Work Header

The Darkest Of Days

Chapter Text

Flicking through the pages of the magazine in his hands, Dean quickly glanced at each article before turning to the next. Nothing was particularly holding his attention, but he was using this as a distraction and a way to spend a half hour whilst his father figured out what was wrong with the car.

Sam had just gone into the diner round back and was currently buying the boys black coffees and burgers, Dean was trying to ignore the growing roar as his stomach churned hungrily and placed the magazine back on the shelf.

Walking slowly down the aisles of the small gas station shop, Dean looked from shelf to shelf, he was finding the most boring things interesting; picking up a bottle of bug spray and read the ingredients on the back, taking up a small screwdriver and fiddling with it for a couple seconds.

Dean then turned on his heel and walked to the door of the shop, pushing it open and entering the refreshing early evening, where the wind blew lightly and the sun hid slightly behind light cotton candy clouds.


"Here, one black coffee and a double bacon cheese burger." Dean turned to see his younger brother concentrating hard as he tried to balance the food and drinks in his arms.

Subconsciously licking his lips, Dean's green eyes sparkled slightly and he retrieved his meal from Sam, thanking him as the two strolled over to a small bench at the side of the road.

Sam took a bite of his chicken burger and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, taking up his coffee and throwing back a few mouthfuls before swallowing deeply and letting out a small hiccup.

"Has he figured out what's wrong with the Impala yet?" Sam asked, looking down at his meal and taking another large bite, picking up a handful of fries, dipping them in the side and shoving them into his already-full mouth.

Dean swallowed and burped quietly, turning to his younger brother and shaking his head.

Sam rolled his eyes and thought about the uncomfortable night the Winchesters were sure to endure if their dad didn't figure out what was fucking up the Impala soon.


Dean threw the remnants of his previous meal in an overflowing trash can and glanced over at his dad at the back of the gas station, even from this distance he could see the beet-red colour of John Winchester's face- and that sure wasn't a good sign.

"Don't go interrupting dad anytime soon Sammy, you got it?" Dean spoke to his brother, his eyes still inspecting the ever growing rage his father seemed to have put himself in.

"Wasn't planning on doing so, I'm not an idiot." Sam scoffed quietly and drank the dregs of his coffee, standing up and following his older brother's gaze towards the two boys's father.


"I need to take a piss." Dean spoke finally, turning round and walking back to the diner where Sam had been ten minutes before.

"I'll stay here." Sam answered, sitting back down on the bench once again and yawning lightly, rubbing his eyes with knuckled fingers.


Opening a peeling door, Dean winced at the deafening creak as the old hinges groaned under the weight of the object they were holding together.

Frowning and trying not to breathe in through his nose, Dean made sure to step on the dry patches of the floor and over to the urinals- not that they were much cleaner.

Pulling up his zipper, Dean's nostrils flared and he stared around at the restroom with distaste before turning back to the door and walking out again.


Sam was scanning the pages of a small notebook on Dean's return, reading each page before carefully turning to the next as he took in the scribbled handwriting and messily-drawn diagrams.

Dean knew that he should never ask Sammy what he kept in that notebook, he'd made that mistake more times than he could remember and the reaction from his younger brother had never been a good one.

From what Dean could see, this tattered little notebook from a ninety-nine cents store the brothers had been in half a year ago was seemingly some sort of journal. Sam would often write in it after a hunt; Dean had never been able to see what was written on the pages but he could make a pretty good guess.

"I need to see how far dad's got with the car," Dean paused and bit his lip thoughtfully "I don't want you coming with me though." Dean Winchester knew from personal experience that it was never good to mix a raging John Winchester with his youngest son.

"I told you earlier Dean, I'm not stupid." Trying to ignore the hurt expression on his younger brother's face, Dean plucked up the courage to go speak with his dad.


Slipping his hand into his flannel shirt, seventeen year old Dean Winchester met his father who was currently laying under the old car with his back against the grey gravel.

Clearing his throat, Dean plucked up the courage to speak "H-how's it coming along?" His usual cockiness had disintegrated at the presence of his father.

"Not so good." John strained as he twisted out from underneath the vehicle and dusted off his stained clothes, warm oil dripping off the sleeve of his brown overcoat "Not so good at all."

"Should we call Uncle Bobby?" Dean suggested quietly, staring down at the floor.

"That might not be such a bad idea." John ran a hand through his greying hair and sighed, Dean knew from experience that this was something his father often did when stressed or angry- and at that moment Dean could tell that John Winchester was both.




Wyatt tapped his foot against the tiled floor. He looked down at the white table in front of him and flicked off a jet black hair that had seemingly come loose from his scalp and had fallen in front of him.

Picking up the small cellphone from his lap, Wyatt unlocked it and blinked slightly at the sudden brightness of the screen.

'I'll do it tonight, you can stop the questions now. By tomorrow I will have Dean Winchester with us."

He clicked send and pocketed his phone.




Dean looked down the road and squinted slightly at the orange tint of the sun as it bowed down towards the earth. He could hear the low rumble of a car in the distance and was sure that it was Bobby coming down from his home with a spare working truck for them to burrow whilst he worked on baby.

Smiling for the first time that day at a glimpse of his old friend and only person he looked to when in need of help, Dean let Bobby Singer park up an old, beaten truck and climb out before he raced towards him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"How's that ol' man of yours?" The middle-aged man mumbled to him before they pulled away and Dean looked across the parking lot for Sam.

"He's pretending to be all fine like normal, but I know for a fact he isn't." Dean swallowed hard and stifled a yawn.

"Well sure as hell he ain't gon' be good now, is he? Baby's all messed up." Bobby smiled kindly and ruffled the boy's mop of messy chestnut hair before rearranging the tattered baseball cap on his head.

Turning back to the truck he had brought with him, Bobby stuck his hand into his pocket and fished out the keys before placing them into Dean's palm and patting the bonnet of the car.

"You ain't looking too well in yourself, son. I hope you're getting enough rest." Bobby's voice was stern but Dean had known this man for what seemed like the whole of his life and he could hear the fret in the way he spoke.

"Don't you go worrying about me, I'm as good as ever, Bobby. Hell, I'm just peachy!" Dean faked a happy laugh and hoped it reached his eyes.

"You know that you can stay with me whenever you need, Dean. Don't you be forgettin' that. I damn near reared you as my own, and to hell am I gonna see you gettin' into bad shape and ending up like that father of yours." Bobby stared blankly into Dean's eye and the young Winchester was finding it hard not to cower at the orbs burrowing through him and burning out the other side.



Dean couldn't sleep. He wasn't much of a sleeper but, tonight Dean couldn't sleep even more than usual.

He'd tried at about a quarter to one in the morning and he'd been lying in the lumpy motel bed ever since, those emerald eyes dry and peeled wide open.

The sounds of his younger brother drifting in and out of dream after sweet dream were no help to him either, Dean felt nothing but bittersweet resentment that Sam seemed to be able to drift off no matter where they were or what was happening in his life at that point.

John had gone out to a bar as soon as he'd got a room for them all and had parked Bobby's truck round back of the motel. Dean could almost picture his old man drinking tumbler after tumbler of beer, flirting with the barmaids and maybe even getting lucky- Dean shook these thoughts out of his head before he vomited.

"Fuck this." Dean spoke quietly after a while, sitting up on the mattress and frowning slightly as a rogue spring from the bed poked him painfully in the side.

Standing, he walked over to the open window and let the breeze that was seeping through the gap take him away. The thin transparent curtains (that seemed to illuminate the room instead of actually blocking out the light like their purpose), fluttered lightly and brushed against Dean's tanned forearms, goose pimples rising to the surface and shooting numb sensations down the whole of his arms and catapulting out of the very tips of his fingers.


Dean didn't smoke often. In fact, he only either smoke when he was extremely stressed, or when John wanted to have one of those 'father-son' heart to hearts after a big hunt- the two Winchesters would sit outside, or on baby's bonnet and talk for hours. But today Dean Winchester couldn't sleep.

And he had resorted in leaving his baby brother in the motel room and was sitting on a small grassy mound outside the motel parking lot.

He'd rifled through his father's duffel for about five minutes before he'd found the small metal tin where his father kept his cigarettes and the metal lighter that he fiddled with so often.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply every few moments, Dean watched the spirals of smoke rise and disappear as they reached the night sky and he closed his eyes, leaning his head against the bark of the tree behind him.



Dean heard footsteps.

This wasn't anything abnormal, of course there would be footsteps, it wasn't like everybody would be asleep, he knew for a fact that those footsteps could belong to his father- or anybody else who had decided that they would spend the night at a bar.

Dean didn't make anything of the footsteps. But when the sounds started moving and forming, what seemed like, a circular motion around him, that's when Dean Winchester got a little wary.

"Who's there?" His gruff voice and tough exterior had returned and Dean found himself moving his left hand to the pocket inside his jacket that held his small black gun.

"Dean Winchester." The voice was icy and the footsteps were getting closer and closer by the second.

"Who the fuck's there?" Dean asked again, his voice wavering slightly but not so that anybody would notice.

The snap of a twig as a foot came down on it echoed around the place and Dean picked up the gun with his hand and cocked it in one swift movement, extending his arms out in front of him.

"I'm not a hunt, Mr Winchester." The voice sounded again, it was low and thick and sounded somewhat like the gravel it was treading on.

"Then what do you want?" Dean had dropped his cigarette in his panic and quickly trod it into the ground, looking back up with his green eyes bulging out his head like some kind of cartoon.

"Put the gun down, and we can talk."

Dean couldn't help himself, but he listened and threw the gun to the ground beside him.

"Show me your face first." Dean replied gruffly.

Out of the darkness came the sounds of someone sighing and muttering to themselves before Dean looked down and saw two large feet, sheltered by expensive-looking shiny leather shoes that pointed slightly at the ends. Looking up this giant, slim, lanky frame, Dean felt his face twist in distaste. This man who had spoken was long and thin, wearing a light grey suit that made his limbs appear longer than the average human, his face was as stretched and out of proportion as the rest of his body, two large, bulbous silver eyes stared blankly at the seventeen year old and the man's mouth twisted into a toothy grin. 

"I have a small proposition for you, Mr Winchester."

Chapter Text

"W-what do you want with me?" Dean stammered meekly, running his tongue along his cracked bottom lip- the saliva in his mouth had disappeared and it felt dry and empty.

"Oh Dean, I don't want anything with you." The man paused and looked up thoughtfully "In fact, it's not so much a want, I need you." His mouth curled into that menacing grin again.

"I don't understand." Frowning slightly, Dean glanced back round at the motel and the room he had been lying in only fifteen minutes before.

"I've been watching you Mr Winchester, I've been watching you your whole life." The man paused and ran a hand through his greased black hair "We've always known that you were the special one."

"I don't know what you're fucking talking about." Dean had regained confidence and spat the words at the man, anger curling through his face and reddening his tanned cheeks.

"I saw your mother die."

Dean felt something inside of him snap and he launched at the man, his right hand pulling up in a hard fist, ready to make contact with the man's sunken face.

And as quick as anything, the man lifted up his left hand and wrapped around Dean's wrist, tightening as the moments passed, lapping in the pain on the teenager's face as he fought against the bound of his hands.

"Let go of me you bastard." Dean snarled, trying to rip his fingers away as they cracked and crunched under the pressure.

"Let me speak, Mr Winchester." The man replied.

Dean swallowed heavily, nostrils flaring to the maximum with anger and he nodded once, signalling to the man to stop- he released his grip and Dean cradled his hand painfully.

"I saw you grow up with your father and brother, I saw you hunt, I saw you spend those nights acting like a parent to that brother of yours. I always knew that you were a strong one, Mr Winchester." The man sat himself down on the grassy verge that Dean had been sitting on only minutes before.

"Who are you?" Dean spoke up finally, looking down at the gravel in front of him and kicking his foot across it.

"Wyatt Carter." The man pushed out the hand he had used so recently to inflict pain on Dean and curled his fingers round, opening his palm for Dean to close it with his own. With much reluctance, Dean did so.

"I've never heard of you before." Dean yawned slightly and rubbed his eyes with a palmed hand.

"That's how we had to keep it, I couldn't let you know I had been watching you. This would have ended up all wrong, and you may not have turned out the way you did, and we could not risk that. It is good that you do not know me." Wyatt spoke simply with no emotion in his voice.

Glancing down at the bruising forming on his knuckle, Dean looked back up with confusion lining his face and waited to hear more.

"You are not the only one we have watched- but I must say, whenever we spoke of you all, your name always seemed to arise more than the others." Wyatt looking down at his hand and brushed away an invisible speck of dirt.

"Just tell me what's going on." Dean growled angrily, his green eyes glinting with anger and anxiousness.

"It is apparent that something big is going to happen, we have all known this for an extremely long time now. Yet we never thought that we, ourselves, would actually see the fall of the earth as we know it. But here we are, preparing for the worst- and the worst seems to be closing in a lot faster than anticipated. So, as a Finder, it is my duty to round up the men suggested by the Knowings to prepare for a war to end everything." Wyatt smiled again.

Finder? Knowings? Dean was more confused than ever.

"What war? I don't understand what you're talking about- and why has this got anything to do with me?" Dean asked finally.

"If you come with me tonight, everything will be explained, and Dean my dear, this has everything to do with you." Wyatt laughed lowly and looked up at Dean through a layer of silver-black eyelashes.


Wyatt put a hand into his suit jacket and sighed deeply, he'd always imagined Dean to be brighter than this, he'd always pictured him to jump at the chance to fight. But this imbecile in front of him had no idea what was happening to him, and it was clear it would be harder than expected to lure this teenager away to the camp with him.

Wyatt curled his fingers around the small vial and fingered the lid, contemplating on taking it out and gassing Dean and taking him straight to Headquarters.

He was craving a sandwich, and he hadn't eaten all day. When Wyatt Carter was hungry, nobody wanted to get on the bad side of him- and this Dean Winchester was seemingly about to tip over the verge and unleash Wyatt's hungry inner-beast.

Putting a hand into his other pocket, pretending to listen to Dean's boring monologue about why he couldn't possibly leave with this man and leave Sammy with their dad, Wyatt pulled out his nose plugs and turned away for a second, positioning them before turning back again.

"This could have been easy, you know that, Dean?" Wyatt spoke finally, hoping the plastic in his nose was not effecting his speech.

"Huh?" And in one swift moment, Wyatt stood, pulling the top of the vial away and raising the plastic, splashing the liquid into Dean Winchester's contorted face.

"What the f-" and Dean Winchester slumped to the floor with a painful thud.




Adam sat up, sweat dripping down his forehead and catching in his eyebrows, his cheeks flushed and pink.

Pulling off his navy shirt, he stretched out his back and cracked his knuckles loudly, slightly impressed with the noise they made.

He'd managed fifty more press-ups than he has two days ago, and considering he had done none before he came here, he thought that that was rather an achievement. He could now do over five hundred consecutive press-ups without either falling to the floor in agony or falling unconscious like he had done on his first day.

Closing the short space between his bed and the small rectangular mirror above the sink in the corner of the cubicle, Adam inspected himself and near grimaced at his appearance.

"Jesus..." He muttered quietly to himself, turning the rusting tap and letting the cool water run through the crevices in his hands, soothing him instantly.

"Alert! Alert! 1189 is needed at base! Repeat, 1189 is needed at base immediately!"

It had taken this long for Adam to memorise the number tattooed at the base of his skull without having to look, and whenever he heard it through the speakers his heart sank deep in his chest.

Walking back to his bed and throwing on the sweaty shirt, Adam slipped on his shoes and padded out into the hallway, the bright white reflective surfaces enough to make a man crazy.


He'd only been called to base a couple times since his first day, and each time he had been asked it had been for something good, so Adam wasn't thinking of anything too shabby.

He'd been called the first time to congratulate him for his skill in combat, and the second time had been for his survival skills when he'd gone away with the rest of the regiment to train in the desert.




Dean had the worst headache he'd ever fucking had, it hurt to open his mouth and his eyes were sealed shut, all he could smell was horrific; putrid vomit mixed with mustard or something- whatever it was, it was fucking disgusting..

He could feel heat on his face, but he didn't know whether that was because his whole face was filled with the sensation of a million poison ivy leaves brushing against his cheeks.

"Where am I?" He croaked finally, lifting up his left hand and trying to peel back his eyelids to look around the space he was seemingly lying in. He could feel the bruising welling up on his right hand, he wouldn't have been surprised if that son of a bitch had broken a couple fingers whilst threatening Dean earlier that night. Was it still night? Dean had absolutely no idea.

"I'm leaving to get a sandwich, I'm hungry. You just wait here and I'll call somebody in to see to you." Wyatt spoke up from somewhere else in the room and Dean wanted to stand up and punch him so hard in the face that he knocked a couple teeth out or broke his nose or something.

"Good, because if I could fucking open my eyes right now and move, you'd be a dead man." Dean spat angrily.

"I'm positively shaking " Wyatt replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes and leaving the small cubicle that Dean remained in.


"H-hello?" Adam called out quietly.

Dean grumbled painfully and turned on his side, forgetting that he was incapable to open his eyes and cussing lowly under his breath.

"Don't strain yourself." Adam started, walking over to the small medical table that this teenage boy was curled up on and trying to push down the sympathy that was rising through his body.

No attachments or emotions Adam, no attachments or emotions Adam- it seemed that he was reminding himself this more than he was his own name.

"Are you hear to kidnap me too?" Dean snarled, before turning back onto his stomach and bursting into a painful cough that echoed loudly around the small, tiled room.

"Hey, don't get yourself in a state." Adam reached the table and held Dean up carefully, trying hard not to hurt him, and let the boy get some air so that his breathing evened once again.


Dean's eyes were slowly starting to soften and he could see certain lights now, he could tell that he was somewhere very bright, and that the person who was speaking was talking from the right. He could also see that he was wearing some, what looked like, white scrubs.

"You weren't kidnapped." Adam spoke finally, looking down at the boy and wrinkling his nose up at the sight of his patchy purple skin and bright red irritated eyes, he wished that the Finders were easier on the recruiting front, a simple hey, want to stop the world from ending would have done the trick just fine.

"And I was picturing you with ginger hair." Dean spoke finally.

"Really?" Adam was a little taken aback. "I also imagined you to be fat, middle-aged and as creepy as the bastard who brought me here" Dean paused and looked around "- wherever here is."

"Wyatt's never been too good at his job, that's for sure." Adam laughed lightly and helped the boy in front of him sit up, trying to ignore the painful expression on his tanned face.

"What's your name?" Dean asked finally.

"1189." "Well that's a fucking stupid name." Dean frowned and looked up at the boy in front of him, shaking his head slightly.

"We don't go by names here, but since you asked, I'm Adam, Adam Milligan. And you are?" Adam explained.

"Dean, Dean Winchester." He paused "I don't have a stupid set of numbers yet." He spoke confidently but Dean still had absolutely no fucking clue what was going on.

"W-what? You're Dean?" Adam gulped loudly "Dean Winchester?"

"Um, yeah?" Dean replied, unsure as to what was going on. Adam just stared at him, his mouth open slightly and a strange expression on his face.

With distaste, Dean looked down at the white clothes he had on, and the sudden discomfort around his groin, hoping to God he hadn't done what it felt like he had.

"I'm Dean Winchester, and I think I just pissed myself."

Chapter Text

Sam rolled over and let his arm flop onto the empty mattress beside him painfully, hazel eyes snapping open lightning speed.

"Dean." He whispered breathily, sitting up a little too early and clutching his head as the blood rushed and left him feeling like he was about to fall unconscious.

It wasn't unusual for Dean to go out in the middle of the night, sometimes Sam would find him walking aimlessly down the sidewalk or something- but that was usually after he had had an argument with dad, and Sam couldn't remember there being any bad feeling before he'd gone to bed.


Something felt wrong. Dean was gone and it didn't feel right at all.


Standing and trudging over to the window, Sam's toes curling around the dusty, stained carpet, he pulled aside the curtains and stared out into the semi-darkness.

He couldn't make out much, just the odd car and a big tree in the corner. Sam was trying to make himself think like Dean, he figured that if Dean had gone out, he'd probably have been sitting under that tree.

Dean had told Sam last year that sometimes he stole some of their dad's cigarettes and smoked, and that of Sam ever woke and his big brother wasn't there, he'd only just gone to relieve some stress. But this wasn't the same, there was nothing for Dean to be stressed about, why would he have gone out?


Sam's heart was pounding so damn hard that it felt like it was going to burst through his chest, the room had suddenly seemed to drop ten degrees and he was shivering like hell.

Their dad was still seemingly out, so Sam pushed him out of the picture.


Picking up his jacket and slipping on his beaten trainers, Sam unlocked the motel door and pocketed the key, pushing his hands deep into the lining of his coat to keep himself warm.

"Dean?" He whispered quietly, Sam hadn't looked at the clock before he left but he guessed it couldn't be much later than three, he didn't want people getting involved.

"Dean, are you there?" Silence. Apart from the light growl of the wind as it picked up and circled Sam, the predator ready to attack at any moment.

Sighing, Sam cracked his fingers subconsciously and turned back to the motel room, hoping that Bobby would pick up the damned phone and help him out.


"Who is this?" The voice on the other end of the line growled, seemingly suspicious that somebody had his number- if Sam wasn't so scared he might have laughed at the seriousness in the man's tone.

"It's Sam, Bobby." He replied, clearing his throat quietly.

The room was so quiet, Sam could hear the repetitive ticking of the cheap clock in the corner and it echoed so damn loudly in the silence.

"What's wrong, son?" Bobby's voice hadn't softened, he was probably wondering why the thirteen year old was contacting him from three states away at a quarter to three in the morning.

"It's Dean." Sam knew those words were enough, because it had always been apparent that Bobby favoured his elder brother more than him; and it usually pissed him off. But now all he wanted was for somebody to agree and comfort him, where was Dean?

"What's happened?" Bobby stifled a yawn and took a sip of cold whiskey, letting it flood around his mouth before it trickled down his throat, burning slightly.

"I don't know where he's gone." Sam was trying not to cry now.

"Don't you go all soppy on me now, Sam. Now tell me, when did you last see him." Bobby paused "Better still, where's your goddamn father?"

"Just before we went to bed." Sam wiped his eyes with his shirt "Dad's still out."

"Damn it." Bobby sighed and rubbed his temples. "This ain't like your brother, Sam."

"I know, that's why I called you." He bit his lip anxiously "I didn't know what else to do."




Adam let the water run across his body, he moved his head and bared his neck, letting the warm drops splash his skin thoroughly.

He'd never enjoyed showers as much as he did now, at home they had been a chore. He'd go in and get back out again, and sometimes he wouldn't even shower for days.

Now he'd come here, showers were the only way he could remind himself that he was actually still human and that the life he lived before wasn't all fake.

Because when Adam couldn't see that tattoo, he was fine.

Adam picked up the soap from the side and began to rub it between his hands, running it across his forearms and his chest, bubbles forming in a small, milky white trail.

Adam tried to avoid his groin as much as possible, because damn, he hadn't got laid in ages and he just felt uncomfortable doing anything at camp.

He was trying to ignore the growing bulge beneath him, trying to fight the urge to touch it, but oh god he wanted it so bad. Adam couldn't even remember the last time he'd done anything, couldn't remember when he'd felt any release, couldn't remember when he hadn't ignored every hard-on he got.

Gulping, Adam let his eyes travel down his soaked body, his fingers twitching at the sight of his bulging penis.

Slowly, he lifted his right hand, faltering slightly at the thought of somebody walking into his pod whilst he was at it, but the thought of getting that release was too much to handle and Adam began to stroke the underside of his cock, his fingers running along gently as he bit his lip and started to slowly buck his hips against the touch.

Placing his left hand flat against the cold tiles, Adam wrapped his fingers around his cock and began to pound harder, his murky eyes sealing shut as the sudden sensation of his throbbing penis became almost too much to handle.

"Ah, fuck. Shit, oh my fucking god." He chanted lowly under his breath, his face creasing and reddening at every touch.

Adam's balls began to tighten and his grip loosened slightly, his left hand coming down and gently squeeze his hard balls as the sensation only increased.

"Ah fuck!" And Adam fell against the tiled wall as come shot out of his hard, red cock at some speed, oozing down his leg and following the water down into the plug hole.

Breathless, Adam let his face press against the tiles, letting the contrast of the cold mix with the heat of his pink face.  


Returning to his bed, Adam took up the clean clothes that he'd laid out before his shower and felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

For weeks he'd been resisting the urge to touch himself, because all he had imagined was someone bursting in as he climaxed, and he didn't think he'd ever live that one down.

Pulling up his boxers and the ugly cotton, white trousers that matched the other five pairs he had in his possession, Adam pulled on a black t-shirt and slipped on his shoes, running a hand through his damp hair and heading to the door of his pod so he could leave for dinner.




The purple-ness of Dean Winchester's face was slowly leaving, he'd recovered from the shock that he'd actually sprung a leak in his pants and was glad to have been given a spare pair.

What he still didn't know was why he was there, why that man had given him a drug that knocked him out and made him piss himself, or why that boy had claimed he hadn't been kidnapped.

He'd washed his hair and Dean was feeling a little more wholesome than he had a couple hours before, apparently he was in his 'pod' and Dean hoped more than anything that that didn't mean he'd have to stay in this shitty room for however long.

All he wanted to do was contact Sammy, tell him that whatever happened, he shouldn't get upset.

He didn't even know where he was, he'd been wheeled to another room and that one was white tiled from the floor to the ceiling, and it was so goddamn empty that Dean wanted to scream.

Dean's arm were still aching a little, it's not like he'd never experienced pain worse than this- hell, only the other week he'd been in a scrap with a couple vamps and he'd almost near broke his arm. Yet here he was, complaining about his arms aching, something about this place was doing Dean no good.

Standing and walking the short space from the bed towards the sink, Dean looked at himself in the mirror and grimaced.

Splashing some water into his palms, Dean covered his face and let the drops splash around his eyes.

An alarm sounded somewhere through some speakers and Dean jumped slightly, putting his hand to his hip by force of habit, forgetting that he'd left his damned gun back by that tree outside the motel.

"Fuck this." He shook his head and walked towards the small door, turning the handle only to find that the fuckers had gone and locked it.

Making a fist, Dean ignored the searing pain in his right hand and banged it loud against the object obstructing him from running away.

The alarm sounded again and this time it continued: "Dean Winchester, follow the directions to the head office. Repeat, Dean Winchester, follow the directions to the head office."

It shut off again.

Chapter Text

Adam skipped a few guys standing in the queue, he could tell they were new just by looking at them. They had that lost, hazed expression that didn't seem to shift for a good couple weeks after you'd joined camp.

He picked up a tray and looked across the canteen for his friends. Adam remembered his first day like it was yesterday, remembered how scared and how fucking lonely he had been.

It wasn't like everybody played happy families now, it was actually just as bad as he had expected when he'd first joined. But at least he'd found a few friends now, because before it had been unbearable.

The fat, sweaty man behind the counter slopped some, what looked like, green bile onto Adam's tray and the boy tried to hide his distaste.

Taking up a small white plastic cup filled with lukewarm water, Adam made his way to the small round table at the back of the cafeteria.


"Milligan!" A boy stood and put his fist out for Adam to bump, the eighteen year old accepted.

"Tran, how've you been?" Adam smile kindly at the kid in front of him and suddenly felt angry that he was here, and that this fifteen year old had been plucked from his home and placed in the middle of what seemed to be, hell.

"Ok, I've been good!" The boy paused and sat down and started picking at his food again "The panic attacks are stopping, Adam." He looked at his blonde friend with such a happy glint in his chocolate brown eyes that Adam's heart ached a little.

"Well, that's brilliant to hear Kevin!" Adam exclaimed, turning back to his food before he got emotional.

He remembered when he'd been assigned to helping Kevin Tran start his time at the camp, back then Kevin had been so socially awkward that it had taken him four days to even pluck up the courage to talk to Adam, let alone join in in any of the exercises.

But here he was, five and a half months later, and adjusting to life at camp much smoother than Adam had first expected.

"Hello boys." Came a voice from behind and Adam glanced over his shoulder, waiting to see who the voice belonged to.

"Garth, my man!" Adam laughed. Garth Fitzgerald IV was a twenty-one year old who seemed more immature than Kevin, for some reason Adam had an immense soft spot for the man and couldn't help but find him sort of, well, adorable.




Dean walked down the hallway, he felt a cold breeze run across his face and he lapped it up, the heat from that goddamn cubicle he'd been caged up in was proving too much.

Head office?

Fuck that.

He was going to try and find a way out before things got too difficult for him to do so.

Checking around for security cameras, Dean turned down a small hallway that went in the complete opposite direction of head office and began to walk faster than he had before.

Why was this place so quiet? And why was it so white? He couldn't remember seeing any other colours in that part of the building, just goddamn white everywhere.

He didn't really have any sort of specific plan, because he hadn't had a lot of time to think. But he did know that there had to be some windows somewhere- and if he could find a window, he could get out.

Turning down another corridor and towards a large door on the left, Dean put out a trembling hand and quickly pulled the towering door open before moving back, hoping to god he wasn't going to get caught.

Leaning his head around the door, Dean breathed a sigh of relief and carried on down another long hallway that seemed as endless as the last.

Wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead, Dean glanced around behind him warily and turned back, quickening his pace- his green eyes bulging out of his head.

The lights began to fade darker as he got further and further in the opposite direction to head office, where they had been so disgustingly bright and fluorescent before, they hardly existed now and

Dean found himself squinting slightly.


Dean rounded a corner and stopped breathlessly, realising that his pace and fastened to a sprint and he'd been running for no less than ten minutes.

For a 'camp' this place sure was fucking big- Dean guessed they called it that to make it more welcoming, though he still wasn't sure where here was.


"You look like you could use a drink." A simple sentence, but Dean didn't like the sound of that voice.

"I don't want anything." He replied breathily, leaning over and clutching his side as a sudden cramp swept over the left side of his abdomen.

"Now now, there's no need to be rude. You might just need to learn some manners if you want to get along good here." The voice paused "I'm assuming you're new."

"You don't know anything about me." Dean stood up straight and looked around the darkness, trying to find the source of the voice.

"But I can tell that you're scared, and that you're trying to get away."

Dean could feel the breath of the person in front of him.

"And that you want to know what's happening, I can tell you." The voice grew louder and out of the darkness of the hallway stepped a man, not much older than Dean, with jet black hair and piercing, electric blue eyes. "

What makes you think I want anything from you? I can figure this out on my own." Dean growled back aggressively, he wasn't taking kindly to the man in front of him, and he couldn't figure out why.

"You're not getting off to a very good start, are you?" The man took a step closer and Dean clenched his fists behind his back.

He hadn't realised it at first but, this man was a fair bit taller than him, and a lot more muscular than the Winchester boy had first thought.

"Are you threatening me?" Dean's nostrils flared and he stood as tall as possible.

So sure, this guy had a bit on him, but Dean was sure he could have a good go at kicking the shit out of him if the situation rose.

"Well, that depends." The man pretended to think for a second, his blue eyes wandering up and down Dean's body. "Are you going to apologise for being so rude to me?"

Scoffing quietly, Dean felt the anger bubbling higher and higher and he was sure that his face was reddening by the second.

"I'd rather not." Dean tested the man, staring blankly into those overly-bright eyes and raising an eyebrow slightly.

The man chuckled falsely, turning round to check if anybody was watching the two's encounter.

"Well, if that's the way you want it." He shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets casually, only bringing them out again when Dean deemed it safe enough to walk away, smashing the boy on the back of the head, hard with a closed fist.


Dean blinked a couple times and groaned, the bright fluorescent lights had made an unwanted return.

"Ah fuck, my head." He muttered to himself, ready to lift a hand to shield his eyes- only to find he couldn't.

Slightly taken aback, Dean bent his head back and looked behind him.

His arms were tied tightly to each end of a small metal bed, his legs tied just the same.

"Shit!" He exclaimed a little louder, struggling against the binds.

"There's no point in struggling, it's not going to help." That damn voice again.

"You better fucking let me go I swear-"

"Oh, what're you going to do?" The man sat down on a small wooden chair beside Dean and looked interested, a strange glint in his eyes.

Dean hadn't realised how tired he was, but now he felt exhausted.

And all he could think about was Sam and about how worried his baby brother must be- because Dean had been gone for a long while now.

"Just please let me go." Dean whispered exasperatedly, his forearms aching against the tightness of the ropes.

"Now, you are being polite but, I don't think I'm going to do that."

The man looked up and down Dean's body once again and the Winchester boy had a painful flash back that he quickly locked away before it could do any harm.

"Please." Dean closed his eyes.

"Do you know what I want from you?" The man started again.

Dean gulped loudly but did not reply.

"I think you do." The man chuckled lightly.

And Dean's eyes were still so tightly shut but he could hear the man getting up.

The memories were becoming more and more vivid and he was concentrating so hard on not vomiting and killing himself- because he knew if he did that now, he would surely choke and die and there would be no way for him to get back to Sammy.

And that's when Dean felt an icy hand find it's way on his thigh, winding it round until it was just below his groin.

Dean's face twisted in distaste and he felt weak and disgusting. His green eyes still sealed tightly shut, he tried to block out the memories, but they were all he could see.


"Do you know how pretty you are, Dean?"

Fingers so thick and vile sliding across Dean Winchester's eight year old face.

He didn't reply.

"Don't tell your daddy." He whispered, his breath so thick with alcohol and cigarettes that Dean wanted to puke, he didn't like the smell and he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Edging away towards the door, Dean gulped loudly and fumbled around for the handle.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

The man paused, showing a yellow-toothed grin, "Now come back over to the bed with me."

The man ran his hands over Dean's legs and bit his lip, moaning lowly under his breath as the eight year old boy stared blankly at the ceiling.

And then Dean didn't understand why he was in so much pain, or why this man was screaming at him so much for crying.

But it only made him want to sob more, and he hated it more than anything.

He didn't understand why his father's friend was acting so mean to him, or what was happening. Or why he was telling Dean to be quiet.


Dean's eyes snapped open and this time he wasn't blinded by the lights, but face to face with the man on top of him, pounding against him as a tear squeezed out of Dean's eye and slid down his cheek, splashing against the metal frame of the bed.

"Ah yeah." The man on top of him chanted as he closed his eyes and bit his lip, kissing down Dean's neck roughly as his body stiffened.

Dean bit down hard on the insides of his mouth to stop himself from crying, but he seemed too weak to move.




Sam sat in the back of Bobby's truck and breathed in the smell of his brother's cologne.

He'd taken up one of Dean's hoodies and had wrapped it round himself protectively, it was stupid but it proved comforting to him as the two drive through the night in search of his seventeen year old brother.

And with worry churning heavily in his stomach, Sam yawned deeply and wondered if he could sleep- knowing too well that with this much worry weighing him down, that it would be almost impossible.