Title: Stab in the Dark

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Sam and Dean fall afoul of a serial killer and find that the most monstrous monsters are sometimes human. Post 7x03 hurt/limp/tortured!Sam hurt/awesome!Dean awesome!Bobby

Author's Note: This was originally a reward for LotRia as a prompter of the Reader's Special 3rd Edition. It came out so well we decided it needed to be put up on its own so it's not missed. We have kidnapped, hurt and tortured Sam here along with protective, awesome Dean. It's dark. It's a little visceral because LotRia gave me permission to be as dark as I wanted. :D So, graphic depictions of torture in here kids. Don't like it, don't read it. You are warned.

Set after 7x03 "The Girl Next Door". Not a tag. Just a good place for it. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~


Dean groaned and tried to swallow the foul taste out of his mouth. It didn't work; whatever it was was stuffed in his mouth and he scowled in confusion as consciousness crept back into his still-fuzzy brain. The last thing he remembered was…coming out of the bar, tossing the keys to Sam...did he hear Sam shout something? Dean blinked and got his eyes open, and that's when it struck him; he was tied into a chair with his head hanging down his chest. He groaned again. With the exception of that one time with the kinky chick in Wichita, waking up tied up was NEVER a good thing, especially when your name was Winchester. He pulled at his bonds to no use and tried to spit out the wad of fabric gagging him. It stayed stubbornly put and he pulled his head slowly up, taking in his surroundings.

The sight that greeted him chilled him down to his soul. Sam hung limply by his wrists from a chain running up to the ceiling not ten feet away, feet barely brushing the floor of what looked like an empty warehouse, and his long hair hid his face. A chain wound out from Sam's ankles above his bare feet and looped through a ring in the cement floor and then there was the blood on his shirt. Dean tried to choke back the fear and anger that swept over him seeing his little brother like that, and growled Sam's name around the gag, straining in the chair, struggling against his bonds.

"He's a little unconscious at the moment."

The voice came from behind him, and Dean tried to turn his head to see who had spoken as white hot rage swept through him. The man strolled out in front of him and knelt to look up at him. He was tall, strongly built, in a white, button-down shirt spotted with blood, and Dean knew with absolute certainty it belonged to his brother. He glared death at the man who only smiled at him.

"I enjoy having an audience for my work." He reached out and tested the ropes binding Dean to the chair, ignoring the muffled stream of curses being hurled at him from behind the gag. He smiled sheepishly at Dean. "I got a little…excited." He held out his shirt and shook his head. "I just wanted to hear him scream."

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach as he looked over the man's shoulder to his brother and suffered for him.

"Now that you're awake, we can really have some fun." He grinned with a maniacal light in his eyes that made Dean shiver. "You can call me Bill." He brushed his fingers down the side of Dean's face, smiling more widely when he snarled and jerked his head away. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Dean pulled desperately at the ropes binding him, but Bill had done his work well. The ropes secured his wrists, ankles and across his chest. It didn't stop him trying to loosen them as the sick bastard went to Sam and bent to peer up into his face. Dean growled angrily as Bill pulled a little metal, rolling table over and took a syringe from it, tapping it lightly. Dean was momentarily unable to tear his eyes away from the collection of other implements he saw on the table, but began struggling again as Bill reached up to inject whatever was in the syringe into his brother.

"This is a stimulant." Bill smiled over his shoulder at Dean, sounding like he was lecturing in front of a class. "My own cocktail. It does a fair job of keeping my subjects from losing consciousness while I'm working." He set the needle aside and waited as Sam's body jerked weakly in his chains.

Dean tried to think where this hunt had gone so far wrong. They had come to town looking for whatever was slicing people up, opening them a vein at a time and bleeding them out. Sam had realized, after getting a good look at the bodies and autopsy reports, that the monster was human, a serial killer with a flair for torturing his victims, and they had backed off. It was the cops' job to catch human killers; not theirs. Dean tried to think how they could have come up on the killer's radar. They hadn't even spoken to any of the victims' families. They had only visited the police station and the morgue. Dean stared hard at Bill's profile and realized that he looked somehow familiar…he'd seen him before.

"Here he comes. Time to wake up." Bill took Sam's face in his hands and picked his head up, brushing the hair out of the man's eyes and chuckling when he heard Dean's muffled, rage-filled growls behind him. "Your friend is awake now." Bill shifted so Sam could see his brother as his eyes fluttered open and smiled, watching his hazel eyes go wide seeing Dean bound and gagged in the chair. His own discomfort had yet to fully register in his still-foggy brain, but he did remember pain…and screaming…before apparently passing out again.

"Wha…why are you…doing this?" Sam asked and kept his eyes locked on Dean's, trying very hard to keep the fear off his face at seeing his big brother so effectively bound. They were in deep shit.

Bill shook his head and pursed his lips. "Everyone asks that." He patted a hand against Sam's chest and went to his table, perusing the various instruments there. "Now, where were we?"

Sam gave Dean a small nod to say he was alright and easily read the disbelief on Dean's face. He shook his head slightly when Dean raised a brow, silently asking how they had been captured. Sam didn't think Bill would sit idly back while he explained that Dean had been knocked out from behind and the bleeding cut on his throat that Dean must not have felt yet was from the knife Bill had held there to force Sam to lay down his weapon and cuff himself. He knew what Dean would say - that he should have taken the shot. Sam dropped his eyes because there was no way he would ever risk trading Dean's life for his own. He only hoped Bobby had heard something, enough to track them, as Sam had been on the phone with him when Bill attacked.

The pain in Sam's wrists, arms, and shoulders from supporting his full weight for however long he had been out began to make itself known, and he tried to get his feet under him to relieve some of the pressure, but even then, could only touch on tiptoe as his legs strained to take some of his weight.

He didn't have long to worry about that as their captor turned back toward him. Sam flinched back from the bright, steel scalpel Bill held up in his line of sight. "Don't."

Bill smiled and slid the blade into the neck of Sam's bloodied t-shirt. "Try not to move too much."

Dean choked on his rage while Bill cut Sam's shirts off him, tossing the pieces carelessly aside until he was finished and stood back as if to admire his little brother. He growled out his need to kill when Bill ran admiring fingers up Sam's chest and over the taut, straining muscles of his shoulders.

"My, my. I do appreciate someone who takes care of themselves." Bill grinned up at Sam. "They last longer. You're going to last a long time." He stabbed the scalpel into Sam's side without warning, chuckling at his cry of pain and withdrew it to watch the blood flow from the small hole, seemingly fascinated by the sight. He looked over at Dean as he screamed around his gag. "Did you want to say something?"

Dean stared daggers at Bill as the man came over and carelessly slid the scalpel through the strip of cloth holding the gag in place, slicing Dean's cheek open in the process, the pain barely registering in Dean's brain that was totally focused on wanting to rip the man in front of him to shreds. He spat the ball of cloth from his mouth into his lap. "Leave him alone you son of a bitch!" Dean screamed it at him and Bill simply threw his head back and laughed.

"Now, now, Dean." Bill patted his shoulder when Dean jerked in surprise. "Oh, he called your name a few times when I took you." He gestured to Sam. "He was hoping you would wake up, I think. Tell me," he knelt in front of Dean again and ran a finger through the blood on his face, digging the tip of his finger into the shallow slice on Dean's cheek until he winced, "what's his name?"

"Go to hell!" Dean growled angrily and grunted in pain when Bill stabbed the scalpel into the meat of his thigh.

"Sam! My name's Sam! Leave him alone!" Sam yelled, unable to watch Dean being tortured over something so meaningless. "Please!"

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Bill stood and left the scalpel standing out of Dean's thigh. "But you were supposed to answer me, Dean." He stared clinically at the bound man before him for a moment and then, without even changing expression, his hand came up in a vicious backhand blow that snapped Dean's head back and had his vision blurring out at the edges for a moment. Somewhere in the background he heard Sam shouting in anger. The pain of Bill giving the scalpel an experimental tug and then another shove back into place as if to check to make sure it was securely in place brought him back to the moment.

Dean breathed heavily, trying to get the pain under control and not look at the blade still sticking in him; it made it hurt worse. He looked up to his brother instead as Bill went back to his little table. "Hey, Sam?" Dean managed a small smile. "Think we're gonna pick a different bar next time."

Sam stared at him and then huffed out a laugh softly in spite of the situation. "You…you picked it." He jerked back as Bill came to stand in front of him again and held up another scalpel. He had several more in his other hand. Sam knew on a clinical level what had been done to this man's previous victims, but seeing the aftermath and experiencing it in person were two very different things. His only consolation was that they had all died slowly. Hopefully, Bobby would have time to find them, at least before the psychopath got to Dean if nothing else.

Bill placed the blade of the scalpel at the base of Sam's throat, in the hollow. "Do try not to move too much. This is very precise work."

Sam shuddered as the blade of the scalpel bit into him and put his head back, gritting his teeth in an effort not to move or cry out as Bill dragged the blade down his torso leaving a path of fiery pain in its wake. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop the shout or flinch when the scalpel reached his stomach and dropped his head, heaving for air as Bill pulled the blade away.

"Sam?" Dean called and jerked at the ropes as drops of his brother's blood began to hit the floor beneath him with little wet splats. "Sam!" His helplessness at being force to watch what was being done to the little brother he had practically raised and loved more than life itself without being able to help him or stop it was tearing at his very soul in a way a hundred scalpels would never be able to do.

"M'alright," Sam gasped in response to the fear in Dean's voice.

"See, Dean? He's fine." Bill waved a hand magnanimously and then turned to slide the scalpel's short blade into Sam's chest between two of his ribs.

"Fuck!" Sam yelled. He hadn't expected it and had to fight to suppress the urge to throw up when Bill stepped back and left it stuck in his chest, quivering with each heaving breath he took.

"The more you move, the more it hurts," Bill informed him cheerfully and showed him another scalpel. "We have quite a few of these to go through. They're not long enough to damage internal organs, but it doesn't matter because all the veins and pain receptors in your skin are right near the surface. You can do SO much with these without ever damaging anything vital. If you know what you're doing, the fun can last for hours." His eyes took on a dreamy sort of look as he ran a finger lightly across the fresh blood. "Or even days."

"M'gonna…" Sam raised his head and met Bill's crazed eyes. "Gonna enjoy…when Dea…Dean kills you."

"Damn straight, Sammy," Dean agreed fervently, inwardly cheering at Sam's bravado. His wrists were slick with his own blood from trying to loosen the ropes and he knew he had rope burn across his chest, even through his shirts, as he fought the restraints in a desperate need to get to Sam.

"Oh, I love this part." Bill moved around behind Sam and bent to peer playfully around his side at Dean. "When my toys still think there's hope."

"We're not…not toys." Sam watched Dean's face for some sign what the man was doing behind him. He choked on a cry as he felt a new blade slice down the left side of his back and warm blood began to flow; making his skin itch.

"You're all toys." Bill picked a spot below Sam's shoulder blade and shoved the scalpel in, letting it rest against the underside of the bone where he knew it would cause the most pain and moved back in front of him. He held up yet another scalpel with a grin. "And we've only just started to play."


Dean was hoarse with yelling. The torture had gone on for what seemed like forever, and, as much as Sam had tried not to give in, the screams of pain had finally come. The last several hours of listening to his brother crying out and seeing what that sick son of a bitch was doing to him was tearing Dean's soul to shreds. His wrists were raw, burger meat and he was still no closer to being free. Bill studiously left him alone except for the one blade in his thigh, which barely registered beyond a dull burning in the background of his mind, as every fiber of his being was focused on Sam. Dean really did seem to be his audience, as important to the nutball's delusion as was Sam's blood and pain.

Sam had gone quiet and shuddered where he hung. Blood glistened in small pools beneath him; ran red and dark down his chest and arms. Dean had lost track of how many scalpels now stood out from his body. There had to be at least twenty; they pierced his chest and his arms. There were a few in his legs and Dean knew even more decorated his back. Bill was turning him into a pin-cushion. Dean watched Bill pouring bottled water down his arms and washing Sam's blood off in sickening sloshes of pink-tinged water.

For a long time, Dean had been able to at least lock gazes with Sam, offering what strength he could just by being there for him, but Sam had finally sagged against the chains binding his wrists, his head falling to his chest as his strength finally began to give out. "Sammy, you hold on. You hear me? Sam?" Dean begged his brother. He managed a smile when Sam's head came haltingly up to look at him under a sweat-laden curtain of hair.

"Dean," Sam's voice was barely more than a whisper. His shoulders burned having his arms pulled above him for so long and supporting his weight. The numerous scalpels embedded in his body were a symphony of searing pain, but he could handle it all - the blades, the blood, the growing number of cuts in his skin that he could feel Bill making deeper and deeper. He had survived so much worse than this in the Cage. He could take it, but…he was no longer alone with his brother and the murderer. "He's…he's here," Sam whispered it in a broken voice as he stared into his brother's eyes, and, behind him, grinning and clapping, stood the devil.

"Sammy?" Dean looked between Sam and Bill and back to his brother, and then realization dawned. It hit him like a physical punch. Sam was tripping Lucifer again. "No. No, Sam. Look at me." He waited for Sam's eyes to come back up to his and Dean nodded firmly. "Stone number one, kiddo. You hold on to that." He wanted to say more, needed to say more to reassure his little brother, but Bill was now watching interestedly and there was no way in hell Dean was giving the madman another way to hurt his brother.

"I never left, Sam," Bill stepped into his line of sight and took the man's face in his hands to pick his head up again. "Sammy."

"You don't get to call him that!" Dean shouted as Sam flinched in Bill's grip. "He's done, man. He's done! Use me!" Dean jerked in the chair, rattling the legs on the floor as Bill turned to look at him. "Fresh meat, jackass! Isn't that what you want?" He would suffer anything if it meant getting Sam out of the damn chains.

"I'm not done with him yet." Bill said quietly as the fierce, crazy smile that Dean had come to fear lit his face and eyes. "He's not finished yet."

"No. No!" Dean yelled as Bill slid yet another scalpel into Sam, this time near his collar bone. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam's cry of pain was more of a choked whimper at the fresh burn. Every twitch of his body sent agony shuddering through him as the multiple blades brushed, bumped and scratched against his ribs, his shoulder blades, his femurs. He didn't care. Lucifer was running his fingers through the fresh and congealing blood on his chest, licking them with glee while he chuckled.

"Now this is entertainment, isn't it, Sammy?" Lucifer did a little dance, politely stepping aside so Bill could add another long slice up Sam's arm. "Admit it, bunk buddy. You miss me."

"N-no," Sam gasped. "Not..not r…real."

"I'm in your noggin', kiddo." Lucifer reached up to tap a blood-slick finger at Sam's temple. "I'm as real as it gets."

"Sam!" Dean's shout brought Sam's head up again, meeting his brother's agonized gaze. "Focus on me. On me, Sammy! Look at me! That's it." Dean strained and pulled, working to free his right hand but kept his eyes firmly locked on the tormented hazel of Sam's. He was slipping away while Dean watched and it was killing him.

Bill stepped in front of Sam, blocking his view of his brother and cupped the side of his head almost gently, tipping it back. "Now, Sam. This is very important. This one is very tricky. Don't move." He placed the blade of a scalpel high on the side of Sam's throat near the corner of his jaw. "We wouldn't want to nick an artery and lose you too soon."

Sam shivered staring at his hands above him and the silver handles of scalpels quivering in his arms. He flinched silently at the bite of the blade and closed his eyes as it slid down his neck and he felt his blood welling to flow down his chest.

Dean watched in horror as Bill pulled the blade carefully, opening the side of Sam's throat with an expert hand, knowing he was only millimeters from the carotid artery. This was his art, his love. To have the skill to cause so much damage and still preserve life…it was a gift, and he took his art seriously. He smoothed his thumb along Sam's jaw affectionately. He cared for his toys, he really did, yet they never seemed to understand.

"Good, Sam. Very good," Bill said in a soothing voice as he pulled the blade away at the curve of his shoulder. He moved, still holding Sam's head, and pressed the blade to the other side of his throat.

Sam considered moving. One flinch was all it would take, he knew, as the blade cut down his neck again. One jerk in the wrong direction and the scalpel would slice through the artery and he'd be free of this - free of the all-consuming pain and free of Lucifer's taunting laughter - but he heard Dean's voice. His brother called to him, offering the comfort of knowing he wasn't alone, even if that was all he had to offer, and he could just see Dean from the corner of his eye. If he flinched, Dean would be alone with Bill, and he couldn't do that. He couldn't leave his big brother to this madman's mercy. If by staying alive he could keep Dean from having to go through this for even a little longer, then he would hold on until the last drop of blood ran from his body.

"God, stop! Please!" Dean could almost feel every wound. Watching Sam suffer was its own torment. He knew like no one else could what his brother had survived and what he was reliving with every fresh wound. He watched Bill step back and Sam's head dropped forward with a soft sob. "Sammy." His own voice was barely more than a choked whisper.

Bill picked up another scalpel and smiled at Sam. "You've been so much fun, Sam. I want you to know that." He pressed the tip of the blade into the hollow at the base of Sam's throat until a drop of blood welled up. "This is usually the part where my toys leave me. They just can't stay still."

"Don'…please." Sam couldn't even get his head up. He slitted his eyes open enough to see Bill's hand and the scalpel moving in again and sucked in a breath as it pressed into his throat.

Dean pulled on his right arm with a growl of effort. Sam was out of time. He'd torn his wrist up enough that a small pool of blood had formed under the arm of the chair. He twisted his hand, gritted his teeth, and swallowed the shout of pain as his hand finally slid free of the rope in a rush. Dean swallowed and took hold of the scalpel in his thigh. He jerked it out, ignoring the fresh welling of blood and sliced the rope holding his chest. He freed his arms and his feet while Sam began to cough in distress and then stood silently from the chair.

Bill let go of the scalpel's handle, watching as it wavered in the hollow of Sam's throat and smiled. "Try not to cough too hard, Sam," He warned as the man began to cough with the intrusion of the instrument. He studied his handiwork with pride and stepped back for a better look. Bill frowned, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and had the overwhelming feeling that something had changed. He had been a predator for far too long to ignore such warnings. Bill spun, bringing up his remaining scalpel and gasped to find Dean at his back.

Dean snarled a curse as Bill's movement saved his life and the scalpel went into his shoulder instead of his heart. "Son of a bitch!" He shouted when Bill sliced across his bicep with his own scalpel. He knew he needed to keep him away from his brother and Dean grabbed the man's arms and threw himself to the side, taking Bill to the floor with him. He wasn't expecting the ferocity of blows Bill rained down on him and saw stars as his head was slammed into the cement floor.

"Don't…ruin…my fun!" Bill punctuated each shout with a crack of Dean's head into the floor. He sat back and pulled the scalpel Dean had left in his arm free and brought it up. "I'm afraid I won't be needing an audience anymore today, Dean."

"NO!" Sam shouted hoarsely as Bill raised the scalpel over his groaning brother. The blade in his throat made him choke for it. Sam jerked in shock when a gunshot echoed in the warehouse, and Bill looked down at the blood suddenly pooling over his heart with surprise.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear his vision and watched Bill topple off of him to the floor, staring over at him with dead eyes. "What?"

"Dean!" Bobby jogged across the floor and had to stop and take a moment to let his mind adjust to what he was seeing when he looked at Sam. "Oh, my God." His voice was barely more than a whisper and he stared in shock at his young friend.

"Bobby." Dean gasped it and felt tears of relief press behind his eyes. "Get…get me up." Bobby shook off the shock that had momentarily paralyzed him and turned his attention to Dean, who took the arm Bobby held down to him and stood shakily. "How'd you find us?"

"I was on the phone with Sam and heard you two get taken down." Bobby put his gun up and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking at Sam. "Been a while since I had to track an honest to goodness serial killer or I'd have been here sooner. God, Dean…" He waved a hand at Sam.

"I know." Dean went to Sam and carefully took hold of the handle of the scalpel in the base of his throat. "Stay still, Sammy." He held his breath and slid it out, then threw it aside. "Sammy?" He took his brother's face in his hands and picked up his head so he could see him.

"Dean," Sam could only whisper it and let unashamed tears roll down his face as he moved his eyes and found their adoptive father. "B…Bobby."

"Hey, son," Bobby said softly and put a hand on Sam's head; about the only place he could see to touch that didn't have a damn knife standing out of it. "We're gonna get you outta here." His heart broke as he looked at the youngest Winchester. He was red with his own blood. Only his face seemed untouched and that was the pale white of blood loss with deep shadows beneath his heavily-lidded eyes.

Sam coughed and spat blood out of his throat weakly, rolling his head into Dean's hand. "Get…ge'me down."

"Easy, buddy. I…" Dean rubbed his free hand over his face and swallowed hard. "Sam, we gotta take these out first, alright? You stay still for us while we do that?" He smiled sadly when Sam nodded into his hand and closed his eyes. "Ok. Bobby?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Bobby moved around Sam and choked on fury at the sight of his back. "I'll get his back."

Dean decided to start at the top and stretched to reach the highest of the scalpels in Sam's arms. He slid it free, having to swallow hard not to throw up when Sam's body seemed to hold on to it with the blood dried and congealed in the wound. Fresh blood welled to flow down his arm as Dean tossed it aside with a clatter. Sam whimpered with the new pain and Dean cupped his face in his hands to offer him what little comfort he could as he felt Sam jerk when Bobby tugged one free from his back.

"Take it easy, Sammy. We're right here." Dean said softly and smiled for him. He studied his brother's pain-glazed eyes. "He still here?"

Sam's eyes skittered away from Dean's and around the warehouse and then back with a small sob of relief. He shook his head. "Gone…he's g-gone."

"Good. You just stay with me, alright?" Dean slipped a hand to the back of Sam's neck in his age-old gesture of comfort and squeezed. "Have you down in no time, little brother. You can do this."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I can."

Dean's throat closed with emotion and he nodded before letting Sam's head gently down. He reached back up and started taking out scalpel after scalpel. Occasionally, he would meet Bobby's eyes and see the same rage and pain reflected there, and Dean wished Bill hadn't died so easily. Dean removed the last scalpel, pulling it from Sam's thigh and grimaced as he felt it tug free of bone. Sam was shuddering with pain and exhaustion, unable to control it.

"I'll get the chain. You get hold of him." Bobby followed the chain across the ceiling to where it was tied on the wall opposite and started unwinding it, surreptitiously wiping tears from his face and cursing himself for taking too damn long to find his boys.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean took a breath and slid an arm around Sam's torso. He knew he was causing him pain, but there was no help for it. There was nowhere to touch his brother that wouldn't hurt him. "Coming down now." Dean held him, easing his other arm around him as Sam began to lower and the chains went lax. Dean grunted with the effort of holding up his boneless brother. "Bobby. Feet."

"Comin'." Bobby ran back and dropped to Sam's feet; trying not to think too hard about the fact he was kneeling in the boy's blood as he worked at the chains.

Sam cried out in fresh agony as his arms dropped over Dean's head. They had been suspended above him for so long the movement sent fire along his nerves and muscles that made his head swim.

Dean closed his eyes and held Sam against him while Bobby worked on his feet. "Easy, Sammy. I've got you. Breathe, buddy. Just breathe through it."

Bobby had to blink furiously to see through watery eyes. Sam's ankles were raw and bloody from the rough chain. He pulled the last loop away and it broke something inside him having so much of Sam's blood on his hands. He stood and went behind Dean, taking careful hold of Sam's hands. Bobby glanced up as he worked at freeing them from the chains and found Sam watching him with tear-filled eyes.

"Knew…you'd f-find us," Sam said softly and let the gratitude show in his eyes.

Bobby coughed, swallowed and dropped his eyes back to the chains as he reached a hand out and curved it over the back of Sam's shaggy, sweat-drenched head. "'could find you two idjits in my sleep. This was nothin'."

Dean chuckled softly as Sam dropped his head into the curve of his shoulder. He held him more firmly and didn't comment when he felt Sam's shoulders shaking with quiet sobs; the kid had earned a breakdown or three. "You're alright, Sammy."

"Ok." Bobby pulled the last loop of chain free from Sam's wrists and threw it away with a growl of disgust. "My truck's just outside. Gonna be a tight fit. How we gonna do this?" He asked as he looked at the legion of bleeding wounds and didn't know where to begin touching the kid.

"How are your shoulders, Sam?" Dean asked softly, turning his face into Sam's shaggy hair and got a shake of his head in answer. Dean sighed. "Get his feet I think. We'll carry him out. Don't wanna hurt his shoulders more."

Bobby nodded and bent, wrapping his arms gently around Sam's calves. The blood-soaked denim of his jeans made Bobby want to throw up again. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Sam had suffered. He glanced at Dean's blood-streaked, pain-lined face and sighed; what they had both suffered. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Dean shouldered most of his brother's weight while Bobby led with his feet. He kept Sam curled into his chest, trying not to let the arm dangling limply down his side frighten him. He could feel Sam's warm breath in his neck. He was alive. They passed Bill's lifeless body and Dean almost stopped in surprise. "I'll be damned."

"What?" Bobby glanced back, looking at Sam first and expected some new horror.

"I knew he looked familiar." Dean tightened his grip on his brother and nodded at Bobby to keep moving. "He was the coroner's assistant. Son of a bitch must have heard us asking about the case."

"Which put you on crazy-train's radar. Damn." Bobby shook his head and kicked open the door to the warehouse. "This ain't your fault, Dean." He said, hoping to preempt whatever guilt Dean was going to decide to carry around about this.

Dean nodded and took all of Sam's weight back as Bobby opened the door of the truck. "We'll agree to disagree on that one, Bobby." He felt a cut burning on his throat that he didn't remember receiving and it was easy enough to figure out how Bill had gotten Sam to cooperate. If Dean had been paying better attention, that bastard wouldn't have gotten the drop on him and been able to use him as leverage. Sam saved his life by handing himself over.

All the way back to the motel, Dean cursed the leviathans. There was no way they could trust a hospital, however much Sam might need it; not if it meant his little brother could end up on the damn menu. Dean was shaking with emotion by the time they had Sam laid out on his bed. He had held Sam all the way back, needing the contact to reassure himself that Sam was alive.

"You still got that transfusion set-up in your truck?" Dean asked as he sat beside his brother and agonized over the need to clean and bandage all the wounds. There were so many and they were going to have to hurt him all over again. "He's lost way too much."

"Yeah. Get on his other side." Bobby pointed to the other side of the bed along the wall. "You're gonna be donatin', you're gonna wanna be comfortable."

Dean groaned and climbed carefully over his brother. "Don't go all chick-flick on me 'cause we are not cuddling, little brother."

Sam gave him a weak, watery laugh and wisely didn't mention how comforting it was to have the heat of Dean's body along his side, his presence there next to him like when they were kids to keep the monsters away. He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as the last few hours caught up with him. "Sorry…sorry."

"Don't, Sam." Dean sat up against the headboard and pulled Sam half into his lap, resting his head on his chest and grimaced at the feel of blood soaking into his shirt. "You got nothing to be sorry for, kiddo."

Bobby came back into the room and couldn't quite suppress the small smile at seeing them. For a second, all he saw were two gangly kids; not the young men he'd helped raise. He swallowed the emotion back and went about setting up the transfusion rig. It took an immense effort of self-control on his part to not just break as he and Dean cleaned the myriad wounds. Sam was in so much obvious pain, neither man could make the jokes they normally would have as they got the kid's jeans off to get at the wounds on his legs. Instead, they went out about it as quietly as possible, speaking only to guide each other or reassure Sam. Bobby had spent a rough moment blinking furiously against tears when he'd realized Sam had a death-grip on his knee, anchoring himself while they worked. The complete trust in his eyes as he looked up at Bobby, given the state he was in, was humbling.

Dean leaned against the headboard with Sam resting against his chest finally and floating on painkillers. He was a little light-headed himself and shifted only slightly; wary of knocking the line in his arm loose. It was feeding much-needed blood to Sam. Bobby had dressed his wrists, neck and face for him and made a few awkward faces at having to cut open the thigh of Dean's jeans to get at the stab wound there.

"I'm gonna get some supplies." Bobby said as he patted the dressing on Dean's bicep in place. "We're gonna be here awhile."

"Bobby, you don't have to…"

"Shut it, son." Bobby cut Dean off with a smile to take the sting out of it. "You got more important things to worry about. Keep him still. I'll unhook ya' when I get back."

"Bobby…thanks," Dean said and nodded to the older Hunter.

Bobby shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Don't go all girly on me." He said gruffly and left the motel room with Dean's soft laughter following him out.

Dean put a hand over Sam's forehead to steady him as he rolled his head restlessly. "Easy, Sammy. I'm right here. You're safe."

Sam nodded with his eyes closed, half-asleep between the painkillers and blood loss. "Got me out," He said softly. "I know."

Dean's breath stuttered in his chest and he nodded, smiling tightly. "That's right, Sammy. We got you out." He moved his arm more securely across Sam's chest in a fierce need to protect him. "Every damn time, Sam. Every time."


The End.