"Kill me now," Dean moaned.

Sam surveyed him, leaning against the bathroom's entrance. "I take it you don't deal with hangovers well."

"I haven't felt this crappy since freshman year at that halloween party." Dean spit into the toilet, elbow precariously holding him up.

Sam tilted his head. "You drank illegally? I wouldn't pin you down as the type."

"Peer pressure, man. Gets you every time." Dean's head lifted. "Dude, whatever I said last night, I'm sorry. I get mean when I'm drunk, sometimes."

"I got that," Sam said drily. "At least you played nice with Walker. He's someone you wouldn't want as an enemy."

Dean looked blankly at Sam. "Walker?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You need a whole day to recover?"

"Two hours."

"Alright. We'll head out after that." Sam rolled off of the doorframe, heading downstairs to find his mother in a similar state of a hangover.

"Sam, kill me now."

"Funny, Dean said the same thing." Sam rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should take care of this hunt by myself."

"Ha. No. Give me a couple hours."

Sam moved away. "Like mother like son," he muttered to himself. He found Bobby making something that was probably supposed to be an omelet.

"They still throwing up?" Bobby asked.

"Yup." Sam nudged Bobby out of the way, taking over at the stove. Bobby grunted at him and moved to the fridge.

"You doing okay?"

Sam laughed. "I'm not the one that drank way too much liquor last night, Bobby."

Bobby didn't laugh, eyeing Sam. "Yeah? Well, you're the one who had to be responsible and crap. Don't tell me seeing your daddy wasn't difficult for you."

Sam focused on keeping his hand steady as he flipped the omelet. "I didn't know the man. You were more of a father to me than he ever was, even with how little I got to see you, growing up."

He caught sight of Bobby's face softening a little before he covered it up with a gruff, "yeah, yeah, well, he was still your dad."

"You worry too much," Sam said.

"Occupational hazard, with you and your mom throwing yourselves into danger all the time," Bobby grumbled. "Go tell 'em breakfast is ready."

Sam reluctantly handed over the control at the stove. He collected his wayward family, depositing them at the kitchen table before moving off to get their hunting supplies together. He had enough time to get a run in, so Sam pulled on his ratty sneakers, slipping out the door.

Running had always been a decent way for Sam to clear his head. The pounding of his feet on the hard-packed dirt was a rhythm he could focus on, zone out and just run as far as he could. Sam ran for twenty minutes before he started feeling a prickling sensation up his spine.

Instincts were everything, in hunting. He didn't stop running—he had to make sure if there was a threat, he didn't alert the threat that he had noticed—but he did surreptitiously let his eyes run over the scenery. The line of trees along the road was enough of a threat that he came to a halt, leaning over and pretending to breathe deeply.

There was no movement. Sam sucked in oxygen, and then turned. He ran back to Bobby's place at a dead sprint, feeling unnerved the entire time.

Bobby was outside, feeding his dog. He glanced at Sam.

"Short run?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "We should leave pretty soon."

"Y'all need back-up?"

There might've been some wistfulness in his voice. Sam hesitated, but shook his head. "Thanks, Bobby, but I think we've got this handled. There's rumors of a werewolf pack in Minnesota though, after this hunt we'll pick you up and head out."

Bobby grinned. "Sounds good." He glanced back towards the house. "You, uh, good with Dean?"

Sam nodded. "Took a while, but I trust him."

Bobby acknowledged Sam's comment with a grunt.

"If we don't leave now, we never will." Dean clomped down the porch, bag in hand. "I do not want to drive." He still had the leather jacket on, and Sam looked away.

"I'll handle the driving," Sam said. "Mom coming down?"

"Yeah."

Sam slid into the driver's seat, waving at Bobby. Bobby rolled his eyes at him, going back inside the house. Dean got into the car, sighing as he let his head rest against the back of the seat. "I hate alcohol," he declared.

Sam snorted. "Wanna hear some loud music?"

"No," Dean pleaded. "You wouldn't be that cruel."

Sam merely grinned. As soon as his mom had fallen into the passenger seat, he pulled out of Bobby's yard, onto the road again. After an hour of driving, he noticed a bright red sports car behind them. Sam kept his eye on it for a while, worried that they were being followed, but it eventually passed them. Sam ignored the feelings of paranoia. He needed to focus on the hunt.

Mary made herself sit up and put make-up on, as Sam drove the car. She would have to do the initial sweep, pretending to be an FBI agent. Dean was probably old enough to get away with being her partner, but people tended to look at Sam strangely if he tried to pretend to be an agent

Dean was slumped in the back, sunglasses over his eyes.

"Dean, are you doing okay?" she checked.

"When we get there, I need a coffee," he declared.

Sam's hand edged towards the radio, and Mary slapped it away. "Don't even think about it," she warned.

"Then you'd know how I feel every day," he said, smile playing across his lips.

"Yeah, yeah, well—" she noticed Sam's eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. He had been doing it a lot, in the past few hours. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "Thought someone was following us at one point."

Mary swiveled around, glancing out all of the windows. "They still behind us?"

"No. I'm being paranoid, Mom, don't—" Sam's voice cut off in a yell. Mary turned, just in time to see the enormous tree falling in the road in front of them. Sam yanked the steering wheel to the side, sending the Impala into a sharp turn that almost made it. The car hit the tree. Mary felt the seatbelt yank against her chest, the car shudder as it took the hit before her forehead hit the dash and she knew no more.

She woke up feeling something pulling at her. She groaned, trying to get her uncooperative limbs to obey her, and the thing pulled at her again.

"S'm," she mumbled. "S'mmy."

The voice she heard was not her son's, and Mary tensed, feeling pain radiating through her body. She forced her eyes open, staring up blearily at the figure above her. "Sam," she gasped.

"Sorry, Winchester."

Something sharp pricked her neck, and Mary faded away again.

The next time she woke up, it was to a pressure on her hand.

"Mom." Dean's voice was soft, fearful.

Mary opened her eyes, finding Dean's green ones close to her and wide. "Dean, wha—"

"I'm so sorry," he said.

Mary looked around. Her blood froze as she caught sight of Sam, tied upright in a chair, with a devil's trap painted on the floor.

"Sam," she whispered.

"He won't wake up," Dean told her.

Mary pushed herself into a sitting position. The tug on her wrists from handcuffs stopped her from getting anywhere, the chain of it around a pole, and Mary growled.

"Sam!" she barked. "Sammy!"

Her boy didn't move, head hanging low on his chest. Mary snarled, yanking against the handcuffs, feeling it cut into her skin.

"Don't," Dean hissed. "They'll hear you, and—"

On their left, a door opened. Mary straightened up, an exorcism on her lips.

Gordon Walker came in, followed by a couple other men.

"Christo," Mary said, hoping to buy herself some time. "Adonai."

Walker went over to where Mary and Dean were handcuffed to the pole. He crouched, looking at them almost sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, Winchester. But your boy is too close to the dark side this time, and you needed someone to step in."

Mary blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

The hunter jerked his head in Sam's direction. "Sam's evil. We'll do our best to cleanse him if we can, but we might have to gank him. You understand."

She bodily threw herself at Walker, stopped only by the handcuffs on her wrists. "He isn't evil," she spat. "You're the evil one, taking him and using it as an excuse for torture."

Walker shrugged, annoyingly nonchalant. "Has to be done. Dean told us about the blood. Blood doesn't lie—I would know."

"Sure, everyone knows about the way you butchered your sister," Mary snarled. "What, did you think she was a demon too?"

Walker's eyes flashed. He stepped forward. "She was turned into a vampire, and I did what I had to do."

Mary kicked out, catching him in the groin. Walker toppled backwards, groaning, and the other hunters hurried forward, dragging him back.

She drew her lips back into a sneer. "You've made a big mistake, doing this," Mary promised.

With a slow hobble, Walker moved over to the devil's trap on the floor. The way he was looking at Sam . . . Mary swallowed down her fear. Her fear would do nothing to help Sam right now.

The concrete floor was harsh on the bruises from the car crash. The handcuffs pinched the thin skin around his wrists. His jacket wasn't enough to block out the chill in the room. His stomach was aching with hunger.

But none of that mattered, because Sam was tied up, vulnerable, while hunters prowled around the edges of the devil's trap. And it was all Dean's fault.

Next to him, Mary practically vibrated with agitation, continually pulling on her handcuffs. Dean could see the blood dripping to the floor from where the metal had broken through her skin.

"We'll start out with a simple exorcism," Gordon announced. He picked up a bucket, and suddenly tossed the contents across Sam.

Mary snarled, but fell silent as Sam coughed, waking up.

"Wha—" he slurred. Dean could see an obvious bump on his head from the crash.

The hunters began chanting. Sam's gaze landed on Mary and Dean; his eyes widened comically, making him look even younger than he already did.

Fear, guilt, anger—it all bubbled up inside of Dean. Sam didn't deserve this.

"Hey!" he called out, interrupting the jerks and their stupid chanting. "You guys trying to prove something? I've heard Sam use that Latin mumbo-jumbo a hundred times already. You're wasting your time."

"No," Mary whispered. Dean glanced at her.

"What?" he murmured. "I'm trying to help."

Her voice was a bare thread of sound, only audible to Dean's ears. "This is harmless, if you get them to move on, they might hurt Sam."

"He's got a point. The kid's probably has built up immunity," one of them spoke up.

Gordon nodded. "Kubrick, go get that one ritual you were telling me about."

The man—Kubrick—left.

"What are you trying to prove, Walker?" Mary asked.

Gordon shrugged. "I'm a hunter. Heard about your boy here, and felt it was my duty to step in." He picked up a knife, the blade flashing in the meager light from the windows.

"You use that on him and you'll be sorry," Mary snarled.

Dean swallowed. It wasn't in his nature to make threats, but for Sam . . . "Gordon! You think whatever you heard me say while I was drunk counts for anything? Sam's clean."

"Like you would know, little new hunter. No, what you told me was just a confirmation." Gordon approached Sam, who stared at him defiantly.

"What, not scared of going inside the devil's trap?" Sam asked.

Dean felt, rather than heard, Mary suck in a breath as Gordon gripped Sam's jaw. "No," the man breathed. "You're a defanged snake."

Somehow, Sam seemed to be remaining calm. "Well, then I'm not a threat."

"Nice try." Gordon slid the knife across Sam's collarbone."You're still dangerous. It's just hidden, isn't it?"

Both Mary and Dean had yelled when Sam was cut. Sam himself had grit his teeth, but kept back any sound. Dean tried to meet his gaze, but Sam was looking stubbornly at Gordon.

"Gordon, I have it."

The hunter turned, smile on his face. "Let the cleansing begin."

A/N: I obviously have a thing for Sam being kidnapped and tortured in some way. I'll work on that. But maybe not for this story ;) Anyway, heading into the grand finale! Hope you guys have been enjoying this story, and that you'll also like the ending!