Author's Notes: New chapter!! Whoo!! I almost couldn't put this up because the website was giving me trouble! But, it managed to load finally, so here it is before I head off to work. I need to make it very clear (if it wasn't already) that the RP that this story is based on took place BEFORE we knew all that we did about who had Dean's contract and all that. So, my friend and I improvised as best we could, coming up with a character who could sort of straddle both worlds. Now that I've basically given something away (I'm so subtle, really!), I hope you all enjoy the chapter, as always. :D Don't forget to let me know what you think!

Zane: You're very right, babe. I could have written what was going on in the living room, but I didn't want to. It's funnier to leave everyone questioning and imagining it themselves!

Elfwarrior87: Yeah, Sam can be a real douche sometimes. And you're very right; he's jealous he doesn't have Dean's full attention anymore. :D

Destatikai: Hahaha, I'm glad you enjoyed that one. I had to write it, because it's just...so painfully true. All of them are just so A-type personality, it hurts. And yeah...there's definitely a bit more on Chris's side than there is Dean's. I can't give away anything, but it'll all become clearer in future chapters. Also, brotherly bantering ftw!

Politics and Prose: I'm happy to hear that :D Hope you enjoy this chapter, too!

Over the next week that passed, Sam's anger toward Dean waned bit by bit until it fizzled out completely—just like it always did. Now things were more or less back to normal, which was good for the both of them. Neither Dean nor Sam really had anyone else to talk to in California except for Wyatt and Chris, and that just wasn't the same as one another. Sam wouldn't admit it, but a lot of the issues he had been struggling with before had had to do with how he had perceived his brother—and more specifically, how Dean had changed since they had come here to California.

Sam could tell Dean was happy that he had gone back to normal. And really, he couldn't blame him. Life was often a bitch when one or the other was angry, and it always made things more difficult, particularly when the angry one was Sam.

While sitting around the hotel room one morning watching television, Sam got a text message from Wyatt. He told him that he and Chris had managed to find information on the demon that held the contract for Dean's life. This news made him antsy, and he wanted to go over right away. But he knew that Dean wouldn't go to the manor and deal with something like that. After all, he had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with their attempt to nullify the contract.

So, that afternoon, Sam told his brother that Wyatt and Chris had info on the hex and how to get rid of it. He hoped that Dean wouldn't question it and would just go with it. To his surprise, the older hunter agreed without so much as a snide comment, hopping into the impala and driving along to the Halliwell manor.

When they arrived, Sam slipped out of the car and stretched; his muscles ached from the night before, as he had slept somewhat badly due to the thoughts racing through his head.

This was possibly fixable. If they could do it, things would be so much better for everyone involved—Dean especially. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Sam felt hope.

He watched as Dean all but ran up to the front door of the manor, knocking on it with a grin. By the time Sam arrived Wyatt had answered it, smiling. He ushered them into the living room, where Sam noticed a large collection of obscure-looking texts sprawled out over the coffee table. In truth, he would give just about anything to even be able to look at the books that Chris and Wyatt had access to. There was bound to be information on things he could only dream of.

"Where's Chris?" Dean asked.

As if on command, the young witch came down the stairs, a crystal dangling on a chain wrapped around his hand. Dean moved right for him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with a smirk on his face.

"What, now you're getting me jewelry? I hate to say it, but I'm really not the new-agey, crystal wearing type."

Chris looked perplexed at first. "What? Oh." He snorted. "Please. This isn't for you. You wouldn't look good with this crystal, anyways." He leaned down then and gave Dean a pat on the cheek in greeting, afterward heading into the living room with the older hunter following after him.

"So, this is the stuff we gathered," Wyatt said once all four circled the table.

The thought hadn't occurred to Sam to try and hide the texts from Dean, who was still under the assumption that what was going on had to do with the hex. He was so enthralled by the book before him that talked about the demon that held his brother's contract; he wanted to read as much as he could.

Dean's light chuckle caught his attention. He had one of the other books in his hand. "Wow, all these books for a hex? Must be a doozy," he joked.

"Yeah."

Wyatt reached out and took quick hold of the book, keeping it against him with a protective air about him. The text looked ancient, and was maybe even one of a kind, so Sam could understand him not wanting it to be in Dean's hands.

It only took one comment from Chris to unravel everything. "What're you talking about, the hex? We're looking for the demon you made the contract with, Dean. We found him, so we're gonna nullify it." He held up the crystal. "This is so we can try scrying for nearby witches who may be in trouble. Apparently, in his free time, he likes to go around stealing powers from witches to sell to other demons. He does souls, too, but that's apparently only with humans. My guess is since you guys can't really get 'em back…" he trailed off.

Sam wanted to choke Chris. He kept himself under control, somehow, looking almost as if he, too, were just a little surprised about what had been said. But the truth was out now, and there was no going back.

This was going to cause some issues….

The joking smile on Dean's face all but melted away as he turned to face Chris. He was angry—no other word sufficed at that moment. For a moment he eyed the witch, and then he turned his gaze on his brother. His nostrils flared and his eyebrows knit in an insidious glare. He shot a murderous look down at the pile of books.

"Damn it, Sam, I thought we'd talked about this." He glanced back up at Sam then, who felt like shying away. "You know I don't want this. You know I can't! I can't believe you dragged me over here for this shit! Just…just stop, Sam! No more! No fucking more!"

He put his hands out in an exasperated gesture, sending a baleful stare Sam's way. His sudden explosion made the younger hunter's insides wrench. He knew that Dean was going to be mad about it, but he hadn't expected that kind of response. Really, he should have.

Even if it didn't feel satisfactory, all Sam could say then was: "Sorry."

Surprisingly, Chris responded in his defense. "Jesus, Dean, don't kill him." He turned to face Sam. "Why didn't you tell him why he was coming here?"

At that moment, Sam could only shake his head. Dean seemed to feel it right to use this moment for more shouting.

"Sorry? Sam, this is your life you're playing with! I can't let you just…just fuck this up!" He sounded almost desperate, and for a moment, Sam felt even worse than before. Thankfully Dean stared at Chris then, the frown lines deeply creased into his forehead. "And if he keeps this up, I won't have to kill him! He's doing a damn fine job of that on his own!"

Wyatt stepped in then, irritation written all over his face. "Look, you can't keep him from wanting to save your life, so if you're gonna be a prick about it, just get the hell out, Dean. We'll save your life without your help, just like you want." This was about the nastiest Sam had ever heard the older witch sound, and he felt strange as he listened Wyatt go on. "Never seen someone so damn eager to go to hell before. It's not a fucking joke, Dean."

Sam braced himself for Dean's sure to come yelling. He was surprised, however, when all his brother did was snort. It was an angry snort, and also a telling one—at that point Dean was clearly incapable of saying anything.

With a glare on his face he shoved past Chris, stalking into the foyer, where he pulled open the front door and slammed it behind him, hard enough to shake the frame.

Sam stared after Dean with a look that would rival a hurt puppy. He had nothing to say, knowing that he had deserved the reaction. He didn't want to admit that. Discomfort and worry took over his features.

"Thanks, Wy," Chris said flatly. He was obviously irritated, though whether with his own brother or with Dean was hard to tell. He gave a curt sigh. "We'll have to do this on our own. If he's gonna be a dick, then we'll just figure it out without him. He'll owe us. Hard-fucking-core owe us."

Wyatt, angry in his own right, turned toward Sam and groaned quietly. "Anyway. Sam, this is some serious shit you guys stepped into. Where does Dean get off messing around with demons of that level?"

Sam thought the answer was obvious….

Wyatt opened the book Sam had been looking at earlier and flipped to a marked page, turning it so that the younger hunter could see. Listed first was the demon Azazel, a dark figure with glowing yellow eyes, and beneath him, a list of his closest followers—one of which they had pinpointed as the demon in question.

"You have no idea," was all Sam actually offered, freezing when he saw the picture of Azazel. A cold sort of fury ran through him like electricity, and he balled his hands into fists. There was something in the back of his mind…something unnaturally angry, and he had to look away to curb it; he knew that on some level it would take him over if he didn't stop it.

Chris raised a curious eyebrow. He then pointed toward the name of the topmost demon on the list. "This is the one. When we crossed referenced it in other books, all the data matched up. This demon works mostly in soul trading and power breaking. It took a hell of a lot of work to find it, but once we knew what his name was, he sort of popped up more and more."

Sam only looked at the demon in question when Chris finished speaking. "Dean would know for sure. I've never seen him."

"This Loto guy is pretty nasty," Wyatt said, bothered. "Worse than what we've come up against in a long time. It's not gonna be easy, but…"

"I didn't think it would be." Sam spoke sincerely, and with clarity and determination. He picked up the book and ran his fingers carefully down the open page. "You said you were gonna scry for witches?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Wyatt and I figure he's gonna go after some more for his power collecting. A demon that high up probably goes out as often as he can. Our family's run across this kind of thing once before…but it was a little different then." He shrugged. "We'll figure it out, though. Right?" He turned to Wyatt.

"Yeah, we're gonna figure it out, Sam, don't worry." The blonde witch took a seat on the edge of the couch, and then pulled a stack of books with more marked pages toward him. He gestured for Sam to sit beside him. "We've marked a few incantations here that might help us, but we need to know exactly what the deal promised. I know that it was for your resurrection and one year on Dean's soul, and that he couldn't help you or find a way around it…but is that it? We don't want to get tripped up on any of the technical crap."

None of them had any idea that they had roused suspicion by simply having Dean around while they discussed the contract, nor had they realized the importance of the contract, and of Dean's soul to the demon they were pursuing. Dean was the last piece in the chess game that was Sam's humanity—by taking him out of the equation, Sam would ultimately become consumed by his anger and pain. Demons had taken his mother, his father, his girlfriend, and countless other innocent people who had meant something to him, and now they were within reach of taking his last link away.

There was also a revenge twist to it. After all, Dean had been the one to shoot Azazel, and the demon in question had looked up to his mentor with heavy admiration….

"That's pretty much the gist of it," Sam murmured, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Dean had me resurrected in exchange for his soul, and they gave him one year to live. He said he's not allowed to be involved in any way. But, I just took it to mean that he couldn't be involved directly in trying to save himself, which was stupid. I guess he wants to make sure all precautions are taken care of…"

Maybe Dean thought Sam selfish for wanting to save him, since doing so risked Dean's deal burning out and Sam going six feet under again. But it was just as he had thought before—life without his brother was no life worth saving.

And Sam would be damned if he didn't try.

Chris tapping his finger against the page of one of the books brought Sam back into focus.

"All right. So, if we're gonna go this…I'm gonna go grab one of our maps from upstairs."

Chris disappeared upstairs, and Wyatt turned his torso to face Sam. "Okay, so he can't help himself. But, they never said anything about him being helped by a third party. That's good. Now…we can try to summon this demon to a safe location and deal with him there, with him trapped…that'd probably be the best." He rubbed his bottom lip. "The most important thing is to destroy the contract before we destroy him. The last thing we want—or need—is for the contract to default and for both of you to die, or even just one of you."

"If you think it sounds good," Sam said, unsure of what else to say. After all, Chris and Wyatt had seen just as many evils and he and Dean had, but they dealt with them in ways that the two hunters would have never considered. Dealing with a demon of Azazel's caliber had killed both of them in the process, not to mention their father, too, and they were still trying to get out of the aftereffects. And yet, here Chris and Wyatt were, alive, after having apparently dealt with something similar.

And even if Dean hated him for it, the idea of relying on people with intensely powerful gifts wasn't the worse thing in the world. Both witches were capable of so much more than they were, and could do things the two hunters could only imagine. Sam was envious.

He was about to say something else when his phone began to vibrate in his breast pocket. The ringtone filled the living room while Sam stared at the screen.

It was Dean.

He let it ring for a moment further, giving Wyatt and Chris—who had recently reappeared—a stare. He answered it with a wary, exasperated tone. "What?"

Dean's voice boomed through the speaker, along with the sound of stumbling and crashing. "Son of a BITCH!" There was a crackling sound that made Sam's blood run cold.

"Sam! Sam, it's here!"

What sounded like a struggle occurred over the line, and then a loud thud that boomed in Sam's ear. He clutched his phone tightly.

"Dean, get out!" Sam shouted, knowing that the thud he had heard was Dean's phone clunking to the floor. His heart and mind seized for a moment as he tried to think of what he could say or do to fix this.

He didn't have to think hard. Before he knew it, Chris had grabbed his wrist and he felt that familiar sense of lightness as they orbed to the hotel room the hunters shared.

But it was too late for them. Loto had chosen to appear almost immediately after the phone call was made. As Sam, Chris and Wyatt materialized in the room, the demon, gripping Dean by the collar, smirked in their direction. Dean shouted out Sam's name, but none of them could react fast enough. Loto shimmered out of the room, taking the older hunter along for the ride.

Sam cursed so loudly that his voice felt hoarse. However, it was drowned out by the sound of their nearby bed lifting into the air and flipping around, landing on the hardwood floor with a loud slam. He jumped back, turning his eyes to Chris. The young witch was flush red in the cheeks, and he had a look of complete rage about him that was almost frightening.

Wyatt just rubbed his eyebrows with his hand. "Fuck."

. . .

Dean yelped when the demon threw him into a corner.

His focus was shot. His mind was shot. His body was shot. He could barely make anything out of what was happening to him. Before he knew it there was a heavy weight on his wrists. One jerking twist of his body let him know that he had been chained up. His eyes burst open and he looked around frantically, trying to make sense of what was going on.

It had happened so quickly. After having stormed out of the Halliwell manor, Dean had driven himself back to his hotel room, intent on drinking himself into a stupor. He had had about enough of Sam's kamikaze mission to save him, and was tired of trying to coerce him out of it.

He had been in the room all of five minutes when the lights had begun to flicker and some of the furniture had begun moving around. That was when he knew he was in trouble. The demon had appeared and thrown him around, knocking him into the wall and then slamming his head against the kitchenette table. The last thing Dean could fully remember was seeing Sam, Chris and Wyatt.

And now here he was, struggling against some rocky wall in a place about which he hadn't the faintest idea. Pain shot through his arms, throbbed in his head and pulsed in his wrists, but it wasn't enough to keep him from trying to figure out where he was. There being barely any light in the room made it hard for him to see much beyond the demon that now sat dangerously close.

Dean hadn't but a moment to gather his wits about him before there came a swift slap across his face which left a stinging sensation on his cheek. The smack knocked his head against the wall and pissed him off even more. He glared at the man before him, somewhat defiantly.

"You sulfur sucking son of a bitch! My soul ain't up for grabs yet."

Though he was bound quite tightly at the wrists, he soon realized that the demon had made the mistake of leaving his legs free. Dean used the leverage of his arms to lift himself, coiling one leg and kicking as hard as he could with his heavy boot directly at the demon's chest. He knew it wasn't going to help the situation, but he'd be damned if he didn't try to fight.

His boot hit Loto square in the chest, sending him stumbling back with a wheezing grunt. He quickly scrambled to get up, recollecting himself and brushing his hands down his front. He scowled at Dean.

"Stupid move, Winchester."

He gave a wave of his hand, summoning another pair of chains that latched on tightly to Dean's ankles. Dean groaned as they cut into his skin, making him painfully aware of just how much his body ached. He writhed—or tried to, anyways—while the demon approached him again. Loto, still scowling, then hit him square in the jaw, the bones in his knuckles emitting a loud crack when they connected. Dean felt his teeth cut into the side of his cheek and he winced.

He wasn't going to give this demon the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, even if every inch of his body was teeming with it. Sputtering out a little bit of blood, Dean smirked. "That the best you got, bitch?"

"Not my best shot by far," Loto replied. "But you should know by now that I'm not so interested in your physical shell as I am your soul. I'll beat you within an inch of your life for going to them."

He gripped Dean's chin roughly with his hand, and then patted his cheek. His semi-long fingernails scraped along Dean's scruffy jaw line. "So smart of you to find a loophole in our contract. I'll have to remind my little friend the crossroads demon that she'll need to be more specific next time."

Dean's mouth smarted and he growled, nostrils flaring. The demon was wrong. Dead wrong. "I didn't go to them," he spat out, voice full of hatred. "I've kept to your frickin' contract."

He pulled at his bonds and strained his arms. The nails were making his skin crawl. He turned his head but to no avail—he couldn't pull his face away.

"Mm, that's not what I heard," Loto said almost airily. "You Winchesters are too smart for your own good."

After a moment's pause the demon moved to stand, staring down at Dean almost as if surveying him for something. And then in a quick move his foot came in direct contact with Dean's exposed stomach, while the chains on his wrists tightened. It knocked the air right out of the hunter, who gave a pained cry and wrenched forward in an attempt to curl up. The clasps on his wrists and ankles were unbearable, and he could already feel his hands going numb. Not a good sign….

Coughing a few times, Dean finally wheezed out a sad little laugh, wincing as he stared up at Loto. A somewhat cocky grin overtook his face. "Kinky bastard."

"I'd be careful, Dean." Loto smirked. "I can nullify that contract if I want, and take your brother right back to Hell, where he belongs. So you should be on your best behavior. Unless you want Sam swimming in a pit of fire."

That caught Dean's attention. He didn't know for sure whether or not that was a lie, since he had gotten a crossroads demon to break her contract with that man who had nearly been dragged off by hellhounds.

If it wasn't a lie and Sam died, Dean could never forgive himself.

Twisting a little in his bonds, he looked back to the demon, resentfully quiet. But even though his mouth was shut, his brain was still racing, trying to think of anything that could save him. It was finding depressingly little, which upset him.

Loto had a hard-to-read look on his face. Dean had the sneaking suspicion that he was attempting to read his thoughts. Did he have that power? Dean had stormed out of the manor so quickly that he hadn't gotten a chance to see what Loto was capable of.

"Your baby brother is so lucky to have someone like you…someone so willing to risk their life just to save another. You must not think you're worth much, Dean."

Dean curled his lip in a sneer and looked away, jaw set. If there was one thing he absolutely hated, it was being patronized, especially be demons. It was even worse when they were right.

"What? At a loss for words?" Loto laughed dryly, disbelievingly. "I never thought I'd see the day…you were always one for saying things when they weren't necessary."

Dean felt a cold dread settle in the pit of his chest. He realized at that moment that he wasn't going anywhere without some kind of help. He would have to rely on Sam, Chris and Wyatt, and they didn't even know where he was. Hell, he didn't even know.

His thoughts were interrupted by another powerful blow to his midsection. He cried out, breathing hard through his clenched teeth. He bit the wound in his mouth and began to bleed again, but he couldn't do anything about it. He shut his eyes tight.

He had to focus. This was only the tip of the iceberg. If he gave in now, who knew what would happen?

"You aren't…worth…the effort…" he sputtered out, voice strained and near breathless. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin.

"Mm…" The demon shook his head, chuckling darkly. "If you only knew, Dean. If you only knew…."

He stood then, but Dean's blurred vision could barely make out more than the outlines of his figure against the dark background of wherever they were. That figure grew smaller, but Dean kept on his guard. He knew better than to think that was the end of it.

And he was right. His restraints suddenly tightened—hard enough to cut the circulation completely from his extremities. He could feel the blood pulsing to the blocked points.

Loto chortled. "You aren't going anywhere, Dean."

"Fuck," Dean managed to spit out between shaky, tense breaths. Against his will he yelped, because, try as he might, the pain from the vice-like restraints was almost too much. He turned his head and looked at one of his wrists. Something warm trickled down his arm, and he realized he was bleeding. The clasp had cut right into his skin.

"So, tell me," Loto began almost conversationally, "what possessed you to go to the Charmed Ones? Did you think they could actually help you? Because I don't believe you when you said you didn't go looking for help."

Dean gave a bleary blink of his eyes, attempting to sharpen their focus on the man not but a few feet away. He was standing near what looked like a table, but on the floor as he was, the hunter couldn't see what sat atop it.

"I didn't go to them, you ass," Dean groaned, voice hoarse. He coughed, more blood spurting from his mouth and down his front. It was hot, sticky, tasted of copper and smelled even more so. "I didn't ask for…for help…sadistic black-eyed bastard." He writhed a little to try and ease the pain, but stopped at the grinding noises that came from his wrists. The last thing he needed was another bunch of broken bones.

"I'm not talking about just you, Dean. I meant you and your brother...you're kind of like one unit sometimes, you know? Since you're both so mindless and poor in condition. You two can't seem to live without each other. It's actually rather pathetic."

What crap, Dean thought acidly. But the words cut through him, because they reminded him of the simple fact that Sam didn't need him nearly as much as he needed Sam. Sam had been the one to go off and start a new life. Sam had found a girlfriend, a college career, and had tried to make something of himself. What had Dean done? He had followed in his father's footsteps like a good little soldier—John's personal cadet. Dean had been the one to recruit Sam back into the life of hunting…not the other way around.

Dean was lost without Sam, but Sam was stronger than he was.

Looking away again, Dean felt a wave of nausea overtake him. Sam didn't deserve this…why couldn't he have just left well enough alone? They had a year together, but it looked like Dean's year was already coming to an early end.

A low, drawling chuckle made Dean groan. The demon was approaching him again.

"Did I render you speechless again? I'm par for the course today, aren't I?"

"Fuck you," Dean growled, distracted by his pain and the knowledge that however bad it was, it was nothing compared to what Hell would be like. Meg had told him once, while possessing Sam, that Hell was a cage of pain, flesh, blood and fear; the kind of place that even demons scrambled to get out of whenever they could.

Hell had always been so remote before, but now Dean was beginning to understand just how close it truly was, and fear was creeping into him. His blood ran hot with adrenaline, almost burning him as he sat there limply against the cold stone.

With Loto this close, Dean was able to see the smug look on his face. It only worsened as he cupped Dean's chin, squeezing hard. His thumb pressed directly into the sore located near his mouth. The hunter moaned weakly.

He really needed to stop getting so fucking close.

"Bet your friends are probably looking for you right now. Too bad they won't be able to find you."

"Sam'll find me…and then Chris'll knock you right back to Hell," he grunted, twisting his neck to pull away. A show of strength from the demon sent his face straight forward again. They were close enough now for Dean to smell the sulfuric odor emanating from his body.

"You'd like to think that. But, I bet after they try for a day or two, they'll give up. Your brother Sam probably couldn't give a damn about you, really. And as for the witch, he'll probably be happy you're gone. You're nothing but a nuisance to them both anyways, just like you've always been to everyone."

Dean did his best to ignore the hurtful words, knowing that they were designed to do just that: hurt. They were meant to break a person down and make them give up. But he was nothing if not a fighter. Despite the searing pain in his body, Dean sneered, eyes insolent. He refused to be broken.

Loto leered at him. "Sam'll probably be glad to be rid of you, anyway. We all know the only reason he hunts is because you brought him back into it. Without you in his life, he'll probably go back to trying to make something of himself. He was in college, wasn't he? Before you came along and ruined his future?"

Swallowing hard, the hunter briefly closed his eyes, feeling hot tears well up in the corners from the physical pain. Or maybe they were from the shock of the words that rang so true. Sam could have his own life if Dean weren't in the picture. It had been nothing but trouble for the both of them since they had reunited, and that all sat heavily on the older one's shoulders.

His hateful glare softened just a hair towards sadness, and again he shut his eyes. He said nothing, pressing his lips tightly together as he swallowed the large lump in his throat. The demon had found his sore spot and, try as he might, Dean couldn't hide it.

This appeased him. "Mm." He pulled away from Dean and stood. "We'll just let time pass and see what happens, hm? Should be interesting."

As Loto moved away, weariness settled into Dean. Blood dried in thin rivulets down his arms and coated his socks, as well as a good portion of his front and mouth. It hurt to breathe too deeply, and he could hear his shallow breaths coming in with a wheeze. There was no way he would fall asleep at this rate, but he sure as hell wouldn't be too far from blacking out. It would be a sweet escape.

Loto turned his heels, saying with a lofty tone, "I've got some things to do. People to see, powers to steal. Things like that. Hope you don't mind me leaving here."

There was a snap of his fingers, at which point Dean felt another heavy chain wrap around his bruised, sensitive midriff. He groaned, something akin to a pathetic, pained chuckle coming from him.

"Enjoy your stay."

With that Dean watched him shimmer out, and along with him went the lights, leaving the hunter in the cold dark of the rocky cave.