Buried

Chapter Two

Burning, aching pain shot through Sam Winchester's head, back, arms, and legs as consciousness slowly began to seep back to the surface. The groggy, confused, 16-year old struggled to remember what the hell had happened, where he was, and why he was in pain.

Sam recalled getting back to the run-down motel room after school. He had still been pissed off that his Dad wouldn't stick around one more night so he could take Lucy to the school dance. He remembered being frustrated with himself as well as angry with this Dad. Really, he shouldn't be surprised anymore that his father would find a way to prevent anything even approaching normal or fun.

He knew his brother was still trying to come up with a compromise, and he loved Dean for trying, but he knew John Winchester would never back down or cooperate. So before leaving school, he'd simply told the petite brunette that there was a family emergency and they'd be leaving town to go take care of it.

It wasn't exactly a lie…in his Dad's mind every new hunt was an emergency, and since they were a family that meant it involved Sam as well, no matter how much he wished it didn't.

He'd tossed his books on the table, considered doing homework, but then realized there was no point since he wouldn't even be in this school after today. Sam had been tempted to call Dean just to see where they were and when they'd be home… he'd been having these weird feelings all day long…almost like someone had been watching him. In the end, he decided not to since it would just bring snark from his brother who loved to tease him and an angry lecture from Dad for being paranoid or not paying enough attention to his surroundings.

Sam was tired of the fighting with his father; he was tired of the constant lectures about responsibility to the family business. He longed to have a life of his own, to be free to choose for himself, to be able to do what he wanted and to not lie about who he was or what his family did. He was counting down the days until he graduated high school and then only prayed he had the guts to do what he'd been planning…if he was accepted into a college.

He remembered starting to pack…he had been shoving his clothes into his duffel when suddenly the lock on the thin door shattered as the door was kicked in; the pieces hadn't even hit the floor before Sam's hunter reactions kicked in.

He'd lunged for the blade he always kept with him once he was out of school, but the man who'd stormed into the room was a lot faster than Sam had expected. He'd first thought the person breaking in was an average burglar or a drug addict desperate enough to kick in a door in broad daylight; he was obviously more than that.

The fight in the room had been brief and violent; Sam only managed to get in a couple of good shots before the knife had been knocked out of his hand and he'd been thrown over the bed, landing hard on the floor.

He'd been taught to fight by both his father and brother, so normally the teen could handle his own in any battle, but this attack had taken him by surprise and his assailant was obviously highly trained as well. Within a few moments his blade had been knocked from his hand and then kicked under the bed. After that the tide had quickly turned against Sam. He did manage to get some space between him and his attacker, but only for only a brief moment, not long enough to either grab his phone or make a break for the open door.

He was grabbed and slammed to the floor, and then a flurry of brutal kicks to his ribs and mid-section caused him to stop fighting as he tried to curl up to protect himself from the blows. Things were already getting a little fuzzy when a large hand grabbed his throat to yank him up before a hard fist landed on the side of his head.

Sam's consciousness was fading rapidly at that point; the guy spoke for the first time since entering the room, and the last thing Sam heard before blackness took him told him that this was something more than a guy desperate for money or drugs…this was personal.

"Let's see what your old man thinks now, punk."

Now as his brain came back online, Sam realized he was in big trouble. Everything ached which led him to believe that he'd been beaten even more after he lost consciousness in the hotel room. He tried to shift to make himself a little more comfortable, but quickly realized that he was tied up like a pretzel. His arms had been pulled behind his back and tied together at the wrists. The heavy rope had then been wrapped around his shoulders and wound around his body to pin his arms to his sides. His long legs, bent so that his feet were almost touching the backs of his thighs, had also been wrapped with multiple rings of the heavy rope and pulled tight enough to dig into Sam's skin even though the denim of his jeans.

He tried to look around, but he was surrounded by darkness. Soft thumps sounded from above and Sam's mind began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He was in some sort of box…and that box was being buried. Panic began to set in.

"Hey! Hey! Stop! Let me outta here!" he shouted frantically, twisting in his bonds, only to discover that whoever this guy was…he knew how to tie some damn knots.

As he struggled to move, to kick, to test the tightness of the rope, the 16-year old found that the rope around his bound ankles had been pulled up to hook to the rope holding his wrists and then the terror really kicked up a notch when the panicked teen found that a rope had also been wrapped around his neck…when he started to really struggle, he began to choke himself. He quickly stilled turning his head to try to loosen the rope around his neck.

"You may as well settle down in there, boy!" A muffled deep voice came from a distance outside of Sam's box-like prison as more stuff, probably dirt, could be heard hitting the top. "No sense in you suffocating yourself faster than you will anyway. It'd be a damn shame if you died before your Daddy showed up to try to save you …or maybe that would be better."

"What…who are you?" Sam had gotten a pretty good look at the guy before passing out and couldn't remember seeing him before, but it sure sounded like his attacker knew his father. He figured his dad had probably created enemies since he'd been hunting for a number of years and Sam hadn't met everyone he'd worked with. "Why are you doing this? What…what do you want with me or…my dad?" The boy strained a bit more until he realized the knots and ropes were only getting tighter with his attempts to wriggle free. He stopped moving and tried to make himself calm down, to ignore the dark small box and the fact that he was literally being buried alive.

Being trained to be a hunter wasn't only about learning to use weapons and the different ways to kill monsters and other things that were supposed to be myths. Oh, sure Sam had been taught all of that and more; but he'd also been taught techniques to help him stay calm no matter the situation. Sam had always had a phobia of small, dark places and even though his Dad's techniques worked on most of his fears, this one was hard to shake. Sam couldn't help begging again to be let out of the box.

"Please…whatever this is about…whatever you think my dad did…you don't have to do this." Sam's voice choked off as the rope around his neck tightened even more as he instinctively tried to twist his wrists.

Pastor Jim had always said to try to use reason. As another thud was heard from above, he didn't think reason was going to work with this guy. He prayed for rescue, but a piece of the teen feared his brother and father might not even know anything was wrong yet. Even if they did…would they be able to find him before his limited air ran out?

"You one of those kids who thinks your Daddy can do no wrong, kid?" Clay Baxter asked as he calmly shoveled loose dirt back into the hole that he'd dug before going to pay John Winchester a visit. The hole was supposed to be for John himself, but he decided on another plan when he discovered one of John's sons was alone in the room. "You got a case of hero worship for the old man? You think he'll charge in and rescue you?" He smirked as he wiped swipe off his brow, then winced as sweat trickled under the bandage on his arm that covered the gash he'd gotten when the punk had actually managed to cut him.

Clay had learned years ago that Winchester had a couple of kids that he usually took on hunts with him, but he had been warned by more than a few hunters to let it go. Everyone seemed to agree that going after the kids would make him as bad as what they hunted…maybe even worse. He'd initially agreed with this assessment and never actually considered hurting either of John's boys…until he saw the man again and all his buried hate boiled back to the surface.

He'd spent a week trying to complete his hunt while also attempting to track the older man back to wherever he was holed up. He'd gotten lucky; as he had been driving back to his own motel, he caught sight of the big black truck and had followed it back to some run-down motel two towns over. Clay realized he'd gotten luckier when he caught sight of the boy, the boy who wasn't participating in the hunt and was spending a lot of time alone in the hotel room. Suddenly he couldn't remember why it had seemed like a bad idea to hurt one of John's kids.

The boy had looked like a typical teenager when he'd watched him leave for school. He was tall, almost as tall as his old man, with floppy dark hair and a wide-open face that smiled at teachers and students but had closed off when he got to the motel. Clay watched the boy enter the room and prepared to make his move.

Clay knew the boy was alone in the room; the older brother had left with John and there was still no sign of the black truck in the parking lot. He expected it to be an easy snatch and grab…until the damn punk ass brat had pulled a goddamn blade and managed to cut him before he could disarm him. The pain and his temper had caused him to kick the kid until he was unconscious, and he was still angry enough that he didn't have any doubts about what he was doing now.

It had been easy to manhandle the unconscious kid into the back of his rental car. Even though the kid was tall, he didn't have much mass to him yet. There was no one around to notice what he was doing, and the boy was still unconscious when they reached the small handmade wooden box already in the hole. All he had to do was tie Winchester's kid up and toss him in. He couldn't resist taking a few more shots at the kid while wrapping the thick ropes around him.

He was just starting to toss the dirt over the box when he heard the first sounds of life. He was mildly surprised at how quickly the boy had regained consciousness after the serious beating. Most teenagers would be freaking out at this point. After all the kid had been attacked and beaten and was now waking up in a dark box. He had to realize how tightly he was tied and that his air would run out as his prison was covered in dirt. But so far the boy was holding it together; there was only a slight hint of panic in his muffled voice as he begged to be let out. Then he shut up, probably realizing that the more he talked the more air he used.

"Your old man is a cold-hearted bastard who doesn't give a crap about anyone but himself and the hunts he's on, kiddo," he continued as the boy fell silent. He continued to shovel dirt into the hole without even bothering to watch his back; he knew he'd gotten the jump on Winchester and by the time the man could get his head out of his ass to track him down, the kid would be dead…or close to it. "Did he ever tell you about the time he got a guy killed all because he wouldn't wait to see if we were successful in dealing with the spirit? Did he tell you about my buddy dying as he choked on his own blood? Maybe I should've beaten you even more so you'd be bleeding and puking blood up…assuming he bothers to find you and can dig this hole back up in time."

Sam bit his lip to keep from responding; he knew the bastard wouldn't listen and it would only use up more of his precious air. Sam might not always get along with his Dad and everyone knew he didn't see eye-to-eye with the man about many things, but he didn't doubt for a minute that his Dad loved him and would be looking for him. If he returned from the hunt in time to even notice his son was missing.

Sam wanted to know the story behind the guy's words. Sure, he had seen his Dad do some crazy things on a hunt and the man could definitely push the envelope when it came to safety, but the teen refused to believe his Dad had purposefully done something to cause another hunter to die. He just couldn't bring himself to think that he'd care so little about a human life.

His own predicament was brought back to the front of his mind as one of his legs cramped and the spasms tightened the rope around his neck. His panic threatened to flood back to the surface; what if whatever his dad and Dean were hunting that day kept them from returning until Sam had strangled himself or had run out of air?

He started with a gasp as little bits of dirt and rotten wood dropped onto his face. The teen choked back an even bigger burst of terror as he imagined the lid collapsing under the weight of the dirt covering him. He would suffocate in minutes if that happened. He desperately resisted the urge to beg again; he didn't want to give his captor that satisfaction.

"You think John'll track me down in time to save you, kid?" He could hear the sneer in the man's voice, and Sam longed to punch him in the face. "Does he take being a Dad as seriously as he does being a hunter? 'Cause I'll tell you…ten years ago I wouldn't have ever guess that the man had kids. Guess it must be the Marine in him, huh?"

"Shut up," Sam gritted, refusing to let the words get to him. He tried once again to calm his inner fears, as more dirt seemed to fall through the cracks in the box lid. The sounds from above began to become more muffled as he was buried under more and more dirt. The teenager squeezed his eyes shut even though it didn't make any difference in the darkness surrounding him.

His extremities started to tingle as the ropes began to cut off circulation in his hands and feet. The rest of his muscles were starting to tense and cramp up from the way he'd been tied and squeezed into the box. He knew that the spasms would start to increase and, with the way the rope was looped around his neck, those spasms might end up killing him before his air ran out.

Sam was no longer paying attention to the rambling words from the increasingly muffled voice as he tried to keep his breathing slow and calm. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears and he swore his chest was tightening from lack of air.

He felt the rope tightening around his neck as he tried once again to pull his hands apart or get a knot loosened, anything so he could try to free himself. All he did was pull the rope tighter around his neck; it was now tight enough that he could hear himself start to wheeze. He let himself go limp with a soft sob of building despair. Sam knew that even if he could somehow get his hands free, he'd never be able to escape the box much less dig himself out from under the dirt that had been shoveled onto top of it.

Being tied up in a dark, small, cramped box and slowly but surely running out of air, was terrifying for the teen, and he couldn't control his thoughts as they started to run wild. Did his father and brother even know he was missing yet? Did they realize that he was in trouble? Would they know who'd grabbed him or why? Would they be able to track him down? Could they find him and dig him out before it was too late?

"Dean…" he whispered, suddenly feeling hot and lightheaded. Sam tried to picture his older brother; he needed to lock onto something to keep himself calm. He felt his breathing become more labored, but he couldn't be sure if it was due to a lack of air, or if his panic was making him feel this way. 'Calm down, Sam. Gotta calm down,' he told himself silently; he was too worked up to feel the hot tears on his cheeks or how his chest was heaving, but he did realize that he would pass out if he couldn't get his breathing under control. And if he passed out…he might never wake up.

His almost numb fingers suddenly touched something on his other wrist, something that wasn't the overly tight rope. Sam frowned until he realized it was the black rubber bracelet Dean had given him years earlier; the one that matched his brother's. Running his fingertips over the bracelet allowed the scared boy to remember his brother's cocky smile when he'd tossed it to him one evening and his own thrill that Dean had bought him his own, not seeming to mind that it would be something they shared.

Feeling the rubber under clammy fingers gave Sam a way to hold onto positive thoughts and keep himself centered. Ever since Sam could remember, it was Dean…his voice, his eyes or his hand…who had always been there to center him, to calm him down.

It had been Dean who'd taught him how to slow down his breathing when frightened. It had been Dean who'd taught him how to try to put himself outside of whatever situation was scaring him. It had always been Dean that he'd gone to when scared or upset because while their Dad would scoff or lecture him about showing emotions or being too weak, Dean would provide comfort as best he could and wouldn't make Sam feel bad for being upset.

'Dean'll come…Dean always comes… he's gonna be here soon… Dad'll come too…just…just haveta wait…have to hang on…calm down, dammit…don't panic…' Sam tried to listen to his inner voice which was fighting with his emotions. He forced himself to keep his eyes closed so he could try to ignore how dark the box was, how close the walls seemed, how hot he was, and how much he was gasping and wheezing. Every inch of his body was hurting now from the earlier beating, the tight ropes, and his cramped position.

Sam had about convinced himself that it would be fine, that he'd be fine…until something from outside made a strange noise…something different than the steady thud of dirt hitting the box. He heard a shout…a popping sound…a muffled thud; his eyes snapped back open only to see complete blackness and it became too much; he lost it. "Help! Dean! Dad! Someone…help! Help…please…" His voice choked off with a sob, tearing eyes starting to swim from both tears and lack of air. He fought to stay conscious, wondering what was going on above him.

Clay had been shoveling more dirt in on top of the box; he had almost filled in the hole. He had lost interest in teasing the kid after the boy fell silent, but as he finally began to hear some mumbled phrases again, he couldn't help laughing to himself. "Kid can't take a little dark then he won't be much of a hunter. I might actually be doing Winchester a favor by getting rid of…Argh!"

The sudden and unexpected gunshot that rang out from the tiny graveyard, which had long since been left to weeds and memory, took the man off guard as did the searing pain of the bullet that creased his upper arm, making him drop the shovel.

Quickly shaking off his surprise, Clay went to lunge for the weapon he had laying on his jacket just a few feet away from him only to pull up short at the sound of a gun cocking right behind his ear.

"You move, you twitch, you even look like you're going for the gun and I end your miserable life right now, asshole."

The deep husky voice that growled in his ear was not the voice Clay had been expecting to hear. He been expecting to hear John Winchester's gravelly tone, and while this one had a touch of the same gravel and ice, it also held something the other man wasn't expecting to hear from a stranger…rage.

"Who the hell're you?" Clay demanded, grunting as he was jerked around and a hard fist landed in his gut; he fell to his knees, gagging when the barrel of a .45 Colt was jammed under his chin.

"Huh, that's cute. You have something that belongs to me and yet you're asking who I am." Dean Winchester glared with murder and rage down at the man who'd grabbed his brother. "You have five seconds to tell me where he is because in six seconds I show you the side of me that's not a hunter…the side that has put better people than you in hospitals for touching my little brother." His fist wrapped in the man's sweat stained t-shirt to yank him back up close to his face. "Now where…the hell…is Sam?" he demanded, teeth clenched.

The older brother only paused for a moment when a sharp voice hollered from down the small rugged pathway. "Dean! Stop!"

"This bastard has a problem with you for whatever the hell he thinks you did or didn't do 10 years ago. That's your problem. He went after, attacked, and grabbed my little brother…that's my problem and I'm gonna take care of it," Dean snapped, not bothering to look back as he pressed the muzzle a little harder under Clay's chin; his green eyes were hard and glittering. "Where. Is. My. Brother?" he demanded harshly with a tap of the gun with each word.

As John hurried up, he cursed himself for allowing Dean to get so far ahead of him. It had taken longer than the older man had liked to find the correct hotel only to learn that Clay had checked out the day before.

They'd been lucky that some local teenagers remembered seeing a car that matched the description of Clay's making frequent trips to and from an old abandoned graveyard. As they drove toward the cemetery, John began to worry about his son's temper…because the more time passed, the more he advised caution and recon, the more outspoken Dean had become about running out of time.

When they'd finally found the place, it was clear that all the training he'd pounded into Dean's head over the years had been forgotten…or ignored. All he was thinking about was finding Sam and dealing out some serious payback to Clay Baxter.

When they'd split up, hoping to cover ground more quickly, John had suspected that it might be a mistake. He was positive it was a mistake when he heard the gunshot; he could only hope that Dean hadn't crossed that final line.

As he approached Clay and his son, he saw a depressed area in the wet earth that looked like it had recently been a hole. He kept his eyes locked on the hard face of his older son. "Dean…" he began softly, using the low tone of voice that usually worked to calm his older son down when he was seriously pissed off. "Back off and let me…"

"Let you? Let you what?" Dean snorted, ignoring the placating tone and the lies he knew would be coming. "I don't give a fuck that he's human, Dad. Sam and I've both learned over the years that humans can be more dangerous to us than the monsters you drag us out to kill." He cocked his head to the side as if examining the sweaty, fear-filled face of the man in front of him before smirking. "Not so brave on the other end of the gun, are you? A big tough hunter scared of a guy with a gun. Gee, I wonder what my 16-year-old brother felt like when you nailed him?"

"You…you could ask him…if he hasn't suffocated by now." Clay couldn't help sneering, confident that Winchester's older kid wouldn't actually pull the trigger…his sneer faded when the hammer was cocked and the muscle on Dean's face twitched. "Hey…you won't kill me. I know you won't."

"You know my father won't kill you," Dean corrected carefully, leaning down to grab a handful of hair while pressing the muzzle harder into the soft flesh under his chin. "You don't know what I'll do. You thought you could grab my brother to make a point to Dad? You probably thought you could hurt him, scare him…because he's just a kid, right? You thought that maybe my Dad would care enough to slip up…then you could get whatever revenge you planned. There's just one thing you didn't plan on, dickhead." His eyes went to slits as he glared and prepared to pull the trigger. "Sammy's big brother…no one touches that kid without bleeding."

"Dean!" John yelled trying to get close enough to grab for the hand that was holding the weapon before his boy could pull the trigger. Suddenly another sound, a very faint sound, stopped the angry old brother from using the .45, and it became very plain for the former Marine just who Dean's #1 concern would always be.

"Sammy!" Dean shoved Clay away with a hard blow to the temple from the hilt of his gun, and then he was dropping to his knees as he once again heard the strained, weak, and muffled voice trying to shout from under all the dirt in the hole. "Sonuvabitch!"

Dean had seen the hole; he had even seen the guy shoveling dirt; but his frantic brain hadn't made the connection until this moment. That damn asshole hadn't just locked Sam up somewhere…he'd put him in a goddamn box and had been burying his brother alive. "You deal with him, Dad. And if he's still breathing by the time I get to Sam, you will not wanna see what I do to him!" he yelled, anger covering the terror in his heart that he'd already wasted too much time. Dean was already digging.

"Dean, let me cuff Clay somewhere, and I'll help…" John started to speak, but his voice faded as sharp green eyes pinned him with a look he last saw when Dean was 10-years-old and his little brother had come home from the playground with a bloody lip and his favorite book stolen. It was the 'back the hell off, he's mine' look. Dean had often used that look, even back when Sam was a toddler. As much as the hunter wanted to push the issue, he also realized that dealing with Clay probably should be handled by him…and soon. "Okay…just tell me if you need help with him.

A short nod was all the answer he got and then Dean's focus returned to digging. The soil was still loose so it didn't take him too long to reach what seemed to be a very small wooden box. It barely 5 feet long, and he frantically worked to clear the box while shouting to his trapped sibling in the hopes that he'd be heard.

"Sam! Sammy! Hey, can you hear me, kiddo?" Dean hadn't liked how muffled Sam's voice had sounded, but he liked it even less now that Sam had fallen silent. His stomach clenched in dread as he realized just how small the box actually was. How the hell had his overgrown little brother been crammed in there? He continued to call out reassuringly, just hoping that Sam could still hear him. "It's gonna be fine now, Sammy. I'm…Dad and I are here, and I'm getting you outta there in a second…so you just hang on for me now!"

Sounds from behind him told him that his father was dragging the now struggling and shouting other man away from the hole, but he no longer gave a crap as long as Clay was out of the picture and no longer a threat to his brother. All Dean cared about was the boy inside the box; a boy who was now silent even though he should've been easier to hear as box was almost uncovered.

"Sammy? Hey, kiddo…I know you're probably scared in there…but if you can hear me then I need you to focus on my voice…need you to stay calm and listen to me…don't worry about the sounds you're hearing… cause that's just me uncovering this damn box…I've almost got you little brother…just hang on a few minutes longer for me." Dean's back and arms were on fire from the strain, but he ignored it in his haste to reach his brother. He made some promises that he knew he would keep. "As soon as you're loose, we're heading to see Pastor Jim. I'm parking us at his place for at least a week. I'll make Caleb go hunting with Dad so he won't be around to bug you…you can just lay around like a bump on a log for a few days if you want…doesn't that sound great, Sammy?" Dean bit back a sob as he still received no response from his brother.

Enough of the lid of the box was finally visible, and Dean tossed the shovel away. He climbed into the hastily dug hole and tried to pry open the lid, straining with the amount the effort it took due to the dirt still weighing it down. "Sam!" His heart was hammering in his chest as he finally lifted the top of the box free and propped it against the dirt wall. He froze as he caught sight of his brother and he wished he had pulled the trigger before his dad had stopped him. "Sammy…"

His little brother's body was twisted in a way that Dean knew would cause pulled and torn muscles. Heavy rope was wrapped around him from neck to ankle, but what held Dean in place was Sam's pale, slack face. There wasn't any sign of movement from the teenager. Was he too late? Then he gasped as Sam's lips began moving, trying to form words, even though no sound could be heard.

"Sammy!" Dean's hands were moving even before his brain caught back up. He could see the bruises on Sam's arms and knew there would be matching ones on the rest of his body. It was clear that the thick rope was tight enough to bruise. He heard Sam's weak, gasping breaths and knew the rope around his neck had to go first. "Sam! Hold still…don't try to move yet."

"…De…" Sam's voice was shot to hell after all the screaming he'd been doing, and he wasn't sure if he'd actually produced a sound or not. His oxygen-starved brain was now locked on one thing, and that was his brother. He focused on his face and the sound of his voice as a burst of blissfully cool and welcome air hit his hot face. He tried to gasp in a breath, but his throat was still constricted enough that all he could manage was a few shallow pants. He jerked suddenly at a touch, his befuddled mind afraid the guy had come back, deciding that he hadn't done enough to him yet. "No…please…let…" Sam's panicked words were barely audible as he tried to pull away from the touch.

"Sammy! Hey, little brother…it's me!" Dean's voice, deep with worry, finally penetrated his sluggish brain, and the touch of gentle fingers brushing over his wet cheeks made Sam slowly struggle to open his eyes. "Shhh, you're safe now, kiddo. We're here…I need you to try and stay still while I cut you loose."

Despite the steadiness of his voice, Dean's hands shook as he reached for the switchblade in his pocket and began to carefully cut through the heavy and too tight ropes that bound his brother. He could see that some of them were tight enough to be biting into Sam's skin and when he felt blood as he reached around the tense teen to feel for his hands, he had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from swearing viciously.

He also cursed at himself for not thinking to bring a bottle of water as he took in the pale face, sweat soaked clothes, and shallow breathing. He knew the early signs of shock. "No, don't try to talk," he cautioned as Sam's lips continued to move. "I've got water back at the car. I'll get it as soon as you're outta this thing and back on solid ground." He grimaced as Sam kept trying to communicate and finally leaned in close to catch the words that were coming from Sam's broken voice. "Yeah. Dad's dealing with the asshole who did this. He's here, too, Sam. He'll make sure that guy doesn't hurt you again. Now just calm down and try to take a few breaths while I get you loose."

Seeing Sam nod weakly, Dean relaxed a little and then went back to work on the ropes. The first one to go was the one wrapped around Sam's throat. He slit through the connecting rope that led from it to Sam's trapped wrists, frowning as he took in the deep welt around his brother's neck; it would be sore for several days to come.

Dean kept talking in the low soothing voice that only Sam had ever heard. He needed to keep his brother calm as he cut all the connecting ropes first so he could gently unfold Sam's bent legs. He winced at the ragged harsh moan of pain he heard as tight muscles tried to balk at straightening back out.

Once he had Sam's legs straight, he cut his ankles free and then reached to slowly pull his brother up until he was sitting. Instead of letting the boy lean back against the side of the hole, he pulled him forward, letting Sam's head rest on his shoulder. The older brother kept quiet when Sam turned just enough to bury his face against Dean's neck and began to cry. The muffled sobs told the older boy just how scared Sam had been; usually he wouldn't risk showing this much emotion with their Dad in the area.

"Shhh, it's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, carefully cutting the ropes around Sam's arms and then his wrists before gently rubbing his arms with strong hands. He massaged his little brother's muscles, trying to work out the tension and cramps, until Sam was finally able to lower them; but instead of resting his arms as soon as he could move them, Sam wrapped them around his brother and just held on with as much strength as he could muster.

"I…didn't…think…you'd…you'd…find me…in time." Sam was still panting out shallow breaths, his abused voice ragged, barely a harsh whisper. Dean could only hear him because his lips were so close to Dean's ear as he gave in to the feeling of being safe, no longer able to bury the fear and emotions he'd been fighting since waking up. "I…thought…I'd…"

"Hey, this is me. You know I'd do whatever it took to find you." Dean had to pause a moment before continuing to make sure he could control his voice. The last thing he wanted was for his already shook up brother to know how scared he'd been that he might've arrived too late. He smiled down at the top of his little brother's head. "What's rule #1 in the Dean Winchester Rulebook?"

Sam stayed still when he felt Dean's arms come around to hold him, content that if his no chick flick moments older brother was okay with this, then he'd take it for as long as possible. He frowned a bit, trying to convince his brain to think. "Don't…scratch the…Impala?" he offered through a dry throat. He winced as his body began to ache more and knew the next few hours weren't going to be fun as his muscles cramped and stretched.

"No…that's rule #2. Rule #1 is anyone who touches my little brother gets their lungs ripped out." Dean's fingers were steady now that he had Sam free, and they carded back through sweaty hair. He could feel a lump and tacky blood on the back of Sam's skull. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you got back from school, Sam," he murmured. He heard footsteps coming closer and tensed; he wasn't ready to deal with their Dad yet. He hated the lost look Sam sometimes got when he was sick or hurt and wanted to be close to Dean but was afraid of looking too childish or needy in front of their Dad.

"I thought Rule #2 was do as I say, not as I do, Ace?"

The voice that spoke was not John Winchester's, and while Sam tensed automatically, starting to jerk back, Dean's arm tightened to keep him against him. The older boy lifted his eyes up to meet the dark eyes of the bald young man who was peering down at them.

"How'd the hell you'd get here so fast, Caleb?" he demanded, relieved to see his friend and fellow hunter but wondering if Caleb was at the hole, then where the hell was his father? He knew their Dad wouldn't have let Caleb come up alone. "Where's Dad? Did he deal with Baxter or do I get to?"

Caleb was a few years older than Dean but shorter and bald. The two had grown up around one another so Caleb knew the bond the brothers shared. He also knew the issues between John and his younger son, so when he worked a hunt with the Winchesters, he tried to steer his mentor off in other directions.

Now he was leaning over the would-be grave, taking in Sam's broken condition and the still simmering rage he could recognize in Dean's eyes. He realized that if John opened his mouth too much, his friend would probably snap and say all the things that Dean had been keeping inside for too many years.

"I was actually just a state over, so when you called, I dumped my hunt and hightailed it here." Caleb admitted, balancing himself as he held out a hand. He lifted his brows to indicate that Dean had better let him help with Sam. "Kid…you ready to get out of that box and back to the car?"

"Yes, please," Sam whispered. The teen winced as his legs burned when Dean stood and then bent to slowly help him stand. The older brother moved slowly, supporting him as he shook from being tied up for so long in such a small place. "Wanna go, De'n," he mumbled, dropping a letter in his brother's name like he did when sick or upset.

Dean nodded, glancing up with a warning look. "Reach up for Caleb's hand, Sammy," he urged while shifting so he could try to find a good place to wrap his arms to help lift his brother out of the hole. He could tell Sam's ribs were at least cracked, maybe broken, just from the way Sam was now trying to protect his one side. "He's gonna pull your overgrown butt outta here and then we'll get you back to the car so you can stretch out and drink some water."

Caleb heard the light tone, but he knew it was faked as he watched Dean's jaw twitch at the first cry of pain Sam made as they worked together to get the teenager out of the hole. "Shit! What the hell're you feeding this kid, Dean?" he demanded with a grunt as he fell back after getting Sam clear of the hole. Dean quickly scrambled out after him. "I think he weighs more than me."

"A wet squirrel weighs more than you, dude," Dean retorted, dropping to his knees to help Sam sit up when it became quickly clear that lying flat before his muscles relaxed more would be nothing but agony for his brother. "Gonna get you to the car and…Caleb, where the hell is Dad?" he asked suddenly when he realized he still couldn't see John anywhere around but thought he could hear shouting off in the distance.

"Oh, yeah…about that…" Caleb coughed while reaching out to help steady Sam until Dean got him to where he could handle him alone. "I wasn't exactly hunting alone…and to say Jim is pissed would be a huge understatement."

Dean's eyebrows rose at that. He knew if there was anyone besides Bobby Singer who disagreed with his Dad's parenting methods, it would be Jim Murphy. If the Pastor turned hunter was there now, he was probably reading John the riot act.

Because Sam's legs kept buckling and cramping, it finally became necessary for the teen to let Caleb take his other arm. With his injured ribs it was impossible for Dean to lift him over his shoulders like he might have done any other time.

By the time they got close to where the Impala and John's big black truck were parked, loud voices could be heard.

"Yep, Jim's pissed off," Caleb sighed, catching sight of the man with the neatly trimmed beard shoving a finger into John's chest while John yelled right back that he had no clue this was going to happen. "Oh, that is so not going to help him," he muttered when his mentor yelled that if Sam had been paying attention or listened more, this might not have happened.

Dean had gone stiff but reined in his temper to soothe Sam when the boy tried to hide his face under too long hair rather than face his father's disappointment. "This is not your fault, Sammy," he told him quietly, pulling the keys out to unlock the car while giving a sharp shout. "Hey! You two wanna continue this someplace else or should Sam and I just leave you to fight it out here?"

"Damn, Ace," Caleb breathed, not recalling a time when Dean had tossed that much lip toward John.

John opened his mouth to snap back until he saw the way his older boy was supporting the obviously injured younger one, and then he was moving closer only to slow at the protective way Dean shifted, as if putting himself between him and Sam. "Hey, kiddo," he murmured; his voice was gruff but not hard like it could be at times. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, hissing in pain when his leg suddenly went out from under him and only Dean's quick movement kept him from falling. "Just…hurts."

"He needs water, a cool bath, some food, and a week or so at Jim's," Dean replied, catching the nod of agreement from Jim Murphy. The Pastor approached with a sharp eye to notice how pale and drawn Sam still looked.

"Let's just get him to a motel tonight, Dean. He can get most of that there. Sam's in no shape to travel very far right now." The Pastor glanced back at John as if daring him to disagree.

Dean opened the back door of the Impala and helped his brother ease inside. He then tossed the keys to a shocked Caleb. "I'm sitting back here with him. You drive to the first decent motel you find," he told his friend, then looked up at the Pastor. "Jim? Is it okay if we visit for awhile after tonight?"

"You know you boys are welcome any time, Dean. And you can stay as long as you'd like," Jim assured the older of the two. He leaned into the car after he jammed his elbow into John's ribs to warn him against arguing with this plan. "Is a motel going to be okay, Dean? Does he need a hospital?"

"No, I think he's basically bruised…maybe some cracked or broken ribs…a cut or two, but nothing too deep…pretty sure that I can handle everything myself." Dean didn't like taking his brother to a hospital because that involved too many questions and too big a chance of others getting involved. "Sammy?"

Sam was eyeing his brother and father through sleepy eyes. He could tell how much his Dad didn't want to agree with spending time or money on a room, but he also didn't think he could travel all the way to Pastor Jim's place right then.

"Just…just wanna sleep and try to work the cramps outta my arms and legs, De'n," he muttered, having to force the words out. He sighed when a bottle of cold water was cracked opened and placed against his lips so he could drink. He took several careful sips. "But…I can…go on if…if Dad wants to…I'm…"

"You are not fine, Sam," John finally broke in. He stepped up to the door once Caleb moved to get behind the wheel and knelt down to take a better look at his boy's face and his still labored breathing. "This shouldn't have happened. This was on me and I've…taken care of it. Now I want you to just rest and we'll deal with those muscles as soon as we get you settled tonight."

Sam just nodded, too tired to wonder what had gotten into his Dad and why he wasn't lecturing him about failing to protect himself. He leaned his head over against his brother's shoulder and closed his eyes. "Thanks…for findin' me."

The thanks could have gone to either father or brother, but John knew who it really should go to. He nodded his head while reaching a slow cautious hand in to gently tousle damp hair. "Get some sleep, Sam. Dean'll be here when you wake up."

The gruff ex-Marine shut the door while Dean was warning Caleb that if he scratched his baby, he'd gut him. John sighed as the Impala drove off to leave him and Jim alone. "Dean would've killed Clay today," he mused, touching the wedding ring he still wore and thinking of his wife. "I'm not sure Mary would like what I've turned her son into."

"Dean's what you made him," Jim replied, but not unkindly, and then nodded to the truck. "Follow the boys. Tell Caleb I've started back to my place to get it ready for them…and John?" He paused until the man looked at him. "If you do anything to try to keep those boys from coming to stay with me, I will call Singer and Bobby will shoot you."

John didn't like the thought of taking a week off of hunting just to rest…but he suspected that Dean's plan to let his brother recover at Jim's cabin didn't involve him being around anyway. And while he didn't approve of leaving his boys alone for too long, he also knew that this time Dean wasn't likely to back down.

As he got into the truck, John sighed. He'd seen a side to his oldest that he really hadn't before. He'd raised Dean to look out for his little brother, but he hadn't counted on the lengths he'd really go to in order to do that. Now he needed to rethink some things and hope for the best.

TBC