Sam lay pinned beneath the man who meant to hurt him, maybe kill him. And Dean was incapacitated. Sam had seen the other man drag his brother out of the car and strike him with the butt of his gun.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe this was how it was all supposed to end.

So many terrible things had happened to him in the space of a week that Sam couldn't help but feel like he was being punished.

Maybe he was meant to die here on the back seat of his brother's beloved car, his body used and bleeding while his breath slowly slipped away from him.

Maybe it's what he deserved.

He felt the man scrabbling around for the buckle of his belt, and Sam suddenly knew that whatever happened here tonight, it would be better if he didn't survive it. The man who held him down was nothing less than a vicious sadist bent on revenge. And Sam was his instrument.

He felt the man's sloppy mouth on his neck and on his cheek, struggling to find purchase on Sam's lips. But the boy rocked his head back and forth desperately, trying to avoid the inevitable.

He felt the man's strong hands - one on his neck, the other struggling to unfasten Sam's jeans - and he tried to buck him off.

All that scored him was a stinging blow to the face, however. It was hard enough to temporarily stun him, and he thought he actually saw small bursts of light behind his eyes that might have been stars.

The man's hands were everywhere - invasive and claiming all at once. And his mouth kept up a steady stream of profanity, listing all the things he planned to do to the boy who lay helpless and begging beneath him.

Sam knew he was going to die.

He just hoped that death came before the rest of the atrocities that Douglas had planned for him.

Sam closed his eyes. In his mind, he kept the images of Dean and Jeremy close. Inside his head, they were there for him, pleading with him to be strong, to just survive whatever happened so he could go on with the rest of his life. They reached out comforting hands to him, pulling him into a warm, imagined embrace. And when the man's cold hands finally slipped beneath the coarse denim of his worn jeans and lay claim to his warm skin, it was to his mind that Sam retreated.

And then the weight was lifted off him.

Suddenly, Sam was alone in the car, his clothes mostly still intact, and he heard the sound of the man's scream as a shot rang out.

Voices.

Then another shot.

Then all was still.

Sam pulled himself into a seated position against the far corner of the car seat, folding in on himself as much as possible. He wrapped long arms around his knees and rocked quietly, a soft whimper escaping his lips. And when the figure crawled into the car with him, Sam tried to kick it away.

But he saw the long, blond ponytail then, and the slight frame wrapped in a faded denim jacket, and recognition dawned.

And when Jeremy moved in close and pulled Sam into his arms, shushing him quietly and whispering comforting words, Sam thought he had died and gone to Heaven.

###

When Dean awoke, he was lying on the cold ground, his head resting on something warm and soft. He opened his eyes and focused on the slight figure leaning above him as soft hair that smelled like coconuts tickled his face.

"Dean." Molly said, smiling down at him. "Are you coming back to us now?"

Dean groaned, shifting in the slight woman's lap. "What? Where's Sam?" He was suddenly wide awake and trying to sit up.

But surprisingly strong hands pushed him back down. "Sam is fine. Jeremy is with him. You need to stay still. You're hurt." She soothed him. "Just rest for a few minutes. I promise. Sam is fine."

Dean closed his eyes. He wanted to get up. He really did. But his head was swimming so badly, and Molly's embrace was so comforting. "Sammy? Did that … that thing …"

"Shh. No. Douglas Lester is dead. So is his buddy. Shot clean through the heart and the head, respectively. He didn't have time to finish what he had … planned … for your brother. Sam is fine. You can trust me, Dean." She smiled again, and Dean was sure she was an angel.

"How are you here?" He asked, confused. "How did you find us?" He struggled again to sit up because, well, he was Dean Winchester.

"He followed you from Delaware. I made him when you pulled away from the house. When I ran the plates, and they came back to someone named Douglas Lester, Jeremy was beside himself. So I called in a favor and had a friend use Jeremy's phone to track Sam's. Illegal, but necessary. I hope you don't mind." She smiled again. "You had a couple hours head start, but the old Ford can fly when she needs wings."

Dean stared at the petite figure that sat on the ground in front of him. The pistol at her side was bigger than her hand, but she'd used it to save his brother's life - to save his own life. She'd downed two vicious felons in mere minutes, and yet here she sat, smiling innocently at him, her long, blond braid curling down over his cold hand.

Dean felt something stir first in his heart, then a moment later, in his pants, as he sat studying the woman whose strength and intelligence defined her and made her so much more than what she appeared to be.

He rose to his feet, pulling her with him, and peered into the back seat, taking in the sight of Jeremy cradling his little brother comfortingly. Dean moved around to the other side of the car and opened Sam's door. Kneeling down, he placed a gentle hand on his brother's knee.

"Sammy, what happened? How …how far did … "

But Sam smiled back at him through a tear-streaked face, shaking his head. "It didn't. They got here in time. Nothing happened, Dean. I swear."

Dean dropped his head then, relief washing over him like a river. He was safe. Sammy was finally safe.

And Dean didn't know where to begin to thank the two people who'd made that possible.