Summary:  Vengeance: punishment inflicted in retaliation for an injury or offense. Dean and Sam are about to learn the meaning of the word well.
A/N:  Thanks to all that left me wonderful reviews on my first story (New Kid)! It inspired me to continue writing.
A Special Thanks to my friend Charlene for offering me so much encouragement!
Disclaimer:  I don’t own Sam or Dean … if I did, I wouldn’t be here writing, I’d be … preoccupied!

The bitter chill seemed to penetrate Dean’s flesh, making even his blood run cold, sending shivers up his spine. The bite from the frigid breeze didn’t help matters one bit.

“Remind me that our next hunt is definitely in Florida.”

And out came the Sammy eye roll as he chuckled at his brother. Even as he did, Sam pulled his coat tighter around him and shivered. It was cold.

“As if a Sasquach would be in Florida.”

“Well, maybe we can go after one of those alligators that got flushed down the toilet. Catch some sun while we’re there. You know, I hear the babes are really smoking down there!”

Dean gave one of his cocky, shit-eating grins and Sam gave his brother his patent approved Bitch Face!

“You know Dean, if you actually thought with your upstairs brain … “

Before Sam could finish the woods ended to a large clearing that, if they didn’t know better, looked like something off a Hallmark card. It was white and pristine, the slight wind blowing small flakes of snow about. Everything looked calm and peaceful … except the large tracks marring the otherwise virgin snow.

The brothers gave each other the look … the one that said volumes without a word uttered. Nodding, as if there had been some sort of communication between them, Sam took the right side and Dean ventured left.

Tugging his jacket tighter for a minute, Dean held his gun ready, poised for anything to happen. Glancing across, he caught sight of Sam for just a minute before all traces of him disappeared behind the trees. A smile graced his lips; his brother was just as good as he at staying hidden, they had been taught by the best after all. John Winchester might not have been the perfect father, but he taught both his sons how to take care of themselves in even the direst of situations.

Glancing back to his own self-made trail, Dean laid his steps carefully, each one settled slowly so as not to disturb anything and make noise to alert the creature they were hunting. Moving behind a tree, he peered out the other side just as another small gust of wind blew at his back.

Another soft step was taken before a bellow came from the trees, all but making them shake with the intensity of the sound. The inhuman beast they were hunting might not have been able to see them, but that small amount of wind carried Dean’s scent right to it.

Another roar was heard before the creature burst from the trees, sending one pine tree to topple to the snow covered ground with a large crack. White fur kept it warm, even in the coldest of climates, its layer of pure muscle made just one shot less than effective.

Coming out from the cover of trees, Dean raised his gun, waiting to fire until the creature got closer, if he shot now he was going to do nothing but piss it off. He didn’t see Sam race from his hiding spot, though he knew he was there, he could hear the snow crunching as Sam raced to get in position behind their deadly prey.

When the Sasquach got close, two shots rang out, echoing amidst the growling roars of the beast. One from in front of the monster and one from behind leaving the white, shaggy coat splattered with red where the bullet to its chest penetrated.

Without hesitating, Dean took deadly aim, and with an accuracy trained directly from John Winchester, Dean fired four more shots that hit their mark, but unfortunately didn’t drop the supernatural animal. As it closed in, Dean yelled out his brother’s name, his gun firing one more time before a massive paw struck, hurling Dean through the air to land with a sickening thud against a tree.

Blackness tried to take him, to claim him and send him to a certain death, but the hunter in Dean refused to fall prey to a Sasquach, especially like this. No, if he were going to die today, he was going out fighting.

The creature barreled toward him even as Dean reached for the fallen weapon, his whole body screaming in protest.

“SAM! A little help here!”

For one split second Dean wondered the lack of his brother, and then the Sasquach was within striking distance. Letting out a mighty roar, it raised a paw, preparing to strike the man that hurt it and finish him off.

Despite the cold, sweat dripped off his brow. The moment seemed surreal and in slow motion, as if Dean was wrapped up in the throes of a nightmare. The kind where no matter how fast you run, the thing chasing you always catches you … right before you wake up.

Dean wanted to wake up now!

His fingers gripped the gun, curling around the still warm metal like a lifeline, nearly caressing his weapon as if it were a lover. The beast raised its paw; the weight behind the hit it was preparing would be nothing less than fatal. Swinging his arm around, his finger squeezed the trigger. The sound echoed throughout the clearing, the bullet flying in what seemed slow motion before it sank into the Sasquaches eye. The thing opened its maw; the sound of pain that it wanted to emit was gurgled. And then the mighty beast fell into a heap, the snow around it pelting up off the ground in a spectacular display.

Dean let out a sigh of relief before his body decided it had enough and darkness claimed him into unconsciousness.

Dr. Daniel Murdoch sat at his desk that overlooked the grounds that was once Sunnydale Hospital. A once thriving hospital, Sunnydale was shut down due to too much bad publicity over some unscrupulous acts; most performed by Dr. Murdoch himself.

Not the sort of man that anyone would take notice of on first glance, he had thinning brown hair that was graying in some spots. The glasses that made reading far easier had slid down his nose, making it look as if he were looking down on whomever he happened to be staring at. The fact of the matter was … he was.

Oh but on second glance, matters changed entirely. Dan had nondescript brown eyes, at least if you didn’t look at them clearly. In an out and out stare, he caused more people to shudder than he could count. Most didn’t know exactly why afterward, though they always said, ‘there was just something about that man.’

That something was Daniel Murdoch, a man who had his license to practice medicine revoked in the state of Tennessee, was brilliantly insane. The type of man that, though madness consumed him, was the same man that could repair a heart that no other surgeon would have tried because of the health risks involved. It was a shame that this once doctor of medicine used his intellect and insight to maim and kill his patients.

The distinct sound of a car pulling into the drive caused the man to glance out the window; a smile curling his lips into something grotesque and sinister. The grin was soon followed by a chuckle as he settled down the papers he had been perusing.

Rising, he stepped from his office, two of his men instantly following his path. Never was the doctor without his guards. The risks were too high, even for a man as cunning as he.

Pausing midway down the hall, he waited for the door to open, and when it did, the smile he’d been wearing nearly cutting his face in half as he gave a small clap of his hands.

“Finally! Did you have any problems?”

One of the men shook his head, his own smile not quite as vibrant as the good doctors.

“Piece of cake, doc. He never knew what hit him.”

Finally Daniel looked to the man they were dragging from under his arms. His head was flopped forward causing shaggy brown hair to hang in his eyes, but Dr. Murdoch lifted the young man’s head up and grinned as he looked over his placid features.

“I see the tranquilizer worked.”

“He fell with hardly a sound.”

“He should have … I used enough in that dart to bring a bull elephant to its knees.”

Looking back to the young man, Daniel patted his face despite the fact that he was currently out cold.

“Oh Sam Winchester, I’ve been waiting a long time for this. What fun we are going to have!

Dean roused with a low groan. As his mind tried to come out of the darkness it was surrounded in, his body protested in pain. The first thing he became aware of was that every muscle in his body ached. He felt like he’d hit a tree! The second thing that entered his thoughts was just how cold he was … cold and wet.

Opening his eyes slowly, he realized he was lying on his side in the snow. His mumble came low, as if anything louder might shatter his brain into a thousand gooey pieces.

“Thanks for covering my back, Sam.”

The silence was deafening. Nothing came … no apology, no snide remark, nothing.

Slowly lifting his head, Dean glanced around to the meadow he was in. The only thing besides himself in the clearing was the dead Sasquach.

“Sam?”

Alarm bells rang out in his head and Dean slowly, with much protesting from his aching muscles, pushed up to sit in the snow.

“Sammy?”

Not even a bird chirped. It was as if the meadow was lifeless, another world entirely where Dean and the dead creature were the only things there.

“Sam, if this is a game, I swear to God, I am killing you!”

Panic was now in his voice as so many things entered his mind. What if there was another Sasquash? Out and out fear raced up the elder Winchester’s mind as he pushed to his feet, pure adrenaline based on fright coursed through him. It drove him onward when all he wanted to do was curl up in a bed and fall into oblivion for a day or three.

While the brother in him wanted to scream, to fall apart when no sign of Sam could be seen, the hunter in him took the reins, the fear settling into the pit of his stomach, awaiting its chance to burst forth. He could hear his father’s words in his head as he backtracked the way he had come, toward the place where the beast was first shot.

“Control your fear, Dean. Use it to your advantage. Don’t let it win.”

He wondered if his father would still be saying that if he knew Dean had let something happen to Sam.

“Watch out for Sammy.”

It swam in his head as his pace quickened until he reached where he once stood, where the Sasquach stood, and then, not far behind were Sam’s footprints … and something else.

Weapon drawn, he edged closer to inspect the large indentation in the snow right in front of the footprints Sam left. He stared at the spot, freezing in place as he realized just what had made that spot … Sam.

Glancing around, he searched for another set of large footprints belonging to the beast they hunted … what he found were two sets of tracks; very human tracks. Human tracks that led away, and by the looks of the marks between them, they were dragging something.

“SAM!”

Dean took off after the tracks, his fear coupled with his anger. Whoever dared touch his brother was getting a bullet between the eyes. Sam was the logical one, the one who rescued people despite how bad they were. Dean, on the other hand, lost any sense of logic when it came to protecting his family. He was like a grizzly defending its den, and whoever crossed that path soon learned the deadliness that was Dean Winchester.

His feet tore up the ground, making crunching sounds in the partly frozen snow as he followed a trail that was easily spotted. No one tried covering it up, even a little. It was almost as if he was led there.

And suddenly they stopped, just vanished. But one other thing caught Dean’s eye. One thing that made his heart sink into the pit of his stomach and had bile threatening to rise.

One tire print was etched in the snow before it vanished on the dirt road that led from the forest. Some sick bastard had his brother.

“Son of a bitch!!!”

Sam’s first act of consciousness was a small groan that was hardly heard. He was groggy from the effects of the drug that was given him, so coming back from the blank void he’d been in was easier said than done. There was a fuzziness in his mouth, making his first action to smack his lips once. And there was a pounding in his head that led him to believe he’d not been so successful with their last hunt.

“Dean…”

The lack of answer had him lifting his head, but just that small act had his vision blurring and his head throbbing with such intensity that he lowered it again to the floor.

“Oh God … Dean?”

Nothing greeted him but silence, making Sam again lift his head despite the pounding just behind his eyes. He had to blink to bring his vision into focus, and then his gaze began to slowly creep around the room.

Hospital? But then he looked down and shook his head. The only thing below him was blankets … no bed. Definitely not a hospital.

“Dean?”

His voice rose louder, a tinge of panic in his normally calm voice. Pressing his hands to the floor, he pushed up until he was on his hands and knees. The world threatened to fall off kilter again, and Sam closed his eyes until the white spots quit doing the tango.

Once he was able to see without feeling like he was going to keel over, he moved just like that until he was against the wall. Bracing a hand there, he began the slow and unsteady climb to his feet.

“Oh God. If this is your idea of a joke, Dean, I am so killing you.”

His voice quivered as he closed his eyes, his world once again threatening to fall off its axis, but Sam was determined, he was, after all, a Winchester.

Once again regaining his equilibrium, Sam kept his hand on the wall for support as he made a slow path around the room. There were two doors within. Poking his head in the first he noted the bathroom.

“Great, if I need to throw up, I know just where to go.”

Dean would have been proud at Sam’s dripping sarcasm, though Sam didn’t seem to notice his very Dean-like trait. He just wanted to find his brother so he could tell him that everything was going to be all right.

Making his way around the room, passed the one window that he only gave a small glance out, though it told him nothing of his whereabouts, he finally reached the door. Giving a small sigh of relief, his hand gripped the door and twisted, though it did nothing. It just sat there, useless.

Sam’s brows furrowed, the confused look that tainted his features hard to mistake for anything else, and again he tried the knob. Slowly regaining control of his limbs, not to mention clearing his head of the fuzz it had been surrounded in, he slammed the palm of his hand against the barrier.

“DEAN!!”

Growing frustrated as panic crept in, his shoulder slammed against the door several times before he gave up and stalked across the room to the window. There was more than one way to escape a room, and the Winchesters knew just about all of them.

Sam’s elation at his impending escape was thwarted when he gave the window a jerk upward … and it didn’t budge. Several times he jerked on the frame, but each time it taunted him by not budging.

Slapping his hand on the wall, he glanced around the room for something, anything to break the glass with. It was empty except for ...

Sprinting back to where he’d woken, he grabbed a blanket and ran back to the window. Wrapping his hand, he slammed his fist into the glass, though all he managed to do was hurt his hand. In the process, it raised Sam’s ire as well … his escape was not going to be thwarted.

There was only a very few ways to cage a Winchester … and this wasn’t one of them.

Dan Murdoch sat in his office, glancing over the papers that littered his desk. Accounts of hauntings, of subsequent grave desecration. That one excited the doctor more than anything. The fact that Dean Winchester had supposedly died did nothing to thwart his plans. And what sweet plans they were.

When he first heard of the sightings, the deaths, and the eyewitness accounts (because he too scoured the internet), Dan Murdoch had moved quickly back to where it all started. It was only fitting.

He glanced up as his most trusted employee came into the room. Allen was sharp, quick, and deadly. Not to mention loyal. If Dan had told him to kill his mother, he was certain that Allen would have done it.

“You wanted to know when he woke up.”

“Ahhh … so the prodigal son awakens.”

“He was yelling for his brother.”

Dan chuckled, his hands clasping together as he looked downright giddy at that prospect. Rising up, he grinned to the only man that he truly trusted with the deviousness of his mad mind.

“Come on Allen, this is going to be … fun.”

Dean had driven down the road that led to the place where he and Sam had hunted, his eyes scanning the area for any signs that his brother might have passed by. Hell, at this point, anything at all would have sufficed.

His brows furrowed, his mind on his baby brother, Dean had done something he’d never done before … he failed to clean up after a hunt. The Sasquach lay back where they’d killed it. Maybe the locals would stuff it or something. If he hadn’t been so distraught he might have cracked his sardonic grin.

He drove the empty road, his gaze continually drifting to the passenger seat … the empty passenger seat. Frowning, Dean tapped the steering wheel before reaching for his cell. Hell, it was worth a shot, right?

Pushing the button for Sam, it didn’t even ring, instead switched over to voicemail immediately. Just the sound of Sam’s voice, recorded or not, had Dean’s foot pressing further onto the pedal.

Ending the call, he pressed another button and brought the phone to his ear, his eyes dark and clouded as it rang.

“Hey Bobby, it’s me, Dean.”

“No … no not really…

“It’s um … it’s Sam … “

“No he’s not hurt, well, maybe, I um … I don’t know where he is, Bobby.”

Dean continued talking to their family friend, his voice nearly cracking as he explained everything. Bobby listened intently, writing things down as Dean spilled his gut in a way that didn’t usually happen … at least not in this lifetime.

“I’m gonna get him back Bobby … if it’s the last thing I do.”

Bobby knew that tone; it was the same tone that John Winchester had used whenever he spoke of hunting the demon that killed Mary. It brought about so many emotions … but most of all it made him miss his friend.

“Yeah, call Joshua; call anyone you can think of.”

“Yeah, okay Bobby … and thanks.”

Dean hung up the phone and headed back to the motel, the one with a second bed to taunt him of the fact that he’d lost Sam.

“I swear Sammy, I’m gonna find you!”

Just as Sam hit the glass again, his eyes on the grounds below for any signs of Dean … hell, any signs of life would have done at that moment; he heard the lock in the door, and then the handle turn. Spinning around, he kept his body between the three men at the door and the window.

On first glance, Sam quickly assessed the three that entered; his gaze sweeping over each before he centered his attention to the man in the middle, the one Sam concluded was the brains. The other two no doubtedly the brawn of whatever this was.

“Where’s Dean?”

The man in the middle lifted his chin a notch, his glasses perched so that he appeared to be looking down at Sam, the notion nearly made the youngest Winchester scoff … he was too short to actually look down on him. There was a smile on his face that Sam recognized. It was the same smile that each of the Bender’s had worn. It was a look of someone who did things far worse than any of the creatures he and Dean hunted.

“I wouldn’t worry so much about him, Sam. I’d be more concerned about you.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about your family … and about you. I’ve done my homework so to speak.”

Dean might have been the one to go in guns blazing, but it was at that moment that Sam realized one thing … there would be no talking to this man. It appeared that his puppy dog eyes just ran out of fuel and there was no filling station for miles.

Sam took his gaze off the middle man, his eyes straying first right, then left. Each one of the henchmen was sized up, weighed, and measured, and in that one moment, Sam moved left. It wasn’t a fast move, not even a threatening move, but it had the desired effect. They watched him, warily.

Another move was made, making it appear he was going for the door. In truth, he was, but Sam wasn’t stupid enough to think he was going to get there without a fight, so he planned on taking care of that business first.

The man Sam had calculated as the weakest link moved as well, coming toward him with a nod from the brains. Another move was made by the Winchester, and the guard closed in. With a deftness that John Winchester would have been proud of, Sam dropped and swung his leg around to sweep the man’s feet out from under him. As he fell, a hard fist hit his throat, making the man gasp for air. It was a dirty move, but one that Dean himself had shown him.

“If they can’t breathe, Sammy, then they can’t fight.”

The second man’s movements were heard before he was seen. Sam was a hunter, and the man, no matter how strong, did nothing to silence his steps. Spinning, Sam landed a hard fist on his jaw, sending his head spinning with impact. There was no recovery before Sam’s fist made contact with the soft part of his stomach.

Groaning, the would-be guard doubled over and Sam made his move. Sprinting to the door, he burst out of it only to slam right into Allen. With a hard shove, he was sent stumbling back into the room, though he was hardly out of the fight.

Everyone has fight or flight instincts, though Sam usually tried words before brutality. Today, however, words failed and his survival instincts took over. Recovering quickly, he launched himself at Allen, his fists flying hard and fast at the man standing between his freedom.

With the other two down, at least for now, Sam concentrated on getting this one from his path. It was his fist mistake. Dan Murdoch held many in his employ, and had honestly expected Sam to be as adept as Dean. He was prepared for the fight that Dean’s baby brother was putting up, so it was no wonder he simply watched, and smiled as two more guards rushed into the room, grabbing Sam’s arms before he could swing on Allen again.

“So you want to play, eh boy?”

“Fuck you!”

They might have had the advantage, but Sam was not playing their game. He wasn’t giving in to fear just because some idiot had the upper hand. He was John’s son, Dean’s brother, and he wasn’t going to fall victim to some madman’s game.

“No, fuck you.”

Allen smiled a bloody smile (thanks to Sam’s fist) and drew back his own fist. The impact was sharp and direct, making Sam yell on impact as blood sprayed from his nose.

Shaking his head to clear it, he glared at Allen, his defiance nearly tangible. It was something that pissed the man off. Another fist flew, this one hitting Sam in the gut, doubling him over enough so that the men holding him tightened their hold to keep him upright.

“I think we should play, don’t you doc?”

Murdoch glanced to the two men finally rising to their feet, and grinned.

“I think they want to join the game as well.”

In that moment it became apparent why the doctor so enjoyed Allen’s company … Allen was as sadistic as he was. Grabbing Sam by his shirt, Allen easily tossed him into the wall as Sam tried recovering from the hard blows he had taken.

Hitting hard, he groaned, and then shoved off the wall to make a break for the door. There wasn’t time to soothe his wounds, he sought freedom, and he had to find Dean. In Sam’s mind, if he could find Dean, then all would be right again. That together they could face anything, and often did.

He made it three steps before a blow hit the side of his head, staggering him and making him see stars. Sam stumbled, but tried desperately to remain on his feet … to fall would be devastating.

Turning, he was ready to take on his attacker, and only met another blow that took the air from his lungs and sent Sam to his knees as he gasped for the breath that a well calculated fist had stolen from him.

All five men jumped into the fray as the youngest Winchester fell. Fists began flying, pummeling Sam. After struggling a moment, fighting back with a few punches as he kicked out in a vain attempt to get away, Sam simply curled in on himself, his arms coming up to try and protect his head.

“Oh you stupid bastard, you just had to play.”

The boot that drove into his stomach had Sam rolling over, the bile that had quickly formed in his stomach threatening to come up. He didn’t hear the command to stop, barely realized they had. All he knew was that whatever had been in his abused stomach was hitting the floor as waves of nausea cramped his gut so hard it felt like he was still being kicked.

“Uh … God … “

His head slumped forward, blood dribbled from his nose, passed his mouth to drool to the floor in a small pool under his head. He barely noticed being lifted by his armpits … barely noticed being dragged across the floor. He didn’t even notice when he hit the blankets. All he knew was that he was alone and hurting.

“Dean………..”

And then he knew blackness.

Drip

The first sign of consciousness was a twitch of his finger. Just a small one, but it was enough for Sam to actually feel pain.

Drip

Groaning, he tried desperately to fall back into that black void of oblivion where the pain didn’t exist.

Drip Drip

His hand moved to his face, and instantly he regretted the action. His throbbing head pounded all the more for touching his bruised jaw.

Drip

His first conscious thought was how dry his throat was. Licking his lips to try and moisten them, he opened his mouth to speak, but what came out was a far cry from his usual voice.

“De…………..”

Drip Drip Drip

He blinked and jerked his head despite the war waging within his brain. The chuckle he heard nearly stilled his heart and made his blood run cold. The dripping he’d felt earlier turned into a splash of moisture on his face.

“Oh Dean’s not here, Sam. I’m afraid all you have is me.”

Sam jerked up far too fast for his throbbing head to agree with. The world swayed and swam long before he even made it into a sitting position, his ribs screamed in protest to the movement, and his stomach clenched and recoiled, the bile there threatening to make an appearance.

“Oh God…”

He flopped back down, though managed to roll onto his back. Not that it made any difference; every part of him ached from his head down to his feet. He could feel every muscle demanding attention, begging for a reprieve. And all that screaming only made his head scream its own demands for silence.

In the end, Sam rolled to his side and threw up.

“No Sam, not God, though close!”

Blood was caked to his face, starting under his nose and trailing down to his lips, his chin, and finally flaking off in spots on his throat and collar. A deep bruise marred his left cheek, and a gash to his right temple caught brown strands in the dried crimson against his flesh. But, overall, his face didn’t look so bad … all things considered.

His body, however, was another matter entirely. His back, sides, and stomach were littered in bruises that had bruises themselves. And every movement caused a new sensation in pain to race up Sam Winchester’s spine, causing a domino effect as each offence, each bruise made itself known in succession.

“Now that is truly disgusting.”

The man Sam recognized as the man from (how long ago was it anyway?) before spoke, and Sam lifted his head to glare at him. The hate in the youngest Winchester’s eyes spoke more than anything he might have said in that moment. And the man sitting on a chair staring at him tsk’d and tossed the washcloth he was holding at him. It certainly explained the water dripping.

“Here, clean yourself up; you look like you lost ten rounds with a pissed off Poltergeist.”

Sam blinked and stared, his fingers toying with the wet cloth, though he made no move to use it. The man was a hunter? Is that what this was about? But, the other man shook his head and chuckled.

“I know what you’re thinking, I’m not a hunter. My name is Daniel Murdoch. Doctor Daniel Murdoch.”

“You’re … a doctor?”

Daniel nodded and Sam smirked and mumbled.

“Talk about taking the Hippocratic Oath seriously…”

Laughter rang out from the doctor that Sam was beginning to believe was insane.

“Oh dear boy, you have no idea!”

Steeling himself, Sam pressed his hands against the floor and pushed, the cry that came from him was immediate. Daniel smiled, his head canting to the side as he watched the young Winchester’s resolve.

Waiting until the world quit spinning; Sam gritted his teeth and rose up to his knees. The action caused the entire room to shift, at least in Sam’s perspective, and he had to close his eyes to stave off two things … throwing up again … and falling in his own vomit.

“You see Allen; I told you they were all stubborn bastards. It’s just a shame that John didn’t live long enough to see this.”

That caused Sam to jerk his head, which caused a chain reaction. White spots danced before his eyes, making him close them to try and stop what was about to happen. It wasn’t fast enough and Sam fell forward, only stopping the blow to his face with a quick reaction of his hands.

Groaning, he swallowed down the nasty taste that was again threatening, and looked up. It was the first time he noticed the other man … the one who had stopped his escape from the room.

“What … does my dad have to do with this?”

Sam felt sick, and it wasn’t from the beating he had taken. Something was causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up more than any ghost or supernatural creature had ever done.

“Nothing … now. You see John Winchester went and died on me before my plan came into light. Now Dean on the other hand … “

Dan Murdoch actually grinned as Sam struggled unsteadily to his feet, the sway back and forth making him wonder just how he was able to keep himself vertical.

“You stay away from Dean! If you come near him, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!!”

“Oh Sam, you shouldn’t worry so much!”

With a twisted grin, Dr. Murdoch rose from his seat, Allen never straying far from his side as he stepped to Sam and patted his cheek.

“You see, there is something far worse for Dean Winchester than his own death….”

“Damn it Sam, what in the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I was going to get us some money!”

Dean snorted as he pressed the washcloth a little too hard against the gash on his brother’s head, causing a wince from Sam.

“Oh sure Sam, like going into a Hell’s AngelsBar was the smartest thing you’ve ever done!”

Sam tried pulling back, his anger flaring at Dean’s lack of confidence in him, though, truth be told, it hadn’t exactly been smart, but he’d been desperate at the time.

“It would have worked Dean!”

“Yeah, if you’d quit three games before you did!”

“They …”

“They what?”

“They wouldn’t let me!!”

Dean ground his teeth together to keep from saying anything, and began to slowly count backward from ten.

He jerked at Sam’s shirt, tugging it up to see what damage had been done to his brother’s ribs, and all but growled at the purple and black bruises forming.

“God you idiot!”

It was said louder than he’d first intended, but Sam definitely heard it. He jerked back and stared up at Dean, anger radiating from him, though it was matched by Dean’s anger … tenfold.

“Oh like you never go in and hustle a game!”

“Not against ten bikers … without backup! It’s a good thing I came along Sam, or else you wouldn’t be here right now!”

“I was doing just fine, Dean!”

“Yeah, well, maybe next time I won’t be there to save your ass!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That maybe I’m tired of it Sam! That maybe I’m tired of always having to come in and save you!”

The words were out of his mouth before he had time to stop them. And once they were out, he held strong to them like the stubborn bastard he was. The effect was instantaneous … Sam looked at him a moment, his anger dissipating to hurt. Raw hurt. Rising from the bed without a word, his brother moved to the bathroom, mumbling something about a shower before shutting and locking the door. Dean stood there, staring, knowing damn well he didn’t mean it … but what he didn’t know was how to fix it.

Dean startled as his cell rang, pulling him from a memory that he wished he had forgotten. Glancing at the caller ID, Dean felt relief wash over him, not the kind that he would have felt on finding his brother, but the kind in knowing that he wasn’t in this alone.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Joshua, what’d you find out?”

Dean, being desperate, had gone to Bobby, who had pulled together the close-knit conglomery of hunters that had been John Winchester’s friends.

“No, nothing. Just the tracks leading away and the one tire track.”

Joshua had been a damn good friend to the Winchesters, and was one of the best trackers Dean had ever heard of. He was more thankful than he could ever express that both Bobby and Joshua were dropping everything to help him find Sam.

“Yeah. No, I already called Missouri hoping her whole psychic thing could locate Sam.”

Dean let out a breath and actually laughed, though the sound was bitter and hoarse. He was at his rope’s end, the frayed pieces were beginning to slip from his hand, and eventually all that would be left would be some wild free fall away from his brother.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll see you soon.”

“Oh, and Joshua … ? Thanks.”

Before the older hunter could answer, Dean hung up the phone and went back to the map. There was a red mark where they had killed the Sasquach, and then a trail in the same color that led back to the road. And while Dean was looking for his brother in the vicinity, for his gut told him that Sam was still here, even if his heart was screaming at him to do more.

As the phone rang again, he snatched it up on pure reflex, his gaze looking at the caller ID and in that instant, his heart stopped.

“Sam?”

There was a crackle on the line, but it sounded made … as if it weren’t a bad connection, but something on the other end making noise.

“Sammy? Where are you?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

The voice was cold … and something about it niggled at the back of Dean’s brain. Later he might dwell on it, but for now, he felt all the blood drain from his face at the very idea that he was talking to whatever sick bastard had his brother.

“I swear to God, if you so much as harm one hair on his head…”

“It’s a little too late for that Dean Winchester.”

“Unca Bobby?”

Bobby sighed and glanced to the precocious seven year old he had been talked into watching. Bobby had known the boys since Sammy was about one, but that didn’t mean he’d ever really been up close and personal with them … until now.

“Yeah Sam?”

Sam liked that Bobby talked to him like a grown-up, and that he called him ‘Sam’. So he grinned a toothy grin at the man that would later shoot buck shot at his father.

“I dun think yer mean.”

“Huh?”

Sam gave another toothy grin and just looked at Bobby with those puppy dog eyes.

“Well, you act-ed all mean an stuff to daddy, but I dun think yer mean at all.”

Bobby gave him a look that said he was as crazy as his old man when Sam leaned over to whisper.

“It’s a cause you teach-ed me how to fights demons!”

“I did? How’d I do that?”

“Like this … GRRRR!”

And Sam gave his best ‘Mean Bobby’ impersonation, making the man who seemed as grumpy as a she-bear laugh.

And Bobby fell victim to the charm that was Sam Winchester.

Bobby’s old beat up truck rumbled to life only 45 minutes after first speaking to Dean. A ragged old leather bag that had seen better days 20 years ago was tossed onto the seat just before the elder hunter climbed into the seat.

Throwing the truck into reverse, gravel spun under his tires as the truck lurched backward for a moment, then another quick jerk of Bobby’s hand and the truck spun out onto the road like a demon was on its tail.

It was far worse than that.

Bobby had known John Winchester for 22 years. He’d met him not long after Mary’s death. He was the one who taught him most of what he knew about demons. And, in the midst of all the training and demon talk, Bobby got to know Dean and Sam Winchester.

Dean had become a comrade, someone who watched your back and you watched his. Bobby always knew there was something about Dean that was hidden beneath the layers of cocky attitude and downright sarcastic snarkiness that Dean often showed the world. There were places that boy kept so hidden he didn’t even think Dean knew about them anymore.

Oh but Sam did, of that Bobby was quite certain.

Sam Winchester was another matter entirely. He’d been a shy, but precocious child, always questioning, always seeking answers to his never-ending “Why?” Sometimes it drove all sane people within a hundred miles to cackle like stark raving lunatics. But more often than not, Sam brought about a smile.

And it was for Sam that Bobby was currently driving across the country going at speeds faster than his truck should have been able to go.

Reaching for the phone, he dialed quickly then brought it to his ear.

“Hey Gary, it’s Bobby.”

“Yeah, I uh … I need you to do me a favor?”

“Well, because besides Sam Winchester, you’re the best researcher I know!”

“Well, I can’t get Sam Winchester you idiot, it’s him I’m trying to find!”

Bobby kept one eye on the road and the other attuned to the conversation as he filled in another hunter in the small circle of friends that John Winchester has accumulated over the years. All were loyal, and all were being contacted in their search for Sam.

No stone was going to be left unturned. They were going to find him. And kill whoever the hell dared hurt him.

“Oh, and Gary … keep a kind of low profile on this. I don’t want any unnecessary attention if you know what I mean.”

As he hung up, his foot pressed down harder on the gas. Tennessee seemed too far … too damn far.

Dean was intently leaning over Sam’s laptop, the thought that Sam was lacking in this research made him want to throw the computer across the room, but while it would have relieved some stress, it would also have meant that Dean would have had to venture into the library. The thought alone made him shudder.

Without his geekboy sidekick, Dean was at a loss in some respect. While he was no stranger to research, it was Sam that questioned everything from every angle, not to mention that he was a wealth of weird information.

His first order of business had been to Google the area for anything out of the ordinary. And while nothing seemed odd, even in their sense of the word, he did take notes of just about anything and everything. From the closed hospital on the outskirts of town to the mansion belonging to the Hornwell family. Apparently the hospital was closed due to a scandal, and the Hornwells were an influential family at one time, but apparently went into bankruptcy due to Martin Hornwell’s bad investments. The house stood empty since the family vacated, for some reason no buyers would touch it. And the hospital, well, apparently it was purchased recently, though the article didn’t list the name of the buyer, just some business that Dean didn’t recognize offhand. Both he was going to delve a little deeper into.

His second order of business had been to map quest the area, searching for any back roads or other places in which a person could easily conceal themselves if they wanted.

It had been a grueling three days. Three days in which Dean hadn’t slept except to cat nap at the computer, and that was usually when exhaustion took over. It was also three days that Dean barely ate. When he did he wondered if Sam was hungry, if he was hurt. But most of all, he wondered just who had taken his brother … and why.

“Damn it Sammy, where are you?”

When Sam awoke next, it was with a little less pain than the last time consciousness had brought him around to the land of the living. His ribs still ached, his chest still hurt to breathe … but at least he was still breathing.

Lifting his head from the bed of nothing more than a few blankets, he came to the conclusion he had been visited while sleeping. Beside where he slept was a tray containing a plate of food and a cup of water. Both items, to his dismay, were made of plastic, so there would be no using them as weapons.

Leaning over, he sniffed the food to discern if it was poisoned, though Sam doubted it was. If they wanted to kill him, they would have done so already. Not that beating the shit out of him was what he considered a vacation, but at least he was alive. And that meant Dean was looking for him.

The thought of his brother had mixed feelings. He was all he could think about … but Sam also wondered if he was indeed all right in all of this. Had the mad man hurt him? Sam pushed the thought away because he couldn’t dwell on it, not now, not ever. While John Winchester had been Dean’s hero, Dean was Sam’s, and in Sam’s mind, Dean was infallible.

Rising slowly, Sam once again took in the room. It was about the size of a hospital room sans the beds and equipment, even including a bathroom. The lights above cast that fluorescent hue that Sam so hated and had seen too much of, and despite the lack of beeping from machinery that defined a person’s life force, it had that smell. The smell of something so sterile it was enough to make you want to streak through it in the mud, just to taint the cleanness.

With slow but even steps, Sam made his way to the bathroom. Not surprised that the mirror was taken down, he leaned over the sink and turned it on. The cold water he splashed on his face eased a bit of the pain though did nothing to ebb the uselessness he was beginning to feel.

With his hands, he slowly washed away the dried blood from his face, and then raked his fingers through his hair as a heavy breath was expelled from his lungs. Turning his head, he eyed the toilet … and slowly a grin formed along with a plan.

Patience was the key to Sam’s plan, and finally it paid off as the key turned in the lock once more. He waited, his breath held, his heart racing. The door swung open, and the doctor entered, his eyes scanning the room, though he hung back. It was one of the guards that took steps into the seemingly empty room. Without so much as a sound, Sam swung the back of the toilet with a force that would have made his father and Dean both proud. There was a sickening thud as ribs broke on impact, the ceramic weapon cracking to split into two pieces.

As another guard rushed into the room, Sam used the weapon like a sword, and struck with a thrust of his only weapon … his only hope. Blood spilled from the fatal wound he inflicted, but the youngest Winchester didn’t pause, didn’t look back, he just shoved his way out of the door … freedom his motivation.

Not looking which way to go, he bolted; the taste of freedom, the thought of finding Dean his driving force, the edge that took the pain away, at least momentarily.

The deafening sound that filled the air, echoing down the empty hallway and ricocheting as if in stereo was ignored for two steps. Two steps in which Sam could nearly taste the wind on his face, feel the sunshine that awaited him.

And then he cried out before collapsing onto the cold, hard floor.

The pain was excruciating as blood blossomed on the leg of his jeans, his hand pressed to his thigh to try and staunch the blood that was staining blue denim to an ugly shade of crimson.

“Uh … God …”

He swallowed, the information not fully processing in his fogged brain. Not even as the doctor came to stand above him, his look one of amusement.

“You sick bastard…”

It was choked out despite the pain he was in. That Winchester stubbornness making him refuse to give in. He would die before this man stole the one thing Sam was holding desperately onto … his pride.

The glare he sent the doctor only made him laugh as he motioned to Allen, the man that seemed to be up the doctor’s ass at all times. Sam barely had a chance to struggle before Allen hoisted him from the floor and all but dragged him back into the room he’d run from, the doctor following behind with a malicious grin.

It was only minutes later that Sam’s screams echoed throughout the once hospital as the doctor took great pleasure in removing the bullet without so much as an aspirin to ebb the pain.

“What do you mean there is nothing there? I’m telling you Frank, keep looking.”

Ellen hadn’t always been on the best side of the Winchester boys, she had, in fact, nearly taken out her anger at their father on the brothers. But all of that was forgotten during the current crisis that had struck the small band of hunters; hunters that had taken to venturing outside their venue of supernatural beings when one of their own was hurt.

“I have looked Ellen, and I keep coming up with a big fat zero! There isn’t a person alive, at least that I can tell, that wants to harm Sam Winchester.”

Ellen sighed. Ever since she’d gotten Dean’s call, she’d been frantic. Sam was like the son she never had, though she sort of suspected, based on the reaction of their close-knit circle of friends, that he had that effect on most.

Grabbing out a beer, she slid it to Frank, a seasoned hunter that had been coming to the Roadhouse for at least a decade. He also happened to be one of the few men that John Winchester had trusted.

It was no secret that John, while well respected, trusted few. Some of whom were dead for their friendship of the man. But, that didn’t matter, once that bond was formed amongst hunters, their dedication was to the death.

“Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle, Ellen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe whoever it is that took Sam isn’t really after Sam….”

“Who else could he be after? I mean, John’s dead and Dean was knocked o……………”

Her voice trailed off as she tried to piece together all that Dean had told her.

“Frank … Dean wasn’t conscious. He said the Sasquach knocked him out. If they wanted Dean, they could very well have taken him.”

“Yeah, if they wanted him dead…..”

“Hey dad … “

Joshua sat in the kitchen in the latest Winchester abode, drinking a cold one with John while going over the plans of their latest hunt. It seems a demon had decided to possess a young girl and wreak havoc on a small town in MidwestIowa.

John fell silent as his youngest, thirteen year old Sam, made his presence known. Joshua, while trying to remain unobtrusive, cast a glance at the only true witness to what had happened to Mary Winchester all those years ago.

“Yeah Sammy?”

John had looked at his son with a weary gaze, though at the time Joshua didn’t know why.

“I um … this exorcism…”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, isn’t it dangerous?”

John cast an incredulous gaze to his son while Joshua had remained quiet, though not without his own opinion.

“Yes, Sam, to the demon, it’s dangerous.”

“No, dad, to the girl it’s dangerous.”

“We’re not discussing this Sam, not now.”

“Then when, dad? When she dies because you were too stubborn to look for another way?”

John had risen from his seat, his face reddening, the vein at his temple throbbing … never a good thing where John Winchester was concerned.

“That’s enough, Sam!!! I will not have you messing up this hunt like you did the last one. Now go to your room, that’s an order!”

Joshua watched as Sam stared at his father a minute, contemplating standing his ground or backing down. But, Sam had just been a kid, so he retreated … but not without that teenage rebellion that seemed to be predominant in the youngest of John’s brood.

“Yeah, always send me to my room when I’m right.”

“That’s it, Sam! You’re grounded!!!”

“OH! Like I EVER get to do anything anyway!”

The slamming door ended the fight between father and son, though John stood there, fuming for a moment before trying to pull it all together by sitting down. Joshua sat there, saying nothing, but John raised a brow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh don’t hand me that, Joshua. What is it?”

“Not my place, Johnny boy…”

“You think he’s right? You’re kidding, right?”

“I think … you have an incredibly … intuitive son.”

Nearly silent footfalls moved across the snow covered ground, following a trail that was almost too obscure to follow … at least to the untrained eye. Joshua, however, was hardly untrained, nor was he unseasoned. He was trained with the best, had worked with the best … and would have died for the best.

There was no question of his loyalty … to John, his boys, or the other group of hunters that were forming an alliance to find one amongst them. The same one that the demon might end up using as their demise.

Joshua didn’t believe any of it. Sam Winchester was not what anyone would use to describe evil.

Coming around the bend, he met the bitter bite of a winter wind as he stepped from the cover of trees to enter the clearing that Dean had spoken of. Lifting a hand to shield his gaze from the suddenly startling sunlight, Joshua glanced across the expanse of snow to catch sight of the frozen beast still lying in the snow-covered earth.

“You’d think someone would have noticed that….”

His sarcasm was lost for he spoke to no one but himself. Pity, it was a wit that most hunters tended to use. Even Sam, on occasion, was good for a good old fashioned sarcastically biting joke.

With Sam on the forefront of his thoughts, the hunter moved through the clearing, his feet crunching through the mostly frozen blanket of white. Dark eyes scanned anything and everything, and while it appeared Dean did a good job at assessing the situation, Joshua didn’t have a handful of emotions weighing him down at the moment.

Yes, in the back of his mind he wanted to find Sam, but he slipped into hunter mode so easily that it often became hard to tell that there really was a man buried inside of him.

He moved away from the beast of burden, instead heading toward the opposite side of the glen, toward the place where Dean said he’d see and heard Sam. Joshua looked around with a trained eye, and while the snow had covered most of the tracks, because it was partially frozen, you could tell where there had been a trail.

And thus the hunter of Supernatural beings became the hunter of something that might be far worse than any demon. At least they were upfront about their plots, schemes and all out demonic plans.

People were just nuts.

Glancing at the small indentations that had obviously been steps, and to the trail that was most likely Sam being dragged, Joshua was more interested in the trees. Moving to the ones closest, he eyed their limbs, their location, and most of all, just what the most likely spot would have been to watch and lie in wait.

“Now if it was me, and I was hunting myself a Sam … I would have started right about ….”

And he moved, his eyes searching, seeking, and finally finding what he was looking for. Hoisting himself up, he climbed to the lowest branch that still allowed a person to be concealed, and came up with a piece of fabric.

“From a pair of jeans if I were to guess….”

It wasn’t much, but if Joshua could ascertain where it all started … then maybe he could figure out where it was all supposed to end.

It was the click of the door that lifted the fog and brought Sam Winchester back to the land of consciousness. It wasn’t necessarily a place that he wanted to be. With awakening there was pain. More than he wanted to process at the moment.

While his ribs, back, and chest ached with a severity, nothing compared to the throbbing pain in his leg that sent sharp stabs of electric volts from the wound in his thigh to make each nerve ending stand up and scream at attention of the agony Sam was in.

As that lock signaled the door opening, Sam let out a cry of pain as his leg moved in an unconscious effort to get away from the madman that had his hooks in him.

The chuckle reached him before Sam even opened his eyes, before awareness even had full claim on him. It made him want to throw up the nothing that was in his stomach.

Worse. It made Sam Winchester want to kill just to watch something die.

With great care, Sam rolled to his back, the grunts of pain and the beads of sweat on his brow not going unnoticed.

“See, I told you Allen, he’s a fighter. Just like his brother.”

Sam blinked, he still didn’t understand any of this, except that it had to do with Dean, and that didn’t bode well with the youngest Winchester.

“What do you want with my brother?”

Dr. Murdoch grinned, his goon stood with his arms folded over his chest, but he too had a malicious smile on his face.

“It’s not what I want with him, Sam, it’s what I want to show him…”

His gaze so intent on the man who was his captor, that he didn’t notice the other two who had entered the room until they made a move for him. Jerking back, he cried out as his left leg moved in his attempt to get away, the pain causing him to clench his eyes shut as a tear slid down his cheek.

“Work with your pain, your fear, don’t let it overcome you.”

Suddenly a fist lashed out, connecting with something soft and fleshy, causing a grunt that had one side of him freed. Kicking out with his good right leg, Sam fought with all he had not to get held in a position that would enable him helpless.

It was a feeling he couldn’t stand, though he’d been placed there often enough.

All his life, it had been “Watch out for Sammy.”

Sam began to wonder when it was time for him to watch out for himself. Or even better, where he would watch out for Dean. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to; after all, he’d done a piss poor job of helping his father when the demon possessed him.

Even so, Sam was a Winchester, and thus every fiber of his being was fighting for survival, and that included punching and kicking his way free if necessary.

“Damn it, hold him still!”

Suddenly another force was behind him, an arm around his throat, cutting off his air before Sam even realized what was happening. His punching quit to grasp at the burly arm, his yells turning into strangled cries.

“Good, now hold him there.”

The hold on his throat loosened enough so Sam took in a strangled gasp of air, wild eyes frantically looking around to land on the doctor … and the object in his hand.

“Noooo … Nuuuu….”

His struggle began for a moment, but ended just as quickly as the hold on his throat constricted once again. His face turned red as he struggled for air, the lack of oxygen nearly drowning out the prick on his arm and the burn of the fluid being fed into his bloodstream.

His arms relaxed almost instantly, the hold releasing, though the hold at his neck only loosened … the very real threat remained even as Sam sucked in a lungful of much needed air.

The world around him swam and dappled, making it hard to concentrate on any one thing. The sounds around him danced in a musical melody, though Sam couldn’t very well understand the music.

“Whu … I …”

Laughter. He could hear Laughter. He even smiled as if he understood the joke.

“Talk to your brother, Sam.”

He felt something pressed against his face, though the presence at his back didn’t move, it was there, as if instilling some sort of force, unsaid but there, on the mostly incoherent Winchester.

“De….”

There was a sound, another shrill sound that made Sam try and pull his head away, but then it came, something that brought a glimmer of hope.

“I swear to God, put my brother on the phone or I will rip your heart out with my bare hands!”

“De………..”

His brain felt like it was floating outside his body, the thing pressed against the side of his face felt detached and foreign.

“Sammy?!!! Sammy where are you?”

“De, I….” He tried to look up, to focus because he knew there was something he needed to tell his brother. And finally, it came to him, the one thing he needed to say.

“M…sorra, De….”

The force at his back shifted, the weight on his arm changing until blinding white-hot pain ripped through his shoulder causing a scream to rip from his throat.

“SAMMY!!!”

“OH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!”

The voice coming through the phone was no longer heard as Sam shut his eyes tightly tears escaping the corners of his eyes at the pain that burned through his shoulder like a blooming fire of pain.

“SAMMY!!”

“Say good-bye to your brother now Sam.”

“UHHHH!!! GOD!!!!”

“SAM……………”

And the phone clicked closed.