Caution abruptly dampened Sam's euphoria and he tugged his brother backward several steps into the cover of the woods while he scrutinized the cabin and the surrounding area. A blue jay chased several smaller birds from a feeder before settling down to claim the spoils. Two smaller trees served as anchors for a clothesline, where three white tee shirts and a pair of navy pants flapped in the light breeze. Wisps of smoke drifted from a stone chimney.
The heavy thump of his brother's head hitting his shoulder made Sam's decision for him. Dean's eyes slipped shut, then shot open as he fought to hold onto consciousness.
"Looks quiet to me," Sam muttered. "C'mon, Dean. Just a few more steps and we'll find you a place to lay down."
They limped around the side of the cabin. A long gravel driveway snaked through the trees and up to an attached garage, the door three quarters of the way closed. A porch ran past the front door along the entire front of the cabin and an empty rocking chair creaked back and forth in the wind.
One foot on the porch, hand coming up from his side to knock, Sam froze. Eyes locked on the two- by ten-foot slice of garage revealed by the partially open door. Lips tightening to a thin line he shuffled back around the corner to press their backs tightly against the side of the cabin.
"What's wrong?" Like the flick of a switch, Dean's voice was sharp, alert. "What is it?"
Sam eased him to the ground, dropping both packs and opening his own. "I got a peek at the car in the garage. There's something there." He pulled out his gun and stood. "Stay here. I'll be back."
Dean squinted up at him. "Are you crazy? That nutcase could be just waiting for you."
"I'll be careful. I just need a look, alright?"
The strange pile he'd noticed in the garage was a bunch of torn, bloody clothes. Immediately, Sam's caution doubled. He glanced back at Dean, who'd pulled out his Colt from the back of his jeans. He seemed lucid enough to use it, so Sam decided to explore further.
He continued along the side of the cabin, around the corner, and toward the back door with his spine firmly against the wood. French doors opened onto a large deck. Sam flattened himself to the left of the door, inching his hand out until he could curl his fingers around the knob.
It turned, easily.
Sucking in a deep breath, Sam nudged the door open.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Nothing. The jay and several other birds took flight, the laundry continued to flap in the breeze, and smoke still wafted from the chimney. Sam tilted his head to peer through the glass. Colorful braid rugs on a polished hardwood floor. A large stone fireplace, the remains of a log smoldering on the grate. Everything seemed in place. Except a living being.
Carefully, Sam made his way inside, staring at bizarre collections of eyes. Whether they were animal or human, Sam couldn't tell. A jar with what looked like teeth sent a shudder down his spine and he gripped his gun even tighter.
The inside looked like a horror cabinet that had been left to the spiders and dust mice as well as real rodents. Clean was not the word Sam would choose to describe it and the ominous sense of déjà vu wouldn't leave his mind.
Abruptly, inexplicably, the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stood up. He swallowed, dry throat clicking, lay his palm against smooth, six-paneled pine, and pushed.
The smell hit him immediately. Thick, coppery, it filled the air and left a bitter tang in the back of his throat. A large four-poster bed faced the door, a handmade quilt covering the distinctive form of a man lying prone atop the mattress. Crimson splatters adorned the quilt, walls, and even the ceiling like a bizarre work of modern art.
Still clutching his weapon, Sam walked slowly forward on stiff legs, the back of his hand pressed across his nose and mouth. The quilt cocooned all of the motionless form but a small fluff of steel gray hair. Sam stretched out his hand and plucked at the blanket with thumb and forefinger, drawing it carefully back to expose a face.
"Oh my god."
The words felt torn from his numb lips, and he actually staggered backward two steps before he caught himself. He closed his eyes, breathed through his mouth, and waited for his pounding heart to slow.
"Sam! Are you all right?"
He gasped, spinning, eyes wide. Dean leaned in the doorway, a white-knuckled grip on the jamb all that was holding him upright.
"Sam?"
"We made a mistake, Dean. It's not what we thought."
His brother's eyes darted to the bed, took in the carnage. "What are you talking about? You're not making sense."
Sam gestured to the body. Dean glanced over and immediately caught the distinct marks on it. Marks one would find on an animal that'd been hunted. Dean looked at Sam who now pointed at the various jars of body parts. Eyes, teeth, ears. Bile rose in Dean's throat as his brain made the connection.
"Well, that sure as hell wasn't a wendigo," he muttered. He pushed off the door frame and stumbled over to his brother. Three steps from his target Dean stumbled and nearly went down on the slippery hardwood floor. His sharp hiss of pain snatched Sam from his own musings just in time to snag a handful of Dean's jacket and halt the plunge.
"Thought I told you to stay put." The gruff words were a reflex, spoken without malice. Sam draped his brother's arm around his neck, steadying him. Dean proceeded to try and shrug Sam off, ignoring his brother's remark. Together they made their way out of the chamber into the main room.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean panted.
"Hibbing, Minnesota, 2006," Sam nodded.
"The Benders," Dean grimaced. "I thought the deputy shot them."
"I think she only shot the old man," Sam tried to think back. "I think his sons just got locked away. Dunno what they did to the girl."
"Well, whatever they did sure wasn't enough," Dean growled. "They're at it again and I'm betting you the keys to the Impala they staged the wendigo attacks to lure us here. Question is how."
"How? Um, yeah, I mean, we know why," Sam replied.
"Yeah, revenge. Eye for an eye or whatever their twisted sense of justice is," Dean muttered, unconsciously rubbing his left shoulder where all those years ago Pa Bender had stuck the red hot poker in it. Dean shuddered as he remembered how close he'd come to having his eyes in one of those jars.
"They have no sense of humanity," Sam huffed. "They might be merely human but they're worse than many a monster we've encountered."
"Yeah. And the how... how did they know how to lure us here? They didn't peg me as big believers in the supernatural." Dean wobbled a bit and braced himself on a chest of drawers. "Hate to say it, Sam, but I think we better get out of here."
Sam nodded his agreement and turned back to the door. Immediately Dean sensed a subtle shift in his brother's posture as Sam abandoned his movement. At the same time he stretched out his left arm to shift Dean behind him, allowing his right arm to drop behind the shield of their bodies.
This act of protectiveness didn't sit well with Dean. He was about to growl that injured or not, he could take care of himself, when he realized that slowly, discreetly Sam was inching his fingers toward his back pocket. Dean grit his teeth tighter and willed down the nausea he'd felt rising in his stomach.
Mimicking Sam's motion, Dean peeked around his brother and came eye to eye with the reason for his tenseness. In the door frame stood not one, but both Bender brothers. Dean's hand wrapped around the handle of his Colt at the same time the Bender brothers raised their sawed off shotguns.
"Well, I'll be damned," Dean croaked from behind his brother. "It's the yahoos. When did they spring you from the rat hole?"
"Dean," Sam hissed, silently cursing his brother's need to rile up their opponents. "Not now."
"Hear that, Lee? That one still thinks he's funny. Oh, I'm gonna take an eye for sure this time. And maybe the tongue," Jared Bender drawled to his brother.
"Tongue's good Jared," Lee agreed. "Tastes like chicken." He smacked his lips in delight.
Dean's stomach churned at the notion. He rested his hand on his brother's back, not sure whether for support or just to make sure he stayed upright.
"Oh, and beanpole? When you've finally located whatever it is you're searching for in your back pocket, you can put it right over here on the table."
Sam yanked an object from his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table. It was his hunting knife. Apparently the yahoos were happy as they didn't ask for the gun he'd actually been aiming for. Sam bared his teeth in a fake smile.
"Anything else I can get you? Coffee? Tea? Eyeballs?"
The killers' faces contorted into a snarl and Jared's finger tightened on the trigger. He seemed to catch himself, consciously pushing aside anger as his expression smoothed and he gestured casually with the gun after exchanging a glance with Lee. "Take a seat. Our boy Dean, there, looks like he's about to keel over."
Sam had already begun moving Dean toward the couch. It was best to play along for the moment. Dean was in a bad way and Sam knew that nothing could keep his stubborn ass brother from fighting if he felt Sam's life was at risk. Dean's soft grunt of discomfort as he banged his knee against the coffee table regained Sam's attention.
"Sorry," he murmured, lowering Dean carefully. "You okay?" He watched his brother lose the battle to remain upright, his head flopping back onto the cushions.
Dean's eyes, the only bit of color in his face, blinked lazily and his tongue swiped at dry lips. "Peachy." He graced his brother with a lazy wink and Sam noticed the hand Dean kept behind his back was shoving his Colt underneath a cushion.
Sam blinked his eyes, straightened and turned. "Look, guys. I want to get one thing straight. I don't know how you knew to lure us here or figured out my brother's name, but leave Dean out of it."
"What? So you can have all the fun to yourself?" Dean quipped raspily.
The taller Bender circled slowly until he was standing directly opposite Sam and Dean. "No, you get something straight, Mr. Bigshot Hero. In case you haven't noticed, you're in no position to give orders. Now shut the hell up and sit down or the next load is going to take your brother's pretty face right off."
The threat, backed by the cold fury in the man's eyes, matched only by the stare his brother held on them, gun at the ready, effectively extinguished Sam's immediate defiance. He dropped down beside Dean, lips compressed to a thin line.
"Right, that's better," Lee smirked, shotgun never wavering from Dean. "Now, Jared and I decided we're gonna pick up where we left off, about... twelve years ago. Unless I'm mistaken, my brother and I were going to hunt you." He trained his gaze pointedly at Sam.
"Until your brother decided to spoil the party," Jared chimed in.
Dean snorted derisively and Jared rounded on him. "You think this is funny?"
Dean pressed a shaky hand to his chest, widened his eyes theatrically. "Me? No, I don't think you're funny." He waited a beat, then added, "I think you're pathetic."
Color crept up Jared's neck until his whole face flushed, and he went very still, Lee a spitting mirror image. "Pathetic?" He ground the word between his teeth like chewing a bone.
Sam tensed, alarmed that his brother had inadvertently provoked their captors. Until Dean's fingers squeezed his shoulder and he caught a gleam of satisfaction in his brother's eye, the truth hitting him like a sucker punch. Dean's needling was calculated, deliberate. Sam swallowed thickly and waited before giving a tiny nod. Dean, crafty as ever despite being wounded, had a plan.
"Yeah, pathetic. All of you are. Remember we hunt monsters like you... for a living. If we'd actually... get paid. You're all the same... think you're Manson, Bundy, and Hannibal Lecter rolled into one. Superkiller. But guess what, you can't beat vampires, werewolves or other demonic beings." He laughed.
Jared lifted his gun from Sam, now pointing is at Dean as well, his finger twitching on the trigger. "You won't think it's so funny when I add another hole to your head."
"Dean...," Sam hissed, hoping to add to Dean's plan.
Dean waved Sam off, his brief glare communicating his intentions as clearly as words. Wait. Be ready.
"Oh, come on," he said to the brothers, laughter still lingering in the smirk twisting his lips. "You're a smart guy... right? Surely you... can see the irony. You think you've got control... 'cause you wave around a gun... when the truth is... you're powerless. You're enslaved by... the sick compulsion...to hunt, and kill. You used to get away with it... and now you keep coming back. Eventually... your own weakness... will get you caught. It already... did once."
As Dean spoke, Lee's breathing had accelerated to short, sharp pants nearly as effortful as his own respiration. Every muscle in the killer's body seemed wired, like a cat poised to pounce.
"You don't know what you're talking about. I've planned every move we've made. We've run circles around you both, you never knew what hit you in the woods. Now we're gonna let you go, then hunt you down and kill you." Lee shot a glance at Jared. "We'll give you ten minutes headstart, since you're a gimp now." He chuckled humorlessly.
Dean braced himself, licking his dry lips and forcing a chuckle himseld. "Yeah, that's dumb all right. Told you... you're just like all the rest."
The jab found its mark. Lee launched himself at Dean with a growl, the gun nearly forgotten in his rage. Dean had just enough time to choke out, "Sam, now!" before the yahoo seized him by the throat and dragged him to his feet.
A fierce but eerily silent struggle commenced as Dean fought to break Lee's grip while Sam jumped Jared. As Sam clutched Jared's wrist with both hands, desperately searching for the pressure point that would compel him to drop his weapon, the gun swung wildly. First toward Sam, then Jared, and finally discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.
Jared cursed, while Lee tightened his fingers around Dean's throat until a high pitched whine filled his ears and black dots obscured his vision. His eyelids fluttered and his arms fell loosely to his sides.
Sam ground his foot onto Jared's and shoved, momentarily throwing the man off balance. Before he could press his advantage, however, he sensed his brother's stillness. He turned, terrified to see Dean hanging limply in Lee's grasp, lips blue. The split-second distraction was all Jared needed. He punched Sam on the jaw, causing the younger Winchester to stumble back onto the couch like a rag doll and followed up with a hard blow just under Sam's ribs. All the air whooshed out of Sam's lungs, sending him into a fierce coughing fit.
Lee grabbed the semi-conscious Dean by the hair and jammed his weapon up under his chin.
"You stupid son of a bitch! I oughta waste him right now. Is that what you want? Huh?"
Sam struggled to remain conscious, spitting and gagging on the blood that flooded his mouth. "No! Don't! We'll play your game."
"You try something stupid like that again and..."
"We won't. I swear we'll cooperate," Sam ground out between clenched teeth. Lee pushed Dean back on the couch and into Sam.
Dean's breathing had evened out somewhat and while Sam noticed his brother's eyes were still closed, he felt his muscles tense where their bodies touched. They both knew this was bad, but they'd come out on top against even greater odds. Sam still had his gun hidden and Dean's was just in reach underneath that couch cushion.
The Bender brothers shared a look and then took a step back to discuss something quietly. Sam glanced at Dean and saw him looking back through tiny slits.
"We have to... take them out, Sammy," Dean whispered. "It's either them or us."
Sam nodded, having come to the same conclusion. They'd have to be quick, though, because Dean really was not in the shape for a prolonged fight.
"Me right, you left," Sam replied, sliding his hand slowly behind himself to pull out his gun. Before he could complete his move, Lee walked over to him, shotgun pointed right at him.
"Beanpole, go join my brother," he ordered.
Sam swallowed and glanced at Dean, who was playing possum.
"Now!" Lee bellowed, jabbing the nozzle against Sam's shoulder before grinning cheesily. "Don't worry about that pretty here. I'll take care of him."
The younger Winchester was itching to wrap his hands around Lee's throat but he did as he was told. Leaving the gun where it was tucked in his jeans he got up and slowly made his way towards Jared, who had long reloaded his shotgun.
Sam kept his eyes on Lee as he walked over to Jared. Dean was still unmoving but Sam knew he was waiting for the right moment. When he turned to Jared he noticed the movement in the corner of his eye before he heard Lee's gasp.
"Jared, son'a'bitch has a gun!"
With no second to spare Sam was armed and aiming at Jared, whose shotgun was almost in his own face. Dropping while aiming, the guns discharged at the same time.
Sam felt a slight sting on his left shoulder as some of the pellets penetrated his flesh. The main load of them ended up in the wall behind Sam as Jared dropped down like a rag doll, eyes open but unseeing. Sam's bullet had pierced his heart as a rapidly spreading crimson stain on the man's shirt showed.
Immediately Sam pivoted around, gun trained at the spot where Lee had been standing only moments before. The man was now sprawled across Dean on the couch. Hundreds of tiny holes in the wall behind the couch told Sam his ammo had not found its aim. Lee was gasping like a fish, left hand pressed to his gut, blood welling through the fingers and dripping down on Dean... whose gun was still pressed to Lee's stomach..., the couch and the floor.
Dean was struggling to push the heavy man off himself. His eyes were wide and he grunted in pain and Sam realized that Lee's knee was pressing against the gunshot wound above Dean's knee... the one with the bullet still in.
Sam stepped closer to drag Lee off Dean, but Lee, in an effort to fight back, managed to lift his gun arm and dropped the heavy weapon right in Dean's face. When he lifted it up to repeat the motion, another gunshot pierced the air in the room and Lee pivoted back, spinning off the couch, body now slack. A circular hole above his left eye was witness to Sam's spot on marksmanship.
"Dean!"
"Son of a bitch," Dean shouted as he scrambled to sit up. He was a gruesome sight, even though Sam knew that most of the blood staining him wasn't his brother's.
A cut near the bridge of Dean's nose was bleeding, running into his eyes. Dean wiped at it, smearing his whole face red.
"Relax, Dean, we got them both," Sam called and helped his brother to his feet. Dean was not putting any weight on his injured leg and swaying badly against Sam's side. Then, without a warning, he twisted away from Sam and puked.
"Fuck me," Dean mumbled when he was done, spitting out as much of the bitter taste in his mouth as he could. He looked around the room, face ashen. "I gotta get out of here."
Without a word, Sam pulled Dean's arm across his shoulder and dragged more than lead Dean onto the porch where he sat him down in the rocking chair. Dean gulped in the fresh air, for a minute just concentrating on breathing.
In the meantime Sam had spotted an SUV behind the building and wasted no time to get it around. He hotwired the blue vehicle and left it idling right in front of the porch where Dean was waiting.
"Ready to blow this joint?"
"Hell, yes," Dean muttered and got to his feet.