Dean forced his eyes open slowly, blood that had dried sticky on his face, making it difficult to do so. Almost more difficult than it was worth, he couldn't help but think with a soft groan as he pushed himself up slowly from the dirty floor with shaking arms. His bruised ribs and back protesting every single movement he made.

Yeah, way more difficult than it was worth. But at least he managed to shift around enough to sit back against the cold damp wall. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes again with another pained groan.

They'd really done a good job on him this time. He could just imagine how 'colorful' his back must look right now from all the new bruises and welts he could feel. They hadn't whipped him. The bitch wouldn't let them put any 'permanent' marks on him. But he couldn't imagine that would have been any more painful than the wide leather strap they'd beaten him with.

His punishment for trying to escape… again.

The cold heavy weight of the shackles around his ankles made his heart sink a little as he realized he wasn't going to be getting another chance any time soon. Apparently they weren't taking any chances this time.

He wondered how long he'd been unconscious…

Long enough for his throat to feel like he'd been swallowing sand he was so thirsty, but even as he cracked his eyes open again he knew they wouldn't have left him anything to drink. He'd been here long enough by now to know how things worked, and he wouldn't be getting anything until he started behaving like a 'good boy' again.

Yeah… right… not if he could help it.

Cassandra stood by the van and watched as several of the guys opened the back and dragged out four humans. Their prisoners had their wrists bound and their mouths gagged, and yet they were kicking and fighting. "Good picks," she said in her throaty voice, nodding her agreement.

Once they started heading toward the crumbling old mansion, she slammed the van's doors shut and followed. Her boots crunched over the gravel as she confidently strode up the long drive. All she had to do was give the couple sitting on the swing on the porch one look, and they scrambled inside to finish their chores. It was 'fight night,' and that pair was responsible for getting the arena ready.

Her hand slid over the surface of the front door, with its peeling paint, and she felt a sense of pride as she closed it behind her. The other werewolves snapped to attention, sat straighter on the sofas, stopped eating, and generally took on demeanors that confirmed she was their Alpha.

"We're at capacity again, ten men."

Cassandra nodded at Jordan. "Good. Let's see how many of them make it." Over the last year, their pack had grown. They'd handpicked humans with good fighting instincts and whenever possible, other useful talents. They'd pit them against each other, force them into death matches and turn only the ones they found worthy. The unworthy either died fighting, or became the playthings of the pups.

"What about Dean, is he secured?" she asked.

"Cass, that one's too much trouble. I think we should—"

"Who the fuck told you to think?"

Seeing her blue eyes turn positively frosty, Jordan knew he was asking for it. "He's going to find a way to get out, and if he doesn't, he's going to end up—"

"I want him. Alive. And in twenty days or so, he won't be a problem anymore. Where is he?" she practically snarled, feeling her hormones coursing through her body at the thought of bedding him. It had been so long since she'd felt like that for any man. Years ago, she'd thought she'd never find another mate, an alpha who could rule the pack at her side, as she'd done with her former one. But she'd been wrong.

Jordan shifted from one leg to the other, not liking her tone. It wasn't her tone, it was her godamned interest in that human. He had a feeling she was going to choose a mate. All these years, he'd been loyal to her, and she was going to choose a newcomer. An insolent bastard who hadn't given her the time of day.

"Where. Is. He." She asked again, through gritted teeth.

"Third floor, the blue room."

She started for the stairs, brushed her long black hair over her shoulder and gave Jordan a piercing look when he tried to follow. "Stay."

"Cass, he's dangerous."

"So am I," she purred, putting a hand on the banister and heading up the stairs.

Jordan's eyes grew dark as he watched his leather clad leader disappear. Just from her scent, he knew what she wanted.

*

Cassandra pushed the door open and sauntered inside. Her predatory eyes didn't need to adjust to the dark. She could see him in the corner. Smell his blood and sweat. Almost taste his hatred. Love, hate… it was all the same. She would have him. Soon, he would want it… once all his foolish human traits and emotions were gone.

Standing over him with her feet slightly apart, she let her gaze travel down and up his battered body. "Hello lover, you look like hell."

Dean turned his head towards the door when he heard it open and narrowed his eyes dangerously. Having to resist the urge to growl and lunge at the werewolf bitch when she sauntered in and approached him.

“Likewise, bitch.” He spat out through his teeth, though it came out more as a rasp through his dry throat.

If he thought he could manage it, he would have gladly ripped out her throat with his bare hands. But he knew it wouldn’t have done any good. Not only was he was too weak right now and she was a lot stronger than she looked, but if he tried anything against her the rest of the pack would take it out on him, beating him within an inch of his life. He’d learned that the hard way.

Though sometimes he simply didn’t care. Sometimes he wished he could piss her off enough that she’d get tired of keeping him here like a damn pet, and kill him like the others.

When they had first taken him, he had fought. He fought against them. He’d tried to escape. He’d even fought in their fucking ‘games’ because he had no choice. He’d killed… other men, normal men… because if he hadn’t they would have killed him. Those were the ‘rules’ and as much as he hated himself for it after, his survival instinct was just too strong to roll over and die.

Now, after six months trapped in this hellhole, he almost wished he had. He’d lost any hope of his father finding him, coming to help him months ago. He’d lost almost all hope of escaping. He’d tried so many times, and he never got far before they found him and brought him back. Punishing him… He’d almost forgotten what it was like not to be in pain.

Not that he’d ever let them know that. That they were slowly breaking him down, every day a little more. But he wasn’t going to give in. To give her what she wanted. He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

He didn’t belong to her. He didn’t belong to anyone.

So rebellious, so strong... so right to lead at her side, once the stubborn fool realized it. She stroked the side of his face with the toe of her boot, and pushed him slightly, never losing her smirk. The flare of anger in his eyes made her tremble with excitement.

Dropping suddenly onto her knees and straddling him, she put both hands on his chest and pressed him back against the wall. “You’re the one tied up like a dog. That makes you the bitch. My bitch.”

She felt his heart pulse against her palms and could imagine how it would feel when it was pounding with excitement. “You’re good at cards, aren’t you? Play yours right, and you can have a nice hot shower, a cool drink... a soft bed,” leaning in, she licked the corner of his mouth, tasting his blood, and rearing back. “Me.”

Dean continued to glare at her defiantly, refusing to flinch even when her leather boot brushed against his cheek. He wasn’t about to give her that pleasure. Or any pleasure for that matter. After all, he knew ultimately what she wanted from him. She’d made it pretty clear many times.

He supposed, in a really sick fucked up way, he should be ‘flattered’.

She wanted him for a mate and unfortunately, werewolves didn’t seem to take, ‘thanks but no thanks’, as an answer very well. But she still wanted him badly enough that she’d kept him here for six fucking months, trying to force him to give in to her advances.

‘When hell freezes over,’ wasn’t an answer she had liked very much either.

When the bitch suddenly dropped down, straddling his lap, he tried to shove her off of him, but he was much too weak at the moment, and she easily pushed him back against the wall. Pinning him there, and he couldn’t stop a soft grunt of pain it caused from the bruises along his back. Still he glared, pulling away from her as far as he currently could when she leaned forward to lick at his lips.

He had to resist the sudden urge to bite her.

Instead his hands came up to fist in her long dark hair, drawing her closer until there was barely an inch between their faces. Their eyes locked. So close he could feel her breath against his lips when he whispered,

“I’d rather rot in hell.”

When he wound his hand in her hair and dragged her close, Cassandra’s pulse shot through the roof. She was ready to lock lips when the insult slipped out of his mouth. “You just might,” she snarled, ramming her forehead into the insolent bastard’s so hard, even she felt a blinding pain.

It didn’t give her any satisfaction, not when her plans of riding him all night long were snatched from her. Enraged, the beast within her surfaced. Shoving him back roughly against the wall again, she covered his mouth and plunged her tongue past his lips, ravaging his mouth, tasting old and fresh blood.

Feeling his struggles, she gripped his jaw and held him in place , renewing her assault. It was a hard and punishing kiss, one he would remember... one that would leave her mark on him for days to come. Her teeth ground against his teeth and cut into his lips, her thumbs pressed into his cheeks, forcing him to keep his mouth open for her, and her snarls warned him to be careful what he tried.

Dean had little warning, and no time to react, to the sudden attack. The unexpected sudden the blow to his forehead, not to mention his head ricocheting hard back against the wall, momentarily dazing him. Before he even really realized what was happening he was being shoved even more roughly against the wall and her mouth was violating his without mercy.

He immediately tasted fresh blood in the kiss, if it could even be called that, it was more like an attack, and he began to struggle beneath her. Trying to turn his head and spit out her tongue but having little luck when her hands grabbed his jaw. Forcing him to keep still and his mouth open, also preventing him from being able to bite her in retaliation. Holding him so tightly in fact there were bound to be bruises left, not to mention crescent shaped cuts from her fingernails on his cheeks afterwards.

Far from being cowed by her aggressiveness, or the warning snarls he could hear as well as feel against his tongue, he did not stop struggling. Instead growling in outrage into her mouth, his fingers tightening so brutally in her hair he felt several of the delicate strands snapping as he pulled as hard as he could. Prepared to literally yank fistfuls of her hair out trying to force her to release his mouth.

The more he tried to hurt her, the more merciless Cassandra was with him. It was a fierce battle for control, and if she’d wanted to, she could have torn him to pieces. But she wanted him alive, and kicking, and warming her bed ... she wanted to ride him into eternity, and she would... but she needed to be a little patient.

Pulling back, she punched him in the jaw and forced him to release her hair. “Oh baby, why don’t we just call that foreplay, hmmm? When you’re ready, we’re gonna need lots of room.” She dragged her hips up his abs and chest as she got up, biting her lip at the thrill that went through her. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll have you licking my boots and begging soon enough.”

There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. Not a single one. He was the type who would never want to be in second place... he’d want the brass ring, and in this pack... she was the brass ring. “Dream of me...”

Turning on her heels, she left the room.

From the top of the stairwell, she looked down and shouted. “Jordan, get up here. Now.”

A few minutes later, Jordan joined her and found himself pushed bodily into her room. The scent of her arousal would be heady and he might have lost himself completely if he hadn’t known that she was hot for Winchester, that when she closed her eyes, it was that human she was seeing, and that when she pushed his hands over her breasts, it was Winchester’s hands that she was feeling.

“Call me bitch, but don’t say anything else, not a thing,” Cassandra demanded through gritted teeth as she ground herself against Jordan’s arousal. “Say it.”

*

Jordan was still breathing hard when he left her room. She’d fucked his brains out like she never had before and instead of being happy, all he felt was anger. He was about to lose her, if he didn’t do something about it. Nah, that wasn’t his style.

Though it wasn’t his job, he went to the kitchen and found the water allotted to the prisoner in the blue room. After the punishment that man had been through, water would taste like heaven to his parched throat. It would also take him to heaven... well, after a bit of hell. The clear poison he stirred into the water would burn through the man’s stomach. Not a pleasant death at all.

Dean’s head snapped to the side painfully when the bitch hit him, forcing him to release her, but at least she wasn’t kissing him anymore either. He shivered in disgust when she pressed against him and slowly turned a deadly glare on her as blood dripped from his mouth. Both from where she’d bitten him as well as from the punch.

He said nothing, but spat out blood and the taste of her from his mouth as she left. Next time she tried some shit like that he was going to bite off her tongue, he promised himself.

When the door closed behind her, Dean allowed himself to slide down the wall in exhaustion. Curling up once more on the dirty wooden floor and trying to think about anything other than her taste in his mouth, the feeling of her lips crushing his, the pain from his wounds, or the chains around his ankles.

He thought of driving the impala. He thought about his dad and some of the more ‘entertaining’ hunts they’d been on together. Then he thought about Sam. He wondered what Sam was doing. How he was doing. He hadn’t spoken to his brother since the younger man left for college, but he’d thought about him a lot. Sometimes even considered going to visit Sam at Stanford…

He’d knew he’d never get that chance now. But even as painful as that thought was, thinking about the times before Sam left, some of the jokes and pranks he’d played on his brother, getting into trouble with him, getting out of trouble with him, just being brothers… it made him smile a little.

Dean finally closed his eyes, hoping the mental image of Sam smiling and laughing with him would follow him into his dreams.

***

The Hillcrest Motel was rather unremarkable, from any other motel they’d ever stayed in through the years. Still the view of the mountains and vast surrounding forest was rather spectacular. Not that John Winchester really paid much attention to the scenery when they pulled into the motor lodge parking lot. Sam parking the truck in front of the motel room Jacobs had told him he was staying in.

There was no other vehicle parked in front of the room, so John had the feeling the other hunter was not inside. Even though the man still hadn’t answered his cell phone, John’s most recent call once more going straight to voicemail.

It was strange enough that when John climbed out of the truck he told Sam, “Wait here. I’m going to go to the front desk. Get us a room and see if Jacobs left a message for us. If not, I want to check out his room.”

John was desperate to find his elder son, he didn’t want to wait around for the other hunter to get back from whatever he was doing. Maybe there would be some clue inside to where the other hunter had gone, or about the werewolves and Dean.

Sam obeyed his father for a full ten minutes before getting out of the truck and slamming the door shut behind him. He was going stir crazy and needed to know what was going on, not be told to sit and wait like the child that he’d been so long ago. Yeah, he remembered those days only too well. His dad telling them to stay in some motel room and wait… no explanation, no estimate of when he’d get back, and expecting full obedience.

Well he wasn’t a freakin’ kid anymore, and he didn’t have to ask permission to leave the truck.

Face set and ready for a fight, he walked into the motel lobby. The receptionist was passing his father a key, and predictably, his father didn’t have his back to the door since he didn’t like being taken by surprise. The look of displeasure on his face was equally predictable, but Sam wasn’t going to care. Not now, they had more important things to do.

Turning his palms up as he spread his hands, he silently asked whether there was any news. He didn’t realize it, but he was holding his breath… hoping they had a fighting chance to get his brother back. So much had been left unsaid between them. He’d been so focused on fighting his father, he’d forgotten he’d left his brother standing there after all those years when Dean had been there for him. He needed a chance to apologize for that. Even if Dean was tough as nails and probably didn’t give a crap now, Sam needed to at least put it out there.

John was frowning even before door to the motel lobby opened and his younger son strode inside, even though he’d specifically told Sam to wait for him outside.

He sighed however, and pushed the irritation he felt at that away. One, because he didn’t want to have an argument about it right now when they had more important things to worry about. Two, because he knew Sam was as worried about Dean as he was, and couldn’t really blame him from being impatient.

So John merely shook his head in response to his younger son’s silent inquiry as he finished signing them in with the receptionist. When the man asked him if they needed anything else, John asked if he had any movies to rent, and when the man went into the back to get one, John reached over the counter and grabbed the spare key to Jacob’s room. Unfortunately they didn’t have any time for subtly.

He joined Sam at the door before the receptionist returned. Ushering his son outside where they could speak freely and walking back towards Jacob’s room rather than their own.

“Jacobs didn’t leave anything for us, and the receptionist says he hasn’t seen any vehicles in front of the room for a day or two now even though Jacobs paid for two weeks in advance.” He told Sam with a frown.

Once they reached the door to the other hunter’s room, John let them in with the stolen key, and from the half eaten fast food meal left on the side table, he knew the receptionist had been right. Jacobs hadn’t been back here in a while. But the other man’s things were still here. There were various computer print outs, news paper clippings, a laptop, and other things were scattered over almost every available surface in the room.

“See what you can find.” John told his son, nodding towards the laptop as he picked up a pile of loose papers and started reading through the other hunter’s notes. Looking for clues about his son’s whereabouts.

The room scene was so hauntingly familiar, it made Sam’s heart ache. How many places just like this had they called home for weeks at a time when he’d been a kid? The fast food. The research. The news papers. The towels on the floor… he’d bet the clothes in the closet were blood stained.


Feeling the weight of is father’s gaze, Sam shook off the past and crossed the room to the lap top. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he started going through the files. There were many locked and password protected files, but he’d fool with those later.

He went put in the command to search for ‘most recently accessed documents and files,’ and then when they were pulled up, started skipping through them at lightning speed. Every once in a while, he looked to see what his father was doing, and his grim expression told him he wasn’t finding anything.

Sam started going through the picture files, then stopped. His gut practically froze. “Dad,” he whispered, staring at a black and white photo of various roughed up victims being pulled out of a van. One of them was Dean, and he looked like a broken toy, the way he was being dragged. He hit the ‘next’ button, and felt his jaw tighten. It looked like some sort of animal pen, with dead bodies… and Dean, holding a curved knife. “No…”

John riffled through the papers, that weren’t in any kind of order as far as he could tell, as quickly as he could. So far, unfortunately, nothing he found had mentioned Dean or where exactly Jacobs thought the werewolves actually were, to his increasing frustration.

If something had happened to Jacobs and he hadn’t left anything behind they could use… How were they supposed to find Dean then? They could search the surrounding wilderness literally for months and never find him.

The elder Winchester looked up at the sound of his younger son’s voice, the tone, not to mention the look on Sam’s face telling him even before he walked over to stand behind the younger man to see what he was looking at, he wouldn’t like it. He was right.

The elder man’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the heavily pixilated, but still unmistakably recognizable, photograph of his elder son. Even though the image was poor he could still see how injured Dean was, covered in cuts and bruises, and anger burned hotly through his veins as he glanced at the time stamp on the pictures.

They had been taken over several months time. Jacobs had obviously been tracking the werewolf pack for some time now. Why the other hunter hadn’t moved on them before now, he could only guess. But it was obvious the other man hadn’t been trying to take pictures of Dean. He only had by accident, and if John had only just talked to the man sooner, Jacobs might have recognized Dean earlier, and they could have rescued his son months ago.

John felt sick to his stomach.

“Did you find anything that might tell us where Dean is? A map? Coordinates? Anything?” The elder man finally asked. Swallowing hard as he went back over to the table and started looking through the various stacks of papers even faster. Shoving one stack onto the floor completely in his haste, but underneath to his surprise he found a folded over map of the United States. Several places circled on it, and crossed off. The last place circled here in Washington, and John could only guess this was what Jacobs had been using to track the pack’s movements.

Rubbing his eyes, Sam zoomed in on the first picture and picked up a pen and started writing. “A partial of the van’s plates.” It wasn’t much to go on, not when there wasn’t time... God, let there be time. Let them not have killed Dean, or worse. Sam knew there were worse things than death.

“We could ask around for sightings of the van. It’s a small town.” He was working furiously at the keyboard, hope flaring and dying each time he opened and shut a file that told him nothing. “Dammit...”

He felt like throwing the lap top across the room. “Dad, what’s this guy Jacob’s number?” He brushed the hair out of his eyes. “If he has his cell phone on, maybe we can track him.” Based on the pictures, it was pretty clear there was no way on earth Dean would be in possession of his cell so it was no use tracking Dean, but if they found Jacobs, he could lead them to Dean

After a short exchange, his dad gave him the number. “Let’s hope he’s GPS enabled.” Suddenly, it was like Sam never left hunting. He was so focused on succeeding, so determined, his world narrowed to the one task at hand. In order not to waste time, he set up accounts at various cell phone tracking sites, then got up and paced as he made his phone calls to see which one he could talk into activating tracking immediately.

Desperation was the real mother of invention, and he invented one heartbreaking story after another, and finally smiled at his dad and nodded. “Got it.”

Back at the computer, he watched numbers fly across the screen as repeater triangulations narrowed in on state, county, city, and location. “Near here... look....” Printing off googlemaps, he went back to type in some more information. “Okay, if he goes on the move, we’ll get text messages on my phone.”

Picking up the printout, he walked over and passed it to his father. The satellite picture was not very clear, but it showed a large, lonely structure that was close to town. “Let’s go find him, and then can tell us where f... where he last saw Dean.”

John Winchester was quickly loosing his patience with the situation, if he had any to begin with. Jacobs had promised not to make a move without them until they got there, and now he was nowhere to be found and as far as he could see he’d left nothing behind for them that would help them find his son. They were so close, so close to finding Dean, and now…

The elder man threw a stack of papers on the floor in frustration. He was having no luck, but at least Sam was. Though John frowned a little when the younger man mentioned checking out the license plate number on the van. Which would take time, but wouldn’t be much help if the van was stolen or the werewolves no longer had it. Yes, they could ask around town for information, but again, time. Time they, and Dean, didn’t have.

Then suddenly Sam asked for Jacobs number, and though the elder man frowned in confusion at first, he gave it. Then when his son explained what he was doing John couldn’t help but watch over the younger man’s shoulder unmistakable pride as Sam worked on the laptop. Listened as his son poke on the phone, and within minutes the younger man was handing him a printed out map of where the other hunter was. Or at least his phone. But it was a start.

John smiled at his son and clapped him on the back.

“Lets go.” He said, taking the keys from Sam, locking the door to Jacobs’ room behind them, and getting in the truck. Not even bothering to drop anything off in their own room first before they were driving down the lonely back roads that would take them out past the edge of the town and into the more heavily wooded areas. Where nearly everything was isolated with acres of protected forest land between houses or other structures. Yet still close enough to the small town that ‘supply runs’ could be made.

It looked like a narrow overgrown dirt road would take them up the entire way to the structure on the map. But for the sake of caution John pulled the truck off the road into the trees where it could not be easily seen a little more than a mile away from their destination. They could hike the rest of the way easy enough.

John got out of the truck and went around back. Unlocking the secret compartment where his weapons and other tools for hunting were kept. He handed Sam a semi-automatic and a few clips of silver bullets. He also took out several more guns and ammunition, and put them into a bag. The first aid kit, just in case. As well as a long silver knife that he sheathed at his side.

“Ready?” The elder man asked finally, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

He really was too old to let a little thing like his dad’s approval make him feel good. Then again, these types of moments were few and far between when you weren’t ‘Dean Winchester, hunter, survivalist and con man galore’. If you were just a kid who liked to study and maybe wanted a different life, then you got sloppy seconds.

Sam took the government issue Colt and slapped in a full magazine, racking the slide to chamber the first round. Dropping the rest of the magazines into his pocket, he set the safety on the pistol and nodded. “Ready.”

They didn’t know what they would be facing, but he decided not to holster the pistol until they could assess the situation. They trudged through the woods in silence, both listening and taking note of their surroundings. The sun was shining through the branches, the birds were singing, but who knew what would happen ten minutes from now.

When his father’s hand flew in front of him, Sam stopped and watched as he signaled. Walking slowly around a tree, he saw what appeared to be a sprawling house. It wasn’t in great shape, but it wasn’t exactly falling apart either. But what really captured both men’s attention was the white van in front of the place.

Sam’s hand tightened around his pistol. “Let’s go get Dean.” Giving his dad a determined look, he headed toward the back of the house, staying in the trees for as long as possible, and breaking from them when his father did. They ran the short distance to the house then plastered themselves against the wall to see if they’d been noticed. After a few minutes, Sam pointed up. “Upstairs windows are all boarded up.”

It was eerily silent. Sam couldn’t tell whether it was a good sign or a bad one. He looked inside a first level window. Though there were some old curtains, they weren’t fully closed. He could see the room was empty, as was the hall connecting to the mostly empty room. He tried opening it, but it was locked. Turning, he saw his father was checking the other windows.

The hike through the woods had been uneventful. But neither he nor Sam, much to the older hunter’s approval, had let their guards down for even an instant. They both knew what could be out in these woods, and were prepared for it. Sam falling into step beside him as though the years between when his younger son had left for college and now had never happened.

Before too long they had reached the old crumbling Victorian style mansion deep in the woods. From a distance it looked out of repair and abandoned, but if there was one thing they both knew it was that looks could be deceiving. So they made their way closer even more carefully. Stopping just inside of the thick brush within the tree line.

Though it wasn’t until they saw the van parked in front that John easily recognized from the photos Sam had found on the other hunter’s laptop, that the elder man’s heart rate sped up. Adrenaline coursing through his veins as he realized though they’d been searching for Jacobs, they might have just found where the werewolves were keeping Dean as well. Could they really have been that lucky? But if so, where was the other hunter?

Nodding to his son’s soft words, the two men circled around the house, keeping in the cover of the trees. When they saw no sign of movement or security guarding the house, they quickly moved in closer. Checking a couple of the windows, not surprised to find them locked, but they weren’t wired with an alarm either. So John took out his pocket knife and easily slid the blade up under the old rotted frame. Unlatching the old lock at the top and sliding the window open silently.

Telling Sam to give him a boost first, and once he was inside and sure the coast was clear, helping his son in as well. Everything was quiet. Almost too quiet, and it set him on edge. Jacobs had said there were at least a dozen werewolves in the pack, but where were they?

They made a quick sweep though the first floor of the house and found nothing. No sign of the werewolves or Dean. When they reached the stairs John sighed.

“Let’s split up.” He said, even though he didn’t really like it, it was a huge house and they would cover more ground more quickly if they did. “Head upstairs. I’ll search the basement. Be careful.”

“You too dad, be careful,” Sam answered, staying a moment to watch his father disappear through a doorway leading downstairs. Taking a deep breath, he started to climb the stairs. They’d found nothing on the first floor. Sure there were signs that people were living there. There were beer bottles around, and chairs had been moved to watch the television, but where was everyone?

When he reached the top, he had his pistol pointed in front of him but angled slightly to the ground. Slowly, he headed down the hallway, moving into rooms and quickly scanning them. At the end of the hall, he heard the sound of a television, so he slowed down and crept closer. Through the crack in the door, he saw a burly man in a leather vest drinking beer and staring at the screen. He could have bypassed him, but the matter was out of his hand once a shot rang out from the basement. Not just one, but three back to back.

The man got up so quickly the chair fell from under him. If it weren’t for the way the man’s eyes turned unnaturally gold, Sam would have hesitated. As the man approached, Sam started to shoot, cursing when he started to go wolf and kept coming at him despite his wounds. The snarls and grunts were progressively more animalistic, and Sam knew he had to take him out before he transformed completely.

He moved in, almost but not quite escaping a blow that left his sleeve in shreds. He kicked the thing in the chest, shoving him back as he pointed the gun at its temple and pulled the trigger again. This time, it fell to its knees.

Sam ran out, speeding his progress as he heard more gunshots from downstairs. Where the hell was Dean? He found a locked door and kicked it a few times until it busted open… nothing!

Time was critical now, their presence was known. He swept the next room and the next, until he found another locked door. Breaking it down, he almost walked into pitch black. His eyes adjusted and he saw a bit of light coming through the boards nailed to the window, and then he saw the figure huddled on the ground. “Dean?”

There was no answer, but his gut told him it was his brother. Crossing the room he bent down and saw his bloodied and battered face. His heart constricted with fear and worry. So many words, so many things to say to his brother, but this wasn’t the time. He cupped the side of Dean’s face, searching his eyes for signs of recognition. “We’re getting you out. Now.”

John Winchester took the stairs down into the basement of the mansion slowly. Frowning a little as the old wooden stairs creaked softly under his weight with practically every step. Trying to force his eyes to adjust to the near pitch darkness that greeted him as he descended.

At the bottom of the stairs he paused. His gun held in front of him as he listened intently for any sounds of movement from the darkness in front of him or the floor above him. But he heard nothing except the skittering of rats in the shadows so he continued on.

Keeping his back mostly to the crumbling stone wall as he peered into several rooms but so far they only appeared to be ‘normal’ storage rooms. Food and other items haphazardly stacked or piled on shelves. A larger room seemed to be a slightly upgraded laundry room. Then further he saw what looked to be an old water heater and furnace. Just a ‘normal’ basement.

At least, until he reached the end of the hall and stepped into a room which was obviously the newest in the whole house if lack of rust and dirt on any of the equipment was any indication.

He felt sick to his stomach as he took in the long metal tables bearing dark stains John knew without a doubt was dried blood. Beside one of them neatly laid out were various tools. What looked like a surgical saw, and other items you normally wouldn’t expect to find except in an autopsy room, or a butcher shop… and in the very back a heavy metal door leading to a large walk in freezer…

John had absolutely no desire to see what might be inside. No wish to even consider that was why they had seen so many captives in those photographs along with Dean. He refused to believe that this was where he might find whatever remained of his son. He would tear the rest of the house down stone by stone if he had to searching for his boy before he believed that.

He turned to go back the way he had come, to rejoin Sam, but before he could take a single step the freezer door opened and two large men emerged from inside. Their fronts covered by old dirty white aprons stained with fresh blood, their conversation choked off in mid sentence as they saw him and John didn’t hesitate raising his weapon, shooting the first right between the eyes with deadly accuracy.

The second roared in outrage, and John managed to fire off two more shots quickly, but unfortunately the werewolf jumped backwards into the freezer. His bullets imbedding themselves harmlessly into the heavy metal door that swung shut behind it and John cursed sharply.

John heard echoing gunshots coming from upstairs and fear clenched in his gut, knowing they were from Sam’s gun, that his son was in trouble. One part of him wanting to run immediately and help the younger man, but he couldn’t leave an enemy at his back that could alert even more werewolves to their presence if the gunfire alone hadn’t done that.

The choice was taken from him abruptly when the freezer door burst open again and the werewolf fully changed into his animal form lunged for him with a near deafening roar. So fast that John barely managed to fire off one shot before he dodged and rolled out of the way of the snapping jaws and deadly claws that passed so close to him he actually felt the breeze from the swipe against the side of his neck.

The beast crashed into the wall behind where he had been, and John was on his feet again in less than a second. A good thing, because so was the werewolf and the hunter fired one shot after another as it tried to advance again. The first shot hitting it in the neck, and it roared in pain but kept coming. Once more trying to leap for him but his next bullet pierced directly through the beast’s heart as John jumped back, and the beast landed with a heavy thud at his feet and did not move again.

John wasted no time then leaping over the dead werewolf and running back the way he had come, up the basement stairs, then the ones leading him to the second floor. His heart hammering hard in his chest as he searched for Sam.

***

Dean had thought he heard the sound of gunshots, but he hadn’t been sure. It could have just been thunder, or a memory from his dreams.

It was hard to focus on anything through the intense pain burning though him. Feeling like a hundred knives were slicing him up from the inside out. Making him moan pathetically as he curled in on himself, clutching at his stomach in agony. Sweat beading on his brow and stinging his eyes, mingling with blood.

He tasted blood in the back of his throat…

When the door of his room suddenly burst open, Dean’s eyes snapped open as well, though he could barely focus. Not because of the dark. His eyes had long ago adjusted to the dark. He just… couldn’t… He couldn’t see the figure that slowly approached him, though something about him seemed familiar. The sound of his voice maybe…

Dean blinked rapidly, his eyes falling on and finally focusing on the half empty cup of water that had been left for him earlier. He’d been surprised by that. Considering how the bitch had left, but he hadn’t questioned it because he’d been so thirsty. Maybe, looking back, he should have…

Hindsight was 20/20 but he hadn’t thought that he had angered her so much she would have killed him. At least not like this…

An unexpectedly gentle hand touching his face brought him out of his wandering thoughts and he tried again to focus on the man now kneeling in front of him. Something definitely familiar, tugging at something deep inside him. Dean closed his eyes and breathed deep, and then suddenly he knew. He knew that scent… of course never like this, never this strong before, but he could still never forget it…

“Sammy…?” He wheezed, barely above a breath. Almost unable to believe, unable to hope, in case this was just a hallucination or fever dream brought on by pain. He didn’t think his mind could handle it if that was the case, but he wanted so badly to believe.

“Sam… water… pois…” Dean whispered before he was overcome by another wave of pain that doubled him in half, clutching his stomach and whimpering. The taste of blood now flooding his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s me. I got you now.” Just the few words, and a glance at the nearby mug was all that Sam needed to understand. His relief at finding his brother was layered with concern at the state he’d found him in, but now the added worry about what he might have been forced to ingest weighed on him. What if they’d found Dean only to lose him? No, that wasn’t happening, cause he fucking wouldn’t let it.

He checked the shackles on Dean’s ankles. “Hold still,” then shielding Dean’s body with his in case of a ricocheting bullet, he aimed his pistol at the metal chain and pulled the trigger. Once the links fell apart, he pulled the chain off the cuffs, and put his shoulder under Dean’s arm pit and pulled him up. “Let’s get you out of here, take care of … everything.” One arm around his brother’s waist, the other hand firmly gripping his gun, he started helping him across the room.

It was slow going, and Dean was practically doubled over. He knew his brother had a high pain threshold and that if he could have, he’d demand a gun and be wreaking revenge right now. The fact that he wasn’t was very telling.

“Dad’s here too,” he said, knowing that would be reassuring to his brother. “We expected more… werewolves,” he scrutinized Dean’s face once they were in the lit up hallway. The bruises and blood stood out on his brother’s extremely pale skin. He wanted so much to ask about bites, but kept it to himself for now. They’d deal with one thing at a time.

When they reached the head of the stairs, he tensed at the sound of footsteps. Just as he raised his pistol, he saw his father. They exchanged looks, and without another word, Sam twisted around and hauled Dean up over his shoulder. One hand on Dean’s ass to keep him in place, he started to descend with his father providing cover. It was a good thing he’d kept exercising these past few years or he might not have been able to lift him like this. Still, negotiating the stairs was a bit tricky.

Sam understood. Dean could see it in his eyes. Funny how he could still read those eyes so well, even after all this time. He could see Sam’s relief, as well as his concern, then determination, and he would have liked to reassure his brother somehow, but unfortunately Dean wasn’t up do doing much of anything at the moment.

Well, except nod. He had been able to manage that at least when his brother told him to stay still, and Dean didn’t even flinch at the gunshot. Trusting his brother completely.

Strange how none of this seemed odd to him. After so long, not having seen or even spoken to the younger man in literally years, he did not even question that Sam was here now. He only cared that his brother was here. Really here. It was Sam’s arms around him, helping him up. His brother holding him close, taking him out of this hellhole. That was more than enough for him.

Dean tried, he really tried to walk. To keep up with the younger man, but that was impossible, even with Sam taking practically all of his weight. He was simply in too much pain. Too weak. Shaking and breathing heavily with every stumbling step he took.

He barely registered Sam’s words about their father, but it was almost, if not more surprising, than his brother being here. That both Dad and Sam had come for him. Together… Before he could question it too much though, Sam was mentioning the werewolves and Dean tried to answer. He really did. Most of werewolves were probably at the pens for the other prisoners. Watching the ‘fights’… watching men and women kill each other… they had to help them… But he just couldn’t get more than a strangled moan out of his throat.

Before he knew it, they were at the stairs, and Dean managed to look up when he heard the sound of running footsteps, tensing. But when his eyes met those of his father, he relaxed again, sagging against his brother with a small sigh.

John couldn’t really describe what he felt when his eyes finally fell on his elder son for the first time in months. Relief of course, that almost left him feeling weak, but also seeing his son in such a state filled him with equal amounts of rage at the creatures that had done this to his boy, but also concern. Especially when Sam suddenly hauled Dean up onto his shoulder to carry him, and his elder son did not so much as protest.

The elder man’s eyes locked with Sam’s, not a word passed between them, but there didn’t need to be. John turned around on the stairs, leading the way with his gun raised, and Sam followed behind him closely with his brother. They needed to get Dean out of here. Now. They could deal with the werewolves later.

If either man thought it was strange that they met no further resistance inside the house or outside, neither mentioned it. Once they were back under the cover of the trees, they broke into a run to get back to the truck as fast as they could. John glancing at his son’s every once in a while, concern evident every time he looked at Dean who still had not moved or said anything while his brother carried him. John couldn’t tell if he was even conscious or not.

It wasn’t until they finally reached the truck, and John helped Sam set his brother down that he noticed the blood on Dean’s lips. His son’s skin unnaturally pale, eyes glassy and unfocused. John checked Dean’s pulse, horrified to find how weak it was, and when Sam told him about the poison the elder man's heart rate shot through the roof.

“Get in the truck!” The elder man commanded, fear for Dean’s life making his tone perhaps sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t worry about that right now as he lifted his elder son into his arms and helped settle him into Sam’s lap in the front seat of the truck. Digging the first aid kit out and shoving it into his younger son’s hands as well as he ran around to the other side of the truck and jumped in the drivers seat.

“In the first aid kit there is a bottle of activated charcoal, Sam. The dose is on the bottle. You’ll have to force him to swallow it. It will absorb the poison, keep more of it from getting into his system…” John explained as calmly as he could as the truck peeled out of the woods and back onto the road in a shower of dirt and dead leaves. Barely acknowledging the speed limit laws as he drove. Praying they could get him back to the motel room fast enough to help him. Praying that he hadn’t found his son just to watch him die in his brother’s arms now…

It was convenient, but it scared Sam to death that his brother hadn’t so much as protested the manhandling, the carrying like he was some package. Not a single word escaped Dean’s lips. His brother didn’t try to push off him, or grip him to hang on, or even tense up. The look in his dad’s eyes, and his gruff tone as he ordered them into the truck told Sam there was damned good reason for his fears.

As his dad took off, Sam quickly re-arranged their bodies so they could fit in the front seat and he would have a range of movement to be able to reach the kit. Another close look at Dean’s face, and fuck… he could tell from the anguish in his eyes that his brother was in a hell of a lot of pain. “Dad, maybe we should…” He wanted to say hospital, he wanted Dean’s stomach pumped, he wanted him to have the best chance, even if that wasn’t what hunters did… even if they usually took care of their own. But then, the closest hospital was at least an hour away, and they didn’t have that kind of time. He shook his head and trailed off, instead, doing as his father asked.

Reading the directions on the small bottle, he estimated Dean’s weight and poured a measure of the charcoal into the little cup that came with it. Sliding his hand behind Dean’s head, he brought the cup up to his mouth. “Dean, drink.”

His brother took one mouthful, and then tried to pull away as if the charcoal was causing more pain. “Come on man, you gotta drink it,” he urged, pushing the cup to his mouth again. This close to Dean, he could hear his brother’s stomach literally churning and growling. “Let’s get it in your stomach, it’ll help… Dean.” Frustrated and worried, he forced Dean’s face up and poured into his mouth, even when Dean made choking sounds. “You can kick my ass later, I swear… just get this down. Please.”

Dean had tried to focus on what was happening, he really did. He tried to see, but it was like a thick film had been slid over his eyes, making him unable to focus on anything. He tried to listen, but he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own heart beating loudly in his ears. He tried to understand what was going on. He hated not knowing. But every time he tried to concentrate on what was happening around him, to him, another wave of pain, centered in his gut, would slam through him, making him wish he could just pass out in order to make it stop.

The only thing he was really aware of was moving. Being moved. He couldn’t move by himself. And the only reason he was aware of those things was because the moving made the pain worse. Something he hadn’t even thought possible, but it was. He wanted it to stop. He just… wanted it all to stop. Everything… It didn’t. But he knew when it suddenly changed. When he wasn't being carried anymore. The moving didn’t hurt quite so much now, but that hadn’t stopped the other pain.

Dean was far too disorientated at first to realize what was happening when he felt something being pressed between his lips, something being poured inside his mouth, and at first he swallowed reflexively so he wouldn’t choke. But the second the taste hit his mouth Dean started to resist. Trying to turn his head and close his throat to whatever was being forced inside of him. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t want to know. All he knew was he didn’t want any more pain, and it hurt…

Yet he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t fight it, even though he tried. Tried to hold it in his mouth and not swallow, even when his head was forced back at an uncomfortable angle, and the only choice he was given was to swallow or choke on the foul substance.

Sam… Why was his brother doing this? Why was he trying to hurt him?

Then he heard his brother's voice… or he thought he did… he wasn’t sure anymore… and even though he couldn’t really understand the words, he knew the younger man’s tone. The one that could convince him to do anything. Whether it was giving up his share of the Lucky Charms, or arguing with Dad to let them stay in one place just a couple months longer so Sammy could finish school…

He could never deny that voice anything, so he swallowed. Even as he coughed roughly afterwards. Moaning softly in pain.

John glanced over at his boys, worry etched on every line of his face, but at least Sam had managed to get Dean to drink the charcoal. God, he prayed it would help. If it didn’t… if they were too late… No, he wasn't going to loose his son now. Not after everything. They would be back at the motel in less than five minutes. His eyes back on the road the elder man reached over to grasp Dean’s wrist, his fingers finding the pulse beating weakly, but at least it was still there.

Hold on Dean...

When they finally pulled into the motel parking lot it was with tires screeching the entire way, but John hardly cared. Driving around the back where their room was located and pulling into the parking spot directly in front of their door.

“Do you have him?” John asked quickly. Intending to let Sam take care of bringing his brother inside, and he would bring in the supplies they would need to take care of Dean. But if Sam needed help…

“I’ve got him,” he confirmed, pushing the passenger door open and dragging Dean out with him. “Dad, he’s worse.” The words just fell from his mouth as he held onto Dean who wasn’t even trying to stand anymore. The grunts of pain scared the hell out of Sam. He’d seen Dean shot, cut, battered… but he hadn’t heard him make sounds like this, or give in to pain.

Lifting him once again over his shoulder, Sam rushed the short distance to the motel room door and walked in the minute his father had it open. In a few strides, he was at the side of one of the double beds, laying his brother down. He wiped Dean’s mouth clean of some of the black liquid mixed with blood and struggled against the need to shout that this wasn’t fair, that they’d gotten him out of a den of werewolves and that this… this they could have freakin' done without.

“You’re gonna be alright. Dean can you hear me?” He felt powerless to help his brother and that alone was driving him crazy. His first instinct was to offer water, but he knew that would only dilute both the poison and the charcoal. Brushing Dean’s hair back, he slid his hand down to his shoulder, offering him what comfort he could, and not knowing whether the glazed look in Dean’s eyes meant he didn’t even recognize him anymore. “You’re gonna be okay,” he repeated, looking over at his dad who came up behind him. Suddenly, he felt like he was ten years old all over again, asking his father to give him the reassurance he needed.

John gave a short nod when Sam assured him that he could handle his brother, and wasted no time then getting out of the truck. Quickly moving around to the back and pulling out the duffel that contained most of their first aid supplies. After locking up the truck quickly he ran to the motel door, opening it for Sam letting him in first with Dean and following his son’s inside right after.

While Sam settled his brother into one of the beds, John started emptying the contents of the duffel out on the other. Trying to block out the sounds of pain Dean was making, and Sam doing his best to comfort his brother. He had to keep focused if he was going to be able to help his son.

Gathering what he thought he would need, the elder man moved in beside Sam. Placing a hand briefly on his younger son’s shoulder, offering what reassurance he could, before he turned all his attention on Dean.

His elder son’s eyes were still unfocused, Dean seeming almost completely unaware of his surroundings. But when John shined a small light into them to check for pupil dilation the younger man blinked. He must have been slightly aware then, even though John couldn’t see anything other than pain in his son’s eyes.

The elder man checked his elder son’s pulse next. Carefully counting the beats and timing them to before. Even though he did not like the weak rapid pulse, not to mention Dean’s quick short breaths, at least it was no worse from before. That was something. But the dark red blood staining his son’s lips was extremely worrying. From the color alone John could tell it came from Dean’s stomach, and the elder man slid his hands down to press lightly against his son’s abdomen. Causing Dean to nearly come off the bed with a cry.

“Sam, hold him down!” His told his younger son, swallowing hard around the tightness in his throat, blinking away the wetness in his eyes, seeing Dean in such pain caused. John had a needle full of morphine ready to give his son, but he had to make sure first… The elder man shifted his hands a little lower on Dean’s abdomen, below his stomach where his intestines would be and pressed down again. Dean whimpered softly, but the reaction wasn’t nearly as bad, and John let out a small sigh of relief.

Whatever the poison was, Dean must have only just ingested it recently. It hadn’t gotten past his stomach into his intestines yet, which was where most of it would have been absorbed into his blood. If the charcoal worked like it should, it should stop most, if not all, of the poison from being absorbed into his son’s body.

He only wished he knew exactly what poison his son had been given. The activated charcoal was the most common treatment for poisoning used in emergency rooms, but it wasn’t effective against all poisons. What if it did not help his son at all? There was no way to know until it would be too late…

John swabbed his son’s arm with an alcohol wipe and picked up the needle with the painkiller, and injected it into Dean’s vein. As the younger man slowly began relax as the drugs kicked in, John continued to examine his son’s stomach. Noting the various bruises along Dean’s abdomen, but none of them seemed to be signs of internal bleeding.

“I think we were lucky, Sam.” He told his younger son, giving Sam a small smile when Dean blinked and looked like he was starting to come around a little now that the pain had begun to recede.

Holding Dean down like that while his brother was struggling against the pain was one of the hardest things Sam had done. His lashes were wet, but he didn't know if it was from having to watch his dad inflict the pain, or from seeing the tears held back in their father's own eyes. Either way, by the time the examination was over and Dean started to calm as a result of the pain meds, Sam had a lump the size of Texas in his throat.

"Lucky. Right," he closed his eyes and told himself it was true. It could be worse. Dean could be dead. He could still... No. He fought the icy fingers of fear invading his belly. They'd gotten this far, and they weren't gonna lose him. No way.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his father's gaze on Dean, then their eyes met. The big white elephant in the room was the question of whether Dean had been bitten. "Let him rest a while," Sam whispered, half expecting an argument or a contradictory order. When his father let it go, he turned back to Dean and took off his shoes and got him as comfortable as he could.

A little later, crossing the room, he sat at the little table. He hadn't sat across a table from his father in years, and it was a bit awkward when his dad sat down too. There was so much unsaid between them. So much that would always be unsaid because whenever they tried to talk about the things that mattered, it turned into a shouting match.

Sam dry washed his face. "Dad? Thanks." He looked at him. "For getting me."

John nodded a little when Sam suggested that they let Dean rest. There was more that needed to be done. Questions that needed to be asked, and answered, but for now they could wait.

So the elder man stood by and watched as Sam did his best to make his brother comfortable. Noting to his relief that his elder son had relaxed even more, his breathing beginning to even out, by the time his brother was covering him up lightly with a sheet.

“Get some sleep, son.” John said softly as he ran his fingers lightly through Dean’s hair. He wasn’t even sure if his son heard him or not, but a moment later Dean’s eyes slid closed and the elder man straightened up. All they could really do now was wait.

John joined his son, sitting down opposite him the room’s only table. It was either that, or pace. Adrenaline still pumping fast through his veins making it difficult to stay still. His fingers clenched and unclenched where they rested on the table between them.

He wanted to go back. To where they’d found Dean. Put a bullet between the eyes of every fucking animal there that had done this to his son. The elder man didn’t think he’d ever felt such rage towards something they’ve hunted, aside from the creature that had killed his wife all those years ago.

The elder man pushed that anger down, however. As strong as it may be, it would not control him. Taking care of Dean, making sure his older son was all right. That came first. After that, the beasts would pay for every drop of blood that Dean had spilled with their own.

His eyes turned to Sam when his younger son finally spoke. A little surprised by the words, but he didn’t hesitate replying honestly, “I’m glad you were with me.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Me too.”

They discussed their theories as to where Jacob and the other human captives were, but knew they’d have to wait until Dean was better to get the details. His dad said he’d get a couple hunters together and take care of the whole pack. The way he said it scared the hell out of Sam. He’d hate to be on the other side of John Winchester when he had revenge burning in his eyes.

Oddly, they didn’t argue or fight at all. They spoke in low tones, each one occasionally checking on Dean. It was a relief to see that his brother’s pain had eased, and that he was actually resting.

Glancing at him, he noticed that while Dean was still pale, there was a slight sheen on his forehead. Pushing away from the table, he walked to the bed and touched his brother’s forehead, then looked at his dad. “He’s burning up. I think we should give him a cool bath.”

At the older man’s nod, Sam went and started the bathwater running and came back to strip his brother. There was a time when their roles were reversed. When he was young, too young to go on those week long hunts they used to go one. They’d get back home... wherever their home of the moment was, and he’d collapse somewhere with his clothes on and refuse to change. All he wanted was sleep. But Dean would change him and tuck him in, or make him bathe if he stank.

“Dean, sit up,” shaking his brother awake, he helped him up and took off his shirt. Unbuttoning his pants and tugging on the zippers, he had Dean stand, leaning his entire weight on him, and pulled his dirty and bloodied jeans clear off. “Come on, let’s get you into the bath.”

Once they made it to the bathroom, he pulled Dean’s shorts off. “I’d make some sort of locker room joke, but that’s your job,” his gaze never left Dean’s face. “In you go.”

As Dean stepped in, he almost slipped out of Sam’s arms. “Oh fuck,” gripping him tight, Sam let out a sigh of relief. All they’d need was for Dean to hit his head and it would be complete clusterfuck. Slowly, he lowered him inside the water.

Dean hadn’t been asleep. Not really. He didn’t let himself sleep. Maybe because a part of him was afraid if he did he would wake up to find this had all been a dream. He didn’t think he could handle that. So he forced himself to stay awake, though he let his eyes remain closed and his thoughts drift. The drugs he’d making him feel a little sluggish, but they also numbed and relaxed him and left him feeling pleasantly high.

He was glad that Dad had given him the good shit.

Dad… he still almost couldn’t believe it. His dad had finally come for him. Dad and Sam. His brother. His Sammy. He could hear them talking. Not far away, their voices pitched low, probably so they would not disturb him. Too low for him to pick out the actual words, but it still had to be one of the most amazing things he’d ever heard in his life. He never thought he’d hear that again.

Even before the werewolves…

When he felt soft cool fingers brush against his forehead he couldn’t help but smile faintly. He was happy. Really happy. For the first time in literally months. Just because Sam was there. He didn’t even care how crappy he felt.

He finally cracked his eyes open when his brother shook him a little, telling him to sit up, and then Dad was there helping him too. Stripping him out of his dirty and blood stained clothes that Dean was more than happy to be rid of. He leaned heavily against Sam when his brother pulled him to his feet.

John remained in the main room for the moment to clean up after them, letting Sam take care of his brother. Throwing the dirty ruined clothing into a plastic bag, and stripping the bed Dean had been laying in of the dirty sheets. Pulling a set of clean ones out of the closet and making the bed so his son would have a clean place to lay once he was out of the bathroom.

Dean found he did not want to let go of his brother, even when this violated all of his ‘no chick flick moment’ rules. His arms remaining around the younger man securely, and strangely he felt no sense of modesty or shame, even when his brother stripped him completely naked after helping him into the bathroom. Aside from the fact that he didn’t think he could stand up on his own without the support, feeling as wobbly as a newborn colt, he just… wanted to be close to him. To feel him. Smell him. Proving to himself again and again that his brother really was there.

“Sam…” Dean started to say, but he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say to his brother. His head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton either from the drugs or the fever, he wasn’t sure. Making it hard to think. So when Sam told him to get into the tub, he merely nodded, and tried to do as his brother said.

Feeling his feet go out from under him almost immediately when he tried to move on his own, but Sam’s arms caught him and held him securely, and Dean tightened his own arms around his brother reflexively. Burying his face against the younger man’s neck, breathing him in deeply even as Sam started to lower him down into the cool water.

“Don’t leave…” Dean managed to mutter softly, hopefully, looking up into his brother’s eyes when the younger man finally pulled away enough that he could see them.

It was like a dagger to Sam’s heart. Guilt washed over him. He’d left his brother behind once before, and he wasn’t so sure that Dean wasn’t talking about that. Gazes locked, he made his promise. “I won’t. I won’t Dean, I’m right here... as long as you need me. Right here.”

Still holding him, he helped Dean lay back in the water. “I know the water’s cold, but you’ve got a fever. We’ve got to get it down. And we’ll get you cleaned up, alright? You don’t have to answer if it’s too hard. Just want you to know what’s going on.”

Gently, he washed Dean’s face and then started to soap his shoulders and arms. Seeing the bruises and the cuts, he bit his lip. While his brother had been beaten and tortured and put through things he might not even be able to imagine, over the last few months, Sam had been ever so comfortable at home. Lattes, study hall, brewskies at the pub, laughter... softness. Moved, he felt his throat constrict again.

Unable to help himself, he leaned down and hugged Dean tight, not caring he was getting wet in the process. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dean. I was... so scared of what we’d find.” Yeah, he was getting in his chic flick moments before his brother could fight back, and it was a dirty rotten trick, but he needed this. “I...”

Sam’s soft promise was like a balm to a wound that had been hurting for so long that he’d almost forgotten about it until the pain was suddenly gone. Dean swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, his chest feeling tight, and he was glad that his brother didn’t expect him to answer because he didn’t think he could.

He just felt… overwhelmed. By everything. A couple of hours ago he’d been little more than a broken plaything for that psychotic werewolf bitch. With no hope in the immediate future other than more pain and humiliation that he had been enduring for the past six months. And now…

He felt like a child waking up from a bad dream. A six month long nightmare, he just couldn’t believe was finally over, and what was more, Sam was here with him. His brother, who he’d never thought he’d see again. Literally a dream come true. And damn it he just wanted to hold onto the younger man and never let go.

Dean didn’t even care how uncomfortably chilly the water felt against his overheated skin. He simply closed his eyes and let Sam take care of him. Letting his brother wash his face gently, the younger man’s hands sliding down to his shoulders and arms when he was done, and while a part of him knew he should be putting up some kind of protest over the treatment, he didn’t.

It wasn’t Sam’s job to take care of him, certainly not like this. But he had been hurting for so long, and his brother’s fingers just felt so damn good he didn’t want Sam to stop. He could feel embarrassed later, as far as he was concerned.

So when his brother leaned in and hugged him close, the only sound Dean made was one of contentment. Like a low purr in the back of his throat as he wound his arms around his little brother. His fingers finding their way into Sam’s soft hair and pulling him even closer. Burying his face against the surprisingly soft skin of the younger man’s throat and inhaling Sam’s scent deeply. Letting it wash over him like a warm comforting blanket.

“Sammy… missed you…” He whispered close to his brother’s ear. “So much…”

If he weren’t swamped by guilt, Sam would have laughed. Dean would totally hate his loopy counterpart and call him a sap, or worse. But the reality was that Dean had missed him not just these six months, but far longer. In his selfish need to get away from their life style, Sam had taken up all these new things, like school, and a girlfriend... and yeah, he’d missed Dean, but he’d had a lot of shiny new things that helped him fill the hole in his life.

He let Dean hold him a moment longer. “I did too. I should have called you. I should have...” he pulled back so he could look his brother in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I have a lot to answer for. Okay... relax now, let me get the rest of you.”

In his drugged up state, Dean’s reaction time seemed slow and it took him a while to listen to his instructions. But soon Sam was free to finish washing him.

He got Dean’s back, his hips, and one leg. He tried not to be obvious about scrutinizing him, but he was looking for marks. He was almost home free... almost... when he stopped and stared at the angry red teeth mark standing out on the flesh of Dean’s inner thigh. Feeling like he’d been sucker punched, Sam tried to breathe as he stared and ran his hand with disbelief over the wound.

As much as it comforted him to hear Sam say that he missed him to, Dean didn’t really want to hear the rest right now. Didn’t want to be reminded of the year and a half that he could have talked to Sam, but didn’t, after his brother had left their family. He didn’t want to think about it because it would only make him upset, and he just wanted to enjoy the fact that Sammy was back and here with him now. The rest wasn’t important.

So when Sam suggested that they finish getting him cleaned up, he merely nodded. Letting the younger man move him pretty much any way he wished since he was having such a hard time getting his body to cooperate on its own.

He really liked the feeling of Sam’s hands moving across his back. Despite the heavy bruising from the last beating he’d been given, it felt good, and Sam’s hands were careful. But then, his brother’s hands always were. Even when the sasquatch had developed paws the size of catcher’s mitts.

After a rather brief awkwardness during his teenage years, his brother had developed a kind of grace and precision in everything he did that never failed to amaze him. Not that he’d ever admit it. Even with his inhibitions shot to hell by morphine.

Dean smiled a little when his brother’s hands ran across the ticklish spots on his ribs, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the side of the tub when Sam’s touch moved lower. Over his hips and down one leg and he had to bite his lip to stifle a soft moan that threatened to escape. His thoughts drifting further out of his control the more he relaxed. Less concerned with the knowledge that he shouldn’t be enjoying this so damn much, and just wanting his brother to…keep going… He wanted more…

When his brother’s fingers ghosted over his inner thigh, his breath caught a little. Almost not registering the slight sting of pain when Sam touched the tender wound there. Though he did notice when his brother’s fingers stopped, and his eyes were already sliding open, questioning, even before he heard his father’s voice from the doorway.

“Sam, almost done?” John asked as he stepped into the bathroom.

When Sam looked up at his father, the misery was plain in his eyes. “Almost,” he answered in a strained whisper. Unable to bring himself to say the words, he literally pushed Dean’s leg up from under the now murky water to show his father the bite.

Letting the leg drop, he added. “It’s infected. That’s probably why Dean’s got a fever.”

Passing the soap to Dean to let him take care of his privates, his gaze once again met his father’s. He was trying to stay calm. Trying to fight against the panic building up inside him. Seeing his father’s naturally stern face, another fear niggled at his brain. What if they didn’t find a cure? What if his father thought to put a bullet in Dean’s head to end as a last resort?

The thought of anyone harming Dean anymore, even hypothetically, made Sam’s blood boil. His stare took on a harder edge. “We’ll fix him or else I’ll watch him every month, if necessary.” The warning was clear to his parent, he didn’t even have to say the words telling him not to even think about his ‘last resort’ solution.

The expression on his younger son's face when Sam finally turned to look at him hit John Winchester like a blow to the stomach. He almost did not even need to see it, when the younger man showed him the angry infected bite mark on his elder son's inner thigh. The look on Sam's face had told him everything, and somehow he'd just known…

Still when he saw the bite, it felt like all of the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room, and he was forced to put a hand out on the door to steady himself. Fighting desperately to maintain some expression of calm when all he really wanted to do was scream in rage.

He couldn't believe this was happening. Or maybe he simply didn't want to believe it. For months he thought he had lost his son, found him, and now this…

Dean didn't seem aware at all of the tension in the room. Taking the small bar of soap away from his brother and washing himself without any apparent care in the world. The elder man knew his 'obliviousness' was most likely due to the drugs, or the fever, or both. Dean had to know what had been done to him, but at the moment, his son obviously didn't care. Dean only seemed genuinely… happy… Even when it felt like the whole damn world was falling apart, and John fought against the hot sting of tears crowding behind his eyes.

Sam's words snapped his attention back to his younger son, the sharpness of Sam's tone, the look in his eyes, as though John were suddenly some kind of danger, hit him hard. Dean was his son, damn it! What did Sam think he was going to do to him? But the elder man swallowed down the automatic defensive reply that wanted to escape, if only because Dean had finished and was now looking back and forth between his father and brother questioningly.

"We'll talk about this later, Sam." John said as calmly a he could manage right now. They had just gotten Dean back, he was sick and injured, and the last thing he needed to see right now was the two of them fighting. Worse, fighting about him.

"Dad?" Dean asked softly, and John gave his elder son a reassuring smile he hoped did not look as forced as it felt.

"It's alright, Dean. Let's get you back to bed now." The elder man said as he moved to help Sam get his brother out of the tub.

As soon as his father had a towel around Dean, and Sam was helping him step out, Sam made sure his eyes locked with his father’s. “There’s nothing to talk about. If he’s not cured, you’ll give him to me.” He wasn’t backing down on this, and he needed his father to understand... even if it made things awkward.

One arm behind Dean, he started to walk inside, still tense but glad to see that Dean was walking a bit better. When they reached the bed, Dean simply let the towel fall.

Sam gave something between a cough and a groan at being flashed, but got over it and helped Dean put on some briefs. Seeing the sloppy smile on Dean’s face, he had a sneakin’ suspicion his brother was just testing his sensibilities. Using only one finger, he pushed Dean’s chest, but caught him before he fell all the way back, gently laying him down on the bed.

He started to part Dean’s legs and felt some resistance. “Just gonna take care of this, okay? Dean?” Locking gazes with his brother, forced his knee to turn out. Behind him was the first aid kit. Grabbing it, he rifled through it and found the items he needed.

“Gonna hurt a little.” He felt his father moving around the room, but didn’t look at him. That little exchange had put an end to the relative truce they’d reached only a short time ago. Letting out a deep breath, Sam bent over Dean and using a peroxide-iodine mix, started to clean his wound. He tried to be gentle, but he had to remove the damaged skin. “Dean, don’t move.” Using one hand to press down on his thigh, he continued with short strokes until the wound was completely clean.

Though he might have looked like the epitome of calm as he applied antibiotic cream and taped up the wound, inside, he was full of icy fury. If he ever got his hand on the werewolf that had done this to his brother, that fucker would be dead faster than even his dad could shoot.

He ran his hand over the bandaging when he was done, then pulled only a light sheet over Dean. His brother still felt warm, but at least he wasn’t burning up. “Get some rest, okay? And water.” He brought a bottle of water to Dean’s lips as it was easier than trying to make him drink from a cup. “At least have a little, okay?”

His younger son’s words, not to mention the look the younger man had given him, made John Winchester stop. Forcing him to hang back as Sam helped Dean back to bed by himself, because if he hadn’t he probably would have grabbed the younger man and shook him until his teeth rattled.

Give him to me... If he’s not cured... Sam had demanded like Dean meant nothing more to his father than a piece of meat being fought over by two angry dogs. As though John would simply throw Dean away, or worse....

Dean was his son God damn it!

John knew he might have made some mistakes... especially with Sam, considering his younger son obviously hated him so much he actually believed that he could somehow hurt Dean. Like it was even possible. The elder man would have an easier time putting a gun to his own head and pulling the trigger. He would do anything for his boys, either of them, and if it was the last thing he did on this earth he would find a way to save Dean. With or without Sam’s ‘blessing’.

The elder Winchester paced around the motel room like an angry caged animal. The fragile reigns on his temper threatening to break like a rubber band that had been stretched too far beyond its limit and Dean was blissfully unaware of the state his father was in. His every sense so focused on his brother it was like nothing else in the world existed. His eyes never left the younger man. Drinking him in as though he feared if he even blinked that his brother would vanish like a ghost. The arm his brother had around him for support simply didn’t seem enough. He wanted to wrap both of his arms tightly around the younger man. Pull Sam against him tightly so there wasn’t a place the two of them did not touch. Bury his face into his brother’s neck and just breathe him in.

He did not want anything between them... nothing...

Dean let the towel slip off his hips when they reached the bed, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the sound his brother made. He always did enjoy teasing the younger man. That hadn’t changed in the least, and he felt drunk enough on pain medication to feel playful. He managed to remain balanced enough on his feet by himself to allow the younger man to get some underwear on him, but the slight push Sam gave him had him toppling backwards with a laugh.

He wasn’t surprised when his brother’s arms caught him however, laying him back the rest of the way onto the bed gently. He trusted Sam completely. Though when he felt his brother’s hands pushing his legs open, Dean looked up questioningly at the younger man for a moment before he relaxed and let Sam do what he wanted.

Nodding a little in understanding, even though his thoughts were growing foggier by the second now that he was back in bed, relaxed, and comfortable. Even when Sam started cleaning the bite mark on his inner thigh, which did hurt a little, so he focused instead on his brother’s other hand. Letting his eyes drift shut as he concentrated on the warmth soaking into his sensitive skin where Sam had never really touched him before but he... liked it. A soft moan slipping from his lips involuntarily when his brother’s fingers brushed over the bandage once he was finished.

Dean blinked his eyes open when he felt the cool sheet cover him, smiling faintly up at the younger man with what could only be complete adoration. He was tired. More than ready to sleep again, but when Sam pressed the bottle of water to his lips, he drank slowly. Because his brother had asked, even though his stomach felt a little queasy. The small sips of water he managed made his throat feel better at least, but Dean felt completely exhausted by the time he was finished.

His eyelids felt like they had heavy weights drawing them down and he didn’t resist it. After all, Sammy was there, Dad was there, he knew he was safe now.

Once John Winchester saw that his elder son was asleep, the last bit of restraint he had managed to keep on his temper seemed to snap and he wasted no time closing the distance he’d kept until now between him and his sons. Grabbing Sam quite literally by the scruff of his neck as he dragged the younger man out the door of their motel room. Shoving his son up against the wall and holding him there with a first curled in the front of Sam’s shirt. His eyes sparking with fury as they glared into his younger son’s.

“I am going to say this only once, boy. Because if I have to repeat it I won’t hesitate to kick your scrawny ass into next week.” John all but growled, giving the boy a shake like he wasn’t all that convinced himself he wouldn’t make good on his threat right now.

“I am your father, god damn it. Dean may be your brother, but he is my son! Don’t you dare think that you are the only one who cares about him. And if you ever talk to me, or treat me, like I am a danger to my own son again...”

The elder man took a deep breath. Fighting to reign in his emotions and calm down if only so they wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. Either from passers by or from Dean inside the room.

“I have no intention of giving up on Dean. Ever! If it is the last thing I do on this earth, I’m going to find a way to cure him. But we’ve got a hell of a lot more to worry about right now than that. You know your brother. This is not going to be easy for him, especially when he gets close to changing. The hard part is not going to be keeping him restrained when he turns so he doesn’t go out and kill innocent people. The hard part is going to be keeping him safe from himself. Not to mention other hunters if it ever gets out that he was bitten! If he’s even going to make it long enough for us to find a cure, we have to be together on this, Sam. Not fighting each other every step of the way!”

“What the fuck—“

Sam hadn’t been expecting to be manhandled… literally shoved out the door and slammed back against the wall. He started to fight his father, to push him away, to try to force him to break his tight hold on his clothes. He only quit struggling because of the passersby, but he was furious. As furious as one John Winchester.

As his father shook him in his rage, Sam’s nostrils flared. His fists were balled up, even as he merely used them to prevent his father from pulling his clothes so tight they put too much pressure on his throat.

He half listened to his father’s passionate speech. Whether he knew it or not, his father was as zealous as the next hunter, and that was Sam’s problem with this whole situation. “It'll be hard to keep him safe from himself? Why? Huh dad? Why? Because he knows for a fact anything different, anything not human is evil and must be killed? And who taught him that?” He did push back now. “That’s exactly why I’m afraid of what happens to him when and if you figure out there’s nothing you can do to get him back.”

As those words... those fears tripped from his mouth, he felt his gut wrench. He had to believe there would be a solution. Had to. Cause Dean… Dean had to be alright. He just had to.

He took a couple of deep breaths, his chest heaving with the exertion. “Forget everything in the middle… what’s your last resort? What’s plan B if all else fails? That’s what I’m afraid of, because dad… you do what you have to do. You always have… and if you come to the conclusion that he…” He felt tears sting his eyes. “You might do it to ‘help him.’ You might do it to save the world. You might hate yourself for it, but you’d…”

Staring into his father’s haunted and angry eyes, he saw Dean reflected in them. “You’d do it as surely as Dean would do it.” His shoulders started shaking as thoughts of every way he might lose his brother passed his mind. “Let me go,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. He needed to get away, he didn’t want his father seeing him like this.

Sam’s broken words, all of his son’s worst fears laid out on the table between them, wrenched the elder man’s heart. A single tear slipping down John’s cheek before he realized it, and he didn’t care enough to wipe it away. Not when all that was left on this earth he cared about was in danger of falling apart at his feet. His younger son’s question echoing over and over in his head.

What’s your last resort?

John didn’t know. He honestly had no clue what his last resort would be. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his sons. Nothing. What he might do... to save Dean... some of the possibilities should have probably frightened him. And, yes, some of the possibilities, he might hate himself for... but that wouldn't stop him.

He would bleed for his sons. He would kill for them. He would die for them... The only thing, the only thing he could not imagine doing for his boys, would involve either young man’s blood on his hands.

Let me go.

John shook his head. No. Never. He wasn’t giving up on Dean. He sure as hell was not going to give up on Sam either. The elder man dragged his son to him, wrapped his arms tightly around the younger man, and refused to let go.

It had been almost longer than John could remember the last time Sam had wanted, or needed, this kind of comfort from him. There was a very good chance that his son would not want it now, either, and if Sam pushed him away, he would let go. But he had to try, because he simply refused to give up.

“I swear, Sam. No matter what it takes, we won’t loose him. You won’t loose him.”

At first, Sam was stiff and uncomfortable, fighting the instinct to just run away and nurse his own wounds. But his father’s arms were strong, and his words… they offered hope and comfort. But what really got to him was the tears in his father’s eyes and the way his voice broke when he spoke. This was one of those rare moments when his father dropped his masks, dropped his hard taskmaster role, his agendas, and was… was a father. He’d lived for those short, ‘in between” moments, as a child, and he found it was no different now.

Suddenly hugging his father back, uncaring of who saw, he nodded as tears slipped past his eyelids. “Okay dad. We’re gonna save him. We won’t lose him. We won’t.”