Disclaimers: Duh, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint).

Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders"...what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him?

A/N: One-shot...heh, as if you guys would let me? I thought not.

Thank you to all my reviewers, and thanks bunches to my returning reviewers (I love ya, my peeps!): Adara-chan15, Kaewi, WildWolfFree, Windyfontaine, CrazyDisaster (yes, I did kill off the Bender boys, heheh), HarvestMoonChild, Anamalia-fear, and Pixel-0!

WARNING: Smarm alert! (heh)

Big Trouble in Little Packages

"You're safe now, Sammy. You're safe."

Safe now. He dared to hope.

oooOOOooo

Sam lingered in the soft black water of unconciousness, the gentle waves he floated in carressed his wounded body and fragile spirit as he fought with the guilt of Lee and Jared Bender's deaths. Logically, he knew he had done it in self defense, but Sam Winchester's soul wasn't made for logic, it was made for compassion and an overwhelming desire to protect the innocent.

Through the muffling darkness that surrounded him he could hear a voice calling into the void. He could hear the love in the voice, but also the worry. For some reason he knew he was the reason for that worry, and the need to reassure the other propelled him to the surface of his concioussness.

oooOOOooo

Sam's eyes blinked as he tried to focus, and then he wished he hadn't. The hanging mobiles of fur and bone were still dangling above his head, dancing in the flickering light of the naked bulb. He was still lying on the butcher-block table, and he could feel Dean untying his ankles. He groaned.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy," Dean was at the head of the table in an instant, his hand resting softly on his brother's forehead.

"Stop...the...world," Sam managed.

"...huh?"

"I wanna get off," he finished.

"Funny, Sam, funny. Gonna throw that 'Extreme' tape away now," Dean said.

"Yesss."

Hearing the chuckle amidst the pain, Dean grinned as he finished untying Sam's bonds. He didn't trust any of the cloths or towels in the filthy kitchen to be anywhere near sanitary, so he took off his jacket and stripped off his long-sleeved shirt, tearing it into strips for bandages. The gash along Sam's side wasn't very deep, and it had stopped bleeding, so Dean turned his attention to the arrow wound in his shoulder.

"Hey Sam, when I saw you in the living room, that arrow had been in your back, so why is there a wound in front?" Dean asked as he cut off Sam's ripped t-shirt, partly to keep Sam concious. He placed the knife he was using on the table beside Sam's legs.

"Bastards used a...broadhead. Wouldn't come back out the...way it went in, so...they pushed it...out the other side." Sam was panting by the time he finished with the short explanation.

Oh God, Dean thought, that's why he screamed so badly. I'm gonna kill'em. Again.

Trying to keep the disgust off his face, he continued to wrap his brother's shoulder, using the other shirt for padding. Sam winced a few times, but was silently stoic, even though his shoulder was burning in agony.

"OK, dude, you're wrapped up like a christmas present, so let's get while the getting is good."

Dean slipped his arm behind Sam's back and gently helped him into a sitting position. Sam's head whirled at the change of position, and he gripped his brother's shoulder to steady himself. Head bowed, he fought for equilibrium. He raised his head...

...and saw Missy standing behind Dean, arm raised. There was a cleaver in her hand, and she started to bring it down into Dean's back.

"NO!" Sam yelled as he pushed Dean to the side, grabbing the knife by his hip, and instinctively plunged it into her ribs, hitting her heart. Missy growled as she glared at him, all sanity long fled, and slumped to the floor.

Sam stood in shock, bloody knife in his hands, as Dean rushed to his side.

"Sam. Sam!" Dean shook Sam's arm as he pried the weapon from his slack hand. "Sam, look at me."

Sam looked at him, his haunted eyes boring into Dean's soul. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, landing in Dean's protective embrace. They sat on the floor for a few long moments, Dean purposefully keeping himself between Sam and the body of the little monster who lay in a pool of blood.

Finally, Sam began to stir, and Dean lumbered to his feet and helped Sam up, then pulled his leather jacket over Sam's shoulder.

Quirking an eyebrow at Dean, he asked, "What if I..."

"Bleed on it and die, bitch."

"Jerk."

oooOOOooo

Dean and Sam stumbled down the steps of the rickety old house into the front yard. Sam was walking under his own power, but Dean knew that with the combination of blood loss, cold, and shock, his reserves were going to be depleted in short order. He had to get his little brother somewhere safe and warm, and soon.

The other problem he had was the deputy. He had found another key in Pa Bender's pocket, so he steered Sam to the barn. They didn't bother to be stealthy; Dean barreled the door open, and helped Sam sit on a stack of hay bales before he opened her cell.

"What happened, are you two OK?" Kathleen asked.

"We've been better," Dean said plainly, not even trying for his trademark flirtatousness.

"And the freaks?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "Not a problem anymore."

She looked back, reading the answers in his deep green gaze, then looked over at his 'cousin', covered in blood. She knew then, that the Benders were all dead. She also knew that in Dean's place, had it been her brother sitting on the hay bales, shivering, she would have done the same thing.

She nodded and said nothing.

Spotting her jacket behind the cage, she went over and picked it up, discovering the rest of her equipment, including her gun belt and radio.

"You know that I'll have to report this. State Patrol will probably be here in about an hour."

Dean winced.

"I suggest you be long gone by then."

He knew she was giving them a way out.

"I don't mean to press my luck, but any chance of catching a ride outta here? Our car is still at the station." He shrugged as he scratched his head and gave her a 'Winchester' grin.

She looked at the belt in her hands, and slowly opened one of the key pouches. Pulling out a Harley Davidson keychain with a single key on it, she handed it to Dean.

"Remember that black Mustang outside?"

Dean nodded, looking at her. Her emotions: the sadness, the pain, and the acceptance, ran like liquid over her features.

"Take good care of it."

"Like she were my own," he said gently, taking the keys reverently.

She knew he would keep his word. The beauty of his own Impala proved that he cared about cars almost as much as he cared about Sam.

She watched him walk back over to his 'cousin' and gently help him to his feet. Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and they started to walk to the door of the barn.

"Oh, and Dean?"

They paused, Dean looked back at her.

"If your 'usual playmates' come calling, give them my number for a while. Take some time off."

oooOOOooo

A/N: Yeah, really short chapter, but I wanted you guys to know that I'm working on it...k? K.