Page 19 of Wraith’s Promise

"Put it down," Dean says. His voice is calm, but terrifying. "Before I make you put it down."

"I'll shoot you, man. I swear to God—"

Dean moves. Faster than someone his size should be able to move, faster than the guy can track. He's inside the gun's range before the trigger can be pulled, hand clamping down on the guy's wrist, redirecting the barrel away. His other hand comes up in a brutal uppercut that lifts the guy off his feet. The gun clatters to the porch. The guy hits the ground and doesn't get up.

Five men. Down in under ninety seconds.

Dean stands in the center of the carnage, breathing hard, blood on his knuckles that isn't his, and I watch him slowly come back from wherever he went, watch the violence drain out of his posture, watch his hands unclench, watch him become human again instead of something built purely for destruction.

His eyes find me immediately where I'm still on the porch. "Are you hurt?"

I'm trying to get to my feet, shoulder throbbing where the crowbar caught me, but nothing serious. "I'm fine."

He's beside me in two strides, hands gentle now as they help me stand, checking my shoulder despite the blood still dripping from his knuckles. "You're bleeding."

"It's not bad. Just a bruise." I look at his hands. "You're the one who's bleeding."

"Not my blood." He says.

We stand there on the porch surrounded by five unconscious Vipers, and I'm suddenly very aware that I just watched this quiet man transform into something out of a nightmare.

"Dean," I say. "What was that?"

He doesn't pretend not to understand. "That was me protecting my daughter. By any means necessary."

"You fight like—" I pause, searching for the right word. "Like something not quite human."

"I know." He looks at his bloody knuckles, flexes his fingers like he's checking for breaks. "I don't enjoy it, Quinn. But I'm very, very good at it when I need to be."

From inside the house, I hear a small voice calling down the stairs. "Daddy? Can I come out now? I've been hiding forever!"

Dean's entire demeanor changes instantly. He turns toward the stairs and calls up, voice gentle and calm like nothing violent happened at all. "Stay up there just a minute longer, baby girl! You're doing such a good job! Count to one hundred, okay?"

"Okay!" Mariah calls back, and I can hear her starting to count, muffled but enthusiastic.

Dean looks at the carnage on his porch, then at me. "Help me move them to the yard. Phoenix will be here in a few minutes. I called while I was upstairs. She doesn't need to see this."

Together we drag the unconscious Vipers off the porch and onto the lawn, leaving them in a heap. Dean grabs the baseball bat and crowbar, tosses them into the bushes. By the time we're done, the porch looks relatively normal except for some blood spatter that he quickly wipes away with his shirt.

"Go inside," he tells me. "Get her downstairs and distracted. I'll stay out here and wait for Phoenix."

I nod and head into the house, up the stairs to where Mariah is still counting in Dean's bedroom, sitting on his bed with Captain clutched to her chest.

"Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!" She beams at me. "Did I win?"

"You absolutely won," I tell her, holding out my hand. "Best hide and seek player ever. Let's go make breakfast while your dad finishes some boring grown-up stuff, okay?"

"Okay!" She takes my hand trustingly, and we head downstairs together.

In the kitchen, I get her settled at the table with crayons and paper and try to reconcile the man outside waiting calmly for his brothers with the one who just created that level of carnage in ninety seconds flat.

Ten minutes later, motorcycle engines approach.

I watch through the kitchen window as Phoenix, Judge, Brick, someone else that just arrived, and my brother pull up, take in the scene on the lawn. Watch them talk briefly with Dean, watch Judge and Brick start loading the unconscious Vipers onto their bikes while Phoenix clasps Dean's shoulder in what looks like approval, solidarity or both.

Dean comes back inside a few minutes later, and looks at me over Mariah's head where she's drawing dragons at the table, and there's a question in his eyes... Am I okay with what I saw, with what he is when pushed?

I meet his gaze steadily and nod once. Because I am okay with it. More than okay. I just watched him protect his daughter with a level of commitment and capability that I've only ever seen in elite soldiers, and instead of being afraid, I'm impressed. Maybe even a little awed.