Dean's dreaming. More specifically, dreaming about Sam, and Sam is doing some very kinky things to him. So the vibrating noise doesn't wake him right away, it just manifests in his fantasy as a huge blue vibrating dildo, which Sam wields at him. He mutters in his sleep something like, "that blue fucker is going nowhere near my ass…" as he swings his arm at it, trying to bat it away. His arm smacks into the wall instead, waking him with a start.

He grunts in pain, and Sam stirs a little, but just rolls over to his other side, his hand leaving Dean's chest and tucking itself behind his pillow instead. Dean slides silently out of the king-sized bed that they share and slips the phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket, heading with it to the bathroom.

He turns on the shower to create some noise to muffle his voice.

"Bobby?" he whispers into the phone.

"Dean? I can barely hear you. Didn't think you were gonna pick up."

"Wha' do ya got for me?"

"Well, your hunch was right. This Edward Cullen guy is bad news. Followed him for a few days like you asked. He hangs out every day after work at the playground, and he doesn't have any kids. Just watches the pre-teens skateboard and stuff. It's creepy as hell."

"Shit. Thanks Bobby. Means a lot to me. I'll head out there today, and see what dirt I can find on the guy."

"Dean? You wanna tell me what's goin on? How did you find out about this guy?"

Dean almost doesn't say anything, but figures that after doing him the favor of tailing the guy for so long that Bobby deserved something in return.

"The guy hurt Sam. Bad. But when he was too young to fight back. Understand?"

Bobby is quiet on the other end, piecing it all together quickly. "What're you gonna do to him Dean? Not gonna kill him are you?"

"If I wanted to kill him, he'd be a rotting corpse already. You know that. I'm doing this the right way, for Sam. I swear."

"Okay. Watch yourself, Dean."

"Hey, thanks again, Bobby. Oh, and please don't tell Sam about this. Please? Just let me handle this one on my own."

Bobby grudgingly agrees and Dean hangs up. He gets dressed quickly and scrawls out a note for Sam, telling him not to worry - that he'll be back the next day at the latest, or else he'll call - which he leaves on the nightstand. Grabbing his stuff and the car keys, he leaves before Sam wakes up.

"Son-of-a-bitch," curses Dean, as he looks into the back of the closet in the apartment he's just broken into. It's covered in Polaroids of naked teenage boys, some of them look even younger than that. Like twelve. The age Sammy was. There's also a pile of tapes, all labeled with similar names, like 'Edward and Tommy,' 'Edward and Mike,' 'Edward and Billy,' etc.

Dean is shaking with rage. He tries to tell himself that this will make things easier. That the cops will take the guy away, no problem, as soon as they get the word. But it doesn't really help. All of those kids. Kids like his brother. Little Sammy. For all of these years.

He really wants to start punching the wall again, but knows that if he starts, he won't be able to stop, and he doesn't want to leave any DNA or blood at the scene. With more effort than he's had to use in a long time, he calms down, slowly, and takes a seat in the kitchen. And waits.

The lock turns in the door with a loud clunk before it swings open. He doesn't even see Dean at first. He walks inside, setting down his bag and keys next to the door, closing and locking it behind him. He's humming something, but Dean can't tell what it is.

When he turns around, though, then he sees Dean. Sitting at the kitchen table. Unarmed.

"What the hell are you doing in here? I'm calling the cops!" yells Edward.

"Go right ahead, Eddy. It'll save me the hassle of doing it myself. Love the decorations in the bedroom closet by the way. Not too subtle or smart are you?"

"What - what do you want… you want money? I can pay you! A lot! Just name it, man," sputters Edward.

"All I want is to see you go to jail for a long, long time. You know what they do to child molesters in jail? Well, I guess you'll find out, won't you?" chuckles Dean, eyes dark and menacing.

"Then why are you even here? Why aren't the cops here? Huh? What do you want?"

"Oh, I just wanted the chance to do this…" says Dean, leaping out of his chair at Edward. He punches him as hard as he can across the face, sending blood and teeth flying. Edward staggers and swings at him. Dean catches the arm, squeezing and twisting it, feeling it snap. Edward screams. Dean just starts punching. His vision filled with the man that raped Sam, all those years ago. He keeps punching until Edward is just a bloody, unconscious mess on the floor. Dean makes sure the guy isn't actually dead before spitting on him.

He pulls out his phone and dials.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

Dean leans against the Impala, enjoying the show.

The cops stuff a bloody, handcuffed Edward, into the back of the cruiser. The guy's screaming from the pain in his broken arm, but the cops don't seem to be too concerned or in a rush to get him to a hospital. The crime scene guys keep coming out of the building carrying plastic bags filled with evidence, giving each other looks as they pass, as if they can't believe it.

As the news vans start to arrive, Dean feels a familiar weight settle onto the car next to him. Without turning he says, "Hey Sammy. How's Bobby doin'?"

"Sends his love. Dean, I guess I know why you didn't tell me. You didn't do anything stupid did you?"

"Me? Do something stupid? Come on." Dean smiles at his brother before turning serious, standing in front of him as he sits on the sleek black car, twisting his fingers in Sam's shirt. "Of course not, Sam. This one was too important. I wasn't gonna let this guy get away."

"He looks like he went three rounds in the ring with the heavyweight camp, Dean."

"What? The cops don't care. He had it coming to him. No one hurts my Sammy. And the way he hurt you…you should be glad that's all I did." Sam sees a dark glint in Dean's eyes, telling him that his brother had imagined lots of different tortures and painful deaths for the man, before realizing he could get away with none of them. "It's over now Sam. I'm gonna keep an eye on him, too. Have some guys I know watch him wherever the law sends him. And if he ever gets out, I'll be there watching him still."

"I know. Thank you, Dean. I'm sor--"

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare say you're sorry, Sam." Dean grabs him tightly and kisses him, quieting any protests he might still have. He feels Sam's arms curl around his back, and he leans into him. Planting a knee on the Impala for leverage, his hands placed on either side of Sam's face, he kisses him fiercely, deeply.

When he stops, Sam's gasping, pupils wide and dark.

"Can we get out of here?" Sam asks, eyes heavy and burning with need, licking his lips as his eyes sweep over Dean.

"Whatever you want, babe," croons Dean, adding, "As long as it doesn't involve a blue dildo."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Let's go."

END