Chapter Text
The hunt was going smoothly. Almost too smoothly. But the brother's were tired and wouldn't dare look a gift horse in the mouth. It was another witch, much to Dean's disappointment.
They were able to locate her fairly easily due to many eyewitness accounts. Apparently this witch wasn't exactly the most secretive about her practices, which Dean just assumed meant she was probably a rookie. Or just a shitty witch, but he couldn't care less.
Less time spent around dead animal's remains, the better.
But now they had her backed into a corner, hesitant to attack because of Sam's morality streak. He had argued on the way over that she hadn't done anything to seriously harm anyone. The worst she had done was make someone that was rude to a friend of her's trip down a small set of stairs.
And Dean had relented. Ever since Sam blew up after telling him to pull over, desperate to make Dean understand that he wasn't using this disease he had coursing through his veins for evil. That he hated it just as much as him, but he had no way of cleansing himself of it so he was making the best of it.
Dean's mind kept going back to the rougarou, and just how scared he had been of hurting someone. How Sam had looked at him with such an intense understanding it had made Dean hesitate. Because yes, this freaky demon stuff was scaring him, but he had neglected to really consider how Sam felt.
It made him sad to hear his baby brother call himself a freak with such conviction.
Because demon blood and all, Sam was his brother. And he would sooner go back to hell than hear him say that about himself again.
The witch breathed hard, panic making her desperate as her eyes darted between them like a cornered animal. Dean saw the eyes of a predator, while Sam saw prey.
Sam raised his hands consolingly and took a step closer. "We don't want to hurt you, Sophia." Dean had forgotten her name. It was weird to know, especially since he had been raised to kill first, ask questions later. "We just want to talk."
Sophia backed away with stuttering breath, only to hit the wall. Her eyes grew wide then and her breathing audible. "No, no! Don't come any closer!" She pointed at him, deadly serious despite the shake to her voice. "I swear, I'll—" She didn't finish her threat, but it hung between them nonetheless.
Sam's eyes softened in that way of his and he obeyed, keeping his distance. "Okay, okay." He kept his hands up, and they stared at each other for a breath.
All was still. Sophia bit her lip with a quiet curse, but refused to move.
"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Sam glanced Dean's way minutely, catching the eye roll he gave and the muttered "Jesus Christ". Sam willed him to hear him out with a slight tilt of his head, puppy dog eyes on full display.
Dean blew out a breath and shook his head, but made no move to attack. Sam took that as permission and turned back to face Sophia, who watched the interaction curiously. She didn't let her guard down for a second, though.
"I imagine anything you ask about me, you already know the answer." Sophia said flatly. There was something brewing in her dark eyes.
"Just say yes or no, Sabrina." Dean cut in, already tired of Sam's approach.
Sophia's face twisted into one of annoyed confusion. "That's not—"
"Ignore him." Sam shot Dean a glare, one that urged him to stay quiet. Dean wondered with a twist of his heart how Sam had made it four months without him if this was how he took out targets. This weird gentle-parenting shit Dean just knows their dad would blow a fuse at.
Dean swallowed down any comments like that, because he knew they did more harm than good. He knew how Sam felt about the man, dead or not.
He could be considerate when he put his mind to it. He just had to think quicker than his temper, sometimes, to avoid any uncomfortable conversations.
Sophia didn't listen to him, only straightened a bit. "What kind of a hunter are you? Why are you even talking to me?"
Sam looked at a loss for words for a second, taking in her newfound confidence. He had insisted to Dean for the past week that this girl wasn't a threat, and he would really like to avoid any future lectures consisting of any sort of "I told you so"s.
"Well, you haven't done anything to seriously harm anyone, so..." He sounded unsure of himself, shuffling around a bit. "I figured you deserved a fair trial."
Some sort of incredulous sound blew past her lips and Dean bristled, his hand tightening around his holster.
"I just haven't had good enough reason to, yet."
Sam's shoulders slumped in something similar to disappointment, at the exact moment Sophia lunged forward.
Dean whipped out his gun and clipped her once in the shoulder before she could get her grimy hands on either of them. Sam brandished his knife in defense, eyes hard. Every hunt that ended like this was another step towards genuine doubt in what Sam was fighting so hard to believe.
What he was fighting so hard to prove to himself and his brother.
Sophia gave a howl and continued on, before meeting Sam's blade in a sharp, quick jerk of motion. She crumpled with a choked-off groan, and fell to the floor of her basement like she was boneless.
Dean watched her chest rise and fall and directed his gun to point at her head. "You really should've taken the conversational approach. Might'a lived longer."
She peeled open her eyes and glared up at him with a burning hatred. Before he could react, quick as a viper her hand shot out and grasped his ankle. She hissed out a few words he couldn't understand, and the world twisted before his eyes.
She grinned with pinkened teeth as her life wheezed out of her. Dean faintly heard Sam's voice call his name, but the word came out weird. At first, he heard it behind himself, but very suddenly it was coming from himself.
He stumbled. It was like being sucked into a hole. His head was pounding and Sam's voice that otherwise should have been external, was suddenly echoing through his mind.
He looked down, but the ground felt too far, and his jeans didn't look like his own. His shoes didn't look like his own.
Nausea reared its ugly head, the intense vertigo coursing through him, and he steadied himself against the nearby table. When had he gotten here? He had just been right beside Sophia, and now she was a few feet away.
And why was Sam being so quiet? Where was he? He could hear his voice faintly like he was hearing it through a wall.
There was a strange pressure in his chest, like there was something sitting on it.
His eyes met his reflection in the witch's mirror, and he froze.
Those were his eyes, but they were in Sam's face.