This is the sequel to'Behind Closed Doors'and takes place right after the epidode'The Benders'. Thank you, Red, for being brave enough to beta this!

Kindred to the Devil

Chapter 1 – Nine Years later

"What happened to Peter?" the question came out of the blue and startled Dean.

The two boys were walking back along the dark road towards the police station where the car had been left the previous day. The past forty-eight hours had been hellish and Dean was just relieved that he had found Sam, and that his brother was basically okay.

The younger boy looked like he'd gone a few rounds during his capture but was certainly no worse for wear – nothing a hot shower, decent meal and a good nights sleep couldn't fix. And Dean was damn glad about that… As for himself, he was going to need a bit more time and BLC – Bitchin', Lazing and Complaining.

But in the end, all that really mattered was walking alongside him, and had just thrown him another curve ball. Damn Sammy was good at doing that.

Dean glanced at the younger boy and didn't say anything for a moment, his shock at the question fading as he realized what had probably dredged up that dark memory – their still too recent run-in with the human hunting Benders.

Talk about a nightmarish trophy shelf.

"Eat me," Dean remembered flipping off at the psycho dad before amending, "never mind, you actually might." And he shivered, understanding exactly where his brother's question had come from, but he feigned ignorance anyway. Maybe, just maybe, Sam would let him off the hook this time. "Peter who?"

The younger boy fixed him with a disbelieving look that Dean wouldn't meet, instead preferring to keep his eyes fixed squarely on the dark road ahead of him. His shoulder ached something fierce from where the bastard had burned him with a hot poker and he winced, not wanting to answer this question or even have this conversation. Not now. In fact, not ever.

It happened nine years ago for Pete's sake; surely Sam didn't want to go into it again now, did he? Casting a sidelong glance at his brother, Dean mentally groaned – yeah, he did.

"Dean." Sam said with a forced patience as he repeated himself, "What happened to Peter?"

The older brother forced the words from his lips as his stomach twisted unpleasantly. Growing up, he had seldom been very angry at their father but he had been angry about this – a feeling that had not diminished with time.

9 Years earlier:

'What do you mean you let him go?" Dean asked savagely; purposely keeping his voice low as they stood outside the motel room. Sam was in the shower and neither wanted him to overhear so they had taken this conversation outside.

"You heard me," John answered wearily. They had driven for almost five hours before the senior Winchester felt he had put enough distance between them and what had happened in Jonas Bright's house. Sam had been given first shot at the shower with Dean calling shotgun.

"What the fuck-"

"Listen boy," John was in his face, and Dean instinctively backed off, his protective impulses for his brother conflicting with his loyalty to his father. "I did what I did. It's done and no one – especially one of my son's – is going to stand here and question me about it, you got it?"

The muscle in Dean's jaw tightened; his father pushed, "Dean?"

"I got it-" the boy ground out and as John backed off he added, amazed by his own boldness and wondering if he had indeed sustained a concussion when Seth knocked him out, "But I don't have to like it!"

His father stopped; his hand on the door. He never looked at Dean but answered him; his voice cold and sending a shiver down his son's spine. "There are a lot of things I don't like… But I have to do them anyway." Without saying anything more, he went back in the room and shut the door.

"Bastard", the teen gasped, shocked by the vehemence in the word and unsettled by his father's actions and his feelings about them. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this had not been it. His father had let Peter go… oh crap, what was Sam going to think when he found out?

A second later, the door swung back open. Dean jumped as the older hunter stuck his head back out and added bluntly, "If he doesn't ask, don't tell him." And then he was gone.

Dean just stared at the door accusingly. His whole family was fucked. No doubting that… Shaking his head, and absently rubbing his sore stomach muscles, still pissed off at Seth for the rock-salt – though a bullet would have been much less forgiving – Dean stalked off. He had to cool down and get himself under control before Sam saw him. His younger brother was just too damn intuitive for his own good and would pick up the tension off Dean with just one look…

It took an hour before he unwound enough to go back and when he did, he was relieved to see Sam lying on the bed idly flipping channels; his good hand holding the remote. He looked a bit distracted, definitely not watching what was in front of him but given everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, Dean couldn't really blame him.

Sam smiled when he saw his brother and the older boy absently wondered how their father had explained Dean's absence. The smile faded, "What's wrong?"

Damn, the older boy hadn't been gone long enough… Sam had picked something up.

"Nothing," he lied, "Just tired." He shut the door and took off his coat, keeping the pain schooled from his face. Sam didn't know about the shooting yet. In fact, none of them knew exactly what had happened – each only knowing their own parts. In true Winchester way, they ignored it; defeat the demon and move on. Pretend it never happened… that the beast, this time, hadn't touched them all...

"Did you take all the hot water, brat?" Dean asked heading towards the bathroom.

"Of course," Sam quipped and the lightness of his tone was the settling factor for Dean; he finally shrugged off the last of his animosity at his father and cracked a crooked grin as his brother added, "that's part of my job as your pesky little brother. Didn't you get the memo?"

"I must have missed that one," Dean commented and then went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Sam never asked so Dean never told him.

Until now…

Present time

"Dad let him go."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

The black truck moved quickly across the highway, a tabloid spread out on the seat next to the driver; a thick red circle drawn around a small article. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as his jaw was locked so tense it hurt, but he relished the pain and sucked it in. It distracted him from the blame that was mauling his stomach with cruel teeth, cutting its molars on him.

Against his better judgment John Winchester had let the kid go, and now the mutilated bodies of young men were turning up at an alarming rate in Julia's Knott, a small coastal town on the eastern seaboard. A town, whose name, sent a chill lacing through the hunter's body as the last time he had been there was nine years ago, and it had almost cost him his sons…

"The chosen," John Winchester spat, stomping the accelerator and forcing the truck to chew the miles, "we'll see about that."

He had made a mistake; his second actually in so few days. The first had been breaking his promise to Mary to never have anything to do with her sister or her sister's family, and the second had been letting his nephew go…

But John was going to correct that one now, nine years later.

Glancing down at the article again, he shook his head. How could he have missed it before when the first body had shown up? But with the death count numbering five now, the similarities were too much for coincidence.

In fact when he had seen the picture of the last victim, John had been physically sick, kneeling in front of the porcelain god for the first time in years. He couldn't help it though, because for one brief moment, that dead boy in the picture was his own son – Sam.

Once he had regained his composure, the man had been rocked with the startling realization that with each killing, the victim looked just a little bit more like Sam, and he knew – without a doubt – that if he didn't stop this now, it would be just a matter of time before the next victim was Sam.

And that was something the driven man could not let happen; pausing his own search for his wife's demonic killer to do so. He would not lose his sons. Not if he had the power to stop it. And this time, he felt he did. He just had to correct that mistake.

John glanced at the cell phone lying next to the tabloids on the seat next to him – he almost picked it up and called Dean to give him a heads up, but changed his mind. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Peter had nothing to do with any of this. He'd wait.

Concentrating on the road again, John read the sign: Julia's Knott 66 Miles.

66 miles to fix his mistake – the demon hunter just hoped it wasn't too late.