved momentarily to dodge him, but quickly refocused on grabbing Sam, drawing him back into his arms as he had in the woods. One arm circled the boy's waist, the other pinned down flailing limbs as he backed out of the cell.

"Dean!!!" Sam called out frantically for his brother.

"Dean, don't let him take me! Dean!!! Please help me!?! No! I'm not going! No, no please. Help!! Dean!!"

Dean lifted his dazed face from the floor just in time to see Sam's foot slide loose from where he'd hooked it around the bars of the door, the wrenching pleas fading as Weaver carried his brother away . His own voice was nothing more than a desperate whisper. "S-Saaaammmy?"

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A/N - This wasn't the original end to this chapter, but I felt the next 1000 words deserved some expansion on Sam's view, so I'm cutting it off here until tomorrow. Next chap primarily Sam, then we'll get back to Dean's predicament. As a reminder, I don't do deathfic and there is no explicit content in this story.

Didn't hear a lot from everybody over the last chapter or two - making me nervous, here. So, drop me a line, please? Thanks so much for reading and I'll be updating tomorrow.