Dean kicked the door in, anger flaring hot at the sight of his brother, broken and bleeding, bound to a chair.
"Goddamned fucking sons of bitches!" He dropped to his knees beside the chair and looked into Sam's face. "You in there, kiddo?"
Sam blinked, dazed. "Dean?"
Relieved, Dean grinned. "That's my boy." He pulled out his knife and cut through the ropes holding Sam to the chair.
With a low groan, Sam sagged forward. Dean caught him, held him up. "Don't worry, Sam," he whispered, voice trembling a little. "I killed the bastards."
Sam smiled at him weakly. "Thanks."