Febuwhump Day Ten: "How Long Has It Been?". Sam left months ago without a word. Dean sees him at the first time at a gallery, seemingly fine, but there is something dark lurking beneath the surface. Dean finds out what has really been happening to his little brother.

Title: Unlucky Deal

Dean fidgeted in his rented jacket. He was used to wearing monkey suits on cases, but this tux was unfamiliarly formal. "Rowena…" Dean grumbled and pulled at his sleeves again. She invited him here under the pretense of a case, but almost immediately abandoned him, offering no background information, as soon as he arrived. Enormous paintings hung on the walls with little placards beside them explaining their significance, but Dean never cared for art. His eyes flicked around the room as he milled around, listening to the sounds of idle, boring conversation.

"That's the one, Sam. I think I'll ask Madame Silva about it."

Dean halted abruptly, frozen mid-step by the impact of the name. He hadn't heard the name in months, refused to even let his friends say it around him. Everyone knew better than to bring it up and risk hurling Dean back into his depressive, hostile spiral. There were a million Sams in the country, what were the chances it was his little brother?

Dean rotated to the sound of the voice and saw him, the lanky young man with overgrown brown hair beside an older gentleman with white streaks on the sides of his hair and a distinguished, well-trimmed beard. He held a glass of champagne in his hand while Sam's arms hung limply at his sides. His face was blank and his eyes were spiritless. There was something eerie about his disposition, but Dean wasn't sure entirely what it was. He prepared himself, then purposefully strode to the pair. "Hiya, Sammy," his tone was cold.

Sam's previously sullen eyes grew wide when he registered his brother. "Dean."

The older man's mouth tightened into a frown. Dean already hated him. He knew he resented the man for being indulged Sam's presence when Dean wasn't, that same spiteful jealousy Dean had his whole life, but there was something else, something more wicked beneath it. Dean didn't trust his whole suave, highbrow look.

"Dean, it's so nice to meet you," the man held out his hands. Dean glared at it coldly and he rescinded. "I'm Marcus. Your brother's told me all about you."

"Is that so?"

Sam faltered beneath Dean's sharp gaze and averted his eyes to the floor.

"Of course. What brings you to the gallery? Do you know Madame Silva?" Marcus inquired.

"So this is what you've been up to? How long has it been? Eight, nine months?" Dean asked, but he knew exactly how long it had been since Sam left mid-March and didn't return a text or call for the last ten months.

Sam only focused on the floorboards that probably cost $50 a piece at this ridiculous, extravagant place. "Well?" Dean snapped, refusing to accept his silence as an answer.

"I've been busy," there was no effort behind the lie.

That was the final straw and Dean pushed beside Sam, covertly landing a punch in his stomach as he moved past to not draw attention to the other patrons, and marched into the adjacent room to find Rowena.

He spotted her, holding her crystal-engraved clutch and draped in a purple, velvet ball gown, admiring one of the paintings. "Rowena," Dean growled.

"Hello, Dean. What do you think of this one?"

"It's ugly. They're all ugly. I'm guessing there's no case."

"Depends on what you consider a case," Rowena stepped around him, marveling at the paintings, unconcerned with his simmering.

"Why did you bring me here? He doesn't want to see me."

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, maybe because he hasn't sent me one single fucking text since he dipped."

"That seems unlike him," Rowena mused. She knew something she wasn't letting on, but he wasn't in the mood for games.

"I don't even know him anymore. This was pointless. Thanks for wasting my time."

"Dean," Rowena gestured to a server carrying a tray of flute glasses with peach-colored, fizzy alcohol and accepted a glass. She turned to him and took a delicate sip. "I think you should talk to him."
"What do you care?"

"I don't like to see you boys fighting."

Dean scoffed. "Okay, now really why?"

She frowned and there was something off about it. It wasn't nonchalant and cocky like her customary posture. "I know we haven't always been on the best terms, but I do care for you boys in some ways."

"Uh-huh."

She rolled her eyes and took another sip from her glass, regressing to her effortless demeanor. "Suit yourself."

"Are you going to kill anyone here or can I leave?" his suit was strangling him now and he was desperate to tear it off.

"Why would I do something like that?" she asked and it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. He stomped away, not caring that the tantrum was attracting onlookers. There was no reason to blend anymore if it weren't for a case. When he walked through the room he had left Sam in, he searched, wanting to leave him with one last dirty look, but found his little brother was absent. Whatever.

He stewed as he stormed through the lot. Most people had used the valet, but Dean refused to let anyone touch Baby, much less drive her. He slammed the door behind him and clutched his hands around the wheel, but didn't yet turn the keys in the ignition. He saw Sam and the dejected aura he emitted, his uncharacteristically pale skin, and the way he couldn't look Dean in the eyes. He saw Rowena's troubled frown when she urged Dean to talk to him. He should start the Impala and speed out of the lot without looking back. He should forget about this whole unsettling encounter, but it was too late for that. He groaned as he got out of the car and started back to the party. He would have to be confined to the awkward suit a little while longer.

When he stepped through the entrance, Rowena was waiting by the door, as if expecting his return. She breezed past him, whispering in his ears as she moved, "Upstairs."

Dean made his way to the back of the room, surveying the crowd to make sure no one was looking, then trotted up the steps. The hallway he emerged into was dark and unlit. He stepped onto the long, red carpet with intricate designs of gold leaves rolled across the wood floor. Beneath the soft fabric, the boards creaked with each step, protesting his weight.

He listened closely, cocking his head, and the faint sound of voices trickled out from one of the rooms. As he crept deeper into the hall, they became louder, but the words were still indecipherable. It felt like a monster hunt; there was that same gripping anxiety in his chest, the adrenaline that edged him forward and readied him for the fight, and the undeniable fear that this could be the time something went wrong.

He was angry. Better yet, he was furious. When Sam left, he shattered Dean's world. All his life, he only really had his brother to depend on. At first, he went crazy searching for his little brother. He hardly slept or ate or even spoke if it wasn't about his pursuit to find Sam. He had been positive something had snatched him up and was torturing him in some miserable basement and each day that passed, Sam was that much closer to dying. It ate him up inside until he was only a shell of the person he used to be.

That was until Jody called him, reluctantly relaying the news. Sam was fine, not at all trapped or hurt, simply living his life with a man Jody didn't recognize. She'd spotted him coming out of an antique auction in Sioux Falls. She'd tried to grill him for information, but Sam was deflective, just saying that it was nice to see her, he was well, thank you, and he had to get going, but hopefully he would see her again soon. Dean cursed at her and asked why she hadn't tailed him or pressed him harder, immediately apologizing for the disrespect and chucking the phone into a wall. He didn't speak with anyone for a week.

Then all he could feel was outrage that came with pain. He cloaked himself in resentment because it was easier to feel than hurt. His little brother had forsaken him, rejected him, lost interest. Dean made up his mind to never acknowledge Sam again, but it all came crashing down with Rowena and her stupid fundraiser-party-thingy.

He reached the room the voices were emanating from. The door was cracked and Dean tapped it gently with its foot so that he could peer inside without being noticed.

The man was facing away from Dean, in front of Sam who had his back to the wall. He was uncomfortably, almost threateningly close. "You knew he would be here," Marcus spat.

"I didn't. Why would I do that?"

"You're trying to squirm out of the deal," Marcus asserted. Deal? It couldn't be a crossroads considering the bizarre situation. All you needed to do was pay up with your soul ten years down the line. Was this supernatural at all?

"I'm not stupid," Sam said, but his voice wasn't harsh or indignant. He seemed sullen, almost dejected. This wasn't the Sam he knew.

Marcus jabbed a finger into Sam's chest and Sam winced. Dean wondered how the small touch had earned such a physical reaction. "You know what happens if he comes looking for you."

Sam said nothing. It was the first time that Dean noticed the dark bags under his eyes.

"Say something!"

"It'll be fine. He's already gone. Can we just go?"

Marcus was unsatisfied by the reply and shoved Sam against the wall with his forearm on his chest. Sam took in a sharp breath of air. There it was again, written all over his face: pain. "I should kill you right now."

"Thom will be pissed," Sam said. Who the fuck was Thom and why was Sam so unfazed by the intimidation? He should be fighting back, but all he could do was dully point out facts.

"I don't give a shit about Thom," Marcus seethed, but he didn't make a move to kill Sam, so Dean had a feeling whoever Thom was had some control over them, "You're pathetic, do you know that?"

Fury bubbled in Dean's stomach and his hands shook at his sides. He was ready to jump in and stab the man with the silver knife stashed beneath his jacket, but he needed to know more first.

"You're pathetic," Marcus spat and landed a punch in Sam's stomach. Sam gagged, still pinned to the wall behind him.

"I know," Sam said once he forced down the coughs.

Dean's body begged him to surge forward and take out Marcus. Every muscle, every nerve, in him fought against watching Sam get hurt and doing nothing, but he knew as soon as he swooped in and ended Marcus's life, the information he was able to extract from Sam would be sparse.

"What do you think he'll do to you when I tell him about your little meet-up?" Marcus grabbed Sam's face roughly in his hands, "You think you'll get off easy?"

Sam was quiet.

"Answer me when I talk to you or I'll make you regret it."

Sam sighed. "I think he'll beat the shit out of me."

"Damn right he will. Then what else?"

Sam pulled his head away. Marcus ran his hand down Sam's throat until he met the collar of his shirt. "What did I just say?" Marcus let go of Sam's chest, but Sam didn't move to escape. He had already given up. Dean had never seen him like this before.

Dean suddenly couldn't see Marcus's hands from his position. They had moved towards Sam's waist and disappeared between their bodies.

Sam let out a small gasp. "He'll be rough."
Dean was stunned, unsure if he was processing things correctly. "Specifics."

"He-He'll tie me up."

"I bet he will," Marcus purred, his tone changing from malicious to satisfied.

"And whip me."

"Good," Marcus hummed. Then Dean heard it, the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered, and everything clicked in his mind. His body moved of its own volition, striding forward so quickly that Marcus had only started to turn his head at the sounds of steps when Dean was on him, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him to the side.

"What the-" Marcus began, but was cut off by Dean's fist on his jaw. He landed another punch to his nose, his eye, and after that he lost it entirely. All he knew was the feeling of skin peeling under his knuckles. Marcus was on the floor, Dean hunched above him, swinging hit after hit. He was unconscious, but Dean didn't remember when it happened. His face was covered in blood, swelling up, and turning shades of black and blue. As the anger drained from Dean, he felt a hand on his back.

"Dean! Stop!" Sam's voice broke through the fog. Dean looked over his shoulder and saw Sam staring at him with a slack jaw. "God damnit, Dean, what did you do?"

"What?" Dean blinked back to reality, climbing to his feet. He didn't bother to check if Marcus was still breathing. He'd be dead before Dean left the room no matter what.

"Fuck," Sam ran a hand through his hair.

"You're pissed at me?"

"I'm not pissed. Ugh, Rowena set this all up."

"Yeah and I'm glad she did!" Dean barked, unable to comprehend Sam's reaction, "What the hell's going on here?"

Sam collapsed onto the bed in the middle of the room and shook his head.

"I deserve to know," Dean demanded.

"It's complicated."

Dean had waited ten months for answers, he wasn't about to let this go. "Did you make a demon deal?"

"What? No, of course not."
"Don't say 'of course not.' How would I know what you've been doing?"

He expected Sam to react, to give him anything to go off, but when Sam put his hands over his face and bent over, Dean's heart cracked and all the rage he had been carrying with him for the past few months evaporated. "Sam?" he asked softly.

"I-I'm sorry," Sam's voice was muffled. Dean sat beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back.

"Why?"

Sam pulled his hands from his face and wiped the corners of his eyes with his palms. "I had to. They were going to kill you."

This was all for Dean. Sam hadn't turned his back on him at all. He should have never thought that. All this time that he hadn't been searching for Sam, he'd allowed this to take place. He caused this and then he let it happen. "Who was going to kill me?"

"Thom and the others. A bunch of demons. They had all this information. Shit, we're so screwed, Dean. You have no idea."

"I don't care. I'm not trading you to some pissant demons for my life. We'll deal with it."

"It's a lot more than 'some'."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. How could you do this, Sam?" his voice trembled. What he had seen- he knew what it meant. Sam was tortured, broken, beaten down until his spirit was crushed. He remembered Sam's expressionless face when the demon started touching him. The Sam he knew would have fought back. Dean couldn't let himself wonder what happened to him or it would tear him apart.

"I did what I had to do. It doesn't matter."

Dean swallowed and focused on pulling it together. He wouldn't cry, not when Sam needed him. "Why did he bring you here?"

Sam didn't answer at first and Dean thought he was lapsing into silence again, but finally he murmured the confession, "Thom set it up. He's the ringleader. They rent me out to people - sometimes demons, but a lot of times it's just humans. We'll go places like this, but not all the time. It can be just someone's house or…"

Dean hated to think of where else Sam had been taken and what had been done to him behind closed doors.

"That's the deal. I go with who he tells me to and he lets you live. It's- It's not that bad," the lie was weak and transparent.

"Where?"

Sam peered at Dean. "What?"

"Where's the headquarters? Where's Thom?" he could already feel the knife sliding into the demon's stomach and hear the anguished screams as he died.

"No, Dean," Sam said. Dean would let it go for now, he could see that this was taking a lot out of Sam.

"Sammy. I'm so sorry," and his voice finally cracked and the salty tears stung in his eyes.

Sam shook his head. "It's fine," he whispered.

"It's not. Look at me."

Sam spread out his hands in his lap and stared at the lines and cracks in them.

"Please," Dean begged.

Sam turned his head slowly and his soft, sorrowful brown eyes met Dean's. He could see the pain there, clear and undeniable. Dean pulled him into his arms and wrapped tightly around him like if he let go, Sam might disappear again.
Sam was still at first, as numb as he had been all night, but then he pressed himself against Dean, hugging him desperately, hands clutching the fabric of his jacket. He nuzzled his head into Dean's shoulder and let out soft cries as tears dampened his suit. All Dean wanted to do was protect him, shelter him from the world again, but there was no way to go back and un-ring that deafening bell. Sam was a child again, afraid and begging for his big brother. They had been separated for so long that it was all they could do to sit there and soak in the other's presence. Dean was still partially hollow, some large piece of him carved out with the devastation of seeing what had happened to Sam, but he wasn't alone anymore and neither was Sam. No matter what it took, Dean would fix this. He would help to heal the wounds that lived beneath Sam's skin. They had never needed the other more than they did now.