Thanks to Souless666, nightrider67, CBloom2, and TwistedDuck for your reviews and comments!

Hope you guys enjoy this twisted little chapter.

The two drove without saying a word for the first hour and a half, only Dean's cassette tapes filling the silence. Dean hadn't failed to notice the occasional twitch of Lindsey's hand towards the volume button, but every time she pulled it back. Dean knew he was probably being rude but his heart hurt too much to even consider talking more about Sam.

But Lindsey clearly felt otherwise. She steadied herself and reached forward, turning the dial and nearly silencing Motorhead. She took a deep breath and began. "I know he did some bad things and there's so much I don't know, but your brother's a good guy. He always treated me with so much respect, even got rid of a few assholes who tried to get overly friendly. He was really good at looking out for people, made sure they wouldn't drive drunk. He even drove some people home occasionally. I guess what I'm trying to say is—"

"Stop, please," Dean begged. "We're talking about him like he's dead and I—I just can't do that. He's not dead. He can't be."

"Oh my God, no, that's not what I was aiming for! I'm so sorry. I meant to say that he knows he messed up but he's doing his best to make up for it. I've been addicted, I know what it's like to struggle against that overpowering tide. And he thought he was doing the right thing by killing that demon! I'm not saying it's not his fault, but I get it, and I get him. I also get why you were so pissed at him. I would be, too. But I don't think he ever did it to hurt you, Dean. He did it because he thought it was required of him. Does that make sense?"

Dean swallowed against the growing knot in his throat and nodded. Despite what he'd initially thought when his passenger had opened her mouth, it actually helped to have Lindsey's perspective. Hearing from someone else that Sam had never meant to damage their relationship was more of a relief than he would have expected. "Thanks, Lindsey. I, uh, I guess I didn't know I needed that."

She smiled weakly. "You'll have a chance to make it right. I know it. We're going to find him. I'm not stopping until we do."

"That makes two of us."

They fell into an uneasy routine centered around the Roadhouse. Ellen had rebuilt the bar with rooms on the second floor for hunters, which Dean and Lindsey rented. Lindsey worked at the bar for Ellen and kept her ear peeled for any useful information. When Dean wasn't out following any leads that could be even remotely related to Sam, he'd serve as a general repairman and mechanic for Ellen and anyone else who needed it. Weeks turned to months and Dean was feeling his well of sanity run dry.

When Dean couldn't sleep, which was most of the time, he just drove. It was the closest he could get to relaxing since… well, he wasn't really sure when. Certainly before he knew Sam was missing, probably before he knew God had chosen him for some holy mission, maybe even before he found out about Azazel's connection to Sam. Needless to say, he'd been operating under high stress for a long time but he didn't have the luxury of stopping and taking a break.

Instead, he'd slip into his precious Impala and let it take him away from the epic clusterfuck of a train wreck that was his life. When he turned the key and her engine growled to life, it was enough to discourage the constant milieu of thoughts that ceaselessly condensed in his mind: Sam's probably dead; It's my fault; The world is ending; Michael wants to use me; I let Sam down; What's the point anymore?; I can't keep going; I wish Dad were here, he'd know what to do… The brief respite was enough to keep him fighting, but he felt the fire dying each and every day.

He was parked at the mouth of the entrance road to a deserted farm, taking the moment to appreciate the setting sun. He was laying against the windshield, listlessly staring at the reddening sky. His phone rang and despite having been let down so many times, a part of him still hoped it was Sam, that'd he'd escaped somehow, that he was calling Dean to come rescue him. He dug the device out of his pocket and sighed as he saw Bobby's name light up the screen.

"Hey Bobby," he answered cordially, tucking away his disappointment. "How you doing? How's the leg?" Dean always tried to remember to ask Bobby how he was, worried the old man might be lonely. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"Same as before. Useless. But I'll live. Anything useful about Sam?"

"No, not yet. I've been all over tracking down anything and everything, but nothing. I don't know what to think. I—" he paused, unsure whether he wanted to express his deepest fear out loud.

"What, son?" Bobby prodded.

"I'm not sure he's even alive anymore. I used to be so sure, like I could feel that he was still out there somewhere, but I don't know now, and I'm worried…" Dean felt his eyes water but he was too tired to care.

"Don't lose hope. You once told me Cas said the angels would know if he were dead. I trust him. He's out there, we just gotta keep looking."

A silent tear slipped down his face as he nodded mutely. "You're right… I… I'll keep trying."

"That's all we can do. I'll let you know if I get anything useful."

"Me, too. See ya, Bobby."

"Bye, Dean."

He let his arm fall away and continued peering at the watercolor clouds. What would he do if Sam were dead? He doubted he could do another demon deal. Would Sam even want to come back? Dean doubted that even more. His brother was strong, but the hunters had captured him more than seven months ago. That was a long time to be held against your will being forced to do God knows what. What kind of person would Sam be if they ever got him back? Would he be—

The phone rang again and Dean rolled his eyes, figuring Bobby had forgotten to tell him something and was calling back. He answered without looking and was surprised to hear Lindsey's hurried voice.

"Dean? It's Lindsey. You need to come to the Roadhouse right now. It's important. It's about Sam. Find me as soon as you get here."

Dean stared at the dregs of his beer, at a loss for what to do next. Bobby, Ellen, Rufus, Lindsey, and anyone else he trusted were looking for signs of Tim, Reggie, or Sam's whereabouts, but he didn't have much hope. His circle of hunters was good, but these people were apparently better. Freak on a leash. The words spun mercilessly in his head.

A glass slammed down loudly in front of him. He flinched and looked up, Lindsey's annoyed form filling his view.

"Dean, there you are! I told you to come find me the second you got here!"

He wiped a hand down his face, exhaustion evident on his pale, taut features. "Sorry, Linds, Ellen said you were busy changing out some kegs and then I kinda forgot why I even came here. So damn tired. I'm not even sure what day it is or how long it's been since he… since he was…" He looked up at the young woman and sympathy softened her hard stare. She sat down across from him and put a hand on his.

"I know, I know. But I wanted you here because I think this group of hunters might have interacted with Sam." She tilted her head in their direction and Dean turned to look, his normal cautious stealth thrown to the wind.

The combination of hope and a roar of laughter from a rowdy table of men nearby snapped him out of his morose detachment. Dean focused all his attention and listened. An alcohol-charged man raised his voice over the group and continued his story, a key section of his monologue piercing Dean's demoralized apathy. "… demons. So many demons. Thought we were toast. Then they open the kennel and out comes this mangy dude, though was hard to tell cuz his hair was so long!"

Dean twisted back to look at Lindsey, his eyes wide. "They have to be talking about Sam. A kennel?!" She nodded and frowned. Dean felt his blood start to simmer but forced himself to stay calm and listen for more information.

"You just thought he was a girl cuz it's been so long since you've slept with anyone!" another hunter jibed.

"Yeah, whatever, Rick. Anyway, they bring this guy out and say he's their secret weapon. They inject him with some red shit, saying it's gonna make him a demon killing machine. They shove him out into the street and then Tim starts hollering for the demons."

"They're injecting him with demon blood?! Oh, God, Sammy…" Dean resisted the urge to breakdown right then and there.

"Six of the evil fuckers come out and head towards us. Their eyes go black and Chris here is about to shit himself." The man in question put his head down and nodded in mock-shame. "He raises his hand and black smoke starts pouring from their mouths. Never seen anything like it. The smoke goes into the ground and the people are still alive, demon free!"

"That sounds like bullshit. I've never seen anything that can do that!" grumbled a man in the corner of the booth.

"No, it's true," Chris retorted.

The doubter shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell has that kind of juice?"

"A goddam monster, that's what. A whole new breed of freak. But I'm leaving out the craziest bit: all this shit that's going down right now, all this demon crap, the whole damn Apocalypse, it's this kid's fault. He started the Apocalypse!"

The other hunters at the table guffawed in disbelief. "No one person can start the Apocalypse, Raylan."

"According to Tim, after those black-eyed bitches killed his hunting partner Steve, they got him to admit it. He started the Apocalypse. Said he broke the first and the last seal to free Lucifer from his prison in Hell. It's his fault!"

But you only broke the last one… Dammit, Sam, were you trying to protect me or some bullshit? Time to return the favor… Dean nodded subtly to Lindsey, steeled himself against his emotions, and rose from his seat.

"Take the beer and look tipsy, it'll help you blend in," she murmured and walked away.

He approached the booth languidly, his glass tipping slightly in his hand, hoping to give the appearance that he was fairly buzzed and thus not a threat. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard the same story. Rest of you better believe it."

The story teller gave Dean a brief assessment before smiling. "See, I told you guys I wasn't lying." He held out his hand over the table. "Raylan Cramings."

Dean took it and smiled in return. "Dean Wesson."

"Pull up a seat and help me convince these doubting sons of bitches about what I saw," Raylan offered.

Dean nodded and brought a stool over. He debated how much he should share about Sam, but decided not to blow his cover by telling a lie Raylan may see through. "No, it's really true. That red stuff they inject him with is some sort of demon juice. It's what gives him his abilities." Murmurs and grimaces answered his information. "I guess sort of becoming a demon gives him power over them? That's my theory anyway."

Raylan stroked his beard as he mused. "That's as good a theory as I've ever heard."

"What I don't get is how they control him. If he's strong enough to take down demons, why doesn't he hurt them?"

Chris, who had so far been fairly quiet, spoke up. "Tim says the thing used to be human before it turned into whatever the hell it is now. If it bleeds, you can hurt it. You can kill it, right? Except, they found out they can't."

It?! Dean's attention was now impossibly more laser focused. "They can't what?"

"Kill it," Chris responded with a smirk. "You guys hear how angels need meat suits to be on earth?" Most of the other hunters nodded. "Well, turns out this freak is Lucifer's meat suit, and no matter what, Lucifer won't let it die."

The blood drained from Dean's face. The other hunters started babbling excitedly but it was all white noise to him. "What do you mean 'no matter what'?" He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice and pretend half-interest. He took a heavy swig of his beer to calm his convulsing throat then moved his hands under the table to hide their shaking.

Raylan smiled and began to dig around in his pocket. "You asked how they control him?" He chuckled to himself. "After he's done killing the demons or whatever they're hunting that day, and make him clean up the scene, they usually kill him. Most effective way is to blast his head off!" Dean's stomach roiled and he dug his nails into his palms. "Gives them a few hours before he wakes up in one piece again. They've done some experimenting but he always comes back."

Dean felt himself detaching from his body, unwilling to accept the current situation as reality. Experimenting? Oh, God, Sammy… Drawing his phone from his pocket, Raylan scrolled through a few pictures and then grinned as he stopped on one.

"The best part? He's basically an immortal punching bag! The demon blood swilling freak who started the Apocalypse is just waiting for each and every hunter to break his pretty little face. Tim will give any hunter a free beating, but killing him costs a few bucks. So worth it though."

Dean bit his tongue to stop himself from exploding. This couldn't be happening. Not to Sam. Raylan handed the phone to his right so Dean was the last to see it. By the sounds of admiration the other hunters were emitting, Dean knew he wouldn't like what he saw. But he was in no way prepared for what the tiny device held.

The first thing he noticed was a gaunt body (that couldn't possibly be Sam, right? Oh, God, it looks like him, albeit much, much thinner) positioned between Raylan and another man he vaguely recognized, the two hunters posing like Sam was their prize kill. Then he noticed all the blood. Bright red overlaid the dark crimson of dried blood. A small pool was beneath Sam's feet which meant that – oh my God – Sam was hanging from a branch, razor wire biting deep into his neck, blood slicking down from the wounds. Despite his overwhelming desire to smash the phone, he looked closer. Barbed wire tethered his brother's wrists and ankles together, though the joints were horribly disfigured. Fingers bent in every direction. What little was left of his clothing did nothing to hide the myriad bruises and gashes littering his flesh, many of them healing, others were scars. Bracing himself, Dean dragged his gaze up to Sam's face. What looked like cigarette burns spelled 'EVIL' across his cheeks and 'TRAITOR' was carved into his forehead. Worst of all, his eyes were open and staring at the camera. That was the moment when Dean irrevocably decided that humans were far worse than demons and angels and Hell.

"He was still alive when we took that pic," Raylan boasted proudly. "Then I attached the razor wire to my truck and took his head clean off! Was really pretty cool…" His voice had a hint of longing and something in Dean snapped.

Launching himself up from his seat, he flipped the table in his rage. "What the FUCK is wrong with you people?!" he shouted. The place fell silent as everyone stopped to look at him. "Monster or not, this is disgusting! This is wrong! Why do you enjoy this?!"

Raylan stood up and leaned into Dean's space. "Because he started the end of world! Don't you think that's something he should suffer for?! What's it to you anyway? He your demon lover or something?"

"No! He's—"

"Dean!" Ellen shouted and he snapped his mouth shut. He hadn't even noticed her approach but now she was dragging him away, shock making him easy to direct.

"Hey, he still has my phone!" the irritated hunter called after them.

"I'll deal with you in a second!" Ellen snapped over her shoulder.

Lindsey beckoned them over and Ellen pulled Dean along before pushing him behind the bar. "What the hell just happened? You know I don't appreciate fights in my bar." She was firm but non-accusatory.

She tried to meet his eyes but Dean's body was too numb to move. Instead he stared at the ground. "He—they… Ellen, the hunters who have Sam are torturing him. Apparently, he won't stay dead because he's Lucifer's vessel, so they…" he choked on a sob, "they torture him until he dies and then Lucifer resurrects him so they can start all over. That bastard over there did this to him."

He held up the phone for Ellen to see. She hesitantly accepted it then instantly regretted doing so. She thrust the phone back as she turned away and vomited into the sink. Lindsey grabbed it before Dean could move and a horrible keening sound, like that of a child who had just found her beloved family pet run over, ripped from her throat.

Dean watched in slow motion as her legs gave out and she slipped downwards. He couldn't force his body to react, it wasn't listening to his commands, every nerve was wrapped up in a heartwrenching screaming litany of Sam Sam Sam! It took Dean a moment to realize what the flutter of wings and movement meant as his eyes registered Castiel catching her by the armpits and stopping her head from hitting the ground. Cas let her slide to the floor.

"Oh my God, this is all my fault, he did this to save me and now, oh God, oh God, oh God…" Lindsey sobbed from the ground.

Dean avoided the angel's gaze as a violent tangle of emotions whirled within him. He knew he should calm down Lindsey and Ellen then interrogate the man that brutally murdered his brother. He went down to Lindsey and put a hand on her shoulder. Ellen knelt beside him and he wrapped the two women in a shaking embrace, his willpower strung taut like a constricting noose; it took all his self-control to stop himself from gunning down all the hunters at that table.

"Ellen," Dean whispered, his throat too tight to speak any louder. "Take all my weapons. I need to talk to him but I… I don't trust myself."

"Sweetie," Ellen murmured, pressing Dean's head into her chest. "Don't do this to yourself. Let me do it, or Castiel."

Dean leaned into the comfort for a moment before pushing back and looking Ellen in the eye. "No, I have to do this. For Sam. This man ripped Sammy to shreds… And I'd be willing to bet my life he knows where Tim and Reggie are. I have to do this. I have to."

Ellen watched as Dean transformed the devastating grief to cold rage, just one more weapon in his expansive arsenal. She knew better than to stop him. "Dean, just… Don't do anything you're gonna regret later."

"I won't let him," Cas replied solemnly.

A caustic snort was Dean's response. "Not that I'd ever regret ganking a monster like him…" And they'd thought Sam was the monster. They've never seen what I can do! "But I promise I won't kill him. Doesn't mean he won't regret what he did!" Dean shifted to grab the phone from Lindsey's hand. "Look after her, will ya?" he asked Ellen as he stood up, not even bothering to get her response. "You!" He pointed at Raylan, who looked irritated and confused. "In the back, now!"

The other hunters moved to join their comrade, weapons drawn. The few remaining non-hunters in the bar scrambled out of the building. Dean paid them no attention. "No! Only him. You'll all get a turn if you want it!" Dean spat.

"More fun to do this all together. Maybe you want a taste of what your demon lover got?" Chris taunted, his grin hungry. Castiel stood and moved to Dean's side. Chris took a long second to look the trenchcoated man up and down, clearly assessing his worth as a fighter. "What, you feeling left out, buddy?"

"I would advise you heed this man's requests," Castiel said, completely unfazed.

Their adversaries looked dubious. "Or what? He's gonna scream and cry some more?" the doubter jibed.

"No, it shall be you who will scream and cry!" Cas took a step forward then let his grace shine through. As the shadows of his wings flared out, the wind whipped up within the closed space and a low rumbling caused all the bottles to clink together. The lights flickered and furniture shook. The hunters hunched in on themselves, their eyes dashing about the room.

"Okay, okay!" Raylan yelled at the indoor maelstrom, clearly terrified. Dean did his best to suppress a laughing smirk when everything stopped in an instant. It wasn't that he didn't remember the terror and the disbelief; no, that was a very clear memory. Castiel appearing in that barn amidst a shower of sparks, lightning and thunder all around as he revealed his wings. Nah, he hadn't forgotten, it just felt good to be in the know, for once.

The previously arrogant band of men now stood cowering, their weapons still out but lilting in their hands like two-week-old bouquets. Their faces were a mix of awe, confusion, and fear. No time for processing your feelings, boys. I got a little brother to save!

Dean held his hands out to the side. "Look, I'm unarmed. Just wanna have a little chat."

Raylan nodded blankly, left his gun on the table, and walked through an employee-only door. Dean turned and followed, sparing Cas an amused smile and a silently mouthed "thank you".

As soon as they were through the door, Raylan spun and stepped into Dean's space. "Who the fuck are you? Why are you so interested in some demonic freak? What's he to you?"

"I'm Dean Winchester," he growled and the man's eyes widened. "And he's not just some demonic freak, he's my brother."

"What?" Raylan gasped.

"Yeah, that man you murdered for shits and giggles was my little brother, Sam, so you're damn lucky I made a promise not to hurt you. 'Cause there is nothing I would like more than to payback even a fraction of what you did to him."

"I'm sorry. I-I didn't know!"

"Then what? You thought he was some monster you could torture for fun? That he didn't matter to anyone?"

"He can kill demons with his mind! He can't die! That's hardly normal. They told us was some kind of demon spawn and that he started the Apocalypse." He paused then gave Dean a stern look. "And you're really gonna try and preach that shit to me? How many creatures have you snuffed without a second thought to their families or whatever?"

The hypocrisy struck Dean to the core but he couldn't focus on that now. "But I never, ever tortured them. What you did is sick and twisted."

The hunter dropped his gaze. "It's different knowing he's actually human…"

"It shouldn't be. Monsters can't help what they are. They shouldn't be punished for what they are unless they're hurting someone."

"My, what would your father say about this softie approach to hunting."

Dean felt his jaw twitch despite himself. "I'd say he would have a thing or two he could learn from Sam." He glared at the hunter, the fire in his eyes dissuading Raylan from challenging him. He needed to focus on extracting information, not discussing hunting philosophies. "Do you know where he is?"

"No. My, uh, encounter with him was a few weeks ago. They move around a lot."

"'They' being Tim and Reggie?"

"Wait, you already know about them?"

"Yeah, but I can't fucking find them anywhere."

"They've pretty much gone underground. They are extremely careful about who knows about the fre—your brother." The tick flared more violently and Dean rubbed his cheek to relieve it. "I have to get their okay before I tell anyone about them."

"And then people can get in touch to sign up to kill him?"

"Pretty much. And, uh, fair warning, it's not just that. They have a sort of fight club. They'll put him in a cage with some supernatural creature or some hunters and let them duke it out."

"What?!" Dean roared, his hands itching for something to destroy.

Raylan hunched down a bit, trying to make himself small in the face of Dean's wrath.

"They say everyone gets to take a swing because he started the end of the world. That he deserves to suffer."

"Oh my God, Sammy…" Dean murmured. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, they always did. "Find out where they're gonna be next."

"Tim and Reggie?"

"Yeah."

Raylan nodded. "I can call them and ask."

Dean pulled the phone out of his pocket and held it up. "You try anything fishy, you tip them off somehow, and you'll regret it."

"I promise, I won't. I don't want any trouble with you, man."

"Good. And be sure to put it on speaker."

Dean passed him the device and the hunter gingerly took it. He found the number and pressed dial. He glanced at Dean as he pressed speaker then down at the floor.

"Raylan! How are you?"

"Hey Tim, I'm good. I, uh, you know, I really enjoyed getting to mess with that freak you have." Dean knew it was part of the act but he still wanted to punch the guy. "I haven't gotten a chance to go to one of those hunter fight clubs yet. Got any coming up?"

"Yeah, actually, we do. There's some demon activity outside of Davenport, Iowa. Planning on stopping in Cedar Rapids for the night on Tuesday. We got a place already. I'll text you the address. Just so you know, Roy and Walt have first dibs."

"I'll keep that in mind. See you Tuesday." He ended the call and looked up at Dean. "Well, that was easy." The phone buzzed and Dean held his hand out for the phone.

Raylan passed it over and Dean copied down both the address and the phone number and slipped the sheet in his pocket. Then he broke the phone in half.

Raylan opened his mouth to complain but Dean stepped in close, their noses almost touching. "You do anything to get in my way, anything that stops me from getting to my brother, and I'll snap more than just your phone."

Raylan nodded his understanding and scuttled out before Dean had the chance to change his mind.

Its existence – it wouldn't call it life – consisted of numbness, agony, orders, and the occasional thrill of fire in its veins, followed by wretched emptiness. Sometimes the pain went on for what felt like its entire time on this stain of a planet. Anger and hate and violence swirled around it, but those things drifted away as quickly as they came, melting into the eternal background of primordial suffering. Even its maker didn't come around anymore. It vaguely wondered if He was ashamed of its weakness, of how quickly its will had been broken, that it had been reduced to this, whatever this was. It knew He wanted something from it, something important, but the only word it knew was 'no.' He wanted something else, but all it had to offer was 'no.'

That was the word it screamed again and again as it was antagonized, beaten, conquered, degraded, and mutilated. 'No' was the fruitless word it cried out both against the raging din of its attackers during the day and in the desperate silence of the barren night. 'No' was the only reason for existing and it had forgotten long ago why existence even mattered. But to something, someone, somewhere, it did, so it would keep saying 'no'.

Reviews are love!