A/N: Real life sucks. I'm back.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.


Chapter 19 – a rock and a hard place

Dean stared wearily at his hands. They were ice cold; he could barely feel the ropes against his skin. He struggled to remember what it was like to be the only one in his body, and like everything else lately, that wasn't going too well, either. Some of the scars belonged to him; some didn't.

Jesus, he felt like a friggin' sheepdog now. Damn hair got in his eyes no matter what he did. Just another reminder that he hadn't been in control for the past four years. He knew the curve of every muscle underneath his skin. He'd had this body all his life, he'd enjoyed it, pushed it to its limits and then some. His body, his life.

Not any more.

Left knuckle.

Baltimore, Maryland. Bar brawl. Dean thought. Got tagged by that biker with his knife. Happened right after Sam left for Stanford.

That slash mark on his left arm was on the diagonal, a raised welt of healed skin about five inches long.

Broken window glass. Fugly hunt. Dixson, Indiana. Dad stitched him right up.

Small cut on the pad of his thumb, several more on the web of his right hand.

The knife was heavy and sharp, and the bitch wouldn't stay still. Gabe hit bone when he stabbed her. He kept right on stabbing her.

Ring finger, right hand.

Nice and shiny, ain't they?

Missy held up the amulet around her neck. Bronze and silver. His ring was there too, strung on the black leather cord. She always had this wild look in her eyes, like she wanted to cut and carve on him with her knives while she told him she loved him.

You want 'em back, Gabe?

They belonged to her now. Just another thing that was taken away, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. That large silver washer ring shone brightly in Dean's memory, and then was gone, faded out just like that thin band of untanned skin on his ring finger.

Slash marks, two on his lower right arm, another one on the back of his right hand.

That trucker almost got away. Almost.

Needle marks in the insides of both elbows.

Time for your happy juice, freak. Hope this hurts.

The skin at his neck prickled with the memory of teeth nipping at his skin.

Good boy, John, you're the one I want, always.

Fingers ghosted down his bruised hipbones.

You're not the one I want, Dean.

Dean gagged at the sour, slick taste of rubber in his mouth.

This is Dr. Ephraim Weddington. The date is 8-15-2009, time is 9:37AM. Documenting the first electroshock procedure performed on patient 87356317, otherwise known as John Doe 317…

His heels ached as they drummed uselessly against the gurney. White bees and blinding light blazed through his head.

"Glad to have you back, brother."Abraham hugged him, tight and fierce. Dean's face was wet with tears. He was home. He was out at last.

Do you know how much your brother loves you, beauty?

Stop it, Dean told himself. Damn you, stop it.

Dean hunched forward in the chair, shifted his weight over to his right. He tried to gain some relief from that cramp in his left hip. A dull ache smoldered deep inside the long muscles from his hip through his thigh. He really needed to stretch, but there was no way that Bobby or Dad was going to untie that ankle.


Missy crouched in the darkness next to Abraham. She'd been on enough hunts, but she couldn't stay calm for long though, and he knew it. Gabriel was in that damn cabin, fifty yards away, but there was a problem. The underbrush surrounding the place had been set up with trip wires and booby traps. Five minutes ago Jerry had narrowly missed stepping right into this large steel bear trap. Where there was one, there were others. Whoever set this up knew their stuff.

Lee and Jerry were on the left. Lee had his rifle, and Jerry carried the one he took out of that big black truck.

"I want that old man," Missy whispered. "I want to see him covered in blood. I want to hear him scream." She rubbed at the goose egg on her forehead. "I want him and those other two to die slow and beg for it."

"I know you do. We got to be smart about this, girl. We're gettin' Gabriel back. Alive and in one piece."

"We don't move unless I say so. Until I say so." Abraham snapped. He shot a hard gaze at Lee and Jerry, stared at them until they nodded back at him, showed they understood. "I'll give you his head and his balls in a jar," he rumbled to Missy. "I promise you that."

Missy nodded. Pa always kept his promises.


Dean listened to his heartbeat, fast and quick, drumming against his ribcage like it wanted to get out. He forced himself to breathe, tried to slow down the tidal wave of physical reactions and emotions he was feeling. His chest hurt, and his head felt weird, light-headed and leaden all at the same time. The rest of the room was a blur to him. He couldn't see anything past his fingertips.

Sam fucked himself up because of me. He did. Stupid bastard.

I can help you, Dean. Let me help you…

"I told him," Dean breathed raggedly, and he didn't realize he'd said it out loud. "I told him to stop doing that friggin' witchy crap. Now it's my fault, huh? My fault?"

"Dean?"

Dad. He was another one. For a wild moment he really wanted to hit Dad. Smash him in the face, kick his ass. Maybe that would get his attention. John Winchester, the great white hunter. Here I come to save the day.

Bullshit.

They never listened to him. No one ever did. It was go over here Dean, kill this. Do this, Dean, do that. After all he'd done for this fucking family, and this was how it was gonna end?

The ropes around his wrists and ankles pissed him off. He tugged at them, and then tugged some more. Being unable to free himself fed the anger and it finally ignited inside him. It spread through his muscles, warmed his skin, and he could finally wiggle his fingers and toes again.

"Damn it, Dean!"

Dean jerked his head up. He glared at John. "You dumb sonofabitch," he whispered finally.

John grunted. His game face hadn't budged an inch. "This really you?"

"Yeah. It's me," Dean growled. "You're looking at my eyes, right? You always taught me to fight smart, to use my brain. What happened, Dad? IQs drop while I was gone?"

Dean shook his head in disgust. "I never knew you were this stupid. Wasting all this time and energy on damaged goods, 'cause that's what I am now. You know that, right?"

Come here, baby, Beck whispered.

Dean jerked forward, his skin tingling with the memory of fingers sliding up his back.

Working here does have its perks, gentlemen.

They saw.

This one? He's mine.

Dad and Sam…they saw…

Dean shook his head to clear the memory away. The rage he felt came roaring back. That was good. It kept him warm, kept his hands from shaking. "Smart play would have been to leave me at Sweetbriar. I mean, why the hell did you even bother to come get me in the first place? No, wait, don't tell me." Dean tugged at the ropes, but it wasn't the frantic twisting motion that Gabriel did before. This was slow, calculated. He was testing the give of the ropes. "You needed an extra pair of hands on a hunt? Was that it?"

There was a flash of hurt in John's eyes, for just the barest moment. His mask had slipped, but it was firmly back into place now.

Dean shivered and shook. When he raised his head to look at John his eyes were still bright green. "Smart play now would be to doubletap me in the head and leave. Are you gonna do that? Oh hell, no." He snorted. "You picked a damn bad time to start playing Daddy."

John nodded. "I get it, son," John said quietly. "I do."

"You get it? Get what?" The twisting and turning grew a little more frantic. "Don't look at me like that, you hear me?"

Bobby appeared at the doorway. He flicked a glance at Dean, and his expression actually softened for a moment. "Ah, John? Need to talk to you for a moment."

"Can't it ---"

"Right the hell now, John."

"Don't you turn your back on me," Dean raged. "Don't you…"

Dean watched as Dad turned his back on him (they leave me, everyone leaves me) and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Now that he didn't have someone, something to concentrate on, his energy level went down. He was a freak, now more than ever.

He wasn't safe to be around. Gabriel was still there, buried deep inside Dean's skin.

Gabriel waited.

And Dean knew why he'd pulled back inside in a hurry like that.


"Now what, Singer?" John growled. He wasn't very happy, and he scowled when he saw Sam sitting up on the bed. What the hell?? The look he gave Bobby was dark, pointed. Just what the hell did this old fool think he was doing? John tensed up.

Sam was up. Sam was loose. He rubbed his wrists and refused to move as John glared at him. Sam had that miserable, slightly twitchy look John had gotten used to seeing in the last two days or so.

"Why'd you untie him?"

"We need every available hand on deck now, you damn idjit. That's why. Whatever he did to Dean, or tried to do, he did it to help," Bobby hissed. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about making a deal or doing something stupid to get Dean back. You have. I know you have."

"Dean needs ---" Christ, he really didn't know what Dean needed at the moment. It was darned hard to just stand there, to watch Dean all wild eyed as he rambled and raved. There was no sense asking him about the Benders, not until later, and mentioning the exorcism was out of the question. Telling Dean would be like telling Gabriel everything, and there was no sense in giving that bastard a heads-up.

"Dean? You can't believe a word he's saying now. He's out of his head. He's coming down off the drugs they pumped into him. He's still got Gabriel inside him."

"I know that."

"Then pull your head out of your ass and think clearly for a moment."

"All right." John scrubbed his hand down his face. God, felt like he was getting a headache, dull and heavy, settling down right between his eyes. "All right. Sam? Go sit with your brother."

It was obvious the younger man felt uncomfortable. Usually Sam would have stood his ground, resentful at being treated like some snot-nosed kid ordered out the room while the grown-ups talked.

Bobby waited until Sam was gone, then he turned to John. "We're screwed."


Checking the color of Dean's eyes was an automatic habit by now. They were green. Bright green. Green means go, green means everything's fine.

Not this time.

"I saw you," Dean whispered hoarsely, slightly wide-eyed.

"Wh-what?"

"Sam, I saw what you did."

Oh, God… That seemed wrong somehow. God didn't have anything to do with what he'd been up to for the past four years. Sam's heart and stomach lurched down around the soles of his feet. He felt wrong inside, like a part of him had been rubbed away, worn down. He'd felt like that ever since he'd been pulled away from Dean, and that wasn't right, Dad and Bobby didn't understand. He was helping Dean, not hurting him.

"Dean, you…you couldn't have ---" Sam shook his head and immediately regretted it. That slight ache between his eyes promised a headache that was only going to get worse, a dull and heavy throb. Pain was the price, but Sam knew that Lim wouldn't be satisfied with just this small taste.

"You and that…that thing…"

Dean didn't understand either. Ungrateful bastard.

"Dean, please, let me explain…"

"You let that thing fuck you," Dean's eyes unfocused. He stared at a point somewhere behind Sam's left shoulder. "You did that…because of me…"

"What the hell did you think I was gonna do?" Sam burst out, and God he didn't sound macho, grown up, or confident. He wasn't feeling any of those things. Sam felt like a kid again, maybe nine or ten years old, trying to explain something simple to his stupid, stubborn older brother. Please don't be mad at me, Dean. Please…

The look Dean gave Sam was focused, intensely, painfully aware. "You let that thing fuck you, so you could what, help me?" Dean laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. The sound was sharp and bitter, filled with despair. "Is that what you call that? You're helping me?"

"It's not what it looks like. I mean…"

"It's not? Demons are our friends now, right? Yeah." Dean nodded. His eyes went to slits. "The same evil sonsabitches that killed our mom, that totally fucked up our lives and our family only wanna help us now, right?"

"Unbelievable," Sam muttered. He stuck his chin out defiantly. Dean smirked at him when he balled his fist up. Sam didn't give a damn then. "After all I did for you, and you're mad at me?"

How many times in the past had he stood just like this, defending himself? He'd lost count of the times he had stood toe to toe with John Winchester.

Only this time it wasn't Dad. It was Dean.

"After all you did?" Dean cocked his head to one side. "You damned yourself, because of me, and now I'm supposed to kiss your ass for it and pretend everything's all right?"

"It's my life, Dean," Sam said stiffly. "I can do whatever I want with it."

"Yeah. Right. Fuck it up, toss it away. Well, thanks Sam," Dean drawled sarcastically. "Thanks a fuckin' lot."

"That's not how this is. You don't know what it was like all those years."

"I'm screwed, so now you wanna be too, huh?" Dean swayed from side to side in the chair. "You dumb sonofabitch."

Don't do this. Don't say these things, Dean's out of his head, he doesn't know what he's saying, and you missed him these last four years, you know you did, say that, don't say…

"I'm not the one that got taken by people," Sam heard himself say.

Dean froze.

"Big bad Dean Winchester gets taken down by a couple of hillbillies."

"Shut up." That wasn't Dean's usual growl, low and dangerous. He sounded weak; there wasn't any force behind it.

"Who got sloppy, Dean? Who? You did." Sam moved closer to the chair, and he actually enjoyed watching Dean deflate, enjoyed watching his brother's still broad shoulders sag. That suddenly open, raw look of hurt on Dean's pale face was priceless. He sat slumped forward in the chair, limp against the ropes that bound him, and he looked so beautiful like that.

"You made a mess, a fucking big one, just like you always do, and as usual Dad and I have to clean it all up." Sam moved closer to the chair.

His fingers twitched. The scars bloomed on the palm of his right hand.

I could do this, Sam thought as he stared at Dean. Take his pain away, once and for all.

"…dun't…don't touch…me…" Dean slurred.

"It'll be all right, Dean. It will…" Sam carded Dean's hair with his fingers. Dean shuddered. His eyes closed as his head rocked forward.

Better, Sam thought. He doesn't have to be awake for this.

The sane, rational part of Sam's mind tried again. Don't do this, Sam, don't you do this. He's your brother. He raised you. Bled for you…

Sam stopped short. He wanted to lean forward, place his hand on Dean's chest, wanted to finish what he started, but he couldn't.

This was wrong.

What he was doing was wrong.

Something dark inside Sam howled in disappointment as he backed up. His vision momentarily went yellow as his back hit the wall. Sam barely felt it.

I can't do this, Sam thought, I won't.

He stared at Dean, slumped over, bound, pale and defenseless.

The scars in Sam's skin flexed like hungry gaping mouths.

Sam ignored them.


"Listen," Bobby said grimly.

John stood in front of the shuttered window right next to the front door. There was no glass, and there was about half an inch open space at the bottom.

Bobby pulled out his cell phone, hit redial. "Listen."

John cocked his head slightly. He frowned when he heard the ringtone outside in the distance. Sounded like one of those hard rock songs Dean used to love.

"Called Clyde's number back," the older man whispered fiercely. "Wanted to make sure those two idjits stayed put. They didn't. We got bigger problems than Dean or Sam right now." Bobby jerked his head towards the darkness outside. "We got company."


Next post? Saturday. It's the Winchesters versus the Benders, and Gabriel/Dean is the prize.