#theprotectionprogram

Michael bit his tongue and begrudgingly started his way to the door. Only about 5 feet from the double doors leading out into the hallway I had come from, he stopped with one foot forward.

"What are you waiting for?" Bella stared at him, confused and growing further annoyed.

"Shut up," Michael shouted in a whisper, bringing his finger to his lips and nodding his head toward the corridor.

Carefully and quickly, he broadened his stride and tuned into what was holding his attention on the other side. I arched an eyebrow at the odd behavior, but the hair on my arms started to stand. Something wasn't right, and Michael confirmed it by turning and looking back at his father wide-eyed.

"Bella, artillery," Ramone voiced in a hushed order, standing and buttoning his jacket as he pushed a button on the end table that exposed a secret compartment. "What did you do?" he angrily shot a pointed look at me. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to be under that stare.

"How the hell could I have done anything? I was drug, handcuffed, and brought here against my will. I didn't really have the time to plan anything out," I lied, seeing I was safest if I played along their side until I learned who we were going up against for sure.

I hoped it was back up, but I know from prior knowledge that with enemies like theirs, it was Russian roulette at what could be coming through those doors.

Ramone shot me a look that felt like millions of daggers piercing through my skin. I instinctively caved into myself from it. Not a lot could intimidate me, but Ramone DeLuca was one of the few that made up that list.

Shortly after, I felt Michael harshly grab my forearm and saw him loading his gun with his bad arm. He was only slightly clumsy, as I'm sure this wasn't the first time he was injured and had to load a weapon in a hurry. He started pulling me to the door on the opposite side of the room where everyone else was headed.

"Ow. I'm going freely, OK? You don't have to pull so hard," I wiggled, elbowing him in the good arm.

"Don't think you're getting a jump on me a second time, Angel. That was a one-time thing," Michael grunted as his arm ached from where he had shifted it without considering the injury.

The way he talked just brought back memories of him bossing me around and feeling like he had the final say in everything I did when we started getting closer and dating. It was protective at first but quickly became possessive.

It felt as though if they did manage to escape, then Michael would have me on a tight leash, especially since I wouldn't be immediately trusted. And that kind of shadow was the last thing I needed or wanted in this situation.

"You two go down that hall," Ramone instructed us. "Bella and I will go a different route," Ramone said, motioning to the exits. "Be smart and get out safe. You know the drill," Ramone demanded.

Bella and Michael nodded, and Ramone and Bella started their getaway.

Michael walked us over to a secret panel in the wall and started pushing along it. Definitely looking for a hidden button or key.

"Do all of the stereotypical mob boss problems happen to you guys?" I chuckled mockingly. "I wonder how many gangsters got killed in the midst of trying to remember where they put the secret lever to their evil layer?"

"Shut up, Y/N," he said, frustrated that what I was joking about could very well become his current situation.

"I'm going to tell you right now, if you want me to cooperate with you at all, ordering me around isn't going to help you," I shot back, annoyed.

"There are no promises on that one, sweetcheeks," he said as if I had just given him an exciting challenge to conquer. He paused, looking away for a second to wink at me before returning to his search.

While he was busy with that, I looked back at the door nervously for something to happen on the other end of the room.

It was a subtle instinctual feeling, but something in my gut told me to stall. Something was assuring me that the cavalry was here.

No one had come in guns a-blazin' yet. Most mobsters just go in with bullets raining down on anyone in the vicinity, almost as a prideful and traditional thing. Trust me, I've seen enough crime scene photos in my days.

Whoever Michael had heard in the hall was taking calculating steps, and I knew what that meant. I needed to poke the bear more if I really wanted to hinder him.

"So tell me... Since you never moved on from me, you haven't been laid in like 15 years? That must be why your panties are in such a twist," I emphasized the snarky undertones in my voice.

Men. Such prideful creatures that something as simple as demeaning their body count can get them to forget even life or death situations to defend their 'honor.'

He stopped what he was doing and turned to me with a blank stare.

"What are you doing?" he moved his head lower, staring at my eyeline.

"Asking the obvious question of why you're such a prick. The first thing that came to mind was that you can't get laid," I shrugged, crossing my arms.

"Can't isn't really the issue," he said in a low voice, and his eyes grew darker brown instead of the greenish hazel they held.

"Oh," I feigned interest. "Never were able to move on from a 16-year-old inexperienced teenager." I acted like I was thinking about it. "Pretty sad, actually," I scrunched my nose in distaste.

Next thing I knew, he was gripping my arm to the point bruises would form and squeezing his other hand around the back of my neck to make me look up at him without giving room for much resistance. Our faces were inches apart.

Instead of flinching away like I wanted to, I stood tall and took advantage of his attention on me instead of escaping.

"Well, if you haven't found a girl who can do better than that, then you need to step up your age range," I said in a sultry voice that made his lip twitch as he scanned my features. "You wouldn't believe the things I can do now."

That tipped him over the edge, and teeth showed as he lowered himself to me, brushing my nose with his own. I'd be throwing up about that later.

"I don't appreciate you messing with me. You'll learn rather quickly my patience runs low on supply, and I'm not always such a gentleman when I'm out of it," he threatened, and I know he would follow through with that. I had a throbbing headache and a bruising temple as proof of his running out of patience.

I pulled back some at the thought, and he held me firmly, his eyes glancing to my lips and then back to my eyes.

"So don't make promises you don't plan on keeping," he whispered, pulling back so I could breathe but keeping his grip tightly on me.

"How many stabs does it take to convince you not to fuck with me? Cause I'll happily meet that quota," I sassed back, faking confidence in my threat when his comment simultaneously made me sick and terrified.

The corner of his lip raised in a chaotic and manipulative grin.

Before he could say yet another thing that would likely give me nightmares, the doors we were meant to run away from came bursting open.

"NYPD! FBI! Hands where I can see them!" Dean's voice vibrated lowly in the room, and his gun pointed at Michael.

I immediately went to pull as far from him as possible to keep me out of the crossfire, but his grip on me was already too tight, now just multiplied by adrenaline strength.

I couldn't see who all was there because he was keeping my head in a locked position. Both my arms on his forearms were trying to pry his grip off me, but I was outmuscled.

"Put her down and step away with your hands up!" Dean repeated, and I could hear his steps slowly come closer.

"You bitc-" Michael stated, turning to me in anger.

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," Dean cut him off, and I could tell he was pissed.

Michael instantly flipped me in his hold, placed me in front of him like a shield, and pulled his newly loaded gun from his back waistband before putting it to my temple. The other arm wrapped around my neck, keeping me secure.

Out of instinct, I grabbed his forearm to pull away the pressure on my windpipe.

"Come any closer, and I'll shoot!" he threatened.

"Put it down, and we won't kill you," Dean ordered.

I don't know if that was FBI protocol or not, but he seemed pretty damn fine with shooting Michael if given the chane.

"She's double-crossed us enough. I won't be losing much," Michael bargained, tightening his hold on me as he moved back.

I looked Dean in the eyes and pointed with my own at the other door, trying to silently tell him to check the other side of the building. He caught on and, with two fingers, motioned for his agents flanking him to go.

I took inventory of who was in the room and saw Pam and another agent run the way he had instructed, leaving Cas, Benny, and Dean with us. I could hear a commotion of other agents storming the rest of the hideout.

"You think that's a smart idea?" Michael asked, yanking my figure into his chest again, getting a wince out of me.

"Positive. Now, why don't you surrender and step away from the lovely lady? No need for empty threats," Dean said cocking his head with a smirk.

"Bold of you to assume they're empty threats?" Half a second later, he pulled back and brought the gun barrel to the side of my arm before grazing me with a live bullet.

I screamed in pain and doubled over, but he caught me and put me back in the hold against him.

Dean's eyes went wide with fear, and rage was even more evident than before as he moved in closer but was stopped by Michael.

"Take another step, Winchester, and stitching up the next shot won't be an option."

"MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!" I yelled, taking in a sharp, short breath when he squeezed me and pushed into the open wound. "Was that fucking necessary, you piece of shit bastard?!" I colorfully cursed at Michael.

"Oh hush, it's a flesh wound like mine. Call it even," he mumbled into my ear. "I'm not willing to throw away my life's work for you like you think I am."

"Oh, go to hell, asshole," I struggled again in his grasp.

"Been there. Don't care for it."

"Micheal Deluca, last time I'm going to say it. Step away from her. You don't have the upper hand anymore. How about you save us some time and just surrender," Dean interrupted, more serious now that I was injured.

"From where I stand, it sure as hell feels like I have the upper hand?" Michael laughed, but I could feel how tense he really was.

This could drag on forever, and with another injury added to my growing list, I was losing patience.

"Bleeding person over here," I grimaced, weighing down more in his grip. "Can we speed this up before I pass out?"

"Y/N!" both the men shouted at me.

"Fuck this," I grumbled, rolling my eyes and taking a deep breath. "Why do I have to do everything myself?"

As soon as I knew that Michaels's attention was back on Dean, I threw my head back, butting into his nose with a hard crack. He stumbled at the impact, and his grip disappeared from around me. Before his hand could go to his nose to grasp the assaulted body part, I snagged his arm, twisted it behind his back, and kicked his feet from under him.

In the few seconds I managed to get him on his back, I dug my knee into his back with more force than lawfully needed, but I'd been assaulted, threatened, kidnapped, and drugged because of this man and his family in the last few hours, so I didn't have much restraint.

As if everything finally caught up to him, he writhed in his spot and tried to look back at me.

"You bitc-" he started again, but I pushed my pointed knee into his shoulder blades more. "Fuck!"

"You'll never finish that sentence, apparently," I sighed, pulling his arms behind him and securing them together at his waist. I could finally breathe now that I wasn't in immediate danger.

Dean was quickly at my side, keeping his gun trained on Michael and scanning me further as I caught my breath.

"Holy hell, woman," Dean muttered, handing me handcuffs secured on his belt. 

"Yeah, well, you told me to send someone to the hospital, so here we are," I shrugged, forgetting my most recent injury for a second before the pain radiated across my arm. "By the way, we are not even," I hissed down at Michael, still feeling the ache in my head from his original knockout.

Before he could talk again, I pressed into his back with all my weight to stand up, getting another grunt out of him.

"You mind?" I nodded for Dean to take over; he was already moving to pull him up.

Once Michael was handed off to Cas and Benny, not without slurs and threats toward me and anyone else in his vicinity, Dean was instructing them toward the exits I had hinted at and quickly in front of me, scanning for any sign of abuse, which was probably painted all over me.

"You good?" he asked. "You don't look so hot," grabbing my good arm and holding me tight as he lowered himself to see me at eye level.

"Damn. Way to kick a girl while she's down, why don't ya?"

"Not in that way," he grinned, seeing my humor was still intact. "What did they do?" he asked, a hand coming to ghost over what I'm sure was a bruise turning yellow and spreading from my temple to my eye.

With each scrape, bruise, and blood-stained piece of clothing he took into inventory, I could see worry and anger etching into his features.

"I'm okay," I took his hand reassuringly and gave it a squeeze before holding it.

He brought his eyes back to me, and a short burst of relief and peace phased over his face when I smiled at him. Then he thought back to the last few hours.

Without much thought, he pulled me into his arms and buried me in his chest. It hurt, but the pain was worth it to be held in a way that was empathetic and comforting.

"When we got the call, I thought you would be safe. I thought we'd come back to the house with good news that we were closer to getting you out of there, but-"

"I know. I did, too," I sighed, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, keeping my body close to him. "I'm sure you already know, but Gadreel-"

"Pam told me," he nodded, his chin resting on top of my head. "She called us as soon as she woke up." He nodded his head to the exit where she had left but never pulled back. "We told her to hang back since the drugs he used were intense, but she was adamant about being here."

"She ok?" I pulled back some and looked behind him as if she would be there to prove she was.

"We hydrated her and got her back on her feet on the way here. Still, I don't think she should have been here, but she was worried about you," he nodded, looking down at me and brushing my hair away in a way I didn't flinch. "We all were."

"Aw, you guys were worried about little old me?" I smiled at him and jokingly hit him in the arm, and instead of him reacting, I hissed at my own pain. "Shit, I keep forgetting about that."

"Let's get you to the paramedics," he gently moved my shirt fabric to look at the bleeding wound, and his eyebrows furrowed. "I think it's just a flesh wound."

"Yeah, he was just looking for an excuse to get back at me for stabbing him," I agreed, looking down at my red-stained long-sleeve t-shirt.

"You stabbed him?" Dean asked.

"You can read all about it in my report another day. For now, I'd like to sit down and not have to plan my next defensive tactic," I nodded, and we latched hands as we moved toward the exit. I liked the feeling of it there.

Dean didn't seem to mind either because he never pulled away and instead interlaced our fingers in between each other.

When we got outside, Bobby was the first to run toward me. He gave me a giant and brash hug before knowing of my injuries, and Dean had to pry him off of me.

"Jesus, kid. How did you manage to find trouble in a heavily guarded, federal-mandated safehouse?" He grumbled, trying to distract from the sniffle he just hid with his hand.

"Trouble seems to find me from what I've learned," I answered with a smile, happy to see the father figure I needed after so long without one. "Guess I don't need to go on the hunt anymore."

"I don't know which one's worse," Bobby grinned with a sigh. "Go get yourself fixed up. I can't give you a proper hug when you're banged up the way you are."

After I got to the ambulance and they sat me on the back ledge to assess my injuries, I watched Bobby take Michael to the back of the SWAT van. His dad and Bella, who they hunted down shortly after my tip, were already cuffed and stowed away.

"Wow, you really got everyone out here on the job. SWAT. FBI. NYPD," I told Dean as we monitored the scene before us and the paramedic prepared sutures for my bullet wound.

"Gadreel told us everything. He'll be charged, of course, but he gave himself a decent chance by being honest with us and explaining his reasoning. He and his family will be the next group in the Witness Protection Program for a while," Dean replied, watching Bobby talk with an FBI superior. "Such a big bust required backup. We'll still have to be careful because we just messed with something much larger than just those three, but-"

"I don't want to talk about revisiting something I just solved. Let me have this moment for a little while longer," I grabbed his arm to pull his attention back to me. "Also, sit still while this lady stabs me repeatedly."

"I told Daryl to double-check that we were stocked on numbing cream," she mumbled. "We had a wuss who couldn't bear the idea of a shot in the butt and used all of it."

"A man?"

"Yeah."

"Once again, I'll be inflicted with pain because of a man," I sighed, motioning her on. "This'll make up for it," I winked before she started the stitches.

"What will make up for-?" Dean questioned, and I dramatically gripped his forearm with my hand, making my nails slightly dig in. "Ow!"

He jumped, but he didn't pull away. How sweet. He was going to let me bear claw him even if it was killing him.

"Relax, it's not bad," I eased up after a few seconds and laughed at him.

"Jeez, sweetheart," he rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled his arm back in a pout.

"It's sweet you care," I announced after a second, and he stopped rubbing his arm and turned to look me in the eyes. "I don't do well with letting people take care of me, and I tried multiple times to get you to stop, but you didn't."

"You're a good person, Y/N. I like to make sure those kinds of people stay in my life." His answer sounded much more simple than it was.

I grinned, and it turned into a smirk as I tilted my head, studying him.

"You're sure it doesn't hurt?" he asked, turning his attention to where I was casually being sutured up and not paying mind to it.

"Compared to getting shot and getting my lights knocked out, this is like a spa day," I waved off with my good hand.

The memory of what Michael had told me about Dean's dad came back to me. I didn't know if I could trust the mobster's intel, but I needed to talk to Dean about it.

"There is something I need to run by you, though..."

"What's that?" he hummed, turning and leaning a shoulder on the opened back doors of the ambulance.

"Michael said some things that had me backtracking a lot of my research," I started, and his eyebrows furrowed. "Your dad..." I paused, looking for a reaction, but he seemed confused. "Did he die in action?"

Dean paused, confused at the mention of his father.

"Um, yeah. He was on an undercover mission and was shot. My family wasn't really given any details about the mission because it was top secret. We were able to say goodbye before he passed that night at the hospital," he answered solemnly.

"You never looked into the mission report after all these years?" I asked.

"I mean, I did, but a lot of it is redacted. All I know is it happened in the city, and it was an organized crime group."

"You didn't want to dig further?" I had when my dad died, and something told me Dean wouldn't be much different.

"I did, but one of his dying wishes was that I moved on from it. He didn't want me to harp on something I couldn't change. Asked me to move on from it and not let it be my only passion in life," he replied. "Why? What connection did you learn?"

I decided now wasn't the time to break the news that the DeLucas were also the reason for his father's death. By the sounds of it, he had the fatherly advice I never got. He was able to continue life on a path I wasn't protected from.

To think we lost a father the same night all those years ago was a lot to unpack, and I needed some time to grasp it myself. Especially when I had a concussion, and I knew I would have a decent one.

"I'll tell you later, but right now, I don't know how accurate I'll be with the headache I have," I replied, looking down as she finished the last suture and wrapped the mangled wound into a layer of gauze.

"I'll check for a concussion next," the paramedic noted.

"I can promise you there is one to be found," I sighed, closing my eyes from the bright flashing red and blue lights, mainly lighting the lot we were stationed in.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Dean staring at me nervously.

"You're going to have worry lines on your face before 40 if you keep it up," I smiled tiredly and rested my head on the hinge of the ambulance doors as the paramedic went in for more supplies.

"For someone who just got kidnapped and held at ransom, you're handling it really well," he said sadly more than as a joke.

"Been through a lot of sticky situations in my life, so I'm pretty good at masking," I shrugged, picking at the bandage mindlessly already.

"You don't have to, you know? No one's going to be surprised if you wanted to curl into a ball and hide from the world for a bit."

"I did that for a month... I don't really want to do that again."

There was silence as he watched me carefully.

"Dean! Need you over here for a second," Bobby's voice rang from behind us, and we both shifted to see him waving him over to Dean's boss.

"I'll be right back," Dean nodded to them before assuring me.

I pulled his arm back to me before he could get too far.

"My mind is going to be a scary place to be left alone with for a bit," I said. "It'd be nice to have company when I face it all."

I think my subtle ask for his help was all he needed to feel better about everything. And I meant it when I asked him out of all people.

"I think that can be arranged," he smiled softly, squeezing my hand that had a grip on him. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back."

I gave him a nod as he ran off in a jog, and the paramedic returned from scavenging for supplies inside.

"Where'd you snag a man like that?" she grinned as she stood before me and pulled a pen-sized flashlight to check my eyes.

"Crazy enough, witness protection," I laughed, following the light as she instructed.

"Can't say that's a typical meet-cute," she laughed and tilted my head as she scanned me over.

"No, I don't think you can..."

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