Daufuskie - Prelude
They come in the night. Dean thinks CPS at first, then local cops, then maybe both. They're quiet, they have guns, and Dean can see the building super in the doorway; the old guy's standing there, hands in his pockets like he wants to stop this but can't.
It's not until they brush past him, dozing on the couch and waiting for their father to get home, and go into Sam's room that Dean realises: the black eyes aren't a trick of the light.
The last thing Dean sees is his brother kicking, fighting them with everything he has. The last thing he hears, before they knock him out, is his brother.
Sam is screaming.
--
Dean opens his eyes. His father's face is the first thing he sees; John looks worried, corners of his eyes and mouth pinched.
"Dean?"
"Demons," Dean whispers, lifting a hand to his throat. It hurts, hurts like he'd been the one screaming instead of Sam. Dean tries to sit up, collapses back to the bed as he babbles and cries like he hasn't in years, since he was little, before Sam and Mom and the fire. "Demons took Sam. I didn't know, Dad, I swear I didn't. Demons, Dad."
John nods. "I know."
Dean blinks. "How," he starts to say, then descends into a coughing fit. Speaking makes his throat feel like someone's rubbing sandpaper right on his nerves, like maybe he's been swallowing nails. His father helps him drink from a thermos next to the bed; there's a straw poking out of the top, looks bitten into and barely held together. Dean ignores the strong smell of alcohol enough to bite the straw when he sips and his teeth fit in the grooves perfectly.
"Slow," John murmurs. He has one hand cupped at the back of Dean's neck, the other holding the thermos. Dean meets his father's eyes, has to turn away from the expression he sees hiding in their depths. John looks furious but also as if he's a moment away from breaking, just like the straw.
"How did you know?" Dean asks, looking down at the thin motel comforter, picking at a hole that Sam had pointed out the night they -- the night he -- the last time Dean was awake. "How, Dad, I don't."
John shakes his head, takes the thermos away and has a long swallow himself, ignoring the straw to chug the whiskey straight down. "It's been three days, Dean."
Dean's stomach bottoms out and he barely has time to lean over the side of the bed before he's vomiting.
Three days. Three days without Sam, three days of Sam being kidnapped by demons, and they're still here. He's still here and Dad, Dad's not out hunting for his little brother.
"We have to go," Dean says, wiping his mouth on his arm once he's done throwing up. "We have to find Sam."
"We will," John says. "I promise."
Act One