Author's Note: Hope everyone had a nice Halloween! Tonight's prompt comes from Sam angst lover who asked for, "Prompt: pre-series. While the family is based in Arizona during the summer before Sam's senior year, Sam gets kidnapped and drugged and John and dean have to save him before he gets lost to the world of human trafficking. I know you don't do anything explicit, and there doesn't need to be anything for the story, just Sam being drugged and roughed up and even overheated and dehydrated. I love me my Sam angst." Thank you for being so considerate of my guidelines! I hope you enjoy this story! Thanks for the prompt. Please note that the following story mentions human trafficking. If this bothers you in anyway, please do not read.


"Where are you now?

Where are you now?

Do you ever think of me

In the quiet, in the crowd?"

Mumford&Sons, "Where Are You Now?"


It's on a Saturday in a crowded mall, in a small town in the middle of Arizona that Sam gets kidnapped.

One minute, his gangly 17 year-old brother is there and the next he's gone.

Vanished, without a trace.

At first they think it's a supernatural creature—perhaps a witch or a spirit—but within the first 24 hours, they've eliminated that. Within 48, they're able to rule out any indications of a demon coming through down and by hour 72, both John and Dean are positive that their worst fear has come to pass. See monsters, demons, the creatures that went bump in the night—those were the easy things to track. They moved in patterns, lived their life the same way regardless of where they are.

But a human taking Sam?

That's more frightening than anything they've faced.

Humans weren't predictable and the smart ones were hard to track. If some seasoned criminals took Sam, then chances were that going to the police wouldn't yield any results. Still, for Sam, they would cover all the bases.

"We'll find him," John vows and Dean nods his head. "We'll bring him home."

Sam's been gone 72 hours too long and neither his father nor brother will rest until he's back with them.

And the bastards that took Sam? Well, human or not, there would be hell to pay for this. No one fucked with the Winchesters—no one. The sooner that the idiots learned the better.

"Let's move."


While John poses as an FBI agent, Dean manages to score access to the local precinct's records. Using the computer, he enters in the circumstances of Sam's disappearance. Within minutes, Dean prints out case files of five other missing teenagers—all boys, matching Sam's description; all taken in a 10 mile radius around the mall. He narrows his eyes and tries to make out the indistinct scrawl on the bottom of the latest missing person's file.

Possible trafficking? Check into it.

And Dean suddenly realizes that this isn't one sicko that took Sam.

This is an organization—a fucked up, evil, awful organization—that steals people as if it were a legitimate business. The realization also brings about a sense of urgency. Sam's already been gone three days. If they don't find him soon, his little brother would be lost across state lines. Having all the info he needs, he jumps from the computer, grabs the files and makes his way to his father.

"Find something?"

Dean hands him the papers and watches the horror sink onto his father's grim expression.

"We need to move." Dean growls.

"I think I've got a lead."

They're on the road within seconds.


With help from Bobby—and a few powerful hackers that owe the gruff hunter some favors—they manage to retrace the steps of the man that took Sam. The organization—whomever they were; no one could find any records of them—had one man in charge of all trafficking operation in this area.

"Name's Derrick Cunningham," Bobby had reported to them over the phone. "Rap sheet is a mile long, but among the charges are kidnapping and battery."

"Where is he?" John hissed as he pushed the Impala ever faster. The engine roared to life, as if she sensed what was on the line.

"Real estate records show a cabin near the desert. It's about 20 minutes from where you are."

"Thanks Bobby." Dean had sincerely stated.

"Just . . . bring him back safe, you hear?"


True to Bobby's word, the cabin is in the middle of nowhere. It's a wooden shack and only one lone pickup is outside of it. Silently, John reaches for his pistol and Dean pulls out the shotgun. Together, the formidable duo makes their way to the front door. Without hesitation, they kick in the door and see the man standing over an unconscious Sam, a syringe dripping in his hand. John fires first, hitting the man in the shoulder.

"Sammy!" Dean rushes to his brother's side. Wide, muggy hazel eyes meet his.

"D'n?" His baby brother's lips are chapped; bloody scabs have formed on them. Bruises litter his face along with a few shallow cuts. Palming his forehead, the eldest Winchester brother grimaces at the feel of it. Burning, yet clammy—a clear sign of dehydration coupled with overheating. "Y'kay?"

Because even drugged with something clearly causing drowsiness, hurt and burning up, Sam's main focus is on his big brother.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean assures him, ruffling his hair fondly, voice tight with emotion. "I'm good now that I find you." He pulls Sam up, only for his baby brother's knees to buckle. They nearly topple to the floor, but John is there, helping hold Sam up.

"You're okay," John echoes softly. "We're gonna get you help."

"S'like fire," Sam mumbles, his eyes seeing something that only he can see as his pupils grow ever wider. "Salt? No, eyes not—" His gaze settles on Dean's. "D'n? Y'came?"

"Course, Sammy," The eldest Winchester replies, trying to keep his tone light, but inside worrying about just how bad his brother was off. "I'll always come and find you."

"Yeah," Sam replies, somewhat coherently. "Jus' wanna know . . . D'n?" Dean squeezes his shoulder, offering support. "Where're we—?"

But his eyes roll up into his sockets and Sam fully folds, his full weight crashing down onto his brother and his father.

"Hospital now." John barks and Dean nods his assent.

They leave the bastard that took his brother with a gunshot wound, five broken ribs, a concussion and proof of his criminal activities. An hour later he's arrested for his crime.

But with his brother in critical condition, it brings Dean little comfort.


Sam's hand is flaming in his own.

With calloused fingers, he rubs the spot on his brother's palm that used to make him peal with laughter when they were little. He tries to ignore the nurses' sad eyes, the doctor's grim diagnosis and just focus on his brother. Sam's dehydrated, burning with fever and still having the paralytic that Derrick drugged him with being purged from his system, but he was still here.

"He's still breathing." John states out of the blue, as if he needs to verbalize it to make sure that it's real.

"He's a fighter." Dean states.

Then, so soft that he thinks he might've imagined it, John adds,

"Just like his big brother."


On day five of this ordeal, Sam start to mutter nonsense, his temperature is so high. At one point, he's talking about kittens and watermelons until he finally stills and then falls back to sleep.

Day six, his fever breaks and the drug is finally out of his body.

Day seven, the doctor states that he is "cautiously optimistic" about Sam's recovery.

But it's not until Sam finally opens his hazel, finally clear eyes that Dean and John allow themselves to breathe.

Looks like they were going to make it through this, after all.


"And you're sure that you're—?" Dean asks for about the 100th time as John prepares to discharge Sam from the hospital.

"I'm fine, Dean." He sighs, though he grins while he says it.

"Because we could stay if you needed—"

"I'm really okay, Dean."

And looking him over—bright eyes, a grin on his lips—Dean believes him. Sam is alive, the guy that did this is behind bars and they're about to put this stupid town in their rear mirror.

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." He says it so sincerely, as if Dean didn't have to save him, as if he needed Dean more than Dean needed him. He chuckles dryly and John knocks at the door, keys dangling from his finger.

"Ready?" His gaze rests on Sam's.

"Yeah."

And together—as a family—they get into the car and drive off to wherever the road will take them.


Author's Note: This was hard to write, but I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you have a second.