None Goes His Way Alone
By Coffeemaniac
Not Slash
A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.
"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)
The End Game
Michael Battle phoned Jacob Moore's disposable cell phone to discuss the Winchester brothers. Moore told him that he was in a meeting and would call back within the hour.
Battle finished his call and sat down in the chair beside Scott. Scott had been monitoring the boys while Eric took a break. There was little mischief that the Winchesters could get into but Battle never liked to underestimate or make assumptions.
"I want to check out a location for another side job. Is there time?" Scott asked.
"Looks like it. I can man the cameras for now."
Scott patted his shoulder as he left the premises. Battle turned his attention to the brothers.
Sam was kneeling beside Dean again. He tried to roll his shoulders but the chains on his wrists held his arms tight enough that he wasn't able to get a good stretch. If Battle needed to take the restraints off, Sam was going to be in for a lot of pain getting those muscles back to work.
Dean sat hunched forward with his bad arm twisted slightly. From the way his eyes kept blinking and he barely turned his head to look at Sam, Battle guessed Dean was having trouble staying conscious. While the poison Battle used didn't cause any permanent damage, it was highly exhausting as it taxed muscles, adrenaline and nerves.
Battle had told the truth when he said that he believed Sam's story. Or more specifically, that he believed Sam believed it. And he was fairly convinced that Dean had nothing to do with any of it. It was probably Dean's bad luck to have a brother with paranoid delusions.
Every word Sam spoke centered on his fear of Dean getting hurt or killed. Battle had seen enough of these situations to believe that Sam wouldn't lie because he wouldn't risk his brother. However, the fact that Sam murdered Jessica and suppressed the act didn't matter.
All that mattered to Battle was his client's opinion.
Jessica's father would have to weigh the morality of having Sam killed. If Sam was damaged from the death of his mother and the militant upbringing imposed by his father then it might be better to dump him in a mental institution. Battle knew of one located in Turkey that didn't care where the patients came from as long as the doctors could test developing techniques.
Battle doubted that his client would choose that path though. He would most likely tell Battle to shoot Sam Winchester in the head and be done with it.
Dean presented a different problem though. If the older brother knew that Sam was unstable and did nothing about it then he was culpable, but not really guilty of murder. Battle couldn't tell about that because he hadn't spent any time trying to know Dean. His interest in Sam's brother was only in using him as leverage.
When Sam blamed the demon, Dean didn't disagree so that was probably something handed down to them by their father. Neither one could see how ludicrous the story was.
Eric Balin interrupted Battle's train of thought as he eased his long frame into the seat beside him.
"Anything new?" he asked.
"I don't have the volume on but watch the way Sam hovers over his brother. The boy hasn't had anything to drink or eat in more than 50 hours. He must be fatigued from that, not to mention the physical discomfort of being bound for so long. But, that's not what he's thinking about. He's completely focused on Dean."
"Sure. They're brothers. You said yourself they only had each other when they were growing up. Look at Dean. He's just as focused on Sam. Plus he's the older one. I'll bet he's been protecting Sam his whole life."
"Just as you protected Scott."
Eric shook his head, his face coloring a bit. "Don't compare them to us. They're a job. Nothing else."
Battle nodded. "Of course. I apologize."
"Where is Scott anyway?"
"He went to check on a location for the side job you're doing."
"Oh, yeah, good. You know you could branch out with us. We'd welcome the extra help."
Battle nodded thoughtfully but he knew, as did Eric, that he wouldn't take the mercenary jobs that Eric and Scott took. Battle was particular about his work and he liked being in charge.
"Hey, look at that," Eric nodded towards the screen.
Sam Winchester sat with his back to Dean while Dean used his good hand to examine the chains around Sam's wrists. The older brother reached forward and dug a hand into Sam's pocket. They two men squirmed and shifted until Dean finally pulled back with a paperclip.
"Is that a paperclip?" Eric asked.
"Someone didn't turn out Sam's pockets," Battle commented with an annoyed huff.
"Scott searched him in the van but Cade was supposed to really check him once we got here. That ignorant, lazy asshole."
"Let's go put a stop to it. Are you prepared?"
Eric pulled his .45 out and nodded. Battle led the way, typed in the code and waited as the locking mechanism released. He took his P224 handgun out then pushed open the door.
The brothers had already separated and Sam was standing over Dean. Dean had his hand clenched into a fist and wrapped that arm around the injured one, holding both close to his body. Battle stayed near the door with his gun extended and pointed at the younger brother.
"Back up a few steps, Sam," Battle ordered.
"Mr. Moore decided to kill us? Already?" Sam asked.
Eric placed the muzzle of his .45 about a foot from Dean's head.
"Back up and turn around," Battle said, feeling his adrenaline jump. There was something dangerous about these two and that shouldn't be the case with civilians.
"I'm not turning around. You can look at me if you're going to kill me."
"Sam," Dean said, a warning in his tone.
Battle sighed loudly. "Do you really think I wouldn't? Come on, Sam, do I seem shy to you? When, or if, I do kill you, I won't need to see your back to pull the trigger. Just turn around so I can check your restraints."
"Do you really think I'm helpless just because my back is turned?" Sam asked.
"Goddamnit, Sam. Just do it," Dean ordered though the sound lost some authority with the squeak in his voice.
Battle smiled. He liked these boys. But, he still had a job to do.
"Fair enough, Sam. Turn your back and get on your knees."
"Why would I do anything you want now?"
"Because you're still breathing. Where there's life, there's hope. For you and your brother."
A scuffle sounded behind him but this time Battle didn't turn. He had learned his lesson from before. Instead he rushed Sam. The boy twisted to one side then brought out a round house kick that skirted Battle's midriff. Battle bounced back in quickly, delivering a devastating blow to Sam's belly and then a second punch to beneath his chin. Sam went down to his knees then rolled to one side.
Behind him, Dean gave a pained cry while Eric cursed.
Battle glanced back finding Dean folded into a ball on the floor, his arms tucked into his body. His eyes were squeezed shut and the paperclip lay beside him, gleaming in the dim light.
Battle crouched next to Sam and checked the chains around his wrists. The metal remained secure; apparently they hadn't had time to pop the lock. Sam's wrists were raw and oozing blood along some deeper scrapes. Irritated, Battle yanked on the chain eliciting a grunt from the younger brother.
He stood up and motioned towards the door then helped Eric lift Dean off the floor.
"No," Sam demanded as he struggled to get up.
Working together, they dragged the unconscious brother out the door while keeping at least one weapon trained on Sam during the maneuver. Once they were through the door and it was locked, they lifted Dean more securely and took him back to the table.
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The door clanged shut with a finality that left Sam feeling hopeless. There was no way out of the room. The stranger and his companions were almost certainly military trained. With Dean injured and separated from him and Sam handicapped from his bound wrists, he just couldn't see a way out.
When the boys were growing up, there were different times when one or both of them had become injured or trapped or separated from the family. But, during those times, Sam always knew that rescue was coming. If Dean was with him then he could count on their father. If he was alone then he could count on both of them. This was the first time in his life when rescue simply was not possible.
Dad was missing again and had no idea where they were. They hadn't been working with any other hunters. They only had each other and it wasn't going to be enough this time.
Exhaling out the flash of anger that filled him, Sam closed his eyes and tried not to think about their impending death. "Where there's life, there's hope," the stranger had said. The Roman philosopher, Cicero, had said it first. Even Sam's father had spit out that bit of advice as a rallying cry. But, for the moment, Sam's hope was fading.
The Complication
Frustrated by the lack of response from Jacob Moore and the useless tenacity of the Winchester brothers, Battle decided he needed some air. He left Eric to watch the prisoners and headed up the wooden steps, across the kitchen floor and through the living room of the abandoned house. He walked out the screen door to stand on the freshly painted white porch. Reaching into his front pocket he pulled out the partially smoked cigar just as the van pulled up on to the street.
As Scott Balin stepped out of the vehicle, Battle had a strange feeling overcome him. Something in the way the younger brother carried himself seemed different, more relaxed maybe. After spending so much time in the army and then in military settings, Scott always walked with his shoulders back and his hips planted. He never really seemed in a relaxed pose. A lot of people with military or police backgrounds possessed the same rigidity.
Scott almost looked like he'd been drinking. Battle composed his expression waiting for the younger man to draw close enough to assess him.
Scott stuck a key in the back door of the van. He pushed it open then reached inside. Battle glanced at his cigar while he waited. A thunk sounded nearby. Battle drew back, looking up as another thunk followed by a piece of splintered wood startled him into action. He ducked, gaining little cover from the slatted porch railing and looked out to see Scott Balin stalking up the walk with an M11 pointed in his direction. Made by Sig Sauer, the M11 held fifteen rounds and was a favorite weapon among the military set. The one held by Scott still held twelve rounds and Battle had no cover.
'Traitor', Battle thought as he drew his own Sig Sauer, this one a nice, compact P224. It only held nine rounds but he intended to make them count.
He popped up in one sharp move, firing fast and Scott Balin fell off the porch steps with blood blossoming across his chest and forehead. Battle rushed down, prepared to fire two more bullets and finish the job.
Looking around to make sure Eric wasn't about to jump him, Battle reared back when Scott opened his mouth with a roar. Black smoke poured out as if someone had lit a fire inside him. The smoke spiraled forcefully into the air before it circled and returned. Battle thought it was odd that he could smell the sulfur of a striking match just before the smoke forced its way down his throat.
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Eric Balin smiled as Dean Winchester cried out soundlessly when he moved his dislocated shoulder. He had been watching their captive writhe, fascinated by his horrified expression. Surprise as much as pain twisted Dean's features like he couldn't believe this was happening.
Looking back at the view of Sam, Eric squinted in confusion. The younger brother was lying on the floor with his knees curled up and his head pressed to the floor. His body was taut and visibly shaking. Eric didn't know if the kid was having a seizure or the worse migraine in history.
Just as Eric pressed the call button on his radio to summon Battle he heard the sound of gun fire.
"What now?" he asked out loud as he grabbed his .45 and headed towards the stairs.
Another barrage sounded off and he wished Scott was there to lend a hand. He couldn't guess who might be shooting but it was a safe bet that someone had come to rescue the Winchester brothers.
Eric made it to the kitchen before he saw Michael Battle walking towards him. Except Battle didn't look like himself. He was grinning. He was pointing a gun at Eric. And his eyes were completely black.
Eric backed up a step and slammed the cellar door. In a panic that he hadn't felt since his first fire fight, he slid the deadbolt into place and ran downstairs. Whatever was coming at him from the kitchen was not Battle. It was something much darker, a monster, it had to be. And even as Eric tried to convince himself that monsters don't exist, he couldn't stop seeing those black eyes. Devoid of emotion, devoid of life, devoid of humanity, those eyes meant the impossible.
In his varied escapades, Eric had heard a lot of horror stories branded as truth. From witches to vampires to the Jersey Devil, he'd heard men describe monsters who could kill, or steal your soul, or turn you into a zombie. Normally sane, intelligent men who believed the impossible simply because they'd been on the fringes of society, and they had seen things, and experienced things that normal people never would.
Eric had always dismissed their stories, just as he dismissed the Winchesters claim about demons. But, seeing Battle or something that used to be Battle, he couldn't dismiss it any longer. It was solid and real and inhuman.
Dropping into survival mode, Eric knew the most fortified place in the basement housed Sam Winchester. With a thick metal door and reinforced steel walls, it was the only place to stay until he could figure out how to kill whatever Battle had become.
He heard heavy footsteps coming. The time for decisions was over. He ran to the enclosure, pressed the code in the panel and pushed open the door.
"There's a problem," Eric said as he slammed the door closed.
Sam was sitting on the floor. Eric thought randomly that he'd seen corpses with better color in their face.
"What?" Sam asked.
Eric rushed him, grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him up. He shoved Sam hard against the closest wall and the kid grunted as the impact crushed his bound arms.
"There's a monster outside. It has black eyes," Eric heard something like hysteria in his own voice.
He watched the boy's eyes grow wide.
"It used to be Battle but it's not anymore," Eric said.
"What battle?" Sam asked and Eric shoved him again, angry that he didn't understand.
"Michael Battle, you idiot."
He stalked away from Sam, needing space to move. The enclosure felt horribly claustrophobic all of a sudden. He turned around holding the .45 at waist level.
"He's out there and his eyes are black." Eric emphasized the last word by slamming the gun down against his leg and then bringing it back up.
In an insanely calm voice, Sam said, "The only thing I know of that looks human and has black eyes is a demon. Is there a demon out there?"
Eric didn't know what he expected of his prisoner but he hoped for some Rambo type response and this kid didn't meet his expectations.
"I don't know, I don't know," Eric said and pulled his cell phone out with his left hand. He pressed the speed dial for his brother then swore when he got voice mail.
"Scott. Scott, I'm in trouble. The house is under attack. Don't trust Battle."
Eric shoved the phone back in his pocket.
He looked at Sam who was standing silently but watching the door instead of Eric.
"It'll have the memories of whoever it took," Sam said. "Does Michael Battle know how to get in here?"
Eric nodded slowly as he turned around to face the door too.
"Untie me," Sam said.
Eric glanced at the kid and shook his head. He didn't need to be worrying about getting jumped while he was worrying about the monster. He pointed his gun at the door. Whatever Battle had become, he was going to be bleeding from a lot of bullets if he tried to come in.
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The demon inside Michael Battle looked around the basement curiously. The humans who had taken the Winchester brothers had clearly meant business. The demon could smell blood and urine and over all of it, the unmistakable scent of fear. He possessed the one that had arranged all of this at the request of Jessica's father and the demon wondered at the ways of men. The girl was dead. What did it matter now?
A noise, like something broken, interested the demon. He walked around a cement wall to find Dean Winchester tied down to a metal table with his eyes squeezed shut and his body rigid. He smelled bad and he looked worse. The demon smiled at finding him there. He hadn't pillaged all of Battle's thoughts yet and finding the eldest son of John Winchester, helpless and suffering, gratified him.
The demon stood at the head of the table and stroked Battle's hand through Dean's hair. When Dean looked up, his eyes grew wide and he tried to jerk away but the demon held tight.
"What a nice present this is," the demon said. "Dean Winchester tied up and ready for me like it's my birthday."
Dean stuttered out some words that the demon interpreted as "get off me" but that was really lip reading because his voice was gone.
"This body says the drug is out of your system. Isn't that good news?"
Dean just stared at him but he was clearly not focused.
The demon shook Battle's head. John's spawn was in a bad way for a human. He released his hold on Dean's head.
"You're lucky today, Dean. I'm not here for you. I'm here for Sam."
Dean thrashed weakly, this time it was easy to read the "no" on his lips.
"But, I'll help you," the demon said. He grabbed the chain securing Dean's arms beneath the table. Yanking hard and fast the chain came loose from the table with a crack that drowned out Dean's squeak of protest.
"Wow. You sound like Peter Brady," the demon said with a laugh. "You'll have to finish the rest."
Dean surged up with a burst of adrenaline but fell back just as quickly.
The demon wearing Michael Battle patted him on the chest before walking away.