A/N: Yep, I'm a day late. Sorry. Hope this was worth the wait.

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


Chapter 21 – darkness falls

Lee Bender stared at the fireball rolling up into the night sky and felt the muscles of his face twitch into a smirk.

Fucking beautiful. Gabriel ain't walkin' away from this.

The rear of the big black truck was still outside the cabin. Half the roof was blown off by the force of the explosion and from the way flames licked around the hole it was clear that the fire was going to spread.

Not my fault, he thought to himself. I did what Pa told me to.

Lee couldn't remember if how much gas was in the gas tank. He hadn't paid any attention before and he sure in the hell hoped the fire would get to it too. He hated doing anything half-assed, especially if that meant that Gabriel had a chance of living through this.

He risked a glance at his older brother. Jerry looked sour; he shook his head slightly. Watch it, you stupid bastard. Don't let them see you lookin' like that.

Lee shrugged silently Not likely, brother.

Pa had his hands full with Missy.

Sparks and flames shot out of the windows, and Missy howled her grief out into the night air. It wasn't words, exactly, just an ear-splitting, wild screech that ripped into the night air.

Pa was crying too; tears streaked down his face into his beard, and when he saw that Lee rolled his eyes. Crying for that freak. Huh. Waste of time. Good riddance.

Missy didn't try to slash Pa; she'd dropped her knives and was trying to run into the clearing. Pa had her by the waist from behind. He was holding her back, but Missy had a helluva lot of strength in that wiry body of hers. At one point she twisted halfway around and clocked Pa upside the head with her closed fist. He held on somehow. It was plain that if he let her go she'd run right into the flames.

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Gabriel had ruined Missy for other men. It was likely that she'd never allow Lee or Jerry to lay their hands on her after this, much less fuck her.

Dense black smoke boiled up out of the cabin, made it hard to see the cabin and the shed nearby.

There was a loud bang, and everything went bright yellow.

Lee jumped. For a moment he thought that the gas tank had blown. He backed up nervously. Pa, Missy and Jerry froze where they stood. There was another sound, and it didn't hit Lee until a second later what he was hearing and seeing.

Headlights. Sumbitchin' headlights.

And the rumble of a big, well-tuned engine.

That plain blue car they saw back at the crazy place charged out of the smoke just as the gas tank in that big black truck caught.

The shed. The blue car was in the fucking shed.

The rear wheels of the black truck left the ground as the gas tank blew. The blue car fishtailed as it picked up speed on the dirt driveway, just as the rest of the cabin roof collapsed on top of the truck. Flaming debris sprayed onto the top of the shed, and some of it landed on the trunk and rear window of the blue car, but the way that sumbitch was moving that didn't matter. Whoever was behind the wheel drove like a bat out of hell. There were people in the car, all right. More than one. Possibly four.

Despite the heat from the fire, Lee felt a chill in the air. He turned and followed Pa, Missy and Jerry as they ran for the trucks parked in the woods.


Sam's mouth was bone dry. He couldn't feel his heart beat, couldn't even tell if he was still breathing. All he could concentrate on was the steering wheel and the gas pedal and the road up ahead. He glanced in the rear view mirror as the cabin went up in a blossom of orange and yellow fire.

"…son of a…bitch…" John groaned. Blood, dark and sticky, trailed down the sides of his neck from both ears.

Bobby sat slumped over in the back seat, next to Dean. Bobby was out like a light; blood caked the left side of his face, stained the collar of his blue plaid flannel shirt. His tan vest was stained with it.

Dean was unconscious; hadn't moved since Sam put him there. Even the sound of gunfire and the roar of Dad's truck failed to rouse him. Dean didn't move as Sam came back down the smoke filled tunnel dragging John and Bobby with him, and when Sam pushed Bobby onto the back bench next to him there was no sign that Dean was even aware of what was going on.

"D-Dad? Dad!"

"Can't hear you. All I can…" John swallowed hard, "all I can hear is this damn ringing in my ears."

Sam jerked the wheel to the right, gunned the engine. John's eyes widened as he was thrown forward. He put out his left hand to brace himself against the dash. John's right arm hung useless, limp.

The car straightened out. John wheezed as he sat back against the bench. He turned his head in Sam's direction; his eyes looked glassy, unfocused. "You…you gotta drive, Sam. You hear me?"

Sam nodded.

"You gotta…drive…son…" John slurred. His head bobbled; John blinked and it was clear he was losing the battle to stay awake.

"Dad?" Sam yelled. "Dad?"

They had a chance if they made it to the main highway. There was a full moon overhead, but that didn't seem to help. The road twisted and turned, but failure wasn't an option here. Sam caught a glimpse of the four people standing in the brush when the door to the shed came crashing down. Three men, one woman. Gabriel's family. One of them had to be that Abraham, and the woman was Missy.

Four against one if he got stopped and had to fight his way out. Typical Winchester luck, which usually meant no damn luck at all.

The inside of the Chevelle was suddenly flooded with light so bright it made Sam's eyes hurt. The car jerked violently to the right and a fine silvery spray filled the air.

Glass, Sam thought dully. Broken window glass.

Metal crashed against metal, and that sound followed Sam down into the dark.


John came back to himself slowly. He was actually pretty surprised to find that he was alive and breathing; that was a damn big surprise in itself. He kept his eyes closed, and he took inventory.

He had a headache, dull and throbbing. Pain jabbed sharply into his right side every time he pulled in a breath. Busted rib, probably.

He could feel his legs, and that was something, at least. Both legs felt okay, a little cramped, but he could move if he had to. The fingers of his right hand tingled, right arm was numb, and a white hot spike of pain pulsed just beneath the surface. That ringing in his ears came and went, and he couldn't hear any other sounds.

John waited before he opened his eyes.

Everything was a blur, smeared and grey. That wasn't good. He could deal with the rest. He was ambidextrous, but if he couldn't see worth a damn that was definitely going to be a major problem. It wasn't completely dark, there was some sort of light source overhead, but he couldn't tell if the place had any windows.

John leaned forward, raised his left hand and gingerly rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. He raised his head and blinked again. That was a little better, but not much.

He put his hand out, felt around beside him, above and below. Dirt floor, and what he sat up against was metal. Rough. Welded, probably.

He was in a fucking cage. Had just enough room to sit upright with his legs stretched out. The top of the cage was about three inches above his head.

They hunt humans, John, Missouri had said. They hunt them for food and for sport.

And if the Benders hunted humans, then, yeah, they needed a place to keep the humans until the hunt was on. This was a barn or a basement probably. The dirt floor meant clean up was easy. They could get this place shovel ready for the next hunt in no time.

John cleared his throat, whispered hoarsely, "Sam? Bobby?"

He waited. Listened.

Nothing.

John sat back against the bars. His head ached. He closed his eyes, and his mind went places he did not want it to go.

Sam was dead.

So was Bobby. And Dean probably was too.


Missy was not happy.

"That all you got, you crazy bitch?" the man in the trucker's cap snarled at her. He clenched his hands into fists, but he couldn't touch her. He was tied to that chair pretty damn tight. He was bloody all over, but he just didn't have that look of fear in his eyes. Missy switched her knife to her left hand, rubbed her fingers over the goose egg on her forehead. This just wasn't working out. He'd smacked her with that car door back at the crazy place, and she wanted to teach him some manners, but if he didn't scream and he wasn't afraid, then what was the whole point?

He kind of reminded her of Pa, only his beard was smaller. Maybe that was why something about him bothered her when she was close up on him like this. She still wanted his head in a large jar when this was all over. That much hadn't changed.

She'd even picked out the jar herself: it was tall, with a really large mouth. Missy thought that way back, when she was a little girl, that Ma had maybe kept cookies or some such in there. It was a really nice jar, and the lid screwed on. She might have to cut off his ears to make his head fit inside, but it would do. Missy was sure of it.

Right now, though, she had to think. She stuck her knife into the meaty part of his left shoulder, and then pulled it out.

He growled at her.

He didn't look pretty bloody. The only one she had ever seen that looked pretty like that was Gabriel. There still wasn't enough blood on this one to suit her.

Missy stepped in close, slipped the blade of her knife into his right thigh, and smiled as she watched the blood flow.


John blinked.

He cursed at himself for falling asleep again, or passing out, but he could see a little better now. The walls were wood planks. This was a barn. A grey tarp covered some box or another cage over on his left. He couldn't see the door in the far wall before; now John realized he sat directly opposite it.

John blinked, and his vision became worse and then better with each movement. Blurred, then hazy enough to see details, then back to blurred again.

The door was open. It was daylight out there; John could tell that much.

John stared at the man who stood just inside the doorway and felt his heart skid into his throat.

Shoulder-length sandy blonde hair, broad shoulders hunched up around his ears. The body language was hesitant, timid as he shuffled forward. It was wrong, all wrong.

It was Dean. John blinked, desperate to see what color the eyes were, bright green or darker. He couldn't tell. Dean wore a faded brown and yellow flannel shirt, workboots and faded blue jeans.

"Dean?" John murmured softly. His vision clear a little more, and he willed himself not to blink.

"N-No." Dean stared at John wide-eyed. He was pale. Twitchy. "My name's John." His hands shook. "Mister, I need…I n-need m-my m-meds," he stammered wearily. The voice was lighter, almost child-like. "They won't give me any. My head…head hurts."

Dean (and John couldn't help it, this was Dean, Dean's body at least) looked at him with absolutely no hint of recognition in those eyes.

What the hell was this? Who the hell was this?

"All right then, John," John said slowly. "Where's Sam? Bobby?"

Dean moved his head jerkily from side to side. "Don't know who they are."

"You're Gabriel," John said flatly.

Another spastic jerk of the head. "D-Don't know any Ga-bri-el." Dean had trouble pronouncing the name. His tongue stuttered over the middle part.

A shadow darkened the open doorway, silent. Waiting. John narrowed his eyes when he saw it.

"I wanna…I wanna go back to my room. I don't like it here." Wide green eyes darted around nervously. "I don't know these people. I don't know you."

Someone stepped through the door, and the kid jumped nervously, even though the newcomer moved with a limp. Maybe Dean startled because he saw the baseball bat in the dude's right hand.

"Hey, boy," the man called softly. He was taller, dressed in dingy blue flannel and khaki pants. He smelled like sheep and dirt, body odor and cheap whiskey. He had on a baseball cap that was just as dirty as the rest of him, and his brown eyes roamed greedily all over Dean's body.

John blinked, and everything blurred. He was seconds away from losing it, and he knew it. God, not again. The idea of Dean being used sexually by everyone these last four years, that bastard Beck, these people...John's left hand clenched up into a fist. This was too much to take, having to watch Dean abused like this, and John had absolutely no doubt that was exactly where this was headed.

Baseball Cap didn't give John a second glance.

"You remember me, don't cha?"

Dean stood frozen in place. "I don't…I don't know you…" he stammered.

"Sure you do. I'm your friend, remember? I'm Lee," the man purred.

"You sonofabitch, leave him alone!" John roared.

"Well, I sure am afraid of you." Lee raised his right leg and slammed his foot into the bars nearest John's face. John didn't flinch.

"You touch him, I swear I'll kill you!"

"Not talkin' to you, meat," Lee grumbled. He struck the cage repeatedly with the bat. John glared at him. He didn't move away because he couldn't.

"You bastard, I'll fucking kill you ---" John raged.

"That's bold talk."

Dean stared at them both wide-eyed.

"Come on now," Lee said. "I know you been sick, but we used to be real good friends." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Real good friends."

Lee hooked his right arm around Dean's waist and pulled him close.

No, please, John thought, not again, not again....

"Never mind him. That's right, that's better." Lee pulled Dean into him even closer. They stood belly to belly; Lee stroked the side of Dean's face with broad, dirty fingers. "Good boy." he crooned.

"That's a guh…" Lee's eyes widened. His body jerked. "…guh…"

His mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping helplessly out of water. A trickle of blood ran out of the corner of his mouth down his chin.

Dean turned more to the side. John saw the hilt of the knife in his hand as he pushed the knife deeper into Lee's gut. Dean's expression was curiously blank.

John's only thought was, Well, that's one less to worry about.

Lee staggered backwards, drenched in blood from his stomach down to his boots. The baseball bat fell from his hand. He stared down at the gaping hole in his belly, wide-eyed in disbelief. He turned, stumble-stepped towards the door, but his knees buckled and he went down on his hands and knees.

Dean watched him stagger and fall. He flicked the bloody knife upright into the dirt floor, and then he slowly went over and picked up the bat.

Lee struggled up, nearly fell down again as he tried to run. He didn't get far.

The first crack of the bat against Lee's skull was a hard, heavy sound. Lee stopped moving after the second blow. John knew he was never going to move again after the third one.

Dean stepped back, his face streaked with blood and bits of brain matter. He looked feral, somehow beautiful. He breathed fast and quick, and it wasn't from exertion. The corners of his mouth turned up in a small, satisfied smirk, and John knew in an instant he'd been wrong all along.

"Gabriel," John growled.

Gabriel turned his dark green gaze and winked at John. "Hi, Papa. Had you goin' for a while there, huh? Miss me?"

He kicked at Lee's corpse. "I ended up in Sweetbriar because of this lousy bastard." Another kick to the head, then another. Lee's body flopped around bonelessly.

"If you can't trust your own damn family, who the hell can you trust? Speaking of which," Gabriel scowled at the door. "Hey, Jerry! Get your ass in here!"

Another man, a larger, slightly older version of Lee, stepped into the barn. The look of fear in his eyes was unmistakable, even though he was wider and nearly a head taller than Gabriel.

He shuffled along like he was going to his own execution, and judging from the way Gabriel's fingers tightened around the handle of the baseball bat, he probably was.

An older man stood in the doorway. This one's beard was grizzled, grey. He leaned against the frame, and he barely glanced at John or Lee's body. He stood silently and watched Gabriel, and one look was all it took for John to get it. This was the oldest one, the other two were carbon copies in the way they looked, the way they dressed.

This was Abraham Bender, the head of the clan. Gabriel's brother.

Gabriel tossed the baseball bat on the floor next to Lee's body. His eyes were unusually bright as he looked up at the bigger man cowering before him.

"Okay, lambchop, listen up. Abraham spoke up for you." Gabriel nodded at Abraham and received a nod in return. "Said you don't have the brains to think up something on your own. You're one dumb sumbitch, and if you wanna keep breathing, I suggest you stay that way. If you ever look at me funny, I will put you down like a dog. Understand me?"

Jerry nodded.

Gabriel shrugged at Lee's remains. "This is your mess. Now you clean it up." He pulled a blue bandanna out of his back pants pocket and scrubbed at his face.

Jerry grabbed Lee by the ankles and hauled him out of the barn. Abraham stepped aside. Gabriel turned and he stepped into Abraham's arms. The hug was brief and fierce.

Abraham grunted. "Knew you'd come back, brother. Knew you'd take care'a your business, too." He looked at John and laughed.

Gabriel chuckled, and the sound was so Dean-like it twisted John's insides.

"You sonsofbitches," John rumbled.

"Now, don't be like that," Gabriel drawled. "We're all about family here, Daddy." He stepped over to the grey tarp, snagged it by the corners and pulled it off completely. "You can have some quality time with your freak here."

Abraham laughed. John cursed as his vision went south again.

"He's never gonna get out of that cage alive," Gabriel crowed. "We're gonna have a fine old time tonight." Abraham clapped Gabriel on the back. By the time John's vision cleared the door was shut and locked again.

He stared at the other cage. The man inside lay quietly, curled up on his right side. Dark purplish blue bruises dotted the left side of his face.

John couldn't tell if Sam was still breathing or not.


Next post Saturday.