Chapter 8

With his pistol held in front of him at the ready, John crept through the Salvage Yard – which was Bobby's backyard, and silently made it to the side yard behind a chain-link fence.

Keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings and seeing nothing, John confidently opened the gate and stepped through.

Getting on his hands and knees, but still keeping his gun in his hands, John crawled through the front yard to the street and got to the driveway.

Once hidden behind his truck from where the shots were coming from, John got to his feet but still remained low. He watched through the windshield of his truck and the passengers' side window as an African American man crept up to the slick black Impala, and eyed it curiously for a moment before heading toward John's black truck. In his hands, John noticed was a large sniper rifle which was held in a defenseless position.

Perfect, John thought to himself as he lowered back down into an awkward bow and rolled toward the drivers' side of the truck.

Through the drivers' door window and out the passengers' door window, John got a better look at the man who was now looking at his truck.

He had come across him only a couple of times, but John Winchester never forgot a face.

It was Gordon Walker.

He was a dangerous hunter, John had learned after getting to know the man a little better. Where he was good at what he did his tactic and instinct only seemed to see things in black and white.

If the thing he was hunting wasn't human, it was automatically evil – in Gordon's eyes.

Had this lunatic somehow gotten wind of what was going on with Sam? John closed his eyes to steady his ragged breathing at the thought.

If so, then Gordon wouldn't stop coming after Sam until either of them died.

Cursing under his breath, John stood to his full height and stepped out from behind the truck. As he revealed himself to Gordon, he held his pistol out in front of him and aimed it at Gordon's head.

Gordon turned his attention to John with wide-eyes as he raised his hands as a means of surrender. Though John would have felt better if Gordon put the rifle down.

"Put the gun down." John spat venomously.

"Whoa! John? What's the matter?" Gordon asked as if he truly didn't know what John was upset about.

"Are you insane?" John cried, "You nearly killed my kids you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Nearly?" Gordon asked suddenly looking angry instead of surprised, "John, I gotta finish the job."

"The job?" John demanded wide-eyed, "What job?"

"Sammy." Gordon replied matter-of-factly.

John's brows knit together to make himself look confused, but inside his gut was in a cold fearful fit. Gordon had learned about Sam, hadn't he?

"What about Sam?" John asked, wanting to hear this from Gordon's mouth instead of guessing.

A genuine smile crept across Gordon's features and a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"You don't know?"

John shook his head, not letting Gordon know he wasn't being truthful.

"You…don't know?" Gordon asked again as if in disbelief, but at the same time slightly giddy at knowing something John didn't.

"Obviously not!" John snapped, "Mind filling me in?"

Gordon shrugged and then nodded as he lowered his hands, but John shook his hands which were still wrapped around his loaded pistol. Instantly, Gordon raised his hands again in good faith.

"About a month ago, I was doing an exorcism in Louisiana. It was in some girl, some low-level demon." Gordon said with a small eye-roll showing that it was an easy job, "But between all the jabbering and the head-spinning, the damned thing muttered something…about a coming war – I don't think it meant to, it just sort of slipped out. But it was too late…it peaked my interest. And you can really make a demon talk if you got the right tools."

"And what about the girl it was possessing?" John asked looking sickened, as if he didn't already know.

"She didn't make it." Gordon said halfheartedly as if he didn't care that he killed a human being.

John bit back a curse, and let the bastard continue.

"It said that they've got these soldiers, fighting on Hells side. I mean, they're psychics – so they're not exactly pure humans, but still." Gordon shook his head as a look of disgust took his features, "What kinda worthless scum-bag you gotta be to turn against your own race?"

John knew it was a rhetorical question, so he remained quiet. His mind running through ways he could kill Gordon right there.

"But you know the biggest kick in the ass?" Gordon asked now looking somewhat happy again, "This demon said I knew one of them…our very own Sammy Winchester."

Gordon and Sam had met before? Neither Sam nor Dean had mentioned it to him, but John figured he'd question them later.

Actually, John had known since Sam was little about what Gordon was talking about. He knew that one day Sam might one day be evil, and it didn't have anything to do with the curse that was changing him now. No…what Gordon was talking about scared John to his very core. Because what this was, was changing Sam much slower than the curse of The Beast of Bray Road.

And when Dean and Sam told him about Sam's sudden visions of the near future of peoples impending doom starting up…his heart nearly broke because then he knew what he heard wasn't a lie. He knew what was flowing through Sam's blood.

"And you believed it?" John asked keeping up his defenses, "Because a demon told you?"

Gordon shrugged, keeping his smile still intact.

"Then I get an urgent call yesterday morning," Gordon says sounding interested in his own words, "saying that Sammy was cursed, and that he's slowly changing into something else."

John exhaled sharply, and shook his gun to add a certain threatening emphasis to his words.

"Who called you?" John demanded.

"He didn't give a name." Gordon replied quickly, "He just said I had to get to the Singer Salvage Yard to take him out."

"Well you're not touching my son, damnit." John said in a deep, rough tone.

"He won't be your son much longer, John." Gordon tried to reason, "We gotta end him, before he kills someone."

"You make a move on him, and I'll put a bullet in your brain." John threatened, meaning every word with every fiber of his being.

"Stop being so stubborn, John!" Gordon yelled, "He's not even human!"

"He's my son." John said simply.

Suddenly, much to John's relief – Bobby's front door swung open, and crashed against the outer wall. In the threshold in between inside and outside stood Bobby holding a rifle at the ready, aimed directly at Gordon Walker's head.

"Get off my property, you son-of-a-bitch!" Bobby yelled as he cocked his gun to show he wasn't kidding.

"You too, Singer?" Gordon asked Bobby looking slightly amused, "This kid's got the both of you wrapped so tight around his finger, it's almost pathetic."

"You got to the count of three," Bobby warned in his thick angry voice, "till I blow your brains out."

"You're no murderer, Bobby." Gordon laughed.

"One…"

"But then again, maybe this demon-linked psychic freak has you brainwashed somehow…"

"Two…"

The moment Bobby said 'two', John instantly repositioned his pistol, and took aim at Gordon's left shoulder and without second thought, fired.

Gordon dropped his rifle to the ground, and grunted in surprise pain as he made a grab for his wounded shoulder and closed his eyes against the radiating pain.

"Bobby might not be the killing type," John said in a furious voice, "but I would. I would kill any bastard who made a move on either of my sons."

"Y-you're making a mistake!" Gordon spat through his heavy breathing.

"No…you are." John said simply as he finally lowered his pistol, "If I catch you trying to hurt either of my boys ever again…I'll shoot you on sight – and next time, it won't be in the shoulder."

Gordon didn't say anything as John walked past him, and up to Bobby's house. Once he and Bobby were both inside with the door closed behind them and locked, John saw that the living room was vacant.

Bobby lowered his rifle, but didn't drop it. The living room window was now busted, and Gordon could make a move at the now weakened barrier.

John however saw the thick worry that contorted Bobby's features, and he knew it wasn't just about the busted window.

"What is it?" John asked as he clicked the safety on his pistol.

"It's Sam." Bobby said sounding slightly shaken.

Fear gripped John's chest as a million reasons as to what could be wrong with Sam ran through his mind.

"What happened? Was he shot?" John asked, hysteria only a hair from reaching his voice.

"No." Bobby replied, "Dean took him to the bathroom. He doesn't look too good."

Instantly, John made a rush for the stairs and bolted up them without a second thought. He turned down the hall, and the second door to the right was the red bathroom door.

John pounded his fists on the bathroom door feverishly.

"It's me!" He called.

"Come in." Dean replied sounding shaken, and terrified.

Without hesitation, John pushed open the bathroom door and saw Dean kneeling on the floor next to the bathtub with his head turned back to his father. John saw that Dean's green eyes were lit up with worry.

"What's wrong?" John asked Dean.

Dean looked back toward the bathtub, and then with a stifled sob – he replied.

"I-I don't know. When we got off the floor, he kept saying 'it hurts', 'it hurts'…and he's running a fever, w-worse than any fever I've ever seen. He told me to get him someplace cold…this was the first thing I could think of."

John took a couple steps into the bathroom and saw what – or who was in the bathtub.

In the bathtub full of ice with his knees knelt slightly so he could lie properly, was Sam. His skin was tinged red, but not from the ice cubes, John noticed looking surprised. He was red from heat, sweat poured from his face and neck, and the ice cubes in direct contact with his overheated body were melting rapidly.

Dean wasn't kidding when he said the kid was 'running a fever'.

His breathing was heavy and erratic, and his glossy, unfocused eyes stared at the ceiling non-blinkingly. And his dark wet hair was hand-combed back…completely revealing his pointed creature-like ears.

John's breath caught in his throat as he kept his eyes glued on his younger son. He wasn't gone for that long, and already Sam was knocked off his feet.

"I-it's getting worse." Dean whispered sounding defeated as he too kept his eyes on Sam.

Sam finally turned his bleary eyes toward his brother, looking somewhat incredulous.

"'M not giving up." Sam mumbled weakly.

Surprised and a little relieved, Dean nodded. Both he and John knew that Sam meant he wasn't giving up to what he said was now accompanying him in his own mind. Had it fought him for control again?

"Me neither, dude." Dean reassured in a hoarse voice.

Sam nodded and sank s little into the sea of ice cubes.

"I need more." Sam said sounding irritated and tired, "It's too hot."

Dean nodded, and didn't reply as he got to his feet and walked past his father and out of the bathroom. John saw that the moment Dean turned around, and as he walked out of the bathroom…tears slid down his face.

I know it seemed like this just sort of popped outta nowhere with Sam being sick, but I'll get to what happened in the house with Sam and Dean while John was outside with Gordon in the next chapter. Haha. Have patience. :D

And something funny is happening with the site. I can't center the 'Chapter _' sign. It's angering me, though. Haha. I'll try and fix it later, but at least this time there's quotation marks, right? Haha.