Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He literally never saw it coming.

Coffee in the early morning had been a way to show his appreciation for Dean who had not only taken him back after the whole I’m-possessed-and-I-shot-you thing, but was working incredibly hard to pretend everything was normal. Like he wasn’t watching Sam when he thought Sam wasn’t looking, or that he suddenly wanted to go with Sam whenever there was somewhere to go.

They also weren’t talking about the fact that when it looked like Sam had truly gone evil with his powers, Dean had refused to pull the trigger.

But coffee before Dean woke up had sounded great, and it had only been right next door. How could that possibly have gone wrong? Two cups and a bag of pastries later, he’d been walking back across the parking lot when something had come down, hard, on the back of his head.

Then all Sam saw was black.

The first thing Dean looked for when he woke up was Sam. The motel room looked and sounded quiet, and Sam’s bed was empty. His jacket also wasn’t over the back of the chair.

Dean immediately sat upright. “Sam?” he called.

No response.

Curses poured out of mouth, but they were only there to cover the fear that shot through his body. This was an echo of a month ago, waking up to find Sam completely missing, searching everywhere and coming up empty. Little brother gone.

Dean realized he was already on his feet and forced himself to focus and breathe. This wasn’t Sam’s fault. Sam hadn’t left of his own accord last time, had spent over a week with a demon locked inside of him, keeping him prisoner, violating him. Sam wouldn’t leave on his own. He’d been so freaking careful to never leave without Dean, telling Dean every time he went out, all because he was terrified of it happening again.

…Okay, Sam was terrified of more than that but Dean hadn’t been able to talk about it. He’d sort of hoped that he could let it slide, if he ignored it that it would go away. They wouldn’t have to talk about Dean’s distrust, his paranoia, his inability to cut Sam down if Sam posed a threat. And he knew Sam knew, knew that he needed to really talk to Sam and say that he trusted Sam but not the world, that he was paranoid of things constantly trying to take and hurt his little brother, and that he’d never really been able to consider hurting Sam, let alone kill him.

He’d meant to, at least. He just hadn’t done it yet. And now Sam was missing, again.

He forced himself to look over the room again. Shoes and jacket gone, bag still where it was, toothbrush neatly put in line on the sink. The toothpaste was smoothed out again, Sam’s OCD that had raged out of control after Meg still rearing its head. Yeah, all right, he should’ve talked to Sam. He would, once he figured out where the hell Sam was.

Phone first. He grabbed the phone on the desk, or would have, if there hadn’t been a note on it in Sam’s handwriting. Coffee and breakfast next door, be right back. -S

Relief hit first. Guilt hit second. Sam was a grown man, he shouldn’t have had to leave a note for Dean to know he was coming back. Dean didn’t often leave notes for Sam.

Maybe he should. Maybe he needed to trust Sam more.

Or maybe he needed to have a way to keep Sam safe from demons.

Phone in pocket, he slid on his boots and hurried out the door. Columbus wasn’t exactly the world’s warmest climate, but for finding a little brother who’d gone next door to the café, he’d be fine. No sign of Sam outside, so Dean went to tie his boots before he went to the café. Last thing he needed was to show up looking as crazed and frantic as he felt. His heart rate felt a little wild and his fingers shook a little while he tied his shoes. He used to be better at the whole adrenaline thing.

Kneeling to tie his shoes put his near enough to the ground to spot the cups. Two coffee cups, splattered in the parking lot, a lone paper bag next to them. Dean froze.

An instant later he was up and running over to the scene. The cups still felt warm on the side, indicating they hadn’t been abandoned long. The paper bag held two very smooshed pastries inside: a bear claw and a croissant. His favorite and Sam’s.

Shit.

He gave up on decorum. “Sam?” he yelled across the parking lot. His heart was going a million miles an hour now, pounding hard enough in his chest to seriously ache. “Sam!”

No response. A few people walking in the early hour glanced at him oddly before continuing on. None of them were 6’4” and shaggy haired. Shit shit shit.

Frantically he scanned the parking lot. There were few vehicles in the place, with the Impala gleaming in the early morning sun. Otherwise, just a few clunkers, a sedan, a mini-van, and a motorcycle. Nobody walking to their car, nobody driving away.

Nobody making deep tire marks in the pale concrete.

Slowly Dean stepped over to the marks. Those hadn’t been there the night before; he’d have noticed those. And they were conveniently next to Sam’s dropped breakfast. Might not have been a demon, but Sam was still missing and most likely taken all the same.

Nobody was taking his little brother. Not again.

Dean’s eyes went up this time, scanning the area, before finding what he wanted: a security camera hanging by the office of the motel. Resolved, he headed towards the office.

When he could see again, the room was empty of people.

It wasn’t empty of other things: cardboard boxes went all the way up to the impressive ceiling. The metal beams above him and the metal walls around him spoke of a warehouse, even if the boxes hadn’t given it away. Sam blinked and tried to focus on the box in front of him, but his head ached something fierce, and he rubbed at it.

Or tried to. His hand stayed firmly behind him, and he finally registered the cold sensation wrapped around his wrists as handcuffs. His feet were similarly bound to the metal chair he was seated in. He pulled hard at his wrists and tried to wobble the chair. If he could get a leg up, he could pull the binding on a foot free, and then he could get the other foot free—

“About time you woke up.”

Sam went still and glanced up. Two men came into view, and they both looked familiar. Not in face so much as clothing: thick jacket, work pants and jeans, heavy-duty boots. Button-up shirts beneath the jackets to make for quick removal due to cleaning or need for a tourniquet.

Sam felt his heart sink. Hunters. These were hunters. “Where am I?” he asked. His voice didn’t echo as much as he thought it would with all the boxes around. “There a reason you kidnapped me?”

“Oh, don’t be coy, Winchester, it doesn’t suit you,” the one of the left snapped. He crossed his arms and glared at Sam beneath a mop of blonde hair. “You know damn well why we brought you here.”

They knew his name, they knew who he was. Sam settled back against the chair and tried to fidget with the handcuffs again. They felt heavier than he’d originally thought, though, and when he glanced down at his ankles, he was surprised to find that they weren’t ropes holding him, they were honest to god chains.

He glanced back up at them, only to find the one on the right nodding grimly under his bushy beard. “You thought we wouldn’t find out what you did to Steve? You think we wouldn’t hunt you down and treat you like the monster you are?”

Oh god. “I didn’t kill him,” Sam said, but the second hunter cut him off.

“We saw the footage – not the footage of you inside, since that got all scrubbed – but the footage of you going in and coming out, all bloody when you left. Steve’s left a mutilated mess and you just happened to go in and leave, getting all bloody, and you didn’t do it?”

“I didn’t,” Sam began, but the bearded hunter suddenly came forward and punched him, hard. His head flew back, cheek on fire, head ringing even more.

“Don’t lie to me, monster,” the hunter seethed. “You killed a damn good hunter for no goddamn reason, you sick bastard. I don’t put much stock in Gordon’s crap but I’m starting to think he was right about you.”

“Gordon should be lucky you didn’t kill him too,” the blonde hunter said. He shook his head. “You crossed a line. And we’re here to make sure it doesn’t get crossed again.”

“I was possessed,” Sam insisted, but both hunters just glared at him. “I was!”

The hunter with the beard spit at him, making him jerk away reflexively. “Yeah, sure you were.”

Sam forced his chin up. It was just him against two hunters, two pissed-off hunters that were angry for a good reason. Who knew if Dean would even find him. Who knew if Dean was even looking for him, after what had happened the last couple of times. “So why not just kill me?” he asked. It was a reasonable question. And one that would hopefully buy him a little time. The chains rattled as he shifted in his chair.

The first hunter turned away to a small table. The one with the beard jerked his head towards the guy. “Dave and me, we want answers. Real answers. How you went from a respected hunter to a killer. And who else you’re in with. Like that brother of yours.”

“Dean’s got nothing to do with this,” he said immediately. The first hunter, Dave, snickered.

“Told you that’d be his response, Al. Winchesters are loyal to each other. I feel bad for Dean, man. Stuck with a monster for a brother and still won’t cut him loose.”

“Bet he doesn’t know,” Al said, stroking his beard. “We’re doing him a favor. Unless he’s a part of it.”

Panic settled into Sam’s already frayed nerves and forced him to start breathing evenly, measured breaths that didn’t give away how fast his heartbeat was racing or how much his fingers trembled behind him. “He’s not part of anything. Leave Dean alone.”

“Then I guess you’d best start answering questions,” Al said, and Dave turned around. There was an electric cattle prod in one hand, and the largest bottle of holy water Sam’d ever seen in the other. Sam froze.

Al smirked, but it was ugly and it matched the rage in his eyes. “I don’t know what kind of monster you are, Sam Winchester, but you’re not hurting any other good hunters.”

“I was possessed,” Sam tried again, and Dave suddenly yanked his hair back with the cattle prod hand and poured the bottle over his face. The water didn’t seem to have an end and Sam choked, trying desperately to breathe through water. The onslaught didn’t seem to end, more and more water until his lungs heaved and his vision went dim.

Suddenly the water stopped and he found his head thrown forward. He choked and coughed up water and choked and coughed some more. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he retched and fought to breathe.

He heard a soft humming for a second before the cattle prod lightly tapped his leg. Even through his pants, the effect of water and electricity was immediate, and his entire body seized up while his vision whited out. For one blissful moment, there wasn’t pain or anything. Just nothing.

A second later and he crashed back into the chair, still exactly where he’d been chained before, body still twitching in the aftermath. Dave looked pleased with himself. Al merely raised an eyebrow. “Well, guess holy water doesn’t work on you,” he said calmly. “But I’ve seen other monsters not react, either. Let’s try again: what kind of monster are you?”

I’m not, he wanted to say, but deep inside, there was some part of him that couldn’t truly say that. Not really. Not after the visions and the other special kids and Meg’s trip around the country in his skin. He felt less human with every minute.

Al didn’t like his lack of response any more than he had the truth, because he nodded to Dave and the cattle prod shot forward again, this time right into his ribs.

Sam was pretty sure he screamed, but he wasn’t really sure, and then it struck him again and all he was sure of was pain.

Chapter Text

The motel camera led Dean to a white van going north. The pawn shop camera down the street gave him the license plate. And the convenience store camera at the intersection gave him two men sitting in the front, turning towards the industrial warehouse part of town.

He hated to do it, but there was no one else he could trust. He called Bobby.

Bobby didn’t answer. Dean cursed and almost threw the phone except it started ringing. “Bobby?” he asked as he answered. “Listen, I need help with a license plate. Two guys in a white van took Sam—”

“This ain’t Bobby,” said the familiar voice, and Dean’s stomach sank. Ellen. “I was callin’ to see how you two were, but I guess I got my question answered.”

He’d sort of expected her to call at some point. He could only imagine what Jo had told her. “Yeah, sorry, I need Bobby right now to get Sam back. Which probably doesn’t matter much to you at the moment, but—”

“Don’t you put words in my mouth,” Ellen said sharply. “Jo’s been worried about him too. Possession wears a body down, can leave a body broken and killed, and she had no clue what shape he was in after you took off. A phone call to say that Sam was still alive would’ve been nice.”

Okay, that was fair. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s just been a hell of a month.”

“Forget it,” she said, but gently, and then her voice got firm and business-like again. “What’s this about a van that took Sam?”

He gave her the description, as well as the plates. It wasn’t until he started talking about the two men in the front that she broke off, cursing. “Ellen?”

“Big bushy beard? Maybe a little Amish?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“With an older white van, yeah, I do. And he usually hunts with a partner. His name’s Al Downbury.”

It took Dean a moment to fully process what she was saying. “He’s a hunter?”

“Yeah. He’s a big bear of a man but he’s not stupid, he’ll usually go with a partner. His typical partner and best friend died a few weeks ago, though. Something got him. Al’s been lookin’ for answers.”

Dean let his eyes sink shut. “Steve Wandell?”

This time, it was Ellen’s turn to pause. “Yeah,” she finally said slowly. “You heard about that?”

“Sam killed him,” he said, voice low. “While he was possessed. The demon tore him apart.”

It didn’t take long for Ellen to put two and two together and come up with— “Oh god. Oh god.”

“He got any property at all in Columbus? He headed for the warehouse section of town but I can’t search them all and hope to find Sam in time, Ellen. Especially not if Al was gunning for him.” Dean must’ve missed a tape. Somewhere, he’d missed a tape of Sam at Wandell’s place. Shit.

He heard pages flipping fast on Ellen’s end. “No, but wait, he’s got a business partner down in Ohio, I never knew where. Some hunter named Dave who’d get him weapons and ammo at a discount. Offered to get me connected a time or two. I’ll call Al—”

“Hell no,” Dean said adamantly. “I need you and Jo as far from the crossfire on this as possible. He thinks you’re helping Sam, he’ll put his sights on you next. Or send someone else to do it.”

“Sam’s innocent though,” Ellen insisted. “He didn’t kill Steve, the demon did. He was possessed. That’s the worst kinda thing I could ever think of, to have someone take you over and burn down everythin’ you care about and love. Make your hands do things they never wanted to do. Sam would never do that.”

Dean knew that. It was always nice to hear someone else who knew that, too. “Trust me, you’re preaching to the choir here. I’ll see if I can find it from my end. Thanks, Ellen.”

“Don’t thank me, go get Sam. And for god’s sakes, call me this time when it’s all done.”

He would. After he had Sam back. He hung up and immediately pulled up the laptop. The wifi from the nearby convenience store was pretty easy to hack into and he started searching for property records. A David Torres owned a warehouse that looked to be a mechanic’s shop, and a Dave Havern owned a warehouse that simply said “shipping/receiving.” He put in the address to the internet browser and found his quarry no more than ten minutes away.

Laptop and phone both slid across the Impala’s seat when he gunned it and took off down the road. “Hold on, Sammy,” he muttered. “I’m coming.”

And god help Al and Dave and anyone else that stood between him and Sam when he arrived.

Dave got tired of the cattle prod fast. After the time when he’d rammed it into Sam’s still wet neck and Sam had bit his tongue hard enough to choke on blood, Al had insisted he switch.

Not that the brass knuckles were any better, but anything beat getting electrified.

The chains held firm. No twitching or heaving or anything that Sam did got them loose, and the tighter he twisted, the worse they got. His wrists felt tender and bruised while blood trailed down his fingers. He wasn’t going anywhere until someone got him out. He had managed to find the padlock with his fingers, though, stretched on the other side of the chain, but without anything to open it, he was screwed. Especially with Al and Dave never leaving his side.

Another hard swing of the knuckles left Sam certain that his cheekbone was broken. His left eye was swollen shut, enough that it hurt when his eyeball rolled around underneath it. He was hoping that the eye itself was fine, though. His nose ached and blood kept dripping down the back of his throat, making him cough and leaving him sick to his stomach with all the water he’d ingested.

Above everything else was the desperation for Dean to show up, for his big brother to make an appearance and save him yet again. And the fear, too, that Dean wouldn’t know what had happened to him. Or, worse, wouldn’t find him worthy of rescue. Twice now he'd shot Dean while possessed, and it had to eat at Dean that the guy he'd all but raised had come firing on him.

“I’m getting very tired here,” Al said with a long sigh. “And no closer to my answer.”

“I’m not,” Dave said cheerfully. “I could go a few more. You want a turn? Might make you feel better.”

Al didn’t say anything. Sam followed him carefully with his single good eye. Even with his vision blurry, even with the pain in his head vying for attention above the burns and the cuts and bruises on his neck, torso, and arms, he could still focus. He could still see Al’s calm nature harnessing something much, much worse.

Sam all but shuddered with relief whenever Al finally shook his head and left Dave to it. Because Dave was a monster (the irony was almost more than Sam could stand) but if Al got a hold of Sam?

Sam was dead. And they all knew it.

He tried the chains again, just to give himself something futilely to do. “Apparently not able to break iron,” Dave pointed out. “So that crosses out a bunch.”

“Broke Steve’s face just fine,” Al said with a narrow gaze. Sam swallowed down another gulp full of blood and tried hard to keep his focus on Al. The man’s fury was barely leashed, and if he came at Sam, Sam wanted to see it coming. Maybe it would hurt less.

How long had he been there? How long had he been missing? Had Dean noticed him gone yet? Had Dean just assumed he’d done a runner?

“There’s one thing that I have yet to find doesn’t work on a monster,” Al said, and when Dave turned around this time, it was with a flaming poker in his hand. Sam instinctively lurched backward, fear overruling his hunter instincts, and when he spun his gaze wildly to Al, there was triumph in his eyes.

Oh god. “M’not a monster,” Sam pleaded weakly.

“Maybe you’re not,” Al said, surprising Sam and making Dave hesitate. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not evil. And really, at the end of the day, that’s the biggest thing I’m considering.”

And he stepped forward and took the poker from Dave’s hand.

No. Oh god no. “Wait,” Sam croaked, desperately trying to talk through bloody, swollen lips. Every word made his head ache and his body fight for air, but he had one last chance to keep Al from killing him. “Wait, please, m’not, I’m—” He needed to think, he needed to talk, he needed to do anything except sputter as Al got closer and closer. “I’m not evil,” Sam finally got out. “M’not.”

“Then what are you?” Al shouted, and he raised the poker, flame-hot end extended towards Sam’s lone good eye.

“My brother, you asshole.”

Even as Al and Dave whirled around, Sam all but collapsed in relief. Sudden movement made Sam jerk, but even as Al tried to put Sam between him and Dean, the sound of Dean’s shotgun cocking made Al freeze. “Try it,” Dean said, voice low and dangerous. “I dare you. Give me another reason to blow you off the map.”

Dave made the mistake of trying to find another weapon and Dean fired a shot through Dave’s knee. The blast wasn’t enough to cover Dave’s howl as he went down, and without hesitating Dean leveled the shotgun back up at Al. “Next,” Dean growled.

Al moved his target from Sam to Dean, raising the poker at Dean. Dave kept whimpering on the ground. “You’re defending him?” Al demanded. “He killed a hunter! Whose side are you on?”

“His, always,” Dean said firmly. “And he was possessed, you dipshit. We holding that against people now?”

For the first time since he’d been taken, Sam saw Al hesitate. Sam swallowed and tasted more blood. Dean’s eyes narrowed as Al spoke again, still angry. “Even if he was possessed when Steve got murdered, what about what Gordon’s been saying? You expect me to buy that that’s entirely unrelated?”

“I don’t expect you to buy anything,” and the shotgun raised up from Al’s heart to his head. “I expect you to get the hell away from my little brother. Or I’ll do it for you.”

Silence fell. Sam blinked, trying to keep his eye on his brother. The chains clinked and he flinched as his already bruised wrists felt new pressure points. Dean’s fingers tightened around the shotgun. No one moved.

Finally, slowly, the poker came down. Al stepped away from Sam, edging around towards the cardboard boxes where Dave was still curled up, holding what remained of his knee and groaning in pain. He bent down and hauled the other man up, but his glare stayed on Sam. Dean immediately crossed the other way and stood in front of Sam, blocking Sam’s view of Al completely. Sam’s shoulders came down a bit more.

Al’s voice still carried, though. “Steve was like a brother to me. You should at least understand that.”

“What I understand is that you came for my brother,” Dean shot back, barely-contained fury in his voice. “And you still expect me to understand why you did this to him.”

Sam almost wished he could see, but his one eye wasn’t giving him much, and it was all Dean, standing in righteous anger in front of him, protecting Sam with everything he had. Another beat of silence, and then something metallic rang out, making Sam jump. Scuffling and moaning began to fade, and then a door clanged open and shut.

Only when it closed did Dean move forward, crouching to pick up something small from the ground before hurrying over to Sam. The key: Al had given him the key. “Hold on for me,” Dean murmured, quickly undoing the chains. Sam sagged forward as his wrists released, hardly any strength left to hold himself up. The chains around his ankles let loose a moment later and then Dean caught him around the chest. “Easy, I got you. Let me see. Sammy, I need to see.”

His wrists were on fire, pins and needles almost more than he could stand. His ankles and legs felt tight from sitting for too long. All of it paled to what Dean was looking over now, seeing the burn marks, the cut bruises, the wet hair, the busted cheek and eye.

When Sam met his brother’s gaze, he saw pure rage. “I’m going to kill him,” Dean swore. “I will tear him limb from limb. That son of a bitch—”

Sam groaned and fell forward. “Woah, woah, woah,” Dean said, switching instantly to worried big brother. “Okay, c’mon, we need to find a hospital.”

“No hosp’tal,” Sam whispered.

“You can’t even talk, Sam, and I don’t know what kind of damage he did to your eye. Hospital.”

He’d thought sitting was bad, but walking was even worse, and tears pooled in his good eye. Still, Dean stayed beneath his arm, carefully moving him slowly but surely to the door. The afternoon sun felt amazing and too bright all at once.

He all but fell into the Impala’s seat, but it wasn’t until Dean got in and told him, “Hospital’s ten minutes away, hang on,” that he finally relaxed, closed his eye, and did just that.

Chapter Text

Bobby called back while they were at the hospital, and Dean filled him in. Bobby cursed and told him that he’d be back home soon and for them to come straight there. “I’m in Oregon, helping someone on a hunt. But my place is always open to you two. Remind your brother of that for me; the idjit hasn’t answered a single damn phone call of mine since you two left.”

Of course he hadn’t. Well past time to talk to him, but it felt sort of cruel to do when Sam was doped up on morphine and who knew what else, exhausted and beaten to hell and back.

If Dean ever saw the two men again, they’d wish he’d only blown a knee out. They could’ve killed Sam. They would’ve killed him. And he never would’ve known. He would’ve lost his little brother, again.

It was that thought that made him walk into where Sam was resting on the bed, waiting to be discharged. They’d done what they could for the fractured cheek, and as far as they could tell, the eyeball was fine behind the swelling. The concussion wasn’t unexpected, given the damage, and the burns were dressed and managed. The water in his lungs was to be monitored for possible bronchitis down the road; knowing their luck, Sam’d end up with pneumonia. The only thing he could do was rest. And that was something they could do anywhere that wasn’t a hospital.

Sam turned at his entry, looking far more with it than Dean had expected. “Phone call?” he whispered.

“Yeah, Bobby. I called him when I needed help finding you. He says we can head his way.”

Sam cringed a little. “Okay, let me rephrase that: he wants us to head his way. So whenever you’re up for a drive, we’ll go somewhere that’s safe.”

“Dean—”

“He could’ve told you all this himself except someone didn’t answer him,” Dean continued. Sometimes Sam needed to get steamrolled over, because if there was anyone who could beat him up more than hunters or demons, it was Sam himself. “I get why, though. And so does he. Just let yourself off the hook a little. All I’m asking.”

“I killed a hunter,” Sam rasped. “I shot you.”

“No, she killed a hunter. She shot me. She used you to do it. And heavy emphasis on used. You weren’t exactly a willing participant.”

Sam deftly ignored Dean’s solid argument and went in a completely different direction. “Did you think I’d taken off?” Sam pinned him with a heavy gaze which, with only one eye, was a pretty hefty feat. “Or that I’d been taken over by something evil again?”

Dean took a deep breath in, because beneath that stubbornness and the determination to make everything in the world his fault, there was a big heap of fear and a lot of uncertainty. Both of them were a little bit of Dean’s fault for not talking about it sooner but dammit he’d just wanted a break for them both.

Sam in pain was never okay, though. Sam in pain that he could prevent was something he was never going to tolerate.

“For a minute,” Dean admitted, and Sam shut his eye. “Not finding you sort of makes me leap straight into panicked big brother mode, I’ll admit it. Sometimes it comes in damn handy, though. Like finding breakfast all over the pavement while the coffee was still steaming.”

Then, because it didn’t seem to be sinking in, Dean added quietly, “I wouldn’t worry so much if losing you wasn’t the worst thing I could think of. And I mean losing you in any way.”

Dad’s words hung between them, the only ghost of their father that remained. It was going to haunt them for a while longer, Dean knew, but one of these days, Sam was going to believe him when Dean said he’d never hurt Sam, and Dean was going to breathe whenever Sam left his sight. No one was going to hurt Sam. Not Dad, not hunters, not demons, not Sam himself. And sure as hell not Dean.

When Sam spoke again, it was still quiet, but with far more strength than before. “Long as you’re around, right?”

Dean smiled in relief and rested a hand on Sam’s head, gently tousling the hair. “Damn straight.”

“Guess I shouldn’t go somewhere without you, huh?”

Another deep breath, but this one because the thing that could hurt Sam here was Dean, had been him for a bit in his quest to Just Ignore It. “Nah. You can get breakfast on your own, though maybe not with the way you look for a bit, Rocky. On the other hand, you might score some free donuts or something, make the matronly types feel bad for you.”

Sam rolled his single good eye. Dean rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder and waited until Sam met his gaze. “I trust you, Sam,” he said quietly. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust. And that’s been the case since you were a kid. That’s nothing new.”

At the end of the day, that was really what it boiled down to. Time and time again Dean kept letting the world have his little brother, and time and time again it kept battering Sam, tearing him apart from limb and heart. Dean didn’t trust the world. And yeah, some days he didn’t trust Sam with himself either. But there was no one else he’d rather trust with his own life than Sam.

For the first time in what felt like months, Sam’s lips turned up in an honest smile. “Got it?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded, still smiling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Before Dean could pull his hand back, Sam reached up and caught it in his own. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come find me,” Sam admitted softly. “If you’d even want to after everything.”

Chick-flick be damned. “Always,” Dean swore. “There is never a time that I won’t come after you.”

The nurse finally came in with the discharge papers, then the wheelchair, along with a prescription for more pain medications. They’d stop on the way out of town to fill it, or maybe a few towns down the road: Dean wasn’t keen on staying any longer than he had to. Not with Al and Dave possibly still around.

Sam looked far more relaxed once Dean got him into the Impala. Before Dean could close the passenger door, however, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and gave a quick grin before handing it to Sam. “It’s for you, trust me,” he said, and he closed the door on Sam’s bewildered gaze.

He made it to the driver’s side by the time Sam answered the call. “Hello?”

In an instant Sam’s demeanor changed as soon as he realized who was on the line. His face went pale and he all but hunched in on himself. It made Dean feel a little bad but the kid wouldn’t have taken the call if he’d said who it was. “Ellen,” Sam croaked. “I—”

Then he paused. The shoulders came up a little over the next minute or two, and then he smiled, just a little. “Nothing that won’t heal,” he said softly.

Another pause, and this time he snorted out a surprised laugh. “I think you’d ruin Dean’s plans if you did that.”

“They’re mine,” Dean said firmly, having picked up where Ellen was going. “Tell her that.”

Sam gave him a grin before turning back to the phone call. “He said about as much.” Another pause, but this time on Sam’s end, grin falling a little. “Is…is Jo okay?”

Dean started the car and carefully began moving them down the road. When he glanced back over, Sam’s cheeks were red. “I just figured the last thing she needed was me calling—” A pause. “She doesn’t need to worry about me. It was just a possession.”

Dean glared at him. Sam made a face at him, then at the phone. “…No,” he said, almost petulantly. “You know I wouldn’t tell someone else that. It was…bad.” His voice dropped even quieter. “Felt a little like drowning.”

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. It was more than Sam had said about the possession up to that point. He wished he’d thought to call Ellen sooner. Or poked at Sam more himself.

He did some quick figures in his head and steered himself west. Instead of cutting north tomorrow, they’d keep going west. Ellen’s Roadhouse was only a few hours’ drive from Bobby’s, in the long run. And Sam needed someone to talk to. Bobby would understand.

Besides, Dean had plans for making sure neither of them wound up taken hostage by a demon again. People, there wasn’t much he could do about that, but putting a permanent “keep out” on themselves had been sparked by Meg’s binding link on Sam’s arm. With a little ink, they’d both be safer, and Ellen probably knew exactly who Dean could trust to do the job.

A phone got thrust in his direction. “Yeah?”

“Tell me you’re headin’ my way. Singer’s still on the west coast, and you both need somewhere to rest for a bit.”

“Already aimed that way.”

“Good,” and Ellen sounded proud of him. “Now drive careful, I gotta call Jo, tell her that Sam’s all right. She’s swearing she’ll come back through to make sure he’s okay.”

“Go for it,” Dean said after a moment. “Thanks, Ellen.”

“You bet. See you when you get here.”

He closed the phone and tossed it between them on the seat. “You could’ve told me,” Sam said, scowling at him.

Dean just raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have talked to her otherwise. And she’s been just as worried as I was. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have found you as quick as I did.”

Sam blinked. Dean finally relented and grabbed a blanket from the backseat. “Dude, just get some rest. We’re not at the stage where you can get sympathy from well-meaning mothers, we’re more at people thinking you tried to pick a fight with ten guys and lost. You’ll frighten kids, Sam. Think of the children.”

“Bite me, jerk,” came the muffled response from the passenger seat, blanket already half waded up against the window, half draped over Sam. Sam’s good eye had already closed, and he’d be out like a light in probably less than two minutes. Worked over, beaten and tortured, more than exhausted.

Still willing to snark at Dean and laugh at something Ellen said.

Dean smiled and rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder for a moment. “Love you too, bitch,” he said. Sam’s lips turned up briefly before straightening out in sleep.

He settled back to drive and felt something settle since he’d found Sam under Al and Dave, begging for his life. Or since he’d seen black in Sam’s eyes and realized why nothing about Sam’s actions had made sense. Or maybe even since Sam had taken off, frightened by their dad’s words and his possible future.

They’d be okay. As long as Dean stayed by his side, nothing bad could happen to Sam.

And god help the world that tried to take his brother from him. Dean was done playing by the rules: there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep Sam safe.