An End
( or maybe just another beginning)
Sam eyed the closed door from down the hall, shoving his wet clothes into the dryer. He slammed the trap shut, sending an echo down the hall. It was still silent in the hall and Sam sighed, punching the button to turn the cycle on, and went back into the living room.
"He's still not moving," he informed his father after taking a seat on the couch and picking up his bowl of cereal. He spooned some of the Cheerios into his mouth and nearly gagged. They were soggy, having been submerged in the milk too long.
"He's allowed to sleep in," John pointed out, peering over the top of the newspaper.
"I know. I'm just…" Sam trailed off, not wanting to admit that he was worried about his brother. The twinkle in John's eyes told him that his father understood.
"We all are but give him a break. He got home at 4. He's probably physically exhausted."
"And emotionally…" Sam added.
John nodded in agreement. " That too. I heard he got wringed out pretty bad by Layla's mother at the hospital." He returned to reading the Sports section.
"She blamed Dean for killing Layla back when we healed him."
"She probably did it again." John turned the page.
"That bitch," Sam hissed. " She has no right to make Dean feel responsible. He shouldn't blame himself."
"Dean blames himself for everything he couldn't fix. It's just a part of who he is."
"It's your fault that he is that way," Sam said.
"I know." John didn't even look up when he said, eyes darting back and forth as he read.
" You know?" Sam said sarcastically.
"What do you want me to do, Sam? I've made mistakes. Dean's personality is a result of them. Is that what you want to hear?" John snapped.
It hadn't occurred to Sam that his father would be stressed out. But it made sense in an odd way. His father was also concerned about Dean. He just had a much less emotional way of showing it.
"I'm sorry," Sam apologized.
"It's fine."
"Still…he shouldn't blame himself for her death."
"You blamed yourself for Jess's death," John pointed out.
"No, I…"
John interrupted. "You threw your belongings in Dean's car and drove off into the sunset to get retribution. Only someone who blames themselves does that."
"True," Sam sighed. " But it really was my fault. She wouldn't have been attacked if she hadn't been with me."
"And Layla wouldn't have died yesterday if she hadn't met Dean."
Sam looked at his father confused. " What do you mean?"
"Simple. If you hadn't dragged Dean to that healing that day, Layla would have been chosen. Layla would have been healed and Layla would still be living."
"But…all those people would be dead…and so would Dean."
"Yes. But she would still be alive. The point is, Sam, that every action we make has unforeseen consequences. Jess died because she loved you. Layla died because Dean was there that day, and Mary, dead because of me."
Sam felt the sadness in his father' voice and sensed a circle had finally been completed. All of them had lost someone they loved. He felt connected at that moment to his father and also to his sleeping brother. "Layla died because I decided to be selfish and save Dean."
"Technically, yes, but there are too many degrees of separation between your decision and the decision that doomed Layla. Is it the demon that you were fighting that ended up putting Dean in the hospital's fault? Or is my fault for sending you both to that place to take out that particular demon."
Sam saw his point and felt relief wash over him. He didn't want to blame himself. " Is that what you meant the other day when Dean has a cursed life because I saved him?"
John shook his head. " Layla would have died regardless of him being cursed."
"Then what did you mean?" Sam asked.
John only smiled secretly at him, and he picked up the comics from the floor to read.
Dean felt like he had gotten drunk and hit by a car. His head was pounding, the light from the windows was too bright and cheerful, and his back felt pinched. A quick glance at the clock told him it was noon. He knew he should get up but he couldn't find the energy to sit up. So he just lay there, contemplating why he felt so shitty.
He had gotten off of work at two a.m., far too revved up to go home, and he had given into temptation and decided to drink and hit the dance floor. He left when the club closed, drove home, and crashed. He probably had had too much to drink, which explained the hung-over. But the general misery encompassing him…it came back to him instantly. Layla died. That explained it and he shut off the wave of sadness and anger before it could affect him and climbed out of bed, spurred on by the energy that came from avoiding something.
He was thankful to find the coffee already made, although probably stale, and he poured himself a cup. He dragged himself out to the living room and flopped down in the armchair opposite of his father.
"Sleep well?" Sam asked.
"Yeah."
"Do you want eggs or bacon or something to eat?"
Dean looked at his brother suspiciously. " Why are you being so nice?"
"No reason. I'm hungry. I was going to get up and make something. I wanted to know if you had any preferences." Sam's answer was too calm and too long. What it suggested annoyed Dean.
"No thanks. I'm still not awake yet," Dean said politely, taking another sip of his coffee. He could feel the caffeine dribbling through his system, electrifying every nerve in his body into awareness.
"Okay."
"Does anybody see the main section of the newspaper?" Dean asked.
"It's on the floor somewhere…" John replied.
Dean peered over his coffee cup at the floor. " Sam, it's right under your foot."
"Oh. That's nice to know." Sam didn't move his foot.
"Uh, Sam, I think that would be your cue to pick it up and give it to me."
" Seriously, Dean, there's nothing interesting going in the world or anything we would be interested in," Sam said.
"Give me the damn paper," Dean growled.
He caught the look that passed between his father and brother as Sam bent down to get the paper. " I'm not some fuckin' idiot. I know Layla's obituary is in there, " Dean reached over to snatch the paper out of Sam's hand. " Stop babying me. I'll be fine."
Sam looked sheepish and then shrugged, getting up to get that breakfast that he was discussing earlier. Dean flipped through the paper, paused for a second at the sight of Layla's picture, and continued on, flipping to the second to last page.
"Hey, Sam, did you see that article about all the teenagers that have gone missing in Kentucky?" Dean yelled out into the kitchen.
"Yeah. Why?"
"It sounds like something up our ally."
"It sounds like some psychopath who is either selling them on the sex market or kidnapping them, raping them, and then killing them."
"So what? If it's a demon, we kill it. If it's human, we still kill it. Everyone wins."
"Dean, we can't just kill a human being."
Dean walked into the kitchen and past his brother to set his coffee cup in the sink. " Yeah, we can." The way he said it was nonnegotiable. "I'm going to make the reservations for a motel."
"What?" Sam turned off the burner and moved the pan of bacon to the back of the stove. " Wait. Isn't this sort of quick?"
"Of course it is, but people are getting hurt. Tell me, do you want to have another girl get hurt because you want to stop and think this out?"
Dean was going for the guilt trip and it succeeded on a reluctant Sam. "No. I don't want that. But you are being too impulsive. What are you going do about your job? What about Layla's funeral?"
"I switched my schedule so I have the next two nights off and Layla's funeral wouldn't be for a few days. If we leave in a hour, we can get there by morning."
"Who said I was going to go with you?"
"What else will you do, Sam? Sit around the house and mope about how you have nothing to do?"
Sam tried to not take offense to Dean's comment. " I have research…"
"…which you can do at any time." Dean interrupted.
"Which I could be doing at any time but Dean, you're not exactly in the right mindset right now. You…"
"…I, what, Sam? Should I be upset and wallowing in self-pity? Should I be lying in bed all day, crying?"
"No. You are still grieving. I don't think it is the best time…"
"I am done grieving. I'd like to move on with my life now," Dean said.
Sam sighed. " Alright. Call. I'll go with you."
Dean gave him a huge smile. " Okay." He nearly skipped to the phone.
Sam turned back on the burner and set the pan of bacon on it. He noticed for the first time that John was standing right outside the kitchen and probably heard every word on their little dispute.
"Why does he want to do this?" Sam asked.
"He can't stay still. He needs to do something to express how he feels. Hunting is his life, his passion. So…" John trailed off as Dean came back in earshot.
" I got us reservations. We need to pack," Dean said.
Sam nodded. " Give me 15 minutes."
Dean walked down to the hall to his bedroom and Sam turned to his father. " Do you want the bacon?"
His eardrums hurt. Dean didn't seem to notice how loud the music was. He kept drumming on the steering wheel, head bopping lazily to the beat. The thermos of coffee with its open lid sloshed around in the cup holder and it was only time before it spilled.
Sam really wanted to yell. He didn't though. He was worried about picking a fight with Dean. It wasn't that Sam felt pity for his brother or wanted to baby him, which Dean was accusing him of. He just saw how badly Dean needed things to go his way. Dean was exhausted. The coffee and music was keeping him awake. His brother was also a control freak. He dominated every situation he walked into. He needed that normalcy.
However, it was normal for Sam to complain about the music, and he reached over to turn down the radio. " It's too loud," he told Dean.
"Oh. Sorry." Dean's eyes didn't leave the road. Sam found that odd and he peered closer. Dean's eyes were almost bug-eyed, red with irritation.
"Dean, I can drive. You need to sleep," Sam said softly.
"No. I'm good."
"Stop being stubborn and let me drive. You're just barely functioning."
"I'm fine," Dean hissed.
Sam pulled out his trump cards." You need to be rested if we're going to take out the demon. Plus, you don't want the car wrecked, do you?"
Dean didn't answer for a few minutes. Sam only got his answer when Dean pulled onto the shoulder of the road and after pulling the emergency brake, got out of the car with a slam of his door and marched over to Sam's side. Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and awkwardly switched to the driver side. By the time the speedometer had switched to saying a mile had passed, Dean was asleep, head flopped down, burrowing his chin into his chest. It would hurt like a bitch when he woke up, Sam knew, and so he leaned over, hitting the lever to recline the seat, and went back to driving.
It took almost six hours and about 10 miles off of Shelbyville, their destination, but Dean finally woke up, entering the living world with a jolt. He blinked a few times and sat straight up, hitting the button to move his seat into the upright position. The view outside the window was dark with neon lights of a strip mall and its various surrounding fast-food restaurants glowing far off in the distance below them.
"We'll be there in a few minutes," Sam told him.
"Alright. Do you need a bathroom break or a food break?"
"No. I stopped an hour ago. Did all that."
Dean was surprised. " And I slept through it all?"
"Yeah. There's food in the back, if you want it. It's probably cold though."
"Thanks." Dean was touched and he leaned into the back seat to grab the bag off the floor. He opened it to find curly fries from Arby's with a few packets of ketchup and a roast beef sandwich. It made him smile and he ripped open the packets, squirting them on the fries and on the bun.
"So where's our motel?"
Dean swallowed. " It's on West Street. It's off Main Street."
"And how do we get there?"
"Take the next exit…"
"Are you sure?"
"I looked at the maps before we went. I'm sure," Dean replied, staring out the window, munching on the remainder of his fries.
"What's the plan when we get there?"
Dean sighed. " Don't know yet. Poke around. See if it's human or demon and where it will most likely strike next."
"That's fine. I'm not going with you though. I need to rest."
"Alright."
Sam steered off of the highway and onto their exit, which took them to the Main Street. Dean watched passively as his brother went down the vacant street and ran the red light, turning right onto their street. The motel was the only thing lit up on the street and they pulled into a parking spot.
Dean shoved open the car door and got out, stretching his arms in the air and jogging in place to get some feeling back in his legs. He spotted the entrance, a white porch, and he walked up the stairs and into the motel lobby, slamming the door behind him. A girl, blowing a wad of bright pink bubblegum looked up at him from the magazine she was reading.
"What ya' want?"
"I have reservations."
She lazily pushed with her feet off the drawers and the chair rocketed to the back of her little office. She grabbed a book off of the desk and using the desk for leverage, pushed her way back. She opened it and flipped through it, then looked up at him.
"I take it you're a Winchester?"
"That's correct."
"I need your credit card."
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his Mastercard and flicked it across the counter.
She took it and with a groan, stood up, and moved from behind her desk and walked into a room marked Employees Only. In three minutes, she returned with his card, thrusting it into his outstretched hand.
" I need two keys," Dean told her.
She nodded and reached into her back jeans pocket to hand him two key cards.
"Thanks for the help," Dean said, pushing open the porch door and walked quickly out to the parking lot. Something about the girl made him uncomfortable. It wasn't demon-uncomfortable but more like facing someone who really didn't want anything to do with you.
Sam was sitting on the curb by the car, bags at his feet. His head was hung, like he had fallen asleep and Dean nudged him with the tip of his boot. " Wake up."
"I'm up," Sam mumbled, climbing to his feet. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and grabbed his bags off the ground. Dean grabbed his as well and darted around Sam to lead him to their room.
The rooms were better then what Dean was used to. The comforters were of flowers with pristine off-white sheets underneath them with downy pillows, and the bathroom was well lit and so clean that it gleamed.
Sam flopped down on the bed, dropping his bags next to him. He sighed, eyes closing blissfully.
"Sleep. I'm going out to one of the bars," Dean said.
Sam peered out of one eye to look at him. " To get drunk?"
"Research."
"And get drunk…" Sam added.
Dean shrugged. " Added benefit, maybe. Sleep well."
"Yeah. Have fun," Sam's eyes shut and Dean slipped out of the motel room.
Dean had chosen their motel for a particular reason. He had noticed that all the girls had been from the same school. The school was only a few blocks from their motel and Dean figured that if any skevy guy who was hurting the girls lived in the area, he would frequent the local bars and teen hangouts.
The bar was a dump, a falling-down wooden building, entitled " The Fox " with a neon cartoon fox plastered in the window. When he opened the door, he swore smoke billowed out of the building and that something had died earlier in the day there.
He looked around for anyone suspicious, someone who gave off weird vibes. All he saw were old women, dressed in black leather, with platinum blonde hair, skin sagging and stretched over their gaunt features. There were men as well but they looked like average blue-collar men, blowing off steam at the end of the day. He got the impression they were good fathers, people he wouldn't expect to be abducting teenage girls.
"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked him when he reached the bar.
"Nothing. I'm new to this area. I need to know where the teenagers around him hang out," Dean said smoothly.
The man narrowed his eyes, looking at him suspiciously.
"It's not what you think," Dean quickly added, fishing in his pocket for a fake ID. He showed it to the man. " I'm a cop down in Texas. One of the girls in my town was up here visiting her folks and she disappeared. I believe she was taken by the same person who has been taking all your kids. Anything you might know could just be the breakthrough we need to solve this case." Dean gave him his best cheesy smile to cement his argument.
The man's eyes softened and Dean knew the man was sold on him. " The kids left around here hang out at the skating rink uptown."
Dean nodded. " Could you give me directions?"
"Get back on Main, then turn on Pleasant. It'll be on your left. Go down it and turn left again onto Market. It's the building with all the cars in front of it and loud booming music."
"Thank you for your help, Sir," Dean gave a small discreet bow of the head.
"You're welcome."
Dean's nostrils were hurting from the bombardment of smoke and he left the building, breathing in heavily when he reached the outdoors and the cool night air. It felt like heaven and he began the trek up the hill to Main Street.
He was making the final turn onto Market Street when he heard something that made him stop and listen. It sounded like a couple was arguing off in the distance. He knew it shouldn't interest him but his instincts were telling him to check it out. He followed the noise, darting across the street towards the skating rink and behind it, where the overflowing dumpsters were and an empty gravel parking lot from a small closed restaurant. Dean crouched behind one of the thicker trees and took in the surroundings.
A car was in the parking lot, its high beams on, turning the girl's face, who stood in front of the car, a pale ghastly white. She was dressed in a miniskirt with a lilac jacket covering almost the entire skirt with its length. Her feet were in platform sandals and her stature and profuse use of makeup told Dean that she was somewhere around thirteen.
The car was old but it was a nice looking car. In Dean's opinion, it wasn't flashy enough to garner attention from the police and from adults, but would catch a kid's eye immediately because it was interesting to look at. The driver wore glasses and had a scruffy beard from not shaving for a few days. He looked to be in his late 20s and wore a black leather jacket.
"You sure you don't want a ride," the guy asked her.
"No. I don't want a ride," the girl replied, shielding her eyes with her hand.
"It's cold out there and it's a long walk to your house. Your feet must be killing you," he pointed out.
"I want to walk," the girl said firmly.
"I can't let you do that. It's dangerous for you to be out here alone," he shut off the engine of the car and opened the door to the car, not yet stepping out. Dean felt his muscles tensing, preparing for movement or a fight.
"With all due respect, Mr. Yager, I don't want a ride. I'll be fine."
He stepped out of the car and the girl unconsciously took a step back.
"Get in the car, April." It was less of a suggestion and now a order.
April looked scared and Dean moved from behind the garbage can, standing up, plan in mind.
" April, there you are," he said loudly, walking towards her. " Mom's been looking for you all over. Didn't you bring your cell with you?"
Dean prayed she would go along with it, that she would trust him. He was banking on that she found him attractive and thus wanted to do whatever he suggested.
"I forgot it," she mumbled, hanging her head.
"Come on, let's get you home, sis." Dean lightly grabbed her arm and led her out from behind the skating rink and onto the street. It was only when they were back on Main Street did Dean turn around and face her.
"I'm sorry for not introducing myself sooner. I'm Dean."
"April." She looked wary of him. Dean was glad. It meant that the girl had some common sense.
"Look, April, I need to know who that guy was and his relation to you."
"Why?"
Dean smiled at her. " I'm a cop. What he did was wrong."
"He just wanted me to be safe."
"He scared you. That's not right."
"True." She looked down, ashamed.
"How do you know him?"
"He's my math teacher."
Dean felt the pieces of a puzzle fitting together in his mind. " Did you know any of the girls who have been kidnapped?"
"A few."
"How did you know them?" Dean asked.
"We had classes together."
Dean tried not to smile, feeling victory so close to him. " Math, right?"
She nodded.
"I want you to avoid him. He's dangerous."
She gazed up at him. " I can do that."
"Do you want ice cream?" Dean asked her. He was feeling nice, feeling like he should reward her for solving the case for him.
"I don't know if I can trust you," she replied.
Dean hid his surprise. " Why is that?"
"You're a cop but you don't have a badge or uniform."
She had a point and Dean chuckled, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a $20 bill. " Go buy some for yourself and get a cab home."
"Will do," she smiled at him. " Thank you."
"You're welcome." Dean watched her go and turned in the other direction to walk back down to their motel room.
Sam was awake when he returned to their room, lying on his stomach on the bed, watching TV. "What'd you find?" he asked, eyes not straying from the football game.
"I have an idea on who did it. We're going to break into his house and see if we can find anything to convict him."
It amused Sam that Dean said it like there was no other option, that he was just to follow and not question the legality and safety of the plan. " And are you positive that you have the right guy?"
"No. But it doesn't matter. Something about him is creepy."
Dean was acting more reckless and flippant that he usually was but Sam decided to honor his request anyway, though he felt it was a poor idea. " Fine. Do you have the address?"
"I'll get it right now," Dean walked over to the dresser between their beds and opened the drawer. Like he had thought, a bible and a phone book lay in there. He pulled out the phone book and flipped to the Ys.
"What's his last name?" Sam asked.
"Yager."
"That's a fairly common last name."
Dean didn't answer him.
"How many?" Sam asked.
"Twenty-three." Dean did nothing to hide his disappointment.
"So what are we going to do now?"
Dean set the phone book back in the drawer and shoved it shut. " We're going to his house."
"You don't know which one he is," Sam replied, watching Dean stand up and walk over to the bag they kept their guns and knives.
"There's a Yager who lives near here. He must be it," Dean slid the gun in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt down to cover it.
"What if he's not?" Sam reached down to grab his shoes.
"Then he's not."
"Dean, we can't break into someone's house and violate their privacy."
"We've done it a thousand times before," Dean was heading for the door and Sam dove across the bed to get between the door and Dean.
" Dean. You need to stop and think about this for a second," Sam told his brother. " We broke into their houses because we thought they had done something wrong. We don't know if this guy has done anything other then that he shares the last name of some suspicious guy you met. Besides, if we are wrong and we get caught, we're going to jail. In case you don't remember, you just got off of serving jail time. Do you want another shot at it?"
"Move, Sam."
Sam didn't budge. He stared down his brother. Dean had sounded angry but Sam got more of a feeling of desperation. The hunt was something Dean needed. The hunt was what was keeping Dean from breaking down.
"You need to deal with her death sometime," Sam said softly.
Dean blinked, caught off guard by his statement. " I'll deal with it after I kill that monster."
"You're going to get yourself killed, or worse, incarcerated, if you keep being so cavalier about hunting."
"Would it really matter if I did?" Dean answered. He took Sam's stunned silence to his advantage and shoved his brother out of the way. He unlocked the door and stepped out. " Get your shoes on. We're leaving."
"What? I'm not going with you."
"You don't want me to do something stupid, Sammy, now, do you?" Dean called from the parking lot. Sam glowered at him and sat back down on the bed, sliding his feet into his tied sneakers.
Dean was pacing when Sam emerged, anxious to go. The shadows hitting his face made him look possessed and Sam felt fear. He was scared about what was going to happen on the hunt. He wasn't scared for Dean but for the Yager man. He feared that even if the man was completely innocent, Dean was going to go off on him just because he was there.
He wished he could stop Dean. But Dean was already stalking through the streets, intent only on one purpose. No amount of talking would convince Dean otherwise and Sam didn't think that he could physically stop his brother. He had the weight and height advantage but Dean was the better fighter and was too aware of his surroundings to be taken down by a surprise attack. All Sam could do was to follow him and hope that Dean had a better grasp on himself and his sanity then Sam thought he did.
Dean was stopped in front of him, putting on black gloves and repositioning his gun and flashlight for faster access. " Go to the back. I'll take the front."
"We should stick together," Sam asked.
"No one's home. We're fine."
There was no car in the driveway and no garage that Sam could see. He sighed, realizing Dean was right, and he had no other excuse to keep him close to Dean.
"Keep it discreet. There's too many neighbors," Sam hissed, moving past his brother.
Dean waved it off carelessly and Sam hopped over the fence into the back yard. The grass was overgrown and there appeared to be no signs of anyone using it on a regular basis. Sam wondered if the guy was single and childless.
The back door was ajar and Sam pushed on it to open. It opened three inches and stopped with a jolt. It had a chain lock on it. Sam slid his hand in between the door and the wall, and pushed up hard, trying to get it to unlatch. He succeeded on his second try and he stepped into the house, replacing the chain on the door.
He was in a kitchen. It was furnished nicely but not overblown. If the guy was a teacher, it was the right price range for his budget. Sam moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. The front door was there but no Dean. Sam saw a short corridor off the living room and he decided to investigate. Nothing of interest was in the bathroom but he found Dean in the only other room, the bedroom, shifting through drawers frantically with his flashlight.
"What are you looking for?" Sam asked.
"Somethin'," Dean responded, pulling out a stack of notebooks. He set them on the ground and took the first one, flipping through it. He didn't find anything and he threw it back in the drawer. " His closet is locked. I need you to get into it."
"Why? He'll know someone was here if it's destroyed."
Dean looked up at him. " What guy locks his closet?"
"Good point," Sam walked over to the closet and yanked on the door. It was locked, not just stuck. "Do you bring a screwdriver?"
He didn't expect Dean to toss him the flashlight, screwdriver attached to it by a rubber band. He took the screwdriver off and threw the flashlight back to Dean. Dean went back to flipping through the notebooks while Sam worked on taking the hinges off the door.
"I found something," Dean announced.
Sam was almost finished and was reluctant to leave his work, but he put the screwdriver down and walked over to look over Dean's shoulder. It was definitively evidence. There were Polaroid pictures stapled into the notebook of girls smiling together, names labeling beneath them. Sam recognized the names as the girls who had gone missing.
"You were right," Sam whispered.
"When am I not?"
Sam ignored the jibe. " Are there any more?"
"Like pictures of a murder scene or him hurting them? No."
Sam nodded. " Do you want me to still get into the closet?"
"Yeah."
Sam walked back to the closet and unscrewed the last bolt on the bottom hinge. He maneuvered the door so it didn't fall and leaned it against the wall. It was then that he actually looked into the closet.
There was a girl in there, mouth taped, limbs taped to a chair that was taped to the wall and the floor. Sam rushed in, ripping the tape off her mouth.
"Are you hurt?" he asked her, falling to his knees to undo the tape that bound her legs to the chair.
"No." Her voice was soft, weak, and Sam freed her feet.
"Good. We're going to get you out of here," he told her, beginning on her arms.
"Okay."
"So what's your name?" Sam heard Dean say.
"Marcia."
"Marcia. That's a pretty name. How long have you been in there for?"
" I don't know."
Sam got the last of the tape off of her and he offered her his hand to help her stand. She took it. " Marcia, we're…"
There was a loud bang from down the hall and Sam stopped talking, head flying up to look. Dean and Sam both drew their guns, and Dean motioned with his chin for Marcia to get back into the closet.
There was whistling and the noise of steps coming closer to them. Dean went for the closet door, propping it up against the entrance, and darted to the other side of the room, directly opposite of it. He crouched, hiding behind a desk that held a computer and printer. Sam hid on the side of the bed that didn't face the doorway.
Sam watched the light from the hall creep into the dark room and socked feet move across the floor into the room and to the closet. He could see vaguely a hand going for a light switch and Sam aimed the gun.
The light turned on and Mr. Yager saw the door. " What the…?"
Dean fired his weapon twice, hitting the man in the right arm and left leg. Blood sprayed everywhere and Sam wondered why Dean had missed the target so badly. None of those shots would kill the man. It then dawned on Sam what Dean was doing and he moved from his hiding place.
"What were you going to do with her?" Dean asked, walking around the man who was lying flat on the floor to come to stand at his head.
The man's body twitched and he climbed to his feet. Dean let him, eyeing him with a malicious smile.
"Don't, Dean," Sam yelled.
Dean only smiled at him as the man charged him, and Dean sidestepped him, kicking the man's good leg from underneath him and punching him hard in the stomach.
"Stop playing with him," Sam ordered.
"What are you going to do to stop me, Sammy?" Dean asked.
Sam wasn't planning on doing anything but Dean didn't need to know that. He walked up to Dean, stopping only a few inches from his face. " Just kill him. He doesn't deserve to suffer."
"Oh, I think he does. He kidnaps, rapes, and kills little kids. He destroys their families lives and that girl in the closet is never going to be the same. She is going to be haunted with this for the rest of her life. Death isn't good enough for him."
Sam began to doubt that Dean's passion on making the man suffer had anything to do with his guilt and depression. "He's a human being."
"He's a demon for all I'm concerned," Dean mumbled, aiming the gun at Yager as he tried to move. He pulled the trigger, shooting him in the back of the neck. His body went limp. "Happy?"
"Yeah." Sam could hear sirens in the distance. " We have to get out of here."
"You talk to the girl. I'll get our stuff."
As Dean picked up the flashlights and shoved the notebooks back in the drawer, Sam went over to the closet. The door had been removed and he realized that Marcia had seen the whole thing.
"We're going to go now. Don't tell them that we were here, alright?" he told her.
She nodded, eyes wide still with fright.
"Have a nice life, kid," he smiled at her and ran out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to the back door. He went into the backyard, jumped the fence, and ran down the street. Dean was waiting for him on the corner.
"That was fun," Dean commented as they started walking back to the motel.
"You shouldn't have done that."
Dean didn't respond.
"It's not…"
Dean interrupted. "I don't want to talk about it."
Sam sensed that it was dawning on Dean about what he had done and he was beginning to feel guilt. Dean had crossed a line and he knew it. Sam knew he couldn't let up.
"We need to talk about it."
"Make me."
Sam rolled his eyes at the childishness. "You need to get your act together. You can't go out and hunt just to torture something because you're too macho to admit you have feelings and that her death is bothering you."
"And you were much better when Jess died?" Dean shot back.
"What?"
Dean turned around to face Sam but kept walking. " The minute the police got done questioning you about what happened, you jumped in the car and we went after a demon. You never talked about her. You never cried over her. You never got angry at anything or anyone."
"I cried."
"Bull. You didn't even cry when you thought I was asleep."
"I guess you missed it."
"I guess," Dean shrugged, turning back around to walk the right way. " I have my ways of dealing. You have yours."
" My way doesn't involve killing someone."
They were at the motel and Dean swiped his card. " His life was no big loss to the world."
" You should have let the authorities deal with him."
Dean threw his wallet, car keys, and motel key on the nightstand when he walked in. Sam sat down on the bed, removing his sneakers.
" He wouldn't have gotten what he deserved," Dean answered.
"Still…we shouldn't have gone after him. You knew from the second you saw that article that it had nothing to do with a demon or sprit. That is the only reason that you wanted to do this case so bad."
"Do you really think that I would do that?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
Dean seemed unaffected and he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. It was almost morning and Sam was feeling too exhausted and lazy to get ready for bed. He climbed to the opening between his sheets and slid in. It was warm and the pillow was soft against his cheek.
He heard the click of a lamp shutting off and saw Dean's blurred figure getting in the other bed.
" 'Night."
" ' Night. "
End Chapter 9: Attack
I won't suffer, be broken, get tired, or wasted
Surrender to nothing, or give up what I
Started and stop it, from end to beginning
A new day is coming, and I am finally free
I would have kept you, forever, but we had to sever
It ended for both of us, faster than a
Kill off this thinking, it's starting to sink in
I'm losing control now, and without you I can finally see
Fight!