Chapter 7
Dean was about to continue his search when a sound stopped him dead - a cry of pain like the ones he used to hear in Alastair's little corner of Hell.
Dean's breath caught in his throat as another cry reached his ears - muffled this time, like the person had been gagged. It was too late now, though; Dean would know that voice anywhere.
That was Sam.
Dean ran to the source of the sound: a door in an internal wall, left ajar, that looked like it led to a file room. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought those hunters must be able to hear it, and he made himself take a deep breath before he looked through the crack in the door.
His eyes went wide as he took in the scene. He only dared look for a couple of seconds - another scream rang out as Dean turned away and leaned back against the cinderblock wall, eyes screwed shut and a fist pressed hard against his lips.
Suddenly, everything was crystal clear: there was only one thought in Dean's mind now. Have to get those evil bastards away from Sammy.
He opened his eyes and let out the breath he'd been holding, blinking away the tears that stung the back of his eyes. Not now. Have to get Sam back first.
Dean's eyes roved over the warehouse, looking for anything he could use to draw the hunters out of that room. He heard Sam scream again, and fought the urge to kick the door down and go in guns blazing - that would probably result in one of them killing Sam on the spot, and Dean couldn't risk that. It took every shred of self-control he possessed after what he'd just seen, but he took a couple of deep breaths and forced himself to focus. A distraction. That's how you make them stop. Give them something else to think about.
As he struggled to block out his baby brother's cries, Dean's eyes fell on Owen's red pickup and he had an idea.
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As Owen stepped back towards Sam, freshly-heated iron rod in his hand, there was a noise from the other side of the door. It sounded like something moving around among the junk in the back of Owen's pickup - both Owen and Ray immediately looked up at the door, waiting to see if the sound was repeated. Sam, still slumped over in his chair, barely even registered that something was going on.
"Go check that out." Ray told Owen, looking back down at his map.
"Why me? It's probably just a cat or something." Owen raised his eyebrows - he wasn't amused at being ordered around like hired help.
"The kid ain't going anywhere, and it's your truck. If you hadn't started backtalking, you coulda done it already." Ray replied evenly, without looking up. Owen glared at him for a second before he let the iron rod clatter to the floor, and picked up his pistol from the 'toy' table as he stalked out of the room. As the door swung shut behind him, Ray got up from the table and went over to their captive.
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After Dean had thrown a handy chunk of cinderblock into the random debris in the tray of the red pickup, he crouched down beside the right front wheel and waited. It didn't take long - within 30 seconds, one of the hunters came cautiously out of the file room, pistol in hand.
Dean listened as the man walked down the driver's side of the truck towards the tray, searching for the source of the noise. He snuck a look at the man through the vehicle's window, but didn't recognise him - honestly, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. At least one of their friends hadn't turned on them, but if this complete stranger knew Sam sprung Lucifer from his cage, then how many others knew as well...?
Dean snuck around the front of the vehicle and crept up behind his target as the hunter checked out the back of the pickup. In his hands he held a battered three-foot length of 2"x4" pine he'd liberated from the tray prior to setting his trap - before the hunter even knew he was there, Dean cracked him over the head with it and he dropped like a stone onto the cold concrete floor.
Dean had briefly considered shooting him like the animal he obviously was, but that would also probably have gotten Sam killed, so he'd settled for the 2x4. He wasn't entirely unhappy about it, though - turns out there was a certain satisfaction in belting the guy with a blunt object.
Dean took the weapon back for another swing, but the hunter stayed motionless on the floor as a thin trickle of blood ran from the gash on the back of his head. "They're not supposed to go down after the first shot." Dean grumbled, as he took the man's pistol and threw it into the back of the pickup. He'd really wanted to hit this guy again.
Dean pulled a length of rope from the small junkyard in the back of the pickup, and was almost finished tying the hunter's wrists and ankles when he heard another cry of pain from Sam. He knew he should make sure this guy was out of the game for good, though, so despite the fact he'd hit him hard Dean made sure the unconscious hunter was securely bound before he crept over to the door. It was still ajar, held open by the warped doorjamb. Dean took a moment to steel himself then looked in through the crack once again.
He saw Sam was now hanging by his wrists from the ceiling, feet off the floor, and the second hunter was holding something in the flames of a small gas burner. He was monologuing as he waited for whatever he was holding to heat up, but Sam didn't look like he was in aware enough to understand a word of it - the only sign he was even still alive was the slight, irregular movement of his chest as he breathed, and Dean had to look really close to see it.
At first Dean was glad Sam wasn't lucid enough to know what was happening, but the small amount of relief that brought him was short-lived. His brain immediately thought it through, and Dean didn't like the conclusion: Sam must be in really bad shape if he's almost unconscious. That thought galvanised him, and he pulled his Colt out of his waistband, took a step back and kicked the door hard right beside the doorknob. It flew open and almost came off its hinges, and Dean had taken three steps inside before Ray worked out what was going on.
"Against the wall, you son of a bitch! Now!" Dean demanded, his Colt trained on Ray as he backed right up against the wall, hands held up in surrender. The hunter's revolver was on the table with the 'toys', well out of reach - he'd be dead before he'd taken two steps, and the hot iron rod in his hand was no match for the handgun pointed at him. Although he'd never seen the guy before, Ray knew who exactly who was on the other end of the gun - this had to be Dean Winchester, and Ray knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot.
The few hunters that knew what he and Owen had planned to do had tried to warn them: kidnapping Sam Winchester was like signing your own death warrant. Dean would never ever stop hunting them, and when he eventually caught up... well, that didn't bear thinking about. Ray had argued - foolishly, he now realised - that Dean couldn't find them if he didn't know who they were; Owen and Ray had planned to be long gone before Dean showed up. Ray certainly hadn't planned to be bailed up against the wall at gunpoint, and now that he was, he had no idea how he was going to get out of it.
While Ray was busy weighing up his options, Dean snuck a look at Sam. He realised now that his peeks through the crack in the door hadn't told the whole story. Not by a long shot.
Dean's little brother was hanging limply from a steel beam in the ceiling, climbing rope wrapped tightly around his bruised wrists. The rope had once been brightly coloured, but blood from Sam's damaged hands had stained it a dark scarlet. His bare chest and stomach were covered in bruises, lacerations and burns, and the two hunters had all but cut his jeans from his body. Dean saw the scattered wounds and scorch marks that littered Sam's legs, and then the toes that had obviously been deliberately shattered.
When he first entered the room, Dean had thought Sam was unconscious - his baby brother wasn't moving, except to take erratic, shallow breaths. When Dean shouted at Ray to get back against the wall, though, Sam slowly brought his head up to see what was going on. As he did, Dean saw the entire left side of Sam's face was bruised and swollen - the kid had obviously been used as a punching bag. His face was covered in cuts and bruises and a few trails of dried blood ran down his face and onto his neck.
Dean bit his bottom lip, taking a slow, deep breath as he looked away from Sam. His eyes fell on Ray, who opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off before he got a word out. "Don't you dare say a word." Dean told him, his voice dripping with venom. His finger gripped the trigger tighter, and Ray's teeth actually clicked together as he quickly shut his mouth.
Ray looked from Dean to his broken and bloodied younger brother hanging from the ceiling, then back to Dean. The expression on the eldest Winchester's face was hard and cold as he stared at Ray, and it reminded him of the time he'd come face-to-face with a wild lion at the zoo. He'd looked directly into its eyes and, even though the cat had been safely locked away behind steel bars, he had understood that if it had the chance the lion would rip his throat out.
At that moment, he was getting much the same vibe from Dean Winchester.
"Did you really think you were going to get away with this? Did you think I wouldn't come for him?" Dean's eyes were blazing with fury, but his voice was low and even.
"We knew you would. We just didn't plan on bein' here when you arrived," Ray replied, and Dean smiled mirthlessly.
"I bet you didn't. I'd love to put an end to you here and now, but there's a few things I need to know first," he told Ray, who raised his eyebrows.
"You think I'm gonna tell you anything, boy?" He almost seemed amused.
Dean lowered his stainless steel Colt slightly, aiming at Ray's kneecaps. The eldest Winchester was definitely not amused. "Yes, Ray, I do." Dean replied, and beads of sweat broke out on Ray's forehead. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end, and he was finding it quite unpleasant.
"I need to know who the hell you and your buddy are, and how you knew Sam busted Lucifer out of his cage. That's all." That was genuinely all Dean wanted to know. Ray thought about it for a few seconds, but didn't reply.
"Okay." Dean could see the hunter wasn't properly motivated just yet. So he cocked the hammer on his Colt, still aimed at Ray's kneecaps, and watched the hunter's eyes widen.
"All right, all right - my name's Ray Beauchamp, and my buddy's Owen Wilkinson. We're hunters." He emphasised the last sentence, like that should make a difference to Dean.
"Well, Ray, I had you two figured for hunters as soon as I heard you'd been sniffing around Blue Springs looking for my brother. Who else but hunters would go looking for Sam Winchester?" Dean replied, evenly. He knew exactly what Ray was trying to do - shooting a couple of random kidnappers was one thing, but ventilating two hunters was something else entirely. He was hoping Dean's principles wouldn't let him do it.
"There's still one question left, Ray." Dean wasn't buying what Ray was selling, though. The fact that hunters had done... that... to another hunter made it infinitely worse, in his eyes. "How did you know?" he repeated, but Ray stayed silent. Without so much as another word, Dean squeezed the trigger and shot Ray's left kneecap out.
Ray screamed as his legs gave way beneath him, as they're apt to do when someone shatters your kneecap. "You know, I heard that being shot in the kneecap is one of the most painful things that can happen to a person." Dean observed, calmly - judging by the way Ray was groaning and writhing in pain on the floor, it looked like it was true.
"Apparently, the fact it's a non-lethal injury is the worst part - there's no escape. You're not gonna die from it, so you're stuck squirming on the floor like a fish out of water," he added, as Ray moaned in pain and clutched at his bloody, ruined knee. It obviously hurt like hell, and Dean was quite pleased about that. As far as he was concerned, the bastard deserved that and more for what he'd done to Sam.
"Now, Ray, tell me - how did you know Sam set Lucifer free?" Dean asked again, Colt aimed at Ray's other kneecap. There was a genuine look of terror in Ray's eyes now - he absolutely believed Dean would shoot out his other knee too.
"It was a demon!" Ray gasped, looking up at Dean. "A demon told us!" He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall, damaged leg stretched out in front of him. A small pool of blood was rapidly collecting on the floor beneath the knee.
Dean didn't have any trouble believing a demon had set these psychopaths on Sam's trail. Probably another Lilith loyalist trying to get revenge - it had happened before. Demons tended to hold a grudge, and they had long memories.
"All right." Dean, having got the answers he was looking for, raised the Colt and aimed it squarely in the centre of Ray's forehead. Ray's eyes widened in horror as he realised what Dean was planning to do.
"Hey - hold up! I didn't think you Winchesters killed humans!" Ray was clutching at straws and he knew it, but he had to try something. Dean just narrowed his eyes.
"You may not be supernatural, but that doesn't mean you're not a monster," he replied harshly. "After what you did to my brother, you don't get to leave here. I won't let you go so you can come after him again." Dean's hand was steady as he cocked the hammer, and Ray understood then that there was nothing he could say that would get him out of this room alive. Dean saw it written all over his face, and the fact that this bastard knew exactly what was about to happen and why made him smile.
That cold little smile was the last thing Ray saw as Dean squeezed the trigger and put a round right between the hunter's eyes. The thunder of the shot from the .45 reverberated around the small room, and the wall behind Ray was painted red as he slumped over and fell bonelessly to the floor. Dean turned his back on Ray's body and tucked his Colt into the waistband of his jeans, his thoughts immediately returning to Sam.
He went over to his baby brother and stood in front of him for a few seconds - the damage was even more horrifying close-up. "Christ, what have they been doing to you?" Dean breathed, as Sam opened his swollen eyes a little and struggled to focus. Dean reached up to sweep the hair out of his face, but the younger Winchester whimpered and shied away. Dean frowned as he drew his hand back; he wasn't used to seeing his little brother pull away from him like that.
"It's me, Sam. I'm gonna get you down." Dean assured him gently, and Sam drew a quick breath when he heard his brother's voice saying his name. Dean smiled as he saw the pulse at the base of Sam's neck quicken when he realised Dean was actually, finally, really standing in front of him.
"Look, I'm sorry, Sammy - however I do this, it's probably going to hurt," Dean said apologetically, and used his pocket-knife to slice through the rope binding Sam to the rafters. He collapsed into his older brother's arms with a groan, the dead weight almost knocking Dean off his feet.
Sam yelped as Dean's arms tightened around his torso, trying to stop him falling to the floor, and Dean winced as he actually heard the ends of Sam's broken ribs scraping against each other. "Sorry, Sam." Dean tried to be gentle as he lowered Sam onto the floor, avoiding the angry red wounds that criss-crossed his back. He laid Sam on his side, then shrugged out of his jacket and put it under his little brother's head as a pillow.
"I'm gonna find the keys for these cuffs, Sam - I'll be right back." Dean left his brother on the floor and scanned the room for any sign of the handcuff keys. He searched the 'toy' table, trying not to think too much about the objects resting on it - some of them were still stained with Sam's blood. Dean felt his stomach churn as, despite his best efforts to stop it, his mind cooked up all sorts of horribly vivid images of what Sam's last 24 hours had been like.
Dean soon realised the keys weren't on the table, and looked around the room for another place to search - then his eyes fell on Ray, laying dead on the floor in a pool of his own blood. "I bet you kept 'em on you." Dean said to no-one in particular as he knelt beside the body, his jeans soaking in the sticky, lukewarm pool. He checked the hunter's pockets, and soon found what he was looking for in the left hip pocket of Ray's jeans: two small silver keys on a wrought iron keyring.
Dean went straight back to Sam, who hadn't moved an inch. He knelt by his little brother's side, watching his face as he carefully unwound the bloodied rope from his wrists - Sam wasn't fully conscious, and he was struggling to focus on Dean as he tried the first key in the cuffs. He yelped and pulled his hands back when the movement irritated the bloody wounds that encircled both his wrists, and Dean let him. He wasn't about to make Sam do anything he didn't want to do - not today.
While Dean was kneeling next to his brother and thinking about what to do next, Owen snuck up from behind and hit him over the back of the head with the same section of 2x4 Dean had used on him only minutes earlier.
The blow sent Dean sprawling onto the floor, and his Colt fell from his waistband - before he could gather it up, Owen dived on him to continue the assault. Dean did his best to protect his head from the hail of fists coming at him, but through his defences he saw the hunter reach for the small automatic pistol tucked into the front of his jeans. There was no way Dean could defend against that, so he went on the attack instead.
He punched Owen in the jaw as hard as he could manage from his position on the floor, and dazed the hunter enough that he was able to push him off and knock the gun out of his hands. As it skittered away across the concrete, Dean started to pull himself to his feet and reached for his Colt. He apparently hadn't dazed Owen quite enough though, because he lashed out with a kick that glanced off Dean's temple and put him right back down on the floor.
As he lay on his back seeing stars, Dean couldn't understand how this had gone so pear-shaped. After all, he'd hit this guy with a 2x4, then bound his wrists and ankles just to be sure - there was no way he'd slipped those knots. And where the hell did he get that gun from? Dean didn't have time to dwell on it though; getting hit in the head and tied up had pissed the guy off, and he was ready to start Round Two.
Owen knelt over Dean's hips and was about to start whaling on him when Dean heard Sam groan. The sound brought everything Owen and Ray had done flooding back, and with a cry of rage he shoved Owen off him and reversed their positions. He was now kneeling over the older hunter, and it was his turn to do the punching.
"I don't know how you got out of those ropes, but you shouldn't've come back in here." Dean punctuated that sentence with full-blooded blows to Owen's face and head, overwhelming him and tearing the skin off Dean's knuckles.
As he tried to shield his face with his left arm, Owen's right hand searched for the 2x4 lying just out of reach, but Dean saw the movement out of the corner of his eye - he reached out and picked up the length of wood, then hurled it across the room. Owen's response was to hit Dean hard in the midsection; with his last weapon now out of reach, he was getting desperate. He almost managed to throw Dean off him, and at that point he realised he couldn't risk Owen winning the fight or making an escape: either way, he was going to go after Sam.
That was the thought at the front of Dean's mind when he grasped Owen's head between his hands and twisted viciously with all his strength. He heard the crunch of bone breaking, and Owen immediately went limp under him, his neck broken.
"I can't let you leave - you'd just come after my brother again." Dean told his second dead body of the night, slowly hauling himself to his feet. That fact was what had allowed him to take two lives in the last five minutes. Later, he might agonise over it - now, though, he turned his back on Owen's corpse and went back over to Sam.
As he knelt down and gently unlocked the cuffs, Sam opened his eyes as much as he could and looked up at his brother. "De..." he whispered through cracked and bleeding lips, not quite able to finish his big brother's name.
"That's right, Sammy. I'm gonna get you out of here," Dean assured him as he released the last bracelet, then threw the cuffs across the room.
Now that Sam was free and Dean had dealt with the kidnappers, he realised he hadn't really thought about how he was going to get out of here. He couldn't carry Sam all the way out to the Impala - Dean had no desire to cause him any more pain - and that really only left one option. The Impala was going to have to come to Sam.
"I've gotta go and get the car, Sam. I'm going to leave you here for a minute, okay?" Dean didn't want to leave Sam alone, but he had no choice. It was the only way they were going to get out of this Godforsaken place.
Sam reached out and wrapped his big hand around Dean's wrist, his gesture saying what he couldn't: don't leave me here. Dean sighed and bit his bottom lip - it almost broke his heart. "I have to get the car, Sammy. I'll be back in a minute, and there's no-one left to hurt you. It's okay." he gently freed his wrist from Sam's weak grip as he spoke, and Sam let him - he understood what his big brother was saying, and he trusted him. Dean got up and took one last look down at Sam, eyes closed and barely breathing, then took off at a run to fetch the Impala.
After he hit the button to raise the roller door and waited for it to open far enough for him to get under it, Dean wondered for a second if his little brother would still be breathing when he got back. Now that he knew Sam was still alive, the thought that he could still lose him after everything he'd done to get this far...
No, Dean told himself as he ducked under the appallingly slow-moving door, no. You're not going to lose him. You're not going to come all this way
(and kill two people)
just to have him die now. You're going to get the Impala, get Sam in it, and get the hell out of here.
It was at that point Dean realised there was something of a flaw in his grand plan. He was running across the deserted carpark to get the Impala, but he had no clue where he was going to go once he had Sam in it.
Cas can't pop in and lay some healing hands on, and you can't take him to a random motel and patch him up yourself, genius. He's probably got internal injuries you haven't even thought of yet - he might be bleeding to death right now. You're gonna have to find some help.
That annoyingly rational little voice just wouldn't shut up, but Dean knew it was right. He could probably clean up the shallow burns and stitch the cuts, but what about the broken bones? Internal bleeding? Dean winced as he remembered the burns that went all the way to the bone... he sure as hell couldn't get those clean. Not without torturing Sam further.
As Dean skidded to a stop at the driver's side door and yanked it open, he wondered if he should just take Sam to a hospital. They'd ask a helluva lot of questions about what had happened - it wasn't every day they came across someone who'd been tortured for hours on end - but for once in his life, Dean didn't care. There was no point staying off the radar if it cost Sam his life.
Dean thought it over some more as he pealed away, the Impala almost grounding out on the entrance to the carpark but still not slowing down until he screeched to a stop next to Owen's pickup. It was only when he was hurriedly spreading a blanket out on the back seat that a solution occurred to him, and he wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.
Almost a year ago, after Cas had brought him back but before Sam had set Lucifer free and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, Sam and Dean had hunted a vengeful spirit that was haunting a doctor. The spirit had been a patient of his when she was alive, and (wrongly) believed the doctor had screwed up and killed her. She'd gone to the ER with a migraine, and she thought the doctor had given her a fatal drug overdose - it was a brain aneurysm that had done her in, actually, but she didn't know that and she made the doctor's life a living hell for weeks before the Winchester boys salted and burned her bones. That hadn't been a pleasant experience; there was still quite a lot of flesh clinging to those bones when Dean had cracked open the casket, and he'd had to burn his clothes to get rid of the smell.
When they'd gone to tell the doctor the spirit was gone and the ordeal was over, he'd made them promise that if he could ever do anything to help them, that they'd call. Now, as soon as Dean had gotten Sam into the car, that's exactly what he planned to do. This guy was an ER doctor, and he only lived about 50 miles down the highway. A relatively quick trip in the middle of the night and exactly what Dean needed: professional help, with no questions asked.
Now that he had a plan, Dean felt a little better as he ran back to Sam - he was laying stock-still on the floor exactly where Dean had left him, and still breathing. "Okay, Sammy, we're gonna get you into the car." he knelt beside Sam, wondering exactly how he was going to do that. There was no way Sam was going to be able to walk, even if Dean could get him to his feet - his broken toes would probably see to that all on their own. So, Dean pulled Sam gently into a sitting position, then set himself as best he could and literally gathered up his giant of a little brother into his arms.
He stood up with some difficulty, quads straining with the weight. Why the hell did Sam have to go and get so Goddamn Hulk-like? Dean silently cursed his brother's fitness obsession as he straightened up, and tried not to grip Sam too tight as he carried him the 30 yards out to the running Impala. He set him down carefully on the blanket in the back seat, once again on his side, facing the front. Sam visibly relaxed when he realised where he was, and the knot in Dean's stomach loosened a little when he saw it.
"You're gonna be okay, Sam. I've got you." Dean said it as much for his own benefit as Sam's, and started to relax a little himself as he draped a second blanket over his brother. There was light at the end of the tunnel now - just one last thing he had to do before they could leave this cold, dark hellhole.
"I've gotta go and take care of something, Sam. I'll be back in a couple of minutes." Dean didn't want to leave Sam alone again, but he also couldn't leave the hunters' bodies just laying where they were - Owen was probably covered in Dean's DNA.
"Mmm." Sam nodded almost imperceptibly - he didn't mind being left alone now he was safe in the back of the Impala.
"Okay, Sammy. Sit tight." Dean reached into the front and turned on the heater before he softly shut the door, then took a deep breath and went back into the file room.
He stood over Ray's body, at the edge of the blood pool, keeping the door firmly shut on that little voice in his head that told him he should feel remorse for doing this to another human being. Later, Dean would wonder what was broken in this 'human being' on the floor to allow him to do the things he'd done - right now, though, he grabbed the body by the wrists and dragged it out into the warehouse to a stack of wooden crates near the file room door.
He was just about to dump it there when he saw a woman's hand sticking out from under a crate - Dean didn't know it, because the tattoos had faded away to nothing, but the hand belonged to Owen and Ray's captive Djinn. They'd had the same plan as Dean: dump the bodies in the pile of wooden crates and incinerate the lot.
"Jesus Christ - what were you bastards doing here?" Dean wasn't exactly shocked to find another body lying around - he wouldn't put anything past these guys, and he didn't want to know what they'd wanted with her. He dragged Ray's body further in amongst the crates then checked for a pulse in the woman's wrist, just in case. He didn't find one, and her skin was cold, so he left her undisturbed and went back into the file room to collect Owen.
Dean didn't stick around to contemplate this last body - having killed Owen with his bare hands, it was hard for Dean to look at his face. The hunter's eyes stared up at him accusingly, from a head twisted at an impossible angle. Dean sighed and grasped Owen by the ankles, and was just about to drag the body through the door of the file room when heard footsteps outside in the warehouse.
Dean froze. He knew it wasn't Sam walking around out there - even if he could get out of the Impala and stand up, he didn't have shoes on. Whoever was walking around out there was definitely not in bare feet. Actually, they almost sounded like high heels...
He slowly and quietly lowered Owen's feet to the floor, pulled his Colt from his waistband and peered through the half-open door - when he saw who was out there, his could hardly believe his eyes. It was Kate, the waitress from Johnny Blue's, and she was standing right over Ray's body. The distressed look on her face made it plain that she knew him.
"Friend of yours?" Dean asked, stepping out of the file room. Kate wheeled around to find his silver Colt aimed right at the centre of her chest.
"There's no great explanation for why I'm here, huh?" She saw the hard look on Dean's face and didn't even bother trying to lie. She flinched when she caught sight of Owen's body behind him, partially visible through the open door.
"So how do you know these guys?" It was blatantly obvious to Dean that she had known both of the hunters he'd killed tonight, and she didn't bother trying to deny it.
"The one you shot between the eyes was my uncle Ray." Kate had a much thicker Southern accent now, very similar to Ray's - her cover was blown, and she wasn't bothering to suppress it anymore.
Dean's eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman in front of him, rapidly thinking the situation through. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together. "You were in on this from the jump, right? Keeping an eye on Sam while your uncle and his buddy set this up?" Dean asked, and was a little taken aback when Kate actually smiled.
"I was more than that, honey - I found Sam in the first place. Completely by accident, while I was working at Johnny Blue's as cover for another job." She seemed almost proud of the role she'd played in Sam's kidnapping, and Dean almost shot her dead right there. His finger was tightening on the trigger when it occurred to him that she was much more talkative than Ray had been - better see what you can find out before you ventilate this bitch, he thought, and released the pressure on the trigger as he considered what to ask next.
"You did the masking ritual too?" Dean went on, after a few seconds' pause, and Kate nodded.
"I did. Ran you 'round in circles." She smiled again, and Dean's trigger finger twitched. He really wanted to shoot her.
"You cost me some time, yeah, but I know a more powerful witch than you. She punched through your hocus-pocus pretty fast," he replied instead, then cocked his head slightly to the side as something occurred to him. "You untied the one I left out here, didn't you?" he asked, and she laughed.
"Yeah - I cut Owen loose and gave him my gun. I'd have been here sooner, but I had to go back to my car for my backup .22," she explained, and Dean was amazed at how calm she was. This girl must have ice in her veins.
"You know, my uncle told me you were the riskiest thing about this plan. If y'all found out what we were doing with your brother, you'd hunt us down like animals." Her smile faltered as she looked over at her uncle's body, and it was Dean's turn to smile.
"Your uncle Ray was right." he said, and cocked the hammer on the Colt as Kate reached behind her back - Dean had no doubt that .22 was tucked into the waistband of her jeans, and he had a feeling he knew where this was headed.
Kate smiled ruefully, and her hand closed around grip of the pistol that was indeed hidden at the small of her back. She began to pull it free, and Dean didn't hesitate. Before she could even raise the gun, he shot her twice in the chest.
Kate's eyes widened, and the pistol dropped from her nerveless fingers as she sank to her knees. The redhead looked down at the scarlet stain spreading across her chest and collapsed heavily onto the floor, gun clattering to the concrete beside her. Dean watched the colour drain from Kate's face as her torn aorta filled her chest with blood, then as her eyes fluttered shut and she stopped breathing.
Staring down at his third fatality of the night, he couldn't quite believe how fast this day had gone to hell. As long as Sam isn't the fourth death tonight, it's all worth it.
Dean sighed wearily, and tucked the Colt back into the waistband of his jeans. He grasped Kate under the arms and pitched her body into the stack of crates next to her uncle, then added Owen's rapidly-cooling corpse to the collection. He was about to douse the crates in lighter fluid he'd retrieved from the Impala's trunk, but as he was unscrewing the cap he remembered Owen's red pickup. Can't just leave that lying around.
Dean set the bottle of lighter fluid down, and went over to the truck: he had a plan. He put the pickup in neutral, released the handbrake and pushed it over to the crates, letting it come to rest with the front bumper touching the pile of wood. He unscrewed the fuel filler cap, stuffed an old cotton shirt down into the fuel tank, and only then did he saturate the pile of crates with the lighter fluid.
Before the accelerant could evaporate and fill the air with fumes, he lit an entire matchbook and threw it right into the centre - the crates were engulfed by orange flames within seconds, throwing out such an amazing amount of heat that Dean only hung around long enough to ignite the pickup's t-shirt fuse before he ran back to the Impala. He took a quick look back at his very own Towering Inferno as he jumped into the driver's seat, glanced at Sam resting (and still breathing) in the back, then gunned the engine and tore out of the warehouse.
The Impala was pulling out onto the street when Owen's pickup exploded - it blew a hole in the building's corrugated iron roof, releasing a plume of black smoke into the night sky that was eerily lit by the fire below. Dean saw the building going up in flames in his rearview mirror, and smiled. That's what you get for messing with my brother.
I've been wanting to write this chapter for about a month now - ever since the Djinn touched Sam - but there was much more than I expected between there and here. Evil!Dean is just one of the things that didn't make an appearance in my outline when I started writing Taken all those weeks ago, and I had no idea it was going to go on for this long when I started. (Loving it though!)
Ch 7 would have been up sooner, but I just got back from a week in Sydney, indulging my inner fangirl at Supanova. I can tell you that Sean Maher is lovely; Amy Acker is the sweetest person on the face of the Earth; Corin Nemec was the nicest, most genuine guy I met all weekend (he was my favourite); Gareth David-Lloyd was nothing like Ianto Jones (Gareth is something of a party animal!) and James Marsters is intriguing and just wonderful (and so warm and cuddly!). But that's all beside the point...
So - as usual, I want to know what you think. Please, review! And if you're enjoying this saga of mine, click a share button at the top of the page and tell someone!