A/N My nephew is the cutest little guy so thanks for understanding and letting me take a week off! I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I know that is more of a filler chapter to some extent (and maybe not my best work) but I promise we will get right back to the thick of things sooner rather than later! :)
Chapter Seven
The sound of the Impala roaring to life had Mary's head jerking up from the book that she was pouring over.
Cas, who had been studying the pictures and clippings on the wall with a thoughtful look on his face whirled around and they made brief, horrified, eye contact before they both dashed for the door.
Mary beat Cas there and wrenched it open.
"Dean!" she yelled, but they were too late. The Impala was already pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down the road. It was the second time in as many days that Mary had been left behind as the Impala disappeared, and her stomach sank. Last time, Dean had come back to tell her that her son was dead and that she had never been a good enough mother.
She shook her head, her hands on her hips. "Damnit."
Next to her, Cas was already pulling out his phone as he presumably tried to call Dean. His lips thinned with worry and he shook his head. "He's not going to pick up," he said even as he redialed and turned back around, heading for the motel room. Mary glanced once back at the road and felt her stomach tighten with anxiety.
Dean shouldn't be on his own right now. She'd already lost John and Sam, she couldn't lose Dean now either.
"Mary!" Cas called from the door, which he was holding open for her and she turned, hurrying back inside. Cas let the door slam shut behind them and then he was moving around the room in a flurry, gathering up his belongings.
"Is Dean gone?" Jack asked from where he was now standing next to the couch, his finger in a book to hold his place.
"Yes, and I'm going after him," Cas said stiffly. "But you keep reading, Jack. That is the most important thing that you can do right now."
Jack nodded and sank down, obediently cracking open the book.
Mary pursed her lips as she began to gather up her assortment of weapons that had made it into the room. If Cas thought that she was going to let him go after her son by himself then he had thought wrong.
All was silent for a moment and then Cas stopped, shaking his head in exasperation.
"I can't believe that you closed that door. We were supposed to be watching Dean," he snapped at her, which Mary thought was more than a little unfair.
"I was trying to give him a little privacy. He was calling out in his sleep for Sam. Besides, I didn't see you getting up to open it. You could have done that at any time," she said coldly as she moved to grab anything that Dean might need and stuffed it in his duffle with more frustration than maybe was warranted.
One of Mary's sons was dead, the other was hell-bent on getting himself killed, and it was all just—there was a Goddess who could bring her back after being dead for over thirty years, but no one was even talking about bringing back Sam—her baby boy. And even if they couldn't do that, then no one seemed invested in getting revenge like they should be. Even Dean, to her continuing confusion, hadn't been interested in hunting down the bitch with a vengeance until Sam's body had been stolen. Before that Dean had just…stopped.
Mary couldn't help but feel justified about her earlier plan now that everything had gone to the dogs. Setting a trap with Sam as the bait would have ensured that they had been in control when that thing inevitably came for him. She had been thinking about Sam when she'd suggested that, she had never wanted to hurt him.
Not then, and not in the last couple of years either. Dean had always just seemed a little less sure of her than Sam had and she understood Dean better, had memories of four years of getting to love her little boy before everything had been ripped away from her.
She hadn't intended to hurt Sam but if Dean was to be believed then she had—deeply. She didn't know what to do with that knowledge and she shoved it aside. The time would come to dwell on it, but at the moment they had to find Dean before he got himself killed.
"At least we have a good indicator of where he is going," Cas said as he shook his head in exasperation and now Mary could hear the bitterness and self-reprimand in his voice but that didn't take back the sting of his earlier words.
"Oh, you don't say, do you?" Mary fought the urge to roll her eyes. She glanced over at Jack, but his shoulders were hunched and he was clearly uncomfortable with the tension in the air.
Mary blew out a sigh and made a decision. She was done sitting on her ass, but they couldn't leave Jack alone. She couldn't handle another death and he was still so inexperienced and young.
"Jack, c'mon, you're coming with. We have to find Dean," she said, gesturing for him to get up.
Jack looked up in surprise but snapped his book shut all the same and made to stand but Cas was already shaking his head and motioning for him to sit back down. Jack's eyes darted between them apprehensively and Mary straightened to her full height, aiming a hot glare at Cas.
The angel didn't seem intimidated as he squared his shoulders, his face set in a hard line.
"We can't—"
Cas interrupted her before she could say anything else. "Mary, you and Jack need to research Hayley, to find out what she is and what they do with the bodies. I will go after Dean. It will be best if it's me."
Mary didn't have the patience for this right now nor for Cas's continued assertions that he knew better than she did. "Excuse me?" she snapped. "Why you? What makes you so special that you get to help Dean or get to see Sam—I had to fight to even see my son's body and in what kind of world is that right? Why are you shunting me to the side like this?"
Cas's lips thinned. "I'm not trying to do that. I'm trying to protect both of you. No, Mary—" he cut her off again with a raised hand when she tried to open her mouth. "Listen to me, the best thing that you can do for Dean right now is to not be there to witness what he is about to do."
"I know what he's going to do when he catches that thing and I don't give a damn about him torturing the girl! You said earlier that I didn't understand Dean because I've never seen him grieve. Well, then let me. I can handle it," Mary shouted and Jack flinched.
"I know, but he can't. Dean will hate himself for letting you see him like that once he comes to his senses. It is not something that he has ever been proud of." Cas shifted, holding out his hands pleadingly. "Please, Mary, I'm not saying any of this lightly, I am begging you. Dean will turn away from you for shame if you see what he is about to do, the depths that he is willing to go. Dean's relationship with all of us is already hanging by a threat and we cannot let that happen. If it does, then he will be just as lost to us as Sam is."
Mary looked away, fuming silently before saying through gritted teeth. "So what do you want me to do, then? Just sit here like some useless civilian while you go after Dean? He's my son," she alliterated like it would make any difference.
"Yes! We need to know what she is and why she is taking bodies. Sam and Dean need you here, they need you doing research. We need more information before we can take any further action, before we will be able to help either of them."
"Jack's doing research," Mary persisted, pointing behind her and at him. "I can come with you."
"You have been a hunter for years and have more experience than either of us do with the supernatural. Help Jack figure this out while I retrieve Dean. It will be in everyone's best interest for you to do so."
Mary's lips thinned and they stared at each other for a long minute.
It was Cas who broke the silence as he took a step forward and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "Mary, I am only saying this because I know how much you mean to them both. I have been through many things with your sons. As a result, they have seen me at my best, but they have all too often seen me at my worst. I have seen the same in them. You haven't, and you were held on a pedestal for years by them. It will crush Dean to have you see him like this."
Mary chewed on her lower lip before shaking her head and compromising stiffly, "How about we all just go to Hettinger, and then we can decide what to do once we are there. We don't need to be in Centerville, we are just wasting time by making the trip back and forth."
Cas accepted the compromise with a nod. "I can agree that we are wasting time here."
On the couch, Jack's shoulders relaxed noticeably as they reached an agreement. Mary turned away to finish gathering up Dean's belongings while Cas found Sam's duffle and began to do the same.
Sam hadn't really unpacked and neither had Dean. Jack hadn't even pulled his duffle out of the car and he continued to sit on the couch, reading intently while Mary and Cas worked quickly and efficiently.
Once they were finished, Cas held out his hand for Dean's duffle. Mary shook her head and, holding onto it firmly, headed for the door. Opening it, she glanced back at Jack who still hadn't moved.
"Jack, c'mon. We're ready to go,"
Jack didn't look up. He was leaning forward, his eyes flying across the page and an air of excitement surrounded him. Both Cas and Mary shared a look and then Cas turned back to him.
"Jack, we have to go," he said more gently.
"Wait—" Jack said firmly, surprising Mary.
"Wait?" Cas echoed with a confused look and he and Mary shared another glance before moving together towards Jack.
Jack stood, moving to meet them and jabbing a finger down excitedly at a passage of the old book. Mary had glanced briefly at the book before giving it to Jack. It was some sort of encyclopedia or completion of different monsters from around the world.
He pushed the book towards them and Mary looked down.
There, next to the title of the paragraph, was a rough sketch of a monster.
Its head was pulled back and fangs were hanging down from a wide jaw. Mary's stomach turned for no good reason even as Jack tapped the book again.
"This. This might be what killed Sam. She did that when she attacked Dean and the book says that they take bodies and-and what Sam wrote down? On the cement? It could have been that, don't you think?" he began breathlessly.
Mary leaned in closer, looking at the title even as her heart began to beat faster.
The Du'a jiraataa
The paragraph on it was depressingly small. She looked up at Cas seriously. This changed everything, even if she didn't want it to. "Now that we know what it could be then we will have a much easier time figuring out how to kill it and what it does with the bodies. You—" She couldn't quite bring herself to tell him that he was right. "We need to do more research."
Cas seemed to have no problem about saying it, probably because it aligned with his plans. "You're right. As I said earlier, you will be able to do this faster and easier than I or Jack can."
"I know," she said bitterly, "But we all go to Hettinger. We'll set up base there and you'll…you'll find Dean while Jack and I finish this."
"Agreed." Cas gave her a small smile but Mary wasn't interested in it as her stomach curled with disquiet. One day, maybe, she would be the mother that she wanted to be but it didn't look like today would be that day.
"We need to leave," she said in what she hoped was a voice that didn't give away her rising emotions and gestured blindly toward the door. Cas nodded, giving her a sympathetic look. Jack clutched the book to his chest, holding it like it was something precious, and together they left the blood-splattered and now empty room behind.
#
By the time Dean reached Hettinger and found Hayley's apartment, he had formed a tentative plan.
It wasn't necessarily a complicated one or maybe even very good. Hell, he could almost hear Sam's voice in his head telling him that this was the dumbest thing that Dean had come up with a long list of dumb things to choose from, but thinking about Sam hurt so he pushed it aside.
Normal weapons may not be able to kill Hayley, but they did hurt her and he was hoping that the same theory was true for drugs. They had sedatives in the trunk, and surely even whatever Hayley was could be stopped by those, even if they might not keep her down for long.
He just needed a couple of minutes so that he could restrain her. He wasn't planning on killing her. Not yet. Not until she told him what had happened to Sam and where he was. Even when she did, her death would neither be quick nor merciful. Dean had full intentions of making her beg before the end.
Hayley's little white pickup wasn't anywhere in the apartment parking lot and Dean scowled, thumping a fist against the dash in frustration. He had half been hoping that she was already back because that would have meant that Sam was here as well.
If she wasn't back by now, it more than likely meant that she had taken him elsewhere and that this wasn't going to be a quick rescue. She could already be doing only God knew what to his body.
All the alcohol that he had drunk earlier was threatening to make a reappearance as the full magnitude hit him all over again. He hadn't even been able to keep his little brother safe in death, what kind of protector was he to let this happen?
Dean didn't know where else to go to find Hayley so he finally parked the Impala around back and close to an exit. She was going to have to come back eventually, even if it was just to change clothes as the ones that she had been wearing were bloody rags now. When that happened, Dean would spring his trap.
It was the only plan that he had.
Opening up the trunk, Dean chose his supplies carefully. He was only taking the sedatives, some rope, one gun, and a piece of chalk up into the apartment but he gathered up anything that might be useful in torturing someone and dumped it all in the back seat. Hayley would go in the trunk once he had her, and it would be far more intimidating to have everything at the ready than if he had to get her out and then go rummaging through the trunk like an idiot.
Torture was more of a mind game than not.
Going to the back door of the apartment complex, Dean crouched down and picked the lock easily before slipping in. It was run down, and the stairwells had plastic bags and other trash in the corners and smelled musty. Taking the stairs two at a time, he located Hayley's apartment on the third floor and then bent closer, one ear pressed against the door, listening.
No sounds of movement came from within and, with another cautious look around, Dean bent down to pick the lock as well. It only took him a few moments, and then he was easing into Hayley's studio apartment and letting the door close behind him.
The stench of rotten meat hit him hard and Dean recoiled, gagging. Bringing his t-shirt up to cover his nose, he flicked on his flashlight and shone it around the dark room.
The apartment was filthy.
Trash lined the floors and counters. Stacked on the table were several empty foam packages of what had once been raw chicken and hamburger that flies now buzzed around. The trash can was overflowing with similar packages.
He had been in the business long enough to know when madness—maybe monster was the better word—took hold. Hayley Scott had probably once been a nice girl, but either something genetic had snapped or a monster had gotten to her. Now, she was little more than whatever creature she had become.
Grimacing, Dean kept his t-shirt pulled up, trying to breathe through his nose as he moved past the kitchen. The bathroom was even worse and Dean just ducked his head in before pulling back out. The bedroom, on the other hand, didn't look like it had been touched or slept in for several days.
Yet another sign of something being deeply wrong with Hayley Scott.
Assured that the studio was indeed empty, Dean returned to the kitchen. He had half been afraid that he was going to find jars of eyeballs or toes or something equally as horrible, just like the Benders all those years ago.
Whatever Hayley was doing with the bodies, she wasn't bringing them back to her apartment and dicing them up to go into dinner. Dean wasn't sure if that was actually comforting or not.
Pulling out the piece of chalk, he began to draw protective sigils on every single surface that he could find, paying particularly close attention to any sort of entrance or exit. Hayley had proved that she could get around them, but it would slow her down if she tried to escape.
He left only the front door unmarked so that Hayley would be able to walk right into his trap.
Finished with the sigils, Dean flicked off his flashlight and settled into the corner behind the door to wait.
He didn't move a muscle, not even as the clock on the oven steadily ticked on and the minutes dragged into hours. Dean was prepared to wait all day and all night if that was what it took. Nothing except a better location on Hayley was going to get him to move now.
It was almost three hours later when someone inserted a key into the lock.
Dean stiffened, his hand clamping around the needle in his pocket. She was going to pay for what she had done in blood and tears.
Hayley opened the door, momentarily blocking Dean's view of her. Letting it fall shut, she shuffled into the room with a heavy sigh as she massaged the back of her neck. Toeing off her muddy shoes, she moved towards the fridge. She didn't turn on the light and Dean bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to attack and take her by surprise.
He wanted her afraid. He wanted her terrified.
She opened up the fridge, sending a shaft of light into the otherwise dark room, and Dean crept forward, his eyes never leaving the back of her head.
Pulling out a package of raw chicken, Hayley threw it onto the counter next to the fridge and ripped it open with her bare hands. Taking out what looked to be a drumstick, she held it up.
Rolling her head back, she let her jaw stretch, deforming into the fangs, and then dropped the chicken in whole. Dean grimaced, his stomach tightening and his first thought was Sam is never going to believe this when I tell him before he remembered that he wouldn't be telling Sam anything.
And it was because of her.
She smacked her lips loudly and then reached for a second piece. Dangling it over her mouth once more, she dropped it in.
As she was swallowing, Dean attacked.
Lunging forward, he wrapped an arm around her throat and yanked her head back. She let out what might have been a scream if her mouth hadn't been full of chicken and began to thrash.
Coughing and retching, she grabbed his arm, trying to yank it out of its socket but Dean just increased pressure on her throat. Pulling the syringe out of his pocket, he jammed the needle harshly into the side of her neck and dispersed its contents.
Hayley was still gagging even as she writhed, slamming her elbow into Dean's chest. Grunting, his grip loosened just enough for Hayley to be able to worm herself free. Throwing herself forward, she retched up the chicken as she tried to cough and breathe all at the same time.
Dean backed up, his breath coming in sharp and fast as he waited to see if the sedative would work.
Hayley retched one last time before wheeling around. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was Dean standing in front of her.
"You—but I—I stabbed you!" she rasped out even as she pushed away from the counter.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" Dean held his ground even when it looked like she might advance on him. Any second now the sedative should start working…
"Doesn't matter. I can…" she paused, the smirk on her face disappearing as a frown took its place. She blinked heavily and staggered when she tried to take a step forward. One of her hands went up to the pinprick where the needle had pierced her skin and she looked up at him with horror.
"What did you do to me?" she wheezed even as her legs stopped supporting her weight and she went down onto her knees.
"Bitch, you shouldn't have laid a finger on my brother."
Groaning out a hiss, she tried to push herself upright before her muscles stopped working completely and she fell limply forward in a dead faint.
Dean held his breath, waiting for her to pop back up. Nothing happened, and he kicked her in the ribs. She didn't stir and Dean kicked her harder for good measure. She didn't even twitch and he dropped into a crouch, reaching for the bundle of rope.
The victory felt hollow with no one to celebrate with or to tell that, however invincible this creature might have appeared, it was still affected by drugs. Sam would have been thrilled to know that. He always got excited about the stupidest things.
Dean's eyes were burning again.
Clearing his throat roughly, he rolled Hayley's limp body over and stared at her for a moment. She had taken everything from him.
Everything.
He had to fight the urge to pull out his gun and empty the clip into her chest. He wanted the bitch dead…but he wanted Sam's body more. After he had Sam, he could do whatever he wanted to her.
Unwinding the rope, he began to bind her hands and feet tight enough that he was probably cutting off circulation. He didn't care, quite frankly, and wanted her to be in pain.
Carelessly rolling her back over, he stuffed a gag into her mouth and tied it off.
Hayley groaned thickly, her head lolling to the side, and Dean paused, eyebrows raised. So, sedatives did work but whatever healing substance or property that she had minimized its effect because she should have been out for an hour at least, not ten minutes.
That was fine, he'd guessed that would be the case and they had more than enough sedatives in the Impala.
For whatever reason that only increased the ache in his chest and he had to stop.
This had all been surprisingly easy. Too easy.
He hadn't wanted it to feel this way, he'd wanted it to feel difficult because Sam had gone up against her and lost and that still didn't make sense in his head. If Sam had just had sedatives with him back at the funeral home… but they didn't typically carry them in their arsenal and that wasn't what would have been easy. Easy was them never having separated.
They might have both died, but at least they would have done that together. That would have been easy, but this…this sure as hell wasn't.
Hayley let out a muffled sound and Dean forced himself to take a deep breath and start moving again. Grabbing her by her arms, he heaved her up and over his shoulder making no effort to be gentle. Hayley tried to struggle and Dean tightened his grip.
"Fight me and it's only going to be worse for you," he warned in a low snarl.
Heading for the door, he kicked it open and hurried down the stairs. Backing out of the exit, he turned towards the car and stopped short.
Cas was leaning against the side of the Impala.
Anger sparked and Dean's lips thinned. He marched around the car, popped the trunk, dumped Hayley in despite her muffled protests, and slammed it. Only then did he acknowledge the presence of the angel.
"What are you doing here?" he asked shortly, his jaw locked.
"I didn't come to stop you, if that's what you are asking," Cas said evenly, his hands thrust in his pockets.
"If that's your offer to help then I don't need it." Dean glared at the angel. "I have things under control."
"I do want to help, Dean. I want—"
Dean scoffed, cutting him off. "What? What do you want? Sam's body rotting God only knows where, is that it?"
"Dean—"
"I can't make it any clearer. I don't want your help. I'm going to find Sam."
"You shouldn't have to do this on your own. I can help you."
Dean shook his head, his back rigid even as he put his hands on his hips. He looked away, licking at his lips and trying to control his temper but it wasn't working and he looked back around. "I could have had him by now," he said bitterly. "We could have already found Sam. I might have caught up with Hayley before she even left Centerville and took him wherever she did, but instead you took me out of the game. You put me to freaking sleep. Now I don't have a damn clue where he's at or what condition he's in. She could have sold him off for parts for all I know or eaten him and it's—I was willing to go after him the instant that I could. If we never find him then it's your fault and you can lose my damn number."
He stared directly into Cas's eyes, making sure that he knew who Dean blamed and just how furious he was about it.
Cas's eyes darkened. "I know that you think that, but I was trying to keep a promise that I made to Sam. He expects me to look out for you and I'm not going to let him down."
"If you truly cared about Sam then you would have let me go."
Cas's eyes flashed and he straightened, but before Dean could gear himself up for the fight the anger was dissipating as quickly as it had come. "I don't think that anything I say can convince you that I was trying to help and the past is the past. Neither of us can change what happened so let me help you now, let me help you break her."
"No." Dean's patience was already stretched dangerously thin. "Get out of here, Cas. Go find Mom and Jack and help with whatever it is that they are doing."
"Don't send me away, Dean. I understand what you are going through better than you give me credit for. I know how much you are hurting—"
Dean's fist snapped out, catching Cas hard under the jaw and the angel staggered back a step.
"You don't know a damn thing," Dean said, breathing heavily, his fist still clenched.
Cas looked away, one hand moving up to probe what looked to be a split lip before he shook his head and said slowly and quietly, "You need my help. Mary thinks that she knows what Hayley is. A Du'a jiraataa. They are doing more research on her, but—"
"Do you know what they do with the bodies?"
"No, not exactly, but—"
"Then why don't you make yourself actually useful and go figure that out? I don't give a rat's ass about anything else," Dean snapped and then roughly pushed past Cas, heading towards the driver's side door. Cas reached out, catching his arm and Dean jerked himself free and just managed to stop himself from punching Cas yet again.
"Dean—"
But Dean was done listening. Opening up the door, he slid in and then turned the engine over and pulled away.
If he stayed then he might say or do something that he would truly come to regret more than he already did and it was in Cas's best favor to just leave as well. To go help research the whatever it was.
Dean didn't want or need anyone else.
It was up to him to take care of Sam, to look out for him, and he wouldn't have it any other way. It had been that way their whole lives, and he shouldn't have been surprised that it was that way in death either.
Dean didn't bother trying to hide as he made his way through Hettinger. Cas was probably following him, but he didn't care. As long as Cas kept his distance he didn't give a damn what he did.
He coasted through town, looking for what he wasn't exactly sure. Something old and abandoned. Somewhere where people wouldn't hear screaming. Somewhere that Dean could torture without being interrupted.
All small towns had something like that, he just needed to find it.
Something thumped in the trunk and Dean glanced in the rearview mirror darkly. This wasn't his first rodeo, they had reenforced the trunk ages ago and there was no way that anything was getting out. Besides, he didn't think that Hayley was equipped to be able to do what it would take to survive in their world.
She had taken Sam by surprise, and she had supernatural abilities to aid her, but that was the only thing going for her. He didn't think that she was used to this lifestyle, used to the blood, death, and violence. How easily he had been able to sneak up on her proved that.
If Dean had been in her shoes, he would never have gone back to an address that just anyone could find, not without making sure that it was safe first. He also wouldn't have chosen victims that he personally had attended to at the hospital. She might have thought that she was being sneaky but she was just being stupid.
It was only luck that had gotten her as far as it had.
Finding a bright, new, and shiny factory at the edge of town, Dean kept driving past it, looking for the old and run-down one. Sure enough, a few miles down the road a hulking mass of a building stood tall with a 'do not trespass' sign attached at the gate.
It would do perfectly.
A pair of bolt cutters allowed him to break the padlock and then Dean was shutting the gate behind the Impala and pulling around to park in the back.
He left Hayley in the trunk as he broke into the factory, and then proceeded to scout it out. Most of the rooms were vacant and filled with nothing more than dust and debris, but he did find a table with a twisted leg. It was wobblily, but could still stand and he dragged it into another room close by that had lower beams. They would be perfect to string someone up from.
Going back to the car for the supplies that he had picked out earlier, he returned to the room that he had chosen and began to set up. Presentation was half the battle in the game that was torture, and Hayley had never been tortured before, he would put money down on that.
At least she hadn't been tortured like he had been. Not like he could dish out, and for the first time since the Mark of Cain, Dean was looking forward to getting his hands dirty. He wanted to cause her pain like she had caused him.
The last thing he did was string up a piece of rope over the low beams so that he could hang a pair of handcuffs from them. They would go on Hayley once he brought her in.
Prepared with another syringe of sedative, Dean approached the trunk. She was awake, he knew that much. He wouldn't have even put it past her to have managed to break out of the ropes with the strength that she possessed. Dean kind of hoped that she had. It would give him all the more reason to hurt her.
He was less careful than he probably should have been when he popped the trunk and her hand, trailing broken ropes from her wrist, sprung out to grab him by the shirt. Wrapping her fingers tightly in the material, she tried to yank him down. Her jaws were already wide open and her fangs—by now the second had finished growing in—were ready to sink into his flesh. A yellow and thick substance was starting to drip from them and Dean's revulsion grew.
He caught himself against the lip of the trunk with one hand, the other jamming the needle into the closest piece of flesh that he could find.
It took a moment for the drug to spread into her bloodstream and she tugged down on him harder, snarling. Dean swore loudly, trying to pull back but she steadily dragged him closer.
Hayley hissed in celebration as his face came closer to hers and he attempted to wrench back. He might not have been able to, but his shirt ripped, allowing him to stagger away. Hayley half fell out of the trunk and she tried to right herself but it was too late. The sedative was starting to take effect and she wilted towards the ground despite her best efforts.
"I'll kill you," she ground out, grabbing a hold of the trunk and trying to pull herself upright. It didn't do any good and Dean watched, thoroughly unimpressed, until she went limp again.
This time Dean didn't bother with the ropes, he just tossed her roughly over his shoulder and carried her inside. He had her gagged, handcuffed, and dangling from the beams, her toes just brushing the floor, before she stirred.
Dean watched her without compassion, absolute fury bubbling near the surface.
There were few people that he hated more than he hated her right now.
Slowly, her head came up, her eyes glazed as she looked around and took in her surroundings. Dean watched her stiffen, before tugging uselessly on her wrists, her body swinging back and forth before she turned angry and maybe frightened eyes on Dean.
There wasn't nearly enough fear there.
Grabbing the angel blade from the pile of knives that he had laid out on the table, Dean strode forward and looked into her wide eyes.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he said, and then grinned darkly as he thrust his knife into her shoulder right where she had stabbed Sam. Her head rolled back, a muffled scream escaping the gag as her eyes fluttered shut. Dean ruthlessly yanked the knife back out, sending a gush of blood spilling over her scrubs.
She groaned, panting heavily around the pain, before tipping her head back up and meeting Dean's eyes defiantly. It was what Dean had been waiting for and he plunged his knife back into her shoulder and twisted. She jerked back, gasping, and Dean could see her mouth opening, her fangs trying to descend.
Yanking the knife out a second time, Dean thrust the hilt up to smash into her jaw, snapping it closed.
She hissed at him through the gag but Dean just shrugged, pressing the hilt in deeper to add emphasis to his next words. "Have you ever been tortured before? If not, then you should know that this is just the beginning. You see, torture isn't just about questions and answers—although we will get there, don't you worry, darlin'—it's also about pain. And right now, it's only about the pain."
Flipping his knife around so that the blade was pressed against her skin, Dean lightly dug the point against the side of her cheek where he could still see the faint scars that Sam had inflicted upon her. They weren't as pronounced as they had been before.
He increased the pressure on the knife, just breaking the skin, and bent forward, staring directly into her eyes. Abruptly he pulled back, laughing darkly at the fear that was shimmering in her eyes. Bracing her arm, he began to cut the sleeves of her scrub and the long-sleeved shirt underneath off, leaving her arm bare.
"Now, I know that those protective sigils work against you. But what do you think is going to happen if I carve them into your flesh?"
#
Cas pulled around to park behind the Impala at the old, abandoned, factory and shook his head. At least they knew where Dean was, even if Dean wasn't about to let him come in and help. He'd expected Dean to be angry, had prepared for it even, but the words that had been hurled at him both a few hours ago and over the past few days still hurt.
He had, perhaps optimistically, hoped that their years of friendship would mean something to Dean and would bridge the gap between the anger that Dean turned to but then again…this was Sam and Dean was floundering badly.
Heaving a sigh, Cas put his car into park and then sat back. He would respect Dean's desire for space—he'd already pushed hard enough as was—but that didn't mean that he had to like it.
He'd stay right here watching over Dean from afar until a new development happened. Mary and Jack were going to call him as soon as they knew more, and he would be able to follow Dean if he decided to leave.
For the moment, it was all that he could do.
#
Dean took a step back, wiping at the blood that flecked his face. Hayley let out a low sob from where she was hanging, her body shaking from the wounds that had been cut into her flesh.
Already some of them were starting to heal as some sort of grey matter frothed through the holes in her skin and hardened into a bandage, but that didn't matter. It didn't stop Dean, even if it weirded him out a little. It was just how this—what had Cas called it? A Du'a jiraataa?— healed itself.
He'd seen freakier things in his time and it was actually working in Dean's favor.
Hell had taught him that nothing was more devastating than to have to endure something that you had already endured. When the pain never stopped, when there was no hope in sight for an end, then that was when even the strongest people broke.
Panting lightly from his efforts, Dean surveyed his work before reaching over and yanking her gag down. Staring directly into her eyes, he demanded, "Where's Sam?"
It was the first question that he had asked, and his voice was deceptively low and calm even if his insides were anything but that. Hayley let out a gasp, trying to back up a step and get away from Dean. Her toes did nothing more than brush against the ground and she spun lazily.
"Where is Sam?" Dean repeated as he reached up, gripping the rope and stabilizing her so that she couldn't look away from him.
"I—" Hayley swallowed hard, her voice cracking, and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier. "Why would I tell you?"
That was the wrong answer and Dean's knife flashed again, slicing her cheek open over the old scar. She gasped, jerking her head away. A moment later a tight laugh bubbled up and she looked back around at him, hatred seeping from her eyes.
"Your eyes are red. Have you been crying? Do you miss him that much?" she taunted, her lips curling upward despite the way that her cheek was gaping open. Dean's knife flashed again, opening up her other cheek, but she just laughed.
Dean wasn't about to let that pass, not when he was the one in control, and he grabbed her by the throat with both hands and squeezed, cutting off her air.
"You may be able to heal yourself, but I doubt that you can stop yourself from dying like this," he spat, squeezing harder. She writhed in her chains but Dean didn't let up until her movements were jerky and uncoordinated.
Only then, when Dean had reestablished who was in control, did he let go.
Hayley gagged, coughing hard as she let her head roll forward again. A blood vessel had burst in her right eye and her face was red.
"I can't tell you where he is," she choked out and Dean forced a laugh.
"Oh, you can and you will, I guarantee that. The only question is how much pain you can endure before you do. Just tell me where Sam is, though, and we can end this."
"You don't know what I am or what I can survive."
Dean made a face, unimpressed. "And guess what? You don't know me or what I've done. I've been to hell—literal hell—and I tortured souls there. I've been a demon and been possessed by an archangel. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into and you are in over your head. You should have never laid a finger on Sam."
Something akin to fear wavered in Hayley's eyes but she pushed it down a moment later, replacing it with a careful blankness.
"Sam. Such a common name for such a common human. Do you know how easy he was to kill?" She leered at him and Dean's hands curled into fists involuntarily.
"If he was so easy to kill, then why did you leave there missing half your face? Why did you run out of there with your tail between your legs? That doesn't sound like it was easy to me."
She opened her mouth again and Dean slapped her hard enough to snap her head to the side. "Unless you are going to tell me where Sam is then you don't get to speak. Where is he?"
She leaned forward, spitting out blood from a split lip. Dean snorted and then stabilized her before throwing his first punch and breaking her nose. She gasped, blood now flowing freely down her face.
"Where is Sam?"
"I can't."
"Where's Sam?" he yelled, getting low and in her face.
She only let out a low whimper and Dean shook his head in exasperation. "Fine. If you want to do this the hard way then we can do it the hard way," he said as lightly as he could muster and turned, digging through the table and the weapons that he had laid out.
They always carried salt on them, and he found the bag, dumping a handful into his palm. He held it up for her to see. "You know, I'm not sure if salt is going to work against you like it would say a demon, but it never hurts to try. Well, in this case, it might. Salt and open wounds don't exactly go together, do they? But you know how you can stop it, don't you?"
He forced a purposefully fake grin before letting it fall away. Without any further warning, he began to smear the salt into any fresh wound that he could find that wasn't half healed. She let out a keening, high-pitched, scream as her whole body began to jerk at the stinging pain.
"Where is Sam?" Dean yelled over her. She twitched, her jaw deforming but Dean just shoved her hard, sending her whole body swinging from her wrists. Tilting her head back, she let out something primal and high-pitched as she writhed.
When she finally stopped screaming, she slumped forward, her chest heaving. After a long moment, she raised her head again, blinking up at him from between her sweaty bangs. "I can't tell you," she insisted and Dean snorted, unimpressed.
"If you value an end to your sad, miserable, life then you will."
Snatching up another knife, he pressed it into the tender flesh of her elbow. He began to dig the blade in deeper, watching with satisfaction as sweat began to pop out on her skin.
"Where is Sam? Did you give him to someone else? Did you sell him?"
Hayley spit at him in response and Dean dug the knife in deeper.
"Where is he? What did you have planned for the bodies?"
Blood was spilling down her arm now and staining his fingers. Dean continued to corkscrew the knife, digging it in as slowly and as painfully as he could.
"Do you want to know how he died?" Hayley wheezed out, anger and terror merging as she fought back the only way that she could. Dean's knife slipped, cutting deeper than he had intended, and she noticed it. A wild gleam lit up her face as she pressed on, her lips curling up in a snarl.
"Do you want to know about his last moments or what his last words were? Because guess who was there for them? It wasn't you, that's for damn sure."
Dean's hands shook more than he would have admitted to as he slammed his knife all the way through her arm, effectively silencing her into a scream.
"Say one more word about that and I'll—"
"I broke his arm first," she gasped raggedly. "I felt the bone splinter like it was a twig. After that, he knew that he was in trouble. He begged me to let him go but I didn't. He didn't deserve life, not when he could be of better use dead. So I stabbed him again and again and again until his blood was all over my hands. It was warm and—"
Dean wasn't even consciously aware of lunging forward, the knife dropping from his fingers as he wrapped both hands around her throat again, this time not caring how far it went. Sam was dead—he wasn't coming back—and this bitch had been the one to do it. Had stabbed him again and again and again and Dean hadn't been there.
He hadn't been there to protect his brother.
He hadn't even been the one to find his body. He'd had to have Cas call him. He'd had to walk in knowing that Sam was already dead and that he had failed.
"Shut up! Shut up, you don't get to talk about my little brother like that. You don't get to—not unless it's to tell me where he is. Sam is—you don't—" Dean was having trouble wrapping his brain around the words as they spilled out, hatred pouring from depths that he hadn't felt in a very long time as his control slipped. He leaned further forward, increasing pressure even as she turned bright red and began to make horrible, wheezing, sounds.
She couldn't do anything to stop him.
Her hands were chained above her head and Dean bore down, determined to kill her, to make her pay. She writhed, trying to jerk her way free but already her movements were slowing perceptibly. After one last twitch, she went limp, her eyes rolling back into her head as she lost consciousness.
Still, Dean didn't let go, a haze of red covering his vision.
He tightened his grip, his lips curling up in a snarl before he abruptly let go as the realization of what he had done hit. Horror chased its way through his veins, clearing his head so fast that he felt dizzy.
She couldn't die, not yet.
"No," he mumbled as he searched for a pulse on her neck. He wasn't finding one and Dean's own heart skipped a beat.
She couldn't die, he hadn't—he didn't know where Sam was, but he still couldn't find a pulse and she wasn't breathing.
He fumbled with the handcuffs as his own heart beat painfully against his ribs, trying to get them off of her so that he could get her flat on the floor and he could perform CPR. His hands were shaking and it took too long to get her down.
She still wasn't breathing.
Forcing himself not to think about the fact that this was a monster and Sam's murder, Dean interlocked his fingers and began to perform CPR. He had to save her, he had to find Sam.
Nothing was happening despite his desperate attempts and Dean was finally forced to give it up.
Wiping a hand over his mouth, he staggered to his feet and stared down at her body. Panting heavily, he took a step back and ran his blood-soaked hands through his hair.
Oh, God, what had he done? Sam could be anywhere and how could Dean have let his temper get the better of him like that? How could he have—Sam was missing, and he had just blown his one chance to find him.
Dean didn't know what he was going to do and, wheeling around, he swept the weapons off the table and onto the ground with a yell. He might have flipped the table as well, desperate for an outlet, when Hayley let out a long, rasping, gasp behind him and Dean twisted back around.
Hayley's body convulsed as another breath was wrenched from her.
Dean blinked once in surprise but didn't question it as Hayley began to cough. Whatever healing powers she possessed appeared to be enough to bring her back from the dead even if CPR wasn't and this one time, Dean wasn't going to complain.
Bending down, he grabbed one of the needles from the floor and jammed it deep into her neck, feeling jittery now and a little out of control.
Hayley went limp, but this time Dean could see her chest rising and falling raggedly. Swiftly, he got her in the handcuffs again before he backed up.
He couldn't believe that he'd lost control like that. He'd almost lost Sam for good and he just—he wanted Sam back more than he was able to articulate. He bent forward with his hands on his knees, gasping around the sobs that were threatening to emerge. Sam was all that he had ever needed or wanted. He couldn't—Sam was dead. Had died horribly and all alone.
Straightening, he fled from the room and then leaned back against the closed door. Pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, he tried to get in control of the emotions that were threatening to drown him.
It wasn't doing anything to erase the image in his brain of Sam's body, broken and bloody, laid out on the patio. He pressed his hands harder into his eyes, desperate to remember Sam alive. Happy. Sitting in the Impala next to him and laughing.
It wasn't working, all he could see was the wounds and the blood that stained everything. Of Hayley stabbing him repeatably while Dean had been out at a freakin' bar.
He scrambled for his flask and took several long swallows, trying to calm the shaking in his hands but it didn't feel like it was working and he was starting to feel light-headed as he gasped.
This couldn't be how it ended for them, could it? Sam dead from a pointless hunt while Dean lived on, his heart continuing to pump blood through his body while Sam's rotted away?
Letting out a yell, Dean flung his flask away and then turned around and tried to put his fist through one of the old, brick, walls. Nothing happened, but it didn't stop Dean from rearing back and doing it again and again and again. When at last he stopped, his hand was throbbing and bleeding and he was fairly sure that he had broken something there.
Gasping hard, Dean slowly slumped forward against the wall, letting it hold him up as the grief threatened to consume him.
Sam was dead.
Sam was dead.
Sam was dead.
His brain wouldn't shut up and Dean couldn't breathe past the lump in his throat. It felt like a knife had been shoved in between his ribs. Why hadn't Sam gotten out of there when it became clear that he was no match for Hayley? Or why hadn't he kept his phone on him? If he had done that then he could have called Dean, could have asked for help. Dean might have gotten there in time. He wouldn't be torturing Sam's murderer to figure out the location of his brother's body.
He'd be sitting in a hospital room, watching over Sam and making sure that he followed the doctor's orders.
This was Sam's fault.
If he had done any of the above then Dean wouldn't be here, wouldn't be feeling this horrible ache in his chest. If Sam had just—Grabbing handfuls of his hair, he clenched hard enough that it hurt trying to get ahold of himself.
Sam was dead.
It wasn't Sam's fault. Dean should have had his back, he'd known that Sam was tired and maybe not at the top of his game.
Sam was dead.
Dean needed him. Dean was going to get himself killed within the week at this rate. Hell, he'd already almost done it once.
Sammy was dead.
Sammy didn't want to be brought back.
Dean wanted to bring him back.
Dean wanted him back.
Dean didn't want to care what it took.
Gasping, he clenched harder, rocking a little as he tried to battle back down the urge to bring Sam back, to find a way to fix this.
Sam was tired, he deserved to finally be at rest…but then again Sam had been doing good. Really good. He'd found a place as the hunter's chief and was doing a damn fine job of it even if Dean hadn't found it in himself to admit it to his brother. If Sam came back he would. He'd tell Sam how proud he was of him. Sam would want to hear that. And he would want to continue to build his relationship with their mom. Lucifer was dead. Everything was going in their favor for once.
Sam would want to be brought back, wouldn't he?
Dean was trembling as he dug his phone out of his pocket. Rowena could come up with something, she and Sam had some sort of weird, soft spot for each other that neither of them would admit to. She would help him. And if all else failed he would pray to Michael. He'd give him whatever he wanted if he would only bring Sam back.
Only, Sam would never forgive him for that.
He couldn't break his trust yet again.
Closing his eyes, Dean felt like he had been swallowed whole into a dark pit that he wasn't ever going to escape from. The only thing that could save him now was Sam. If Sam was here, he would have come and found him. He would have sat quietly next to him before poking and prodding until Dean was ready to tell him everything that he was feeling. They would have talked, Dean would have felt better even if he would only have admitted it under threat of torture.
Sam was good at that, at pulling Dean's head out of his ass. He had managed to do it when Dean had been grieving for their Dad and after Dean had come back from Hell. Hell, he'd done it only a few weeks ago when Dean was struggling to even leave his room after everything that had happened with Michael.
Dean couldn't do this.
He couldn't go on for long without Sam. He could probably survive anyone else dying and could find a way to move on, but not this. He was going to crumble apart and break. Maybe that made him codependent, but right now he couldn't care. He didn't want to change or try and go on.
He just wanted his brother. He just wanted Sam alive and next to him and it was two lives, not just one, didn't that justify it? Wouldn't that make it okay to fix this?
He opened up his phone, ready to call Rowena because that was the lesser of two evils and Sam may not completely hate him for that. He let his thumb hover over her name.
He could do it.
He could call Rowena. Ask for Sam back.
All it would take was one call, and then he could escape this crushing weight. Then he'd just have to find Sam's body and that was doable. If he knew that he could have Sam back then it would make it so much easier to keep going.
Dean wanted to push that button more than he had wanted anything else for a long time, maybe since he'd made the demon deal. They had done so much for the world, they deserved this. They deserved some small good thing.
He was going to do it.
He was going to bring Sam back.
Dean hit the call button and brought the phone up to his ear, trying to control his ragged breathing and stop the tears. The line began to ring and Dean gulped in air, trying to find the relief that should be waiting for him.
It didn't come and before Rowena could pick up, he ended the call and hung his head.
Sam would hate him, and Dean was trying so hard to respect his wishes, to not repeat past mistakes. At the same time, he didn't think—he couldn't go on like this. It was either bring Sam back or swallow his gun and Sam would hate that for him too.
Dean was torn in two and he didn't know what to do.
One way or the other he was going to lose everything.
He let his head fall back against the door and forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth for several minutes until his heart stopped pounding so hard.
Dean didn't have to make a decision either way just yet. Before he could bring Sam back or put him to rest, he needed to find his body. He'd make the right choice then, whatever it was.
Closing his eyes, Dean took another deep breath and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He didn't feel any more settled for putting off the decision and he deeply wished that he hadn't tossed his flask down the hallway.
That was finally what pulled him to his feet and he staggered to reclaim it. Taking several long swallows, he leaned against the wall until he felt more in control.
The first thing that he had to do was find Sam's body. That was all that he had to focus on.
Tugging his shirt straight with his left hand—his right was already swollen badly and stiffening—he proceeded to wipe the cuff of his sleeve over his face, trying to erase any signs of tears or weakness that were there.
Hayley would crack sooner rather than later. She could dish out pain but she couldn't take it, she was weak in that aspect.
Dean just needed another moment before he could go back in there and face her again. He couldn't afford to lose control like that.
He paced a couple of laps around the factory, trying to calm himself down before he returned to the room.
When he did, he found Hayley awake but limp in her constraints. All that healing had to have taken a lot of energy and had to be making her weak. She couldn't keep going on like this forever, not without tiring.
Picking up an unused knife from where it had landed on the floor, Dean turned grimly to face her.
