Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Leverage, or the Justice League.

Author's Note: I've proof read this, but I tend to miss stuff since I know what I was intending to write. If you notice any typos, please, let me know so I can fix them. Please, read and review. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Flames will be given to Parker to use in a bomb. *looks innocent* What was that, Nate? No! No, I didn't say I'd help Parker's explosives habit! No, Bruce, I'm not giving anything to terrorists. Dean, Sam, I said I'd give them to Parker, NOT Lilith or Alistair! Sheesh! Calm down, guys...

Dean clutched his little brother as he felt his way around the dark room. His breath hitched before he could catch himself. He couldn't cry. He had to be strong for Sammy. Besides, crying was for bitches.

The past half hour felt like a blur. First Dad had announced that the hunt wasn't really a hunt. Sammy had whined a bit, not wanting to change schools again so soon. They had been loading the Impala when someone had run out of the room next to theirs, screaming. Three men had stood in the doorway and shot the nameless figure and their dad. He had shoved Sammy between him and the car. He'd fought those three men off with all of his strength, but what could he do when someone put a gun to his baby brother's head? So here they were.

Sammy clutched Dean's shirt, his face pressed against his side. Dean felt his shoulders shake and tightened his grip on Sammy's shoulder. He bit back a yelp as he hit his shin. He felt blindly for whatever he'd stumbled into. To his surprise, he found it was a metal cot. He sat down, pulling Sammy beside him.

"What are they, Dean?" the ten-year-old asked in a small voice. "Demons."

Dean shook his head, even thought Sammy couldn't see him. "Don't think so, Sammy. I think they're just people."

"Then why'd they kill Dad? What do they want with us? We didn't do anything to them."

"I don't know, Sammy. I know why monsters do stuff but, when people go bad, they're just crazy. I wish I knew but I don't. I won't let them hurt you. No matter what. I promise."

Dean felt Sammy nod against his chest. His shirt slowly grew wet with his baby brother's tears. He bit his lip, grateful for the darkness that hid his own tears. Eventually, he felt Sammy's breathing even out and then slow. Gently, he lowered the younger boy to lie between himself and the wall.

He suddenly couldn't hold his own sobs back anymore. He stood and felt his way to the foot of the cot. He slammed his fist against the cement wall. A satisfying ache spread through his hand. He unleashed the confused hurricane inside him onto the wall until he felt blood dripping from his hands. He'd always thought the only real threats to his family came from the supernatural monsters his father hunted but he hadn't seen the slightest sign of anything supernatural about his fathers murderers. He'd cut them with his silver knife, done every test he could during the fight, and nothing had happened other than the abduction already in progress.

Unlike Sammy, Dean had a vague idea of why they were in this mess. The other boys at school had talked about the local mafia and drug gangs. He knew that even some of the cops were on the mob payroll. He bit his lip. He knew they were here - wherever here was - and their father was dead because they'd seen that first murder. He just wished he had a way to get Sammy out of here. It's not like he intended to say anything to the cops anyway. They'd take him and Sammy somewhere and they'd end up in separate foster homes. If he could only get them out of here, he could get them to Bobby's or Pastor Jim's on his own.

A scraping by the door sent him stumbling back to Sammy's side. Light flooded the small room as the door opened. Dean swallowed nervously, clenching his fists. He shook Sammy until the boy woke up and squinted up at the tall, black figures. They'd have to kill him before they touched his little brother.

Large, calloused hands wrapped around his arms, pulling him to his feet. Dean screamed and kicked at them. He would not let them take him from Sammy. A strangled whimper made him freeze. In the corner, he could just make out the shadowy form of a large man with his hand wrapped around a small figure's neck. Sammy. "No!" Dean yelled. "Don't hurt him!"

The men pulled both boys from the room and down the hall to an elevator. Dean blinked in the bright light. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden presence of light, he took in the luxury of the elevator. It looked like it belonged in some swanky hotel. When the doors opened, the men forced them down a long hallway to a large conference room. Dean stared at the white-suited man at the other end of the room and swallowed. He hadn't really believed all the stories he'd heard at school. He'd been convinced they were exaggerated but the man wore a black, skull-like mask just like Jimmy and Nick had said. He forced himself to breath normally. He couldn't make sure Sammy left the room alive if he panicked. "Please." He swallowed and tried again. "Please, do what you want with me, but don't hurt Sammy. He's just a kid.

The masked man stepped closer. "Exactly. He's just a kid. Like you. With no one to miss either of you. And you've both become a liability."

"Please." Dean would beg if he had to. "I'll do anything. He's my little brother. Just don't hurt him."

The mask moved with the man's lips as he smiled. "You look like a charmer." He examined Dean's face calculatingly. He tossed a bag of white powder onto the table. "Think you could charm my clients into paying what that's really worth?"

Dean swallowed thickly. He mouth suddenly felt dry. "Yeah," he croaked. "I can do that. You won't hurt Sammy if I do?"

"Let's say you bring me $1500 a day. If you're short, your brother will make up the difference."

Dean looked over at Sammy's pale face and licked his lips. He didn't want to think about how they might make the kid make up the difference.

"It's that or you both die."

Dean looked at the man and back at Sammy. He nodded. "I'll do it." He'd just have to make sure he never came up short.

The masked crime lord smiled and nodded to his men.

Dean turned his head franticly to his little brother. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the syringe. Sammy whimpered as the needle touched his throat. Dean bit his lip. "You said you wouldn't hurt him if I dealt for you!" he objected as the plunger pushed a clear liquid into Sammy's bloodstream.

"Oh, that won't hurt him," the masked drug lord said. "Not as long as you do your part."

Sam gave a small, confused moan. His eyelids fluttered as he slumped against the man holding him. "D'n," he murmured so quietly Dean could barely hear him. The man lifted the small boy over his shoulder and left the room.

"Where's he taking him?" Dean demanded, straining against the hands on his arms.

"Back to your cell," the crime lord stated. "You have a job to do."

Dean swallowed and glanced at Sammy's disappearing figure. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "How do I do this?"

Sam blinked as he heard the door open. He had started feeling a little more alert a few minutes ago. He pushed himself up as he saw his brother's silhouette in the doorway before the door slammed shut, sending them back into the dark. "Dean?" he called softly, his lips pulling up into a smile.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said heavily as he walked over to the cot. "You eaten yet?"

Sam frowned. "I think so," he said, forming his words carefully. "Everything's all fuzzy. I-I think that was today."

Dean sighed. "I hate that they keep you all doped up like this," he muttered. "You're too young."

Sam shrugged. "It's not that bad," he mused. "I don't feel cold. I don't hurt. It distracts me from worrying about you. I can just kinda… float."

"Not tonight, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I'm sorry. I-I messed up. I was about a hundred dollars short today."

Sam swallowed. He knew that was really bad news but he was still to drugged to care. "Oh," he said quietly. "It-it's ok, Dean. I don't think I'm gonna feel anything."

"No, Sammy." Dean's voice shook. "It's not okay. I shoulda done better. I shoulda found a way to get all the money. Th-this shouldn't happen, even if you don't feel it."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, but it's not your fault. And if they're gonna gimme these drugs, they might as well do me some good, right?"

Dean sighed. "I just don't like you not being able to protect yourself when I'm not around. I won't be with you. You don't know what they might do. You're too young for any of this."

Sam shrugged. "I'll worry about that later. It's odd. They're usually here to shoot me up by now. I'm not usually this awake this long."

The cot rocked as Dean sat down. "Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe they're gonna wean you offa that shit."

"Maybe," Sam muttered. He didn't understand why it bothered him so much that he hadn't gotten this dose. He could think now, talk to Dean. Maybe it was just 'cause Black Mask was gonna take that hundred dollars out of his skin and he really didn't want to feel it. He rubbed the back of his hand. "B-but why now?"

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam. "I-I don't know," he said, his voice oddly flat.

Sam bit his lip. "You got an idea, though. I can tell. What are you thinking?"

Dean ran a hand across the needle marks on Sam's arm. "They've been giving you that stuff for a few months now. The shit Black Mask deals in… You can't just quit or it hurts. Bad. I think maybe this is their way of hurting you 'cause I screwed up. I-I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam didn't know how long they sat like that. He did know that his muscles started cramping and aching. He bit his lip, determined not to cry. He was starting to feel really hot and really cold at the same time. He shifted restlessly and finally started to cry when that made everything hurt worse.

Dean pressed Sam's head against his chest, brushing his bangs out of his face. "Sh, Sammy," he whispered, his breath puffing against Sam's scalp. "You're gonna be ok."

Sam was shaking uncontrollably by the time the guards came. He screamed when they grabbed him and clutched at his brother. Didn't he hurt enough already? He could just hear Dean's voice. "No! Dean, no, no! Want my brother!"

The guards dragged Sam down the hallway to a bright, cold room. He tried to wipe the snot off of his face with the back of his hand. His breath hitched as he tried to calm down enough to figure out what they were going to do to him.

One of the guards knelt in front of him with what looked like a long prescription pill bottle and a set of small, sealed plastic bags. "Your brother came up short today. The boss want you to deliver these and bring back the payment. The sooner you do it, the sooner you'll feel better."

Sam nodded and reached out a shaking hand to take them. He didn't understand why the guard pulled them away.

Too many hands touched him at once, all over his body. He hurt too much to make sense of what was happening to him as the guard said something about him shaking too much. He choked as something was forced down his throat.

One guard shoved a slip of paper into his hands. "Go to this address. The client will take the product and send you back with the money."

Sam nodded as they carried him through more hallways. Finally, they dropped him outside of the building. He looked down at the slip of paper. He frowned as he tried to make out the address. Leaning against the wall, he wandered almost aimlessly down the street. It had been so long since he'd been out in the city. He didn't even know what part of the city he was in. He turned into an alley and tripped over a piece of trash. He dropped the paper as he threw his hands forward.

Sam curled in on himself has he heard footsteps running toward him. Large, calloused hands wrapped around him. He sobbed at the touch. Everything hurt, walking, falling, those hands. "I wan' D'n," he whispered as those hands turned him around.

One hand lifted his head. Sam saw clear, blue eyes framed by long, brown hair. He tried to pull away. "Lemme go," he insisted.

"Sam?" the long-haired man asked. "Sam Winchester? Is that you? Are you ok, kid?"

Sam blinked up at him. How did this stranger know him? Was this the person from the address? But then why would he care if Sam was ok? He pressed back against the wall.

"Where's your brother, Sam?" the stranger persisted. "Where's Dean?"

Sam looked back the way he'd come.

Dean paced the length of the cot. Where was Sammy? There weren't many ways they could possibly make money off of a ten-year-old. He forced the bile back down his throat. It wouldn't do Sammy any good if he threw up. He choked on a sob. This was all his fault. He was supposed to take care of Sammy. Apparently, he couldn't even do that right. The one thing Dad asked him to do, the only job Dad gave him, and he couldn't do it. How hard was it to avoid the cops and bring back that fifteen hundred dollars a day? If he could help Dad track a werewolf, surely he could do this.

Odd sounds filtered into the dark cell. Angry yelling, harsh grunts, the crash of broken glass. Dean flinched and pressed against the wall. Whatever was going on out there, he didn't want to get dug into it. Most likely just another drunken brawl like the last time a couple idiots had gotten bored and brought whiskey to the job. He'd had the misfortune to get back from dealing in the middle of it. One of the morons had taken too much of an interest and he'd had to fight him off. He didn't want that again, especially when he didn't know where Sammy was.

Finally, the sounds died away. Dean gulped in a deep breath. He sat down on the bed and looked toward the door. How long until Sammy came back?

Light flooded the room as the door screeched open. Dean stiffened and squinted in the sudden light. His hands clenched around the edge of the cot.

A short, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway. "Dean Winchester?"

Dean blinked, silently. He could just make out the form of a small boy cradled in the man's arms. He stood. "Put Sammy down."

The man carried Sam into the room. "Dean, my name is Eliot. I'm here to bring you and your brother home."