"They Came at Night"

"Chapter Three: Skin of Teeth"

One minute, Dean had the shotgun secured in his arms with Sammy behind him and the next minute the shotgun hit the wall as three figures appear in the bedroom. The only thing that Dean could think about was how he was going to protect his kid brother from these people who had obviously either harmed or killed their dad. The latter thought brought a lump to form in Dean's throat and his chest to constrict tightly. He'd already lost his mom; he couldn't lose his dad and brother as well as well.

In a blur, strong arms wrapped themselves around Dean's chest and arm. He was being dragged out of the room as Sammy's sobs filled his ears. All Dean could do was shout out obscenities at the strangers while trying to send a few comforting phrases at Sammy.

The man pushed Dean down onto the hardwood floors. Flinging his hands out to catch his fall, he veered around as quickly as he could in order to attempt to overpower the kidnapper. His limbs felt like jell-o, and he couldn't rush the attacker for the life of him. His head felt heavy as everything seemed to slowly slip from his mind. The next thing Dean knew, he was sitting a wooden chair with his wrists and ankles tied down.

What Dean hated the most was that he was not in the same room as Sammy so he could protect him. His kid brother was all smiles and talked a mile a minute. He was a ray of sunshine in the Winchesters unusually dark lives. When their mother died, Dean felt like a part of him had died too. He remembered the heat of fire on his skin, the weight of baby Sammy in his arms as he rushed out of the house, the sound of the house exploding, the feeling of sorrow, the inability to speak for months. The only thing that made him happy and temporarily forget his mother was gone forever was Sammy. Now, his kid brother could be murdered in the next room and Dean would be unable to stop it.

Dean struggled against the bonds on his wrists. All he wanted was to break free and get Sammy out. He thought of all the escape exists in the house. There was the front door and the back door. There were lots of windows. The easiest way would be the back door, slip out and disappear into the wooded area behind the cabin. They would never be able to catch them in the woods this late at night.

There was a loud rapping noise. Dean jolted and whipped his head to the window. His father stood outside, teeth bared and chest heaving. All Dean could do was yell his father's name, to tell him he was all right. His captor waved his hand and the musty, old curtains to the window flung shut.

Dean whipped his gaze at the stranger. His mind was reeling. Was this guy a witch? A demon? What the hell was he? Suddenly, the man gagged Dean and left the room. He watched the stranger disappear into his and Sammy's bedroom.

Twisting and struggling, Dean did everything he could to break the bonds that held him to the chair. He could hear muffled talking emitting from the bedroom but could not discern the words that were being said. The thing that concerned Dean the most was that he could not hear Sammy's sobs any longer.

His wrists became raw as he struggled nonstop. They felt like they were on fire as droplets of crimson swelled up against the beige rope. It felt like an eternity of wiggling and the rope never gave once. Suddenly, the floorboards creaked, and Dean's head shot up. His father was there, alive and in the house with necessary hunting weapons. A calmness washed over Dean. They were saved.

His father knelt beside his son and quickly cut the binds on his wrists and ankles. Dean untied the gag and felt his bravado reentering him. They needed to get to Sammy before the unthinkable happened.

"Where's Sam?" asked his dad in a whisper.

"The bedroom."

"Are they with him or did they go somewhere else?"

"All three are in there. Dad… what are they?"

"Stay here."

He stood up and held the gun out in front of him as he inched towards the bedroom. Dean had failed to listen and followed his movements. In one swift kick, the door flew off its hinges and his father rushed the room. The strangers were gone. In the center of the room was Sammy tied to a chair and unconscious.

"Sam!" his dad screamed as he knelt down in front of his kid brother and untied the binds on his wrists.

Dean stepped forward, his breath hitching in his throat. His kid brother looked relatively unharmed. Except, there was a smear of blood on his forearm but there was no gash or sign of injury. Taking a tentative step forward, Dean stood next to his father and tried to keep his tears at bay.

"Come on, Sammy, wake up," Dean struggled to say.

His dad pulled Sammy into his arms and held the kid close to his chest. He was talking to his youngest in soft, murmuring tones. Dean fell to his knees, his hand reaching out and gripping his brother's tiny wrist.

"Sammy, please!" his dad screamed as he buried his head into Sam's tuff of chestnut hair.

Dean felt Sam's wrist twitch underneath his grasp. The kid moaned, his body struggling weakly against his father's death grip. Sammy opened his eyes and looked up at his father with confusion written clearly across his face.

"Sammy!" John cried as a tear escaped his eye.

His father put Dean and Sammy to bed. He walked around the room looking for anything out of place or different. The window was open to the bedroom, the curtains blowing in the brisk wind. That was how they escaped. Their father said to get a few hours of shuteye and then they were moving out. He had to make some phone calls.

Dean told his kid brother a story, because he didn't feel like falling asleep. As the story drowned on, Sammy's eyes slowly started to droop until he could no longer hold them open any longer. The steady rise and fall of his chest began. Small puffs of air escaped his thin lips. Dean listened to his brother sleep and the faint rumble of his father's voice in the other room. He was content.

A few hours later, his dad ambled into the boy's bedroom. He hauled Sammy into his arms and motioned for Dean to grab their bags and follow. Dean threw the bags into the trunk of the Impala while their father situated his kid brother into the backseat, trying his hardest not to wake the kid up. Dean slid into the back with Sammy while his dad took his usual spot in the driver's seat.

They drove the rest of the night. Soon enough, the sun started to creep up from the horizon. As the beams casted into the vehicle, Sammy slowly started to rise from his slumber. Sam sat up on the bench seat and inched towards his big brother. Naturally, Dean wrapped an arm around the kid and pulled him close to his chest. Nobody felt like talking.

Soon enough, his father took the Lincoln, Nebraska exit. Dean immediately knew where they were headed. Within another fifteen minutes, the Impala was barked outside a small bungalow. His father cut the engine, and Dean opened the car door and stepped out.

His father made his way around the car and placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. He gave him a tight squeeze before reaching out for Sam. Sammy, despite being too big and too old to be carried, was wrapped in his father's strong arms in an instant. His face buried into his dad's leather jacket, his arms wrapped tightly around his father's neck. The small family made their way towards the house. Dean rang the doorbell and leaded against his father's side.

The door opened to reveal a tall man in nothing put sweatpants. His eyes squinted at the small family in front of him, a weary hand running through his buzz cut hair.

"I didn't know where else to go, Caleb," his father said softly.

Caleb Lyons stepped aside to allow the Winchesters to enter his small home. Over the years, Caleb had become the unofficial godfather to Dean and Sam. He was twenty-six years old, ran an underground arms dealership exclusively for hunters, and was rising in the hunting community as a force to be reckoned with. They had met Caleb through Pastor Jim, and John always said that the pastor was responsible for making men into the best hunters out there.

"What happened?" questioned Caleb.

Dean stood close to his father with his side flesh against his father. Both boys were skittish, scared, confused. John was more worried than he thought ever possible. The whole previous night made no sense to anyone involved. The demons had done something, that was evident, but what?

"We were attacked last night," explained John.

"Uh, yeah, I know, Pastor Jim called me bright and early at six o'clock this morning." Caleb shut the front door and rested his back against it. "Care to share with the class what exactly what down, Johnny?"

"I think they were demons."

Caleb sucked in a breath of air. Dean didn't know the specifics, but he knew that Caleb's older brother had been possessed by a demon and consequently died. The only reason he knew this was because one morning while staying with Caleb, he saw the guy's back shoulder blade. There was a weird symbol tattooed onto his skin. When Dean asked about it, Caleb had said it was so no bastard demon could possess him like his brother had been. They never talked about it again.

"What happened?"

"They locked me out of the house, tied Dean to a chair in the living room, and tied Sammy to a chair in the bedroom. They were more interested in Sammy than anyone else," John continued.

"What do you remember, Sammy?" Caleb directed his attention to the youngest one.

"Nottin'," he replied in a small voice. "I 'member the noises and Dean grabbing the shotgun and the men taking Dean away and the men tying me to the chair… then I 'member Dad holding me and the men were gone."

Caleb focused his attention back onto John, his eyebrows raised. Dean caught the look, and he would be damned if Caleb and his dad had a private, adult conversation. He deserved to know what was going on. The demons had gone after Sammy. That was all he needed to know to be involved.

John lowered Sammy to the ground. The kid stayed close to his dad, his back resting against his legs. He inched closer to Dean, his head reaching out and gripping his big brother's wrist. Dean allowed it.

"Sam, why don't you go watch some TV. Dean will go with you," suggested John.

"Dad…" Dean said adamantly, his gaze fierce.

"Dean, do as your told."

"I want to know what's going on. Please."

His father hesitated for a few seconds, his fingers running through Sammy's fine hair. Dean thought for a few minutes that he had won the battle, that his father would agree to allow him to be apart of the conversation.

"Dean, go with Sammy and watch TV."

With a nod, Dean led Sammy into the living room while Caleb and his dad disappeared into the kitchen. Dean allowed his kid brother to have possession of the remote, which he immediately found Fraggle Rock and settled into the show. His head rested tiredly on Dean's shoulder.

"Sammy," Dean spoke up as he wrapped an arm around the kid, "are you sure you don't remember anything from last night after they split us up?"

The kid looked up at his big brother, his eyes wide as saucers and his bottom lip securely locked between his teeth. Instantly, Dean knew that Sammy was keeping something from them.

"I-I saw Mom."

"What?"

"I was asleep in the chair and I had a dream about Mom and she was telling me about choices and told me to wake up and I could hear you and Daddy talking to me."

Dean felt a lump form in his throat at the mention of their mother. He missed her so much that sometimes it was simply unbearable.

"I don't mean in a dream, Sam. I meant do you remember anything when you were awake?" he steered the conversation away from the topic of their mother. He did not have the energy to answer Sam's string of fifty questions at the moment.

"No."

"Are you sure? I won't tell Dad. I promise."

Sam only shook his head and turned his attention back to the television. He dug himself into his big brother's side as though to escape. Dean only tightened his grip around his kid brother and stopped asking questions. He didn't want to upset the kid.

In the pit of Dean's stomach, he knew that something was not right. He knew that these demons, or whatever they were, were not through with their family just yet. It was almost as though they were doing recon like their dad would do before a hunt. They were gathering information. When they had a sufficient amount of information, they were going to strike. Dean had no doubt in his mind that when they did strike, they were striking hard and deadly.

His dad was not much of a demon hunter. He preferred ghosts and other kinds of creatures. Demons were more of Caleb and Bobby's cup of tea. They lived and breathed demon hunts. They talked about demons in hushed whispers and low tones. Dean didn't know much about demons except that they can't be killed. The best you can do his hope to trap 'em and send 'em packing back to hell. If you didn't have enough time for an exorcism, then you better run like hell itself was chasing you.

The end credits were playing after Fraggle Rock when Caleb entered the living room. His dad did not follow. Caleb sat down next to Dean and rested his arm across the back of the couch.

"Where's my dad?" questioned Dean.

"He's callin' Bobby right now. I think you guys are going to spend a few days with him."

"Why?"

"Because I don't feel like babysitting you two brats right now," Caleb responded with a grin.

"What did you and my dad talk about?" pushed Dean.

"Like I'm going to tell you. Johnny would beat my ass."

Dean licked his lips and glanced up at Caleb with pleading eyes.

"I thought we were friends," Dean said flatly.

"I got fifteen years on you, Man," he responded and ruffled Dean's hair. "We're friends, but I pull rank and don't have to tell you shit."

Dean scowled and glanced over at his little brother who seemed oblivious to the conversation. He was watching the television in rapid fascination. Turning back to Caleb, he frowned.

"Is Sammy gonna be okay?"

"Of course, dude," Caleb responded. "Why are you so morbid all the time? You're eleven. Aren't you supposed to be a ray of sunshine and not a dark storm cloud?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean turned his attention to the television. He couldn't wait to be older and be let in on the adult conversations. He wanted answers that his dad felt fit to keep him out of. Not having the energy to fight for the answers, he settled into the couch and watched another episode of Fraggle Rock. Not even five minutes into the show did his eyelids feel heavy.

Author's Notes – I know I started this story a good two years ago, but I finally finished it. I stopped writing fanfiction for awhile, because I had a lot going on personally. Now, with some free time and being on break, I decided to get back into writing and finish old stories and start new ones. Hope you enjoyed. Happy Christmas and please leave a review.