The Bad Guys Know It Too

Chapter 4

Warnings: Rated k+ for bad language and graphic descriptions of violence.

„I'm not that forgiving…"

Dean pulled his fist back, hovering it in the air and all the bundled up fear and hatred he felt for Jack was gathering momentum in that move. It felt as though every sliver of energy inside of him was traveling through his chest, up his arm and into the fingers that were curled tight enough to be white around the knuckles. He had never felt the need to end another man's life before, but this man was worse than any monster out there and Dean was convinced the guy did not deserve to breathe the same oxygen as the innocents they had spent their whole lives protecting. Jack was a sadist, someone who loved to inflict pain on others. Dean had seen it in that sick fuck's face, the way he had reveled in their torment, the absolute lack of guilt or remorse in his eyes at having killed his own damn partner. The way he'd psychologically toyed with them, fucked with their fears, just to see them suffer… There was nothing humane or empathetic about him. Nothing even remotely salvageable. He was a monster.

Jack deserved to die… and yet.

„Dean," Sam said his name so softly, so gently, that it broke something inside of him. His brother's voice was filled with trepidation and hurt and just… sheer exhaustion from everything he'd been put through in the past 24 hours, all the pain and the horror of seeing another man die right before his eyes. Sam had been put through hell and here Dean was, focusing his time on that scumbag like his little brother wasn't a few feet away from him, helpless and in desperate need of his big brother.

„Dean?" Sam's voice wavered on the second try and Dean just felt all the willpower and determination whoosh out of him. The tension drained from his body and he shakily lowered his arm, his fist slowly uncurling as the urge for revenge was out-drowned by the need to nurture and care and protect his little brother. Sammy needed him. That was all that fucking mattered. The kid had been put through enough without having to witness his big brother kill a guy. Dean couldn't bear the thought of what Sam would think of him if he crossed that line, no matter how much he wanted to end the guy for what he'd done to them.

„Dean, please—" Sam broke himself off as his emotions overwhelm him.

And that was it.

Whatever residual resentment Dean might have held for Jack evaporated into thin air when he heard the plea in his brother's voice.

Dean rolled his neck and got back to his feet. He was shaky on his legs, now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He was trembling, his arms coated in blood from the way he had beat Jack into unconsciousness, and from bagging Andrew's corpse in record speed. He looked down at his trembling hands, at the blood flecking his skin and crusted beneath his fingernails. Slowly, Dean looked around the basement, at the smears of oily red on the floor from where Andrew had been shot, the unspent magazine from Andrew's gun, the dirty rag Jack had gagged Dean with, and the knocked-over metal chair Sam was still cuffed to… on the floor, with his wrists twisted painfully behind his back rest of the chair, dark, vicious circles around his neck from where Jack had nearly choked him to death.

Sam looked a goddamn mess. His hair was practically drenched in sweat, sticking off his head in all kinds of ridiculous angles, his cheeks flushed and sticky with tear-tracks. He was beginning to shake in the wake of everything that had happened - from shock or from the cold of the basement floor. Dean was paralyzed for a second by how freaking young Sam looked. How terrified. The renewed fury at what Jack had done to his brother flooded through Dean like a tidal wave and before he knew it, he'd kicked his boot into Jack's side with a vicious growl and enough force to crack at least to ribs in the process. He felt a grim sense of satisfaction at the crack that followed, at the involuntary groan of pain Jack let out, even in his state of oblivion. As if in afterthought, he crouched down and patted Jack down until he heard the tell-tale jungle of keys. Pulling the set of hand-cuff keys from Jack's pocket, Dean finally turned his back on Jack and walked toward Sam. His whole expression shifted, his entire demeanor - his voice, his stance, his everything - changed the second he really took the time to look at his brother.

„Shit, Sammy," Dean whispered, crouching down before his brother. He ran his expert gaze over his brother's body, both hands hovering protectively over Sam's chest and shoulders but not touching out of fear of doing more damage. The urge to touch the kid and reassure himself of Sam's wellbeing was almost overwhelming, but Dean didn't see a single part of his brother's body that didn't look frail or hurt at the moment. His airways were definitely swollen from where Jack had brutally strangled him and his shoulder - while not showing any outward signs of injury must have still hurt from where that fucker had dislocated it. He was shaking all over, probably the after effect of shock and pain. Dean gently, oh so carefully, tilted Sam's head up and turned it from side to side, tenderly cradling the only part of his brother's body he felt safe enough to touch without hurting him. „Hey there, kiddo," he said, trying to steady his voice as it quivered. „You ready to blow this joint or what?"

Dean smiled for Sam's sake, trying to bring levity into the god-awful situation, but his voice was shaky and his eyes were blurred with tears as the reality of what had happened fully sank in. He had a hard time looking at Sam when the kid looked so broken, so scared and teary-eyed and… frail. So if he wanted to get through any of this without losing his shit, he'd have to get Sam out of this place, far, far away from anyone who'd ever hurt him again and clean him up and get some proper food into him and just… make him whole again. But first things first.

„I'll try to get you out of these cuffs first, yeah?" Dean said. He met Sam's tear-filled gaze and goddamn that fucking bastard Jack, for putting a kid through so much. How could he look into those soulful, innocent eyes and lay one finger on Sam without the slightest sign of remorse? How far away from normal, from human, did you have to be to hurt a kid and take pleasure from it? Then again, Jack had somehow figured out how to get to their father, and even more importantly, he had figured out the most efficient way to get to Dean and it sure as hell wasn't through hurting Dean. Anybody with their marbles in place could take one look at them and see that there wasn't a goddamn thing in the world that Dean wouldn't do to protect Sam. Or a thing that John Winchester wouldn't do to protect either one of his sons. Sure, their father wasn't winning any prices for his parenting anytime soon, but there wasn't a doubt in Dean's mind that somewhere out there, John Winchester was wreaking havoc, trying to track that damn token down in exchange for their lives. Or that he was about two minutes from bursting in guns blazing, ready to tear Jack from limb to limb. But all of that could wait. For now, all that mattered was Sammy.

Sam's tear-filled eyes bestowed his big brother with a look and then he nodded. „Y-yeah."

„Okay." Dean leaned over his brother's form, gently lifting his brother's wrists and turning the Jack's key in the lock until it clicked open. Sam immediately shook the steel bonds off as soon as they came loose and then brought them around, flexing his hands and wincing slightly when the movement sent a flash of pain through his aching joints.

„Here, let me," Dean ordered gently, not even waiting for a response before he recaptured Sam's wrists and gently turned them around in his hands, examining the tissue for any discoloration or swelling that would hint at broken bones. „Can you move them normally?"

„Yeah, I don't think anything's broken, just…" Sam shrugged, rolling his hand testily from side to side.

„When he… after Jack strangled you… he knocked over the chair, and I had to… I gave you chest compressions," Dean explained, feeling sick at the mere memory. „I told him to untie you first, but he just…" Dean gestured with his hands, at a loss for words. He felt terrible just remembering the scene, of Sam with his lips colored an unhealthy blue, his chest absolutely still as his body went into cardiac arrest. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around how close he'd come to losing this, to losing Sam today. Overwhelmed with worry and grief, Dean met his little brother's teary gaze in a storm of emotions. His brother needed a goddamn hospital, not the grimy floor of some hunter's basement. He knew that Sam's shoulder must have hurt like a bitch from getting it dislocated and that he probably shouldn't risk touching him, but the urge to reassure himself of Sam being alive and breathing and just right fucking there, was becoming too hard to ignore. Lucky for him, Sam took the decision off of him when his breath hitched around a sob, his expression crumbling and then before he knew what was even happening, Sam barreled into him, lunging himself forward and wrapping his bony arms around Dean's chest like his life depended on it.

Dean blinked, his eyes brimming as he gently wrapped his own arms around his brother's slim shoulders. At first he was hesitant to return the affection, still worried about hurting Sam, about somehow worsening his pain, but then he just kind of allowed for it to happen, tightening his arms around Sam and curling his fingers into the kid's clothes. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in Sam's hair, breathing in the kid's stupid vanilla shampoo and the scent of library dust and pine needles that always kinda clung to him. He felt Sam's heartbeat against his chest, steady and soothing in a way nothing else could ever be.

Sam shook against him and Dean could feel a wetness in the grove between his shoulder and neck, where Sam's tears slid down the slope of his own neck. He only tightened his arms further in that patented Dean-Winchester-way that only ever Sammy got to be on the receiving end of. They clung to each other for a while, before Dean reminded himself of the fact that they were still stuck in a basement with a dead guy in a bag and an unconscious guy who was probably due to awake and cause them trouble any minute now.

„Dean," Sam whimpered, tightening his hold on his brother almost frantically the second Dean started to pull out of the embrace. Squeezing Sam's neck in reassurance, Dean pulled back only far enough to catch his brother's gaze.

„Hey, it's okay," he said, holding his brother's terrified gaze. „I'm not going anywhere. Give me a minute and I'll be right back by your side, yeah?"

Sam shook his head, still clinging to Dean like a drowning man clutching at a straw and Dean gently reached back to grab Sam's wrists and disentangle himself.

„Hey, look at me," he ordered, cupping the side of Sam's face and giving his head a slight jostle. "Gimme a minute, Sammy," Dean implored. "One minute to get him restrained and then we're outta here, alright?"

Sam blinked, still visibly uneasy at the thought of letting Dean go, but after a few seconds he loosened his hold on his older brother and gave a shaky nod.

Dean helped Sam to his feet, steadying the kid when he swayed on his feet. "We need to call dad," Sam muttered with a miserable sniff, his lashes clumped with tears as he curled his hands into the overly long sleeves of his hand-me-down hoodie. „A-and the police… we should probably… he probably has f-family, Dean. We should—"

It took Dean a moment to understand who Sam was talking about. That his kid brother had literally just gone from being so terrified he couldn't even let Dean slip out of his arm's reach, to worrying about the family of the douchebag who had been stupid enough to team up with a maniac like Jack. The kid was too damn empathetic for his own good, sometimes.

"We'll call them when we're across state borders," Dean muttered distractedly and dug the handcuffs from where they had slipped through the back of the metal chair. He crossed the room and roughly turned Jack's body around before cuffing the guy's wrists together behind his back. "Make it an anonymous tip or something. Dad'll know what to do."

Talking about their father… Dean checked Jack's coat pockets for the cell phone he'd used earlier to call their dad and then sighed in frustration when it asked him for a code to unlock the screen. „Damn it."

"Here, let me," Sam demanded and took the phone from Dean's grasp without waiting for his brother to catch up with the words.

Dean frowned when Sam typed in the correct code at the first try. "How did you—"

"Saw it when he made me call dad." Sam shrugged and then went through the caller list to find their dad's number. He pressed did and held it out for Dean. "You wanna do the talking?"

Dean took the phone back, pride swelling in chest at his little brother's wits.

John picked up on the first ring. "Jack, I swear to fucking god—"

Dean couldn't help it, something loosened in his chest at the sound of his father's gruff voice on the other end of the speaker.

He smiled through his tears, his voice coming out steadier than expected when he finally got it to working. "Dad, it's me."

After their dad has stormed the place, he'd pretty much whisked them off right away.

Dean had wanted to go to a hospital to get Sam's trachea checked out, but John hadn't wanted to take the risk. He'd driven 48 hours straight with almost no pit stops at all, until they'd crossed two states and reached a no-name motel somewhere on the side of some no-name highway. By the time John had finally worn himself tired enough to need a break, Dean and Sam had filled him in on everything that had gone down in the basement, every little gruesome detail, down to the last bit. Along the way, Sam had fallen asleep sometime, bundled up in their dad's old leather jacket and propped against the window with Dean's jacket as a pillow. They had bought cooling packs for his throat, to get the swelling down, and fed him half a sandwich and a full bottle of gatorade, along with some high-quality painkillers. Even so, Dean couldn't help but send worried glances at his brother every so often, sometimes even going as far as to reach back to check the kid's pulse… just to be safe. Just to remind himself that Sam was still breathing, that his little brother was going to be okay… eventually.

"He's going to be fine," his father eventually remarked after having caught Dean throwing another cursory glance back at his sleeping brother. John cleared his throat, tilting his chin up without really looking at Dean. "It will take a few days. Maybe a week or two. But eventually, he's gonna be fine, Dean."

Dean snorted, unable to honor that statement with a response of his own.

They watched a man get killed tonight.

Dean wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon. But Sam… Sam had lost a part of the innocence today that Dean had fought so damn hard to protect all his life. He was going to have nightmares about this, he was going to wake up sweat-soaked and terrified for years to come, maybe forever. And while the bruising on his throat would vanish and the shoulder would heal, Sam would remember the pain Jack had caused them and he'd remember damn near dying on the cold, cemented ground of a basement.

One or two weeks?

Had John even listened to Dean when he'd told their father what had happened down there?

Taking a deep breath and forcing the anger away (there really was no point discussing with their dad when he got like this), Dean checked the rearview mirror to see if Sam was still sleeping before he asked "What did you do to him?"

John was quiet for a while but Dean didn't allow him to avoid the topic. Their father had taken one look at them both, at their injuries, at the tears in their eyes and something had hardened in his face. And Dean had known. He had just known what his father was about to do… he had known why he had hugged them both and them sent them outside, to the car. Dean remembered sitting in the Impala, with Sam huddled close beside him and both of them waiting for their father (and waiting for the sound of a gun getting fired). But there was nothing but silence. And then John, slipping behind the wheel as though nothing had happened. And Dean almost would have believed him that he'd called in an anonymous tip with the cops, if it hadn't been for the way his hands shook when he wrapped them around the Impala's steering wheel.

"I told you—"

"Did you kill him?" Dean dry-swallowed, staring his father down from the passenger seat.

John didn't try to lie to him again. Instead, he just continued looking out the Impala's windshield and allowed the silence to answer Dean's question.

"Good," Dean eventually said, leaning back against the leather seat. "I don't know what his deal was… or whatever went down between you two, but he was as much of a monster as anything else we've ever hunted. Maybe worse."

John sighed and parked the car in front of the motel's entrance. He idled the engine and then finally, freaking finally, he turned to bestow his oldest with an intense look. "Listen to me, Dean. There's the kind of evil that goes bump in the night. And then there's human evil… the kind that preys on little kids on the playground or old grandmother's in grocery stores. Jack was a devil of the second variety. The way I see it, this world is a better place without him."

Dean bit his lip and nodded, feeling his heart constrict and his throat grow dry at the sudden onslaught of emotion. "I'd have almost…" he broke himself off, blinking to keep the tears from falling. "I never thought I could… but today I almost—„

John pulled Dean in against himself, pressing his forehead against Dean's and holding him in a half-sided embrace. He allowed his callous palm to rest heavily on Dean's neck and Dean was stiff in the unexpected embrace until his shoulders slumped and he relaxed against his father's comforting hold. "The things I'd do for you or Sammy… they scare me, sometimes."

John just held Dean tight.

"It's like there's no limit to how far I'd go to keep him safe," Dean admitted in a broken whisper. „There's nothing I wouldn't do for you or him, dad."

Patting his oldest's shoulder, John finally pulled back, a fine shimmer of wetness in his own eyes as he gave Dean a proud but weary smile.

"I know, son," he simply said, because what else was there to say. "It's gonna be fine. You and Sam… you'll be just fine."

The END.

A/N: This only took me like... how many YEARS to finish?! Thank you guys so much for bearing with me! I figured now that I'm back I might as well wrap up some of my old unfinished stories. Please let me know how you liked it and which other work from me you'd like me to work on next :) there's too many unfinished ones to choose from (I'm terrible hahah...) reviews make me happy!