xxx

A full day of searching, half a dozen back-water dumps and Dean was more than ready for some violence. Sam and Sara could be anywhere in a fifty mile radius.

But if he was methodical, he'd find them. Eliminate every place they weren't until he found the place where they were. Easy as that.

And he was having to dedicate far too much energy to ignoring certain facts. Like how many people had gone missing from around here. Like how none of them had never come back. Like how often people went missing because of something supernatural and how common it was for nothing to ever be found of them.

Dean pulled the Impala over when he spotted the private road. This was the only plan he had. He'd keep searching. Even when he'd exhausted his little perimeter, he'd keep searching. And if he couldn't find his people, his family, he'd find what did this to them and make damn sure it suffered.

First, though, he was going to search this dump from top to bottom.

The road was little more than a strip of mud leading through dense forest. There must have been more details that that, but daylight was already starting to fade. So many sick rituals took place at night. At least it wasn't a full moon. Dean didn't think he'd be able to stand that sort of deadline hanging over him.

Eventually, the woods thinned out a little and the road widened out into a yard. Dean was seriously starting to doubt that anyone had even been here in years. The house looked like it was about to fall down. Mind you, at least it still had its entire roof; the barn couldn't claim the same.

Dean stuck to the edge of the woods as he made his way around the yard to see behind the buildings. No point in being sloppy, after all. And when he saw what was behind the house, he was so glad that he had.

Behind the house were at least a dozen cars, all rusty and obviously little-used. Dean shifter closer, leaving the shelter of the trees to get a better look. There were a whole host of different plates, different makes, colours…

Hiding the evidence, Dean realised. Just like those freaks in Indiana, who'd snatched the cars as well as the people, making sure that there wasn't any scrap of evidence left to suggest that they hadn't gone willingly. And there, just between the house and the barn, was the beat up camper-van.

Thank God.

Dean pulled out his pistol. He generally had principles against killing humans, mostly out of a twisted desire to hang onto whatever scraps of his soul remained, but he was more than willing to make an exception in the right circumstances.

Moving as quietly as possible, Dean made his way through the cars to the barn. He'd be more likely to find any people in the house and he'd rather know that the rest of this place was clear before getting into any sort of fight.

The barn door was already ajar and Dean slipped in quickly. The light was fading fast and he considered pulling out his flashlight, but unless he found anything interesting, it didn't much matter if he could see every detail or not.

"…The English, the English, the English are best, I wouldn't pay tuppence for all of the rest…"

And just like that, Dean knew his people were okay. He'd only ever heard one person sing that song and there was no way Sara would be singing if something had happened to Sam. Following his ears, Dean shouldered a half-rotted door aside. The door creaked loudly and Sara immediately fell silent.

He stepped in the room, his almost-frantic gaze almost passing over the cages entirely in his haste to see the people in them. In the silence, he could hear the slight hitch in Sara's breathing as she switched from hidden fear to getting a grip. Normal people probably couldn't make that distinction, but who cared.

"Took you long enough," Sam said finally and Dean could pretend not to hear the slight shake in his voice.

"Serves you right for getting snatched," he replied, stepping closer. "Dudes, cages?"

"That what he said," Sara said. "Dean, see the pillar? That's some sort of control box on the side."

"Electric locks? Isn't that kinda high-tech for a phantom attacker?" There was a moment of silence, long enough for Dean to look back up from the control box, concerned. "What? What is it?"

"Um, we weren't taken by a phantom attacker per se," Sara said, clearly embarrassed.

"You don't mean…" Dean trailed off, grinning despite himself when Sammy couldn't even met his eye. "You were jumped by humans?"

"Dean, if you don't shut it, I'll be forced to tell your impressionable little brother about that waitress in DC who-"

"Okay, okay!" Dean cut in hurriedly, happier than he'd like to admit at the sight of the grins on Sam's and Sara's faces. "This control thing looks like it needs a key. I'm going to go find it."

"There are at least two freaks out there," Sara said. "They took all our weapons and, for some reason, my jewellery. Which I want back, for the record. But one of the guys is definitely bigger than you, so be careful, alright?"

"Hey, it's me," Dean said with a grin. "What could go wrong?"

xxx

His carefree, cocky persona faded as soon as he was out of the barn. Shit-loads could go wrong, he knew that better than most people, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to put up with any bullshit.

But challenging these bastards or their demonic master could wait until Sam and Sara were out of those cages and armed with something big and destructive. And to do that, he needed the key.

Which would, in all likelihood, be somewhere in the house, if you could call that building a house.

Dean had spotted the trapdoor into the basement on his way to the barn. The door was chained shut, but the chain was old and rusted and gave way easily enough. Torch in one hand, colt in the other, Dean headed down the steps, trying not to think about what the dark stains on them were from.

But that turned out to be one hell of a wasted effort when he saw what was actually in the basement. Once, when Dean couldn't have been more than about eight, they'd stayed for a few days with a hunter. Dean couldn't remember what the guy's name had been, or why they'd stayed there, but he remembered the trophies that had littered the house. Vampire fangs, the hand of a Wendigo, even a stuffed Black Dog's head. They had been creepy as hell and they were just from the things that Dean would happily put a bullet in any day of the week.

He'd never thought he would see trophies taken from humans.

It was nothing too bloodstained or gory, just… trinkets. Watches, some pairs of glasses, some strands of long hair. Not gross, but all the more unsettling for it. The photos didn't help either, the polaroids pinned around the other trophies, two guys standing around a human body. Dean shook his head, disgusted. There were dozens of photos, a different victim in each one.

As he turned to find the stairs, the light from his flashlight glinted on something, the little gleam just visible in the corner of his eye. Dean looked more closely, feeling his chest tighten when he saw the ring. Old gold, some fancy work around the sets of blue and white gems set into it. Sara's ring.

Dean picked it up, sliding it carefully into his pocket.

His people were not prey, they were not trophies and he was damned if these guys would so much as look at either of them again.

When he started up the stairs, his steps were measured, silent, controlled. Hunter-mode, Sam called it, although Dean knew that Hunter-Killer would be more appropriate in some circumstances.

A life dealing with bones, bodies and remains was more than sufficient to tell Dean that the bones used as decoration on the first floor were real human bones. The house itself was unnerving enough, grey wooden walls and floors, dusty old furniture. The damn floorboards looked like the sort that would creak if he moved too fast, so Dean moved carefully over to the huge dresser.

There was a small heap of keys, mostly car-keys by the look of them, but Dean's eyes were drawn to the jar next to them, apparently full of… God, teeth. A jar of teeth. From another room, he could hear the sounds of chopping, cutting. And, from somewhere behind him, a floorboard creaked.

Dean spun around, the gun already in his hand.

A kid stared back at him, a little girl with a dirty face and wild hair. He'd never expected to see a kid here.

He saw the necklace she was wearing at the same moment that he caught the flicker in her eyes as she looked behind him.

Dean turned, grabbed the guy who had been sneaking up on him and threw him forward into the kid. The second guy got an elbow in the throat mostly by accident, but he went down with a gurgle, dropping the knife he'd been holding, and Dean wasn't about to argue with that sort of result.

The first man got quickly to his feet and, Jesus Christ, did he have to be even bigger than Sam? But size wasn't everything. Downright fury helped a lot, especially when you'd been fighting long enough for anger to merely add strength rather than to damage your technique.

Dean ploughed into the man, slamming him against the wall before he'd even really regained his balance, and pressed the barrel of his pistol against the man's throat.

"Give me the key to those fucking cages or I pull the trigger," he said, not even having to try to make his voice threatening. It wasn't exactly a threat, after all. More of a promise.

Later, he'd curse himself for not hearing the third man walk up behind him, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been knocked out by a hillbilly with a frying pan.

xxx

"He should be back by now."

"Since when does your brother do what he's supposed to?"

Sam couldn't help being amused by that, even though the amusement did nothing to stop the worry. "Dean didn't even behave himself when he was hunting with you?"

"Oh, you know your brother. He does what he thinks is right, but damned if I can work out what his criteria are. I just went along with it most of the time."

"Because Dean says so," Sam said idly, shifting in a feeble attempt to get more comfortable.

"Huh?"

"When I was a kid, that was my reason for just about anything. Because Dean says so."

"Stuff like the nutritional value of M&Ms? Why lattes are a girly drink?"

"Pretty much."

They both twisted to face the door when it creaked.

"Remember what we talked about, Sasquatch?" Sara said, low enough that only Sam could hear.

He eyed the two figures standing in the doorway. "Yeah."

One man crossed to the wall-control, flipping the lid open and taking hold of the key. "Try anything," he said to Sara. "And my brother shoots your boy in the head. We clear?"

"You're not taking her anywhere!" Sam snapped, ignoring the rifle trained on him.

"Sam, shut it," Sara said firmly. "It'll be okay."

Sam didn't manage to jerk his fingers back from the bars in time to avoid the rifle butt that was slammed against the metal. Nursing what he really hoped were not broken fingers, he could only watch as Sara edged out of her cage and let one of the man tie her hands behind her back.

Furious, he kicked the cage again. And again and again, but it didn't do a damn thing.

He was the only one left.

xxx

"…sick bastards hunt people, is that it?"

Sara suddenly found she could breathe around the gag again. Being tied up and at the mercy of two psychos wasn't at all comfortable, but just hearing Dean was reassuring.

One of the men walked into the room where Sara knew Dean was, but the other stayed with her, one hand holding her arm.

"We give them a weapon." Sara didn't recognise that voice, but given the circumstances, it could only be an enemy. "Give them a fighting chance."

Sara heard Dean's unmistakeable snort, followed by, "Yeah, a five foot chick against two guys. Unless you give her a Uzi, that's hardly fair."

"She's a real hellcat, boy. Gave my son one hell of a bruise."

"A paper bag could bruise those freaks of yours," Dean replied. He had never learnt not to bait the homicidal bastards. Idiot.

"Maybe. I'll admit my boys have been a little sloppy about all this. And if you tracked us down, then someone else could too. And I can't be having with that."

Sara's guard shoved her forward. She ended up on her knees, off balance without her hands free to steady her. Looking up, she gave Dean a single glance before starting to glare at the speaker.

"Do we look like we give a fuck what you can put up with?" she said.

"You will, sweetheart," he replied, not at all concerned. "Boys, go fetch the other one."

Dean caught Sara's eye, nodded fractionally, so Sara shifted her weight equally fractionally. Whatever came next, she'd be ready. Another minute gesture – there was someone behind her. Fine. She could deal with one person. But they were too close. They'd see what she was up to. Right. One distraction, coming up.

"As I was telling your boy here, miss," the man said, gesturing with one filthy hand towards Dean. "The Hunt is my family's tradition. Now, I promised my boys one last hunt before the end of our season, so that's what they're going to get. A man has to keep his promises."

"Inspiring moral stance you've got there, really," Sara said, being as bitchy as she possibly could. "You should write a book. Provided, of course, that you can actually read-"

The backhand wasn't at all unexpected, but Sara let it knock her backwards. With her hands now hidden from sight, her insane plan just might work. If she was supremely lucky, that was.

"We're having a hunt tonight," the man said. "And you get to pick the animal, mister. The boy or the girl."

"Fuck you, man."

There was a small knife by the doorjamb. Sara could just see it out of the corner of her eye. If she could get her hands free, she'd be able to reach it. Just a few more moments…

"You're not going to touch either of them ever again," Dean continued. "You know why?"

There. Sara swung herself across the floor, grabbing the knife and getting back on her feet. The person behind her was a kid, but Sara seized the girl anyway, pulling her close with the knife pressed against her throat. Any kid wearing Sara's own damn necklace wasn't an innocent bystander in this.

"Because we're way better at this than you'd think," Dean finished, answering his own question.

"Now you're going to untie Dean before I have to do something that I really won't regret," Sara said.

The man smirked at her. "I said you were a fighter, miss. That don't mean you're a killer. You wouldn't hurt my Missy, let alone kill her."

Sara spared Dean another glance. The knife in her hand was one of her own, and that meant one thing: perfect balance. "You're right. I don't murder children."

She threw the knife, trusting her abilities enough to take her eyes off the man for the seconds it took to ram the kid's head against the wall. The girl slumped to the ground, unconscious. Sara reached down

"Bastards like you are fair game though," she said, straightening up.

The man was on the floor, the knife protruding from one of his eyes. He wouldn't be hunting – or hurting – anyone else. Sara crossed to Dean's side, keeping him between her and the body, and started work on the knots. Unlike the idiot who had tied up her, whoever had done this had known what they were doing. But it was still just rope and knots and Dean was free quickly enough.

"Right," he said, shaking feeling back into his hands. Sara stood back so he could get past her to the dresser, where his gun and knives were waiting. "Where's Sammy?"

"In the barn with the two guys who snatched us. They should be bringing him here."

Sara retrieved her throwing-knife, wiping the man's blood off on his jacket. There was a set of handcuffs on the old man's belt and Sara grabbed them, tossing them to Dean. By the time the girl was firmly cuffed to an ancient-looking pipe, Sara had found her own pistol.

Without a single backwards glance, the two hunters ran for the front door. They had one more person to save.

xxx

"Told you we didn't need to hurry," Sara said, looking at Sam's handiwork appreciatively.

Dean was feeling pretty impressed with his little brother as well, he had to admit. Having dashed into the barn, perfectly ready to fight and kill to protect Sammy, he'd been thrown a little to find Sam calmly locking the two freaks into their own cages.

"What are we going to do with them?" Sam asked.

"We can set the police on them," Sara suggested. "There's evidence of what these bastards have been doing all over the place."

"We could just…" Dean stopped when Sam looked at him. He could say it, sure, and if he said it loud enough, he knew that the others would let him. Sometimes, the hunters had to be the executioners. Werewolves couldn't exactly be tried in a court of law. But these guys were human. Their crimes couldn't be blamed on lunar cycles or ancient hoodoo. And Dean wasn't about to waste his soul on them.

"Never mind. Let's just get the hell out of here," he said finally, earning a small smile from his brother.

They walked out of the barn together, Dean firmly between Sam and Sara. He wasn't letting either of them out of his sight until they were out of the damn state. But it was over. They'd beaten the bad guys, even if it was kinda weird that they'd actually been guys for once, and they'd all survived. That counted as a win, as far as Dean was concerned.

Just as the Impala came into view, Dean's watch beeped softly. Midnight. Oh, yeah. He'd nearly forgotten that. Grinning, Dean slung an arm around Sara's shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Sara."

xxx

There'd only been one motel room available when Dean had checked in the day before. At the time, he really hadn't been thinking about things like sleeping arrangements, but one bed for three people really didn't work.

But Sara had solved that problem by dozing off on the couch and the Winchester brothers had quite literally grown up sharing beds. There were advantages to being frickin' exhausted, and the ability to sleep anywhere was one of them. Once Dean was satisfied that everyone was okay, he fell face-first onto the bed.

When Dean woke up again, it was still dark, and Sam was still dead to the world, his busted hand curled protectively against his chest. Dean rolled carefully onto his side again, facing the door, and frowned when he realised it was open. Just a crack, but still.

Dean slipped out of bed silently, checking the couch as he went. No Sara, but he could see her through the gap in the door. He yanked it open a little further to glare at her.

"-learn the damn time difference, would you? Or at least wait 'til you've got something interesting to tell me," Sara said, grinning at Dean. Adrian, she mouthed. "Now, see what you did. You woke up Deanie-freak."

And then she had to hold the phone away from her ear as Adrian told her, loudly and at length, just how little he cared.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I get the message, okay? Gotta go." She folded the phone shut and gave Dean a smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to worry you."

"How come you weren't all that surprised when we found out that those bastards weren't under the influence of anything?"

Sara leant against the Impala, giving Dean a look he hadn't seen for a while. It was the one she wore when trying to figure out if he really was that dumb. "Seriously? The world is going to hell in a hand-basket and you're worried 'cause some twisted freaks were running around eating people?"

"You mean you're not worried by that? I've seen stuff that would freak Dracula out and even I think this was just… twisted. Demons, I'm used to. But people…"

"Come on, Dean. Those guys were no more human than a demon. Whatever happens to them, they deserve it. And once the police have got everything they need from that farm, I'm going to burn the place to the ground."

Dean nodded. So many people had died there that the place was always going to be a hotspot for bad vibes and evil creatures. Cleansing the site would help, at least a little. "I can get one of the other guys to handle it, if you want."

"There aren't that many people left who could do this. Hell, I don't think I could do it alone." Sara frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe Smithy. He's still got his partner, last I heard."

"Who's Smithy?"

"Another ex-pat, like me. Decent hunter, damn good at the freaky stuff. Truly atrocious liar. Dean, can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure. What?"

"I want you and Sam to fade out of the hunting scene for a while. Don't go near anyone you know, any place you've been before. Cal's agreed to set up a few ammo dumps and you can keep hunting to your heart's content. But I don't want you or Sam anywhere near any hunter, any hunter's place, any of it."

"Sara, what's going on?"

Before she replied, Sara crossed to her truck, unlocking the door to retrieve a slim folder. "This is stuff I've put together over the last month or so." She pulled out a map, one of the single-page ones that covered the whole of America. "Here, here and… here, I've caught hints of demonic possessions."

Dean looked closer, knowing full-well that Sara wouldn't be showing this to him unless there was some point. "Hang on. Hang on; we were there. And there. And…"

"You see my problem. Similar omens have been popping up around any place hunters are known to congregate. Libraries, safe-havens, dealers, all of them. Last week, I exorcised a demon from a hunter. A hunter, Dean. That hasn't happened since before my mother died."

"So what do we do?"

"Right now, our only plan is to scatter. Drop off the radar in every way imaginable and a few ways we just make up."

"I'm not really one for running, Sara."

"Well, it's more hiding than running, technically speaking. Look, Dean, I'm not exactly thrilled about this either. It's my job to track these demonic fuckers down, not let them stalk my people." Sara tucked the papers back into their folder and shoved the whole thing towards him. "Bobby took a look at all of this for me and he spotted something I didn't. Most of these demons aren't going after just any old hunter. Most of them are targeting places or people that have a connection to your father. They only get near you when you're on a hunt that John gave you, that thing in Indiana, the haunted asylum…"

"So whatever Dad's doing, they don't like it?" Dean grinned. "That makes me feel better. You know, apart from the demonic hordes that are chasing him." Sara's return smile was too brief to be real and Dean nudged her. "He can take care of himself, you know."

"Yeah, he's Rambo," Sara said sarcastically. "And I'm not all that worried about your father, Dean. Demons aren't known for their patience, and once they'd bored of chasing John, they'll find another way to smoke him out."

"Such as by going after me or Sam?"

"Yeah. Going after the family is a time-honoured, disgusting tradition. And I think it might be the reason that your dad left you."

Dean nodded. "Do you think this means that Dad's getting close to the demon? I mean, they must really want him to stop whatever it is he's doing."

"God, I should've known that you'd be one of those prats who believed in that whole, 'if someone's trying to kill you, you must be doing your job properly' thing."

"Something's always trying to kill me. It's part of the job, you know that. So," Dean said, giving Sara another nudge. "What do you want to do on your birthday?"

Sara laughed. "I tell you that we have demons stalking us and trying to kill us and you still want to-"

"Yep. So tell me what you want to do."

"I… I want to spend time with my friend. Like things were still normal. Like none of this was happening."

"Okay, then. That's what we'll do. And, in that spirit, I'm going to throw you back into the room now. What is with you and middle-of-the-night conversations, anyway? It's not like…"

With a groan, Sara shoved him back through the door, back into the room.