My name is Dean Winchester. I used to be a hunter alongside my Dad and brother. But some things changed down the line. I went to Hell...and I came out...different. It changed my perspective on a few choice things, but I ain't complainin'.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
First Call
Bobby snorted mirthlessly. “Ya think not jumping me when you had the occasion earned you brownie points?” He shook his head and looked straight into the demon’s eyes, his expression cold. “You’re wearing my boy. That alone got you a one way ticket back into the oven.”
He glanced at Sam to find him silently fuming. Bobby circled the trap and stopped next to the hunter. He thought he could feel the tension rolling off the man in waves. Slowly, he put his hand on Sam’s shoudler. If the sight of the creature before them made Bobby feel like there was a vice screwed tight on his guts, he couldn’t even begin to fathom what it was doing to the boy beside him.
This was not going to be easy on either of them. Hell, it’d be like losing Dean all over again. Bobby wasn’t sure he could go through that again. He’d already lost him, both of them, once, and look what it’d done to him.
One thing was for sure, they had to deal with the demon as soon as possible. Find out what was it’s plan and then put it back where it belonged, make sure the bastard never even peeked out from down under.
He was about to open his mouth when something occured to him. He turned back to the demon, mind deep in thought. There were better ways of getting the information they needed. And they’d spare Sam the sight of his brother’s body pushed beyond its limits with torture. Risky, but worth a shot.
As far as demons go, he’s doing the puppy dog thing well. He’s never seen a demon beg, but he’d expect under the mark of a devil’s trap would be a good place to start. Sam watches the demon with nothing betraying the bludgeoning emotions. He seems to come to life at Bobby’s grip on his shoulder and in response, he meets his gaze, tearing away from the demon. He wants to kill him just on audacity and nerve alone. But he can’t harm that body. Still, a lone part of him, and he hates himself for it, wants to believe the conviction he’s hearing.
“Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam places a hand on Bobby’s back and directs him to the kitchen counter where they’re as far away from the demon as possible while keeping him somewhat in sight. The devil’s trap is there, and he won’t be going anywhere. Sam’s glad that there’s a portion of wall there, blocking most of their view of Dean for the moment.
There truly was no way to find out. But they live in a world of the supernatural and no doubt at least some of it comes in handy. He could ask Ruby, but he’d spare the old hunter the sight of the new(or old) company he keeps.
“I don’t wanna send it back until we’re sure,” He says that like they’re talking about a present that was addressed wrong or not what they wanted. Which is true, in a sense. “Is there anything we can do…to prove it’s…lying?”
“I think it’d mean…something,” Dean answered Bobby. What would happen if he went to Hell? They’d watch this body, surely. There was usually a long process to come back from the pit and knowing his luck, he’d get thrown back on the rack and blamed for the phenomena around the weird light invasion that took him out.
There was a silent exchange and Bobby silently comforted Sam while Dean nearly growled in frustration. What more could he say? But just then Sam ushered Bobby out of the room and he hung back. Supernatural hearing was one of the perks and they weren’t exactly whispering to begin with. Dean overheard himself being called an it.
So that’s what it came down to. He turned out after that. Whatever happened from here on, happened. There was something though. At least he got to see them again. Recognize them and know them by name. That was definitely something, especially when what felt like hours ago, he was something completely unrecognizable and may have been the bloodthirsty demon they were on the verge of treating him as.
He shuffled his feet, fiddled with a pebble in the confines of Bobby’s trap and waited for the two to come back out.
(Source: bloodstainedsoldier)
Oh shut up, Sam.
(Source: avengestiel)
say goodbye to the world you live in.
(Source: padanose)
First Call
“Maybe,” Dean remarked with a blink. He took a breath. He didn’t even know he was holding one in. The door opened slowly. Took a millennium and then Dean saw what almost forty-five years burning in Hell tried to take away from him. All those memories that the burning “light” figure who rescued him in Hell put back in, were crystal clear. Thirty years returned to Dean in vivid quality, and he knew that face well enough.Well enough even to see it had changed, grown slightly gaunter. Sam wasn’t eating, or not very well. There was also a change in those eyes that reflected pain, regret and guilt. Even now as he held a pistol level to Dean’s chest, Dean can’t help but quirk a smile. It’s unknown to him how the gesture looks to the outside eye, but it’s genuine.
“Heya Sammy,” said Dean in a surprisingly gentle voice. He stepped forward in the confines of the trap. He knows his face is painful for Sam. Four months is a long time, even longer is forty years having it all taken away.
A chuckle slid through his lips. “You got bigger but you’re all bones. Are you eating right?” To speak so normally was out of the question. Sam would know, would have to figure, with a trap burnt to keep him in place. But it was a trigger, instinctual reaction that Dean almost couldn’t control.
“Sure, coulda done it,” answered Bobby, “were that a shapeshifter.”
Whatever Sam was doing these past months, it didn’t look good on him. The boy looked sunk in on himself. Like a big chunk of his insides’d been yanked away from him, and the rest tried to fill up the hole. Bobby would bet that hole was Dean-shaped. Hell, he himself had been nursing one just like Sam’s - still was - and where he’d been trying to fill it with cheap booze, Sam’s way seemed to be even more self-destructive.
Well, but that’s Winchesters for ya.
Bobby watched the two, deciding not to interfere unless it got physical. Were the demon in any other meatsuit, he’d have taken care of it ages ago. But it was wearing Dean, and that made it personal. And nothing would do that just for kicks, there had to be something big brewing.
Great, just what they needed.
Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react, Sam chanted, refusing now to even look at not-Dean. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on Bobby. His jaw clenched, minutely, who the hell do you think you are, before it smoothed out.
It’s not a shapeshifter. Dean. No. Sam put his gun away, mind whirring. Bobby’s tone broke no argument — there seemed to be an actual chance that Bobby might believe this could be Dean. Sam stared at the ceiling, drawn there instinctively.
Devil’s trap. Of course some son of a bitch had possessed his brother’s dead body. Of course.
(the corpse would be rotten, sam — he stamped this out furiously.)
“Demon.” He sneered. “Who sent you? Lilith? This is how she gets her kicks — possessin’ mangled corpses? You—”
Sam’s voice broke off, unable to continue, red clawing up his throat, filling his eyes and voice.
Well, that was expected.
“Can you calm down and listen to me for five minutes? Listen. I’m not just any other demon, damn it. I’m your brother. I swear,” He stepped closer and met an invisible barrier. He had experienced this already with Bobby, but nonetheless, Dean tried to push at it. To break it, to step closer and make proof.
“I remember everything,” said Dean. “Lilith didn’t…She…Come on man, she made hellhound steak out of me, you know that. That’s the last time I saw you.”
With so much teeming frustration, unconsciously a wave of heat passed over Dean, unregulated and uncontrolled, black clouded his pupils. And Dean grunted when the sight of Sam and Bobby both was shrouded in that same black. He could see them better, sure. But that wasn’t the point, on the outside he was pretty certain what it looked like.
Don’t get angry. Don’t get angry. Control your temper.
He tried to calm himself, but that didn’t work. Dean blinked, but the onyx haze was still there. ” I wouldn’t lie to you. Come on, dude. If I was any ol’ demon, you think I’d be saying what I’m saying? You think I would have basically surrendered here?”
Surrendered was a loose term, he was careless enough to fall in the trap. “Bobby, I didn’t even give you a fight when I came here, did I?”
What the hell is that.
(Source: frightbot)
Aren’t you like 500,000. I still got my natural flare, thanks.
First Call
On instinct, Dean refrained from answering the hunter as he went on to the kitchen after giving Dean’s statement about not hurting him a dismissal. He tilted his head to the side at the very distinct sound of a car engine shutting off. Strange how so many senses were new to him, keener. He could even detect the level breathing Bobby pushed with each intake and outtake of air. In this silence, it allowed him to utilize these senses. And he could hear the collected breathing of a living soul outside.
Eyes automatically blackened on instinct with a rush of heat. Dean tilted his head to the side. No one might have seen the sudden tension. He was still sitting under the devil’s trap, and his jaw twitched. Suddenly, Dean used knuckles on hard wood floor to support his stand. The sound of that voice of all triggered an instinct to release his guard. He blinked away the black and the newfound senses snapped back into place like a rubber band.
No one knew Sam Winchester more than him. If it was him, he’d be armed. With what little he got of the phone call, he’d no doubt have his Taurus full of silver bullets ready. They wouldn’t kill Dean, but he wasn’t looking forward to potentially getting shot.
“Bobby,” Dean warned in a soft whisper. “Bobby. Remember what I told you. I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to believe that. But you have to believe….If he hurts me, you lose your opportunity to see for yourself.”
Dean arched both eyebrows at once and gave a raise of his shoulders.
At first, Bobby thought that the distant rumble of the engine came from one of the cars driving past the junkyard. Maybe it was. He should have given it more thought, anyway, he mused, hearing a faint scrape of metal on metal. As if knocking on the door were much more difficult. Bobby shook his head. Those boys always liked to make their lives more complicated. Guess they were used to it.
He hadn’t expected Sam to arrive so soon, though. That was a surprise. He must’ve been nearby. Bobby would ask about that, but decited t leave it for another time. There was more important stuff to do.
He heard the demon hiss something at him. Bobby shrugged. “What, afraid he’ll turn you into a colander?” he murmured. “Thought demons were above regular bullets.”
The demon situation aside, he was glad to hear Sam’s voice again. It’s been a while. A very long one. “In here,” he called out.
Sam walked in and his breath left him, lungs seizing up. Dean. But he’s not, he’s not Dean — he’s an imitation. A fake. An imposter. Don’t get your hopes up Sammy, Dean’s in Hell, he’ll always be in Hell ‘cause you can’t get him out.
He breathes in, sharp and jagged, and his eyes flicker to Bobby, the old man looking haggard and older than ever. Sam feels a little guilty — he hadn’t checked, hadn’t asked, hadn’t bothered but it doesn’t last long. It’s not like Bobby chased after him that hard either.
They both knew Dean was his favourite. It explained why Bobby couldn’t shoot the thing.
“Bobby,” He greets, voice barely masking his rage (and grief, so much grief, it’ll never go away). His gun is still held up, barrel pointing at not-Dean, and it tips a little as a gesture. “You called me all this way just to shoot a goddamned shapeshifter?”
He cocks the gun. “Could’ve done that yourself.”
“Maybe,” Dean remarked with a blink. He took a breath. He didn’t even know he was holding one in. The door opened slowly. Took a millennium and then Dean saw what almost forty-five years burning in Hell tried to take away from him. All those memories that the burning “light” figure who rescued him in Hell put back in, were crystal clear. Thirty years returned to Dean in vivid quality, and he knew that face well enough.
Well enough even to see it had changed, grown slightly gaunter. Sam wasn’t eating, or not very well. There was also a change in those eyes that reflected pain, regret and guilt. Even now as he held a pistol level to Dean’s chest, Dean can’t help but quirk a smile. It’s unknown to him how the gesture looks to the outside eye, but it’s genuine.
“Heya Sammy,” said Dean in a surprisingly gentle voice. He stepped forward in the confines of the trap. He knows his face is painful for Sam. Four months is a long time, even longer is forty years having it all taken away.
A chuckle slid through his lips. “You got bigger but you’re all bones. Are you eating right?” To speak so normally was out of the question. Sam would know, would have to figure, with a trap burnt to keep him in place. But it was a trigger, instinctual reaction that Dean almost couldn’t control.
First Call
When Sam’s feet touch the earth of the Salvage Yard, it really hits him that it’s been too long. He’d never thought he’d come back here — and definitely not to kill some shapeshifter Dean.
A part of Sam doesn’t know if he can do it, if he can send that silver bullet through the thing’s heart. Not while it wore Dean’s face. But a bigger part of him curled with cold fury that some filthy creature had dared to take his brother’s face — and Sam knew he could do it, even if Bobby couldn’t.
Since his first call, Bobby hadn’t contacted him, so Sam assumed he didn’t need to break the door down. Instead, he kneels down, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he picked the lock.
Standing back up as the locks tumbled into place, Sam pushed the door open, wincing as it strained against the hinges. The weight of Ruby’s knife was warm against his hip, reassuring as his gun slid into the palm of Sam’s hands.“Bobby?” Sam called out, slow easy steps as his eyes darted from one dark corner to another.
On instinct, Dean refrained from answering the hunter as he went on to the kitchen after giving Dean’s statement about not hurting him a dismissal. He tilted his head to the side at the very distinct sound of a car engine shutting off. Strange how so many senses were new to him, keener. He could even detect the level breathing Bobby pushed with each intake and outtake of air. In this silence, it allowed him to utilize these senses. And he could hear the collected breathing of a living soul outside.
Eyes automatically blackened on instinct with a rush of heat. Dean tilted his head to the side. No one might have seen the sudden tension. He was still sitting under the devil’s trap, and his jaw twitched. Suddenly, Dean used knuckles on hard wood floor to support his stand. The sound of that voice of all triggered an instinct to release his guard. He blinked away the black and the newfound senses snapped back into place like a rubber band.
No one knew Sam Winchester more than him. If it was him, he’d be armed. With what little he got of the phone call, he’d no doubt have his Taurus full of silver bullets ready. They wouldn’t kill Dean, but he wasn’t looking forward to potentially getting shot.
“Bobby,” Dean warned in a soft whisper. “Bobby. Remember what I told you. I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to believe that. But you have to believe….If he hurts me, you lose your opportunity to see for yourself.”
Dean arched both eyebrows at once and gave a raise of his shoulders.
