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Dean Winchester hugs baby trees (withgunsdrawn) wrote in wariscoming,

Dean wasn’t exactly inclined to trust things that came back from the dead, anymore. Not that he ever had been, not really, unless he knew the how’s and why’s of it. But this, these people coming back - that wasn’t something he’d done, or anyone here had done... or if they had, they hadn’t taken the credit for it, yet.

So he wasn’t going to let these things in his camp until he knew what they were, what they wanted, who sent them. Trusting the word from the other camps, and from Pamela, wasn’t an option. Everything that happened, every dead person who came back, had to have something to do with Lucifer, and he knew it - and he had to get to the bottom of it before anyone he was responsible for got hurt, or worse.

Lurking in the dark, in the cover of the trees, he waited. Ruby had stuck by his side since Lucifer had taken over, and for a while, he’d been waiting for her to turn around and disappear, go to Sam’s - Lucifer’s side. She was a demon, he wouldn’t have been surprised if, without Sam there, she went back to what she used to believe in, especially since her god-figure and her husband were now one and the same (not one and the same, not really, but it looks that way, it seems that way, except that nothing that is Lucifer is also Sam, it’s not the same at all). But she was still here, and somewhere along the line he’d stopped thinking she was going to leave, stopped thinking she’d turn on them, started trusting her like the others in his team.

And now, she knew a lot of things about him that no one else did. He did his best not to let on about the torture to anyone else (although Mom knew, now - he hadn’t meant for her to know but she did, and she didn’t think he was horrible for it, or at least she never said she did, didn’t act like it), but he sometimes let her sit in on the non-demon sessions, let her help if she needed it more than he did, or he just wasn’t feeling up to the task. He had one of the abandoned sheds ready for tonight - far away from any of the cabins or the other sheds that were in use - and the thin tremor in his hands was anticipation and dread all at once.

He hated how much he loved it, hated what it turned him into, every damn time he picked up a knife. But there wasn’t anything else that made him stop hurting, even alcohol hadn’t managed to numb him in years. And he made sure he didn’t do it without a valid cause, it was never just for the hell of it. This was a valid reason, too.

Ruby throwing the Slayer girl into a fence was his cue, and he moved in, a chemical-soaked cloth ready to press over her face, knock her out if the fence post hadn't done the job. It was easier, bringing them in unconscious - less noise, less fuss, less chance of discovery or escape, and it kept them disoriented just enough, at first, for the fear to do some of his work for him, but not disoriented enough to take the edge off the pain... He knew what he was doing - he'd learned from the best, after all.