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Winchesters and other SPN characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. This story is being written for Entertainment only, not money
Abandoned
Chapter 2
Alone in the Dark
Finally the ropes around his wrists were beginning to slide. A little more tugging and a little more blood and one hand pulled free. He hurried to get the other hand loose and to wind the rope up. Now he had boots, a blanket, a chipped and dull knife and a 20 foot hunk of rope. Not much to show for 16 years of life, other than his bruises and a sore ass but he would have to make It do.
Using the rope to lash his blanket on he ran for the woods. He had to find somewhere to hide for the night. Already he could hear the shuffling of some hunting animals in the brush. Not knowing the area he couldn't say if it was dogs or wolves or even, possibly, cougars but he knew he was prey. Keeping his head down below the skyline he searched for a bolt hole.
There was a stream on the north side of the run and he found a rock fall at the bottom of a hill that had created a little lean-to effect. It was cold and somewhat damp but he only had to protect his front. His sides and back were sheltered by the rock. For the first time that night he felt he could take a deep breath and calm down to assess his situation.
It didn't take long. Just like the rest of his possibly short life, his current condition was screwed. He had no food, no heat and practically no clothing. The temperature was dropping rapidly and he was in the kill zone of both animals and humans. At least he had access to water. He had nothing but his hands to drink from and the water was on the verge of icing over but he was grateful for any small advantage.
He curled up as tightly as he could and huddled against the rock face. Now that he had stopped moving he was becoming more and more attuned to the sounds of the night. The light wind brought tinny gusts of music, from a car radio, he thought. Every now and then he also thought he heard laughter.
He decided that he was going to go find out if he could possibly scavenge something from the party and he needed to go before he became too stiff and comfortable to move. Once more he was moving through the night, trying to follow the muffled sounds. It took about a half hour but he found a pack of Alphas gathered around a campfire, drinking.
There were three pick-up trucks and a tent billowing in the mild wind. It looked like they had coolers with possibly food and definitely beer. Why the hell they were out on the Bitch Run in winter indicated that they were either wildly optimistic about their chances of getting laid or drunk on their asses.
They were laughing and joking and Dean was tending toward the idea that they were so drunk they had no idea what they were doing. He bet at least one of them would be found dead in the morning from either alcohol poisoning or hyperthermia. In the meantime he wanted their clothes, their food and anything else he could grab. He just needed a plan.
Shivering in the underbrush he realized that he had one more thing to his advantage, his smell. He still felt his slick dripping down his thighs and he could use that. If he could lay a scent trail for the drunken Alphas to follow he might be able to raid their camp while they were out chasing the scent down.
He backed up slowly and started to lay a trail by rubbing himself on trees, fallen branches and even high weeds. Once he hit the stream he braced himself and tried to wash away the rest of his slick to cut down on his body's odor. The icy cold water was a shock. Hopefully it tightened up more than just his dick. If he could stop leaking his plan might just work.
He circled back and hid in the underbrush again. One or two of the Alphas were tossing their heads in the air. Evidently the wind was bringing them the scent.
One of the men said "You guys smell that?"
The others agreed that it smelled like sex. "I didn't know they still dumped those boys out here."
"It smells like they do. Anybody up for a bitch run? Got to keep the old traditions alive."
The men grabbed their guns and stumbled off. They were so drunk a couple of them actually ran into trees. Dean figured even if they did see him he should be able to outrun their drunken asses easily.
He listened to the trampling of the Omega hunting party move off. In addition to the noise they were making with their feet the men were shouting back and forth loud descriptions of what they would do to the bitch when they found him. Dean waited until he could no longer make out the words and then he moved on their camp.
He grabbed a duffle bag sitting on the ground and dumped the contents. A couple of pairs of jeans fell out and other miscellaneous items of clothing. He stuffed what he wanted back in and made a grab at the coolers looking for food. He got sandwiches and beer then dared to enter the tent. He knew he would be trapped in it if anyone came back but he wanted blankets.
He got more than the blankets. Sitting out in plain sight was a loaded hand gun. It was a wonder one of the drunken idiots hadn't shot himself with it. Dean shook his head and took the gun. It was better than gold in his eyes. It might be the key to staying alive.
He escaped the camp with his plunder and headed back to his bolt hole. He had been careful to lay the scent trail to end at the stream at least a half mile down from his cold camp. He would have liked to go watch the men to make sure they weren't going to be a threat but now that he was back at the rocks his main concern became masking his scent and trying to warm up. He could not dare light a fire so he just put on all the clothes he had taken.
When the drunks got back to their camp he found it hard to believe that someone wouldn't notice that the camp had been raided, especially since he had taken a loaded gun. He curled up on the ground like a denning animal and thought about his life as he drifted off to sleep.
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When light broke the following morning Dean was surprised to find himself still alive. Nothing had come at him in the dark. He had slept all the way through the night, completely exhausted. Now he was cold and stiff from lying on the damp ground with only a blanket between him and the dirt but he was better off than he had any right to expect when his father had dumped him naked in the snow yesterday afternoon.
He had some food and clothes and a gun. Things were looking up. His successful planning of the camp robbery last evening also gave his self-confidence a boost. His father had been the planner in all their hunts. Dean was the soldier, the grunt. He did what he was told. He decided immediately, sitting on the cold hard ground that he would never be anyone's faithful, well-behaved soldier again. If this is what he got for the sacrifice of his childhood and any possible social life or education, to hell with it. From now on he would depend only on himself.
He did mourn for his brother, however. He hoped that Sam would be able to hold on to what he wanted and knowing that his brother had inherited his father's stubbornness, Dean suspected that Sam would do well. Maybe when Dean's path was clearer he would get back in touch with Sam. He never wanted to see or hear from John Winchester ever again.
He thought about his rape. He felt again the man's hands pulling his legs apart and grabbing his hips His own father had used him like a whore then slapped his ass and told him to clean up the mess. Revenge would be nice but amnesia would be better. He wished he could forget how it felt to be raped and then discarded like a bag of trash. At least he had learned exactly what it meant to be an Omega. He knew he had to protect himself, conceal himself, try to keep himself safe.
He picked up his bits and pieces and shoved them in the duffle bag.
He trudged his way back to the campsite. He wanted to make sure that the drunks had packed up and left and also wanted to see if anything had been left behind that he could use. He could follow the tire tracks out of this wood. He was sure they would lead to a paved road and once he found civilization again he would make up his mind about where he was going.
He was thinking so hard that he got careless.
He reached the site and the tent and the trucks were gone but he didn't notice that one of the trucks had only been moved and when he stepped out of the tree line he heard a gun cock and a voice said "Well, look at that. I knew that smell came from someone."
Dean turned and looked at an older man with hard eyes and a mean twist to his lips. The man held a rifle pointed at Dean's head and Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Didn't expect anybody to catch on to you, did you? Just sneak in and take what you wanted. Well, now you're going to pay for it."
"On your knees, bitch." the man ordered. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? We're going to get to be real good friends soon. I'm Mitch but you can call me Alpha. I'll call you Bitch. Get up and get in the truck and don't try anything I'll blow out one of your kneecaps."
Dean did as he was told, backing away from the man in the direction of the truck. He was confused by one thing. Didn't the man know about the hand gun? If he was truly ignorant about the possibility that Dean was armed, there might be a way out of this, Dean thought.
"How long you been out here, Bitch?" Mitch sneered at him. "Not too long, I'm thinking or you wouldn't be looking so pretty. Always wanted me a wide-eyed, sweet young boy to break in. You a virgin?"
Dean felt like either throwing up or spitting in the man's face. He decided neither course would help him survive so he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told. He tried to project a combination of fear and seduction, trying to keep the man's attention on his slim, young body and potential availability. If the man was looking forward to what he was going to do to Dean he might let his guard down.
Dumping his duffle bag in the truck bed, Dean pulled the passenger door open and climbed in the truck. Mitch kept him targeted through the windshield and finally pulled the driver's door open. In the time that Dean's body was covered by the opening of the door he pulled the handgun out from the small of his back and fired clean through the door panel. He saw Mitch get knocked back by the bullet and Dean threw himself out of the truck to the ground and rolled under the truck.
Mitch fired the rifle into the truck cab but Dean was already gone. From under the truck Dean took aim and shot the man in the ankle.
As Mitch fell Dean heard "God-damn, little bitch. I'm going to kill you now." Then the man's body hit the ground and Dean put another bullet into his temple. When Mitch's body went still Dean rolled out from under the truck.
He stood and was shocked to see that his hands were shaking. He had never killed a human before and his body's reaction was strong. He felt like his lungs were being squeezed and his heart was going to leap out of his chest. He went to Mitch's body and searched for the keys to the truck. He pulled the man's wallet and found money and the usual assortment of I.D. and credit cards. He really didn't even want to know the man's full name.
Dean consoled himself with the thought that this man's death wasn't really his fault. He was only fighting to stay alive and free. If anyone should be blamed for Mitch's death, it was John Winchester.
He looked around the campsite, trying to figure out what to do with the body. He didn't have any salt but he had gasoline in the truck. In the truck bed was one of those fancy tool boxes and the padlock keys seemed to be on Mitch's key ring. Opening the box Dean found a shovel.
Contemplating what he had to do next the strength just suddenly drained out of his body. He sat down quickly on the tool box and let the gun dangle in his hands. He just needed a minute, he thought. He just had to process everything that had happened.
He put his face in his hands and felt tears start to flow. He was sixteen years old, God dammit. He should be worrying about grades and the school prom, not be out here in the cold trying to figure out what to do with the body of the man he had just shot.