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 plan was simple really; Joshua was going in first through one of the first floor windows, Bobby would go around back and sneak in through a service entrance, Gary was going around the side to the emergency entrance, and Dean … well, he was supposed to wait 15 minutes then come in … right through the front door. Joshua said it would be the least thing they would suspect.

There was one huge problem with that. Dean hated to wait.

So by the time their cloak of darkness finally came on full throttle and Joshua took off across the grounds, Dean was pacing, his face scrunched up with tension, his fists clenching and unclenching as a means to try and rid himself of this adrenaline that was rushing through him at a speed of mach 10.

“God I hate this shit!”

Bobby just put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze before he was off himself to sneak around the back of the hospital. Gary stood on edge, rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels and back … this hunt was far more important than the normal ghost and ghoul job. There was too much at stake. He watched Bobby slip around the back then clapped Dean on the shoulder.

“When we get Sam back, we’re all going out for beers.”

That said only to try and lighten a mood that was growing darker by the second. But Gary didn’t stick around for any answer, he was hurrying off to the side to slip in the way the paramedics do. Dean stood, watching, pacing.

“God I hate this shit!”

The window was easy … a little too easy, and Joshua raised a brow but didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Though, his hackles were up along with his gun as soon as he slipped into one of the rooms.

It was empty and devoid of anything that made it appear to be a hospital room save one thing … that smell. After all these years of being empty, it still made Joshua shudder … damn he hated hospitals.

With the grace of a trained hunter, Joshua moved through the room, gun poised and ready, though his finger wasn’t so itchy he would let off a wild shot. Oh no, Joshua, when he pulled the trigger, it was always with deadly accuracy. It was those skills now that moved him from the room to the corridor, his steps as silent as a panthers on a floor that was once shiny and full of equipment pushed by people in scrubs and shoes that didn’t squeak when they walked. Neither did his.

At each door he would pause, gather his bearings and his wits before testing then pushing it open … and each time he came up empty handed. It didn’t deter him, however. Something in this hospital was making the hairs on the back of Joshua’s neck prickle … he had long ago learned to trust that instinct.

It was his instinct that didn’t let him down when he came to the door that separated this wing from the rest of the hospital. Peering through the small window to check for anyone or anything on the other side, he gave the door a push … only to have it not budge but an inch. Testing it again, he frowned, peeked through the window again, then pushed on the door long enough to peer in the small crack. It was chained.

“Sonofabitch….”

Bobby’s entrance into the back door was uninhibited. It was rather easy as a matter-of-fact. It caused him to go onto instant alert, not that he wasn’t there already. It made him think they were being invited into the wolves den or something.

“Damn it Sam, what’d you get yourself into….”

His mutter went on deaf ears as he crept through the hallway, his weapon never lowered as he kept it poised before him at all times. His feet trod carefully, making any that had seen his actions recognize him for what he was … deadly.

His movement was guarded as he came to the Nurse’s Station, a place where anyone could hide … but all seemed quiet on the western front. He didn’t fully trust his hearing however, and moved quickly … faster than anyone would have suspected of Bobby. Scoping the area, he went to each place a person could hide (including the desk itself) before he was satisfied. With a nod to himself, he moved toward the door that marked the entrance into the next wing … though it only budged an inch. Frowning, he pushed again, and then lowered to peer through the small crack between the doors.

“Chained? That just figures……”

Gary made little haste getting in through the emergency entrance, and actually made it inside in less than two minutes.

“Like taking candy from a baby. I tell ya Sammy boy, when we get you out of here, I am so bragging about this….”

But … his entry was where the easy part of his journey ended.

“Ahh damn it all!”

Apparently every piece of equipment that was taken from every room in the hospital was stashed in the ER. So, instead of people sitting, pacing, and cluttering up the aisles, Gary had to weave through, under, and sometimes over crash carts and things that went beep in the still of a room.

His plight to get into the rest of the hospital didn’t end there either. Once he cleared the Jungle Gym of Doom, he found himself quite literally trapped as the door leading to freedom (and quite possibly Sam) was blocked … chained to be exact.

“No one ever said babies could fight back for their candy.”

No one could have ever claimed patience to be a virtue that Dean Winchester possessed. So fifteen minutes was like fifteen hours or torture, fifteen hours he already felt he paid by listening to some sick bastard hurt (torture!) his brother. And for what? Because he wasted a ghost that was killing people?

Oh like that made sense!

So he waited, watched time tick slowly by on his watch, then finally (finally!) he made his move … in 13.2 minutes. But who was counting, right?

Slipping across the lawn of the hospital, Dean hoped that Joshua, Bobby, and Gary had already distracted whoever might be on the other side of the doors, though honestly, if they hadn’t, well, that just meant Dean got to blow the heads off of more people.

Oh yeah, he was pissed.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean, GO!”

Ever since the fire that claimed their mother’s life (and before if Dean were actually honest with himself) he had held a responsibility for his brother that went above and beyond the call of family. In some cultures they say if you save a life, you are forever responsible for that person … such was the case in Dean Winchester.

And he took his job seriously.

Dean, unlike the others, encountered not a locked door that was all too easy to pick; he found an open door, an invitation to hell. Hell it might be, but he was prepared to enter the fiery pits to rescue his brother, and heaven be damned he’d take every son of a bitch down with him that dared harm a hair on Sam’s head.

Oh yeah, Dean was pissed.

Gun raised and at the ready, Dean made a silent path down the long corridor of the main entryway, checking every door along the way. No patient room went unchecked, no path untouched. What he found was a trail, one leading him, dragging him along like a bull with a ring in its nose. The locked doors only pointing the way to the open pathways … a path Dean followed.

He would have followed Sammy to Satan’s lair if that’s what it took.

For the first time since this whole thing began, Sam Winchester was terrified. Oh sure, he’d been scared, he wouldn’t be human if he hadn’t been. He’d been plenty scared. They’d beaten him, shot him, broke him, and choked him (of which Sam was pretty certain he’d been dead) but there was something that terrified him far worse than his own death, something that was stronger than his will to live … Dean.

Sam knew without a doubt why they’d kept him alive. Why they didn’t just kill him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t had plenty of chances. It wasn’t like they couldn’t have just let him bleed to death when they shot him. Or hell, just left him dead when Allen choked him, though Sam had the sneaking suspicion that that incident was without doctor’s orders.

All because Sam knew, he just knew that they kept him alive for one thing. So Dean could watch him die. And it was that thought that was more frightening than anything else Sam could have imagined.

Sam was also fairly certain, as Daniel Murdoch glanced out the window, that he hadn’t heard Allen’s whisper (promise) to make it hurt. Quite honestly, at that point, he wasn’t sure who was in charge anymore, and that thought was equally as frightening.

Hazel eyes watched Murdoch as he stared out into the darkness, his ears straining to hear something … anything to let him know by some grace of God (as if that has ever happened before) that Dean was going to get there in time, that all was going to be well in the end. That Dean didn’t have to watch him die.

But the Winchester luck was never so good.

The doctor moved back toward him, and then squatted before Sam to pat his cheek like he was some kind of pet.

“Don’t worry, Sam, it’ll be over soon, then Dean will know, he’ll understand…”

His tone was so calm, so patronizing that it made Sam almost physically ill, but he knew, with the gag on, if he threw up he’d end up choking on his own vomit. Sam did not want to go out that way.

Not that dying in front of Dean for some sort of twisted kick by a sick doctor was in the plans either.

Not wanting to lay dormant and accept fate lying down (literally) Sam pushed with his legs to try and gain some leverage, to get to his feet somehow. This seemed to please the doctor, for that all too maniacal smile formed on his mouth as he reached down and grabbed Sam by the hair, jerking him upwards with a force a man his size should not possess.

“Don’t worry, Sam, it’s all for the greater good … you’ll see.”

Gun in his free hand, Daniel Murdoch began to caress Sam’s cheek, throat, and brow with the weapon, the grip he had of Sam’s hair making moving impossible. He looked almost loving, as if what he was doing was for Sam’s own good.

”Hey!”

Both Doctor Murdoch and Sam looked toward the sound. To Sam, the sound was of comfort and safety. “As long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.” Of overbearing control. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?” It was music to his ears, a lightening of his soul. All at once relief washed over him … relief and fear of what was to come.

“Get your filthy hands off my brother!”

Daniel Murdoch crouched on the ground, jerking a bound, gagged Sam toward him further, the gun he held pressed not to his head, but to his throat.

“Do you think if I fired now, it would kill him … or just make him wish I had finished the job?”

“I swear, if you try and shoot my brother, you’ll be dead before you even hit the floor.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Dean Winchester, but it won’t be an attempt on my part. I will shoot Sam.”

Gun poised and ready, Dean moved further into the room that held his brother captive, his gaze on the man holding Sam while his attention was on the youngest Winchester himself.

“You okay there, Sammy?”

He didn’t really expect an answer, not in words as his brother was gagged, but Sam and Dean had long since mastered the look. It spoke volumes without saying a single word. They did it when collecting evidence, they did it when questioning witnesses … and they did it now. And something was definitely wrong.

Sam had tried to move his head, but Murdoch jerked him back before he even got an inch to make a nod (that never got to happen) in the direction that Allen had been. Sam wanted so badly to signal Dean that they weren’t alone (and just where was Allen anyway?) but all he could do was glance toward where the dangerous man had stood but a few moments ago.

“Oh he’s just fine Dean … just … fine.”

As Daniel Murdoch spoke, he shifted to press weight against his captive, the pressure bearing on his arm, and subsequently his wrist. It got the desired reaction and Sam clenched his eyes shut as his face contorted in pain.

“Get off him right now or I swear to God I’ll … “

The crazy doctor pressed the gun so hard against the side of his throat that Sam had trouble swallowing, even breathing was a challenge.

“One more step Dean, and Sam will meet God far sooner than you think.”

“Sonofabitch!”

Joshua wasn’t a man who liked delays; in fact, he probably would have put Dean Winchester to shame in the battle of the most impatient man on earth. Winning only because of one thing … John Winchester was no longer amongst the living.

Slamming his hand against the chained door, he turned to make his way back to the exit, that option being far easier than trying to cut through a chain without any tools. Moving faster than he’d approached, he turned corners and bypassed doors, his path intent on the same window he’d snuck in through.

“Don’t move.”

The voice wasn’t nearly as menacing as the click of the guns safety coming off. It caused Joshua to pause, to furrow his brows as his mind raced and hunter’s instincts definitely took over.

“Drop your weapon and turn around slowly.”

Joshua lowered to place his gun on the floor, his hands out where the man behind him could see them. Turning as he rose, he caught sight of the man from the corner of his eye. Quickly he assessed, calculated, and made his move in a spin that took the would-be assailant’s feet from under him.

Bobby’s fist connected with the man’s sternum so fast as he fell that he never even had a chance to catch his breath before it was gone. Even so, there was another crunch as an elbow hit his nose, followed by a blow to the side of the man’s head that left him incapacitated.

“Teach you to mess with Bobby on a hunt!”

The older hunter said in a huff of annoyance. Bobby was usually laid back and easy going. Even when a possessed Sam had sputtered and spewed steam from the holy water he’d laced his beer with, he’d remained calm. But, then again, Sam had been right there. Now he wasn’t, and that just wasn’t okay in Bobby’s book.

Reaching down, he felt for a pulse, and was a little irritated that he actually found one.

“Great, now I have to tie you up.”

The man honestly deserved a bullet in his head … or worse … one in his stomach to just let him slowly bleed out. But Bobby wasn’t a murderer, at least under normal circumstances. What stopped him, however, was not the morality of it all … it was the simple fact that a gunshot would alert whoever else that was out there … whoever had Sam.

Gary rose from his crouched position to seek something to hold the man in place until he could come back and finish the job. Moving through the Jungle Gym from hell, he came back, with of all things, a doctor’s mask and some scrubs to detain his friend.

Smirking, he began work on the man that was, for the most part, unconscious. However, when he began to stir, the barrel of his gun was placed just at his temple, the hunter’s tone leaving little doubt as to his intentions.

“Where’s Sam?”

With a bloodied grin, the detained man looked up, his look demented at best.

“Dead.”

“No he’s not you bastard, now tell me where he is or I make a not so pretty hole in your face.”

The man seemed to rethink his bravado, his pause causing Gary to press his weapon harder against his head. That spurred him into action.

“Follow the main corridor, you’ll find him.”

Gary lifted the mask, but before he could gag the man (because he’d given him what he wanted) he spoke again, the words causing his blood to freeze.

“But you’ll be too late if Dean’s already there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that’s when Doctor Murdoch is going to kill him … when Dean’s there to watch.”

“Do you honestly think you’re going to get out of here alive?”

Dean looked from Sam to the doctor, his focus trying to remain strong as pain etched on his baby brother’s face. Murdoch, just to prove a point, pressed his knee further against Sam’s twice broken wrist. The reaction was instantaneous; the young man’s cry of pain was muffled by the gag, but apparent enough to cause his nemesis to stop in his tracks.

Sam clenched his eyes shut as excruciating pain ripped up his arm, causing a tear to escape and leave a trail down the side of his face to get lost in his hairline. Through his nose he sucked in air, hoping to push the pain away, but the demented man who held him kept a firm press of his knee to Sam’s wrist, making detachment impossible.

“Look, you don’t need to do this. You want me; you got me, but leave Sam out of this.”

“Just like you left Clara out of it?”

Dean arched a brow, but tried to keep his face impassive, tried to keep the game plan firmly in place.

“She was killing people.”

“She was fulfilling the plan!”

“She was hurting innocent people. Just like Sam. Sam’s innocent in all of this.”

Doctor Murdoch looked to Sam for a brief moment before his gaze flickered back to Dean, giving Dean one instant of hope before it was dashed as the man pressed the gun so hard against his brother’s throat that he swore he stopped breathing.

“Sam is but a pawn, Dean. He is serving his purpose.”

“And what purpose is that? What can this possibly do that is any good?”

“He is showing you, Dean.”

“Showing me what?”

Dean’s voice was starting to rise as he watched Sam because he wasn’t sure if he was breathing or not. The tension in the air was making him sweat, the gravity of the situation making him dizzy. “I gave you an order; you were supposed to watch out for your brother.” And he felt like he was failing at the one job that he was truly good at; that of big brother.

“What it’s like to watch someone you love die.”

Dean’s heart stilled, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. When he finally was able to breathe again a few seconds later, the words he forced out were slow, calculated, and in a voice he wasn’t sure was his.

“She was already dead.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Dean Winchester, I gave my Clara eternal life.”

If there was ever a moment in which the entire world stopped turning, that was it for Dean. His brows furrowed, his mouth twisted, and he could have sworn that even Sam, despite the pain he was in, caught onto that.

“What …………………………….?”

“I found the secret to eternity, and you and your father came in and took that from her!!”

“You mean … you killed your wife?”

“I gave her everything! It was all for her! Then you … you came in and …”

“You sick son of a bitch! You killed her!”

Doctor Murdoch pressed the gun further against flesh that was now coated in a sheen of sweat, though whether it was from pain, fear, or both wasn’t clear.

“No, you killed her, and I’m going to kill him!”

Dean took one step forward, his mouth forming the word that was drowned out as a deafening gunshot echoed throughout the room.

“Nooooooo!”

Joshua climbed from the window, landing on the ground with a soft sound that only those with the keenest sense of hearing would have heard. Without gathering his balance, he took off, righting himself up as he went. Moving around the side of the hospital, he nearly ran right into Bobby … both hunters immediately lifting their guns to aim at the other.

“Damn it, I almost shot you!” Both men yelled at once.

“Did you find anything?” Again their voices rang in unison. Shaking his head, Joshua held up a hand to still Bobby’s words, which, knowing their record so far would be just what Joshua had to say.

“I found a chained door and then some idiot who thought he could get the drop on me.”

Bobby nodded, about to say something when a rustle (albeit slight) drew both their attention. Turning as one, guns raised and ready, they only paused as the face of their would be target came into view.

“Damn it Gary, I almost shot you!” Again Bobby and Joshua seemed to share one brain as they lowered their weapons to a surprised Gary.

“Find anything?”

Both Bobby and Joshua gave each other the patented Winchester look (apparently on loaner for the day) before looking back to Gary. Opening his mouth to speak, if words did actually come out, they were drowned out by the lone gun shot that reverberated throughout the hospital grounds.

“Shit!”

The sound echoed as he fell, though in all honesty, he didn’t have far to go. The demented doctor had been squatting when he jerked him up, so as the blast resounded through the small room, Sam slipped from his grasp and keeled backward.

But there was no pain. Maybe that meant he was already dead. Maybe the plan had been fulfilled. He thought on this for but a split second, his head nearly hitting the floor in that downward plunge that was so surreal Sam expected to wake up any minute.

Only he didn’t wake up … he was hoisted up to his feet, the pain that went through his thigh at the sudden motion causing a grunt around the gag.

“Stop right there, Winchester!”

“How dare you!”

Dr. Murdoch checked Sam Winchester’s pulse again before standing to face Allen, his fury quite evident on his face. Allen, for all his anger that seethed out of every pore, just stared and said nothing.

“You know the plan, Allen, and you damn near ruined it!”

“He … attacked me!”

Dr. Murdoch looked to the unconscious prisoner, the pawn in all of this, then back to Allen.

“Just remember who’s in charge here, Allen. I could make or break you; it’d be good if you remembered that!”

Allen stood a moment, his fists clenching and relaxing, the hate that seeped from him nearly tangible enough to touch, to smell, to taste, and to feel. It could definitely be seen.

“You can leave now, Allen. Right now I can’t stand to look at you.”

Dr. Murdoch didn’t even look up, he just went back to tending to that … bastard.

As soon as Daniel Murdoch had gone to Sam, his gun used in a loving declaration, Allen had followed the plan and stepped out of sight into the only hiding place in the hospital room … the bathroom.

It was there he waited. He had plenty of patience in this game of cat and mouse. After all, he was above the cat … he was the dog. Or God, depending on which way you spelled it.

He even held his position as the elder Winchester interrupted the doctor’s seemingly caring confession. It was mildly amusing, Dean and Dr. Murdoch battling for control of the situation. How little they both realized that neither one was winning this battle. Oh, but they would learn … he would make sure of that.

And he did.

Just as Dr. Murdoch had reached the end where he was to show Dean Winchester the God-awful truth of the pain of loss, just as the man who had been his mentor was about to pull the trigger, Allen beat him to it. The sound barely made the gunshot known before Allen stepped forward, a hand hoisting Sam up to stand where he wrapped one arm around his throat and aimed his smoking gun at his head.

“Stop right there, Winchester!”

“Nooo!”

Dean moved forward, every instinct telling him to jump in front of that bullet (as if he could have ever been fast enough) to stop his brother from falling. But despite his movements, Sam was falling. Sam was dying.

Sam was suddenly up with a burly arm around his throat.

“Stop right there, Winchester!”

Dean froze as another gun was pointed at his brother (What was it with Sam attracting lunatics anyway?) and lifted his own weapon to aim at the man holding Sam.

“You’re not gonna make it out of here alive.”

“Oh that’s where you’re wrong, Dean, you see, I have the one thing that holds all the cards.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“I have Sam.”

Dean’s gaze shifted to Sam. The sheen of sweat that had been on his brow was now pasting shaggy locks to his forehead, the look of pain intensified as he tried shifting his weight to one leg.

A movement drew his gaze back to the man holding Sam, his hand drawing Dean’s attention as he jerked the gag that had stilled Sam’s voice down.

“Say good bye to your brother, Sam.”

Allen made a move toward the door; Sam forced to move as the stronghold around his throat held him in a grip that made breathing a chore. Dean knew (just knew) if he let the madman (and just when did this second, more demented man come into the picture?) out of here with his brother, he wasn’t going to see him again, so he stepped to the side, blocking his exit.

“You’re not leaving here, not with Sam.”

Allen, just for a show, tightened his grip around Sam’s throat, causing a gasp from the youngest Winchester. With his arms bound, he couldn’t even try and tug him off, so Sam struggled to stay upright, though his left leg wasn’t fully cooperating with the right. It nearly buckled from under him, causing Allen’s hold to tighten all the more. Sam’s face went from pale, to red, to purple in a matter of seconds.

It was precious seconds that Sam didn’t have.

“Let him go!”

The bravado had, however, left Dean Winchester’s voice as he watched Sam slowly stop struggling, the look on Allen’s face enough to make his blood boil to sizzle steam from his ears. To say Dean wanted to watch the man die was an understatement.

He wanted him to suffer in every way imaginable.

“Once I’m free…”

Allen had no intention of ever letting Sam Winchester go. In fact, he had no intention of letting Dean get off without fulfilling the doctor’s plans. Doctor Murdoch might be dead, but Allen was still going to make Dean watch his brother die. Only, it wasn’t going to be one quick shot to the head. He was going to make Sam scream.

Dean, seeing his brother lose that red hue for something more in the blue range of the rainbow, growled as he lowered his weapon.

“Fine, but I swear to God, if you so much as harm a hair on my brother’s head…”

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

Allen’s smile turned into a sneer as he started backward for the door, Sam kept between himself and the elder Winchester.

“You see Dean, every bruise…” And he jerked backward on Sam’s wrist, not only jarring the broken bone there, but also aggravating his shoulder.

The reaction couldn’t have been more perfect as Sam let out a yell in pain. Dean, true to form, started to move forward, only to have Allen tightening his hold on both his throat (causing Sam’s face once again to mimic a rainbow) and his wrist.

“Now, now Dean, let’s not have Sammy get to hell before his time, eh?”

“You first you sonofabitch…”

Allen, so cocky in his escape, in his plan to watch Sam Winchester suffer inexplicable pains in front of his brother (just to take that pride he’d held desperately onto) never heard the footsteps come from the door he was backing toward, he never knew Joshua was there until his voice cut through the deranged inner machinations that involved pain and suffering at his hands.

The shot that rang out in the once pristine room that had once housed some of the most brilliant (and demented) doctors in all of Tennessee, was answered in turn by a second shot just seconds after the first.

The yells that no doubt put the breaking of the sound barrier to shame went on deaf ears as Sam Winchester fell in a heap that Allen’s arm dragged him down in.

“Damn it, Joshua…”

The room was stifling, the heat suddenly making breathing difficult at best.

“Where’s he hit?”

Black dots clouded his vision, the colors around him swimming to form one blurry image before dissipating into that abyss that takes away the pain, that takes away everything until there is nothing left.

“Dean……………”

“Of all the stupid things you’ve ever done, Sam!”

“Dean, I…”

“No, Sam, no! This one took the cake!”

“But Dean, I … “

“No, Sam, just shut up, cause I’m pretty pissed at you!”

“Dean … ?”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m gonna pass out now…”

Later, Dean would have sworn that when that first gunshot echoed in the room that his heart exploded with what could best be described as panic … pure and utter panic. The room slowed, everything froze for one minute, only Dean being able to interact with anything, though that was pointless considering everyone and everything else was frozen and Dean himself was too stunned to move.

Then another deafening crack resounded in the room, sending blinding white light to burn up his side and get Dean’s legs moving.

Sam.

His heart slammed against his chest and once again the room was a flurry of motion that could best be described as chaos. The arm around his brother’s neck tightened as the man holding him captive fell backward. Sam, unable to support his own weight much less pull against a force drawing him down, swayed for one brief moment, his eyes becoming totally coherent for that split second that he remained upright … then he fell backward, his fall only being cushioned by the sick bastard that had tried to kill him.

“Damn it, Joshua … “

Bobby’s voice barely registered in Dean’s mind as he dropped to his knees, the gasp from his brother bringing Dean’s awareness back to focus as Sam struggled to breathe, the burly arm of Allen still pinned around his neck.

“Let go of him, you sonofabitch!”

The initial crunch of bone hitting bone was distinct and drew the attention of the other three that entered the room, but Dean paid it little mind as his fist flew again and again … the crunch being replaced a sickening squish sound as bone gave way to the fatty tissue it was trying in vain to protect. Blood splattered with the next hit, spraying his face in a way Dean had become quite used to. But, as his arm drew back for another punch to the fallen man, something hooked under him and dragged him back.

“Get off me!”

“Dean, let Joshua help Sam.”

The reasoning voice of Bobby did little to calm Dean’s seething emotions that had, since this whole thing began, been pent up to fester like an infection harboring beneath the surface, only to erupt in a primal rage that wasn’t easy to control in the best of circumstances.

This was hardly the best of circumstances.

“Where’s he hit?”

Gary’s voice broke through his anger induced fog that saw but one thing … Allen’s bloodied face. He didn’t see Joshua drag Allen’s arm off of Sam. He didn’t see Gary pull Sam from the tangle of limbs where he’d fallen. He didn’t even see Sam take a gasping breathe of air.

What he saw was blackness dancing across his vision, threatening to take away his coherency … threatening to take away Sam.

“Dean … ?”

He shrugged off the weight on his shoulder, not fully comprehending that it was Bobby’s hand resting there, and crawled toward Sam.

“Sam? Can you hear me Sam?”

Reaching his baby brother, Dean reached out with his hand, shaking fingers finally making contact with Sam’s cheek. Warm … he was warm. Then moved upward to brush sweat soaked locked from Sam’s brow. “You never do things halfway, do you Sammy?”

“Dean, you’re bleeding.”

Suddenly it dawned on him how still his brother was. How utterly still and helpless looking. Blinking, Dean nudged his face with his fingers. “Sam?”

“Dean, let me take a look at your side.”

He searched Sam’s face for any sign of stirring but found none, so he grabbed his shoulder and shook it. “Get up Sam!”

“Dean, let me see how badly you’re hurt.”

With no reaction from his brother, his baby dying brother, he lightly slapped his cheek. “Don’t you do this to me, Sammy, do you hear me!” He shook him again and went for a third when a hand caught his wrist, drawing him out of the Sammy’s dying vortex.

“He’s not dead, Dean, but you will be if you don’t let me look at your side!”

Dean finally pulled away from that black fog that had been trying to envelop him and glanced down to the blossoming flower of red that coated his side, then to Sam and the identical bloom of red on his side.

As the gun behind him fired, Allen pulled the trigger on his own weapon, meaning to take out his hostage with him, but the impact of the bullet piercing his brain jerked him in a dance forward. The movement altered his deadly move, his aim skewing as his arm jerked, and the blast meant for Sam Winchester’s back hit his side. The bullet ripped through the youngest Winchester’s side in a deep flesh wound before stopping as it impacted in Dean’s side in another flesh wound that left both brothers bleeding. A small price to pay considering the alternative.

“How is he, Joshua?”

The dark haired hunter lifted his head of his perusal of Sam to glance to Bobby. “I could ask you the same.”

Both hunters were in the midst of damage control on their charges, Joshua working on Sam while Bobby worked on a rather testy Dean.

“How’s Sam?”

Dean’s demand had Bobby grumbling and Joshua glancing over before turning back to the youngest Winchester. “He’s alive, Dean.” It was really the best he could give him considering he wasn’t a doctor. Ironically, it was a doctor that did this to him.

“Time to go, gentlemen.”

Everyone but Sam (who was still mostly out of it) looked up as Gary entered the room after going to inspect the grounds for any more signs of trouble.

“Cops here?”

“No, but if my guess is correct, they won’t take much longer. So if you pansies are ready …?”

Joshua turned back to Sam and patted his cheek. “Come on Sam, time to wake up.” For all his effort, the elder hunter received not even a groan. Sam Winchester was down and out for the count, and Joshua’s words weren’t doing a thing to rouse him. “Come on Sam, we’ll let you sleep in the car, but right now I….”

Suddenly Joshua was pushed to the side as a distraught Dean came to settle by Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy?”

With no response, Dean’s voice grew more agitated, more concerned. “Come on Sam, you gotta get up.”

With still nothing, Dean took on that authoritative tone that their father used to use when he meant business. “Get up Sam!”

Pain exploded in his back and Sam was once again thrown into a wall, only to plummet to the floor with a thunk.

“Sammy?”

He barely had time to catch his breath before he was ripped from his resting spot to slam into, of all places, the ceiling. Hitting with a groan, he stared in horror as he hovered there a few minutes, as if the ghost was taunting him into some false sense of security. Then the force that held him relinquished its control and Sam fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

Blackness started to take control, though somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a wail from the ghost in its last efforts to stay on this plane of existence. Good, Dean got the fucker…

“Come on Sam, you gotta get up.”

He tried ignoring the voice; the one that calmed him when he’d had a bad dream and was now urging him to face something he most definitely did not want to face … pain. Clenching his eyes closed, he tried pretending that it didn’t exist, that his very world was not centered on that voice.

“Get up Sam!”

The blackness ebbed enough for Sam to realize one thing … he hurt! His mouth opened and closed, and finally he squinted his eyes open to spy a blurry figure.

“Sam?”

“Dean … ?”

As the outline of his brother’s face began to take shape, Sam smiled in relief, then immediately regretted that small movement. Even something as simple as a smile was sounding out the drums of war in his head.

“How … ?”

“I had my Sammy radar up!”

Sam closed his eyes again, his security blanket once again enveloping him with Dean’s presence.

“No no, Sammy, you gotta stay awake.”

“Jes five more minutes Dean…”

“No, Sam, up!”

That urging demanding call had Sam’s eyes opening again, and once again he was greeted with the blurry shape of his brother.

“How ya doing, kiddo?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak but suddenly Bobby’s face was seen looming over Dean’s shoulder.

“I hate to break up the reunion, but we need to high tail it for the hills. We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he looked to his kid brother. Sam knew that look … whatever they were going to do, it was going to hurt. Swallowing, he nodded very slowly to try and stop the rumble in his head from happening.

“Let’s go…”

Getting Sam up was easier said than done. While he had gotten on his feet on his own since being shot, the wound in his thigh sent a lightening bolt up his limb to his stomach as soon as Dean (with the help of Bobby) got him on his feet.

The groan (along with that sudden green color he was sporting) was the only warning before Sam was listing forward, the nothing he had in his stomach trying to come up in waves that had his back and stomach muscles clenching so painfully it brought tears to Sam’s eyes. Squinting them closed, one lone tear escaped the corner of his left eye to trail down his already sweat soaked cheek.

Leaning forward, he barely registered the strong hands holding him up as he heaved again; the only sound registering was the sound of his own retching as his gut heaved painfully.

Slowly, however, something worked its way through the fog that was Sam’s pain; something soothing, calming … something so utterly familiar. While strong hands held him, it was the methodical rubbing at his back that began to ease the pain that had been merciless in its intensity until that moment.

“It’s okay, Sam.”

The words were low, murmured, and while no one else in the world might have taken heed to them, to Sam Winchester they possessed a sort of magic that no other sound in the universe could have accomplished. It wasn’t the words themselves, but rather the voice the man behind the words.

“You’re going to be okay.”

Slowly his stomach calmed, though it never fully relaxed, and his mind cleared enough to be able to nod his head, to acknowledge that he was okay. That hand on his back kept rubbing for a moment as both men at his side waited until Sam regained his breath and gathered his bearings before they started to move.

“Where’re we going?”

Bobby’s voice barely registered as he and Dean talked over him. Sam just concentrated on his next step, on the next move that shot pain up his leg.

“I hate to say it, but the hospital.”

“We can tend to him in … “

“His hand’s broken, we can’t fix that.”

Sam didn’t notice Bobby nod. He barely heard their words. Just that voice. The one that chased all the demons away. “Can I sleep in your bed Dean?” The one that put the world back on its axis. “Sure Sammy…” The one that had Sam Winchester closing his eyes and just breathing through the pain. “You’re going to be okay.” All because Dean told him so.

“Family of Sam Harper?”

Dean and Bobby instantly rose. They had been waiting in the hospital for the better part of three hours. The trip there had been haphazard at best, though Sam had been blissfully unaware of Dean’s crazy driving as he was too busy being unconscious for the duration of the trip. Bobby, however, recalled every pothole with a vividness that his ass would not soon forget.

“Yes.” Both hunters said at once causing the doctor to raise a brow, though he kept his opinions to himself.

“If you two will follow me…”

Dean started to protest, to demand to see Sam, but Bobby laid a calming hand on his shoulder reminding him that now was not the place to voice his no doubt caustic opinions. Dean glowered, giving Bobby a look he knew well, as he should, his father used to wear it often when it came to stubbornness. It was a look that quite clearly said fine, but if this asshole doesn’t hurry it up, I’m going to salt and burn his ass. It was a look Dean had inherited naturally from the legendary John Winchester.

Moving down a corridor that reminded him too much of the place they had just pulled Sam out of, Dean clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles were white from the effort. An effort that was proving difficult as all he wanted to do was throttle the doctor. Not only this one, but also every other one that dared come near his brother.

“How’s my brother?”

Doctor Martin just ushered them into the small conference room and nodded to the chairs there. Dean looked at the chairs, then to the doctor, and while he did sit, it was on the edge of his seat as he awaited news.

Bobby, realizing he might need to play mediator, or help kick the doctor’s ass depending on the situation, stayed at Dean’s side, a hand resting on his shoulder as he too eyed the man in the white coat.

“He’s … resting … “

That drew both hunters’ alerts to full force for the answer was cryptic at best. Dean, starting to rise, felt Bobby’s hand once again tighten on his shoulder.

“Tell me again, Mr. Harper, how did your brother receive his injuries?”

Dean took a breath, his eyes level at the man who professed to be helping Sam. He wasn’t. Didn’t he realize that the best medicine for Sam was to allow Dean near him? To let the brothers heal each other in a way that only their close bond could?

Apparently not.

“He was jumped. By the time my Uncle Bobby and I got there, Sam was practically dead…”

Doctor Martin just stared, his own opinion held in check as he nodded.

Dean, unable to contain his anxiety any longer, blurted out in a rush, “How is he?”

“Well, your brother’s condition is stabilized now, though with the blood loss we were worried there for a bit. His left leg wound was showing signs of infection, so we treated him with a heavy dose of antibiotics.”

He looked at Dean pointedly at that, it being no secret that there had once been a bullet in his leg … a bullet that had been expertly removed. But, getting no reaction from the elder Winchester, he slowly continued.

“His right shoulder had been dislocated, and while it has been set right, he should refrain from using it for anything strenuous.”

Dean was eyeing the man, waiting for the but, the cosmic bang that would send Dean hurtling toward some black Sammyless hole where life just didn’t measure up to an ounce of shit.

“His wrist was broken in three places; we’ve set and cast it. And his side was stitched. That is not taking into account the multitude of bruises or the fact that your brother had been choked. All in all, Mr. Harper, I would say that your brother is a very lucky man.”

Dean hardly blinked as the doctor rattled off the things wrong with Sam. In all honestly, Dean was almost smiling. If there were things wrong with him, that meant he was still alive and hanging in there.

“Can I see him?”

Doctor Martin sighed and finally nodded. He didn’t know what had happened to bring the young man in his care into the hospital in such a state, but it was obvious something was being covered up.

“Very well, but he’s been sedated, so I doubt he’ll be very coherent.”

Dean sat at Sam’s bedside, staring at his brother, his baby brother. At how still he was, how quiet he was.

“God, Sam, will you shut up!”

“I just wanna know which exorcism works best on which demons, I mean, if I get a … “

“Sam!”

“But Dean … “

“No! Just. Shut. Up!”

Sam was never quiet! Not even in his sleep. He tossed, turned, and bed hogged all night long.

“Can I sleep with you, Dean?”

“God, Sammy, you’ll steal all the covers.”

“I promise, Dean, please…”

And he had this sickly aura about him. His skin was pasty, something Dean only saw in Sam when he was ill or hurt.

“Come on Sammy, we gotta get you in the tub.”

“I don’t feel so good, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know, kiddo, but we gotta bring your fever down.”

Reaching out, he tentatively brushed a strand of brown from his brother’s closed eyes, and then grasped his hand before ducking his head down to rest his forehead on the back of Sam’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry.”

A tingling sensation tickled his flesh, bringing awareness back to an unconscious Sam Winchester. With that tingling sensation was a fogginess that made everything, including truly coherent thought, elude him.

“D………….”

The one sound he made was raspy at best, making it quite apparent that cotton had taken up root in his mouth while some wild beast scratched his throat until there was nothing left to make sound with.

“De … Ug … “

He tried moving his hand and found that one had some heavy weight bearing it to the bed, and the other … well, as soon as he twitched his fingers pain shot up in an electric current up his arm.

“Dea……..”

“Sammy?’

The voice had him trying to open his eyes, though it took several seconds for his brain to get them working properly. But even those few seconds didn’t make them coordinated. First the left worked and then slammed shut, only for the right to open then close.

“Come on Sammy, you can do it.”

“Thirsty…”

There was so much, in that moment, that Sam could have said to his brother. So much to thank him for, so much to wonder about, but in that one waking moment, Sam knew Dean would have balked at his words of gratitude, so he waited, bid his time, and gave Dean his need instead. It was something Dean seemed to relish in, taking care of Sam.

Sam felt the bed shift, felt Dean move from his spot only to feel his hand under his head a moment later, his gentle urging lifting Sam up a bit so he could drink. The cold water had a calming effect on Sam, and after a few swallows, he tried to pull away, which sent a dribble of water down his chin to splash the sheet below.

“Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes remained closed for so long that Dean actually reached out to touch his chest and give him a small nudge.

“Sammy?”

He was rewarded with hazel eyes once again, albeit filled with pain; they were the most beautiful thing in the world at that moment to Dean Winchester.

“How ya feeling, kiddo?”

“Like I’ve been broken, beaten, choked, and shot.”

“Ha ha! Very funny, Sammy.”

Sam grinned a bit, though it looked sort of sickly and grotesque with the bruising on his baby brother’s face, and then closed his eyes only to feel that incessant shake again.

“Dean … ?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

Thanks to you.

Those words, however, went unspoken as Sam once again looked at Dean.

“I um … when you called, I … “

“Yeah … me too.”

There was an awkward silence between them before Dean reached out and grasped Sam’s good hand and squeezed.

“Don’t ever do that again!”

“Do what?”

“Go missing like that.”

“Yeah, you said last time you wouldn’t come looking for me again.”

“Yeah, well, this is your last time! Next time, I’m leaving your ass!”

“Yeah, right.”

Bobby glanced over as he heard the approach of silent footsteps. Lifting his chin in acknowledgement, he offered a waning smile to both Joshua and Gary.

“Did you take care of everything?”

The nonchalant question posed, Joshua raised a brow at Bobby, as if he’d ever not taken care of everything on a hunt.

“How’s Sam?” Gary’s voice cut into the silent battle of authority between Bobby and Joshua, drawing both hunters from their glares to come back to the present and to why they were all there.

“He’s resting, or so the doc said. Dean’s in with him now.”

Joshua nodded; his mouth opening to say something before movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head just a bit, he spied the two police officers speaking to a doctor. Turning back to Bobby, he smirked.

“Time for damage control.”

Officer Johnson had been on the force for going on 18 years, so when he got the call from Dr. Martin, someone he knew personally as they’d both been in this pissant town nearly all their lives, but he honestly wasn’t too tense. They were right off the beaten path, so there was always someone getting hurt by something or other that just demanded the attention of the boys in blue.

“I need you down at the hospital Ben.”

“What is it this time? Another drunk driving accident?”

“No, nothing like that. We had a young man brought in earlier this evening by his brother and Uncle, beaten to hell, choked, his wrist broken, and shot in the leg.”

“Is the man conscious? Can he remember who did this to him?”

Already he was grabbing his hat and keys and heading for the door, but Christopher Martin’s next words had him stopping cold.

“Well, that’s the thing … I think it was his brother and Uncle.”

“So this young man … ?”

“Sam Harper. He was brought in several hours ago.”

Ben nodded and glanced to his young partner, a rookie just a few years out of the academy who had never done anything more exciting than issue a speeding ticket to people who had no intention of ever coming back to this one-horsed town.

“What exactly was the extent of his injuries?”

Christopher Martin ran a hand over his face as he let out an exhausted breath.

“He was beaten severely. He’d been shot in the leg. His wrist was broken. His shoulder had been dislocated. And he’d been choked. But that’s not even the worst part.”

“What could possible be worse, Chris?”

“The gunshot wound was several days old. The bullet had been removed.”

The words hung there a moment before Benjamin Johnson turned to stare at his old friend.

“You mean … ?”

“This had been going on for days. They were keeping him alive in order to abuse him more.”

Officer Johnson just stared before he finally found the words to ask his next question.

“What makes you suspect the brother and uncle?”

“I’m not going to just sit here and wait for mom to die!?”

Ben glanced to the two men who had, before now, been unobtrusive in their conversation as they waited for news on some family member in the hospital’s Emergency Room waiting room. But, he easily dismissed them and turned back to the doctor.

“Well, Sam did.”

“Did he say that?”

“Why not? You certainly didn’t mind waiting when dad died! That is, til you discovered he wrote you out of the will.”

Dr. Martin glanced over this time, studying the two men before turning back to Benjamin and his young partner.

“No, but he kept crying for him to stop. Over and over he said ‘Make it stop, Dean’ in this voice that made you ache. Never heard anything like it.”

“What are you implying?”

This time the voice drew young Rick’s attention, along with his two elder counter parts from their in-depth conversation of a man who was beaten by his own family.

“Nothing. Except that you’re one sorry son of a bitch!”

“Not as sorry as you, you bastard!”

It was almost forty-five minutes later when the two officers, led by Dr. Martin, proceeded down the stark white corridors to room 307 where Sam Harper was residing. With a knock to the door, the doctor pushed the door open and called cheerfully into the room.

“Mr. Harper?”

When only silence echoed, he flipped the light switch and proceeded into the room, followed by the men in blue, to the lump under the covers on the small hospital bed.

“Sam?”

Without an answer, he pulled the blanket back, preparing to rouse the sleeping man, only to find … more blankets.

“Shit!”

“Hey, Sammy, wake up.”

Sam lay motionless, the escape through the hospital taking what little energy he’d had in reserve. But, after another call from his brother, there was a faint groan before Sam Winchester opened his eyes to the blurry outline of his brother.

“Did we win?”

“Oh we so won, Sammy.”

Pressing with his left hand, Sam tried to sit up, though only made it a few inches before he was falling back, but his decent was caught by Dean’s guiding hands.

“Easy there, Sammy.”

Sam swallowed, his hand still pressed to the back seat of the Impala as he tried to regain his bearings, the steady hand at his back soothing and reassuring. Finally he nodded.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Dean.”

Nodding, Dean very slowly helped Sam to first sit, and then began the task of getting him out of the car. It was lackadaisical at best, but Sam was tenacious and Dean was patient and soon Sam was on his feet and leaning against the side of the Impala while Dean grabbed their duffle bags. Hoisting them over his shoulder, he moved back to his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You good, Sammy?”

Nodding, Sam leaned on Dean as he led him into their abode for the evening, a non-descript motel off the beaten path and as far away from Sunnydale as Dean dared to go. Dropping the bags just inside the room, Dean kicked backward to send the door closed as he led Sam to the second bed within the small room.

“Easy, Sammy, I got you.”

Sam clutched at Dean with his one good hand as he was lowered to the bed, his eyes glazed for a few minutes until he regained his bearings. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes to look up into his brother’s concerned face.

“I’m good.”

Dean studied him a moment before nodding.

“God I need a shower.”

Dean chuckled, slapped Sam’s thigh, and then dropped to the other bed across from him.

“Easy, Tiger, one step at a time.”

Sam groaned and looked down to make mention he was in blood stained jeans and a torn shirt when he noticed, for the first time, that he wasn’t in his clothes. Looking back to Dean, his eyes narrowed.

“Dean … you took me out in a hospital gown?”

“Well, yeah, I had to make a quick escape, Sammy!”

Sam started to agree, started to say that just getting out of there was what was important when he spied something. Glancing down, his eyes narrowed before he looked to his brother.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“What’s that?”

Dean raised a brow, feigning complete innocence.

“What’s what?”

“That!” Sam said pointing to his foot.

Dean looked down and then quickly rose and started rummaging through his duffle bag.

“Is that a toe tag, Dean?”

Snatching out his clothes, Dean high tailed it for the shower, his grin hidden as he turned.

“Dean, did you wheel me out through the morgue?”

Dean paused at the bathroom door and grinned to Sam.

“No need to thank me, Sammy.”

“JERK!”

Just as the door closed behind him, Dean’s voice echoed out into the motel room.

“BITCH!”