By: Oldach's Dream

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Challenge response: Missing Benders scene, when Sam rescues Dean. I'm pretty sure no one has done it quite like this yet.

A/N:Just a fill-in-the-blank scene, with my own special twist. I'm considering turning this into a multi-chapter fic, if anyone's interested.

Also, I can't really remember which arm the Bender's hurt when they burned Dean with that thing, so I'm sorry if I got that wrong – I'm going with, it was his left.

Anchor

Sam knew that by leaving Kathleen, the angry and vengeful deputy, alone with Pa Bender, he was more or less ensuring the man's murder. And for a moment - a brief, instinctual moment - that didn't set right with the youngest Winchester. So he simply stood there, motionless, so many thoughts and emotions coursing through him, it was just impossible to zone in on just one.

"Go ahead." She repeated, and that was enough for Sam. He turned and left her with that pathetic excuse for a human being, locked rightfully in one of his own cages.

The farther he got away from the barn where he'd been held prisoner, the more right he felt. He wasn't doing an injustice by letting that monster get shot - he was protecting people. And that was what the Winchester's did.

He was only a few feet from the Bender home when he heard the gunshot go off – he barely even paused. He was too focused now, focused on getting to his big brother, Pa Bender didn't deserve any period of mourning. He didn't even deserve a concerned eye-bat. He was dead now, and Sam was glad.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as soon as he caught sight of his brother, tied to a chair in the middle of the Bender living room, his head was down, and for one heart stopping moment, Sam honestly believed that this psycho family had succeeded in killing him.

His big brother's head snapped up though, at the sound of his name. Sam barely had time to register the relief in Dean's green eyes, and surly he imagined the tears pooling there. The elder hunter had hardly uttered a pathetic, "Sammy?" before a rather large knife was whipped at him.

Sam barely managed to dodge the offending weapon, apparently, in his haste to get back to his brother, he had made a careless error – forgetting to scan the room for immediate threats upon entering it.

Annoyed with himself, and pissed at the Bender family as a whole, he lunged at the small child. The girl fought him, clawing at his arms before Sam managed to lock them behind her back in a death grip.

"My daddy's gonna kill you." Missy spat angrily, and Sam was almost sad then. It wasn't her fault her family was insane – the girl hadn't asked to be raised this way – hadn't asked for the life of a hunter.

Feeling suddenly sympathetic, and knowing that he couldn't hurt a child anyway; he dragged the screaming, spitting and struggling young girl to the nearest closet. Shoving her in forcefully, he held the door closed, reaching down and turning the conveniently existing lock just below the doorknob. He pulled a chair over form the dinning room table and propped it up against the door just for good measure. He listened as Missy beat against the door wildly for a few seconds, and only when he was quite positive she wouldn't be getting out, didhe turn and hastily make his way back into the living room.

Dean was thrashing in the chair by the time Sam got back, trying desperately to free himself from his restraints. Sam rushed over to help the elder hunter, a bit frightened by his behavior, wondering exactly what had happened in the time gap they were separated.

Dropping to his knees behind the chair, he tried to undo the tightly knotted rope hastily, but Dean's movements were making it a rather difficult endeavor. "Calm down," Sam said it pleadingly, and Dean's movements stopped at once.

"Sammy?" The elder questioned as Sam began working on the ropes more fervently, wondering to himself if he should risk getting up and looking around for the knife Missy had thrown at him.

"Yeah, Dean." He answered, using his best calming voice - the same tone he'd adapted on the plane to quell his brother's nerves. He continued working on the ropes with his hands, finding itnext toimpossible to undo them, he didn't want to leave his spot just yet to find something to aid him quite yet, though. They were in no immediate danger anymore, anyway.

"You okay?" Dean's voice was shaky, and Sam found himself smiling, trying to make light of the situation.

"'Course I'm okay," he scoffed, "You think I'd let a bunch of red-neck, hillbillies hurt me? You'd never let me live it down."

He'd expected his comment to lay the groundwork for making light of the entirepredicament. It was something Dean normally did – poke fun at alarmingly un-humorous situations – but since his brother was clearly a bit traumatized, Sam figured he'd give him an out. He expected the elder man to pick it up from there, as he tugged continually at the ropes.

Dean, however, just swallowed thickly, talking in broken tones after a slight pause. "I…I heard gunshots…" He sounded so lost; a part of Sam wanted to round the chair so he could see his brother's face, but another part – a bigger part – wanted to stay where he was, hidden, a safe speaking distance away.

"Yeah," he too, swallowed loudly, "There was a fight, no biggie."

"I…I thought…" his voice still had that lost tone. Sam had only heard this tone a handful of times before, and none of them with good surrounding circumstances. It took a lot to rattle his big brother; the elder prided himself on being unshakable, as solid as a rock – and that's how Sam thought of him constantly as well.

Sam spoke frantically, and pulled at the slowly loosening restraints with more of a panicked edge, "Hey, Dean, nothing happened to me, okay? I'm fine. And as soon as I get these goddamn ropes undone, we're gonna get the hell outta here, alright?"

Dean still didn't seem able to come out of his shocked, frightened trance. And the more he continued to speak in that tone – the voice Sam had associated his entire life to death or some sort of major tragedy – the more desperate the young hunter became. He wanted to get out of this house, and he wanted to do it now.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned again, and there was no change in the way he said it.

"Yeah, big brother?" He stopped his movements this time to listen.

"You're really not dead?"

Something inside of Sam snapped at those words. Dean had honestly thought that he'd died – he truly believed that he had failed his little brother. Because that's what Sam heard in his voice when he actually listened for it, knew how to identify it. Failure.

Tinged ever so slightly with hope.

"No, Dean." He breathed, "I'm not dead."

If his brother said anything else after that, Sam didn't hear it. All he could hear now was the sound of blood rushing, and his heart pounding in his ears. He didn't recall doing it, exactly, but he saw himself stand up. Some tiny pocket of knowledge still present in the back of his mind told him that he might have stood up with the intention of finding Missy's knife, using the weapon to undo the knots still holding his brother in place.

As he rose to his full height though, something changed. He began taking in his surroundings differently. He was still standing behind his brother in the Bender's living room, physically that's still where he was; but something in his mind branched out. He saw the space surrounding him, and the space surrounding that; he saw a deeper level to everything.

It took only a fraction of a second, but he saw everything there was to see in that house. The very foundation that made up the entire structure and everything in it – layers and layers of hate, death, destruction, the need to kill, blood and so many other ugly things, horrible emotions – all of it being held together by a thin, intricate pattern of natural resources. Wood, brick, stone, plaster – the physical aspect of the Bender home shied away from terrible things its occupants had laced the house with. Sam saw generations of death, of people hunting, hiding in the walls of this house, and it tainted everything in it.

Sam felt the hate the Benders had put into their home, and it made him sick to his stomach. It made him want to gag, want to get as far away from this place as possible -he felt dirty just being there. He'd only felt this level of connection, clarity, one other time in his life, but he was too far-gone now to comprehend what exactly that meant.

He just looked down at the ropes still binding his brother to the unsteady wooden chair. He could only see the restraints with a portion of him mind – the rest of his sight was focused solely on the hate it took to tie knots that tight, the need for control that powered the hands that put them there.

Finally, he saw the intent to kill. The hazy layer of intended murder that obstructed everything around them, that burned so bright and cold around his brother. Sam focused on that feeling – knowing without question that it was the right thing to do – and gave the ropes another hard glare.

And then they were undone.

After that, the world came rushing back. Sam didn't have time to stop and think about what he'd just done – he didn't want to stop and think about it. The layered sight that he'd possessed just a fraction of a second ago was already gone, but the remnants of feelings it left behind were not.

Not even at Max's house had he felt that much raw pain.

Dean's movements were what finally shook him out of his shock, and truly brought him back to the moment they were still, despite all logic, in.

"Sam?" He heard the older man grunt, "You get the ropes?" a small flick of the wrist answered his own question, and the younger man quickly bent down again to help unravel the now loose ties.

"Yeah," he croaked, before clearing his throat – and mind. He pulled his brother's hands free, pausing for a short, but unmistakable, second to grip one of Dean's hands firmly in his own. "You okay?"

He let his brother go, and watched as the elder quickly pulled himself up, out of the chair, and straightened, turning to face the taller man. Untying him seemed to strengthen his hold on reality, assure him that Sam really was there, and that all this was truly over.

"I'll live," his tone wasn't quite back to the normal, sarcastic brother Sam was used to, but it was certainty better than the lost, grief-stricken voice he'd been hearing earlier.

Earlier, before he'd used telekinesis to free his brother. Sam wondered absently what was it about Dean that triggered these psychic attacks.

"What about you?" His brother interrupted his thoughts, stepping close to Sam and reaching his right hand out in one fluid motion, grasping his shoulder firmly. "They didn't do anything to you, did they? 'Cause I made a couple death threats I wouldn't mind owin' up to."

"No, Dean, I'm fine." It was a lie now, of course. Sam wasn't fine – he was a freak. He was a bigger freak than his brother could ever possibly imagine, and to top it off, he was beginning to feel the onslaught of a headache tinge the surface of his consciousness.

He wouldn't tell any of this to Dean, though. He couldn't. "Hey," something caught Sam's attention as he batted his brother's concerned hand away. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Oh," Dean looked down at the injured appendage in question and shrugged slightly with his right shoulder, keeping his left hand firmly fixed to his torso. "That. Bastards thought I was Cattle or something…"

Sam's eyes widened while simultaneously darting around the room. He found what he was looking for in a red-hot poker leaning up against the side of the wall by the fireplace. "God…" he breathed. "Dean…"

"I'm fine, Sammy." He assured. "We'll bandage it up, and I'll be good as new. Promise."

Sam could only nod, feeling even more nauseated at the thought of his brother getting burned like that. Now that he looked at Dean closely, he could see the beginnings of a bruise forming on the side of his face, as well. Quite obviously the older man had gone a round or two with some member of the Bender family.

Sam got kidnapped, he thought stupidly, but Dean wound up taking all the hits. All the physical pain was placed on his big brother, all because Sam got himself into trouble. Guilt added to the unpleasant churning feeling present in the pit of his stomach, slowly spreading itself throughout his entire body.

"Good," Dean finally managed a small smirk, obviously sensing how distraught Sam was. His big brother was always able to do that - put his own feelings on hold if Sam really needed him to. "Then lets get the hell outta here, huh kiddo?"

"Yeah." That was the best idea Sam had heard all night. "Lets go."

They stayed close to each other while exiting the living room, Sam stayed on Dean's uninjured side, so that when their arms brushed, it didn't hurt his brother anymore. He couldn't strand the thought of causing Dean anymore pain.

They paused again just before they hit the front door, turning to face each other almost simultaneously. Dean reached out his arm again; only this time it didn't stop just resting on Sam's shoulder. It squeezed firmly and pulled the taller man closer. Sam didn't stop the awkward half-hug his brother pulled him into, and he lifted his own arm to circle around Dean's back.

He closed his eyes briefly and let a certain stillness consume him – if only for a heartbeat. Everything was okay. His big brother could make everything okay – that was his job. "I thought I lost you."

The words were so faint; Sam thought momentarily that he'd imagined them. Only he knew he hadn't. "Not today, bro." He whispered back.

A moment longer and they separated, pulling apart reluctantly, knowing they couldn't stay like that, and wishing all the while that they could. That they could just be little kids again, and wrap themselves up in their own, safe world until reality went away.

Sam ignored the way Dean wiped at his eyes with his right hand and kept his left firmly fixed to his chest. Dean, if he noticed - and Sam was sure he did - ignored his little brother's shaky footsteps as they made it a few more paces – so close to the exit.

"Dean?" Sam had made a spilt second decision to tell his brother about his second telekinetic outburst before they exited the house, a decision he regretted a split second later when the elder turned to him with a concerned, expectant gaze.

"Yeah?" He said after a moment of Sam's silence. The younger brother opened his mouth, but then closed it again, almost at once. He shook his head and shrugged.

"Never mind."

Dean was going to push it, Sam could see in his eyes that he was going press him on it until he caved in. Which is why Sam sighed a sigh of massive relief as they walked out the front door and caught sight of Deputy Kathleen before Dean could utter a single word on the matter. All thoughts of personal conversations were put on hold – hopefully to be forgotten about all together – as they reentered the real world.

"Where's the girl?"

And they were back to normal. Sam had to resist snorting out loud at that thought. Normal.

Yeah, right.

End…?

A/N: Like I said, I wrote this bit for the missing scenes challenge, but I was debating on weather or not to have a follow up chapter. If I did, it would probably take place directly after this one, you know - the walk in the woods, back at the motel. It's up to you guys, really.

Review!