AN: I can't stop to thank Dizzo for beta'ing for me. Thanks, thanks and thanks again.

This was inspired by an image by Gassada over at DeviantArt: gassada . deviantart . com / gallery / # / d49nf4v (remove the blanks). The mood of the image just hit me and I had to write it down. Though the result doesn't come close to the original imo.

Disclaimer: Not mine and I suppose the line of people wanting them is long by now.


It's that voice. The voice that I never wanted to hear. The voice that I steadfastly refuse to believe could exist.

But there it is, calling out for me, asking me to fix this; to take over.


And all I can do is hold on to my firstborn.

"Got you Dean."

I feel him relax a little at the sound of my voice and sag against my shoulder with a tiny sigh. This is wrong, so wrong that my stomach twists and revolts. The whole situation is beyond fucked up. It makes me want to run, far and fast, find the next best hole in the wall and plunge into the bottle head first; just to drown out his pleading, confused voice.

"Dad? ... wha ...?"

He shifts, stiffens, tries to sit up; probably reacting to some changes in my posture. I hold him back with one hand pressed to the wound on his chest and the other one pressed to the cut on his forehead. He bites back a groan and slumps back against my chest again. I lift the blood stained cloth from his forehead and venture a look a the cut. Even in the dim light provided by camping lamp, I can see that it is still bleeding like a bitch; head wounds do that.

The first aid kit is in the back of my truck, which is parked at the start of the trail; couple of miles downhill, not that far away. I could slap myself for not listening to Dean. Didn't he say to bring it? Yea, fuck, he damn did. And did I listen? No, Sir! Of course I didn't. Because, hell, it was supposed to be easy. Hike up, kill the fucker, hike down, drive back and have a drink or a girl. Maybe both.

A shiver runs through his body. The night starts to suck the warmth out of the world like a greedy vampire and all I have to keep him warm is my own body and my leather jacket. I struggle out of it, moving carefully, mindful of his injuries; to no avail. He moans in pain as I jostle him. His eyelids flutter for a moment, before they drift close again. I wrap him into the jacket as gently as I can and maybe those are my nerves singing with the tension, but I could swear that he buries himself into the leather. Maybe he does, seeking comfort in the scent or whatever. It eases a tiny bit of the pressure around my chest.


"Yeah, I'm here."


Not here, son, not here. And isn't that the real reason for this most monumental fuck up of the season? Sam not being here to cover Dean's back, like the boy covered mine? If Sam had been here, those beasts, whatever they were, couldn't have blindsided us so easily. Fuck. If Sam had been here, we wouldn't have gone in as blind as we had in first place. Sam would've figured things out. We didn't. Not until ...

We expected one creature; something like a werewolf, only without the lunar cycle. We got at least two, probably even more. A whole friggin' pack. Not getting your research right kills you faster than a bullet to the brain in this business. Dean had put the one that had it in for me down. Barely had time to pick my sorry ass off the ground, before the second one barreled into him. Clawed him up across the chest and tossed him face first into the closest tree like a rag doll. God, I'll never get that scream out of my head. Or the dull thud of his body connecting with the rough bark. Guess it's gonna be another one for my ever growing collection of things to drown in a bottle.

God, Mary! I fucked this up. All of it. All I ever wanted for my boys was for them to be safe. Mary, I swear by all that's still good and holy in this damn world; this world on a one way road to hell; I just wanted them to be safe. And look what I did. I drove one away and broke the other.

Stars are bright in the cloudless night sky. It's gonna be a long, cold night; Freezing. The sickle of the moon will rise later. Much later. Should get him outta here to somewhere safe and warm. But that's a no go. Those beasts are still around. I can hear them moving around us in the underbrush. Sometimes, the light from the lamp reflects in their eyes.

I can't move away from this spot. Those sigils, that I hastily carved into the bark of some nearby trees, keep them away. At least we got this part of the research right. They stay at the edge of darkness. For now. Not sure that the sigils will really keep them out all night long. They won't give up, though. Not with such easy prey at the tips of their claws. As soon as I move off this spot, they'll be onto us. And I can't do both; carry Dean and defend us.

"Hold on, Dean. Till morning."

He stirs at the sound of my voice.


He gets agitated. Of course he would, confused and not getting any answer from his brother. I start to rub slow circles on his chest, staying clear of the blood soaked fabric of his shirt and the torn flesh beneath. His heart is racing under my fingers and his breath comes in fast, short bursts; hitching ever so often when the pain hits.

"Sam's fine, Dean. He's safe."

As safe as he can be. Hope he at least still lays down salt lines. If he knew what happened to his brother, I'd be in for something; and to be honest, I'd deserve it.

I know that Sam needs to grow up, find his own way and all. Hell, I wish, I could give him all of the normal stuff, he so desperately wants. I wish that his brother could go and find himself a nice girl, settle down and have a family. I wish for some grand kids for me.

It's not gonna happen. Not if that son of a bitch told the truth, just before I sent him back down into the pit. They say, demons lie. Thing is ... they don't; they tell the truth most of the time. They just rip off the fancy wrappings and boy! isn't the naked truth an ugly bitch without her makeup? Demons, they love to hear their voices. How that bastard went on and on about the high hopes that his big boss Azazel had for my baby boy.

I keep telling Dean, telling them both, that this is all about avenging Mary's murder. It isn't. Not anymore. Hasn't been for several years now. There's still a glimmer of hope, somewhere deep inside me, that there's way to end it before it begins. Before that yellow-eyed son of a bitch that started all of this can sink his claws even deeper into Sammy and drag Dean down along with them. I'd rather die than to see my boys destroyed.

"... d'd? ..."

"Ssssh, gonna be okay. I've got you. 'm gonna save you."