A/N: Chapter title paraphrased from a line from Robert Frost's poem "Stopping in Woods on a Snowy Evening."
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
Chapter 23 – the woods are lonely, dark and deep
Gabriel kept his face blank while he fought against that jittery feeling that rose up in his gut and his stomach. He had a dim memory of the gun in his hand, the startled look on the shaggy freak's face as he raised the gun in his direction, smelled gunpowder in the air, heard the crack of two shots.
I killed the damn freak. Didn't I?
That thought didn't calm him down. His fingers shook as he reached out for the ax his brother handed him. Abraham didn't notice. Jerry didn't either.
Gabriel tightened his grip on the wooden handle while he screamed inside his head (What the hell is wrong with me?) and that was wrong, that sounded too much like Dean had back at Sweetbriar.
Gabriel forced himself to breathe. It was the meds, that's all. Those fucking devil's sunrise pills, not having them was catching up with him, along with the rest of the pink, yellow and white pills, the injections and the shock treatments they'd given him.
The length of his hair bothered him now. Hadn't before. Maybe he should cut it off, make it shorter, but hell, his hair was one of the things Missy liked about him. Should have thought about tying it back, off his face. He had work to do tonight.
The weight of the pistol in his back waistband was suddenly heavy and somehow confused him. He'd put it there after he shot the freak. That was it, wasn't it?
Buzzing all around him, and Gabriel looked around wildly.
White bees. White…
They were coming for him.
No please, I'll be a good boy, no, no!
They'd get inside his head, burrow in underneath his skin and he'd be stupid and useless like he was before ---
Now John, it's all right. You'll see. It'll be okay.
They lied. They always did, even as they strapped him down, stuck needles in him, held his nose closed until he swallowed those meds right down.
Abraham was turned sideways, towards the barn. If he noticed anything about Gabriel, he was being quiet about it. Gabe couldn't see his eyes clearly because of the shadow cast by the bill of his cap, but he could tell big brother was rock steady. He always was.
You became that Beck fella's little she-bitch, didn't you, Gabriel?
Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut.
Lettin' him use you like that.
Abraham had been there in his cell back at Sweetbriar, hadn't he?
Thought you was better than that. Benders take. We don't get taken.
Shut up.
Here's a red pill, bitch. Spread for me.
Abraham saw. He knew.
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
All the noise inside his head stopped.
Everything was okay, it was all right. Abraham hadn't asked, and Gabe never told him any of what had gone on in that place. All that was his business, nobody else's. Gabriel Bender believed in handling his business, and he was handling it right fucking NOW.
Just ask Lee about that. Or Dean.
Oh, wait. Can't.
No good would come about thinking about stuff that was over and done with. It was in the past, and that's where it was going to stay. He was home, away from that place. He was with his family now, and he had a hunt tonight. Family business mixed with the pleasure of hunting down Dean's dear ol' daddy, and life just didn't get any better than that.
He felt better. Gabriel settled himself as he watched John Winchester move cautiously out of the barn. Daddy had the machete in his left hand, and that was okay too. The ones they hunted always got a weapon, they got a chance.
Papa Winchester kept to the shadows. He didn't move out into the open, didn't run around like a chicken with his head cut off. They hadn't fed him or the freak either. No sense in wasting good food on them.
Abraham turned and glared at Jerry. "Well, go on. Go see what he's got."
Jerry swallowed hard. He looked down at the ax and the baseball bat, and he thought so hard about it Abraham and Gabriel could hear the gears grinding away in his head. Jerry laid the baseball bat down and kept the ax. He rolled his shoulders, and if his injured shoulder bothered him, he didn't dare show it. Not in front of Pa and Gabriel.
Jerry charged out of the bushes.
Abraham said grimly. "Boy's gotta earn his keep more."
Gabriel nodded and tried not to smile.
Jerry was taller and heavier. He didn't move, he lumbered, like a grizzly bear on two legs. Usually that was more than enough to intimidate folks. Daddy backpedaled as Jerry slashed at him with the ax.
A slight tremor ran down the muscles of Gabriel's left arm. He reached up and massaged his arm up and down. Better.
"You all right?"
"'m fine," Gabriel growled as he worked his fingers into his cramped muscles. "You better keep your mind on our business."
Jerry tried to back Winchester into the barn wall so he could hack away at him. Dean's Daddy had other ideas. His movements were stiff, probably from being caged, but he didn't allow himself to be hemmed up like that. He kept his back to the barn and kept right on moving towards the woods.
Papa ducked the ax several times, and when Jerry left himself wide open on the upstroke Winchester slashed him across the belly with his machete. It wasn't a killing stroke, but Jerry backed up then, eyes wide.
It was the second time John Winchester had hurt him, and Jerry didn't have a clue about the first time.
Abraham slapped Gabriel on the shoulder as Winchester turned and melted into the darkness. "He's runnin'. Let's go."
Gabriel followed Abraham out in the open. He stumbled a little as he ran. His knees went wobbly for a moment, but he caught himself and moved more smoothly after that. Gabe smiled to himself, despite the small corkscrew of dull pain that settled between his eyes.
This was going to be a good one.
Missy stood in the kitchen and ignored the blood dripping off the knife in her hand. It splattered onto the yellow and black tiles. Some of it splattered her bare feet. Missy didn't notice.
She touched the bump on her forehead. It didn't hurt anymore, but getting hit with that car door still bothered her, even days later. Missy Bender didn't get hurt, she hurt other people. "I want to hear you scream, you old bastard. You hurt me, and I don't like that. I don't like you."
Bobby huffed wearily. "Lord, now you're gonna talk me to death."
"Huh." Missy blinked as she considered this. "You know what? You're gonna be here from now on. For the rest of your life, and then some."
"Is that a fact?"
Missy nodded. She cocked her head to one side as she looked him over. What she did next scared the hell out of Bobby more than anything else she'd done so far.
She came over and sat down on his lap.
"Jesus!" He growled at her as her weight on the slashes and wounds on his thighs shot fresh sparks of pain through his nervous system. "Get the hell off me!"
Missy hooked her right arm around Bobby's neck and pulled off his trucker's cap, put it on with the bill facing backwards. "Don't wanna," she pouted. She took her index finger and pushed the tip of Bobby's nose in with her fingernail. He snapped at her with his teeth. That made her laugh.
"I got some other things we can play with." Missy said thoughtfully. She lifted her knees slightly, swung her long legs back and forth like a kid sitting on a department store Santa's lap. "Stuff I never used before. Pa gave me some of his tools to use." Her grin was wide and feral.
Missy bounced up and down on Bobby's lap for another minute or so, clearly enjoying the discomfort she saw in his eyes. Her eyes unfocused and then she came back to herself. "Oh! Lemme show you!"
Bobby nearly groaned out loud as she jumped up from his lap. She disappeared down the hallway, and he swore that the bitch skipped as she hummed to herself.
She came back moments later, and Bobby felt his stomach drop somewhere around his boots.
Missy had tools.
The tools were in a banged up orange plastic bucket with a metal handle. Must have been a lot of stuff in there at the bottom, because Bobby could see the yellow wooden handle of a hacksaw, a crowbar, and a long metal file sticking out of the top.
Missy set the bucket down, bent down and started rooting through it. She pulled out a blue metal box cutter, pushed the blade out and shook her head. "Too short." She retracted the blade, threw the cutter back in and took out a small steel hatchet with a worn wooden handle.
She smiled at the gleaming cold steel. "Maybe later. See anything you like?" she chirped to Bobby.
Bobby didn't say anything.
John crouched in the darkness. That damn ringing in his ears came and went; it wasn't as bad as it had been before, but it was worrisome. He froze, cocked his head to one side and listened. He wasn't one hundred percent, but he sure in the hell was not going to let Sam know that. Kid had enough on his mind.
These woods belonged to the Benders. No way of knowing how many people they'd hunted down here over the years. For all of that, they were used to dealing with people who didn't know how to fight, who panicked and screamed and ran for their lives.
Not tonight.
It was like 'Nam all over again, but Deacon and the others weren't out there. Dean had his back, John knew it, but he wasn't sure exactly how much help the kid could provide, how much control Dean could take back. Dean would fuck with Gabriel as much as he could. John knew that much, but he had his part to play, and he couldn't afford any more slip-ups.
You're slipping, Winchester, he groused silently to himself. His right arm tingled and was sore at the same time, right down to his fingertips, so he'd switched the machete to his left before he left the barn. That should have worked; he was comfortable with either hand. That big dude had been a test, a tease, and John felt he'd fucked up. Damn it. I meant to kill the sonofabitch.
John's mind wandered to thoughts of Dean running in the dark all those years, killing innocents, and he immediately pulled back from that one, shut it down completely. Dean hadn't done that; Gabriel had. What that bastard said back at the cabin about Dean enjoying the slaughter was a fucking lie, and that was that. John concentrated on what he had to do here. Stop Abraham and the two others, including the girl, if she was out here.
And he hoped he could keep his promise to Sam about not hurting Dean.
"Um…let's see." Missy stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth and her brow furled up. "Eeny…meany…miney…moe!"
And naturally she picked up the one thing Bobby hoped she wouldn't: those long bolt cutters with black electrical tape wound around the handles.
His skin burned and tingled as she stared at him. She stared at his fingers, then his nose, then the tips of his ears.
Bobby felt like yelling when she stared fixedly at his crotch.
Missy dropped her eyes lower and a wide feral grin crawled across her face.
"This little piggy went to market," Missy sang. "This little piggy stayed home…"
She laid the bolt cutters on the kitchen table, dropped to her knees and started untying the laces of Bobby's left boot.
No, oh God, no…
Bobby squirmed, but nothing he did worked. He couldn't kick her in the face. His legs were tied to the chair.
Sam held the revolver down next to his side as he moved silently in the shadows towards the house. He had a bad moment when he actually had to cross open space to get to the porch. The skin on his neck and back prickled up into goosebumps when he saw that the front door stood wide open. Only the screen door was closed, and it wasn't locked.
Well, why the hell should they lock it? Anybody who wandered onto the place was lunch meat anyway.
Sam cleared the steps in two strides. The porch was dark, and that suited Sam just fine. He flattened himself against the wall next to the front door. He was used to being in shadows now, preferred dark to light, and wasn't that a fucked up thought?
With any luck Bobby was in here, and so was Missy's bible.
"Tell me about the boy. That Dean…"
Gabriel was closer to his expiration date than he ever imagined.
"Gabriel, what's keeping you here?"
"Missy," Gabriel wheezed. "Gonna be mad at me for leaving."
"What's Missy got of yours?"
"Look in her damn Bible, will you!"
Once Sam got his hands on the bible he'd burn the damn thing. Dean would be free then, free and clear. He'd never have to worry about that Gabriel Bender bastard ever again. Sam could take his leave, go away and not ever come back.
Sam leaned over, put his ear near the door. He couldn't hear anything from the woods, but he could hear sounds inside the place. Female voice. Singing.
Missy.
Well, all right then. Sam checked the loads in the revolver again, and then held it down in front of him in a one handed grip as he put his hand on the door handle. He'd get the bible from her.
And he wasn't going to be gentle about it.
Sam opened the front door. He stepped inside and raised the revolver in a two handed grip.
Movement ten feet away. John waited, and whoever this was moved away. They made just enough noise so he could pinpoint their position.
That wasn't sloppy, that was deliberate.
The other one hid in the shadows over on the right. John's eyes narrowed. It was an old trick; let the prey concentrate all their attention on one decoy hunter and as soon as the decoy moved away the prey usually moved and revealed their own position.
John got a brief glimpse, but it was enough, a second or two, a glimpse of blond hair in the darkness.
Gabriel. Not Dean.
"This little piggy has roast beef." Missy pulled off Bobby's grey sock. "This little piggy had none ---"
"Get the hell away from me, you crazy bitch," Bobby grated out. It was one last great act of defiance. His heartbeat sped up, pounded against his chest.
"Sticks and stones will break my bones," Missy chanted, "but words will never hurt me." She opened the bolt cutters wide, positioned the head so that the little toe of Bobby's left foot was between the blades.
"And this little piggy cried 'Wee! Wee! Wee!' all the way home." Missy grinned as she squeezed the bolt cutter handles shut. Hard.
Bobby screamed.
Gotcha.
Abraham Bender surged forward out of the dark. The man crouched in the bushes before him turned halfway to meet him, but it was too late. Abraham wrapped his arms around the bastard and held on. He was a strong sumbitch, stronger than anyone Abraham had ever fought before.
This John Winchester fella didn't lose his head, either. He rose to his feet, backpedaled, and Abraham knew what was going to happen next. He was going to get slammed into that tree and then this one was going to turn around and use that machete on him.
That didn't happen.
Abraham smiled when he heard the bear trap go off. The man staggered. He made a small noise deep in his throat, somewhere between a moan and a growl. Abraham recognized the sound. That bear he'd killed years ago made a sound like that, hurt but still defiant to the very end.
When Abraham let go Winchester sank down on his hands and knees. He still had the machete in his hand. Abraham stepped forward, slammed his boot heel down hard on his hand, then kicked the machete away.
The bear trap was chained to a large tree nearby. Winchester was hobbled, no doubt about it.
Gabriel and Jerry came rushing up. Jerry was in the lead. Damn fool boy whooped and hollered as he raised his ax, and Gabriel backhanded him. Jerry lowered the ax and looked like someone had stepped on his puppy.
Winchester raised his head to look at Gabriel and Gabe hit him in the face with the baseball bat in his hand, put him down nice and easy. It wasn't a killing blow, Abraham could tell; it was just enough to lay him out.
"Not yet, you stupid bastard," Gabriel snarled at Jerry. "I wanna play with 'im first."
Abraham grunted in satisfaction. His baby brother always did have good ideas like that.
Next post Friday
