He does have some moronic qualities, which makes me feel slightly better – like picking up stones and trying to eat them, or really not getting the whole point of fetch, or repeatedly licking the couch cushions for no reason.

- Avoid eye contact with the crazy woman prowling the platform at the train station. You know she has a survey she wants you to complete on some random crap like trains… and satisfaction, which there was none to be had since my train was twenty minutes frigging late

– Don’t eat in the hotel restaurant. The food tastes like shit and is overpriced. I paid £2 for frigging service charges… in a BAR!!!!!!!!

- Locking your hotel room door doesn’t work. You’ll still have a mysterious guest trying to get into your room at 11pm because the incompetent staff didn’t book you in properly.

- Expect to be disturbed for the next hour by hotel staff trying to figure out why your room was double booked but not once offering an apology.

- Don’t eat breakfast in the hotel. See point number two. My crossiants tasted like they had been left out for a week in the snow.

- When you go down for breakfast expect that your room card will have locked you out in that time. The hotel doesn’t care that you are on a schedule and that you don’t have time to keep traipsing up and down 6 floors to get it fixed.

- Expect your train home to be delayed. They might say it will be in at 7.24pm, but in reality they really mean 7.45pm. Also don’t expect an explanation for this.

All in all a sucky trip. I now remember why I left Events for Editorial – coming home at 5pm to my own home with nice food and no random people trying to get into your room when you’re half asleep is definitely made of win.

• The Nephilim – Sequel to my Supernatural story – The Watcher. Word Count: 15,000
• Progeny – An original project with Scullspeare. This has been about 3 years in the making but I’m hoping we will be ready to start posting by christmas.
• Invicta – Third part is almost done. Hopefully, it’ll be ready to post by the beginning of spring.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked hesitantly.

Piper spun to face him, her expression a mix of terrified and shocked. Chris didn’t know what to make of the intense gaze boring into his face. What the hell was going on? He slid his eyes towards the other Charmed Ones, his brow furrowed and knew instantly what was wrong with Piper.

They’d told her.

Chris’ heart gave a tremulous twitch beneath his ribs as his both aunt’s shot reassuring smiles at him. It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. The urge to run was overwhelming. He didn’t want to do this right now. He didn’t want to do this period, but Piper was staring at him, slack-jawed, her eyes wide.

“Is it true?” Piper finally found her voice. Chris wished she hadn’t. The way she was looking at him made his stomach clench. For months he’d endured Piper’s suspicion, her outright hostility, and he’d managed to separate her from the Piper of his future. It was easier when she hated him, it was easier to think of them as two different people but the way she was looking at him now made his blood freeze. She was so open, so willing to accept his revelation at face value, and Chris didn’t know how to handle that. “Chris – are you…” She broke off, taking a deep breath before trying again. “Are you my son?”

No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t play the happy family card. Chris didn’t want to get close to them, he didn’t want to play the doting son, the loving nephew, because he knew there was a chance that his mom and aunts could still be gone in the future, no matter how much he changed in the past. He hadn’t told them who he was for that reason.

In spite of that, part of him had been relieved when Phoebe had figured out his secret. The lying was too hard to maintain and the mistrust was exhausting, but he’d never wanted Piper to find out.

“I…” He faulted, not sure how to continue. The silence stretched out for what felt like eternity. Chris averted his gaze, unable to meet Piper’s. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to change the future and leave the past without anyone knowing who the hell he was. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in the middle of an awkward family reunion.

“Of course he’s your son,” Phoebe piped up, breaking the stalemate. “Look at him! He’s practically a carbon copy of you, right down to that weird little thing you do when you’re…” Phoebe clamped her mouth shut and shifted bashfully. “And I’m shutting up now.”

“Good idea,” Paige said, patting her sister’s arm.

“Chris?” Piper tried again and the tone of her voice nearly broke him. He couldn’t bear the way she was looking at him, he couldn’t bear the dawning realisation that lingered in her eyes as she took in his appearance with the knowledge that he was a Halliwell.

“It’s true,” he said quietly, averting his gaze.

He didn’t want to see her reaction. Would she reject him? Would she welcome him with open arms? Chris wasn’t sure which he wanted more. He’d lived without his mother’s presence for so long, he wasn’t sure he could deal with having her back.

“But…” Piper’s mouth worked silently for a moment. “Why –? Why didn’t you say something?”

Running his tongue over his lips, Chris closed his eyes and steeled himself. He couldn’t afford to breakdown, he couldn’t afford to let himself feel anything.

“Who I am is irrelevant,” he said, his voice as hard as he could manage. “I’m here to save Wyatt – and that’s all.”

Piper recoiled at the sharpness of his words, hurt flashing through her face and Chris felt a pang of guilt race through him. He pushed it down. He had to do this. He couldn’t let himself get to close. “It’s not irrelevant to me, Chris.”

“Really?” he said derisively. “Knowing who I am doesn’t change anything. I’m still the same person I was yesterday, and let’s face it, why would I tell you? I came back to save your other son and you treated me like crap.”

All three sisters looked crestfallen, distraught. Chris wasn’t sure he cared about sparing their feelings at this juncture. He’d been made to feel like nothing the whole time he’d been in the past.

“If we’d known –” Phoebe started, but Chris cut her off with a wave of his hand. He couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t think that they would have welcomed him if they’d known who he was. It was too difficult. He’d been alone for months; he didn’t need to be told that hadn’t been necessary.

“Don’t, Phoebe. Just don’t.” Chris brushed his fingers through his hair, pacing the room. Things were spiralling and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Chris, please, talk to me.” Piper reached out towards him and for a moment he saw his mother in her eyes, the mother he knew, loved, and lost at fourteen. There was understanding and sympathy in her gaze, and, worst of all, there was love. It was too much.

He orbed out.

The backroom of P3 was empty when he rematerialised. He strained his ears for a moment and was thankful that there was no sound coming from the club. He needed to think, and he needed to do that alone.

He sank onto the couch, pushing his blankets out of the way, and leaned his head back against the wall. This was a mess. The weight of the situation hit him heavily. What was he supposed to do now? He didn’t want her to act like his mom but he knew this changed everything, that she would feel compelled to do so. He couldn’t get close to her because he couldn’t lose her again. The first time had been hard enough but coming back to the past had nearly sent him over the edge. Seeing her every day, seeing the doubt in her eyes, the anger was unbearable, but the possibility that those emotions would still be there now she knew who he really was…? That was soul destroying.

His feelings collided in a myriad of confusion. He didn’t know what was worse: Piper playing his mom or Piper hating him despite knowing his identity.

The tinkling sound of orbs dragged him out of his reverie abruptly. Chris scrambled to his feet as Paige solidified in front of him.

“Don’t orb again,” she said instantly, her hands raised in a defensive manner. “Please. I just want to talk.”

Her pleading tone stopped him. He’d never been able to deny his aunt anything, even in the future. Swallowing hard, Chris sank back onto the couch, his hands clasped in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. He was reminded of all the times Paige had sat him down like this and talked to him – especially after his mom’s death when Chris had felt isolated by his father’s increasing absence and his brother’s turn to the dark side.

“I can’t believe you told her,” he muttered, sounding like a sullen kid rather than a grown man.

“Did you really think we could keep something like that from her? She’s you mom, Chris. She has a right to know that.”

He raised his eyes, his expression steely. “No, she doesn’t. None of you do. Do you have any idea what this could do to the future?” He wasn’t sure himself, but he was well aware of the butterfly effect. The future was already hell; he didn’t want to make it even worse.

“Oh, please, if I hear ‘future consequences’ one more time, I’m going to scream,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “From what you’ve said the future pretty much sucks anyway so what difference will it make if your family know who you really are? It’s not like things can get worse, right?”

She was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. The future was a disaster. Coming back had been the last ditch attempt at salvaging something.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he said quietly. She sank down next to him.

“Did you ever think that if you’d just told us who you were that we would have helped you?”

Chris frowned at her. Coming back to the past had been planned in infinite detail. Messing with time was bad on so many levels; they’d checked, double checked and rechecked every detail to make sure nothing terrible would happen when he revealed his cover story to the Charmed Ones. One wrong word could have wiped out half his family line, could have resulted in different decisions with different outcomes. Keeping his identity a secret had been a deliberate, well thought out plan.

“It wasn’t an option.”

“Do you really think we’re that dumb that we’d screw with the timeline just to find out if we get married, or if we have kids or if we’re going to be rich and famous?” She bumped his shoulder with his. “We’re not exactly new to this game, Chris.”

“It’s not that simple, Paige. One tiny incident and the whole future could have change in even worse ways.” He’d nearly erased his own existence by meddling. “The people you meet, the people you help, the things you do – all that could be erased by one action.”

“Well, if the future is really as bad as you say then good,” she declared emphatically.

Chris’ brow furrowed. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Growing up, Paige had drilled into him about personal gain and the consequences of using magic. This more liberal minded woman sat next to him was difficult to reconcile with the Paige he knew.

“That’s not how it works and you know it.”

“Why not?

He scowled, her tone infuriating him.“There are repercussions.”

“Such as changing the future?” She arched a brow. “But isn’t that why you came back?”

Chris floundered for a moment. She had him there. His reasons had seemed so solid and yet his aunt was pulling them apart one at a time and spitting them out.

“Yeah… well, yeah it was, but that’s not the point!”

Paige sighed. “Did we really raise you to be this pig-headed?” She gave him a long look. “You came back to change things, Chris, to make the future better – I get that – but I still don’t understand why you thought you had to do that alone.”

Chris didn’t trust himself to speak. He couldn’t tell Paige that he’d kept his silence because he didn’t want to get close to his mother in case she was still dead when he went back to the future. He’d already screwed up the timeline enough as it was. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low breath.

“Is Piper OK?”

“Well, finding out that your pregnant and that the kid you’re carrying is actually your whitelighter from the future is pretty shocking.” She squeezed his arm. “But she’ll get over it.”

Chris raised a sceptical brow. “Really?”

“Maybe not right away, but Piper’s seen a lot of weird stuff. You’re not exactly top of the bizzaro list.”

He grinned in spite of the situation. Paige had always had a way about her that had made Chris feel better about things.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For… well, just being you, I guess.”

The look she shot him was confused. “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. “You know you have to go back, right? You have to face her eventually.”

Chris knew he had to talk to Piper eventually, but he didn’t have the strength to do it now. “I will.”

“Just don’t leave it too long.”

She dissipated in a glow of white light, leaving Chris alone once more. Only, this time he wasn’t really alone and for the first time since stepping through the portal, Chris felt as if he was home.

The End…

He followed after Dean, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his eyes unfocused on the wooden slats beneath his feet. Things felt like they were moving too fast and spinning out of control. How the hell had things changed so much in less than a year? Dean had sold his soul, had gone to hell and come back… different.

Sam couldn’t bear to see the look in Dean’s eyes, the look he had just had when explaining what hell had been like for him. Dean said Sam didn’t understand what it had been like, couldn’t understand, but he couldn’t help but think that he understood all too well.

There hadn’t been fire and brimstone or torture sessions or… or whatever demons did for kicks, but Sam had suffered too. When his brother had died, the world had become Sam’s own personal hell. His mind had been plagued with darkness, more darkness than Sam had ever imagined could exist in his head. Dean had no idea how bad things had been for him because Sam had never told him but there were times he’d gone hunting with one objective in mind – and that objective didn’t involve coming back. Dean’s pain had been worse and had come first, but Sam’s own pain was destroying him.

He felt dizzied by all the emotions rolling around his head, over burdened and exhausted by the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. He wanted to help Dean, he wanted to fix him, like he had so often fixed Sam, but Dean didn’t want his help. He’d push Sam out and Sam didn’t know how to fix that – or even if it could be fixed.

Some days Sam wished he had died in Cold Oak, that he died in his nursery. It was one thing to hate life, but Sam hated Sam. Everything he touched turned to ash. His mom, Jess, Dean… they had all died because of him, because of the darkness inside him.

It didn’t matter that Sam had lived a good life – or tried to. It would never be enough. Death would follow him wherever he went. Sam was tainted, was part of something inherently evil and no amount of atonement would change that.

His father had known that Sam couldn’t be saved. He’d warned Dean he might have to kill him. Sam wished his brother had done it. It would have made things a lot easier – on both of them.

But it was Dean’s mistrust that cut the deepest. His brother didn’t say it, but Sam knew it. He could see it in the way Dean looked at him sometimes, like he was waiting for him to lose control, to go nuclear, to go on a mass killing spree.

That hurt so much.

Sam was sure that when Dean looked at him he didn’t see his brother at all, but a monster. Sam wondered if that was why Dean had pushed him out. Did his brother really believe that he was tainted, that he needed to be hunted? Was he distancing himself so he could do the unthinkable and kill his little brother?

“Sam? You coming or what?”

Sam hadn’t even realised he’d stopped walking, but Dean was a few feet in front of him, a faint hint of worry around his eyes. Sam wasn’t sure if it was feigned or genuine, he wasn’t sure about anything any more. The world was starting to look different to Sam all the time. Nothing was as it seemed. He was trapped in a hall of mirrors and whichever way he turned, Sam’s world rippled and twisted around him.

He shook himself out of his dark thoughts and made his feet move. They’d parked the car just off the main street and Dean reached it first, climbing in and unlocking Sam’s door for him. Sam didn’t say a word as he got into the passenger seat. What the hell could he say to his brother? Dean didn’t want to hear it anyway and Sam had given up on trying to make his brother talk to him.

“Sam?”

Sam pulled his gaze from the window but didn’t look at Dean, instead focusing on his folded hands in his lap.

“No, you’re right. What good does talking do? I wouldn’t understand.” His flat tone surprised even himself. He sounded bitter as hell.

Dean winced. “Sam…”

“Just forget it Dean,” he said with a tired sigh, feeling another part of him chipped away, eroded.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you that I remembered the pit, dude,” Dean snapped, but there was little heat in his voice. Sam thought he sounded more regretful, possibly even weary.

“I just want to help you.” Sam needed to help him, needed to ease his own conscious. He needed to feel needed.

Dean may have made the deal of his own will, but that didn’t make Sam’s guilt any less. He leaned his head against the side window, soaking in the coolness of the touch and wished he could fade away, disappear.

“I don’t need help, Sam.” It wasn’t said maliciously but resignedly. Dean sounded as tired as Sam felt.

“I know,” Sam said and fell silent because, really, he did know. It wasn’t Dean who needed help, it was Sam, and that was ironic as hell.

Dean had always been the one who clung to his family with a fierce, almost obsessive, resolve; Sam had been the independent one, the one who had left for college, the one who had tried to have a normal life alone. But Sam was starting to think that he needed his brother more than Dean had ever needed him. He needed an assurance that only Dean could give him. He needed to be told that he wasn’t a freak and Sam wasn’t sure Dean could tell him that any more.

“I don’t need you to save me, Sam,” Dean said after a moment.

No… but Sam needed Dean to save him. He wanted to scream at his brother to help him, to pull him out of the water threatening to pull him under but he couldn’t. Dean had been through hell, literally. Sam couldn’t expect his brother to deal with his problems when his own were insurmountable.

“Let’s just get the hell out of here,” Sam murmured, glancing out of the side window.

Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could feel his eyes on the back of his head. He was glad when he finally put the car into gear and pulled onto the street.

“Come on Sam! Get a move on!” Dean hollered as he banged on the bathroom door. Glancing around the room he spotted a sock lying under the small table by the door. Huffing he stomped over and knelt down and snagged the offending item. Getting to his feet Dean turned and tossed the sock over to his bed. “Score!” he called as the sock landed in his open duffle. Smiling he surveyed the room once more making sure nothing else had escaped his packing. “Bout time Samantha” he huffed when the bathroom door finally opened and Sam walked out surrounded by a cloud of steam.

“Ha, ha” Sam grumbled as he walked over to his bag and started searching for a clean shirt and jeans. “What’s the hurry, anyway, Dean? It’s not like we have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, but we do, little brother.” Dean replied holding up his cell for Sam to see. “Got some coordinates while you were doing your hair. We’re headed to Osceola, Arizona.”

“What’s there?” Sam asked as he slid on some boxers and a pair of jeans. Grabbing his shirt he pulled it over his head as he walked back into the bathroom. Retrieving his kit from the sink and scooping up his dirty clothes he strolled over to his bed and stuffed them in his bag.

“Don’t know yet. You can figure it out on the way.” Dean replied. He shouldered his bag and headed out the door to his baby.

-0-

After driving all morning and a good part of the afternoon the boys finally pulled into the town of Osceola. Glancing around, they grimaced at the immaculate lawns and row upon row of eerily similar houses. “Welcome to Stepford” Dean joked as he pushed a little harder on the accelerator. This place was giving him the creeps. Stopping at the stop sign at the end of the street he quickly scanned all three directions and then made a right turn. He drove past a shopping center and several apartment buildings and housing developments before making it into the seedier side of town. Several minutes and turns later Dean spotted a crumbling building with a neon sign blinking “The Hopi Inn”. Rolling his eyes at the name he quickly pulled and parked in the first spot he came to and cut the engine. “Be right back, Sammy” he called as he climbed out of the car and hurried inside.

-0-

A dinged up, rusty Ford truck pulled into the Hopi Inn parking lot, the only motel for miles. The engine idled as its owner watched the occupants of the dark black Impala. “Oh, this is too perfect!” the man muttered as he glared at the two young hunters as they unloaded the classic Chevy and shuffled into the room at the end of the row. A wicked grin curled up on his lips. “Well, well, well, instead of Winchester and son, I get both his brats. Guess mister smarty pants didn’t make it through Stanford after all. Serves’em right, after all the bragging Winchester did.” The watcher crowed as he glanced down at an old newspaper clipping in his hand, then, dropped it to the tattered vinyl seat beside him. He smiled. “John Winchester thought he and his brood was so much better than the everyone else. Well, I’ll show him. I’ll make him pay for what he did to Billy. You just wait and see. He’ll be sorry he ever crossed paths with me and mine.”

Supernaturaldh

The sunlight glared through the musty motel room curtain as Sam’s eyes blinked open. Immediately, his hand rose across his eyes to block out the too bright glow of morning. He sighed loudly and scrubbed his fingers across his crusty lids. He heard Dean sigh even louder from the other bed. Sam waited, hoping his always hungry older brother had forgotten who’d gone for food last…no such luck.

“It’s your turn to get breakfast,” Dean’s pillow muffled voice mumbled from the other bed. “Black coffee,” Dean stated flatly as he flopped to his back, his eyes still closed. “And doughnuts….”

Sam sighed tiredly.

“Blueberry…” Dean mumbled, his eyes still firmly shut.

“Do I ever forget what kind of doughnuts you like?” Sam snorted. He moved his long legs from beneath the warm blankets and smacked his feet against the dirty motel carpet. He glanced at his dozing older brother and shook his head. He sniffed his semi clean t-shirt and decided it was good another day. He yanked on his blue jeans, stuffed his un-socked feet into his boot, pulled on his jacket, and snagged the keys from the table. “I’ll be right back,” he said sleepily.

Dean nuzzled against the pillow and smiled smugly as the motel doorway shut. He dozed on and off for a while, waiting for Sam to return with breakfast. Finally, after about twenty minutes, he jumped to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Damn, how long does it take to get a doughnut?

The shower was long, and hot, and woke him up completely. By the time he was done, he was humming Metallica and thinking how glorious it was to be alive. He dressed slowly, and settled himself in front of the laptop, hoping to find something of interest in this town.

After a while, Dean glanced down at his watch. What the hell, where’s Sam? The restaurant was within walking distance; it shouldn’t have taken him over an hour to get some food? He grabbed his cell phone and pushed speed dial, holding it to his ear. Three rings and Sam’s voice came on the line.

“It’s me, leave a message.”

Dean frowned. Maybe the restaurant was too busy… Maybe there was traffic…a wreck? Maybe he was being paranoid, but an uneasy feeling was stirring in the pit of his stomach, his big brother senses kicking into overdrive. He hung up the phone, without leaving a message, and grabbed his jacket as he moved hastily towards the door.

The walk to the diner took him fifteen minutes. He glanced across the front parking lot to see that it was full of cars and trucks from the highway, early birds getting the breakfast special no doubt.

Where’s the ‘Pala? He asked himself curiously, his eyes darting from one car to the next.

He moved slowly around the side of the restaurant, his beloved black beauty coming into view. Well, good, at least Sam got here in one peace. He laughed lightly at his nerves and moved steadily toward the car. It was then that he saw the dropped to-go boxes, his eyes following the trail until they fell on the familiar jacket and the too long gangly limbs.

Oh My God.

Fueled by adrenaline, Dean’s feet flew beneath him as he sprinted to Sam’s side, dropping to his knees beside his little brother.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered, his hands ghosting over Sam’s prone body.

Sam moaned and his head moved slightly, “Dean?” he whispered as unfocused eyes blinked slowly open, staring blankly up at his older brother’s face.

“Thank god, Sammy, you scared the shit out of me, dude! You okay?” Someone beat the shit out of his brother, his car. “What? Who did this?” Dean rambled angrily as he looked to the banged and dented Impala and the bat rolling against the pavement. “Son of a bitch!” He reached to pull his barely conscious little brother up against his chest. “Sam, who did this?”

Sam winced as his arms curled around his midsection. “Guh…D…d…don’t, De…hurts” he gasped as his body heaved for air, his eyes squinting tightly shut.

Dean released his little brother and lowered him gently back against the ground. “Easy Sammy.”

Sam whimpered fists clinching, chest hitching, as he curled in tighter on himself.

“Just gon’na take a look”, Dean cooed. “Sam, sh….it’s okay…easy.”

Dean reached for the hem of Sam’s tee-shirt, moving the tightly fisted hands away. He pulled the material slowly upward to reveal massive black and blue bruises all across his little brother’s stomach.

“Sweet Jesus,” Dean grimaced. “Just lie still; its gon’a be okay.” I am so kicking somebody’s ass.

Dean saw red – Who the hell did this to Sam? He glanced uncomfortably around. Son of a bitch. He placed a hand on the side of Sam’s pale face and ran it soothingly through his sweat soaked hair.

Sam’s face contorted up in pain as he seemed to struggle to pull in air.

“Easy Sammy I got’cha.”

Dean’s heart raced as he pulled out his cell phone, his fingers quickly punching 911.

-0-

Leonard Steel guzzled from the whiskey bottle gripped in his right hand, the fingers of his left twisting tightly around the tattered newspaper clipping, a wicked grin curling to his lips. He stared at the two hunters from his hidden position across the parking lot.

He was pleased with himself. He’d managed to get the jump on the kid; it had been way too easy. The tall teenager had gone down to his knees with the first strategic blow. Leonard had wanted to finish him off, right then and there, wanted to end him, but where’s the fun in that?

Thank god he’d listened to his instincts and gotten back out of sight. He’d barely gotten into hiding before the older brother had appeared. Damn it! Could have given the kid a few more wacks with the bat! He cackled at the thought. He had been very patient, and that patience had finally paid off big. He’d sent John’s boys the coordinates, hoping they would come, and well, he smiled, they hadn’t disappointed.

For over two weeks Leonard had been watching, following, and stalking the Winchester brothers. He knew their habits, their routines. One of them would always leave, go out for food, and then, sometimes they’d leave together for hours at a time. Every now and then they wore suits, other day’s regular clothing. No doubt they were trying to figure out the last case he’d sent them on, good thing it had been a real haunting, or they would have wondered why they were even there. Once the ghost was salt and burned, the brother’s had moved on, looking for the next hunt, just like clockwork. All Leonard had to do was tell them where to go. He grinned wickedly. Pity they didn’t know John Winchester hadn’t sent them the last two sets of coordinates, nope, he hadn’t done a thing.

His first choice was the young one, the one John always bragged on. It had been kind of difficult to get the kid alone; his damn older brother seemingly following him everywhere he went. But today, well, it had just been his lucky day, and he had seized the opportunity. He sighed, his hot breath floating up around him as a crowd started to gather around the Winchesters. He took another swig of the warm liquor; the whiskey numbing his thoughts and making his life just a little bit easier to take.

It had been three years ago this week, three long, lonely years. He still remembered like it was yesterday. It was a group hunt with his older brother Billy, Pastor Jim and Caleb and some hunter he didn’t know, a man named John Winchester. They went full force after two Chupacabras down in west Texas.

He vaguely recalled Caleb being knocked unconscious as they both fought to get away from the creatures. He had been overpowered, flung back by one monster – his body slamming against the jagged rock, his arm broken badly in the fall. He could still feel the thick blood streaming down his face and the pain searing through his skull upon impact with the ground. Then his memories are skewed, blurry, hazy images that he cannot seem to grasp. John and Billy storming after the creatures while Pastor Jim’s hand gripped tightly to his shoulder, and the pain that burned him to the core.

He gulped down some more of the tepid booze and swiped the back of his hand across his lips. The shivers ran up and down his spine as his mind relived the moment his brother was taken away from him, murdered, killed. He could still hear Billy’s screams as he was dragged off into the night; the horrid ripping sounds as his body was torn to shreds – - and that’s where Leonard Steel’s memory ended.

He hadn’t heard the shots from Pastor Jim and John Winchester’s rifles as they fought to save his brother. He didn’t remember his massive head injury, or being carried out of the woods across John Winchesters tired shoulders. He wasn’t privy to the grave decision the two hunters had made to leave Billy behind in order to save his and Caleb’s lives. No, all that time was gone, as were his months in the hospital and multiple psychiatric wards. Those years rolled into a blank void of nothingness filled with medication, needles, and delusions.

The crazy man snorted, his face contorting into a manic, wild-eyed look. He’d give them a few days grace and then, he’d send them more coordinates, a new location closer to his final end game. He hoped that they would come, that they would figure out the link between the fake trail he was laying and Sam being attacked. They were pretty smart, but he was smarter, and he wanted them to know. He swigged at the almost empty bottle. He’d worked too hard for this, for this revenge, and he wanted to revel in the knowledge of their pain and suffering before he killed them both.

His fingers quivered on the tattered newspaper clipping; his eyes glowering down at the headline – “Man Found Clawed to Death near El Paso, Texas”. My big brother. He swallowed down his anger and yanked the whiskey bottle back up against his lips, the last of the warm liquid burning down his throat. He grinned wickedly as he watched the bright red lights of the ambulance as it pulled up beside the brothers, the swift motions of the paramedics as they moved to help the kid. He smiled, and let he empty bottle slide slowly from his clinched fingers, as it dropped harshly to the ground. Yep – somebody’s going to pay for what happened to my Billy!

Spoilerwolf

Dean led Sam into their room and shut the door, dragging Sam over to the bed and maneuvering him so that he was seated on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not going to bed, Dean,” the younger man said weakly.

Dean, for the most part, ignored him. He tossed his jacket onto the back of the chair, and kneeled down on the floor and removed Sam’s boots, much to Sam’s squawking about not being an invalid. “Shut your cake hole and lie down for a bit.”

Sam just stared at him incredulously. “You’re an ass, you know that?” But he levered himself down onto the bed with a groan. Had to admit, the pain shot, from the hospital, was making him slightly drowsy.

Dean just smiled at him. “But the girls love to smack my ass around.”

Sam just rolled his eyes, turning away from his brother and pulling the cover up to his neck. “Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Casanova.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re just jealous.”

Sam snorted, and then covered his mouth when he yawned. “Dream on.”

Dean just shook his head and moved to the table where that laptop rested quietly. He sat down and pulled the computer towards him and booted it up, waiting for the screen to load.

He glanced over to the far bed and hid a smile at the soft snores that came from the lump under all the blankets and the mop of dark hair that peaked out from under the covers. “It’s like having a toddler all over again.” He mumbled affectionately to himself, focusing his attention to the computer when the screen finally loaded.

He stared at the screen intently. Someone had attacked Sam and the Impala, broken three of Sam’s ribs, mangled up his beloved car. He needed to know if there had been other incidences like Sam’s case or not, was this some kind of supernatural thing or worst yet, human. Whatever it was, he was sure of one thing, whoever did it was certainly gon’a pay.

-0-

Late afternoon gave way to evening, and Sam still slept soundly in his bed, kicking at the blankets lazily every so often, to which Dean grumbled when he had to pick the blankets off the floor for the third time and drape them back over Sam, who didn’t even twitch.

Dean hadn’t had any luck – there hadn’t been any assault cases or charges in the last year in this backwater town. Crime rate was fairly low too, with the last thing reported damaged was Mrs. Billing’s mailbox when one of the neighborhood kids ran into it when playing street hockey.

Rubbing his forehead where a headache had begun to form, Dean picked up his phone and checked the time. 7:27 pm. His stomach growled just thinking about food and it had been hours since both of them had had a decent meal.

Glancing over to the other bed, Dean could just make out the tousled dark hair beneath the mound of blankets. The soft snores hadn’t stopped since early afternoon and Dean planned to keep it that way for just a little longer.

Writing a quick note about where he was going in case the Sasquatch did wake up, Dean grabbed his jacket and stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him.

The diner was quiet, only a few patrons in there as Dean made his order and sat in one of the nearby booths and waited, fingers beating out the rhythm of “Smoke on the Water” on the table, his foot tapping to the tune in his head. He glanced around, taking in the drunken man at the other end of the bar. Is he staring at me?

The man looked quickly down, fiddled with his cell phone, and swallowed down his half empty glass.

Dean watched curiously as the guy moved quickly toward the door. People are just so freak’n weird.

“Sir – your order.” The stout waitress pushed a greasy bag into Dean’s hands.

Dean glanced down at the bag, then up at the doorway, but the man was gone. He looked at the waitress giving her a small smile before heading out the door toward the motel.

He was just crossing the street with the motel two blocks away when he felt his phone vibrate in his coat pocket. Cursing, he shifted the bag into his other hand and pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. He frowned at the text message.

There on the white screen, was another set of coordinates.

Dean’s mind suddenly put the pieces together, like a puzzle falling into place. “Sonofabitch,” he hissed.

-0-

Maxandkiz

Sam Winchester fidgeted nervously in his seat trying to think of a way to stop his big brother from making a colossal mistake. He worriedly glanced at Dean before shifting his gaze to the barren landscape out his window as the Impala barreled down the deserted dirt road. Scattered brush and rocks along with the occasional tree flew by the passenger window at a dizzying speed making the young hunter’s already queasy stomach roll. Closing his eyes Sam took several deep breaths in an attempt to quell the nausea. He couldn’t afford to be sick now. Suddenly he was slammed against the door as the black beauty swerved to the left and skidded to a stop. He swallowed back the rising bile and opened up his eyes. Rubbing his shoulder Sam turned to glare at his brother as the older man leapt out of the car and rushed around to the trunk. “Here goes nothing” Sam thought as he climbed out of the classic Chevy and quickly shuffled to the back.

Dean thrust the key into the lock and threw the trunk lid up. Taking hold of the false bottom he yanked it up leaning it on an old ax handle. Grabbing his favorite shot gun he turned to race after his prey swearing as a hand on his jacket stopped him in his tracks. “Let go!” he growled pinning his brother with an angry glare.

“No, Dean” Sam calmly said as he clutched his brother’s jacket even tighter. “Now’s not the time to go off half cocked.”

“It’s the perfect time, Sam!” Dean hollered as he twisted easily out of his brother’s hold. “The bastard’s been playing with us; leading us on one wild goose chase after another! And to top it off, he’s managed to hurt the two most important things in my life!”

“Dean, calm down. You don’t go into a hunt angry. You know that.” Sam softly reminded reaching for his brother once more. “Besides, the Impala and I are both fine now.”

“Sure you are Sammy. You always look a little green and prop up on my baby’s bumper when you’re fine.” Dean fired back with a frown as he studied his brother’s pale features. “I knew I should’ve left you back at the motel. You’re not in any shape to be out here. You just got out the hospital.”

“If you had left without me, I would have just hotwired a car and followed you out here and you know it.” Sam pointed out. “I’m not about to let you go after this guy alone, Dean. It’s too dangerous.”

“Then grab a weapon and let’s get this party started.” Dean grumbled. He tapped his foot impatiently as Sam quickly filled a duffle before picking up a handgun and closing the trunk. Snatching the bag away from his little brother Dean tossed the strap over his shoulder. “Let’s go.” He ordered. The two hunters silently walked across the road and disappeared into the night.

Vonnie836

After half an hour of walking through the constantly cooling desert night, Dean at last slowed down. He was still angry at whoever was leading them on, but his thoughts suddenly went back to the fact that his brother had just left the hospital. Turning around, he realized Sam was lagging behind by several steps.

“You okay back there?” He called out.

“Yeah, just a little slower than usual, don’t worry ‘bout me.” The younger man kept his voice casual, even though Dean could tell he was hurting.

He waited until Sam caught up with him then continued at a slower pace. The last thing he needed was to aggravate his injuries. Damn, why did the kid have to be so stubborn and insist on coming with him? He was sure he could have handled whoever sent them the coordinates on his own without a problem.

“It can’t be too much further.” Sam’s voice broke through his brother’s thoughts. Pulling the map out of his coat pocket, he studied it for just a moment, “We should be only about five minutes from the coordinates.”

“Well, I guess we’re at a disadvantage, we don’t know what we’re looking for and it’s really dark tonight. Couldn’t have been clear? No, it had to be cloudy.”

“Hey, look at the bright side.” The younger Winchester grinned, “It could be worse, could be raining right now.”

Dean waved him off and continued to walk, keeping his flash light pointed to the ground in front of him. Yeah right, rain, with their luck, it would be a torrential one at that. Let’s hope it wouldn’t come to that.

Without warning Sam stopped and pointed his own flashlight on ahead, “Look at that, a cabin, in the middle of nowhere?”

By now the older man had noticed it also and fastened his steps towards the building. Arriving, he attempted to open the door, but found it locked. Without hesitation he pulled the small case of lock picks he always carried with him out of his back pocket and kneeled down. Putting his own flash light in his coat pocket, he waved at his brother, who by now had caught up with him and ordered, “Point the light so I can see the lock. This should be easy.”

“Are you sure we should do this. It has to be a trap.” Sam voiced his doubts.

“I’m counting on it Sammy, I’m counting on it.” Dean smirked then quietly pushed the door open.

Getting back on his feet, he started to walk into the dark cabin. Feeling his way along the wall, he almost fell over his own feet, when the room lit up with a sudden brightness. Startled he turned, finding his brother standing with his hand still on the light switch and a smug grin on his face.

“Dammit Sam, we’re trying to be inconspicuous here.” The older man scolded.

“I figured, whoever wanted us here, already knows we are here anyway, so why not at least be able to see?”

“Got a point there!” Dean agreed.

Looking around the room, they found it very sparsely furnished. Only one chair was standing in the corner and a mattress was lying against the wall. The next room was a small windowless bathroom. On the other side was an open kitchen that also was empty. Letting their eyes glide over the room one more time, both of them noticed the same thing at the same time – the only window was boarded up.

Exchanging a glance, both men ran for the door, just to find it slammed shut right in front of their noses. At the same time there was crazy laughter coming from the other side of the door.

Dean threw himself against the wooden barrier several times but found that even though it seemed to give just a little with each of his attempts, it didn’t open. Finally giving up, he called out, “Who are you and what do you want?”

The manic laughter repeated, “Doesn’t matter,” a gruff voice spat out, “What’s important is that I’ve got you and your brother right where I want you. You got to understand, this cabin is rigged with explosives. All I have to do is push the little button in my hand and boom; you’ll both be blown to bits.” Again there was a laugh, this time even more out of control sounding then before.

Dean looked at his little brother with worry in his eyes, this situation had really gotten out of hand quickly and he was to blame for it. Sam had warned him not to go off half-cocked, the same warning that their father had given out so many times in the past. He still could hear the elder Winchester’s words, “You have to prepare well before you get into a hunt. Know who your enemy is and how to kill it. Never go out there half-cocked.” And he did exactly that and now they were in trouble, Sammy was in trouble.

Again the voice spoke, “I’m not an animal, so I’ll give you a chance. You’ve got ten seconds before I blow this joint. One…two…”

Both brothers desperately looked around for a way out, in the end it was Sam who screamed, “Bathtub…”

Not waiting for a response, he pushed his brother into the direction of the bathroom, getting him to run without faltering. Hearing the bam of the explosion, he gave Dean a final thrust into the tub, then jumped on top of him, just as he felt the wave of the blast hit.

-0-

Dean came to with a groan on his lips, trying to reorient himself to reality. He was lying on a smooth surface, surrounded by equally smooth walls. With a start his memories returned. The cabin, they got locked in, then the taunting voice from outside, Sam pushing him. He remembered running and another hard push to his back and then there was an explosion.

“Sammy…!” Trying to sit up, he felt the weight on top of him for the first time, “Sammy, you alright.”

At first there was no response, causing the older brother to panic, only after calling out for his sibling once more, did he finally get a response.

“D’n…”

“Yeah, how you’re doing kiddo?” Dean asked with some anxiety at hearing the slur in his brother’s voice.

“Like a cabin fell on me!” The answer came out clearer, making the protective Winchester feel somewhat better.

“I think that’s exactly what happened. Can you move?” Dean’s voice was laced with sheer concern.

Instead of an answer, he felt some of the weight shift off him before there was a moan.

“I’m stuck…”

“It’s alright, I think it was enough, I can get out from under you now.”

Dean wiggled his way out from underneath his giant little brother, his ribs protesting the movement, letting him know they were at least bruised, if not cracked or broken. He also felt the moisture running down the side of his face, indicating he must have hit his head when Sam pushed him into the tub. At least he was in one piece; this was nothing he couldn’t deal with. His concern increased though, when he heard Sam cry out in pain. Now that he was no longer on his stomach, he had pulled the flash light out of his coat pocket and let it show him the dilemma they’ve gotten themselves into.

They really had gotten lucky, as none of the heavy pieces had fallen directly on top of them. There actually were two support beams, which had come down and were now crisscrossing from the floor to the wall beside the tub, blocking any bigger and heavier rubble from touching them. Only smaller section, which he now fairly easily pushed to the side, had made there way through. But he could also see the reason for his brother’s pain. Some of the wood had splintered and a large piece was sticking out of the right side of Sam’s back, a large amount to blood soaking his clothes. The other thing he noticed was one of the large beams had crushed his left ankle, still trapping it against the tub. The almost disjointed position the younger man was lying in right now would have been funny, if the situation wouldn’t have been so grave.

“Damn kid, why didn’t you say something?” He scolded.

“Wouldn’t have made a difference. “Sam said his voice strained with suppressed pain.

“Guess not.” Dean hated it, when the kid was right. He hated it even more, when his brother got hurt while saving him.

There was another moan from the younger man, before his eyes glassed over and his lids started to droop.

Dread overcame the older man and he reached out, padding the Sam’s cheek. “Come on Sammy, stay with me, can’t go to sleep now.”

“J’st for a min’te, ‘m t’red.”

“No, not even for a minute, you’ve got to help me here, I’m hurting and I can’t do this by myself.” Dean knew it wasn’t fair to play on his own injuries, but it was the only way Sam would cooperate.

Instantly the younger man’s eyes popped open, still glassy hazels, but, he looked much more alert then before.

Sam’s vision was slightly blurry; he looked at Dean, seeing the blood on his older brother’s face. “You’re bleeding.”

“Hit my head, might have a slight concussion.” The other hunter responded, “I’ll be okay, right now we need to get your leg free, so…” He stopped, suddenly hearing debris being moved away.

They were out in nowhere, so there was only one possible explanation. Pulling his weapon out of the back of his pants, he listened at the taunting voice coming through the rubble.

“This time you can’t get away from me. John Winchester will at last get to feel what it means to loose his family.”

Sam’s pale face frowned in confusion.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean yelled, anger fueling his desire to kill this son of a bitch.

“Names Steel, Leonard Steel.”

And the manic laughter echoed in the darkness.

Ames449

Dean stilled, straining his ears to listen. Oh, this guy was going down. He rolled his shoulder from under Sam’s armpit, and lowered him carefully onto the floor, leaning him back against the wall. Sam used his hands to shift back a little, his right leg stretched out in front of him, his ankle twisted oddly to the side.

“Dean…?” Sam’s worried whisper had him meeting his eyes. His forehead was furrowed tightly, pain clearly visible underneath the anxiety.

“I know, Sam,” Dean answered, his mind racing. They had to get the hell out of there before Steel found them, but with Sam’s ankle… Dean let out a frustrated breath. “We are so screwed.” He had no idea what to do. He needed to draw the guy away from his brother, take him out, and get his Sam to a hospital. He didn’t think Steel would make it that easy.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gon’a gank him,” Dean replied simply.

Sam looked appalled at his statement. “He’s human,” he hissed.

“He also just tried to blow us up, Sam,” Dean snapped. “I don’t think pleading humanity is going to win him a get out of jail free card.” Not this time. Steel was determined to kill them, and there was no reasoning with him; he was too far gone, too deep in the need for revenge.

“Dean, we can’t kill him.”

Dean had strong rules about hunting and what they should hunt, but his only interest was getting Sam and himself out of this mess in one piece; Steel wasn’t going to allow that – not without one hell of a fight. Dean didn’t like it, but he’d do what he had to.

“Then what do you suggest? Ask him nicely to let us live?” The deadpan wasn’t well received by his younger sibling.

Sam’s expression was irritated. “I don’t know, but we can’t just…” His brow was deeply lined as he wrestled with the magnitude of their situation. “We just… We can’t just…” he wrinkled his nose, his voice dropping to whisper, “gank him.”

Dean understood his brother’s hesitance, he really did, but he didn’t see another option here.

“Well, if you have a better idea, by all means we’ll try that, but this guy is a real Cuckoo’s Nest, Sammy. I don’t think reasoning with him is gon’a help. Besides, if by some minor miracle we actually do make it out of here, do you really think he’s going to let us just disappear into the sunset?” Steel had found them once – granted he’d been clever about it – but Dean wouldn’t risk the crazy bastard hunting them down again. It was kill or be killed, and survival took precedence over morals – this time. Dean wouldn’t allow him to hurt his brother again.

“We hunt monsters, Dean, not people.”

Dean rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. Sam saw thing things so black and white sometimes.

“Yeah, because Steel is such an upstanding member of society – you know, aside from the homicidal streak.”

A noise drew Dean’s attention, ending the conversation abruptly. He flicked his head over his shoulder, stilling instantly. Steel was moving through the house, and he was closing in on them. Quickly, he turned his flashlight off. The blast had knocked all the lights out and Dean didn’t want to alert Steel to their hiding place. The element of surprise was the only thing they had going for them.

Darkness shrouded the room completely and the bathroom suddenly felt tiny, like the walls were closing in. Dean didn’t like fighting on unfamiliar turf, especially when that turf had been created by a complete fruitcake. It was making him edgy.

“You still got your gun?” Dean asked quietly. He’d lost his own weapon somewhere between the living room and diving into the tub, and while he didn’t want to leave Sam unprotected, he needed to face this guy with more than attitude. He needed to put him down quick and fast.

“Yeah, but Dean you can’t face this guy alone.” There was a pleading quality to Sam’s tone.

“We can’t just hide out in the bathroom forever, Sam. You need a hospital.”

He couldn’t see his brother’s face in the dark, but Dean didn’t need to; he could picture the conflicted expression Sam was probably wearing right now. He knew he was right when he brother shifted suddenly, trying to rise. Dean reached out blindly and found his brother’s arm, tightening his fingers on his shoulder.

“Sit still, Sammy.” He was worried about his brother causing more damage to his ankle – never mind the injuries he couldn’t see. His brother was still recovering from his attack, and god knows what damage the blast had done.

“I can stand, Dean. I can help.” Sam’s protested words were laced with exhaustion, his voice breaking a little as tried to reassure him.

“Your ankle looks like Kathy Bates went a round with it.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “The hole in your side ain’t much better. I can’t take care of Steel and watch your ass too.” It was cruel to say, and Dean hated himself for doing it, but he couldn’t concentrate while he was worrying about his brother. “You’ll slow me down.” He winced, practically feeling the hurt gaze he knew his brother was shooting at through the inky darkness.

There was a long pause and Dean was sure he had pushed Sam too far. Sam didn’t say a word, but Dean felt his hand snag his jacket before cold metal was pressed into his palm. Curling his fingers around his brother’s gun, Dean slowly cranked the safety back, wincing at the loud clicking sound it made.

“Be careful,” Sam murmured tightly

“I always am, Sammy.”

Straightening from his crouch, Dean raised his free hand in front of him, feeling his way to the door. He’d draw the son of a bitch away from his brother and then kick his ass into the middle of next week. Dean suspected he’d even enjoy the experience.

Step by tentative step, Dean moved up the hallway, walking as softly as he could over the sea of fallout, his eyes growing slowly accustomed to the dark as he moved. Something banged to his left. Dean’s heart twitched a staccato beat beneath his ribs as he spun around, the gun following. There was silence for a moment, and nothing moved again.

Dean let out the breath he’d been holding and started towards the back of the cabin with a little more urgency. The kitchen door was open from his and Sam’s earlier exploration and a white beam flashed across the room. Dean ducked into the nearest room off the hallway – one of the bedrooms – as the spot where he had just been stood was bathed in milky light. He pressed his body against the wall inside the room, taking controlled breaths.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Steel’s gruff voice snarled. “How ’bout’s you stop playing hide and seek, boys, and show yourselves.”

Dean’s lip curled. He wanted nothing more than to shove his weapon somewhere unpleasant on Steel’s personage and pull the trigger, but running in all-guns blazing was why they were in this mess in the first place.

Wood crunched underfoot, and Dean knew Steel was moving up the hallway. He rolled his head sideway, glancing up the length of the wall towards the open bedroom door. The flashlight beam was getting brighter. Steel was closing in.

“You know, your Daddy’s a goddamn murderer,” Steel continued, his voice cold, “and I am sorry as hell that you boys are taking the fall for him, but life’s a bitch, ain’t it? The sins of the father and all that…”

Dean pushed further into the wall, closing his eyes for a brief second as he tightened his grip on the gun. The guy was so far gone; Dean knew there was no reasoning with him. After what he had done to his brother, and then attempting to blow them up, he wasn’t sure he wanted to reason with him anyway.

“And when I send John the pictures of you both lyin’ in a pool of your own blood, maybe he’ll understand how I felt when he left my brother to die.”

Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. His mouth nearly moved before his brain realized Steel was trying to draw him out. He had no idea if him and Sam were still alive. He was erring on the side of caution, and as long as Dean was between Steel and his brother, he’d keep him guessing.

Barely breathing, Dean waited until the light got closer to the open doorway. He closed his eyes briefly, praying that Steel would walk passed the room that he wouldn’t stop and look in. If he did, Dean was screwed. There was nowhere to hide, and although he had the advantage of knowing where Steel was, he still didn’t want to get into a stand-off in such close quarters. He had no idea what this guy was packing, but considering he had come armed with a bomb, the odds were he wasn’t traveling light. Dean wanted to assess the guy before running in blindly. They’d lucked out with the blast. He didn’t want to risk more serious injuries this time.

The beam of light became brighter and then silhouetted in the doorway, Dean got his first look at their attacker. He couldn’t make out too much, but the flashlight illuminated enough. Steel was tall, but shorter than Dean, his hair was long, reaching his shoulders but he couldn’t make out the color. He was clutching the light in one hand, and what looked like a shotgun in the other. Dean pushed further into the wall, holding his breath until he had moved passed the doorway. Then, carefully and quietly, Dean moved from his hiding place.

He put it down to the fact he was concussed and not thinking straight. It was the only reason he could think of for why he had fallen for such a simple ploy. After all, why wouldn’t Steel check the room? Dean would have checked every inch of the house, and then rechecked it. But Dean’s relief at not being found had blinded him. He stepped out of the room into the hallway, no more than a few steps behind Steel, his eyes locked onto his back, his gun raised, his finger poised on the trigger. For a split second, Dean wasn’t sure he could shoot him, wasn’t sure he could kill a human in cold blood, no matter what his crime was, but then he remembered finding his brother in the parking lot, beaten to hell, remembered the fact he had tried to blow them up and he knew this was right. His hesitation cost him dearly.

Something slammed into the back of his head.

Pain splintered through his skull, white spots spilling in front of his eyes. Dean slumped onto his knees, confused and disorientated as Steel turned around in front of him. He hadn’t hit him… which meant… which meant Steel hadn’t come alone. Dean turned his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder. The glint of metal hurtling towards his face was the last thing he saw before lights out.

-0-

The first blow was enough to pull Dean from unconscious. His head snapped to the side, his jaw burning. Dean blinked, trying to pry his eyes open, groaning as he managed half-mast slits. He was still in the cabin. It looked like the living room, although it was hard to tell with the amount of debris littering the empty room. He barely managed more than a glance before another blow caught him on the side of the face. Blood sprayed from his mouth at the impact and he could taste iron, coating the back of his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, checking they were all still in place before slowly turning back towards his attacker.

His vision was wobbling and the room was lit by a dull camping lamp placed on the floor, but the guy currently rearranging his face wasn’t Steel. He was, however, huge. Meaty fists clenched and unclenched at his side as he glared fiercely at Dean. Like Steel, he had long hair that was pulled back into a tie at the nape of his neck, parted in the middle, and he had an untidy beard that covered most of his face. He was clutching a shotgun in his left hand – probably the cause of Dean’s headache.

“Nice to have you back with us, Dean.”

He slid his gaze to the side as Steel himself stepped out of the shadows. The man looked positively excited about the situation, and that made Dean’s fear grow. He kept his expression neutral, not willing to show any weakness. Taking a deep breath, Dean rolled his gaze around the room. He was tied to a chair, the skin of his wrists raw from the coarse fibers. He tested the bindings, keeping his eyes locked on the new guy but there was no give in them and it only irritated his skin even more. Thankfully, there was no sign of his brother in the room.

“Thought you were going to sleep right through the final show.” Steel folded his arms over his chest, his lips curling upwards into a smirk.

“Let me guess,” Dean said, spitting blood onto the floorboards. “He’s the Starsky to your Hutch?” His head felt detached from the rest of his body, and his stomach churned violently. He swallowed hard, trying to quell the nausea that was racing through him.

Steel smiled but it was mirthless. “This is my brother.”

Dean snapped his eyes towards beefy guy, his expression confused. “I thought you said your brother was dead.” Wasn’t that the reason they were here?

Steel’s jaw tensed. “Billy is dead, no thanks to your father, but I had two brothers, Dean. Billy was the brains. Travis is the brawn, and he likes to hurt people.”

Travis gave him a toothy grin that did nothing to ease Dean’s anxiety. He was starting to wonder if he and Sam attracted all the freaks in the States – human and supernatural.

“Now that I can believe,” Dean muttered, wincing at the throbbing pain lancing through his skull. Travis didn’t look like he had a single brain cell in his head. “You did a piss-poor job with the explosives by the way. Hell, it didn’t even mess up my hair.”

Steel smirked and moved towards him. Bending over, he leaned on the arms of the chair, his face inches from Dean’s.

“Personal space, dude,” Dean growled, twisting away from the man as far the ropes would allow him. “Look into the concept, Leonard.”

Steel ignored him. “If I’d wanted you and your brother dead, you’d both be nothing but brain matter on the walls. That little fireworks display was just to get your attention.” Steel straightened, dusting his hands on his jeans. “Speaking of your brother, where is Sam? We searched the house but either he’s the invisible man or he up and ditched you.”

Dean schooled his features, but his heart twitched beneath his ribs. Where the hell was his brother? The house wasn’t that big and Sam’s ankle was a mess.

“Well, let’s just say you weren’t as careful as you thought.” Dean would rather they believed Sam was dead. If his brother had, by some minor miracle, managed to walk out of there, Dean would give him as big a head start as he could.

“Bullshit,” Steel said, “I know how close you and Sam are. If he was dead, you’d be ripping my throat out right now.”

Dean gave him a shit-eating smile. “I still might.”

Steel grunted, amused or incredulous, Dean wasn’t sure as Travis’s huge fist slammed into his face once more. The bones in his cheek shifted painfully with the strike. Steel hadn’t been lying when he said Travis was the brawn; it was like being hit with a truck. He shook his head, clearing his shaky vision, and raised his eyes towards Leonard.

“That all you got?” Dean said insolently, despite the blood weaving down his face, dripping off the end of chin.

“Oh, we’ve got a few more surprises planned for you, Dean,” Steel replied, his tone ominous.

Dean raised his brow a fraction; it was much as his bruised face would allow. “Surprises? And it’s not even my birthday.”

“You never stop mouthing off, do you?” Steel growled, irritation breaking through his smug facade.

Dean smiled, despite the fierce aching in his jaw. “Most people find it adorable.”

Steel glared at him. “Well, we’ll see how much you’re laughing in a moment. Travis, go have another scout around, see if you can find the other one. I’ll entertain our guest.” His tone was ominous and Dean tensed, preparing for whatever Steel was going to throw at him next. “Travis…” Leonard snarled when his brother didn’t move. “That’s a goddamn order.”

Travis sighed deeply, reluctance in his face but he did as he was asked. Steel watched his brother leave before he turned his back to Dean and crouched down. Dean tugged desperately at the ropes once more, ignoring the blood trickling down his wrists. He didn’t know where Sam was, but he figured his brother couldn’t have gotten too far, and Travis wasn’t a kitten. Sam was strong and a capable fighter, but in his current condition he was no match for him.

“Your brother’s a real Chatty Cathy,” Dean said, pulling on the ropes harder, his eyes locked on his captors back as he continued to rummage in the bag at his feet. From his position, Dean couldn’t see what the man was looking for, and he wasn’t sure if that was blessing or a curse. For now, it didn’t matter. He just needed to distract Steel long enough to get free and save his brother from Travis.

Leonard turned to glance over his shoulder, his eyes hard, and Dean stilled his struggles.

“Travis was never the same after we lost Billy. Just another thing your Daddy destroyed.” Steel turned back around, continuing with his task.

“I don’t know what the hell happened on that hunt, man, and I’m sorry that your brother was killed, but I can guarantee my Dad did everything he could to protect him.”

Something snapped in Steel. He spun around, rising out of his crouch, his eyes wild. He crossed the floor in two steps, seizing Dean by his shirt.

“Your father is the reason we’re here!” he snarled, shaking him. “I tried to find him, but when your Daddy doesn’t want to be found…” He shifted his shoulders. “Well, there ain’t no finding him. But he might crawl out his hole to avenge the death of his sons.” He roughly released Dean, the chair teetering on the two back legs before stabilizing once more. Dean swallowed hard, watching Leonard pace the floor with furious steps. “John killed him, let him die, and that… well, that’s unforgivable, Dean.” His lips curled downwards with disdain.

“You think Billy would want you to become a murderer for him?” Dean tried reasoning once more. He doubted Leonard would listen, but he had to be sure he couldn’t be saved. He had to be sure that when he killed Leonard, it was with the knowledge that he had done everything he could. Because one way or another, Dean was getting out of these ropes, and he was going to walk out of here in one piece with his brother. If he had to go through Leonard to do that… well, that was a price he was willing to pay.

“I think Billy would want me to avenge him.” Steel crouched down once more, pulling something out the bag. When he turned back around he was clutching a rolled up piece of black cloth in his hands. Laying it on the floor, he unfurled it slowly, his gaze locked on Dean’s face, his expression malicious.

Dean met his eyes defiantly before glancing at what lay in the cloth. There were several knives, all different sizes and shapes. Ice settled in Dean’s stomach. He wasn’t scared of pain, he’d had his fair share of it over the years, but this was different. This was premeditated, and, judging from the look in Steel’s eyes, it wasn’t going to be quick either.

“Quite a collection you’ve got there,” Dean said, allowing a mirthless smile to grow.

Steel picked a long handled knife at random, pulling it loose from the binding holding it in the cloth and twisted it between his fingers as he stalked slowly towards Dean.

“You ever hunted a Chupacabra, Dean?”

“Can’t say I have,” Dean replied, his gaze on the blade in Steel’s hand. He shifted further back into the chair as the crazy man paced back and forth in front of him.

“They’re mean sons of bitches. Red eyes and an appetite that makes Hannibal Lecter look like he’s got an eating disorder.” He licked his lips, his eyes haunted. “They suck the life outta you – literally. Drain you of all your blood, much like a vamp, only chupacabras don’t leave anything behind, if you catch my drift. Flesh, bones… Everything.” He swallowed hard, a wave of emotion washing over him. Dean would have felt sorry for the guy if he wasn’t trying to kill him.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your brother, but this isn’t going to bring him back, and trust me, you aren’t gon’a feel better afterwards.”

Steel stopped pacing and turned slowly to Dean. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?” He ran a finger along the edge of the blade, his smile sadistic. “Tell me, Dean, what’s your pain threshold like?”

-0-

Sam’s ankle was throbbing. He clenched his jaw against the pain, sucking a breath in through his teeth. His head was fuzzy and his broken ribs were aching, but Sam pushed all of it aside, straining to listen. His brother had gone to find Leonard Steel alone and that was worrying Sam. The cabin was still and far too quiet. The silence was unnerving. Sam hated not having his brother’s back, hated leaving him to face Steel without him, but Sam also understood Dean’s reasoning for leaving him behind. He would slow him down, but Steel wasn’t a rookie, and that had Sam’s apprehension growing as the seconds ticked by.

The silence was shattered suddenly. There was blow, followed by a grunt and a bang. Sam knew instantly the noise had come from his brother. His stomach turned inside out as he heard a muted voice – Steel – and an unfamiliar voice that Sam didn’t recognize reply to him.

So Steel hadn’t come alone… that definitely made things a little more difficult.

Using the wall to lean on, Sam carefully climbed to his feet, wincing as he put pressure on the injured limb. It throbbed fiercely, and his leg buckled underneath his tall frame. He nearly hit the deck, but managed to shift his stance and find traction in his left leg as a flashlight beam illuminated the hallway outside the bathroom.

Sam pressed into the wall, his left hand splayed against the plasterboard, barely breathing as the two men moved across the doorway. He almost gasped as he caught sight of his brother. Dean was being dragged by one of the men, his back against the stranger’s torso, his head tucked onto his own chest, his arms dangling limply. Sam wanted to rush to his brother’s aid, but he knew that was suicide. Getting himself caught wouldn’t help Dean.

They passed the door way, the taller man grunting at the weight of Dean as he pulled him towards the living room. Sam needed a plan, but the house was a fortress. He had to try, for Dean’s sake.

Once they had moved up the hallway, Sam limped towards the open door, leaning heavily on the wall. He craned his neck and glimpsed their retreating figures as they entered the living room. He knew he didn’t have much time, and he prayed his ankle would hold long enough.

Trying not to place too much weight on the injured limb, he moved as quickly as he could, using the wall to support him, wincing as electric agony shot through his leg. He kept his gaze between the door behind him and the end of the hallway. Sam knew the two men had come into the house via the back, and the only entrance he and Dean had seen was the kitchen door. He had no idea if it would still be open, but Sam had to do something. He needed weapons, and he needed help. If he could split the two guys up, maybe he could take them out. If they came at him together Sam was screwed. He couldn’t move fast enough to be efficient.

He halted suddenly, movement behind him making his heart splutter. No one came out of the room, however. Picking up the pace a little, ignoring the trembling in his right leg, he moved over the scattered debris as quickly as he could manage and made it to the kitchen without incident.

His ankle throbbing, Sam leaned heavily on the dusty counter, lowering his head on to his chest as he sucked in deep breaths, trying to push through the pain. His head was spinning like a cyclone. The walk down the corridor had been nothing short of agony, and he wanted desperately to sit down. That wasn’t an option, Sam knew that, and knew he had to keep moving – somehow. Sam had no idea how the hell he was going to fight these guys; he was hurting so badly it was taking all of his energy to remain on his feet.

He forced himself to move, pushing off the counter with fierce determination. Sam hobbled across the room, his leg buckling with each step, but he didn’t stop. Reaching the back door, he took a deep breath and wondered if his luck would hold out a little longer as he reached for the handle. He twisted it slowly, trying to be quiet, and was surprised as hell when it clicked open. Relief flooded through him as he pulled it open carefully and was hit with a warm breeze. Fresh air had never felt so damn good.

With a backwards glance over his shoulder, Sam moved onto the porch. The moon had slid out from behind the clouds and was casting an eerie, white glow over the desert. Sam scanned the horizon in one glance, immediately noticing a beat-up pick-up truck parked just beyond the cabin. Leaning heavily on the banister, he staggered down the steps of the porch, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth; his eyes squeezed shut until he made the final stair.

His chest heaving, Sam had no idea if he could make the gap between the porch and the car. He didn’t think his leg would hold, but he had no choice. Bracing himself, he released his hold on the banister, and tested his ankle. The pain was blinding and he found his hand latching back onto the banister, seeking something solid. He licked his lips, his eyes closing tightly of their own volition as dizziness swept over him.

Shit…

He opened his eyes carefully, swallowing hard and took a deep breath. He needed to move; his brother was depending upon him. Limping, putting more weight on his left leg than his right, he pushed through the pain, and crossed towards the wagon. It was no more than a few feet, but it might as well have been the Grand Canyon. His leg nearly folded beneath him with every step, but Sam didn’t stop moving. Fueled by the thought of his brother alone in the house with a homicidal lunatic, he kept going and finally reached the car, collapsing against the side of it.

The pain was blinding, and his face was clammy with perspiration. Sam only allowed himself a brief moment of respite. Shifting on his left foot, he turned and pulled the truck door open. Sam eased himself into the cab, and pulled the glove compartment open. There was some paperwork and a handful of cassette tapes in there, but no weapons. He dragged a hand over his face, frustration racing through him and dropped his head against the head rest, his chest heaving. This whole thing was a mess. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. He still had no signal. Not that Sam had a clue who to call for help anyway. They were in the middle of nowhere; even if he managed to call someone, there wasn’t a chance they would get to them before Steel did something permanent.

Sam’s musing was abruptly halted. A flashlight beam appeared through the kitchen door, a figure appearing a moment later. Sam froze. The light swept over to the truck and he was suddenly illuminated in white. The man didn’t move for a moment, his light locked on Sam’s face. And then he snapped out of it. Sam saw the glint of metal before he realized what was going to happen. He dived across the seat, ducking and shielding his head instinctively as the windshield imploded. Glass rained down on him and he curled further into himself, protecting himself from the gun shot. With fumbling hands, he felt blindly for the keys in the ignition, but there were no keys. A second shot ricocheted off the vehicle and Sam flinched even as he reached down for the wiring. Frantically, he tugged at them, found the two wires he needed and twisted them together. Still lying down across the bench seat, he pumped his foot on the accelerator as he slammed the car into gear but nothing happened.

“Come on,” he muttered, pumping the peddle harder until the engine finally caught, roaring to life. Pulling himself up with the steering wheel, he came face to face with his attacker.

The man was stood at the hood of the car, his shotgun raised. Sam didn’t hesitate. He pushed the gas peddle all the way to the floor. There was a sickening jolt as the truck hit the man. Sam twitched, his gut wrenching as the back wheels rose. He hit the brakes, his hands shaking as he twisted to look behind him. The man was on the ground, illuminated in red from the rear lights. Blood red. It wasn’t a monster; it was a person, and Sam had killed him, murdered him. It didn’t matter that he’d been trying to blow his head off. He was human. He took a shaky breath and turned forward, blinking sluggishly, not wanting to look at his body any longer and tried to focus on saving his brother.

Sam pushed the car into gear once more, revved the engine and braced himself for the impact as he drove straight for the cabin.

-0-

Steel watched his face as he dragged the blade across Dean’s forearm, a sadistic glint in his eyes. Dean flinched and ground his jaw together, his lip curling as he met his captors gaze. Blood flowed freely, the cut burning, but Dean didn’t give him the satisfaction of letting a single sound pass his lips. Steel cut deeper and Dean tensed as he felt his skin tear and more warm blood escape.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled finally, unable to keep his silence.

Steel stepped back and smirked, moving over to the black cloth on the floor once more. He picked up another knife, twisting it in his hand to study the blade.

Rising from his crouch, Steel eyed him harshly. “You want to know what true pain is like, Dean?”

“Not particularly,” he snarled. “I’m all about working out your issues, man, but seriously, find another outlet for you’re screwed up mind.”

Steel snorted and ran the tip of the blade down Dean’s left cheek. He pulled back from the madman, wincing as the point pushed deeper into the soft flesh. This guy was going to slice and dice him into frigging chunks.

A gun shot rang out suddenly. Dean started at the sound, fear clamping around his stomach. Steel recoiled as if the shot had hit him, his eyes cutting towards the direction it had come from.

“Sammy…” Dean murmured under his breath. He hoped his brother was alright, he hoped that shot had come from Sam and not Travis. “Please, Leonard, you need to stop this.” He didn’t want to plead with the man, but he would do whatever was necessary to protect his brother.

Steel’s face contorted. “Stop this? But we’re having so much fun, Dean.”

“I get it, the pain of losing someone you care about, but this won’t bring Billy back.”

The hunter growled like a feral animal and raised the blade. Dean flinched, closing his eyes, awaiting the blow. It never came. There was a huge crash behind him, the sound of wood and plaster ripping. Dean curled into his body as much as the ropes would allow as the wall behind him splintered, debris raining down. He lowered his head onto his chest, attempting to protect his body as parts of the ceiling fell in.

Then there was silence apart from the throaty growl of an engine. Dean pried one eye open, mentally cataloging all his appendages. Satisfied everything was where it should be, he glanced over his shoulder. The room was flooded with light, and beyond the brightness he could see his brother in the cab of the truck.

Thank God you’re alright, Sammy.

Steel seemed to be mesmerized by the surreal scene of the pickup protruding through the wall of the house, and then he was moving for his gun. Sam’s gun. The one Dean had been carrying when he’d left Sam in the bathroom. Leonard raised it, squeezing one eye shut as he aimed.

Dean’s heart literally stopped in his chest. Sam was sat in the cab, his wide-eyes locked on the gun pointing at him.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He got to his feet and launched himself bodily at Steel. His feet bound to the legs of the chair made it difficult for him to move far, but it was enough. He hit the man hard in the chest with as much force as he could muster. Steel yelped at the impact, and Dean braced himself for the pain he knew was going to come. He wasn’t disappointed. His entire left side jarred as he slammed into the ground, the chair twisting his body awkwardly. He couldn’t help the yell that escaped his lips; he didn’t try to prevent it either.

Steel didn’t stay down for long, already pushing himself onto his feet. He was shaky, his leg buckling momentarily before he righted himself, but he was already scanning the floor for the gun. Gone was that cocky exterior; Steel actually looked worried… scared, if Dean was being honest. Things weren’t going the way he’d planned, and the loss of control was frightening. Dean suspected Steel had worked over this plan for a long time, had thought of every last detail, every possible scenario and envisioned the way this was going to go down scene-by-crazy-scene. He hadn’t accounted for the variable factors – him and Sam. Not that Dean had expected his brother to drive a car through the building, but it was definitely one way to distract Steel. He didn’t even want to think about where Sam had got the damn truck from; right now he didn’t care, he was just grateful as hell that his brother was in one piece.

That relief was short-lived. Dean found himself looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. Panic raced through him. He tugged frantically at his bindings, but there was no give. Dean knew he was screwed, knew he was a sitting duck, and squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the shot.

-0-

Sam watched as his brother slammed into Steel, chair and all, the two men collapsing onto the floor. Things happened quickly. Steel was up on his feet, and within seconds had a gun pointed at Dean’s head. Sam reacted instantly. Climbing out of the car, fueled by fear, he staggered over fallen debris, his only thought reaching his brother. His leg gave out, his knee grazing the ground, but he pushed himself back onto his feet, his eyes locked on Dean and Steel. Sam grabbed a splintered piece of wood as he ran and with all the force he could muster, he swung it. Sam didn’t hold back; he didn’t want Steel getting back up.

There was a sickening sound as it made contact with the side of Steel’s face. The man recoiled violently from the blow, his entire body jolting with the impact. Sam didn’t give him chance to react. He swung again and this time Steel slumped to his knees before toppling forward, face down onto the ground.

Sam let out shaky breath, letting the wood slip through his fingers. It clattered loudly as it hit the floor, but Sam was already moving towards his brother.

“Hey,” Sam said as Dean peeled a cautious eye open.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” Dean breathed, casting a glance at the downed body of Leonard Steel. “What is it with you, cars and driving them through houses? You’ve gotta stop watching action movies.”

With fumbling fingers, Sam untied the ropes binding his brother’s hands and feet, extraditing him from the chair, and helped him off the floor. Dean wavered a little as he rose, but Sam reached out to steady him.

“You okay?” Sam asked, noticing the sticky blood marring the side of his face, and the ugly cuts on his arms.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean assured him, waving off his brother’s assistance. “What about you?”

Sam shrugged. “I’ll live.” Dean studied his brother for a long moment, testing the validity of the statement before he lowered his gaze to Leonard, his lips curling. Sam swallowed hard. “Will he? Live, I mean.”

Dean cut his eyes towards him, and Sam averted his own gaze under the scrutiny. He knew he’d killed – no, murdered – Travis, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with knowing Leonard had died at his hands, too. Dean tilted his head to one side and studied Steel’s immobile body.

“The son of a bitch is still breathing, I think.” He retrieved Sam’s gun from the ground, his eyes locked on Steel and for a moment Sam wasn’t sure what his brother was going to do. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he offered the weapon to him. Sam took it and slid it down the back of his jeans, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“You know, when he comes round, he’s gon’a be pissed as hell,” Dean said pointedly. Sam knew what his brother was inadvertently saying; Steel would never let them walk away. He’d continue to hunt them. His thirst for revenge was too great.

“If he comes round,” Sam amended quietly. “If.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “If?”

Sam sighed. “I hit him pretty hard, Dean.”

Silence grew between them. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, his expression conflicted. “I don’t like leaving loose ends.”

Sam knew Dean was right, but he couldn’t do it. Not like this. Not so calculated. Dean seemed to have the same thought process and changed the subject.

“What happened to Travis?” Dean asked suddenly.

Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Sam found he couldn’t meet his brother’s questioning gaze. He’d had no choice, he knew that. Travis had been trying to kill him, but Sam wished he’d found another way. Guilt lay heavily on him.

“Oh,” Dean replied shortly when Sam didn’t answer. “How?”

“The truck.”

Dean nodded slowly, processing the information. “Yeah, well, I really don’t feel bad about that.” He paused and gave his brother a meaningful look. “And neither should you. They brought us out here to kill us.”

Sam knew Dean was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. He’d killed Travis, and no matter what the circumstances were it still didn’t feel right. Ignoring his brother’s remark, he nodded towards Dean’s bloodied arm, already pulling his jacket off. “We should bind that.”

Dean lowered his gaze to the wound and watched as Sam wrapped his outer shirt around the limb, tying it off at the crook of his elbow. He flexed his arm, the fingers of his other hand wrapped around the arm above the elbow.

“Come on, let’s get the hell out of The Twilight Zone in case Jack Torrance here actually does wake up and discovers we killed another member of his family.”

Dean slid his arm around his brother’s waist, taking some of the weight off his injured ankle. Sam was profoundly grateful for the support. He’d pushed himself to move on the limb to save his own life and his brother’s but now that his adrenaline levels were crashing, he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything other than the pain.

Together they moved towards the front door, stepping over Leonard’s downed body. Sam spared a glance at him, his stomach clenching at the sight of his sprawled frame, before letting his brother guide him towards the door.

It was locked still but the blast had caused considerable damage to this part of the house. It took a little persuasion from Dean’s foot, but the door gave way, the wood splitting as the hinges ripped from the frame.

“Sammy…” Dean started, frowning as he readjusted his grip on Sam, pulling his arm further around his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

His brother gave him a wry look. “For not listening to you about this damn hunt.”

“Yeah, well, you were pissed. I get that.” And on some level, Sam did. His brother was often rash, often acted without thinking, but Sam knew it was because he cared. Dean cared too much, which was the problem. “But I’m not a kid, Dean. You don’t need to run in and fight all my battles for me. We should never have come out here so unprepared.”

John had drilled into them since they were kids about doing the research, being prepared, gathering the right intel. Dean had ignored that lesson, but Sam was as much to blame. He should have been stronger. He should have forced his brother to see reason. Dean hadn’t walked into this fight alone, however, and Sam felt just as culpable.

“I know,” Dean responded quietly as they moved down the steps of the porch, the warm desert breeze brushing over his face. “But, hey, next psycho who wants to lure us out to the middle of nowhere to murder us, I swear to god you can do as much research as you want. Hell, I’ll even help.”

Sam’s snort was laced with a groan as they continued to move further away from the cabin. “Dean, you hate research.”

“Yeah, but if it keeps our asses from being blown half way across the desert…” Dean sighed and when he spoke again the bantering tone was gone from his voice, replaced by a more sober one. “You know we’re gon’a have to do something about Leonard, don’t you?”

Sam stiffened. “Dean, we’re not killers.”

“Yeah, I know, Sam.” Dean knew that Steel would continue to search for them. They were good at staying off the radar – they’d had years of practice – but Steel was determined and driven. Dean didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.

There was a huge rumble from behind them followed by a deafening crashing sound. Instinctively, Dean ducked his head, pulling his brother in front of him as he flicked his gaze over his shoulder. The cabin had collapsed in on itself, the front of the building smashing through the porch were they had been stood moments ago. There was another thunderous bang and Dean flinched at the same time as his brother as the rest of the building folded like a deck of cards. Dust and debris billowed into the dark sky, and then there was an uneasy silence.

“Well, I guess that solves our problem of getting rid of Leonard,” Dean said grimly. He had wanted Steel out of the picture, but crushed by a building… Dean cringed and glanced at his brother. Sam’s expression was sickened, his eyes locked on the pile of rubble. Steel had been outdone by his own cleverness. Dean guessed it was his own explosives that had made the already unstable building come down. Karma was a bitch.

“I’ll tell you this, Sam; we’re never going half-cocked into another hunt again.”

Sam agreed whole-heartedly with him. They’d survived this time, but luck only got you so far, and Sam wasn’t willing to risk their lives again.

The End…

The world wasn’t always this dark.

Few people remember before The Scourging but those who do are reluctant to talk about it. So much was lost when the war began. Whole civilizations vanished in the blink of an eye, whole histories lost forever as the earth burnt. All that was left was a barren wasteland of twisted metal and despair. As time passed, memories of the world-that-was faded and the Elders encouraged the younger ones to forget. It does no good to remember, they would say, remembering only breed’s resentment.

There was so much death, so much suffering, so much chaos in the aftermath. My brother, Caleb, said they believed it was nuclear, that the Russians or the Chinese – someone – had attacked the west. It was easier than the truth and I wished it had been the case, but it wasn’t war, and it wasn’t bombs. It wasn’t even technology in its worst form. It was an evil that could not be stopped, an evil that never slept.

Those end of the world nuts, preaching of fire and brimstone…? They weren’t that far off the mark. The world didn’t end with a bang or a whimper. It ended with blood. Lots of blood. Six billion people dead in a heart beat. No one expected it, no one saw it coming and no one could stop them from taking over.

I was born in the years after The Scourging and all I have known is this life. I think it’s easier not knowing what the world was like before the end. Hope can be a dangerous thing and I’d seen many give into hope and wind up dead.

According to the Elders we fought them in the beginning. We’d tried to stop the wanton genocide of the human race, but fighting was a waste of time. Forget David and Goliath. Size – and numbers – counted for a hell of a lot with these things. They couldn’t be defeated with any man-made weapon. All the things we had spent generations developing and perfecting…? It didn’t count when it came down to it. The human race lost two-thirds of its population before that little fact was realised. By the time we figured out how to stop them, it was too late.

The Elders call them Reivers, after the border raiders of the past. They come like wraiths as the sun sets, pillaging and slaughtering as they go. They take the youngest, the sick, the lame first. What they did with them, no one knew for sure in the early days. Having the answers now doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

They were pure, undulating evil, personifying every single destructive emotion or act. Before long their malevolence began to infiltrate every inch of humanity, burning through the light that once shone brightly within each of us. Many couldn’t fight them, couldn’t prevent themselves from becoming what they feared, from becoming what dwelt in the darkness. Some didn’t even try to fight and just gave into the hatred; it was easier than withstanding their torture. It was a mistake, however. Our strength was the only weapon we had, and the more of us they consumed, the stronger they grew.

Not all of humanity was prepared to roll over and play dead, however. There were some who wanted to fight, wanted to shove those things back into whatever pit they crawled out of and drop a nuke down after them. They exist in small numbers but Reiver Hunters are the meanest people you’ll ever come across. They’re ruthless, and they hunt to kill. They don’t care who gets in the way as long as the job gets done. The Elders give them sanctuary when they pass through their villages, knowing that having a Reiver Hunter bedding down by their fire is better than facing the dark alone but no one trusts them.

Hunters, murderers and thieves… It didn’t matter that they saved lives and kept the darkness at bay. People don’t trust them, people don’t like them, and most Reiver Hunters prefer to keep it that way. It doesn’t pay to have friends when you lived on the road, when you lived day-to-day, when the next morning could be your last.

But Reiver Hunters were good at what they did. They had learnt a few secrets along the way, a few tricks of how to stop the Reivers. But it’s a losing battle. Their numbers are too few and the Reivers are still stronger. So the human race exists in the shadows, hiding and surviving as best they can. We can only hope that time doesn’t run out…

II. Chaos Theory

The city had once been a huge place.

It had been busy, noisy, polluted and heavily populated. Now it was lifeless, a graveyard of decaying buildings, twisted high-rises and rusted metal. There were no people here any more; I knew that without stepping foot inside the city limits. You could feel the stillness as if it was something physical, something you could reach out and touch.

I doubted anything could live here anyway. It was a desert, a wasteland, and the air was putrid with the stench of them – the Reivers.

Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine the city before The Scourging, before the fires had ravaged everything, before it had become a mass grave for those who once lived here. Try as I might, I couldn’t. I’d heard stories about how beautiful, how magical the world had been, but I couldn’t picture it. It was impossible to see past the destruction.

Reality seemed even harsher when I reopened my eyes. I’d been to the cities before, but it never got any easier. I had no idea how many had died here, trapped like rats whilst the flames raged, but I knew only a handful had walked away unscathed. It was a chilling thought that I was walking through the final resting place of so many.

Most of the buildings were fire damaged; a few burnt out cars, long abandoned, were rusting in the middle of the road, doors left open, windows smashed. So much had been lost, so much forgotten, since the world had burned.

“Cassandra?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the familiar voice, and was greeted by my brother’s worried brown eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

I shifted my shoulders uncomfortably, wishing I’d been more discreet with my thoughts. What the hell was wrong with me, anyway? I’d grown up in this stinking existence, long ago tossing aside any belief in dreams. Dreams required hope, and nothing good ever came of that. I’d learnt that the hard way.

I physically shook myself, pushing everything but this mission out of my head.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said firmly.

Caleb wasn’t fooled by my bravado. My brother knew me inside out, could see through any lie I fed him. He was, of course, the one who had taught me to lie in the first place. It was annoying, but my brother was the supreme authority when it came to me – just as I was when it came to him.

He gave me a thin-lipped smile. “We don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “We can go straight on to the Verati.”

The Verati… The most arrogant group of people I’d ever had the misfortune of breathing the same air as. I was tempted to tell Caleb to forget the whole job and push him to head down to the coast. It was warm enough to sit on the sand and just watch the waves lap against the beach back and forth for hours. It sounded more appealing than what we were planning.

If only…

Life was never that simple, though. We were low on supplies and the Verati were the closest tribe. We had no choice but to trade with them, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

After The Scourging, the Elders had insisted on moving everyone out of the cities. It was too dangerous to stay. The Reivers were rife within the urban landscape, and too many people were dying.

It was that migration of the survivors that saw the start of the tribes. It allowed the human race to replenish their numbers, for babies to be birthed once more in relative safety. They built their defences well, and they trained their warriors from cradle to grave. The survival of the tribe depended upon the strength of the community and the Elders kept a firm hand in overseeing that.

I wasn’t entirely sure how many tribes were scattered around the country but, counting the ones we had come across, I reckoned there were at least thirty. It was amazing that so many humans had survived at all after the Reivers gained a foothold. But they had, and every year a new tribe of people sprang up. Caleb and I knew most of them because we’d traded with them but every now and again, we’d come across a tribe hidden so deeply in the passes or in the valleys that we’d never found them before – like the Pax in the wild, western hills. We’d only found them last year. They were uncivilized, and they were lethal with a blade. It was only Caleb’s quick talking – and thinking – that got us out of there in one piece.

“You never know, they may be generous,” Caleb continued with a dubious shrug that told me he didn’t believe it any more than I did.

“The Verati don’t know the meaning of the word generous, Cal,” I snorted. “We turn up empty-handed and we’ll get nothing for our trouble.” Not to mention we’d probably wind up losing a hand.

Most of the tribes had not ventured into the cities in decades. They were scared of what dwelt in the rubble. I understood their fear, but we had no choice. If we wanted to eat we’d have to go into the city.

Trade was trade. We wanted their food and they wanted what was in the city limits – metals that could be melted down and re-forged were the Holy Grail, but anything that had managed to survive The Scourging would suffice. As long as it was useful, the Verati would take it. In return, they’d provide Caleb and I with food. Fresh food.

I glanced up the deserted road and frowned, my stomach clenching. Fear is a funny thing. It’s weird how it sneaks up and hits you right in the gut without warning. I’d done hundreds of these salvage runs, hundreds upon hundreds, and yet going into the city still made me nervous. The Reivers like the cities. I don’t know what drew them, but they were there in droves, hiding in the shadows, waiting. Perhaps they could still smell the people who had lived – and died – there before and after The Scourging. Millions upon millions of humans for generations.

Caleb gently squeezed my shoulder. His smile was genuine this time. “We’ll be in and out. I promise.”

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, forcing a smile.

Caleb’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he appraised me. We were polar opposites of each other. He was fair-haired with soft golden curls that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a chubby-winged cherub; I had lank, straight brown hair. He was also taller and broader. There was two and a half years between us, but he looked older than his twenty years; I still looked like a kid. It was only the fact we each had the same soft, sad honey-brown eyes that identified us as siblings.

“They won’t even know we’re here, Cass,” Caleb said quietly. And they wouldn’t – providing we were careful.

Caleb was about four years old when he realised he wasn’t entirely…normal. He could do things that your average thumb-sucking infant shouldn’t be able to do, things that, now, we both could do.

We weren’t sure what our father had been, or even if our mother, Leah, had known herself, but it didn’t take us long to figure out that these abilities came from him, not her. Our mother never spoke about him – not that I’d ever heard her anyway – and by the time I reached six years old I got sick of asking. In the end, I looked for answers elsewhere. Caleb and I had managed to piece together a few titbits of information from some of the older tribe members.

We grew up in the Krieger tribe, a small settlement located in the north. Our mother hadn’t been born into the Krieger, however; a rarity considering most people lived solely within their tribe. Not that I blamed them; it was dark and it was scary in the outside world. Having a community, a settlement, afforded you a level of security. Of course, the Reivers would occasionally stalk into a tribal town, enticed by the smell, too weak to stop themselves but they never got far. The tribes had honed their skills and were almost as deadly as the Reivers – almost. Their very survival depended upon it.

But Leah… She was an enigma. She had come from the south, heavily pregnant with a toddler in tow. She’d never mentioned any prior tribe she had belonged to, nor was she branded with any tribal mark. Caleb and I came to the conclusion pretty quickly that she had never belonged to a tribe before the Krieger, and that thought made me uncomfortable.

There were only three types of people who were without a tribe: thieves, murderers and Reiver Hunters. I didn’t think Leah was any of those things and, evidently, neither did the Elders, but it did beg the question of where the hell she had been before she’d arrived on the Kriegers’ doorstep.

We never found out but, in hindsight, Leah should have left us to die as soon as we drew our first breath. She would have saved herself a lot of trouble. But Leah loved us, and love makes you do crazy things.

But she wasn’t an idiot. Leah knew that Caleb and I were ticking time bombs and she had to have been constantly waiting for the clock to reach zero. I couldn’t imagine how scared she must have been wondering if we’d accidentally show our abilities. Superstition and fear is a dangerous mix and people fear the unknown. She knew the moment our tribe figured out we were different there would be trouble – the kind of trouble that sees you face down in the nearest river. so she’d held her tongue and, selflessly, she’d protected us. We made a liar of her before we’d even learnt to talk properly.

Our luck held – for a while at least. The rest of the tribe saw two normal kids while, privately, we were able to hone our gifts. My brother developed control more quickly than I did; I never had that same patience. Leah didn’t seem afraid of what we could do, not ever. It was as though she expected it; in fact, she even seemed proud but she never told us why we could do what we could.

Most of it was weird, but there were some things, darker things, that made us seem more Reiver than human. For a long time I wondered if that was possible, but I could never imagine my mother doing that with one of those creatures. I might be a freak, but I had to believe I was still a red-blooded homo sapien. Sometimes, though, in darker moments, the dry voice in the back of my head couldn’t help but question my parentage. I did my best to ignore that voice.

We kept up our pretence for a long time. It was only bad luck that ‘outed’ us – and a handful of starving Reivers. I was seven when they attacked our tribe. We lived on a farmstead, just outside the village but within the palisade. They slaughtered most of the Krieger before they reached our house. I’ll never forget what they did to Leah… or what I did to them.

I remember the blood, the cloying iron thickness of it that coated the back of my throat, the way it was sprayed up the walls. It’s weird the details you remember after something like that. At the time, I didn’t understand what I did to the Reivers but the survivors of our tribe didn’t like it.

Two of the Krieger had come to check on my mother and had found me… and what was left of Leah and the Reivers. The house was a bloodied war zone, and I was sat amongst the chaos, my brown eyes glowing deep amber – like the Reivers did. For the Krieger, it was evidence enough that I wasn’t human. They dragged me outside our farmstead, shoved me onto my knees in the mud. They tried to kill me… tried being the operative word.

Even at ten years old, my brother had been formidable. He might not have been able to save Leah but he saved me. I’d never seen Cal that angry, and I never wanted to again. Caleb hadn’t said a word as they had fled; actions spoke louder, and his actions had shaken the entire tribe to the core. They’d let us walk out of the village unopposed. Good thing, too. If they hadn’t, I was sure Caleb would have burned the entire tribe to the ground.

I flexed my left hand and studied the circular-brand burnt into my palm. We were marked by the Krieger as theirs; the fact we were no longer with the Krieger made others wary. Sane folk didn’t just ditch their tribe, and folk who did weren’t the kind of people you wanted sitting by your fires. For that reason, we’d always be alone.

My brother was only just ten years old when we were exiled, barely old enough to survive himself – let alone take care of his homicidal younger sister – and yet survive we did. Together we found a way to live, and our cursed blood, our cursed genetics, became an advantage we could use; although I was reluctant to do so. I feared losing control again. I feared becoming a killer. I feared we were more Reiver than human. The built-up areas had become no-go areas for everyone except the suicidal, Reiver Hunters, and my brother and I. We made a pretty good living from it.

Caleb never left me, though. Not once in all the years we’d been on the road. We were all each other had and neither of us were willing to give that up. If there was one lesson Leah had taught us well it was to love our family, and Cal and I took that lesson seriously.

I shuddered involuntarily, shaking myself loose of the memories. I didn’t need to wade through that on a salvage run. I turned to my brother and slapped him on his arm, attempting to refocus my attention.

“Let’s go. Time’s wasting.”

Without giving him time to argue, I started to walk up the deserted road. I didn’t want to drag his mood down with mine, and dredging up our murky past was a sure fire way to do so.

It was around noon and the sun was high in the pale blue sky, but the ruined city still looked foreboding. Everything was decrepit and lifeless, even despite being bathed in gold. I glanced up at the clear sky and crossed my fingers it would stay that way. The Reivers had no fear of sunlight but they preferred the dark. They were unlikely to venture out at this time of day for that reason. Unless tempted by an offer they couldn’t refuse… like our intestines on a platter. I had no intention of letting that happen to either of us.

Reflexively, I curled my fingers around the sword buckled at my waist. Man-made weapons may not kill Reivers, but they’d definitely give them pause. There were still guns around – if you looked hard enough, and had enough to trade for them – but the munitions had run down pretty quickly. Some of the tribes had learnt to melt metals into bullets, but Caleb and I didn’t have access to that kind of equipment – nor did we have the time. Besides, there was nothing more reassuring than the heavy feel of metal in my hand. Swords didn’t jam, and they didn’t run out of bullets. In a fight with a Reiver either scenario was a one-way ticket to Sheol, what the Elders called Hell.

Caleb’s dark eyes slid around the crumbling housing estate we were currently walking through. I scanned the area too, half expecting them to appear even with the sun high on the horizon.

The silence was deafening. I hated it. That, and the smell – acrid, and repugnant. Even nature avoided the cities. I’d never seen even a solitary bird on these runs, and I doubted I ever would. It was as if mother earth could sense the darkness within the urban wreckage and gave it a wide berth. But the silence made me edgy; it wasn’t normal or tranquil, but charged every particle in the air with tension.

The wind was picking up, and a few strands of dark hair blew across my face. Quickly, I brushed them back and continued further into the destruction, stepping over pieces of metal and debris.

“You think we’ll find anything here?” I asked quietly.

The Scourging had hit this place hard – a lot harder than many of the other cities we’d been into. Most of the buildings were rubble or missing chunks of the original structure. There was a block of high-rise flats in front of us, reaching up into the pale, sky, but it, too, had significant damage. There was a large section missing about half way up the tower. It looked like something had taken a bite out of the concrete. It was only the black staining on the previously white-washed walls that suggested the cause of the missing brickwork was something else.

“Who knows,” Caleb murmured, his eyes still wandering as we walked – although I was half-running to keep up with his fast pace. “There may still be some structures intact on the other side of town. If they weren’t cleaned out in the first few years after The Scourging, we should find something useful.”

“Great,” I growled under my breath. “So we’re pissing in the wind.”

My brother didn’t halt his stride, but he did turn to me, his lips twisting upwards. “You’re grouchy.”

I shifted my shoulders. I wasn’t usually moody, but I was unsettled and that was making me snap.

“I hate these runs,” I said with a shudder. “You know what will happen if they find us here.”

Death wasn’t even the worst of it. If the Reivers caught up with us… Well, I hoped they’d kill us; it beat the alternative. My brother paled a little around the corners of his mouth but that was the only emotion he allowed to slide onto the radar. Reivers were scary, but Caleb was no kitten either; he could hold his own against them.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I know,” I murmured, not sure what else to say.

I knew he would do his best to protect me – as I would him – but I was also a realist. Reivers were strong – a lot stronger than either of us. If it came down to it, I wasn’t sure we could beat them. I didn’t even want to think about it. It was a fight I hoped we never had to have and, to this date, we never had. I’d never used my abilities like I had the day Leah had been murdered because, frankly, I was a coward. I was scared of what I had done, of what I could do, of losing my humanity. I’d been like a human bomb and I never wanted to lose control like that again.

We turned into a wide street. Both sides of the road were lined with five-storey buildings, and I imagined they had been beautiful in their heyday. Through the fire damage it was possible to make out some of the original masonry. Swirling coils of stonework and chiselled figures were still recognizable underneath the charcoal stains but they were chipped and disfigured.

A couple of the buildings had collapsed into the street, thick sheets of concrete littering the pavement like a granite sea. In places it wasn’t possible to see the tarmac underneath at all.

I couldn’t help but shudder as I took in the skeletal frame of a destroyed office block in front of us. Only the back wall remained standing, the blue sky visible through the empty holes that had once been windows. There was no way we could go further down the street; it was too unsafe.

The smell here was sharper, more pungent. Instantly covering my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my jacket, I tried to breathe without smelling it but my senses were overwhelmed.

“That’s vile,” I complained. My voice sounded garbled behind the material, but I wasn’t lowering my arm.

Caleb seemed unfazed by the stench, although I knew he could smell it as acutely as I could. One of the downsides of our father’s genetic input was that our senses were more heightened than most people’s. Usually, that was a good thing; right now, it wasn’t.

I watched as my brother moved over to a pile of rubble, stepping over a fallen streetlight, and crouched down. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but he reached out and ran his fingertips over something before bringing them under his nose to smell. I pulled a face at him. He was never just content to look; Caleb always had to touch, too. I knew, however, what he had found before he confirmed it.

“Reivers…” He straightened from his crouch, his eyes flicking back and forth as he wiped his hands on his trousers, leaving a trail of ochre dust on the black material. “They may have passed through here no more than an hour ago.”

I nodded apprehensively, my gaze darting around the deserted street. I didn’t lower my arm from my nose, but my free hand did snake around the hilt of my oversized knife.

“We should keep moving.”

He didn’t acknowledge that he had heard me, but I knew that he had. His expression was impassive but the lines around his eyes told me he was worried – really worried. Suddenly, everything seemed to be moving, danger seemed to be lurking behind every piece of debris. My heart was slamming into my ribs as I tried to calm my racing brain down.

“Cal, let’s go,” I said with more urgency in my voice than I had intended. I didn’t want to sound scared, but I was. My stomach roiled and every instinct was telling me to grab my brother and run.

Caleb glanced at me but his head tilted to the side a little, as if he was listening to something just out of earshot. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I twisted my head slightly to glance over my shoulder.

“Cal!” I growled, even as I started moving. I was starting to feel like a sitting duck in a sniper’s sights. I wanted to get out of there, and I wanted to do it now.

With a deep breath, he started to follow me but he was still alert, watchful. His constant vigilance was making me twitchy.

It didn’t surprise me that there were Reivers here – I’d expected that – but I didn’t think we’d come across their trail so soon. Some respite would have been nice, but since when did the world start handing out favours?

Caleb caught up to my long-legged stride easily and walked close to me, his elbow practically touching mine. Some of the tension left my frame knowing he was beside me. My brother… my rock. It was cloying to say so, but without him I was weak. I was pathetically, wretchedly lost. Sometimes, I found myself wondering what I would do if something happened to Caleb. I had no idea how I’d react. Puddle of goo? Revenge-driven lunatic? Both were possible. I knew only one thing for sure; I wasn’t living alone. I couldn’t survive alone. The thought of moving around the country solo, of doing these salvage runs without backup, without Caleb…

I shuddered. It was pathetic, but I’d fall on my own blade before I faced the world without him.

About half way up the street, we came across a shop front that was largely undamaged by fire. There was a chance we’d find some things of use inside. Caleb didn’t say a word as he moved towards the building; Instinctively, I changed direction almost at the same time, mirroring his movements.

The glass double doors were smashed in, but the metal frame, although twisted, remained. I stepped carefully through the wrecked door behind Caleb, cringing as broken glass crunched loudly underneath our boots. It was dark and dingy inside, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the change in light. Shadows danced towards me until I was able to work out what the black shapes in the room actually were but my heart was pounding until I was able to differentiate between harmless object and potential monsters.

I scanned ceaselessly, and let my mind probe the darkness for any sign of life. That was a definite upside of being a freak of nature, and it was pretty much the only part of my abilities that I used. The other stuff… I didn’t want to give into it and become a killer again. It didn’t matter that I had killed to protect Leah, and it didn’t matter that I had killed Reivers. One day it might not be Reivers. It might be people… it might be Caleb. I swore I would never let that happen, and so I kept my abilities under strict control at all times. Sometimes it was difficult. The more emotional I got, the more my latent powers wanted to make an appearance. Over the years I’d learnt to master my emotions to a degree, but I’d never managed the same level of control as my brother. One thing I did know was that I was never heading down that road again. Ever.

Letting out a relieved sigh, I relaxed a little. I couldn’t sense anything, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything here, and I wasn’t stupid enough to let my guard down completely as I flicked my gaze around the room.

The store had been ransacked before a number of times. The once full shelves were stripped bare and layered with nothing but concrete dust and debris. The glass frontage was also in pieces but had been boarded up, making it perpetually dark inside. Not that the darkness bothered either Caleb or I. We could see perfectly – another little gift from our father’s side of the family.

In the early days after The Scourging, the survivors had ransacked all the useful stuff, leaving behind what they had considered junk. Ironically, it was that junk that kept Caleb and I fed these days. Once the Reivers gained a foothold in the cities, few tribal members would venture inside the city limits. Caleb and I had learnt to avoid the Reivers, or maybe the Reivers could not sense us. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care, but they could lock onto any human within a mile radius.

Running a finger across the nearest shelf, I rubbed the gritty dirt between my fingers and sighed. This was a waste of time. We were never going to find anything of use here. We rarely did. I was glad to have walls around me, however. It made me uncomfortable being so exposed outside.

“You keep sighing like that and you’re going to start annoying me,” Caleb muttered, not bothering to glance up from his search.

“I always annoy you,” I countered with a twitch of my lips, feeling some of the tension dissipating.

“That’s not entirely true,” he replied, moving over to the main counter and bending to glance underneath it. “You only annoy me some of the time.”

“Well, that’s good to know, thanks,” I muttered dryly, toeing a piece of concrete. “This is all crap, Caleb.”

I couldn’t help the frustration that laced my voice. I didn’t like being in the city. I wanted to get out as quickly as possible. But without things to trade, we were screwed.

Following Cal over to the counter, I leaned against the wood, ignoring the way it buckled a little beneath my weight.

“The bigger cities are always the same,” he said, crouching down and pulling a handful of disintegrating wooden crates from underneath the counter and dumping them on the floor. “Probably got cleaned out in the first year.”

I scowled and crossed my arms across my chest, “So why the hell did we come here, then?” I demanded irritably. “This is a waste of time – not to mention it’s dangerous!”

“I like to live on the wild side.”

I scowled at him. “Are you that eager to wind up as Reiver chow?”

He raised his brow. “Please, don’t insult me.”

“You’re not invincible, Cal!” I snarled at him. His attitude was annoying me.

Caleb glanced up from his crouch, his expression vaguely amused at my outburst. All that was missing from my tantrum was the foot stomp.

“I never suggested I was,” was all he said. I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from yelling at him. I settled for an eye roll and pushed off the counter as my brother came up empty-handed.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, you know that?” I complained.

Caleb gave me a rare grin, dusting off his hands. “Pot and kettle spring to mind, little sister.”

I couldn’t argue with that, and I didn’t try to. Instead, I watched as my brother moved across the floor, stopping suddenly to pick up something. It was a length of metal, iron by the looks of it, and a perfect trading material. He shrugged his saddle-bag off his shoulder and flipped the leather flap open. Once the piece was secured inside the bag, he continued searching the floor. After a moment, I joined him. It was hard to see anything through the dust and debris, but I kept looking. I wasn’t willing to let this run be a complete waste of time. I just hoped the Reivers would stay away long enough to allow us to get what we needed.

Eyes constantly darting between the doorway and the dark floor, I’d bagged a few pieces of usable metal and even found a few bits of plastic when a cold shiver ran through me. My eyes snapped towards the exit.

“We should go,” I said, my gaze still on the doorway. The walls that had made me secure before were suddenly closing in and every instinct telling me to run. I didn’t think we’d be falling over Reivers in our haste to escape, but I could sense something – and that something was getting closer.

Caleb grabbed his bag, slung it over his chest and seized my hand, pulling me towards the exit.

Outside, the sun was still bright in the sky and the air wasn’t as stuffy. I took a long breath and felt rather foolish for dragging my brother out of there. Had I imagined the danger? I wasn’t the kind of person given to fancies, but everything seemed calm. There were no snarling Reivers lumbering up the road or picking pieces of golden blond hair out of their teeth.

I was so sure…

I turned to apologise to my brother but he was already moving up the street.

“We’ve got enough to trade for food,” Caleb said after a moment, not slowing his pace. It was a good thing I had long enough legs to keep up with him. I nodded carefully, but I still felt edgy. More surprising was that Caleb did, too. I could see the tight-set of his jaw and shoulders, and I knew that he was as apprehensive as I was.

“You think we’ve got enough to get some new boots?” I muttered, my eyes still on the horizon.

My brother snorted, but his voice was strained, “With the Verati? Not a chance.” He was right. We’d be lucky if we had enough stuff to get basic food supplies.

The streets were, as expected, empty, but there was an eerie feel in the air that hadn’t been there previously. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it had all the hairs on my arms upright.

The sun disappeared behind thick clouds that had seemingly rolled in from nowhere, the blue sky now a murky grey. A shiver ran through me, like a cold finger had ghosted down my spine. Taking a shaky breath, I tried to ignore the steam that frosted in front of my face.

Reivers… and they were close.

Seizing my arm, Caleb dragged me across the road and into the nearest building that still had walls. Like the others in the street, it was on five storeys. It had once been a large shop, and it was relatively unscathed by fire damage.

The double doors had been glass, but broken shards littered on the ground around the frame. Caleb stepped through the centre of them, pulling me behind him. It crunched under our boots as we darted into the building, running down the walkway towards the back of the store.

There was a cut-in at the back of the shop that led to a narrow corridor. It was impossible to tell what it had been used for because there was so much debris, but I barely gave it a thought. It was hidden from the street, and that was all I cared about.

Caleb grabbed a fist-full of my jacket and shoved me down behind the wall, before crouching beside me, positioning himself closest to the entrance.

Balanced on the balls of my feet, I kept one hand wrapped around my sword hilt, the other pressed into the wall to keep balance. The sword wouldn’t kill them but, if it came down to it, it would buy us time to get the out of there.

Caleb pressed closer to me, his body melting into the wall, his eyes locked on the entrance. I was sure he hadn’t taken a breath in nearly a minute.

The temperature dropped suddenly and the stench of decaying flesh heightened. Catching in the back of my throat, I swallowed the bile that was threatening to make an appearance. Cold fingers brushed up my spine and I shivered. They were here… outside… I didn’t need to look to confirm it; I could sense it. I curled further into my crouch and pushed my back harder against the wall, my spine protesting loudly as I tried to ignore the pounding of my heart. Then, I held my breath.

Caleb didn’t move an inch, but his dark eyes were locked on the open doorway at the side of us, his face expressionless. He seemed calm, almost serene. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to run, to get out of there as fast as I humanly could. It was only my brother’s firm grip on my arm that stopped me moving.

He didn’t speak a word, but he didn’t have to. I knew the look on his face; it was both an assurance and a warning rolled into one. Keep still, keep quiet and, most importantly, keep calm. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe without making a sound.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling shriek pierced the air. I clamped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sound, trying to prevent my strained senses from screaming in agony. Caleb moved closer, his grip on my arm tightening. I wanted to be anywhere but here. I was scared. I knew what these things could do to people. Just because they couldn’t sniff us out, didn’t mean they wouldn’t tear us apart if they caught us.

The crunching of glass in the next room snared my attention instantly. My brother snapped his brown eyes towards me. They were inside the shop. The Reivers were inside the shop.

I was sure I had stopped breathing. My chest ached like elastic bands had been tightened around my torso and were slowly being twisted. Caleb cautiously rose to his feet, with me following suit. If this was it, I was going down swinging. No way would they take me alive.

I squeezed my eyes shut and licked my lips, attempting to focus. It wasn’t easy and my hand was shaking as I slowly pulled my sword from the sheath at my waist. Caleb had already pulled his own knife and was clutching it in his right hand. Mine was about the length of my arm, the hilt simple metal forged into a rope-like pattern that moulded to my fingers perfectly. Caleb’s was a more modest design. It was a dagger, the double-edged blade sharp enough to cut through almost anything. It was plain iron, polished till it gleamed and the hilt was wrapped in leather. In the long run, I guess it didn’t matter what it looked like, as long as it did the job.

Back pressed into the wall, my brother’s head was turned to the side, watching… waiting. A solid lump formed in my throat as something clattered to the ground in the other room. I twitched as the sound ricocheted into the silence.

“I’m not one for playing hide and seek.” The voice was unfamiliar, female and raspy. She also knew we were here. My heart quivered.

Caleb glanced at me, flashing a crooked smile. Game over… they’d drag us out kicking and screaming, probably redecorating the place in our blood in the process, but Caleb had too much pride to hide. He pushed off the wall before I could stop him and moved into the open doorway. Taking the deepest breath I could muster, I followed him, readjusting my grip on my sword. No way was I letting him face these things on his own, but it didn’t stop me from trembling.

There were three of them – two men and the woman who had taunted us. She had long dark hair, although in the poorly lit building it was difficult to tell what colour it was. Her two companions were huge. One had hardly any hair and scars littered his face; the other was a hulking mass with a pony-tail and more jewellery than you could shake a stick at. They were also staring at us like we were dinner – their dinner. I swallowed hard

Yeah… Reivers… they didn’t come wrapped and packaged in evil paper. There were no signs hanging around their necks stating they wanted to boil the skin off your flesh, hell, they weren’t even salivating the blood of chubby tots from their mouths. They looked just like everyone else – except for the eyes…

The shop was dark, but as the woman tilted her head to the side I caught the slightest glint of amber for the briefest moment. The eyes were the only clue we had – aside from the homicidal tendencies. In a weird way, it made sense. The eyes were the windows to the soul, and Reivers had no soul. They couldn’t have, not to do what they did to people. I guess that was why the Krieger had freaked that day when my eyes had been more amber than brown

The female Reiver must have heard my heartbeat leap a few beats because she turned to me and gave me a look that had my head spinning. “Fresh meat,” she practically purred the words as she sniffed the air. “Although, neither of you…smell right.”

It wasn’t the first time we’d been told that, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. It was one thing knowing you were evil packaged in human form; it was a whole other ball game when evil recognized you as one of their own.

“Speak for yourself, Reiver,” my brother said, his voice a low growl. “Your stench is overwhelming.”

She tipped her head back and took a long inhale through her nose, a perplexed smile tugging at her lips.

“No, not one of us – not entirely anyway,” she continued as if Caleb hadn’t spoken, studying us both intently, “I can smell your souls.” Her lips twisted in disgust as she spoke the last word.

I split my gaze between the Reiver men, shifting on my feet, my stance ready.

“A Reiver with soul envy?” I muttered, casting a glance at my brother. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

My brother arched his brow, “If you can call this… thing a Reiver.” Caleb looked the woman up and down like she was something nasty he’d stepped in. “A pup at best.”

It was meant as an insult, but it was also true. They smelt like Reivers, but their stench wasn’t as strong as it should have been. I would have pondered that more, but the female Reiver growled, her teeth bared like a rabid dog.

“Maybe I’ll make you bite off your tongue. Then we’ll see who is the pup,” she snarled, her shoulders tensing. She looked about ready to pounce at him, like a wild animal who had found its prey. If she had hackles, they’d be raised to attention.

The female shifted her gaze towards me, her lip curling upwards. The two meat-heads flanking her made excited whimpering sounds that made my stomach twist inside out.

“Or maybe I’ll make you bite off her tongue,” she said, her jaw set tightly as her eyes pierced through me.

Caleb moved so quickly that I barely saw the action, but between one blink and the next he was in front of me, his dagger raised threateningly. My chest was heaving as I felt the anger rolling off my brother.

“Touch her, and I swear it will be the last thing you do.” It was far from an idle threat. “And call your mongrels off.”

The Reiver didn’t move, but she did shoot a glare at her henchmen. Both men, who had been slowly drifting forwards, stepped back reluctantly.

“Nasty threats…” the female Reiver said quietly. “I hope you can follow them through, little boy.”

Caleb shifted his gaze from the woman to her sidekicks. “Oh, believe me, I can,” he said grimly.

I shifted so I was stood shoulder to shoulder with my brother. I kept my eyes locked on the woman but I could feel my brother’s disapproving glare on me, not that I cared. If we were going to die, we were doing it together.

“I’m bored of the small talk,” the female said, and raised her hand, flicking her fingers in the direction of my brother.

Instantly, Caleb’s feet were torn from the floor as he was flung by an invisible force across the room. That force was the Reiver.

Caleb’s impromptu flight came to a sudden halt as he smashed in the wall on the left of me. The dusty floor to ceiling mirror cracked and shattered behind him as he collided with it, the pieces clattering onto the ground. It was so loud in the quiet that my ears hurt, but I didn’t miss the groan that Caleb pushed past his lips as he landed amongst the shop wreckage. Then, he was still.

My breath caught in my throat as the three Reivers turned to me. Pony-tail guy was eyeing my unconscious brother in a way that made me want to break bones. I wouldn’t let them take him. I wouldn’t let them burn the humanity out of him – or me for that matter. As long as I was still breathing, I’d fight. I ignored the fact I was shaking so badly that I could barely grip my weapon. Adrenaline was coursing through my body, and I was fighting to re-inflate my panicked lungs.

I dropped to a defensive crouch, gripping my sword so tightly my knuckles were white. I was started to lose control of my abilities. I could feel it, like a niggling itch or a cold spot in my belly. The surge was gathering momentum and my blood was pulsing, pounding through my veins. I tried to calm myself, I tried to control my building emotions but the Reiver with the pony-tail had reached my brother’s side and was bending down towards him.

It took more strength than I had to rein in my emotions, to stop the explosion in danger of materialising. My head was reeling, dizziness making me stumble as I swung for the female Reiver. Metal met flesh but not in the way I had intended. She grabbed the blade between her palms and pushed it backwards. I staggered, trying to keep my balance as I readjusted my tactics. The cosmos had other ideas, however.

The female’s hand snaked out and grabbed me by the throat. My back hit something hard – the wall – with enough force to wind me. Not that I could breathe anyway. I was certain she was trying to suffocate me with brute strength alone. I gasped, clawing at her grip with my free hand whilst attempting to bludgeon her with my sword. Neither tactic was working the way I had envisioned and I was starting to feel fuzzy headed. I blinked frantically, ignoring the spots dancing in front of me, still trying to prise her cold fingers from my neck. Her amber eyes were no longer mocking; they were cold, hard and filled with malice.

“You’re an enigma, little girl – you and your friend,” she spat, studying me. I dropped the sword as she circled her fingers around my wrist and grasped till I was sure the bone was going to snap. Moving closer, her face grazed mine without really touching. Still, I could feel the cold radiating from her.

She moved along my jaw line until she came to the crook between my neck and shoulder. Her grip on my throat was so tight that I had no choice but to hyper-extend my neck backwards. Eyes locked onto the ceiling, I realised she was smelling me. After a moment, the Reiver pulled back, her expression bewildered. “You smell like us, you feel like us, but you’re not one of us…” Her eyes narrowed, confusion marring the webbed lines around the corners, “What are you?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my neck creaking in protest at being pushed so far past its normal limit. The female Reiver was used to getting her own way, and my lack of response seemed to annoy her – forget the fact it was her hand crushing my windpipe.

She slammed my head against the wall so hard I was seeing stars. I was sure bits of old plaster were decorating my shoulders, too. Everything was starting to tunnel as I tried to drag oxygen past her iron-clad grip to no avail.

Then, without any warning, something slammed into the female Reiver. The pressure released on my throat and I dropped to the ground like a dead weight, my legs folding beneath me. Gulping and wheezing as I attempted to get air into my starved lungs, it took me less than a second to clear my head, gather what remained of my pride and remember something was trying to kill me.

Scrabbling across the floor on my hands and knees, pieces of concrete and other debris digging into my flesh, I latched shaky fingers around the hilt of my fallen sword and staggered to my feet, ricocheting off the wall. My head was swimming and I had to blink to see what the hell had happened.

Pony-tail guy was down, his body twisted awkwardly on the floor, his eyes open fearfully but glazed. I then realised what had hit the female Reiver.

He was in his early twenties, tall, broad and terrifying. He was carrying a short-sword, too, but he wielded it like it was part of his body. The scarred-faced Reiver lunged at him and, in a fluid motion, the stranger twisted and slammed the blade into his chest. The Reiver hissed, and shrieked. It was such an agonized scream that it made my ears hurt.

Throwing his head back, the Reiver continued to scream, trying to wriggle free the blade embedded in his torso. The stranger did it for him. Bracing one foot against the Reivers chest, his hands wrapped around the hilt. Then he shoved. The Reiver came off the blade with a sickening slurp and the body disintegrated into dust as it hit the ground. Where the Reiver had fallen, a circle of flames marked the spot for the briefest second before burning out to nothing.

I stared at the spot, mesmerized as my lips parted in shock.

The female Reiver cut her gaze from the spot where her comrade had fallen and disappeared, wary now. Wisely, she kept her distance, slowly moving towards the entrance. The stranger pounced on her before she made two steps. She went down as quickly as scar-face had, screaming and disintegrating into dust at his feet, the flaming circle erupting around where she had fallen. Even before the flames had died down, he turned and drove his sword into the pony-tail Reiver.

I recovered my senses as the last Reiver turned to dust. Sliding across a piece of concrete, I closed the space between the stranger and my brother in two strides. Brandishing my sword, I gave him my hardest glare, hoping it didn’t wobble too much.

The stranger didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he focused on re-sheathing his sword. He was wearing a leather vest, black trousers, and his heavy boots were fastened with thick thongs. He slowly examined the ground where the last Reiver had fallen.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, more than a little disconcerted by both his appearance and his lack of concern that I was waving a sword at him.

The stranger raised his eyes and looked directly at me. I wish he hadn’t. My head suddenly spun and I closed my eyes as the dizziness increased. I must have staggered because there were strong hands latching on to my upper arms. I knew it wasn’t my brother. I forced my eyes open and was met with pale blue orbs that seemingly shone even in the darkened store. He lowered his gaze, hiding the brilliant sapphires from me.

“Are you alright?” His voice was smooth, and he smelt… different. He didn’t have that acrid, repugnant stench of the Reivers, but he didn’t smell human either. He smelt earthy, like the air just after a storm. I frowned deeply, pulling out of his grip, more than afraid of this man.

“What are you?” I whispered, unable to hide the fear in my voice this time. My eyes flicked between the stranger and my brother. Caleb still hadn’t moved. I tried to keep an eye on the stranger without meeting his gaze. Every time I did, my head swam.

The man followed my line of sight, pushing his fingers through his shoulder length dark hair. “He’s OK,” he assured me. “He’s already starting to wake – give him a few more minutes.”

My frown deepened, and unconsciously took a step away from the man. Still shielding my brother, I pointed my weapon at him. “What the hell are you?” I snarled.

He didn’t flinch. I wasn’t an expert swordsman but I wasn’t a rank-amateur either. If the guy was human, I could have sliced his throat open before he even coughed. But this man wasn’t even close to being human. That was one of the nice gifts Caleb and I had inherited from our father. We could recognise Reivers from a mile away. They were different from humans – really different despite their appearances. I’d never come across another person who had this talent for sniffing out Reivers, but I guessed most Reiver Hunters would have sold their souls for it.

Caleb roused, moaning lowly under his breath, diverting my attention.

“Cal?” I hissed urgently. “Wakey, wakey.”

His eyes shuttered and then slowly opened a crack. “Cass…?” his voice slurred a little.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, relieved that he was moderately coherent.

I turned back to the stranger but he was gone. My eyes darted around. How could he have vanished so quickly?

“You OK?” I snapped my head back toward my brother, smoothing out my expression. His glassy eyes had followed my line of sight and his expression was perplexed. I forced a reassuring smile, but inwardly I was wondering if I had lost my mind. Maybe I had imagined my silent rescuer.

“Where are the Reivers?”

Wasn’t that the golden question? Trust my brother to go right to the heart of the matter.

“Gone,” was all I said. It was all I knew. I had no idea what the hell the man had done to them.

Caleb started to sit up, and I hooked my arms around his waist, helping him. “Gone how?” His eyes were worried as he stared at me, waiting for answers.

I averted my gaze and shrugged. “I can take care of myself, Caleb,” I replied. “Can you stand?”

He batted away my helping hand and glared at me. “Cassandra, what the hell happened while I was out?”

There was a tone I hadn’t heard in a while – not directed at me, anyway. He was pissed. But I didn’t care. There was no way in hell I was telling him what had happened. First of all, he would scream at me for turning my back on a potential threat and, secondly, he’d convince himself I was seven shades of crazy. Why wouldn’t he think I was crazy when I was certain I was losing my mind?

“I didn’t go nuclear, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I snapped back, before sweeping my arm around the room. “Building’s still standing, isn’t it?”

I had the satisfaction of seeing my brother wince at my caustic tone, but it was short-lived when I saw the apprehension in his face.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said finally with a sigh. “They’re gone, Cal. Isn’t that all that matters?”

He didn’t look convinced, but he took my explanation for now. No doubt when we were somewhere safer he’d worm it out of me. But, by that point, I would have buried it deeply inside my brain. I had no idea why I hadn’t told him about our mysterious rescuer, but I just didn’t. Somehow, I knew Caleb wasn’t ready to hear about him, so I kept my mouth shut, and for the first time in nearly eighteen years, I lied to my brother.

To be continued…