Archive of Our Own

It was weird, sitting a hunt out. Hunts were what sponsors got Dean for – to ready the gear, to do the research, to help gank the monster, or to be the bait. He was useful, low-maintenance, and better than that – expendable. A hunter had to be out of their mind to pass on such a tool.

But that was what Kane had done: went out to ice the siren he was after, and left Dean behind in the motel room.

Kane hadn't gone by himself; that would have been plain stupid, which he wasn't. But he was with the pair of noobs, Maxwell and his daughter Amity, and that was borderline stupid. Because they had entered the life less than two months ago, and were more of a burden than benefit.

In his defense, Maxwell wasn't totally clueless. The man had been a security guard for the Brinks company in Sacramento, and knew his way around firearms and hand-to-hand.

His career had been cut short, Dean had heard him tell Kane, when he had been walking to work one night and had seen a woman attacking someone in a dark corner of an alley. He had raced at her while drawing his gun and shouting for her to freeze, and she had turned to him and hissed with snake-like eyes blazing and fangs gleaming under the faint street lights. He had frozen and would have become the next victim, except someone was suddenly there, driving a silver knife into the creature's heart.

It had been the hunter that had been on the Vetala's ass, and she had educated Maxwell with his first fun fact regarding the supernatural when she had told him Vetalas always hunt in pairs. Terrified for his daughter, all alone back home, Maxwell had run, grabbed Amity from their apartment and blew town.

His initial shock had worn off eventually, and Maxwell had realized that he knew how to defend himself and his girl against muggers and rapists and con-men, but now there was a whole new palette of dangers lurking for them. They had to be ready.

Kane had been the most recent in a row of hunters Maxwell had apprenticed. Maxwell hadn't been pleased, to say the least, to learn that he was facing a new kind of danger while working a case with Kane; he had actually taken a step back and pushed Amity behind his broad back when Kane explained who and what Dean was.

But the case had still been pending, with another victim found dead the same day Maxwell had arrived for their first meeting. Maxwell had reluctantly taken Kane's word about keeping Dean in line, and – after watching Kane demonstrate the collar's power to fend off Dean's attacks five times in a row – as reluctantly agreed to let Amity wear the second bracelet to make sure she was safe. Only then did he agree to let Dean stay in the same room with them as they discussed the hunt.

Dean had tried to stay out of Maxwell's way and make himself go as unnoticed as possible; the ex-security guard seemed like the type to throw a punch out of sheer panic if startled. Whether it had been due to Dean doing a good job at it, or because the case had required Maxwell's full attention, he had ceased regarding Dean's presence almost completely by noon of their second day together.

But Amity hadn't.

She hadn't been bold enough to defy her father and actually talk to Dean; but he had seen her glance at him more than once. The first time their gazes locked, Dean had dropped his eyes immediately, horrified at the thought that Maxwell might have noticed him looking at his little girl and was going to beat him to a pulp.

But nothing happened, and Kane and Maxwell had continued poring over the town map spread over the kitchenette table. Dean raised his eyes cautiously to meet Amity's. She smiled at him. Dean found himself tentatively smiling back before panic overtook him again, making him break eye contact.

She had seemed like a nice enough girl: eighteen years old or so – almost a year older than Dean – with dark blue eyes, light brown hair and the sweet air of the-girl-next-door about her, despite being already introduced to the harsh life of hunting. Maybe it hadn't had time to rub off on her yet.

As nice as it was seeing that innocence almost radiating from her face, Dean hoped it would wear off, and fast; it was about the worst thing to have in a world full of wraiths and demons and vampires.

And sirens, like the one they were hunting now. Dean thought that the men taking Amity with them instead of him had been a mistake, but nobody had asked for his opinion. At least he had gotten a rare day off alone in the motel room.

The first thing Dean did after the sound of Kane's truck engine died away in the distance, was to take a shower. It had been two weeks since he used hot water, and it felt like heaven. He took care to eliminate every trace of what he had done from the bathroom, and opened the little window to let the steam out. By the time his sponsor returned, the towel he had used, the bar of soap and his damp hair would be dry again.

He went over to the laundromat to run a few loads; he added all of his own clothes into the pile, staying dressed only in a pair of ripped shorts and an old undershirt he barely used but kept at the bottom of his duffle just in case. He couldn't afford throwing stuff out, not before they became completely useless.

Back in the room, he cleaned and tidied up everything in sight. The weapons Kane hadn't taken with him on the hunt were in an army duffle by his bed, and Dean checked them even though he had cleaned all of them yesterday; it wouldn't do to have Kane find anything that could indicate Dean had been slacking.

They had some provisions, and he made himself a sandwich of cold cuts. Kane hadn't said Dean wasn't allowed to have lunch, and he wasn't the kind of sponsor who took to starving his collared one – he hadn't so far, anyway. To be on the safe side, Dean ate only one sandwich made with two slices of bread and three slices of pastrami, the smallest ones he could find in the package. It wasn't a completely satisfying meal, but he could work with that. He might go out later and see if he could coax some candy out of the vending machine.

He cleaned up all the traces of his lunch and gave the kitchenette a wipe down, carefully avoiding the switch that was resting on top of the counter. Kane made him cut a fresh one every morning – he liked them as thick as an index finger, twenty-seven inches long – so he would have an implement at the ready should Dean require correction. Kane had used a switch on him on the first night wearing the bracelet and only once more after that; the new daily switch was left in Dean's sight as a reminder. As if Dean needed any.

He considered watching some TV; he could mute it so he would hear the car when the hunters returned. Eventually he decided against it. He worried he might doze off and miss the telltale noise of the truck, or Kane might park too far away from the room for Dean to hear it. Dean settled for lying on his sleeping bag and making the most out of the time he had left to rest.

He did doze off eventually, and was jerked awake by the sound of the door flinging open so forcefully, it slammed into the wall. He sat up, instinctively curling himself into the corner, and watched Kane, Maxwell and Amity walk into the room.

"I don't know what the fuck possessed me to agree to that," Kane growled as he strode into the dining area, dropped his duffle on the floor and tossed something into the sink. "Clean this up, boy."

Dean went over to peer into the sink; it was the bronze dagger Kane had prepared for the hunt. Dean unsheathed it - the traces of blood soiling it indicated the hunt was successful. What was the matter, then?

"Look, she'd have to come on a real hunt sooner or later," Maxwell said while Dean started washing the blood off the dagger. "She's been training with me, she was ready-"

"The hell she was! She just fuckin' froze."

"It's her first real hunt-"

Kane let out a bark of grim laughter. "Let me tell you something. There ain't no such thing as 'beginner level hunts'. Any hunt is potentially lethal. You go in prepared, or you don't go in at all. Your little princess could have gotten us all killed."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," Maxwell's tone took on a dangerous edge. Dean half-turned, still wiping the dagger down, and stole a glance at the others; Kane and Maxwell stood facing each other like a couple of rival wolves. Amity stood to one side, watching with her eyes wide in her pale face. It was obvious that she had been crying.

"What else d'ya want me to call it? All she had to do was neutralize the affected vic. She didn't even have to kill the broad, just knock her unconscious. She couldn't even do that much."

Dean glanced at Amity again. She sniffled and wiped her cheek, then stuck her chin out.

"I admit, I did freeze," her voice was trembling a little bit, but she was visibly making an effort to put on a brave face. Kane and Maxwell turned to her. "But I froze because I saw a poor girl, and she was! She was a poor girl. It wasn't her fault, she didn't deserve-"

Kane interrupted, "She didn't deserve to be poisoned by the siren, but shit happens, kid. If you'd've just done your fucking job, nothing would've happened to her. But you had to go all bleeding heart at the wrong fucking moment, and she almost brained your daddy."

"Hey, lay off my daughter," Maxwell took a step forward, putting himself between Kane and Amity. Kane pulled his shoulders back.

"Your girl needs to toughen up, Maxwell, and fast. I'm doing ya a favor here. This time I was here to save your sorry ass, who's gonna save it next time? Who's gonna save hers?"

Maxwell held his gaze for a minute, then let out a breath. "He has a point, Amity."

She turned her eyes to look at her father. "She was human, Dad! An innocent human!"

Maxwell sighed, "Sweetheart, two months ago we found out that both 'human' and 'innocence', or any other word for that matter, are far more complex than we thought. We have to think differently now; I wish we had more time to adjust to this new reality but we simply don't." 

"Your father’s right," Kane said, his tone considerably softer. "And you know what? Yeah, she was an innocent human, but she was under the siren's influence. And until the siren was killed, she was as dangerous as the creature that had controlled her. You'll see loads of stuff like that, humans being turned by monsters. You need to be able to handle it, or you're dead. You and your dad and all the other people you set out to protect. You get what I'm sayin', kid?"

Amity stared at him, then slowly nodded. Kane nodded back.

"Let me ask you a question. Halloween. Did you use to wear scary masks when you dressed up?"

Amity seemed not quite sure what to answer. "Well, yeah, sometimes."

"What was the purpose of the masks?"

"To scare people."

"Wrong. To make them consider, even for a split-second, the possibility that something which obviously doesn't exist, actually does. To exploit their expectations of reality and throw them off balance. That's what the siren does, and many others like it. And then you die. A hunter must see through the deception, and a good hunter can turn the tables on the creatures and actually deceive them."

Amity didn't answer, but didn't break eye contact with Kane, who continued. 

"So now tell me, what's going to happen the next time you'll see on a hunt what appears to be an innocent being?"

"I won't treat it as such," said Amity. There was a pause, and the lack of reply indicated that the hunter awaited some sort of elaboration. Amity obliged. "It's not only the answer you happen to be looking for, it's also the truth. I froze this time, but there will be no next time."

Kane seemed satisfied. "That's a good answer, kid. How about we run a little drill to test that." Suddenly his eyes were boring straight into Dean's. "Get your ass over here. And bring the switch."

It was as if a huge fist clamped down over Dean's chest; for a few seconds he couldn't breathe. But his body was obeying even while his brain was frozen, and he picked the switch up off the counter, walked over to his sponsor and handed it to him.

"Shirt off," Kane ordered and turned back to Amity. "Here, let's see how you do with this."

Dean finished pulling his shirt over his head and glanced over to see Kane holding the switch out to Amity. She looked between him and it, at her father, then back at Kane, clearly confused.

"What's this about, Kane?" Maxwell asked.

Kane put his hand on Dean's shoulder and pushed him down to his knees. Dean settled back on his heels and rested his hands on his thighs. His breath was coming fast and shallow. "I'm giving her a chance to practice," Kane said.

"Practice what?"

Kane was staring straight at Amity. "Hurting another human being."

Amity's eyes grew even larger. "W-what?"

"You heard me. You couldn't hit the siren's vic back there because all you saw was some innocent human. So now let's see you do better."

Amity opened her mouth, and her lips moved for a few seconds without any voice coming out, as if she wasn't even able to force the words out. Then she regained some control and drew a breath. "That's sick," she said. "You're sick. You want me to- to beat him, for what? For practice?!"

Kane seemed unfazed by her reaction. "That's exactly what I want you to do."

"I- I said… I told you I won't hesitate next time," she again seemed lost for words. "There's no need for this, there's nothing to learn here."

"Why not? He's potentially dangerous, just like that girl," the hunter tilted his head.

"I've told you that I've learned my lesson," Amity said with more than a hint of anger.

"And I'm tellin' you words are cheap. It's no different than practicing hand-to-hand. You're hurting another person there too, if you're better than them."

"In hand-to-hand the other person at least has a chance to fight back," Amity countered.

Kane shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling. "Girl, you wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell if I let him fight back. But you're welcome to take the bracelet off-"

"No," Maxwell's voice was sharp. Kane shrugged again and jostled the switch, as if to indicate that Amity was yet to take it.

"The point still stands that you need to build up your immunity if you want to survive this life, if you want to help other people survive. You won't get as many opportunities to practice it like this, maybe none at all. You need to break the mental block, is all I'm saying. You do this, and it'll be easier next time."

Maxwell eyed Kane for a long moment, then looked at his daughter. "Take the switch, Amity."

She turned to him, eyes even wider than before. "Dad! Dean's got nothing to do with any of this!"

"Take it."

"You can't- you can't seriously be going along with this craziness!"

Maxwell sighed and rubbed the side of his face. "I never intended to stumble into this… this underworld. And I never intended to drag you along, but we can't ignore it now, we can't go on with our lives the way they were before I saw that creature. Because there are things out there, honey. And they're ready to bite and claw and rip your heart out and devour it while you're watching. We can't pretend they aren't there, and we can't be caught off guard. Not even once. I'm not ready to lose you to those things, and I know you want to have my back if they come after me." He sighed again, his face old and tired all of a sudden. "Take that switch, sweetheart. Please."

Amity was still staring at him, her lips trembling. Then she looked at Kane.

The hunter nodded. "Nothing to it," he said matter-of-factly. "See, like this." He turned, and with a lightning-fast movement, the switch crashed on Dean's back.

Dean winced, clutching his jaw to keep quiet. He slanted a glance upward at Amity, whose face wore an expression of horror. Then her eyes squinted and her lips tightened.

"No," she said. "I'm not doing it."

"Amity, be reasonable," her father said.

"Yeah, it's not like it's really hurting him," Kane added.

Amity pointed at Dean. "You call that welt not really hurting him?!"

"That's peanuts, you'd hardly notice a mark at all in a coupla days. Here, you try," he held the switch out to her. She didn't take it.

"You think he'd be better off with a monster slicing his gut open? I can assure you he won't. This," Kane landed the switch, hard, and Dean smothered a gasp. "This is nothing."

"Stop it," Amity took a step forward. Kane offered the switch again.

"Then you do it. Three strokes, that's all. You can handle that much."

"I can't," her voice was almost strangled.

"Sure you can. Just try it."

Amity extended a visually trembling hand and reached for the switch, her fingers recoiling at the last moment before touching it, as if the thing was covered in needle-sharp thorns. Her fist clenched, then released, and she took the switch from Kane's hand.

"Good girl," Maxwell murmured.

Dean fixed his eyes on the floor in front of him while Amity drew a bit closer and stood by his side. He could see the slight shifting of her legs when she swung the switch, but there was no distinctive swishing sound, and when it connected with his back, all he sensed was a gentle tap.

Kane let out a displeased huff. "Harder."

The switch hit once more, the tap a bit stronger this time, but it was still more of a pat than a blow. Kane made the exasperated sound again.

"This ain't gonna fly, kid. If you're gonna do it, then do it right."

Dean glanced up to see his sponsor moving, and before he could figure out what the man was up to, pain exploded in his back and he barely stifled a cry, his hands slipping off his thighs and onto the floor as he was pitched forward.

"Dad!" Amity was almost shrieking.

Dean heard the shuffle of Maxwell's boots on the floor.

"Okay, I think that's enough, Kane, why don't you-"

"And it's Daddy to the rescue," Kane said, his voice laced with disdain. "That's how it's always been, hasn't it? Your little girl calls, and you jump in. Have you ever let her deal with anything on her own, Maxwell? Or did you coddle her every step of the way? Well, this ain't high school and it ain't the suburbs and there ain't no white picket fence here. She learns to fend for herself, or she dies. It's that simple." There was a pause and then Kane added, conversationally, "I'm outta here tomorrow morning, so if you're gonna make her go through with this, do it now."

The silence was heavy; Dean barely dared to breathe. Then Maxwell spoke, his voice calm but determined. "Amity, take the switch and strike the collared one with it."

"Dad-" Amity breathed out, but Maxwell cut in.

"We don't have time for this. Every day I'm finding out there's a new kind of monster, a new way to get killed. And I refuse to give in to it. I've been a fighter all my life, and I did my best to raise you to be one, too. So now you'll fight this. Take the switch."

Dean heard Amity sniffle a little, but there were also sounds that suggested that she was following the order.

"Okay. You ready, honey?"

"Yes. No, I don't…" more sniffling. Dean stared down at the hands he was bracing on the floor, praying that this would be over already, for Amity's sake more than for his own.

"Well, you started by saying ‘yes’ and that's a start," Kane remarked. "But still, a watched pot never boils. Maybe we can spare her the audience, Maxwell, whadaya think?" His voice was all benevolence and grace. "We can wait outside."

"I ain't leaving her alone with him."

"She's wearing the bracelet, he can't do a damn thing to her."

"He can dodge, give her a hard time."

"Oh, that's no problem," Kane's footsteps drew further from Dean, who risked a sideway glance to see his sponsor crouched and rummaging through his duffle. When the man stood up, he had a pair of handcuffs in one hand. He strode back to where Dean was kneeling on the floor, grabbed his upper arm with his free hand and dragged him unceremoniously to the room divider a few feet away.

The divider was made of solid wood about three inches thick. Over the solid part, which stood somewhat shorter than the height of Dean's waist, was a row of bars that continued the room's floral design with large plastic sunflowers decorating the metal rods. Kane slapped one bracelet over Dean's wrist, pulled his hand up to the divider and slipped the other cuff between the first and second bars. Then he reached to grab Dean's free hand. Within less than a minute, Dean was secured, facing the narrow side of the wooden wall, both his wrists shackled on either side of the divider with the handcuffs' chain running between the bars.

Dean had to keep his back straight and tilted a little forward while grabbing onto the closest bar, so his arms wouldn't be uncomfortably stretched as he returned to his previous kneeling position.

"There ya go," Kane said. "C'mon, Maxwell, let's leave her to it."

Dean listened to the noises and rustles as both men moved to the door, listened to the faint creak of the hinges as the door swung open, then to the soft sound of it closing. Then there was silence.

It lasted long enough to make Dean consider looking back over his shoulder to see if Amity was indeed there, when she spoke up.

"D-dean?"

"Ma'am," he wasn't entirely sure what was the proper way to address her; she wasn't his sponsor even though she was wearing the bracelet. But "ma'am" seemed safe since she ranked higher than him on the social ladder. Practically everybody did, even some of the monsters, or so it felt like to him.

"Just- just Amity," she said. He heard the light pat of her shoes on the floor as she took a step toward him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

She took another step. "I'm really sorry about all this."

"Not your fault," he rotated one wrist a little inside the cuff, then the other, wondering how long it would take her to get to doing what she was left here to do. A bad feeling was starting to build inside him.

"It is my fault. I should've hit that girl, the victim, and I couldn't. Kane was right about that, I put us in danger."

"It happens."

"But I'll do better next time," she sounded firmer. "I know I will. I don't need this… this drill. I can practice another way."

The bad feeling peaked into a little surge of panic in Dean's stomach. "You need to do this."

"I don't."

"You do."

"Why?" Challenging, defiant.

"Your dad told you to."

"My dad's a sensible man. I'll talk to him-"

"You already talked to him."

"I'll talk to him without Kane being around. He'll see reason."

Dean turned his head to look at her. She gave him a little tense smile – or tried to. It looked more like a twitch of her lips rather than an actual smile.

"Ma'am – Amity – please, just do it. I don't mind. Get it over with. It's okay, it is."

"No," she said. She tossed the switch, and it clattered on the floor a few feet away from them. "I'm not beating an innocent guy for practice."

"I'm not innocent," frustration was mixing in with the panic, stinging at his eyes. "I killed my brother. He was four and a half years old. It's not practice, it's justice."

Amity came to his side and he looked up at her. There was something close to compassion in her face, or it could have been the way the light from the murky lamp played on her features.

"What you did was horrible," she said softly. "But you're already serving a horrible sentence for it. You're wearing that collar and it's… it's probably worse than an ordinary life sentence. Unconstitutional for sure. You don't deserve any more punishment, Dean."

The stinging in his eyes was making him blink harder. "Please. Please, you need to do it. Please, just do it."

"Why?" She sounded almost irritated.

"Because if you don't, Kane'll assume it's my fault. That I talked you out of it," he could feel desperation seeping into his voice even though he did his best to choke it back. "And it's not gonna end with a few swats, not by a long shot."

From the way her eyes widened, he could tell the thought hadn't crossed her mind, but she was starting to realize now the situation he was in. Good.

He forced himself to keep quiet while she considered, then she took a breath.

"Okay. Okay," she looked around, searching for the switch, and went to pick it up. "I'll beat something here… the table? No, the sound's wrong. The bed. Or the couch. But they're too far away from the door, Kane and Dad wouldn't hear it." She swiveled in place, taking inventory of the room. "I can get a cushion from the couch, put it here by you, it'll sound the same-"

Dean twisted to be able to see Amity. "What're you talking about?"

She spun back toward him. "They're going hear a beating. But I won't be beating you."

The desperation that had started to dissipate was returning full force. "No. It's not gonna work."

"Why the hell not?" Her irritation was also returning.

Dean turned to face the divider again, leaning in a way he hoped had his bare back – and the welts he was no doubt sporting – fully illuminated by the lamps. "Because they'll take one look at my back, and they'll know."

There was silence. Dean could hear only the faintest sound of his breathing. His fingers were absently rubbing the bar he was still holding.

"Please, do it," he said quietly. "Three strokes, like Kane wants. One minute and you're done. There's no other way."

He heard her feet shuffled on the floor. Dean settled back into position and braced himself.

"There's a way," she said, and Dean straightened up and glanced over his shoulder, the wave of bad feeling starting to surge again.

"What- what're you doing?"

Amity had been crouching by the backpack she had left by the divider opposite of the one Dean was cuffed to. She pulled something from inside it and stood up, her chin sticking out the way it had before, when she had confronted Kane.

"They wanna see marks? I'll give 'em freaking marks."

She walked back to Dean and knelt behind him. He didn't just twist now; he half-rose and crab-walked aside to maneuver away from her, hands still gripping the bar, and stared at what she was holding. It was a small turquoise bag, its zipper decorated with a tiny fluffy tassel.

"What-"

"It's gonna be okay, Dean," Amity said. She unzipped the little bag, and he could hear plastic clanking inside. "I'm gonna paint marks on your back. It'll look like I used the switch on you. Then I'll beat the couch cushion-"

"No," Dean absently pulled on the cuffs, even though he knew he couldn't actually break free. "No, it's a bad idea."

She frowned at him. "It's a great idea, a win-win situation."

"They'll never buy it."

"Sure they will," she was searching through the bag now, producing more plastic clicking. "I'm good at that. I used to do makeup for my school's plays back home. And after my dad took up hunting, we needed to raid this drugstore for supplies. I made my face to look like I was attacked and injured, came up to the night guard looking like that, and kept him busy while my dad snuck in through the back. I know what I'm doing."

"Kane's not some halfwit night guard, he's a hunter. You think he'd fall for it?"

"I'll do one for starters, if it doesn't look perfect then I'll drop the idea. Okay?"

It was all going – no, plunging – downhill; they were going to be found out, and he was going to pay for it, all because this little girl couldn't woman up and do what needed to be done. Looking into Amity's face, he could see she wasn't about to budge. It wouldn't even do to argue that he wouldn't be able to see if the first welt she painted was any good, he only had her word for it, and she was hell bent on that insane plan of hers.

With throat clogged and eyes stinging, Dean slowly turned back to kneel facing the divider. He leaned his forehead against the narrow side of the wooden wall, hands gripping the bar above it, and closed his eyes. He was fucked, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He heard Amity shifting, her makeup products clicking merrily. Then there was a light touch on the bare skin of his back, cool and soft and so very different from the switch's cruel bite. When had he last been touched so gently? He couldn't remember. He couldn't even think straight, with fear whirling like it was in every cell in his brain.

The delicate touch eased the fear some; it wasn't logical by any means, because Dean was certain retaliation would ensue the minute the men returned, but it did nonetheless. It was all too soon when Amity said, "I'm done."

Dean didn't bother responding, it wasn't like he could appraise her handiwork, anyway. She was quiet for a minute or so as she no doubt examined the painted mark.

"It turned out really good," she said at last. "Looks just like the real welts. And with the light in here, Kane and my dad will never tell the difference. Okay, I'll do the other two, don't move."

Dean couldn't if he wanted to. He stayed motionless, forehead leaning against the divider, as Amity's brushes and fingers ghosted their way over his skin. She didn't touch the bruising marks of Kane's switch, but strangely, it felt like she was soothing them somehow. The throbbing dulled, same as the fear. Both were still there, but they had mellowed, as if lulled to sleep.

There was something caressing a line down his face; one tear that had finally overcome his attempts to fight it back. Dean allowed it to find its way over his cheek without trying to wipe at it. Whether it was borne out of the fear that was still pulsing through him, or the softness of Amity's touch, he couldn't tell.

He must have let himself drift, because he was a little startled when Amity quietly said, "It's finished, Dean."

He nodded into the divider. It was finished, one way or the other. No way to put off the inevitable.

He heard the plastic clickings again as Amity gathered her things into the makeup bag, and then the zipper being closed. He felt her presence vanishing as she got to her feet, then there were rustles that indicated she was putting the bag back into her backpack and bringing a cushion over to proceed with creating sound effects to complete the conspiracy.

Even though he knew what she was about to do, the loud swat of the switch making impact with the cushion startled Dean. He opened his eyes and tilted his head a bit, noticing the fine cloud of dust the smack shook free.

Amity administered two more whacks at a measured pace, letting the dust mostly settle before delivering the next blow. Dean had half a thought to fake a groan to go with the sound of the strokes, but not only was it doubtful that the men would hear it on the other side of the door, Kane also knew Dean could take a beating much worse than that and still keep quiet.

Dean closed his eyes again as Amity returned the cushion to the couch and took a minute to make sure there were no suspicious signs left about the room. Fear was taking over once more, making his body tremble. It was actually a good thing; it would make him seem as if he was in pain from having been beaten just now.

He waited to hear the door open, but instead almost jolted when a hand touched his shoulder. Even if Amity wasn't the only other person in the room with him, he would have recognized that touch.

"Dean? I was thinking – if a hunter must be able to avoid being fooled by a trick, it means he or she must have a few tricks of their own up their sleeve, right? Hunting is also about ruse, cunning, resourcefulness, isn't it?"

Dean barely whispered, "I- I guess, yeah."

"Then I have practiced," she replied softly.

With his head nearly swimming like it was, it made a weird kind of sense. She didn't move her hand, and after a short pause she spoke again.

"It's going to be okay, Dean," her voice was kind and sure and tender as her hand. "You'll be okay. I promise."

And despite everything – the terror, the despair, the deep dark pit that was his life – he believed her. Even though every shred of reason told him not to, that he was done for, that their miserable plan had no chance of working – somehow, with her hand on his shoulder, he believed her.

Too soon, her touch was gone, making way for the cold air to steal over his skin. Dean took a deep breath, settled himself as best he could, and waited.

He heard Amity's footsteps drawing away from him and toward the door. The handle gave a light creak, then the door swished open. The hunters' footsteps, much heavier than Amity's, trampled the soft silence.

"Took you long enough," Kane said. "Your daddy was about to barge in and rescue you."

"I don't need rescuing," Amity said. "Here's your damned switch." There was a pat – probably Amity slapping the switch into Kane's hand. "And here's your damned bracelet. Dad, if we're done here, can we go?"

Kane's footsteps thundered in Dean's direction, and Dean's heart rate picked up as his sponsor stood behind him, no doubt examining Amity's artwork. Then the man came around to Dean's side and Dean glanced up at him; Kane's face told him nothing about what was going on inside his head.

"Are we done?" Maxwell asked from behind them.

Kane kept looking at Dean for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket. When Dean saw the glint of the cuff key, his relief sent a shiver through him and he had to tighten his hold on the divider's bar to refrain from moving.

Kane unlocked the handcuffs, took them off Dean's wrists and bounced them in order to catch both bracelets in one hand. "We're done," he said. "Get dressed."

"Yes, sir," Dean used the divider to pull himself up, fearing his legs wouldn't support his weight, but he could stand just fine. He walked over to where he had left his shirt draped over the back of a chair and put it on, wincing as it slid over his back. He wasn't acting, not entirely, anyway; he might have made the flinch a tiny bit more accentuated than what it actually felt like.

He stayed by the chair, turning only slightly so he could watch the rest of them from the corner of his eye. Kane had moved back to where Maxwell and Amity were standing by the door, and offered his hand.

"You'll make a fine hunter, Maxwell," he said. "The girl too, if she puts her mind to it. You have my number if you need anything. Or you can call Harvelle's Roadhouse, they'll know how to contact me."

"Thank you," they shook and Kane looked at Amity.

"You'll be okay, kid. Remember what you're fighting. Remember what you're fighting for."

"I will," she said, and allowed him to shake with her. Maxwell laid his hand on her shoulder to steer her out, but just before she walked through the door, her stare flickered in Dean's direction, and for a brief instant, their eyes locked.

The next moment she was gone.