Season Two

Episode Twenty-One: Sacrifices

By Tree

Part Two

Remote Cabin
Cable, Wisconsin

John struggled to find a more comfortable position on the hard cabin floor. His chest ached from where Sid’s bullet had hit the right side, struck a rib and apparently glanced off.

Pretty damn lucky, he thought, otherwise I’d likely be dead.

Still, it hurt like hell to breathe and lying with his hands tied behind his back certainly wasn’t helping matters. He rolled over to his left, finding that taking some of the pressure off the wound helped a little, but it also put him face to face with Sid.

The broad-shouldered hunter sat at a nearby table, his booted feet propped up on the edge as he watched John’s movement with a smile. He tilted back a cup, savoring the contents before looking again his restrained former comrade.

“Ya know, John. After all the stories I heard about you, after seeing you in action back in Tennessee, you sure don’t look like much lying there on the floor.”

“Yeah, well, untie me and we can play who’s the better hunter,” John snapped.

Sid laughed. “Now what kind of a fool do you think I am, John? You know, that little standoff that you and Singer pulled back in South Dakota? You cost me a couple of good men. We really should have killed you both then, but I made the mistake of thinking that you two weren’t really the target.”

Rising from his chair, Sid took a couple of slow steps towards John. Sighing deeply, he continued. “But, I’ve taken care of that little oversight now. I’ve captured you and now Bobby is nothing more than overcooked hamburger. Such a shame, I used to really like Bobby. We had some good times together, he and I.”

“You bastard,” John snarled, but Sid only laughed more.

“You know the best part? It’s only a matter of time before we get our hands on those freakish boys of yours. Gonna stop them before they cost any more lives.”

John lashed out, kicking at Sid with his feet while he struggled against the ropes that held him. Anger, frustration and fear for his sons fueled him as he tried to reach the other hunter. He felt the rope abrade the skin from his wrists, felt the sticky wetness of blood as it began to seep from the wounds, but he didn’t care. Nothing was worse than the pain he was feeling inside, the pain of helplessness, the pain at the thought of losing a friend, or worse, of losing his boys.

Sid waited, stepping aside and out of reach of the thrashing captive. He watched until John dropped back to the floor, breathless and defeated. He closed the space once again, kneeling down so that his face was within inches of the eldest of the Winchester men.

“I understand that they’re your boys. I never had kids of my own, but I suppose it’s gotta be tough admitting when your own flesh and blood is working for the other team. I mean, even worse when they both go against you,” he taunted.

“My sons have never turned against me, never turned against the fight. All they’ve ever lived for was bringing down that sonofabitch Haris. All they’ve ever done is try to help people,” John refuted.

“That’s not what I saw, not what everyone saw back in Tennessee. You’ve got one son that’s having demonic visions and another that’s possessed and working for the same thing you’ve been hunting for a lifetime. You expect me, all of us, to believe that your boys don’t need brought down just like all the other evil shit we hunt?”

John sucked in a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t change Sid’s mind, even understanding on some level why the hunter felt the way he did, but there was no way he was going to let him think that Sam and Dean were nothing more than sick animals to be slaughtered.

“Sid, look, Haris is after my boys, Sammy in particular. He used Dean to try to get to Sam, but Dean isn’t possessed anymore. You know for yourself that the people that become possessed aren’t responsible for their actions. It nearly killed Dean to think about what he’d almost done to his brother.”

“Tomato, tomatoes. Call it whatever you like, John, make whatever excuses you need in order to sleep better at night. It doesn’t change what has to be done. There’s a war coming alright, and your sons are the enemy,” Sid announced. He stood back up and walked over toward the cabin door, grabbing a rifle from the nearby gun rack and cocking it.

“Sid, please. You gotta believe me. I can save my son. I’ve found a way to destroy Haris forever and keep him from getting Sam. Just let me loose and I swear, me, my boys, you’ll never see hide nor hair of us again if I can pull this off,” John pleaded.

Sid stopped, turning away from the door as he looked at the man before him. There was sincerity in the hazel eyes, dark brows raised as the hunter begged for the life of his children. Still, Sid was a hunter too, and too many lives had been lost for him to turn away from this path now.

“John, I wish I could believe you. I truly wish I could. But you’d do anything for those boys, even lie about that damn demon.”

John merely nodded in agreement. “You’re right, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save my sons. But it’s true, I swear to you. I can kill Haris once and for all and Dean is the key.”

Singer Salvage Yard
Early Evening

Dean knelt in the burned out shell of the house. Memories flooded him as he sorted through the charred remains. This place had been like a second home, or maybe more appropriately, like going to an uncle’s house. Except this uncle was a grease monkey that was into weapons, rituals and demon lore. A pretty damn cool uncle in Dean’s opinion.

And now that “uncle” was gone, burned beyond recognition by someone or something that wanted not only Bobby Singer, but apparently John Winchester, out of the way. That there was a connection between Bobby’s death and his dad’s capture, Dean was certain. But that knowledge didn’t make the young man feel any better. In fact, the anger inside him had overtaken the fear and was now threatening to explode like contents under too much pressure.

Dean looked over at the tarp-covered form lying just beyond in the grass. He glanced to see where Sam was before swiping angrily at eyes that seemed determined to mist over. It was just the final straw! Too many lives lost, too many friends dead and gone. The sacrifices for the job just kept mounting and mounting with so very little success to show for it in return.

Standing abruptly, the anger he’d been trying to contain spilled over the walls and Dean lashed out. Picking up another of the blackened boards, he swung it batter-style at a lone standing section of the frame. Again and again he struck, over and over until the wood finally succumbed and fractured in half.

Panting heavily, sweat dropping from his forehead, Dean looked over his shoulder to see Sam staring at him. His younger brother’s eyes were filled with concern, but he remained standing in place amid the rubble that he’d been picking through.

Don’t come near me! Dean silently warned, his own eyes dark and still filled with the rage borne of grief.

He looked about the area, sizing up the next target of his fury. With the remainder of the burnt plank in his hands, he strode purposefully toward the nearest stack of junked cars. Breathing heavily, his arm drew back as he prepared to unleash once again.

“Dean, stop!” Sam quietly yet firmly ordered, grabbing his brother’s upper arm with both his hands.

Dean glared back at Sam, trying to pull away, intent on continuing his destruction, but his brother held fast.

“Dammit Sam, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let go of me right now,” he warned, his voice a low growl.

“No, Dean. This doesn’t do anyone any good. We need to figure out what happened here. It’s obvious that whoever or whatever killed Bobby, that it’s tied to what’s happened to Dad. We need to look around and there might be some sort of clue as to what’s going on. We need all the information we can get.”

Dean turned on his brother, the board still raised in his hand threateningly. His anger was palpable as he glared at Sam, muscles tense as he resisted his brother’s restraint.

“There’s nothing here, Sam. Bobby’s dead, the place is burned, everything’s gone. We don’t know any more now than we did yesterday,” he shouted, pulling once more to free himself from his brother’s strong grasp.

“We’re gonna get him back, Dean,” Sam simply replied, holding firm to his brother’s arm. He locked his eyes on Dean’s, watching as the green narrowed and then finally softened. He felt the anger drain from his brother like a departing tide, felt the muscles in Dean’s arm tremble then go lax.

“Sam, I…” Dean began, his voice cracking as his breath snagged in his chest. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to find Dad. I don’t know if he’s alive and I don’t know if I can take it if he’s not. The confession went unvoiced, but the emotion was starkly evident on the older sibling’s face.

“I know, Dean, I know,” Sam said softly, his hand now moving from where it had restrained his brother’s arm upward to his shoulder in a gesture that he could only hope Dean would accept.

There was a moment of utter quiet in the former friend’s yard as the brothers just stood. Dean’s head down, the rage gone, he hid from Sam’s watchful concern as he gained control, reaching deep inside for the sarcastic, defiant persona he knew needed to reappear. Sam said nothing, merely watched as the walls came back up, as Dean buried the fear and grief becoming the ever resilient older brother, protector, and hunter that he embodied the other three hundred and sixty four days out of a year.

The silence was broken a second later when there was a loud crash of metal from behind a nearby mound of wrecks. Both brothers spun toward the noise, weapons drawn, hunter's senses on full alert. Dean motioned for Sam to move off to the left as he skirted in a low crouch toward the right. When his brother was in place, Dean signaled Sam to cover him as he sprang forward toward where the noise had sounded.

He hovered low behind the fender of a rusted and badly damaged old Dodge pickup, listening intently as the sound of scuffing footfalls drew closer. Dean nodded over to Sam, alerting his younger brother that he was about to break cover. Bolting up from behind the truck he sprang into the opening between the rows of old cars. Gun held out before him, his finger applying a fraction less than the amount of pressure needed to pull the trigger, Dean came face to face with a ghost.

He swallowed hard, his brain not fully comprehending what his eyes were telling it. When realization finally set in, Dean’s hand holding the .45 dropped to his side as he advanced forward in a rush.

“Bobby!” he exclaimed, grabbing hold of the older hunter in a fierce embrace.

Sam hurried forward, eyes wide in disbelief, one arm quickly thrown around his friend’s shoulder as he felt relief wash over him.

“Sam, Dean. What are you doin’ here?” Bobby asked, pulling back from the brothers and staggering slightly.

Dean looked the man over with concern, his hands gliding over Bobby’s head and continuing down to the tattered flannel shirt. The wounded hunter was covered in blood, dirt and soot, the combination creating a frightful mask of his face. Dean grabbed him by the arm, eliciting a groan of pain from the older man.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, helping guide Bobby over toward the seat of the open pickup.

Once seated, Sam darted off to grab some water as Dean pulled the pocket knife from his jeans and began cutting away at the bloodied shirt that covered Bobby’s left arm.

“What happened here?” he asked, his attention focused on the bullet wound and the exposed skin that was reddened and singed. “How’d you get out? We found a body, God Bobby, we thought it was you.”

Bobby grimaced as Dean inadvertently tugged at a piece of clothing that was stuck to one of many small lacerations. Sam quickly returned and offered him the bottle of water. He drank greedily, parched throat relishing the cool liquid.

“They hit me around noon, probably a half dozen of ’em all armed. Hunters and that bitch, Rennie Lofton,” Bobby began. “I was out working on a truck when the first round missed my skull by a coupla inches. I managed to get to the house, was trading shots with them when that fellow came busting in the back door. I went after him right about the time someone tossed a grenade in through the front window. Just managed to shoot him and hit the stairs to the cellar when the place went up. Got out through the basement escape and hid out in the woods till they left.”

“Bobby, hunters? Why?” Sam asked, brows furrowed as he struggled to comprehend the revelation.

“Yeah. Gotta say, I was a bit surprised. Didn’t think they’d be coming back after your dad and I sent ’em packing with their tails between their legs last time. But, I guess they don’t forget.”

“They came after you again? Like before?” Dean asked. “Because of us?”

Bobby was silent for a moment, sensing the anger that had rapidly built in the elder boy.

“Well, it wasn’t the same bunch, but like I said, Rennie Lofton was leading them and she was with us on the assault on the compound. She was spouting off nonsense about me siding with you and your dad, turning against the cause,” Bobby recounted.

“Against the cause?” Sam exclaimed. “What the hell? They think that Dad isn’t on their side? The simple fools, they don’t know crap about our dad.”

“It isn’t about Dad, Sammy,” Dean cut in. “It’s us. Isn’t it, Bobby?”

“’Fraid so, son. This bunch that were there at Tennessee, they saw things and they got spooked,” Bobby answered.

“Spooked because of me?” Sam demanded. “They tried to kill you because of me, because they saw me have a vision? This is going back to that?”

Bobby’s head went down, unable to face the younger brother. While he didn’t necessarily understand the “visions” that Sam had or how and why the things he saw seemed to come to pass, Bobby knew all the way to the marrow of his bones that the kid wasn’t evil. He’d watched these two brothers grow from gangly, quiet kids into well-trained and respectable young men. Despite Dean’s best efforts to appear hard-assed and callous, and Sam’s tendency to be the reluctant hunter, Bobby knew that there weren’t two more caring, self-sacrificing people in the world. It burned him to think that Rennie and her bunch had let their fear of the unknown turn into prejudice toward Dean and Sam.

“Bobby, I think they got our dad too,” Dean announced.

“That’s why you’re here? What’s happened to John?”

“Sam and I were in North Dakota, got a call on my cell last night from my dad. He said he was in northern Wisconsin hunting a hodag and needed our help.”

“A hodag?” Bobby exclaimed laughing abruptly. “No such thing, your daddy knows that.”

“Yeah, so do we, but he said he needed the Colt and the special bullet to take the thing down. We don’t have the Colt. It’s been lost since we tangled with those cult freaks over there in Clark County. Dad knows that. And the special bullet was nothing but a fake that Dad left with us. Anyway, I remembered the time that you and him went to Rhinelander to supposedly hunt one. I thought you might know something that could lead us to Dad,” Dean explained.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious that whoever Rennie is working with probably has your dad. I’m bettin’ that they’re holding him to get you boys. Your dad was trying to tell you that whatever he said or maybe whatever you were told was a lie, like the hodag and the bullet.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I thought, but we don’t know where to even start looking for him. Hell Bobby, they tried to kill you, maybe they’ve already killed our dad,” Dean suggested.

“And this is all because of me,” Sam added in, shaking his head. “It’s always because of me. Hell, it isn’t bad enough that I’ve got a demon that’s after me, now we’ve got hunters trying to kill us and everyone around us too?”

“It’s not your fault, Sammy. We’ve gone round and round about this before. It’s no different with these jokers. Face it, bro, it’s you and me against the world, well… and everything else in heaven and hell apparently,” Dean joked, trying to refocus his brother’s attention away from Sam’s usual conclusion that he was the target of some demonic plot and therefore everything bad that happened was somehow directly related to his perceived connection to the yellow-eyed demon. “Hell, dude, look at it this way. When everybody’s your enemy, you can shoot first and well… then keep on shooting some more.”

Sam smiled slightly. Leave it to Dean to put a twisted sort of perspective on things.

“Okay,” Sam started with a deep breath. “So where does that leave us now?”

Dean looked from his brother to a haggard Bobby, the older hunter beginning to slump against the seat.

“Well, to start, let’s get the old man somewhere where we can patch him up. Not like we can stay here any time soon,” Dean proposed.

“Hey, watch who you’re calling old,” Bobby huffed, straightening a little with a groan. “I can still kick your ass from one end of this yard to the other.”

“Yeah, well, you got anything left around here you want to take with you? Like maybe a spare ball cap somewhere, 'cause Bobby, it’s almost creepy seeing you with nothing on your head,” Dean said, laughing while Sam tried to contain a snicker beside him.

Bobby glared, swatting at Dean’s offered hand and standing up on his own. “You gotta lot of nerve givin’ me crap about my ball caps when I’m always seeing you in that chunk of dead cow you call a jacket. And you,” he said, turning to focus on Sam. “Hell boy, you couldn’t jam a hat on that head if your life depended on it, all that damn hair, looking like a friggin’ giant sheepdog.”

The older hunter continued to mutter more complaints as the brothers closed in on either side of him, each placing a hand under his arms to help him to the Impala. He allowed them to help him to the waiting car, biding the assistance without a grumble. Once inside the back seat, Bobby looked out across the still smoldering debris that had once been his home.

If these hunters wanted to declare war on the Winchesters, then they had just made a serious mistake by involving me, he thought to himself as Dean started the car and slowly pulled away.

Motel
Some time Later

Bobby lay in one of the twin beds snoring loudly while Sam hovered over the laptop and Dean hovered over Sam’s shoulder. They had driven a few miles to a motel, stopping mostly because Bobby’s injuries needed attention and because none of them had eaten since earlier in the morning.

The wound to the older hunter’s shoulder was serious, but the bullet had managed to avoid bone and go clean through without involving any major vessels. Once it was cleaned, not withstanding a fair amount of foul language on Bobby’s part, Dean stitched both the entrance and exit before applying a thick bandage. It was the most annoying first aid job Dean had ever completed, each of his actions watched over and commented on by the patient.

Looking over at Bobby now, Dean breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that their long-time friend was finally asleep. He turned his attention back to Sam’s search on the computer.

“So? Anything?” he asked.

Sam returned an exhausted groan, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms over his head. He sat forward again, rubbing reddened eyes before standing to pour another cup of coffee from the motel room pot.

“Nothing Dean. Other than mention of so-called Hodag sightings in Rhinelander and Dodgeville, which of course were all fake, there’s nothing else that seems to mean anything,” he replied finally.

“Well, Dad did say he was hunting in Northern Wisconsin. Rhinelander is pretty far up there. Maybe he was trying to tell us he was there?” Dean guessed.

“I dunno, even if he was in Rhinelander, that’s a lot of ground to cover. Can you even guess how many cabins and hunting lodges are back in those woods? He could be anywhere.”

Dean grunted in agreement, coming over toward Sam and pouring his own cup of coffee. He grimaced when he found the coffee to be lukewarm, tossing the remainder of the contents into the nearby sink, the cup clattering right behind the discarded liquid.

“I was thinking, Dean. What if we call someone else for help? I mean, Bobby’s hurt and we can’t ask him to do any more for us,” Sam suggested.

“Who, Sam? I mean, who can we trust besides Bobby?”

“Well, Kyle for one.”

“Moses? You’re kidding! He’s no hunter. What’s he gonna do? Pray for a divine light to shine down from heaven and mark the way to Dad?” Dean snapped.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be a smartass. You got any better ideas?”

Dean moved over toward the second twin bed, collapsing down to sit on the edge, his head dropping into his hands.

“I sure wish Caleb or Pastor Jim were still around,” he said wistfully, hands rubbing at his temples. “We’re running out of friends, Sammy.”

“What about Jefferson? Dad used to go to him, trusted him. Maybe we could call him,” Sam suggested.

“Hmm, maybe. But he was with them in Tennessee too. Can we trust him?”

Sam merely shrugged. “Hell, Dean. You’re asking me?”

“Yeah, well now would be a nice time for you to do your Psychic Friends impression. I’d rather rely on one of your weird visions than anyone else,” Dean said jokingly.

“That’s not funny, Dean. You know it doesn’t work that way.”

“I know, dude. I just don’t know what else to do,” Dean admitted. “Call Jefferson, I guess.”

Sam nodded, reaching for his Treo on the small table. He scrolled through the contacts list until he came to the number for the Texan. Tapping the call button, he waited as the phone rang on the other end and a deep voice answered.

Dean listened silently as his brother talked with the hunter. The conversation seemed to be fairly one-sided with Sam recounting what had happened in the past twenty four hours, culminating with the younger sibling asking Jefferson for help in finding their dad.

When he hung up a few moments later, Dean waited, breath held, for Sam to fill him in. “Well?” he asked anxiously.

“Jefferson said he hasn’t heard from Dad in a while. He hasn’t seen Rennie Lofton since Tennessee. He doesn’t know who might be after us in addition to her, but he said he’d check some things out and get back to us if he found anything,” Sam answered.

Dean rose, rubbing the back of his neck as he paced across the small room. “So we’re still at square one? I swear, I feel like I’m going to fly out of my skin.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. After everything we’ve been through, as if we didn’t have enough problems with Haris, now we have to have humans trying to kill us,” Sam agreed. “You know, maybe we should have been more careful when we were hunting Bloody Mary. I think all those mirrors we broke are coming back to haunt us.”

Dean laughed, slapping his brother gently on the shoulder. “Dude, I think we were screwed long before that.”

He was about to speak again when his cell phone began playing the familiar music that signaled an incoming call. Dean looked across the room to Sam, suspicion and fear flashing across his face. He took the three steps across the small room that brought him to the nightstand, where he had earlier laid his cellular.

“Dad?” Dean asked, seeing the familiar number on the caller ID as he quickly answered.

“Son,” John began. “Have you got the Colt?”

“Yeah Dad, we uh, we got the Colt. Bobby had it. Was keeping it safe. We picked it up from him tonight,” Dean replied.

Dean heard his father groan with pain, could hear another man’s voice and the tell-tale sound of grunts as someone struck John.

“Dad! Are you okay?” he asked in a panic.

There was a long silence as he waited for an answer, but instead of his father’s voice returning to the phone, a gruffer tone came across the cell.

“Listen, Dean. Let’s cut the bullshit here. You know we have your dad and we know that Bobby Singer is still alive,” Sid stated. “So, this is how it’s gonna be. We don’t want John and we’re willing to release him, unharmed, if you and your brother come in.”

“You bastard. What the hell have we done to you?” Dean demanded. He was answered with the muffled sound of another grunt of pain.

“Did you hear that, Dean? That was Lou. Lou is about six foot five and nearly three hundred pounds of pure muscle. Lou doesn’t care much for traitors and he doesn’t seem to be real fond of John. Now, I have a real hard time controlling Lou, so it might be in your best interest to shut up and listen to my offer before Lou turns your dad into the vegetable of your choice,” Sid threatened.

Dean squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his free hand clenching tightly at his side as he fought down the urge to crush the cell phone beneath his boots. He took a deep breath, holding it as his fingernails drew blood from where they dug into the inside of his palm.

“Are you still there, Dean?”

“Yes. Tell me what you want,” Dean replied in submission.

There was a chuckle on the other end before Sid continued.

“See, now was that really so hard? Alright. There’s a truck stop just outside La Crosse on I-90. Look for a green pickup. You boys be there by midnight or we’ll send your daddy back to you in a box.”

“Okay, we’ll be there. Now let me talk to my dad.”

“Midnight, Dean. You might want to get into that fast black car of yours and see if you can avoid the state police. The clock’s ticking.”

Before Dean could respond, Sid cut off the call, the cell going dead in his hand. In anger, Dean flung the phone against the headboard, not breaking it but startling Bobby who had already woken to the loud conversation.

“What did they say, Dean? Is Dad okay?” Sam asked worriedly.

“He’s alive, Sammy, but they said we have to meet at a truck stop outside of La Crosse or they’ll kill him. Said they don’t want him, just us.”

“You don’t believe that for a minute do you?” Bobby interjected, sitting up with a soft groan. “You gotta know it’s a trap. No way are they gonna let your dad go even if you boys do show up at that meeting place.”

“Dammit, don’t you think I don’t know that, Bobby? What the hell else am I supposed to do?” Dean demanded.

“Stop and think, boy. Your daddy taught you better than that. Quit thinking with your heart and start thinking with the damn brain in your head,” Bobby threw back. “You boys are hunters, start acting like it.”

“What do we do, Bobby?” Sam asked, quietly.

“Well, you don’t go rushing headlong into a trap. Besides, they aren’t gonna kill your dad so long as they can use him to get to you boys. Quit letting them push you. Become the hunter instead of the hunted.”

Dean huffed air, slamming his fist against the nearby doorjamb. “I say we go to the meet and just shoot the shit outta anyone that shows up.”

He turned to see the looks of disapproval coming from both Sam and Bobby. Sighing, he acquiesced, turning his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, so we wait?” he asked.

Bobby nodded. “Let them come to you. Draw them in.”

“Listen, Dean. I don’t like sitting here any more than you do. But I think Bobby’s right. We both know it’s a trap, Dad’s already warned us. We know that they have the firepower. We need a plan,” Sam concurred.

“Fine,” Dean conceded. “We plan. But I need real coffee and some food if we’re gonna be planning all night.”

“I’ll go get us something,” Sam readily offered. “Give me the keys to the Impala.”

Dean feigned being wounded. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“Nothing to do with trust, bro. I just know you too well.” Sam answered, snagging the keys from his brother’s hand as he grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door.

Remote Cabin
Cable, Wisconsin

Sid closed the cell phone, laying it down on the table before turning back to face John Winchester. He waved off the large mound of humanity that was Lou Chambers. The muscular hunter grinned sadistically, wiping the bloody knuckles of his right hand against his jeans as he strode from the room.

Looking down on John, Sid grimaced in sympathy. Blood seeped from his nose and mouth, one eye was already turning a violent shade of purple and blue as it began to swell.

“Sorry ’bout that, John. Lou does love to use his fists,” he began. “But hey, the good news is that it’s just a matter of time now. Your boys are probably bustin’ ass right now to get to that truckstop by midnight. I told ya they’d never let Dad die.”

“You don’t have them yet, Morrow.”

“Soon enough, John, soon enough. Ya know, I’m feeling generous tonight. I’ll let you decide. Should I just kill them right there at the truckstop so you don’t have to see or would you like one last family reunion before we put a slug in both their heads?”

John tensed every muscle with rage. Behind his back, the rope around his wrists gave slightly. He’d been working at the bindings for the past several hours, not heeding the damage to his flesh or the resulting pain. He was desperate, needing now more than ever to free himself and try to get to his sons.

“What? No belligerent comment? No defiant retort?” Sid taunted.

John waited until his captor had turned his back and with a final burst of energy, he yanked his hands apart, severing the rope. In a continuous motion, he rolled to his feet, right hand swinging wide and catching Sid square in the face as the man reacted to the movement.

Sid was a fairly large man, but John Winchester wasn’t small and he had been storing up every ounce of anger, frustration and fear for the past two days. He put all of that emotion into the first punch, dropping the brawny hunter to the cabin floor, dazed and with blood pouring from his nose.

John didn’t hesitate. He rushed to the door, pulling it open and heading down the steps, missing one or two but staying on his feet. When he reached the ground, he took a moment to look around, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dark, moonless night.

He spotted the pickup truck parked at the edge of the gravel drive and trotted off towards it, cautiously peering over his shoulder for any pursuit.

John had just gotten into the front of the cab and was beginning to pull down the wires from the steering column when the shot rang out. He felt the bullet slam into his left arm, throwing him backwards on the bench seat.

He felt the warmth of fresh blood cascade down his arm, pain causing his vision to blur for a moment. John bit down on his lip, knowing that he needed to get back to work hotwiring the truck, needing to get free of his captors.

“Goin’ somewhere, Johnny?” Sid snarled, the muzzle of his gun inches from John’s head.

John considered trying for the gun, figuring he could take Sid and if not, then he had lost nothing. His plan was abruptly thwarted when Lou appeared at Sid’s side, reaching in and dragging John from the truck.

He hit the ground, the impact driving air from his lungs and reawakening the pain from his earlier gunshot wound.

“That was a pretty stupid move, Winchester. I oughta smash your face in for breaking my nose, but I think I’ll just let Lou have his fun.”

John felt himself being pulled to his feet just before the behemoth casually tossed him forward across the yard. The process was repeated several more times, each leaving John weaker from the abuse.

In a short time, he found himself back to the cabin, lifted and thrown through the door to collapse on the floor bleeding and dazed. Sid crouched down to meet him at eye level.

“This was never about you, John. I told you that. But now, I’m gonna enjoy seeing the great John Winchester cut down to size.”

Sid emphasized his statement by slamming his fist into John’s face. Blood splattered across the hardwood floor as his lip erupted from the punch.

The beaten hunter managed to lift his head to glare back at his former colleague. “You can do whatever you want to me. It’ll never make you the better man,” John hissed back, spitting out a mouthful of blood that struck the front of Sid’s shirt.

Sid’s eyes went wide with anger. He stood up, pausing for a split second as he saw the defiance in the face of the man before him. He drew back his foot and kicked John brutally in the gut, watching him fold over in pain as he gasped for air.

“You’re a dead man, John. And you know what’s even more satisfying? Knowing that I’m gonna wipe out every damn Winchester male before the sun rises!”

Motel
South Dakota

Sam returned from the nearby all-night diner. With both hands full of food and fresh coffee, he banged on the door to the motel room with his elbow, waiting for Dean to let him in. Several seconds passed and when the knock went unanswered, Sam kicked at the door, using his foot to pound louder.

He heard a low grumble and the door suddenly flew open to reveal a bleary-eyed Bobby Singer leaning against the interior jamb. Moving inside, Sam deposited the food and drinks on the nearby table as Bobby staggered back to the bed.

The younger Winchester quickly glanced about the small room seeking his older brother. The other bed remained empty and the door to the bathroom was wide open, the light off.

“Bobby, where’s Dean?” he asked suspiciously.

The tired hunter looked about the room and shrugged.

“I dunno. I was half asleep and he said something about getting a soda from the machine,” Bobby recalled.

“How long ago was that?”

“Jeez, Sam. I’m not sure. I kinda fell back asleep until you started making that god-awful racket on the door. I guess it probably wasn’t too long after you left. How long you been gone?”

“About thirty minutes,” Sam replied, slamming the keys to the Impala down on the table in anger. “Damn him!”

Bobby looked at the young man, confused by the outburst. “You thinking Dean took off for that meet?” he asked. “But you had the Impala.”

Sam shot him an irritated look. “This is my brother we’re talking about. He probably had a car hotwired and was on the highway before I even placed the order for the food. Dammit Dean! I shoulda known he was up to something. He gave in way too easy.”

“Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d go off like that after he agreed that it was a trap,” Bobby said apologetically.

“Aw, Bobby. I’m not mad at you. I should have known better. Hell, sometimes I wish there was something like a Devil’s Trap that would hold my brother in one place. But no, he’s always gotta be the one to throw caution to the wind. Nothing can stop the invincible Dean Winchester. I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to beat his ass for all the times he’s pulled crap like this,” Sam ranted.

“Well, if we get going, we might be able to catch up to him,” Bobby offered. “Maybe we can get there in time to keep his ass and the rest of him from getting killed. You know, so you can kick it once this is all over.”

Sam turned to face his friend. He chuckled, grateful that the older man had the presence of mind to stay focused on the current problem instead of getting sidetracked by irritation as he had just done. Really, hadn’t he had the fleeting thought when he pulled away from the motel that it would be just like Dean to take off while he was gone? He should have trusted the voice in his head when it had tried to warn him.

“Okay, let’s at least take the coffee with us. I suppose Dean probably snagged the weapons bag. Course, we’ve got others in the trunk,” he suggested as he moved quickly through the room gathering their remaining belongings.

While Bobby pulled on his boots, Sam finished collecting the laptop and his own gear bag. With the backpack tossed across his shoulder, he was about to go and offer the injured hunter an arm to lean on as they headed for the door.

Just as Sam was about to reach for the knob, a loud pounding reverberated through the thin wood, shaking the door as it strained against the frame.

“Sam and Dean Winchester. Know you’re in there,” a booming voice shouted from the other side as the hard pounding continued.

Sam looked over to Bobby; the older man’s face was filled with trepidation, mirroring Sam’s as both men reached for their weapons.

The hunters had found them!

McKay’s Truck Stop
La Crosse, Wisconsin

Dean eased the Dodge Charger into the parking lot, carefully stopping between two large semis that had pulled in for the night. He killed the engine to the car, relaxing his grip on the steering wheel for the first time in nearly three hundred miles.

Climbing out of the new car, he raised his eyebrows in surprised appreciation. It had been tough finding a car to steal that had the power to get him the distance in such a short time and he’d felt lucky when he’d come across the shiny silver automobile parked at the end of the motel parking lot.

He might have felt guilty for stealing the car had it not been for the dire need. Besides, it was all Sam’s fault anyway for taking the Impala. Dean smiled, picturing the look on his brother’s face when he returned to find him gone. Served his brother right for thinking he had been so smart and had prevented Dean from going after their dad.

Dean looked at his watch. Nearly midnight, it left him no time to do any reconnaissance before he was to meet with his dad’s captors. He knew it was a trap and that knowledge at least gave him a small edge.

While it would have been nice to have had Sam or Bobby for backup, at least this way, Dean knew he could fire and move without concern. Like he had told Sam, when everyone is your enemy, you don’t have to worry about who you shoot.

Carefully, he skirted between the rigs, using the large trucks for cover as he moved toward the edge of the parking lot. The lights at this end were sparse, barely illuminating the concrete. It was the perfect place for the exchange; or an ambush.

He pulled the .45 from the pocket inside his jacket as he walked beside the semi. Abruptly, Dean spun around when the sound of a truck door slamming shut startled him. The heavyset truck driver nearly collapsed to his knees finding the muzzle of Dean’s automatic mere inches from his face. Dean sheepishly shrugged an apology before waving the man out of harm’s way with the barrel of the pistol.

Dean continued forward, crouching low between the semis as he saw the green pickup truck pull into the lot. He backed up, ducking beside the fender of a rig, watching and waiting.

A mountain-sized man stepped out of the driver’s side, scanning the immediate area with the wave of a pistol. Opposite him, another figure moved from the cab of the truck.

“Rennie Lofton,” Dean muttered, recognizing the woman as she dropped to the ground.

She moved to the front of the truck, the headlights illuminating black leather that clung like a second skin to her every curve. She moved like a panther, a predator even with her sleekness, curves accentuating her sexuality.

I bet you could kick my ass, Dean thought to himself looking at her. But hell, it might be worth it.

“Winchester!” Rennie yelled out into the darkness. “You better be out there. Hate to think we drove all this way just to have to kill your dad. Coulda done that back at the cabin.”

Dean flinched, tempted to move from behind his cover but smart enough to remain silent even though his jaw was clenched tight enough to snap his teeth. He watched as the larger man, assuming from the size that it was the infamous Lou, walked to the back of the pickup.

The big hunter pulled something from the bed, but in the shadows Dean couldn’t tell what or who it might be. Shoving the figure forward, Dean bit his lip as he watch the captive stumble and fall to the dirt.

Once in the glow of the headlights, Dean could see that the figure’s head was obscured by a dark hood drawn down over its face. From the size and stature though, Dean was pretty sure it was his dad.

“Come on boys, show yourself, else Johnny here is going to have his brains splattered all over the front hood of this truck,” Rennie threatened, cocking her pistol and pointing the muzzle against the side of the hostage’s head.

“Dammit,” Dean hissed under his breath. He wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to do to get his dad free, but he hadn’t really counted on seeing his father with a gun pressed against his temple.

“Too late Winchester,” Rennie shouted as her finger tightened on the trigger.

The report of the weapon echoed through the stillness of the night nearly blotting out Dean’s scream of agony that sounded a fraction of a second later. He rushed forward toward the hunters, uncaring about his safety, unable to take his eyes off the collapsed form on the ground.

Blood was splattered everywhere and continued to ebb forth from his dad’s head, mixing with the dirt of the parking lot. Dean broke into the opening, gun forgotten as he fell to his knees beside the still body. Before he could reach out to touch the tattered and blood-stained denim of his father’s jacket, he was roughly pulled backwards and tossed to the ground.

A series of punches rocked him as Dean fought to get back to his feet and defend himself. He managed to rise, his eyes flicking back and forth between the dead body and Lou’s massive form. The giant hunter moved in, ignoring the punches that Dean launched toward his jaw and stomach as he reached for the young man. Grabbing Dean by the collar, he effortlessly slammed him against the hood of the pickup driving the air from his lungs and leaving Dean to collapse on the ground beside the dead body.

Rennie stepped forward, retrieving Dean’s lost gun, laughing mockingly as she ejected the clip and tossed it aside. She looked down at Dean, her laughter unabated.

“What the hell is so funny?” he asked, spitting blood from his mouth and glaring at her defiantly.

She knelt over the body beside him, pulling up the black hood that had covered his dad’s head.

Dean stared in horror as he took in the face of a gagged Rawhead, the creature’s disfigured face even more distorted by the pieces of skull that had been blown apart by Rennie’s bullet. It had been a trick and while Dean was instantly grateful that his father wasn’t dead, he ruefully admitted that he’d fallen for their trap.

“Where’s your brother, Dean?” the huntress demanded, a cruel smile still covering her face.

“I came alone,” Dean hissed back.

“Aw, what a shame. I guess we’ll have to wait a little longer to get Sam. Did you think you were protecting him by leaving him behind?”

Dean froze, silently condemning himself for having been so stupid. In his haste to get their dad back, he’d never considered that he might be leaving Sam vulnerable. Attempting defiance, he glowered at Rennie.

“Bitch, you don’t know my brother. He might be easily pushed around, but piss him off, and he’s a whole 'nother form of scary.”

Rennie ignored the threat, leaning in closer to Dean’s face. “Maybe, but I bet he’ll collapse like a house of cards when he finds out he’s the only Winchester left standing,” she shot back, the butt of her pistol slamming down hard on Dean’s temple.

She stood again, staring down at the unconscious young man at her feet. Looking up as Lou bent over and tossed Dean’s limp body over his shoulder, she laughed again.

“Two down, one to go!”

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The Winchester Chronicles