Chapter 2
3 Months Later
The barn was dark and still as moonlight filtered through the cracks and broken windows. Dean sat on a bale of hay breathing heavily and slightly concerned about the wet rattle of his chest. Sam had gotten the two little girls out, sisters who were 8 and 10 with bouncing curls and tear streaked faces. Dean felt the rage boil under his skin, an itch crawl up his arm at the memory of their petrified faces, the older girl shielding her younger sister from a vicious set of teeth. Dean took a fortifying breath before his head snapped up at the crunch of gravel outside the barn. Dean palmed the machete in his hand as he heard multiple footsteps approach, it wasn’t Sam coming back for him, his brother wouldn’t have been able to bring the girls to the police station that quickly. Dean grimaced wishing he could have gone with Sam, but he didn’t want to risk terrifying the girls even more. Instead he was here, dripping blood on a bale of hay surrounded by half a dozen decapitated corpses with a group of unknown assailants approaching.
Dean heaved a sigh, blood trickling out of his mouth as he reached to his side and picked up the shotgun sliding it across his lap and pointing it towards the barn door. The bright light of an LED flashlight weaved in and out of the cracks before the door was pushed open. Dean could make out two tall silhouettes, the flashlight causing Dean to catch a glint of metal where the second person’s arm was. He heard the murmur of voices outside but couldn’t make out the reply from the two in the barn. Dean subtly shook his head, his mind was hazy and he couldn’t ignore the deep throb pulsing through his arm. A shorter silhouette entered and Dean could just make out the outline of a gun drawn and pointed downwards. The flashlight flickered back out the door and Dean could only just make out the sound of the third man saying “lights.”
Dean repressed a snort; these nosy dumbasses were in for a rude awakening when the barn lights flickered on. A muddled thought flickered across Dean’s mind; he should probably be more concerned, but he could feel his body slowly shutting down, a sweet numbness taking over and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Dean heard a low curse from outside; whoever it was must have found the busted fuse box. A series of low clicks followed by the subtle hum of electricity told Dean whoever was outside knew their way around electrical engineering. The dull overhead lights flickered on moments later.
Dean blinked through the droplets of blood coating his eyelashes, head and shotgun turned towards the three men at the door. The first two men were tall, broad and complete opposites. One light to the other’s dark, although they held themselves as equals. Despite the different coloring, both men had matching expressions as the lights illuminated the absolute carnage of the warehouse. Dean rolled his eyes before slightly turning his head to study the third man.
Had Dean not been slumped on a bale of hay and leaning against an old, nail filled beam sagging from blood loss, he would have startled. The third man had aged and was clearly experiencing hair loss, but Dean knew him. It may have been over a decade, but the Dean recognized the super-secret agent from Palo Alto all those years ago. Same suit, same tie, same bland and unimpressed look. Dean lifted his head; mind clearing as he unconsciously recognized the possibility of a new threat. He was still partially hidden by the wooden beam and no doubt the three men assumed everyone in the barn was dead, it wasn’t much, but Dean knew it was his only advantage.
****
Bucky swallowed convulsively, eyes scanning the massacre in front of him. He didn’t know Agent Coulson, but Steve vouched for the man. Even so, he didn’t know if even Steve’s high esteem for Coulson would be enough for the Avengers to agree with whatever the agent had planned. Because this, this amount of death and bloodshed was not included in the briefing. There were at least a half a dozen decapitated bodies strung about the interior of the barn. However, it was the four bodies tied to wooden beams with their throats ripped out that had Bucky struggling to breath. They were kids, three boys and a girl, all no older than ten. Bucky’s eyes slid over to Steve, his best friend’s face drawn and tight as fire flickered in his blue eyes. He gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze as the hero took a shuddering breath before stepping forward, shield placed defensively across his arm. Bucky moved to follow but Coulson’s hand on both their arms made the soldiers pause.
Bucky turned to glance back at Coulson and saw the man’s eyes were trained on a wooden beam halfway across the barn. The bales of hay stacked next to the beam were cast in shadow, but Bucky could make out the end of a shotgun pointed in their direction. Looking more closely, Bucky could see the puddle of blood still pooling underneath the hay.
“Mr. Winchester,” Coulson, gun drawn, hurriedly made his way over with Bucky and Steve close behind.
Bucky approached last as Coulson crouched down and he heard Steve’s sharp inhale. It was a man sitting on the hay bale, shotgun trained on Coulson and a machete gripped tightly in his other hand. Bucky met green eyes head on; they shone defiantly on a face covered in blood and bruises. Bucky scanned the man again and noticed the patched of blood seeping through the flannel shirt, the elbow of the arm holding the machete pressed tightly against his side, blood staining the sleeve. Bucky lurched forward towards the man, the machete swiftly rising to press against his sternum. Bucky raised his hands in supplication before kneeling down before Winchester and pressed his hand to the wound on the side. The machete fell and green eyes turned back to Coulson and Steve. The latter had his hand to the comms calling for the team outside. Coulson pulled out his cell and called for medical as Wilson, Stark, Barton, and Romanov made their way into the barn. Bucky spared the Avengers a glance as they came in, Sam and Tony the only one’s showing any visual reaction to the scene in the barn.
“I need to wait for my brother, if you think for one second I’m leaving without him,” Winchester gasped, hand gripping his side as Coulson turned to look at him, eyes critically scanning the man.
“You’ll die if we don’t get you medical attention,” Coulson countered, face impassive.
“Your point,” Winchester groaned as he tried to flash a grin.
Bucky’s brow furrowed as he cast a glance at Coulson, the agent didn’t seem surprised by Winchester’s response, if anything he seemed resigned and accepting of it. Steve, however, was getting ready to lay into the man sitting slumped and bleeding. Bucky could see it in his friend’s eyes, righteous indignation causing the blue to flash. Bucky’s attention was brought back to Winchester as the man hissed, Sam having come over with a cloth and some antiseptic which the Falcon dabbed on the man’s face.
“What can I help you with Agent? Cause I know I told you the last time I wasn’t interested in anything your shady organization had to offer,” Winchester glared at Coulson, hand gripping the machete. Bucky and the other Avengers looked at Coulson in confusion, Barton and Romanov with a hint of suspicion.
“It’s more along the lines of a consultation, not a job offer Mr. Winchester,” Coulson stated, ignoring the looks he was receiving, “and I would prefer you alive for the consultation.”
****
Dean clenched his teeth, a snarl curling his lips. Not that he wasn’t grateful for the medical attention, but why did it have to be from the government. He thought he had made it clear he wasn’t interested, it was bad enough he had been on their radar once and now he would be indebted to the bastards. Never mind the agent was here with the Avengers, that was something Dean was trying to conveniently ignore. Although, Captain America was making it rather difficult seeing as he was glaring daggers at Dean with a judgmental jut of his patriotic chin. The two newbies, Dean couldn’t remember their names, after all it wasn’t like he and Sam had much time to sit down and play catch up with world news, were at least being helpful and keeping him alive.
“Well, I advise you start talking then,” Dean remarked, the agent didn’t apparently grasp the concept that he wasn’t going anywhere with them.
“We need your help with something Mr. Winchester,” the suit said after a moment.
“Obviously. I’m assuming it doesn’t have anything to do with the vamps here either, so, what is it?” Dean wanted to rub his eyes, he could feel a headache coming on, didn’t matter that he was dying.
“Vamps?” the newbie with the fancy goggles next to him asked as he continued to apply antiseptic to Dean’s face.
“Vampires,” Dean cocked his head to the side, lips curved upward, “what’d you think, I just up and decapitated a bunch of people for no reason.”
Dean’s proclamation was met with silence varying from stunned disbelief to threatening suspicion. His two nurses fell into the former category while everyone else except the suit made subtle movements towards their weapons. Dean snorted then winced as his side pulled, he wasn’t going to explain himself to a bunch of jumped up heroes. Instead he gritted his teeth and leaned over grabbing the head of one of the males closest to him. Dean lifted the head and turned it to face the group, repressing a smirk as Stark blanched. Popping the vampire’s mouth open, Dean pressed down on the gums of the upper row of teeth and watched as the second row of razor sharp teeth punched out. Dean cocked his head to the side as he tossed the vamps head back to the ground and stared at each one of the Avengers. Uncomfortable, pale faces stared back at him before the agent cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, looking at Dean.
“Mr. Winchester,” the agent started before Dean interrupted, “its Dean.”
“Dean. I’m Phil Coulson and we need your expertise,” Coulson acknowledged with a small tilt of his head.
“Well that can’t be good,” Dean huffed and twitched as cool metal fingers moved his arm away from his side, the machete dropping to the floor.
“No, no it isn’t good for anyone. So if you could please postpone dying it would be appreciated,” Coulson deadpanned, eyebrows arched.
“We’re just going to ignore this whole vampire thing for now aren’t we?” the man to his side gave the agent a pained look before sliding Dean’s flannel up, wiping blood as he went.
“Unfortunately Mr. Wilson, yes, we have more pressing matters to deal with,” Coulson nodded as he drew out a folder from his coat.
Dean rolled his eyes, how was it that these government types always seemed to have the ability to hide large files in their clothes. Coulson sat down next to Dean on a hay bale, the remaining Avengers crowding in closer as the agent opened the file. There, front and center on the first page was an image of Death’s scythe in all its rusted glory and for all intents and purposes looking completely innocuous.
“Fuck,” Dean whimpered, bloody hand running through his hair.
****
“I was hoping for something a little more reassuring,” Coulson sighed as he closed the file.
Bucky looked over at Coulson, noticing for the first time since he’d met the man an actual expression of alarm. Looking up at Steve, he noticed how concerned his friend was too at the expression on Coulson’s face. Bucky had only gotten a glimpse of what was in the file and he knew it had to do with Hydra, but other than that, he didn’t see the need for worry over some rusted piece of metal. Apparently Sam didn’t either because he kept on providing Winchester with first aid.
“Alright Phil, you’re being more cryptic than usual care to fill us in,” Tony announced as he came forward. Honestly, Bucky was surprised the man lasted this long in silence.
“Actually Tony that is why we are here for Mr. Winch- Dean, he is far more knowledgeable on the subject than I am,” Coulson replied barely sparing Tony a glance.
Bucky looked up at Dean, his metal arm supporting the man as Sam worked. He was much more alert, although his face still lacked any color and his green eyes stood out brightly against his stark features. Bucky slid his flesh hand up to the injured man’s neck, checking his pulse, it was sluggish but strong and Bucky didn’t doubt the man would live.
“You already know what it is,” Dean commented with a slight grimace.
“We have a suspicion, yes,” Coulson reluctantly responded, “it’s in the hands of a terrorist organization called Hydra.”
“Hydra, you mean like the monster, cause if so, don’t go cutting its head off, never works, unlike vampires,” Dean stated with a casual nod towards the bodies strewn about the barn.
“They’re the former secret Nazi science division and have an affinity and obsession with the occult. If that image is what I think it is and what you know it to be, then you can see why we are concerned,” Coulson corrected, sharp eyes intent on Dean.
“What is it?” Steve’s voice cut through the stillness of the barn.
“Death’s scythe.”