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Entry tags:
Hunter Becoming Hunted, Part 7 Supernatural, Keeper!Verse, R-ish
Fandom: Supernatural (Keeper!Verse)
Title: Hunter Becoming Hunted, Part 7 of ? (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dana, John
Word Count: 2338
Rating: R-ish, for remembered abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Sam's on his own, determined to save Dana and Dean by taking on Asmodai by himself. Dana is learning to cope with the explosion of her gifts, and Sam's memories while tracking Sam, hoping to get to him before he did something they'd all regret.
A/Ns & Warnings: Part of the Keeper!Verse, recollections of childhood rape and abuse, demon possession...other fun stuff.
“Dad. Stop.”
Dean slowed the car and pulled over. “What?”
She shook her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders. “Don’t know…give me a minute.” She rubbed at her temples, then nodded. “Screw this, he’s in Boston.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked at him with her patented Hello, have you met me? look. “Of course.” She touched his hand and filled his head with the image of Sam looking up at the mansion Dean had visited.
“Dana.”
“Its just easier,” she said irritably. Yes, she knew she wasn’t supposed to, never without permission…but they wasted so much time arguing anymore. “Boston. I’ll call Papa.”
She dug out her cell phone and picked John’s number. “Boston, Papa,” was all she said and she hung up. “How long?”
“Maybe by noon.”
Dean pulled the Impala back on the road and turned them around to catch the highway. If they were lucky the roads would stay clear as they headed north, and maybe they’d get to Sam before he did something stupid.
“He’s already done that.” Dana said.
“Would you stop?”
“Sorry.” She scowled and put her feet up on the dash, turning away to watch the world slip by out the window. Her powers were on full throttle and she hadn’t figured out yet how to stop them…how to tame them. Worse, they seemed to grow or expand or just flipping freak out every six or seven hours. She knew her father didn’t understand…she didn’t understand. It had been a week…and she felt like she’d aged 15 years.
Truth was, childhood was over. She’d seen to that herself. She closed her eyes as it came again, the memory of Sam on his knees at thirteen, choking on the cock in his throat and just trying to survive. Everything he’d tried to hide about himself lived in the forefront of her mind these days and came bubbling up at any provocation. It was damn debilitating. She couldn’t imagine living with it all these years.
She could feel it in her throat as the man came. She squeezed her arms around her legs, trying to contain the building fear and rage that always came with the memory. The windows rattled. The seat shook under her. “Stop the car. Stop.” She gasped and before her father even came to a stop, she had the door open and was jumping out, screaming and hoping that there was nothing to kill in the direction she threw the energy.
Two trees shook and one cracked in half and it felt like she was ripping the fabric of her own existence in half. Dana’s knees gave way and she crashed to the ground, vaguely aware that there was blood on her hands. Her father was there, beside her, holding a tissue to her bloody nose. “You gotta be careful Daddy…I don’t want to hurt you…can’t control it.”
“I’m careful Dana. I’m good. You okay?”
She gulped down air into lungs that were burning with exertion though she’d hardly moved and nodded. “Better…better now…”
“Ready to get back in the car?”
She leaned on him pretty heavily and pointed to the back seat. “Need sleep.”
“Yeah, good idea. You sleep and by the time we catch up with Uncle Sammy you’ll be rested.”
“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to…I just…can’t help it.”
“It’s okay, Dana. You’ll learn.” Dean tucked a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. “Sleep.” He shut the door and got in behind the wheel. With a sigh, he set them on the road again, glancing into his rear view mirror every few minutes to make sure she was okay. West Virginia melted into Pennsylvania…which fell away to New York. Massachusetts felt like it was a long way off…and Dean felt the miles collecting in his bones.
Sam felt them coming closer. She was learning fast. It hadn’t taken her an hour to see through his last distraction and redirect them in his direction. He sat in his stolen car outside the oldest occult store in Boston in the. The glamour hiding the car was the only thing keeping him off the radar of those charged with finding him. Once he stepped out of the car they’d be able to sense him again, and they would try to stop him.
He wasn’t going to let them, of course. Maybe he had spent the last 12 years playing house in Kansas, but that didn’t mean he was soft. He’d spent the first 22 years among them. He tucked a gun into the back of his jeans and another into his coat pocket. They wouldn’t be much good against demons, but they’d put good sized holes into just about any body they chose to inhabit.
He took a deep breath, and then opened the door of the car. He didn’t try to hide himself. He wanted the demon community to know he was coming for them. He should have come for them years before. He should have wiped the fucking town clean of them. All he needed now was a few supplies…and a particular knife he knew Jonas Barkelay kept in this store.
Sam strode across the street, his head high, not even bothering to look around him. Tiny brass bells jingled as he opened the door. The clerk at the front counter looked up, then over her shoulder as an older man came out of the office. “You’ve got balls, boy.”
Sam smiled his wide, toothy grin. “Big ones, I’m told. You probably know why I’m here.”
“I can’t help you Sam.”
Sam sighed and pulled the gun out of his pocket. “I think you can.” He put a list on the counter in front of the girl. “Get me those things while your boss and I have a chat.”
“You’ll never get out of here with it.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. But you’re going to give it to me anyway.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You do remember what happened to the Hank Hallins family, don’t you Mr. Barkelay? How fast can you get home to protect your wife and kids?”
Barkelay smiled hesitantly. “I heard you’d gone good, Sam…don’t have the stomach anymore for the killing. Heard you were a housewife in Minnesota or something.”
Sam squeezed off the shot before he could let himself think twice about it, hitting Barkelay in the right shoulder. “Oh, killing is off the list of acceptable practices these days, Jonas…but I have no problem finding new and interesting places to empty my clip. You remember how good I was at making it last, don’t you? Hank lingered for 6 hours before I finally let him go.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Sam raised an eyebrow and lowered the barrel of the gun toward his foot. “Want to test that theory?”
“They’ll kill me if I give it to you.”
“Probably.” Sam stepped around the counter and pushed him back into the office. “Open the safe, Jonas.”
Barkelay shook his head. “No. Kill me and get it out yourself Sam. I’m not giving it to you.”
Sam sighed. He was telling the truth. He’d be dead by the end of the day. The wife too. And yet, it didn’t really matter. “Suit yourself.” Sam said, lifting the gun. He didn’t even look, just shot him between the eyes and went to find the safe.
Dana sat up suddenly, covering her mouth to stop her scream. For the first time since she’d left Sam’s mind, she really reached for him, stretching over miles to try to push past the wall that had been between them since he left. She could breach it, she knew she could. But she had violated him that way once. She wouldn’t do it again. Sam…please…
She felt the briefest brush of him. No. He was gone just as fast.
“Shit.”
“Dana?”
“We gotta get to him Dad, he’s…he’s losing it.”
“What happened?”
She pulled the blanket closer around her. “I think he killed someone.”
“Shit.”
“That’s what I said.”
Sam found the safe with little trouble. Getting it open might be problematic, but if all else failed, he’d blow it up. The clerk screamed as she came into the office with his bag of supplies. “Is that everything? Hey, hey…concentrate on me. Is that all of it?”
“Yes…yes, everything.”
“Good. I want you to go out to the counter and do your job. If you behave I won’t hurt you, okay?”
She nodded, obviously petrified. She was probably just a random college student trying to make tuition. He didn’t have time to worry about her. He turned his attention to the safe. The combination was the easy part. He felt his way inside the lock and felt the combination out. The spell that protected it was harder.
It was taking too long and they’d be on him soon. “Come on.” He picked at the strands of the spell until it dawned on him. He crossed to where Barkelay lay dead on the floor. He pressed his hand against the shoulder wound, painting the skin of his palm with the man’s blood. He felt the protection spell retract as he raised the bloody hand and the safe fell open. The knife radiated a kind of energy that he could feel draw him in. The sheath that held it was faded black leather, tooled with sigils and symbols. The blade itself was marked with them as well, etched deep into the metal. It was said that the blade was forged from the melted down sword of St. George, the dragon slayer.
Of course, the dragons George fought were demons, the sword blessed with the power to kill them. In fact it was held by many scholars that the blade would kill anything evil. Sam knew for a fact that it could kill, he’d seen it work. Once upon a time the blade had been owned by a man who was playing both sides of the fence, holding it in defense of his family.
Hank Hallins had used that blade to kill the only person who had come to mean anything to Sam in the miserable existence of his life. Sam held up the blade and sighed. He’d held Michael’s body as he died, the wound from the blade festering and turning his skin black as it ate through him. Michael had gone to Hallins under possession, threatened his family.
No one knew where Hallins had gotten the blade. It was just suddenly being talked about. Hank Hallins had thought it would buy him his freedom. Instead, it bought him Sam and Andras, and together they had shown Hank the errors of his ways as he watched his family die.
Swallowing the pain of that particular memory, Sam put the knife in the bag of supplies, ruffling through it briefly to be sure everything was actually there. “You can call the police if you like.” Sam told the girl as he came out of the office. “I doubt they’ll get here before the clean up crew. When they come for the body, tell them Sam Winchester says hello.” Sam dropped twenty bucks on the counter. “That should cover the supplies.”
He didn’t go out the front door, figuring that they wouldn’t have the back covered yet, and even if they did, he’d rather have them confined to the alley than have to watch the whole busy shopping district as he fought his way free. He could feel Dana trying again as he neared the end of the alley. No. He pushed at her, and she backed off, then came back for more. Dana. Stop. He pushed a little harder and felt her recoil.
They were getting close. Sam needed to get this done. He flagged down a cab and got into the car, directing the driver before sitting back. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, wrap himself in the feeling of home and safe that was so much what Dana was for him.
“We aren’t going to catch up with him.” Dana said quietly as they waited for the gas to finish pumping.
Dean didn’t respond, just watched the numbers spin on the pump. “Papa might.” Her eyes were closed and Dean wondered what she saw. He’d wondered before, but now…He sighed and leaned against the car. They’d been tracking Sam across the country, and not getting any closer. The strain was starting to show. Dana was more ragged than he’d ever seen. Her eyes sunken and her control on her gifts was unraveling. It was frightening. He was pretty sure he shouldn’t be afraid of his own daughter.
“Is he okay?” Dean asked quietly as he lifted the nozzle and closed the gas tank.
“He’s angry. He’s…oh!” Her eyes went wide. “He’s okay-ish. Pushed me.”
“You can’t blame him for that, Dana. I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“No. He isn’t angry with me…at least not like that. He wants me to leave him alone, let him…do this.”
“Do what?” Dean scowled as they both got back into the car.
“He won’t let me see. He’s afraid we’ll try to stop him.” She put her feet up on the dash and rested her head on her knees. “But he hasn’t tried to break the connection either…I think…I think he wants us to find him…just not until he’s done this…whatever this is.”
“It’s got something to do with this demon though?”
Dana nodded. “Asmodai. Sam’s dealt with him in the past.” She closed her eyes as the memory of the last time Sam encountered him filled her mind. Asmodai had wanted her then, when she was still an infant. It had waited a long time for her. Now, the wait was over, and it was hunting her.
But that was okay, because like Sam and Asmodai, Dana was done waiting too. It wanted her? Fine. She would come. But if Asmodai thought she wouldn’t hunt it down and send it back to hell, he obviously didn’t know what it was to be a Winchester.
Title: Hunter Becoming Hunted, Part 7 of ? (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dana, John
Word Count: 2338
Rating: R-ish, for remembered abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Sam's on his own, determined to save Dana and Dean by taking on Asmodai by himself. Dana is learning to cope with the explosion of her gifts, and Sam's memories while tracking Sam, hoping to get to him before he did something they'd all regret.
A/Ns & Warnings: Part of the Keeper!Verse, recollections of childhood rape and abuse, demon possession...other fun stuff.
“Dad. Stop.”
Dean slowed the car and pulled over. “What?”
She shook her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders. “Don’t know…give me a minute.” She rubbed at her temples, then nodded. “Screw this, he’s in Boston.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked at him with her patented Hello, have you met me? look. “Of course.” She touched his hand and filled his head with the image of Sam looking up at the mansion Dean had visited.
“Dana.”
“Its just easier,” she said irritably. Yes, she knew she wasn’t supposed to, never without permission…but they wasted so much time arguing anymore. “Boston. I’ll call Papa.”
She dug out her cell phone and picked John’s number. “Boston, Papa,” was all she said and she hung up. “How long?”
“Maybe by noon.”
Dean pulled the Impala back on the road and turned them around to catch the highway. If they were lucky the roads would stay clear as they headed north, and maybe they’d get to Sam before he did something stupid.
“He’s already done that.” Dana said.
“Would you stop?”
“Sorry.” She scowled and put her feet up on the dash, turning away to watch the world slip by out the window. Her powers were on full throttle and she hadn’t figured out yet how to stop them…how to tame them. Worse, they seemed to grow or expand or just flipping freak out every six or seven hours. She knew her father didn’t understand…she didn’t understand. It had been a week…and she felt like she’d aged 15 years.
Truth was, childhood was over. She’d seen to that herself. She closed her eyes as it came again, the memory of Sam on his knees at thirteen, choking on the cock in his throat and just trying to survive. Everything he’d tried to hide about himself lived in the forefront of her mind these days and came bubbling up at any provocation. It was damn debilitating. She couldn’t imagine living with it all these years.
She could feel it in her throat as the man came. She squeezed her arms around her legs, trying to contain the building fear and rage that always came with the memory. The windows rattled. The seat shook under her. “Stop the car. Stop.” She gasped and before her father even came to a stop, she had the door open and was jumping out, screaming and hoping that there was nothing to kill in the direction she threw the energy.
Two trees shook and one cracked in half and it felt like she was ripping the fabric of her own existence in half. Dana’s knees gave way and she crashed to the ground, vaguely aware that there was blood on her hands. Her father was there, beside her, holding a tissue to her bloody nose. “You gotta be careful Daddy…I don’t want to hurt you…can’t control it.”
“I’m careful Dana. I’m good. You okay?”
She gulped down air into lungs that were burning with exertion though she’d hardly moved and nodded. “Better…better now…”
“Ready to get back in the car?”
She leaned on him pretty heavily and pointed to the back seat. “Need sleep.”
“Yeah, good idea. You sleep and by the time we catch up with Uncle Sammy you’ll be rested.”
“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to…I just…can’t help it.”
“It’s okay, Dana. You’ll learn.” Dean tucked a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. “Sleep.” He shut the door and got in behind the wheel. With a sigh, he set them on the road again, glancing into his rear view mirror every few minutes to make sure she was okay. West Virginia melted into Pennsylvania…which fell away to New York. Massachusetts felt like it was a long way off…and Dean felt the miles collecting in his bones.
Sam felt them coming closer. She was learning fast. It hadn’t taken her an hour to see through his last distraction and redirect them in his direction. He sat in his stolen car outside the oldest occult store in Boston in the. The glamour hiding the car was the only thing keeping him off the radar of those charged with finding him. Once he stepped out of the car they’d be able to sense him again, and they would try to stop him.
He wasn’t going to let them, of course. Maybe he had spent the last 12 years playing house in Kansas, but that didn’t mean he was soft. He’d spent the first 22 years among them. He tucked a gun into the back of his jeans and another into his coat pocket. They wouldn’t be much good against demons, but they’d put good sized holes into just about any body they chose to inhabit.
He took a deep breath, and then opened the door of the car. He didn’t try to hide himself. He wanted the demon community to know he was coming for them. He should have come for them years before. He should have wiped the fucking town clean of them. All he needed now was a few supplies…and a particular knife he knew Jonas Barkelay kept in this store.
Sam strode across the street, his head high, not even bothering to look around him. Tiny brass bells jingled as he opened the door. The clerk at the front counter looked up, then over her shoulder as an older man came out of the office. “You’ve got balls, boy.”
Sam smiled his wide, toothy grin. “Big ones, I’m told. You probably know why I’m here.”
“I can’t help you Sam.”
Sam sighed and pulled the gun out of his pocket. “I think you can.” He put a list on the counter in front of the girl. “Get me those things while your boss and I have a chat.”
“You’ll never get out of here with it.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. But you’re going to give it to me anyway.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You do remember what happened to the Hank Hallins family, don’t you Mr. Barkelay? How fast can you get home to protect your wife and kids?”
Barkelay smiled hesitantly. “I heard you’d gone good, Sam…don’t have the stomach anymore for the killing. Heard you were a housewife in Minnesota or something.”
Sam squeezed off the shot before he could let himself think twice about it, hitting Barkelay in the right shoulder. “Oh, killing is off the list of acceptable practices these days, Jonas…but I have no problem finding new and interesting places to empty my clip. You remember how good I was at making it last, don’t you? Hank lingered for 6 hours before I finally let him go.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Sam raised an eyebrow and lowered the barrel of the gun toward his foot. “Want to test that theory?”
“They’ll kill me if I give it to you.”
“Probably.” Sam stepped around the counter and pushed him back into the office. “Open the safe, Jonas.”
Barkelay shook his head. “No. Kill me and get it out yourself Sam. I’m not giving it to you.”
Sam sighed. He was telling the truth. He’d be dead by the end of the day. The wife too. And yet, it didn’t really matter. “Suit yourself.” Sam said, lifting the gun. He didn’t even look, just shot him between the eyes and went to find the safe.
Dana sat up suddenly, covering her mouth to stop her scream. For the first time since she’d left Sam’s mind, she really reached for him, stretching over miles to try to push past the wall that had been between them since he left. She could breach it, she knew she could. But she had violated him that way once. She wouldn’t do it again. Sam…please…
She felt the briefest brush of him. No. He was gone just as fast.
“Shit.”
“Dana?”
“We gotta get to him Dad, he’s…he’s losing it.”
“What happened?”
She pulled the blanket closer around her. “I think he killed someone.”
“Shit.”
“That’s what I said.”
Sam found the safe with little trouble. Getting it open might be problematic, but if all else failed, he’d blow it up. The clerk screamed as she came into the office with his bag of supplies. “Is that everything? Hey, hey…concentrate on me. Is that all of it?”
“Yes…yes, everything.”
“Good. I want you to go out to the counter and do your job. If you behave I won’t hurt you, okay?”
She nodded, obviously petrified. She was probably just a random college student trying to make tuition. He didn’t have time to worry about her. He turned his attention to the safe. The combination was the easy part. He felt his way inside the lock and felt the combination out. The spell that protected it was harder.
It was taking too long and they’d be on him soon. “Come on.” He picked at the strands of the spell until it dawned on him. He crossed to where Barkelay lay dead on the floor. He pressed his hand against the shoulder wound, painting the skin of his palm with the man’s blood. He felt the protection spell retract as he raised the bloody hand and the safe fell open. The knife radiated a kind of energy that he could feel draw him in. The sheath that held it was faded black leather, tooled with sigils and symbols. The blade itself was marked with them as well, etched deep into the metal. It was said that the blade was forged from the melted down sword of St. George, the dragon slayer.
Of course, the dragons George fought were demons, the sword blessed with the power to kill them. In fact it was held by many scholars that the blade would kill anything evil. Sam knew for a fact that it could kill, he’d seen it work. Once upon a time the blade had been owned by a man who was playing both sides of the fence, holding it in defense of his family.
Hank Hallins had used that blade to kill the only person who had come to mean anything to Sam in the miserable existence of his life. Sam held up the blade and sighed. He’d held Michael’s body as he died, the wound from the blade festering and turning his skin black as it ate through him. Michael had gone to Hallins under possession, threatened his family.
No one knew where Hallins had gotten the blade. It was just suddenly being talked about. Hank Hallins had thought it would buy him his freedom. Instead, it bought him Sam and Andras, and together they had shown Hank the errors of his ways as he watched his family die.
Swallowing the pain of that particular memory, Sam put the knife in the bag of supplies, ruffling through it briefly to be sure everything was actually there. “You can call the police if you like.” Sam told the girl as he came out of the office. “I doubt they’ll get here before the clean up crew. When they come for the body, tell them Sam Winchester says hello.” Sam dropped twenty bucks on the counter. “That should cover the supplies.”
He didn’t go out the front door, figuring that they wouldn’t have the back covered yet, and even if they did, he’d rather have them confined to the alley than have to watch the whole busy shopping district as he fought his way free. He could feel Dana trying again as he neared the end of the alley. No. He pushed at her, and she backed off, then came back for more. Dana. Stop. He pushed a little harder and felt her recoil.
They were getting close. Sam needed to get this done. He flagged down a cab and got into the car, directing the driver before sitting back. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, wrap himself in the feeling of home and safe that was so much what Dana was for him.
“We aren’t going to catch up with him.” Dana said quietly as they waited for the gas to finish pumping.
Dean didn’t respond, just watched the numbers spin on the pump. “Papa might.” Her eyes were closed and Dean wondered what she saw. He’d wondered before, but now…He sighed and leaned against the car. They’d been tracking Sam across the country, and not getting any closer. The strain was starting to show. Dana was more ragged than he’d ever seen. Her eyes sunken and her control on her gifts was unraveling. It was frightening. He was pretty sure he shouldn’t be afraid of his own daughter.
“Is he okay?” Dean asked quietly as he lifted the nozzle and closed the gas tank.
“He’s angry. He’s…oh!” Her eyes went wide. “He’s okay-ish. Pushed me.”
“You can’t blame him for that, Dana. I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“No. He isn’t angry with me…at least not like that. He wants me to leave him alone, let him…do this.”
“Do what?” Dean scowled as they both got back into the car.
“He won’t let me see. He’s afraid we’ll try to stop him.” She put her feet up on the dash and rested her head on her knees. “But he hasn’t tried to break the connection either…I think…I think he wants us to find him…just not until he’s done this…whatever this is.”
“It’s got something to do with this demon though?”
Dana nodded. “Asmodai. Sam’s dealt with him in the past.” She closed her eyes as the memory of the last time Sam encountered him filled her mind. Asmodai had wanted her then, when she was still an infant. It had waited a long time for her. Now, the wait was over, and it was hunting her.
But that was okay, because like Sam and Asmodai, Dana was done waiting too. It wanted her? Fine. She would come. But if Asmodai thought she wouldn’t hunt it down and send it back to hell, he obviously didn’t know what it was to be a Winchester.