When Scott comes to he’s bound to a chair with barbed wire, in the middle of what looks like a rundown shed, light shining through the cracks and dust and spiderwebs everywhere.
"Look who’s up." It’s the man who sat next to him at the bar last night. Alcohol doesn’t do anything for Scott, not anymore, but bars feel like home to him and they’re good hunting grounds. He’s trying to formulate a response, an appropriate threat, but his brain is sluggish, and his muscles just won’t move.
"Cat got your tongue?" The man winks at him - he has one of those faces that looks young, but the crow’s feet around his eyes say otherwise. "That’d be the dead man’s blood. You were out for a long time. I was a little worried I’d broken my promise."
"And what promise is that?" Scott finally found his voice.
"I promised he could be the one to take you out." He nods at a corner of the room, and Herc steps into view.
"Oh thank god, Herc, you have to help me," Scott gasps, looking for some spark of empathy in his brother’s eyes. But there is none.
"I am going to help you," Herc says softly, and Scott realizes he’s holding a machete. It glints maliciously in the light coming between the loosely boarded walls. "I’m going to make sure you never hurt anyone ever again."
"What are you talking about?" Panic is starting to creep in, but he still can’t move.
"I didn’t understand exactly what it was I saw in the Drift, I just knew you’d hurt somebody. But now I know. You’re a monster, and I have to stop you."
"You don’t! I swore I’d leave you and your boy alone, and I did! I did everything you asked!" Scott wills tears to his eyes, anything to buy time, to manipulate his brother into giving him a few more minutes to get his strength back. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!” Herc roars, backhanding him across the face. “Because you were stupid and selfish, and that’s what got you turned into this thing, and that’s why I had to send my son to die at the bottom of the ocean! I don’t even have a body to bury, Scott! I couldn’t bury Angie, and I can’t bury Chuck!” He lifts the machete, grabs Scott by the hair. “But I can bury you.”
"Herc, pl-" The machete swings once, twice. Herc is holding his brother’s head by the hair. He looks at it with a mixture of fascination and disgust, then throws it to the side and vomits onto the dirt floor.
"You got the hole dug?" he asks his partner, his chest still heaving.
"Yeah, you okay to help move him or you want me to do it?"
"I’ll help," Herc says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thank you, Dean."
Dean nods. “So you still want to do this? After that?”
Herc laughs, but it’s a dry, humorless sound. “Can’t get harder than killing your own brother, right? Besides,” he says, “I’ve got nothing left to lose now. Makes me an ideal candidate.”
They work in silence to get the body buried, and when Herc climbs into the Impala to head back towards civilization he feels an odd peace.