Chapter Two- The Runaway: Dean
Dean has seen his Dad in almost every type of emotion. He has seen him stressed, and angry, drunk and anxious, worried, even scared a few times. Rarely, he has even seen him happy, content. But now, sitting in the back of the library, surrounded by books and a map of the city, Dean watches as his father's face goes from concerned, to anxious, to downright furious. An anger Dean has only ever seen on his father's face when either himself or Sam is in danger sweeps over his father's features, and that tells Dean all he needs to know about what is going on, on the other end of the call. Dean's stomach drops, as fury and concern wash through him as well, matching his father's emotions as he wonders just what exactly is happening to his brother. And then his father speaks, and dread decides to join the party.
"Emma." The name alone conjures up unwanted memories of a hunt gone wrong. Three hunts, actually. Each one a mess, each one because of Emma freaking Wesson, and her moron of a brother Jack. Too slow, and too cautious, it was a wonder they hadn't gotten themselves killed yet. They slow-walk every single hunt, and because of them, the hunts that they had worked with Dean and his Dad had taken twice as long, and they lost more people than they might have on their own. They were the kind of hunters Dean hated, who preferred to study the creatures, instead of killing them and ending the threat. They also, obnoxiously, believe that not every monster needs to be killed. As if there is such a thing as an innocent monster. Tuning back in to his father's phone call, he just catches his father asking the soon to be dead hunter 'where?'. Dean surmises from the one word question that she is asking to meet up, and Dean feels a surge of dark excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. Given the way the phone call had started, Dean figures she and her brother found Sam, and coerced him into calling their father.
Whether they just threatened him, or actually hurt him, Dean isn't sure, but he does know that however she got a hold of them, she was going to pay ten fold for whatever she has done to Sammy. Dean fights back the urge to take the phone out of his father's hand as he listens to whatever Emma's response is, his father writing down an address quickly, eyes dark and promising the same violence that Dean is contemplating. Dean is desperate to speak to Sam, to confirm that he is alright, and his father seems to sense what Dean is feeling, sending him a sympathetic, but warning glance and Dean nods quietly, forcing himself to sit still. "I want to talk to Sam." Dad's voice is unequivocal, and nonnegotiable. Dean looks at his father, eyes wide, and pleading, and Dad nods at him once, shifting the phone and putting it on speaker.
"Dad?" Sam's voice is soft, timid and far too scared for Dean's comfort. Dad looks pointedly at Dean and Dean can read the message in his eyes loud and clear. Stay quiet, and listen. As hard as it is, with Sammy so vulnerable on the phone, Dean obeys the silent order.
"I'm here son." Dad says gently, his voice as soft as Sam's, but certain, and strong, and confident, not betraying a hint of the anger or worry on his face.
"I'm sorry Dad." Sam says quietly. "I… I went for a walk, and they followed me home."
"You have nothing to be sorry for." Dad's face twists in anger and frustration, though his gentle tone doesn't change even a little, and Dean knows exactly why. There is a reason why Emma and Jack are letting Sam speak, and didn't immediately hang up the phone when Sam let slip that they are at the apartment they just rented. Even if they left right this second to drive back to the apartment, Sam won't be there by the time they pull in. And trying to rush, trying to catch them before they can get too far might cause Emma and jack to panic. Might get Sammy hurt. No, the only thing they can do right now, to ensure that they get him back in one piece, is to take a break, take a breath, regroup and come at this smartly. Even still, it takes every ounce of self-control and discipline that his father has drilled into him to keep Dean in his seat. "Sammy I need you to listen to me okay?"
"Okay." Sam agrees.
"I want you to listen to them. Emma, and I am assuming Jack is there to, right?" Dad asks.
"I think so. There is a guy here… but they didn't tell me their names." Sam says quietly.
"Okay. That's okay, Sammy. You just do whatever they tell you to do, alright? Don't speak to them unless they speak to you first. Try and stay calm. Dean and I are on our way. We are going to get you out of this, I promise." Dad says, keeping his tone comforting, but his voice becoming more firm. Confident.
"I… I will." Sam says after a moment of hesitation. "Er… she, uh, Emma wants the phone back."
"Then give it to her. Don't be scared, Sammy. We are coming." Dad promises him. There is the sound of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then a woman is speaking, and Dean is clenching his fists tightly. Usually he has a zero tolerance policy for hurting women, especially human women, but he is definitely making an exception this time.
"Nine pm tonight, Johnny. You and Dean. We'll see you then." Emma says calmly, and then the phone goes dead. Dean shares a look with his father, as he slides the phone back into his pocket. The fear, and anxiety and even the rage is gone from his dad's face now, replaced with a calm, focused and determined look, the same kind he gets when they are done their research and about to begin the action part of a hunt. Dean tries his best to replicate it, to show his father he is taking the situation every bit as seriously as he is, as his father slides the address he had written down over towards Dean. Dean glances down at it, raising his eyebrows in shock, at the same time his stomach drops practically to his feet.
"Two Eighty-Nine, Blackwood Crescent." He reads slowly, trying to keep his voice nonchalant and easy-going, despite the slight trembling in his hands. It's the same address as the warehouse they had been planning on luring the nest of vampires they had come to town to hunt to. The address they had only just shortly ago decided was perfect for a little bit of private decapitation. "I would say this could just be a case of great minds thinking a like, but that would a little insulting considering it's Emma and Jack freaking Wesson."
"This isn't a coincidence…" Dad says softly, studying the address. "One, or both of them were here when you mentioned the address…"
"Which means Sammy probably was to." Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. He shouldn't have been surprised. The first place that Sam finds his way to, no matter what town they travel to, is always the library. Even if they have tried to impress upon him the dangers of leaving home, so, so, so many times. But, despite the warnings, Sam is drawn to libraries, to books, the same way he and Dad are drawn to the hunt. And, after all, it isn't like he or Dad can explain the real threats out there, like monsters, or stupid hunters who don't know what's good for them. Nor does he, or his father, have any inclination to find a way to loop Sammy in on what really is out there. He is too good, too innocent, to taint with that kind of knowledge. Still, this situation is exactly why they had wanted Sam to stay at home. Although he doubts Sam had seen him or his father in the library, and he knows for a fact that they haven't been overheard, nobody would have followed Sam home if he hadn't left home in the first place.
Dean supposes they should just be glad it was the likes of Emma and Jack that spotted Sam, instead of any of the vamps they are tracking. Dad is nodding silently in agreement with Dean's guess about Sammy's presence, and Dean suddenly shifts uneasily, not having intended to get his brother into any kind of trouble. Irresponsible he might have been, but it is also completely normal for a kid his age. "Dad… it wasn't Sam's fault. He… he was probably just wanting to get some air, he didn't think…"
"I know, Dean." Dad says, looking at Dean with a weary expression. "He's eighteen, and restless. I know we can't keep him locked up, at least without telling him about why we want him to stay home. I'm not mad at him. But, you know, maybe this whole thing is a good experience for him."
"A good experience?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows.
"If Emma and Jack are just using him as bait, the way I think they are, he won't be hurt. And maybe this will make him a little bit more cautious. More likely to listen to us." Dad says. Dean considers it, frowning. Knowing Sam, his father is probably correct. If the worst thing that happens to Sam is he gets scared a little bit, then maybe that little bit of fear can be productive. Sam will probably be shaken, and upset of course. As he should be. But he is also incredibly smart, and a stupid fast learner. Seeing the consequences of his actions, of defying their father, is bound to resonate inside his emotional, vulnerable little brother, in a way that will condition him quickly to not want to try anything so impulsive again. And, after all, Emma and Jack are humans. Psycho, moronic humans who have seriously crossed a line, and who will pay for that, but not supernatural freaks.
Maybe running into these douchebags is exactly what Sam needs to help weed out some of the youthful recklessness that he still has, and maybe embrace some of Dean's and their father's security protocols that he has been resistant to, without Sammy being exposed to the horrific, nightmare-fuel creatures that exist out there. The more he thinks about it, the more Dean can see the benefit of what his father is getting at. And then, Dean's thoughts turn darker. Of what might be happening to his little brother. It has been a few years, after all, since the last hunt with Emma and Jack. Ironically, it had also been a vampire hunt, and those idiots had almost gotten themselves turned. If Dean hadn't arrived when he had, his father hot on his heels, they would have been. That level of incompetence had been the last straw, and Dad had sworn then and there that they were never hunting together again. And, with hunters, a few years can be a lifetime. Who knows how Emma and Jack have changed since that hunt? Maybe all their sympathizing with 'innocent' monsters, has blinded them to who is actually innocent in this world. Maybe it doesn't matter to them that Sammy is just a kid. Dean swallows as he thinks about Sammy, skinny and scrawny as he is, up against two decently trained, experienced hunters. They could hurt him, if they wanted. They could do worse. Maybe they are. "Dean." Dean blinks, looking up at his father.
"Yeah?" He says, when it seems like his father is waiting for a verbal acknowledgment.
"I know you are worried about him." Dad says softly. "But the Winchester name is well-known in the hunter community. You know that as much as I do. Hell, Dean, you are more than half the reason our name commands the respect it does. And the Wessons know what will happen to them, if word gets out that they dared harm a member of any hunter's family, let alone ours. They won't dare harm a single hair on Sammy's head. I doubt they will even bind him enough to leave a bruise, if they bother tying him up at all. They'll probably keep a gun on him, to control him, but Sam is smart. Smart enough to wait for us, now that he knows we are coming for him. He won't do anything rash, or say something stupid. He'll keep his head down, and they won't do anything to risk their bartering chip."
"He isn't a bartering chip." Dean mutters.
"He is to them, Dean." Dad says pointedly. "Clearly, they want something from you and me. And they know that Sammy is the best way to get to us. So they won't do anything to risk losing that advantage. And they are also smart enough to know that hurting Sam in any way will ensure we don't do a single damn thing that they want from us. He is okay. He will be okay, I promise."
"And what if they do hurt him?" Dean asks, worriedly. His father's eyes flash darkly.
"Then we show them what happens when monsters cross the Winchester's path." Dad promises viciously. He stands up, and Dean follows suit. "Come on. Our hunt can wait until tomorrow, we need to go get some eyes on this warehouse. See if we can come up with a plan." Dean nods once, and, abandoning the books and maps where they lay across the table, the two hunters quickly depart the library, and cross over to the Impala. Climbing in, Dean pulls out the small town map he had snagged when they had first decided to come to Waterville, and quickly directs his father across the city. Parking a few blocks away, to keep the impala safely out of sight, Dean and his dad quickly set out on foot and soon enough leave behind the residential area, heading into the long abandoned industrial park Dean had found.
Although most of the warehouses and factories have been torn down, leaving lonely, empty lots of cracked, weed-infested pavement and long gone-out lamp posts, one large warehouse remains, the metal panels and doors rusted and jagged, windows blown out and the stone and brick sections of the walls crumbling down in various states. It is clearly a dying building, slowly decomposing under the elements and time, and Dean stands by his decision. It would have been the perfect place to lure the vampires to. Now though, they are the ones being lured in, and his baby brother is the bait, so Dean restrains himself from making any comments. Quickly, and with the stealth gained from years and years of non-stop hunting, the two men cross the abandoned lots, and slip without hesitation into the empty warehouse.
The halls are dark, and littered with trash, and broken glass, and warped, rusted metal. They move cautiously, and silently, up the stairs, until they find the cats walk they are searching for, having been in far too many abandoned warehouses at this point to not know that there is always a cats walk, and they are always perfect for a stealthy recon of a situation. They still have a few hours to go, until Emma's meeting time, but the more information they can get, by reconning now, the better prepared they might be for the meeting. Dean shares a sharp look with his father as they cross into the main, open space of the warehouse. Although it has clearly been years, if not decades, since anything has actually been stored in the place, the massive walls of metal shelves remain, some crumbled, some flattened, but most still stand as they were, creating a large, confusing maze of metal slates and poles, waiting to hold crates and boxes that will never been seen in here again.
His father starts moving, ghost-like, across the open space, to keep an eye on the opposite end of the room. Dean knows, without even having to confirm with his father, that they will stay here for exactly two hours. He checks his watch. Four-thirty. So by six-thirty, they should have everything they need. John Winchester lived by the golden rule that recon should never be more or less than two hours. To get in, observe the exits, the terrain, the advantages and disadvantages of the area, and/or the situation, potential civilians and hostiles, and to get back out should never take less, should you miss a critical piece of information, nor longer, should you grow restless, or impatient, or sloppy and make a mistake. Of course, in some situations two hours isn't enough to gather everything, and, as his father likes to remind him, no plan is ever bullet-proof, but the two hours was always enough to get a solid starting place. Plus, this gives them time to sneak out, regroup, report on what the other has discovered, gather what arms they might need, and return in time for their meeting, with at least a dozen plans in place, ready to execute based on the likely moves of their prey, in this case, dangerous, rogue hunters.
Dean settles himself into a corner of the catwalk, using the natural shadows and darkness of the warehouse to help hide him. As hunters, Emma and Jack should have sharp eyes and honed senses for any intruders, but nobody can sense everything all the time, and Dean is hoping that they will think he and Dad are too overcome with emotion regarding Sammy to put together a sophisticated recon job. Not to mention, if they are worth their salt as hunters, they will have their attention focused on Sam. He may not be trained, or experienced, but the kid is fit, wicked fast thanks to his love of running, and more intelligent than any eighteen year old has any right to be. And, he is a kid. As much as he knows Sam will do his best to obey their father, as logical as Sam can be, he is a teenager, in a dangerous, scary situation. Emotions might make him act out, and that unpredictability is something both he and his father are going to have to consider.
Dean studies the warehouse below him, memorizing the layout of the shelves, while identifying every possible way in and out of the room that he can see, occasionally checking his watch. At five pm, Dean hears movements. His eyes flash towards two metal sliding doors as they screech open, and the horrific loud pitch of rusty metal being pried apart echoes through the massive space. Daylight spills in, illuminating the space, as three figures walk into the warehouse. Dean freezes, his eyes instantly latching onto the scrawny kid with the flop of overgrown shaggy hair, assessing his brother swiftly. His arms are bound behind his back, though with ropes, zip ties, or cuffs Dean isn't sure. He also appears to be blindfolded, and is being led forward by a tall, masculine figure. Jack Wesson, Dean presumes, anger surging through him as he sees the strong grip on Sam's arm and what is unmistakably a gun pressed into his back, though he forces it down. Absolutely no good will come out of him acting too quickly right now, certainly not for his brother. Forcing himself to look past the weapon, Dean relaxes when he sees his brother isn't harmed in any way, not that he can tell from this far away at least.
No limps, no hesitant movements of his body, except for the slight pause in his steps, although that is easily explained by the blindfold. Everyone moves more cautiously when they can't see where they are going. Dean studies his clothes, not seeing any stains, or signs of distress. The sight of the gun must have been enough to coerce him into compliance, then, without the need of a fight. Satisfied for the moment that Sam is healthy and whole, Dean returns his attention to the two hunters. Tall and lithe and fit, both siblings have the same pale blonde hair, Jack's cropped short, and Emma's long and thick. Dean knows that up close, they both have blue eyes, though hers are a deeper shade than his. And, unfortunately, both of them are also moving freely, and unencumbered, meaning neither of them are currently wounded, or weakened. Not that they will stay that way for long.
"Stay here with him." Emma's voice, though she speaks relatively softly, still carries easily through the entire warehouse, and Dean shifts ever so slightly, focusing his attention more specifically on her. Unlike Jack, who is dressed in typical hunter fashion, she looks more like she should be at a beach, or something, not holding a kid hostage. Her hair is loose down her back, easily grabbable in a fight, and she is wearing a long, loose sundress that is completely impractical for any kind of hunting. Unless, of course, she wasn't hunting, per say, but being the bait. Suddenly, Dean has a pretty good idea of how his eighteen year old idiot of a brother got himself into this situation, and if there wasn't a gun at his back, Dean might have found the whole thing a little funny. He still might, once Sammy is safe and away from these lunatics. "I'm going to do a quick check."
"Don't take too long." Jack's voice answers. Dean watches Emma head off in his father's direction, so he focuses his gaze on Jack instead. As he watches, Jack pulls his brother over to one of the poles of the metal shelving units. Testing it quickly, by grabbing it and trying to shake it, Jack must decide it is sturdy enough because he slides his gun into the holster at his hip. "You aren't going to give me any trouble, are you Sam?"
"No Sir." Sam says quietly, respectfully. Dean feels a surge of anger, and pride. Pride for Sam's calm obedience, exactly what their father had asked for, in the face of what he has to imagine to be a terrifying, confusing situation for him, and anger for the douchebags who put him in that situation to begin with.
"Good." Jack sounds pleased, and, if Dean is hearing correctly, a little relieved. He turns Sam around, and Dean tenses, watching as Jack unlocks what he can now see to be a set of standard handcuffs from one of Sam's wrists, pulling both arms around the post carefully, before snapping the cuff back into place, effectively binding Sam to the metal shelves. Once Sam is secure, Jack exits the warehouse through the doors they entered through, but is back in mere seconds, carrying portable lamps that he uses to light up the surrounding space. He also sets a cooler and a folding chair down near Sam. "I'm going to take the blindfold off, okay kid? But it goes back on if and when I want it to. Understand?"
"Yes Sir." Sam says, just as quietly as before, but with distinct relief in his voice. Dean can sympathize. Sight is critical, even for civilians like Sammy, so to be deprived of it for any length of time is torture. Dean watches as Jack moves over to the kid, removing the blindfold, and Sam blinks, looking anxiously around as he tries to take in his surroundings.
"Creepy, isn't it?" Jack asks, sitting in the lawn chair, resting his gun in his lap. "Don't worry, you won't be here long. Once daddy and big brother are here, your part in all of this is done."
"What are you going to do with them?" Sam asks softly, fearfully. "With us?"
"You? Nothing. We know you don't have anything to do with your father and brother's… extracurricular activities." Jack answers. "As for them… they have some things to answer for." Stay quiet, Sam, Dean thinks to himself, eyes focused on Jack as he wills the moron to keep his mouth shut.
"What extracurricular activities?" Sam asks. "They are pest controllers, they work and then they come home." Jack laughs loudly.
"Pest controllers? Is that what they told you?" Jack stands up laughing again as he studies Sam. "Well… it's close enough to the truth, I'll give them that." Confusion sweeps across Sam's expression, and Dean shifts restlessly, his eyes narrowing. Jack reaches out, patting Sam's cheek condescendingly. "But no need to worry your head over it, Sammy. If they do what we say, I am sure you can ask them all about that tomorrow when you are back safe and sound in their loving arms." Sam jerks away from the touch, scowling and Jack just grins. "Get comfy. It's going to be a long evening while we wait." Dean's eyes snap up at the sound of footsteps, and he watches Emma return from the shadows. Clearly she has another stash of supplies in the warehouse, probably more than one, because she has changed out of the sundress into much more normal wear for a hunter. Jeans, boots, a tank top and a light jacket. Dean immediately spots the machete hanging off her waist, the hilt of a knife in her boot, and the gun holstered at her waist. Dean and Sam both watch her approach, cautious. She studies Sam, smiling slightly at him.
"Do you need anything, Sammy? We have some water, and some snacks if you are hungry." Emma offers. Sam just shakes his head. "Alright… let us know if you change your mind." She takes up a post by the door, leaning casually against it as she looks out. Jack seems to be doing the same with the rest of the warehouse. Silence falls over the small group, Emma and Jack still, and observant. Unfortunately, Dean notes, it seems they have only gotten better at their job over the past few years. Sam is the only one moving, shifting uncomfortably and twisting his arms behind his back, his eyes flickering between his two captors and the rest of the warehouse, and Dean wishes more than anything he can just drop down, and kill Emma and Jack, and get his baby brother out of here. That he could grab Sam, and tell him everything is going to be okay. But he knows that the slightest mistake right now will only end up hurting Sam, so he forces himself to be as still and watchful as the hunters below, satisfied that, at the very least, they truly don't seem to want to harm Sammy. At least not yet. They don't even seem to want to tell him all about what he and his father really do. They just wait. And watch. So Dean does as well, until, seemingly no time later, his watch ticks over to six-thirty.
I'll be back, Sammy, Dean promises silently, as, ghostlike, he drifts back across the catwalk, each step made without sound, the light, skillful gait of the hunter. Slowly, carefully, he makes his way down the stairs, and out of the warehouse. Outside, the sun is barely beginning to set, casting longer and longer shadows that Dean uses to his advantage. Knowing his father will meet him at the car, Dean keeps moving, keeping his head down, until he finally reaches the road they had stashed the impala on. Moments later, as he arrives at the car, he spots his father jogging towards him.
"Report." Dad orders, as soon as he reaches the car. Dean immediately tells him everything he noticed, including the probable stashes of supplies that Emma and Jack have, and the fact that Sammy is scared, and tied up, but unharmed and, while no doubt suspicious, still in the dark about the real family business. Dad relaxes at the news, nodding when Dean finishes his full sit rep, before giving his own. Like Dean had thought, Emma had gone to a stashed backpack near the corner Dad had been using as a hideout to get her change of clothes, which means that at the very least, they should expect Jack to also have a private stash somewhere.
But other than Emma's brief appearance, there was nothing else that had happened to report, so Dad just tells Dean about the exits he saw, and potential obstacles or even last-ditch weapons they could encounter if they end up at that end of the warehouse for any reason. As unlikely as it might be, they had had to resort to Plan Z too many times before to discount the importance of the information. As they stand over the hood of the car, debating the best way to approach the Wessons, however, Dad's phone rings. He pulls it out, cautious as he studies the number, before answering. "John here." Dean watches, feeling a horrifying sense of déjà vu as the caution is replaced by fury, and anxiety, and Dean is suddenly positive that he knows who is on the other end of the call. "We agreed on nine." Dad suddenly growls. He pauses, listening, hate flashing through his expression. "Fine. Give us ten minutes." He snaps the cellphone closed, letting out a loud string of curse words.
"What is it?" Dean asks, fighting back a rising sense of dread.
"They want us to meet now." Dad curses.
"So… Plan S?" Dean asks. Dad nods once, sharply, before climbing into the driver's seat of the impala, Dean easily sliding into the passenger seat. Slamming their doors, Dad starts up the car, and begins steering her towards the warehouse they just left, Dean frowning out the window. He hated Plan S. It was designed for situations exactly like this. When they had an assigned meet up time with someone or something, that suddenly got changed, it basically meant be prepared for anything. They have no time now to pick the best route, the best tactic to manipulate the situation to their advantage. Which, no doubt, is exactly Emma's intention. Instead, they have to go in as is, and be prepared to adapt to whatever is thrown their way on the spot. Dean really, really hates Plan S. Minutes later, Dean and his father pull up to the warehouse, driving across the empty lot they had just crossed on foot, his father heading towards the doors Emma and Jack had used, and that are still standing wide open. Shutting off the car, Dad looks at Dean and he nods, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out the two guns they always keep up front for quick, easy access. Of course, they both have a couple knives on them at all times, but the weight of the guns helps both of them feel more in control, more confident that they can act quickly if they need to. Climbing out of the car, Dean lets his father take the lead striding into the warehouse.
Somehow, walking in like this, despite Dean's familiarity with the warehouse, and knowledge of the space, and everything he and his father learned during their recon, everything feels entirely different. Maybe because now they are on equal footing with the enemy, instead of looking down on the situation from the safety and security of the high ground. Or maybe it is because, from here, Dean is only a few feet from his bound and helpless little brother, and the threats standing guard by his side seem so much larger. As he and his dad walk into the warehouse, Dean's eyes take in everything. The lamps lighting the space, the cooler, the chair. Sam, unharmed but clearly shaken, and confused, handcuffed to the same pole from earlier, his eyes once again blindfolded. Jack is at Sam's side, gun out and pressed to Sam's head, while Emma stands a few feet ahead of them, grinning.
"Hello Johnny. Dean." Emma says pleasantly. "Long time no see."
"Emma." John says coolly. At his voice, Sam stiffens, and Dean can see the desperation crossing his face, even with his eyes covered.
"Dad?" He calls. Jack presses the gun a little bit harder into Sam's head, and Dean glares at him murderously, the hate in his eyes only intensifying when he opens his mouth.
"Shh, Sammy. The adults are talking." Jack mocks.
"It's okay Sam." Dad calls, glaring at Jack with as much venom in his eyes and tone as Dean feels in his. "Nothing is going to happen."
"Not to him, anyways." Emma says. "As for you two…"
"What do you want?" Dean snarls, growing more and more impatient, although his eyes never leave the gun trained to his little brother's temple.
"To clean up the mess you left on that last job we worked together." Emma says.
"We left?" John raises his eyebrows. "The one you caused and then we cleaned up, you mean?"
"The one you thought you cleaned up Johnny." Emma answers. "Turns out, you missed a few… pests." She grins, her smile widening as another set of teeth descend from her mouth. Dean's eyes flash to the set of fangs as a horrible understanding comes over him. He hadn't arrived in time to save Jack and Emma from being turned. And then, another horrible realization washes over him. Vampires sense things better than humans. So they both knew that he and his father had been here earlier. They knew the entire time. From the way Dad has frozen solid beside him, Dean knows he is coming to the exact same realization. The silence between them spirals horribly, and Sam shifts uncomfortably as Jack smiles, showing off his own set of fangs, and for the first time Dean is grateful for the blindfold, keeping Sammy from seeing any of this nightmare.
"Dad? Dean?" Sammy whispers, the fear of not knowing what is going on driving him to speak again, even as Jack once again presses the gun further against his skin. This time it is Emma who shushes Sam, pressing a finger to his lips, before stroking his cheek.
"It's okay Sammy." Emma says mockingly. "Daddy and Dean are still here. But they are going to come with me, nice and quiet, while Jack keeps you company. We have a lot to talk about."
"If Jack is staying, so am I." Dean declares. If they had been human, maybe he would have considered going with Emma, but now that he knows the truth, there is no way in hell he is leaving one of the monsters alone with Sammy.
"You really don't get a say in this Dean-o." Jack drawls. "See, I'm the one with the gun."
"You and I both know what happens if you pull that trigger, Jack." Dean threatens. True, he doesn't have a machete on him to take the bastard's head off, but he has a knife, and a lot of pent up rage. He'll make do. Emma studies him as his dad shifts restlessly beside him.
"It's okay, Jack." Emma says after a moment. "Dean can stay. He knows the situation, and I doubt he is stupid enough to do anything, knowing exactly what we can do to his brother." Dean meets her sneering gaze, ice in his veins and hate in his eyes at her words. "Besides, maybe it is better if just Johnny and I speak anyways. Grown up, to grown up. But if Dean tries anything, put his brother in the ground." The direct threat sets Dean's teeth on edge, and he is half tempted to pull out his gun and empty his clip into her on principle. But everyone here, except for Sammy, knows that bullets won't do jack all to her. "Same goes for you, Jonny. Try anything, and it is Sammy who pays the price. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes." Dad says, his voice flat, and emotionless, and absolutely deadly.
"Dean?" Emma asks pointedly.
"Yes." Dean says reluctantly. She beams, letting her fangs descend once more.
"Excellent. Then, Johnny, if you would?" Emma says, gesturing towards the doors they came through. Dean exchanges a long, dark look with his father, nodding his head once. His father walks out, Emma following after him, and he turns his attention back to Jack, who has shifted so that the gun is now down by his side, but his other arm is slung across Sam's shoulders. Sam stands stiff, and frozen, trying not to move, but Dean can sense his brother's discomfort. The gesture, while casual, is undoubtedly threatening, even Sam must be sensing that. And he doesn't even know what kind of strength Jack is hiding. The kind that would let him crush Sam's neck in a second flat. Unwilling to ever let Sam know exactly how much danger he is, Dean speaks in his softest, most reassuring voice.
"It's okay, Sammy. You're fine. I promise, everything is going to be okay." He promises, hoping to God that he can actually follow through on it.