A/N: Thanks to everyone, as always, for your wonderful reviews. I apologize for leaving you hanging at such a bad place last week.

Dean walked along, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes locked on something unnamed in front of him. He didn't mind Tony's company. The talkative young agent offered a distraction, and he couldn't help but notice how much alike they were, or how alike they would have been if Dean's life had turned out differently. The cycle of loss and suffering had dimmed his humor slightly and made him a lot more bitter than the agent. It was that realization that stilled his own tongue and pushed him into a darker mood.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder, startling him back to the present. "Life's too short to brood, my friend."

Dean grunted, shaking his head. "You have no idea."

DiNozzo adjusted the sling on his arm, shrugging slightly. "I have some idea. There have been a few close calls with this job, ya know. Forget all the bullets flying past your head and the few that manage to find flesh to lodge themselves in..." he trailed off slowly, grimacing. "I mean, a few years back, a strain of the plague was sent to the office, addressed to me. I almost died. My lungs are fubar now."

He looked over at his counterpart, a sad look of understanding marching across his face. "I'm sorry, Tony." His voice was gruff, more so than usual, flavored with regret. "And I'm sorry you got pulled into this mess. All of you. You guys don't deserve this."

"We've always been at the top of our game, our little team. It may not be convenient and we may not be guaranteed to live through this,...but...this is our chance to save the world. We may save the world one criminal at a time, but this...this is huge." He smiled slightly. "What kind of very special agent would I be if I passed up the opportunity to save everyone?"

"A smart one," Dean retorted. He couldn't help but smile slightly. "It's good you've got that drive, Tony, and it's good you don't have the experience that my brother and I do. Believe me, saving the world is not something you jump at after the first time."

The short walk had brought them to the closest bottle shop, a small building on a quiet street corner. Dean let himself in, holding the door for Tony. He threw a nod and grunted greeting toward the middle-aged man behind the counter before moving to roam the shelves. He needed something that would numb him from head to toe and make him forget what they were in the middle of. He'd not found anything over the course of the years that he'd been hunting, but he'd not given up hope.

"I know," Tony finally spoke from the next aisle over, "they just don't make anything strong enough." He picked up a bottle of Makers. "This works for Gibbs. Dunno how he does it."

"He seems like a good boss."

"The best. Tries to be hard with us, but treats us like his kids. Handy with a gun, instinct I'd kill for..." He chuckled. "I guess I want to be like Gibbs when I grow up." He threw a lopsided grin toward Dean. "If I grow up, that is."

Dean raised a bottle of whiskey in mock toast before sauntering up to the counter. "Strongest ya got?" he asked the cashier, reaching for his wallet. He frowned slightly at the affirmative nod, but slid his card across the counter. He took the bourbon from Tony, adding it to his bill and taking the bag with their bottles with a nod of thanks.

They stepped back out onto the sidewalk, breathing almost identical sighs of fresh air.

"So, look," Tony ventured quietly, "we're working pretty closely together here. I was wondering...if you'd tell me a little bit about that haunted look you get every once in a while." He nodded toward the bag. "Or why you need to drown yourself in whiskey." He shifted his stride uncomfortably. "Figured if Sam was getting some listening time, you might like some too."

Dean's hand twitched and he shoved it in his pocket, annoyed. "That's very...sweet, Tony, but I don't do that whole chick flick thing."

"Just wanna know who I'm working with, that's all," the agent shrugged, glancing off to the side, searching for anything to study in the quickly dimming light. "Not gonna sweep you up in my arms or anything. I'm no Prince Charming."

Exhaling slowly, the older Winchester gestured to the bench in front of them and they sat down. He pulled the whiskey from the bag and opened it, taking a swig from the bottle. He hissed through the burn, nodding once in appreciation before offering the bottle to Tony. "Me and Sam...we've been fighting for so long. Destiny and all the crap that comes with it. Angels, demons...pulling our strings from the very beginning. Try to be good. Try to fight where fate puts you...takes the life outta you, ya know?

"We lost our family. Bobby's all we got left." He glanced over at the still man beside him. "But that...that's not what you're lookin' for." He took another swig of the whiskey. "Me and Sam...we've both been in Hell. Not that Hell on Earth thing, but Hell. Fire, torture, demons...whole nine yards. I'm not gonna go into detail, but we've literally been there and back. It's not something you ever really recover from."

"Why...why were you in Hell?" Tony ventured quietly, his voice small and seemingly lost in the air between them.

Memories flashed in front of the hunter's eyes and he flinched. "I made a deal with the devil to save Sam. I was given a year...and at the end of the year, I was taken."

The agent was quiet for a long while before he sat forward, his uninjured arm resting on his knee. "Things like that happen? Deals with the devil?"

"All the time," Dean grunted, "or used to. Not sure how that's goin' down with the whole leadership change. They're called crossroad demons and they work for a contract holder demon...literally selling your soul."

Tony clenched and unclenched his fist as he mulled over what he'd been told, processing the impact it had on his expanding knowledge of the world he had been ignorant of. "Are you the only two who have ever escaped...from...?"

"Runs in the family, I guess." He smiled a humorless smile, his mind very much on the night they had finally killed Azazel. "Dad crawled out...when the devil's gate was opened...helped us defeat the demon that killed our mother." He sighed, spinning the liquor bottle in his hands. "Seems so long ago." He laughed bitterly. "God, Tony...I'm tired."

"Haven't you thought about...retiring, maybe?" the other man questioned sympathetically.

"All the damned time. There's no getting out of this job. You quit and the bad guys find you. At least this way, we have the upper hand. One day, something's gonna get us,...no arguing that. That'll be retirement." He stood, glancing along the empty road back toward Gibbs' house. "Let's keep this just between us, huh?"

"Dean!"

The strangled cry sent Dean spinning on his heel, turning back to the bench. His hand went instinctively to his waistband, searching for the gun that was usually there. He cursed as he found two men standing behind Tony, one holding the agent immobile as if ready to snap his neck.

"Fellas," he greeted, lowering his hands to his side, his eyes searching for tell-tale signs of who these men were. "Can I help you?"

The taller of the two men focused too-bright eyes on the hunter, his head cocking slightly to the side as if studying something insignificant. "Your sacrifice is required to raise our father. You will come with us."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was so predictable. He kicked himself again for leaving his gun behind and for walking instead of driving. "I don't think so, boys."

Tony grunted as the man holding him tightened his grip. His mind was racing, trying to work through the pain in his injured arm to throw the hold he was under.

"Come with us or he dies."

Tony's eyes locked with Dean's, a brief look of panic passing between them. The agent could see the fight going on in the hunter's mind and he shook his head, telling Dean to not give up. The hunter bit his lip, clenching his fists by his side.

"Alright," he finally conceded, holding his hands up in a submissive gesture. "You win. Just let him go."

The second man advanced toward him, all attention on Dean. Tony took the opportunity to throw himself out of the man's arms, wrenching himself free of the death grip he'd had on his arms. He immediately dropped, sweeping his legs out to topple his former captor. The body made a loud thud as the man's back found the ground and he gasped, winded.

Dean rushed the man approaching him, catching him about the middle and slamming him back into the bench, sending them both flipping over onto the grass behind it. Dean straddled the man, his fist connecting repeatedly with his face, trying to pummel him into unconsciousness. The other man had found his feet and rushed to his partner's aide, gripping Dean tightly, attempting to pull him away.

Tony instinctively reached for his own firearm, a loud curse falling from his lips. The only course of action was physical. Throwing caution to the wind, he rejoined the fight, his good fist connecting with the attacker behind Dean, knocking him backward.

The fight was violent and intense, slowly shifting in favor of Dean and Tony. Adrenaline gave them a boost of extra strength, their punches and kicks seeming to hit harder, doing more damage.

Panting, Dean fell back, having dropped one of the men. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, feeling cuts and blood across his skin. Scowling, he spit to the side, turning to find Tony. The agent seemed to be in no better shape, bleeding and bruised, stumbling away from the rather stocky man he'd been fighting. Dean reached out as Tony neared, steadying him as he swayed.

"You alright?" he asked gruffly, quickly scanning the other man's face.

Tony glanced around them, noting that their attackers had managed to find their feet again. "We need to get out of here. We need help."

Dean nodded, tightening his grip on his friend and pulling him down the sidewalk. The other men were just behind them and gaining ground. Amazingly, it seemed as if they hadn't taken a beating at all.

"Cas!" Dean managed, hoping to reach the angel for intervention. He wiped at his brow, catching the blood that threatened to flow into his eyes. "Cas, we're in trouble. Wake up." He threw a glance over his shoulder. The gap between them had almost closed. "Dammit, Cas, c'mon!"

"Dean?" Tony managed, his face taut in pain.

"Run," Dean managed, "don't look back."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than he found himself falling forward, tackled from behind. He found the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs causing him to cry out, gasping for air. A heavy weight settled over the top of him, pressing him into the ground and keeping him motionless. He tried to struggle, but the drop and lack of air had weakened him, making him sluggish.

"Dean!" Tony yelled, starting to move back toward his companion.

"Dammit, Tony, run!" Dean wheezed. He knew it was too late for him. His only chance was for Tony to make it back to Gibbs' house and rally the troops. Castiel obviously hadn't been able to rouse himself to rescue them. He was on his own. "Run!" The word tore from his body in a mighty yell.

One of the men drew back, landing a hard blow to the back of Dean's head, knocking him unconscious.

Tony locked his jaw, turning his attention forward, putting one foot in front of the other. His ears strained for sounds of pursuit behind him, but there was none. The men had gotten Dean, what they'd came for, and Tony was of no consequence.

His physical condition didn't allow for such strenuous activity, and the mile they'd traveled to the store seemed to take an eternity to run back. He tripped to the front door and managed to thrust the door open.

"Gibbs!" he panted, falling against the wall for support, still determinedly making his way to the kitchen. "Bobby? Anybody?"

The sound of sliding chairs on tile greeted his ears as those in the kitchen heard his return. In seconds, those who had gathered in the kitchen had ran out into the hallway.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked, rushing to the aide of his agent. He slid an arm around his waist, helping him into the kitchen.

"Where's Dean?" Bobby asked. "The hell happened?"

"We were ambushed," he panted, leaning forward against the table, his eyes closed. "Two men. We fought. They took him."

"Who?" Gibbs demanded.

"I dunno, boss." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "They said...he was needed for the sacrifice...to raise Odin."

Bobby cursed heartily, dragging his hand roughly down his cheek. "Gonna go get Sam. We don't have much time." He stalked from the kitchen and down the hall, leaving the agents alone.

"What now?" Tony asked, looking up expectantly at his boss, guilt written all over his face.

"I don't know, Tony," Gibbs said quietly, moving to the sink, gathering supplies to clean his agent's new cuts. "Don't worry. We'll get him back."

Tony bowed his head. I hope so.

tbc...

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long. I've rewritten this chapter so many times over the past couple of weeks and I'm definitely not happy with it, but I wanted to get something out to you. I hope you enjoy.