A/N: As I mentioned, this is my first fanfic for Supernatural. It is NOT my first fanfic of any type, but it is the first after a loooonnnnnngggg bout of writer's block (11 years!). Therefore, any comments, critiques, encouragement, reviews are MUCH appreciated.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned or profited from Supernatural in any way, would I really be sitting in my home office 5 days a week, instead of lounging on a beach some place? Damn straight I wouldn't!

Story Notes: Still Teen!Chesters, and we're probably a chapter (maybe 2) from the abuse I mentioned. Also, the monster in this section is deliberately left unnamed, because I haven't been able to find one that fits my criterion! Future chapters will probably have more conventional monsters (maybe), and will likely move to within the time frame of the Series, although it will still be (massively) AU.

EVOLUTION: Chapter 2

5 minutes later, and all thoughts of his brother's weird behavior was, if not actually gone from Dean's head, at least firmly pushed into a box at the back of his mind labeled "later".

Compartmentalization: the hunter's best friend.

Sam's impossible count of the reanimated kids now protecting the child devouring monster of the week had been correct so far, and Dean had taken two of them out with accurate head shots on his way to free the eight kids that had gone missing from in and around Bat Cave, NC in the last 10 days.

Told him it would be a headshot, Dean smirked to himself and quickly looked to his far right to track Sammy, where he was taking out two other hench-zombies, while searching for the fugly they'd come for.

Dean promised himself he'd rub his superior knowledge in his brother's face later, and, after a quick look around the cave to be sure that the remaining hench-zombies were not near the kids, slipped his gun into the back of his waist band and pulled out his machete as he approached the kids.

They were all tied in groups of two or three with what looked like some kind of vine, and Dean was glad they'd been planning on using the machetes anyway, because there was no way a smaller knife would've been able to cut through the primitive ropes.

He reached the first pair of kids — the youngest pair of the four missing girls, as best he could tell by mentally comparing the photos they'd been given of the kids to the dirty, bruised and beaten children before him.

The girl closest to him — 7-year-old Amanda Richards, he thought — startled and nearly cried out as he came near.

"Shhhh," Dean hissed. "It's okay. We're here to take you home."

"Thank you," the girl whispered and started to cry.

"It's okay, honey," Dean promised. "You'll be okay." He quickly took in the tightly wound vines holding the two girls back to back, tied tightly around their middles, as well as the vines wrapped around their wrists and ankles. He quickly cut their feet free, and smiled gently at both the girls, who were staring at him like he was some kind of combination of Han Solo and Superman. "Give me your hands," he said and cut the bonds on both girls carefully. "Okay, now lean a bit away from each other, and I'll get the last of them."

In minutes, he'd cut free another pair of girls and three boys who were grouped together, and led them to the entrance to the cave, doing his best to keep his body between the traumatized kids and the two dead zombies. "I thought there were eight of you?" Dean muttered.

The oldest girl — a pretty little blonde of about 12 named Karen Simpson, if Dean remembered correctly, whose traumatized face and filth-covered skin bore little resemblance to the budding heartbreaker Dean had seen in her school picture — nodded and pointed back the way they'd come. "Sean," she sniffled. "He was here when I got here, and…" she sniffled again and shook her head, then gestured for Dean to lean closer. "I think he's dead," she whispered in Dean's ear. "I didn't want to say it too loud and scare the kids," she added solemnly and Dean nodded his understanding.

"Where is he?" He asked, crouching beside her, looking back into the cavern proper.

"There," Karen pointed. "That pile of rags by the big rock? That's Sean," she sobbed. "What's left of him."

"I'll take care of him," Dean promised and motioned for the rest of the kids to gather close.

Dean cast a quick look over his shoulder. Sam was just finishing up with another zombie, and still no sign of the bitch that was behind this mess.

"Listen, all of you — fast as you can, go down that tunnel. When you get to a junction, you'll see an arrow chalked onto the wall to show you the right way out. Okay?"

The kids all nodded.

"What about you?" the youngest boy, a slight, dark skinned child of no more than 5 —D'waune? — asked. "Aren't you coming?"

"We'll be along, my brother and me," Dean promised. "First we have to get rid of that bi—-witch that took you, so she can't ever hurt any more kids."

Ryan, the 9-year-old, nodded. "Be careful," the boy urged. "There's a ledge up above the cave, around the back? You can't see anything on it, but she stays up there a lot."

"Yeah," one of the smaller boys agreed. "And she flies!"

"Really," Dean frowned. None of the lore Sam had found indicated anything about the bitch flying.

"She can't fly," Amanda shook her head. "Not really. But she jumps really high, and kind of far. She can jump right up to the ledge without a problem."

"Okay," Dean nodded. "Thanks, guys, good to know. Now get out of here. QUIETLY," he added as they started to turn away. "Oh, wait!" He called and rushed up behind them. "On your way out, if you see a man — he's got a beard, dressed kind of like me, but with a leather jacket — that's my Dad. Tell him that Dean said we have it covered, and to get you guys out, okay?"

The kids nodded and started to down the tunnel towards their homes, except the little redhead that had been tied up with Amanda — Sara Jepson, Dean thought.

The little girl ran back to where Dean still crouched on the tunnel floor, and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you!" she said quietly and kissed his cheek quickly before running after her friends.

Dean shook his head and smiled. Two 'thank yous' in a single day. That's gotta be some kind of record, he mused and headed back to the cavern to see if the last child, Sean, could be saved.

Sam had said he had maybe another hour — not that Dean had the slightest idea how in Hell Sam would know that — but Dean wasn't planning on saving only seven kids today.

He re-entered the cavern cautiously, making a quick count of the bodies he and Sam had left on the ground, noting that Sam had taken the time and care to decapitate the headshot zombies, and had moved (or, more likely, kicked) all the heads into a little cluster against one rock wall, well away from the bodies.

For a moment, Dean couldn't find Sam at all, then spotted him crouched on the stone floor, sneaking furtively towards what appeared to be hench-zombie number six.

Still no sign of the fugly, which was not good, but at least it gave Dean time to check on the pile of rags that hid — or, possibly, was — the last missing child, Sean Mitchell.

As soon as Dean reached Sean's side, he saw why Karen had thought the child already dead. The rags around the boy, and the ground beneath the little body, were saturated with blood.

"No," Dean breathed. "Don't you be dead, dammit." He knelt by the small, pale form that looked so much younger than the child really was, and gently placed two fingers against the pale neck. For a second, Dean let himself feel the relief of finding a pulse — faint, slightly erratic, but definitely there.

"No," a small moan came from the boy and Dean brushed the blood-matted hair gently away from Sean's forehead.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean said. "I'm here to take you home."

Sean's blue eyes flickered open. "The kids?" he breathed and Dean nodded reassuringly.

"Already free and on their way home," he assured the boy who smiled slightly. "Listen," Dean continued quietly, "I need to see where this blood is coming from, okay?"

Sean nodded and closed his eyes again.

Expertly, Dean felt along the emaciated body before him, feeling every rib and bone, but not finding any obvious wounds.

"Sean," he said quietly and the blue eyes opened for a second, before drifting close again with obvious exhaustion, "I'm gonna have to roll you a little, buddy, okay?"

Sean nodded and tensed in anticipation of the pain.

As gently as he could, Dean rolled the slight body away from him.

It took all his effort not to gasp -or throw up - when he could see the skin on the boy's back.

What was left of it.

Dean couldn't honestly say that Sean had been skinned — it wasn't as clean as that, maybe not even as deliberate. Nevertheless, the boy had been beaten, or whipped, so thoroughly that the skin on the back was more than half gone, hanging from the nearly skeletal form in strips in some places, completely missing in others.

He showed evidence of having been carved on, too, the few places the skin hadn't been ripped away sporting long gashes that formed weird symbols Dean had never seen before. The gashes were so deep, that in places the spine itself was visible.

How the fuck is this kid alive? Dean wondered, and immediately on the heels of that thought came another: he won't be for long.

Behind him came a soft footfall and Dean lowered Sean down quickly, being as gentle as possible, and spun around, pulling his gun out with a single, fluid motion.

Sam put his hands up slightly, and knelt beside his brother.

"Turns out I was wrong," Sam whispered. "There were seven helpers."

"Hench-zombies," Dean corrected

Sam roiled his eyes, "Whatever you call them, there are now none. You got the others out?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Warned them they might run into Dad, so he doesn't scare the crap out of them," he grinned. "Just getting ready to take Sean, here, home to his parents, right buddy?" Dean said.

Beside them, Sean gave a weak moan.

Sam looked the boy over quickly, taking in the pale skin, the shallow breathing, the blood soaked area and his eyes flew to Dean's, full of question and worry.

Slowly, reluctantly, Dean shook his head.

Sam gave a sad nod of acknowledgement.

"Have you seen her, yet?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low and his tone calm and soothing for the dying boy's benefit.

"No," Dean admitted, "but one of the boys let me know there's a ledge above where she likes to hang out."

Sam nodded. "Why don't you check it out?" he suggested. "I'll stay with Sean for a few minutes."

Dean looked at the little boy beside them, and sighed. He wanted to tell Sam he'd stay with Sean; wanted to soothe the boy as best he could in what was all but certain to be the last minutes of his life. But he couldn't do that. Because if Dean stayed with Sean, then Sammy would have to go after the bitch on his own.

And that, Dean couldn't allow. It was bad enough — it hurt him enough — to know they'd been too late to save the little kid beside them. No way was he going to compound that loss by putting his kid in danger.

Reluctantly, Dean nodded, and turned back to Sean.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered, "my brother Sam, here — he's going to stay with you a bit, okay?"

"Uh-huh" Sean breathed and Dean stood slowly, shaking his head slowly and biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the tears. He dropped a hand, just for a moment, onto Sam's shoulder, and was not surprised when Sam looked up at him with a watery smile.

For a second, green eyes met hazel and sent an undeniable message: bitch is going DOWN.

Sam nodded and turned his attention back to the boy on the ground.

Dean pulled his machete out of his coat again, and twirled it once or twice while his left hand gripped his pistol. With a last look back at the pair behind him, he moved towards the center of the cavern, ready — scratch that, eager — for a fight.

================SPNSPNSPN===============

"I'm here, Sean," Sam said softly. "I'm right here."

Sean opened his eyes with great effort and looked up at the older boy, tears making his blue eyes flame in the firelight.

Sean's hand fluttered weakly and Sam took it in his own, wincing slightly at the pain flowing through the younger boy.

"I don't want to die," Sean breathed,

"I know," Sam told him and, as Dean had before him, brushed gently at the hair falling in Sean's face, as the blue eyes drifted close once more. "I know."

Sam hesitated, and glanced around the cavern for his brother. Dean was by the rock wall under the ledge where they thought the hag was hiding, trying to find an easy way up.

So Dean wasn't paying any attention to them.

Good. That was good.

"Sean?"

"Mm?"

"I need you to trust me," Sam said quietly and gave Sean's hand a little squeeze. "I'm going to try to help you."

At that, Sean's eyes flew open again. "Puh-p—lease."

"It may hurt a little," Sam warned him, and smiled at the rough exhalation that passed for a laugh. "I know, it hurts now," Sam agreed. "Can you take a little extra pain — just for a minute or two, if it means getting out of here alive?"

Slowly, wincing with every movement, Sean nodded.

"And you can never tell anyone, okay? Just tell them that...that she had a spell on you, around you, and it made it look and feel worse than it was, but it got better when she died."

"Sh-She's d-dea-d?" Sean marveled.

"Not yet," Sam admitted. "But I promise you, she will be," Sam practically snarled, then softened his voice again. "Now, do we have a deal?"

"Yes," Sean nodded. "Please."

Sam put one hand on Sean's forehead, and let go of the boy's hand to place the other hand on the dirt between them.

He cast one last quick look in Dean's direction — still occupied — and closed his eyes.

"Okay," he whispered. "Hang in there, Sean. Here we go."