Title: Now I Know My ABC's

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.

Author's Note: Janice is a genius. :D I was having a bit of trouble deciding exactly where to put this one and she swooped in with the perfect premise! Now, I swear I started this one with the intent of mangling Sam. Yet somehow, this has ended up a hurt!Dean chapter instead. Lol

Also, expect slight delays on chapters as I have had a moment of insanity and am taking part in NaNoWriMo this year. For those of you who don't know, that's Nationl Novel Writing Month, where you commit to writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. o.0 See? Moment of insanity. Lol

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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M is for Mistaken Identity -

Sam narrowed his eyes at the screen of his laptop. The steady glow of the screen in the dim lighting of the little roadside bar Dean had found was giving him a screaming headache. The blaring music wasn't helping either, and Sam wanted to find and beat whichever redneck asshole kept playing the Electric Slide on repeat. He rubbed the space between his eyes and grabbed his beer. Sam raised it to his mouth for a sip and looked up over the screen to find his brother. His brows rose as he studied the two burly, flannel-clad deer hunters Dean was hustling at pool. Even from across the bar, Sam could read the frustration and anger in their body language. It was clear as day, but his big brother was too busy running the table to recognize the danger he was about to be in. Sam gave a long, put-upon sigh when he saw the two men catch the eye of three more at the bar.

"Dammit, Dean," Sam groaned. He quickly drank off the last of his beer, closed the laptop and set it aside safely out of the way of potential flying beer bottles and/or bodies. He stood and rolled his shoulders out as the two men bracketed Dean at one end of the pool table. "Great."

Dean sank the last ball and straightened from the table, allowing a brief grin of triumph to stretch across his face. He chuckled, rapped the bottom of the pool cue on the floor, and then turned to look at his two opponents. He startled slightly to find them barely a foot away from him. His grin quickly faded as he took in the menacing glares on the faces of both men.

"Problem, guys?" Dean smirked and held out a hand. "You boys wanna pay up and I'll just get outta your bar?"

"You cheated," the taller of the two said in an angry rumble.

Dean let his brows rise up, trying for innocent. "Me? Did not. Not my fault if you two need to spend a little more time practicing on the kiddie table before you play with the big boys." He took a step back, knowing even as he spoke the words that he was being a cocky idiot, and still, he couldn't stop it from happening.

"Think yer some kinda comedian?" The taller man spoke again and slammed his right fist into his left palm with a dull thud to make an impression.

Dean snorted and raised his hands. "I'm hilarious, but I really just want my money, guys. You lost, fair and square. Now pay up like big boys." Dean caught a sliver of movement in his peripheral vision and turned his head to see three more men closing in on him. "Huh. Now, THAT'S not playing fair." He backed up another step, trying to decide who to take on first. "There's no reason this has to get violent, guys. We can just..." He broke off as the two men he'd been playing rushed him. Dean dodged to the side, trying to avoid being caught between the two groups of men and stared in surprise as his little brother appeared and barreled into the three men that had been coming at him from the bar. They went down to the floor in a tangle of limbs and angry shouts and Dean grinned, turning back to the first two.

"Figured he wouldn't jump in until the fight started to annoy him. Way to go, Sammy! Now, you could just pay me now before I have to hurt you." Dean shrugged as the men snarled and came for him again. "Can't say I didn't warn you."

Sam quickly untangled himself from the pile of bodies on the floor. He grunted as someone's elbow landed hard in the center of his stomach and rolled to his feet. He spared a glance up for his brother and shook his head as Dean dropped one man to the floor with a precisely aimed fist and then looked over at him with a grin. He looked back to his own opponents and readied himself as the three men regained their feet and glared at him.

"I don't suppose we could all agree my big brother's a jerk and walk away friends, huh?" Sam asked and chuckled when all three men shook their heads and advanced. "Yeah, I didn't think so," he said, resigned and kicked his leg out at the nearest man. Sam's foot slammed into his thigh and sent the man howling back to the floor. He ducked under a punch from another and landed his own fist solidly against the third man's jaw, whipping his head to the side and left him to stumble dizzily back toward the bar. Sam grunted in annoyance as the last man standing wrapped both arms around his shoulders. He rolled his eyes and took a solid grip on one arm.

"You're really not gonna win at this," Sam said and easily broke the hold thanks to years and years of wrestling with his older brother and father, not to mention various and sundry creatures who were trying to rip his throat out at the same time. He twisted, turned, and was behind the man before he even realized what was happening. Sam pulled one of his arms up behind the man until he yelped, kicked out a knee and knocked him down. He let the man fall and gave him a shove so his head banged into the jukebox and left him lying in a daze on the floor. "Sorry about this."

Sam stood, rolled out his shoulders, and turned to check on his brother. Dean had one man down for the count and was circling the other, waiting for an opening. "Dean, stop playing with him and let's go!"

Dean snorted. He looked at the last man standing and gave a little shrug. "Sorry, pal. He gets bored. But this was fun." He watched the man frown in confusion for a second, and then Dean snapped a hand out. He caught a fistful of the man's greasy hair and pulled his head down as he brought his knee up. Dean felt the satisfying crunch of his nose and let him topple to the side to curl on the floor, either unconscious or damn close to it. He knelt, ignoring Sam's irritated huff, and rifled the man's pockets.

"Dude," Sam protested. "Can we go now?"

"I win a game -" Dean found the man's wallet and dug it out. He counted a hundred dollars out and left the rest, tossing it down as he stood and smiled at his brother. "- and then I get paid."

Sam rolled his eyes and went back to retrieve his laptop while Dean strolled across the bar to the door. He looked back at the bartender who was just staring at them open-mouthed. "Uh... they started it." He ducked away before the bartender could snap back enough to say anything and shoved Dean out the door. "You're gonna get us arrested."

Dean laughed aloud at that and went to the Impala. He grinned at Sam over the roof. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"I found us a job while you were being a gigantic dick," Sam told him as he slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut.

Dean snickered and started the car, pulling away from the bar with a satisfied smile and ignored his brother's comment. "What's the job?"

"Shifter or ghoul maybe." Sam twisted and leaned over to set his laptop in the back seat and then settled back again. "The police reports are a little vague. Victims reportedly went missing, turned up alright, but then their families say their behavior changed radically; like they were different people until they disappeared again and then they turn up dead later on. The bodies are badly beaten, maybe tortured." Sam shrugged. "The medical examiner couldn't be sure due to the state of the bodies."

Dean frowned. "Kinda sounds like a shifter, doesn't it? Those assholes like to play with their food."

"Shifters don't actually eat their victims," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, but they like messing 'em up and screwin' with their heads." Dean's voice was dark with the memory of the first time he and Sam had hunted one. He wasn't likely to ever forget seeing his brother beaten and nearly strangled to death by something wearing his own face.

Sam nodded, lost in his own memories for a moment. He shook his head and huffed out a breath. "I hate shifters."

"Where we goin'?" Dean flicked a glance to his brother, gauging his mood about the possibility of hunting a shifter again, as he did every time they had to go after those bastards. Sam met his glance and smiled to let him know he was alright.

"St. Louis." Sam smirked. "So you might want to turn around."

Dean looked at him more sharply this time. "Tell me you're freakin' kidding me. St. Louis? What, is that place, like, shifter central or something? They have a commune on the outskirts?

Sam gave a "what can I say," sorta shrug without answering.

"Really?" Dean rolled his eyes. He looked at the empty road and shrugged, executing a quick one-eighty with a squeal of tires. He gave Sam a satisfied grin. "Find me some tunes."

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Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly as he walked out of the coroner's building. Looking at the bodies of the dead was never easy, but it was even harder when they had died violently. There was always that part of his brain that remembered his time in the cage that taunted him with the knowledge that he knew what those injuries felt like - all of them. He pushed the memories away and turned his face up into the sunlight with his eyes closed for just a moment, feeling the warmth on his skin like a reminder that he wasn't there anymore. Castiel had taken the madness, of course, but not the memories, and there were times when Sam felt infinitely old; felt every decade of the one hundred and eighty years he had spent being tormented.

"Sammy!"

Sam jerked his head down and opened his eyes to find his brother striding up to him from the direction of the police station. "Hey."

"Hey." Dean studied his brother with a little frown. He looked tired. "Something happen in there?"

"Huh?" Sam asked, confused, and then shook his head. "No. No, uh... I'm good." He started off toward the Impala. "I'm pretty sure it's actually a ghoul. I found some teeth marks on the bodies. They were really hard to spot but they were there."

"Yech." Dean shook himself. He tugged on his tie, straightening it, and dug his keys out of his pocket. "I'm gonna enjoy blowin' this asshole's head off. Got some addresses for the victims' families, see if maybe they know anything else, like where this thing might be livin'."

"Doubtful," Sam said with a shake of his head. "From what the coroner was saying, none of these people had any idea they weren't dealing with their loved ones; I mean not really. If it is a ghoul, though, I can't figure out why it didn't eat its way through the family members. I mean, that's like free lunch."

Dean grimaced. "Pleasant. But yeah, you're not wrong. Somethin' ain't addin' up here." He patted the hood of the Impala and opened the driver's door to slide behind the wheel. "One of the families is only a few blocks from here. May as well go talk to them and see if we get anything."

Sam pulled his door closed and shrugged. "Yeah, can't hurt. I'll see if I can get any maps of sewer systems under the city, and we should check out the local cemeteries for disturbed graves while we're at it."

"If it is a ghoul, yeah. They can't resist easy meals." Dean pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the other side of town.

Sam watched the buildings as they passed. St. Louis was a big city that somehow managed to look like a small town once you got out of the city center. He frowned as they drove. Something was nagging at the back of his mind but he wasn't able to pin down exactly what it was, something beyond the fact that the last time they were here, his brother's doppleganger had tried, and very nearly succeeded, in killing him.

"Here it is." Dean pulled up down the street from the little green house. "Mr... uh... crap." He dug his notebook out of his jacket and ignored Sam's snicker from beside him. "Davison. His wife did the whole split personality thing, vanished, and turned up dead a few days later on the side of the freeway."

"Damn." Sam climbed out of the Impala and looked over at the house sadly. "How long ago?"

"Couple of weeks." Dean fell into step with Sam and took note of the wilting bunches of flowers gathered on the porch. They looked as though they'd been tossed there at some point by someone who just didn't want to deal with them.

"I've got the feeling he's not going to be very interested in talking to us." Sam climbed the stairs and knocked on the front door. "Looks like he's still grieving hard."

Dean nodded and waited. He took out his FBI badge, seeing Sam do the same and put on a smile as the door opened to reveal a dark-haired, tall man, with dark shadows under his eyes. "Mr. Davison?"

"Yeah." Mr. Davison eyed the two suits on his porch warily.

"Sir, I'm Agent Stokes. This is my partner, Agent Grissom. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your wife if you don't mind."

"We're very sorry, sir," Sam said sincerely. He watched Mr. Davison's eyes fly wide, as if in shock. "Mr. Davison?"

Dean jumped back as the door slammed closed in their faces. "What the hell?" He knocked on the door and when there was no answer, he knocked more loudly.

"Dean, stop." Sam grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him back and down the steps. "The guy's still torn up over his wife and he doesn't want to talk. We can't make him."

"Dammit." Dean nodded and followed Sam back to the car. "Ok, screw witnesses for now. Let's hit the town hall for sewer blueprints."

Larry Davison watched the two men from his window, peering out the side of the curtain. He saw them get into a distinctive, black, classic car and pull away from the curb. He sucked in a ragged breath and stumbled back from the window. "Oh, my God." He was shaking from head to toe and staggered across the room to the table where he'd left his cell phone. He picked it up and dialed his friend with trembling fingers. He had to swallow hard before he could speak. "James. It's them." He shook his head. "The men... the ones from the diner. The ones who killed our kids. The Winchesters. It's them. They were just at my door!"

Larry threw an arm up in frustration at the voice on the other end of the line. "NO, I'm not drunk, dammit! They were just here! Pretending to be federal agents or something but, they're supposed to be dead! What the hell is going on? How can they be here?" He listened again and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. Yeah. Hurry up." He ended the call and let his cell phone drop to the floor as his eyes went to a picture hanging on the wall of his daughter. "I don't know what's going on, baby, but I swear I'm gonna make it right."

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Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to back off the headache that had been brewing for the last two hours as he dug through dusty old records for blueprints of the sewer layout under the city. He climbed the stairs up out of the records hall and sneezed as he emerged into the wide entry chamber of the state house. He looked around for any sign of his brother but Dean was nowhere to be seen. Sam smirked. His brother had called it quits an hour before out of boredom and volunteered to wait outside and warm up the car.

"Lazy ass," Sam muttered under his breath as he strode across the lobby and outside. He squinted in the glare of the late afternoon sun and easily spotted the Impala on the other side of the parking lot where they had parked. He clutched his papers tighter against the wind and jogged down the steps and across to her. "Hey, Dean!"

Sam went to the passenger side and looked in. He frowned and pulled open the door. "Dean?" The car was empty. He straightened and looked around for his brother. "Where the hell did you go?" He took out his cell phone and dialed while he leaned on the roof and tossed his papers inside onto the seat. Sam listened to the line ring and scowled as it went to voicemail. "Dude, where the hell did you go? I'm at the car. Call me back."

He put his phone away and closed the passenger door. Sam went around to the driver's side and fished the spare keys out of his jacket. He reached for the door and something glinted in the sun, catching his eye on the ground. He knelt and his eyes went wide as fear dropped into his stomach like a stone. Sam reached down and picked Dean's keys up from the pavement under the door.

"You'd never drop these," Sam whispered. He stood and looked at the car anew, searching for any signs of what had happened but there was nothing; no blood or scratches, no shell casings from his brother's gun... just nothing. Sam turned in a circle and glared out at the world that gave him no sign. "No." Something bad had happened, he knew it. He could feel it in his gut. Somehow, his big brother, hunter extraordinaire, had been grabbed off the street in broad daylight without leaving a trace, aside from the dropped keys.

Sam stared down at the keys in his hand while he fought the urge to hyperventilate out of sheer panic. It wouldn't help Dean. "Ok. Ok." Sam opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. He started the car and then just sat there for a moment, holding on to the wheel as he stared out the windshield. It felt wrong to be sitting there while Dean was who knew where. He shook himself and pulled out, wanting to put as much distance as he could between himself and the state house before he stopped and started looking for his brother. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching and waiting. They weren't of course. If they had been, they would have grabbed Sam like they did Dean when he'd just been standing there like an idiot beside the car.

"I can find you," Sam said firmly. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw his laptop bag still there. He looked back out to the road. "I WILL find you, Dean."

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Dean struggled in the ropes holding him. Whoever had nabbed him, they had done a damn good job of tying him up. He was close to losing feeling in his hands from the way the ropes binding his wrists and biceps were cutting off circulation. He ducked his head down, trying to dislodge the gag filling his mouth. He grunted as a foot banged into his ribs.

"Knock it off."

Dean rolled his head up to glare at the man above him in the back of the van. He tried to put every ounce of his desire to kill the man into his eyes and smirked as he saw some of it hit home and the man leaned away from him with wide eyes. He went back to trying to twist a hand free behind his back where they couldn't see it. He kicked himself mentally for being taken so easily. He'd felt something off only a second before he'd been slammed into the side of his car and taken to the ground under a heavy pile of bodies. He could still smell traces of whatever drug had been on the cloth they'd pressed over his face that had knocked him out.

The van bumped wildly and Dean grunted again as he banged into the floor. A moment later, it rolled to a stop and the side door slid open. He kicked out as his feet were grabbed and snarled when they simply dragged him out and let him thump painfully onto the ground. He rolled his eyes as three men picked him up and dragged him again with his feet dragging behind, toward a long, low building.

"Get him inside."

Dean looked over at the man who had spoken. It was the same man who'd held him down while he tried to fight the effects of the drug and called him 'Winchester'. That, more than anything, was what worried him. These people knew who he was, who he really was. His only consolation in the whole mess was that they hadn't gotten Sam. He was never more glad of his brother's ability to fixate on a problem and lose track of time. He looked up and saw a sturdy, metal chair bolted to a concrete floor. It was in the center of an impromptu room created by walls of ceiling high stacks of crates.

"Put him in and get a damn gun on his head before you try to strap him down."

Dean would have laughed if the gag wasn't choking him. He sighed a little in relief once they dropped him in the chair and it took some of the strain off his limbs. He felt the cold muzzle of a gun press into the back of his neck and then the other two men knelt beside him with knives. He saw manacles attached to the chair and figured he only had one chance to get out of this on his own, if he could avoid having his head blown off. Dean tensed to jerk his arms loose as the men started cutting the rope and then flicked his eyes up at the sound of a whistle. The man who had spoken stood ten feet away with a gun steadily aimed at Dean's head.

"Figure you know I can take you out from here before you get anywhere near me."

Dean considered trying as his arms came loose and then settled back in the chair as if that had been his plan all along while the gun behind him pressed harder into the base of his skull.

"Smart choice." The man kept the gun steady until Dean's arms and legs were shackled to the chair and waited while the man behind him strapped his chest down with a length of rope for good measure. "Lose the gag. Suppose we should hear if he's got any famous last words."

Dean held his head very still as one of the men leaned in with a knife and slid it between the fabric and his cheek. He didn't flinch as the blade pressed into his flesh and the gag fell away. He spit out the wad of fabric stuffed in his mouth and opened and closed his jaw several times to loosen it. His mouth was bone dry, but somehow he didn't think his captors would hand him a glass of water. "Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?" he asked.

"You're Dean Winchester." The man spoke again and lowered his gun now that Dean was safely restrained. "Where's your brother?"

"Dead. Next question?" Dean smiled, hoping they would buy it and not go looking for Sam.

"Bullshit." The man snorted. "If you're alive, so's that bastard. We'll find him."

Dean ignored the threat. "What do you want with me?" He looked around at the other three men and smirked. "I mean, you gotta have some idea who I am if you bring this much muscle to take me down."

"I'm James Carter. You already know Larry." James nodded behind Dean.

Dean craned his head around and his eyes widened in surprise. "Larry... the guy we tried to talk to earlier? What the hell? You just not like feds this much?"

"You're no federal agent." James said angrily. "You're a damn murderer."

"I don't know how you managed to fake your deaths like that, but you're not gonna get away with it." Larry moved around in front of Dean and his hand trembled around the grip of his gun.

"Larry. Back off." James moved and took the man's arm, then eased the gun away from him. "Don't want this to be over too fast, now do we?"

"Murderer?" Dean stared in surprise. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sarah." Larry spit the word at Dean. "You killed my little girl. And his."

"Emily." James spoke her name softly. "And about a dozen others. Their parents..." He shrugged. "They didn't want any part of this. Oh, they want you dead, but they don't want to get their hands dirty doing it."

"I don't know those names. I've never met your daughters." Dean willed the men to believe him. "Look, I'm sorry you lost your kids, but it wasn't me or my brother."

Larry's face transformed with rage. Dean leaned his head back before the man could strike, but James held on and dragged him several feet away.

"You son of a BITCH!" Larry screamed and struggled to free himself.

"Calm down!" James ordered Larry and spun, giving him a hard shove well away from their captive. "You either get a handle on this or get the hell out and leave it to me."

Larry panted and forced himself to look away from Dean. He backed away a few more steps on his own. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm ok."

James watched him for a second and then left him to gather himself and went back to Dean. "You seriously gonna sit there and tell us you don't remember murdering an entire diner full of innocent people on camera just for kicks?"

Dean's eyes blew wide and the memory slammed into him. "Oh, my God," he breathed. It had to have been almost two years since it happened; since the leviathans wearing his and Sam's likenesses had gone on their cross-country killing spree . "Shit, you don't understand."

"Understand how you shot down everyone in there?" James demanded and moved closer, bending over so he was in Dean's face. "Understand how you pulled my baby girl up out of that booth and your brother shot her in the stomach?" He spit on Dean's face. "Shot her three times, and then you left her there screaming and bleeding out on the floor. I think I understand just fine."

"You snapped Sarah's neck," Larry said angrily from his place safely away from the man he wanted to rip apart with his bare hands. "I had to watch that video and watch you twist her head off like she was an animal, and you laughed. You both laughed."

"It wasn't us," Dean insisted. "We weren't... shit, it wasn't us. They were impostors, and the cops caught and killed those assholes. The men who killed your daughters are dead. I swear it."

"And yet here you sit." James pulled a pair of brass knuckles out of his pocket and slid them onto his right hand.

"They were impostors! I'm tellin' you!" Dean yelled and didn't like one bit where this looked to be going. "Call the sheriff in Ankeny, Iowa! He was there! He saw them die!" At least, Dean sure hoped the man would still be willing to hold up that story after all this time.

James shook his head and curled his fingers around the brass knuckles. "We tried to track you two down after... after the diner. So we know all about when you supposedly died; how you slaughtered the whole precinct in Ankeny. All the cops." James leaned in and smiled. "And the sheriff. Sucks when you can't remember your own lies, huh?"

"He's dead?" Dean stared in shock. "No, no, no. He was alive! When we left, he was alive, and he had the... the bodies of our doubles. How the hell'd he die?"

"According to the real federal agents?" James shook his head. "You killed him, right before they took you down." He threw a punch and smiled with satisfaction as Dean's head snapped to the side and blood flew in a thin arc through the air. "Guess they were lying too."

Dean spit blood onto the floor and coughed. The pain in his jaw pulsed up into his head, but he was grateful it wasn't broken. "Didn't kill him," he insisted. "You don't understand what was going on." He shouted in pain as James slammed the brass knuckles into the top of his left knee and was left gasping for breath. "Wasn't us."

"Honestly, I don't really care if you tell the truth." James considered and landed a solid punch to Dean's left shoulder, smiling at the fresh shout of pain. "We're gonna make you pay, and then we're gonna make you die."

Dean wheezed for breath, willing away the black spots that were starting to crawl across his vision from the pain. The men weren't going to listen to him. He felt a surge of hopelessness that this was how he was going to die, mistaken for one of the monsters, and he wasn't even sure he blamed the men hurting him.

"Ever had a broken cheekbone, Dean?"

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Sam drove with one eye on his laptop screen, his eyes never leaving the little red balloon that signaled the location of his brother's phone. He was pinning all his hopes on the bad guys not thinking to disable the phone. He turned and grimaced as the Impala lurched up and over a speedbump he hadn't even seen. With the time spent tracking Dean's GPS and driving out after it, he figured whoever had taken his brother had had at least an hour with him. Sam only hoped he got there before they did the unthinkable. He refused to imagine living his life without Dean in it again. He couldn't. He was never going to survive that again. He wouldn't.

Sam slowed the car and checked the screen. He was nearly on top of the signal and the only thing nearby was a long, low building, some sort of old warehouse by the looks of it. He pulled behind a a rusted-out shipping crate and parked. He checked his gun, making sure it was loaded, and slid the knife he'd grabbed from the trunk into his jacket. Just to be safe, he took one of their angel blades and got out of the car.

"Be there, Dean," Sam whispered and started toward the side of the warehouse and an open window. He stayed alert for any sign that someone might be standing guard outside, but it looked like whoever they were, they weren't too concerned about being found. He neared the window, easing up beneath it and stretched to see if he could get a look. Before he could, he heard the unmistakable sound of his brother's voice shouting out in pain. He had to stop himself from just running in blind to get to him. Being caught wouldn't save Dean. At least he was still alive.

Sam moved off down the side of the warehouse looking for a side door. He knew there was another way in, he just had to find it. Each time he heard the muffled sound of his brother's voice, it made him twitchy. Sometimes it was Dean shouting in pain, and others Dean was shouting at whoever had taken him. Sam stopped at a small door and cautiously gave the handle a turn. It opened and he thanked whatever fortune left the door unlocked. He eased it open enough to slip inside and took out his gun.

The warehouse inside was a maze created by crates stacked nearly to the ceiling. Sam used the angry voices - and they were louder now he was inside - to lead him toward his brother. He paused as he drew closer and listened and realized he could make out at least three voices other than his brother. He scowled and looked down at his gun; unless he was willing to go in shooting and possibly kill three humans, he needed a better plan. He took a deep breath and said a silent apology to Dean as he backtracked his steps to the side door.

Dean spat another mouthful of blood and aimed for James' shoes. He gave a bloody grin when his aim was true. "Asshole."

James shook the toe of his boot, looking down at the blood with disgust. "Keep that shit up and I'm going to gag you again."

Dean took in a few measured breaths in deference to his sore ribs. He was sure he was going to have the imprint of those damn brass knuckles on his chest for days, assuming he lived that long. "Torturing... an innocent guy. "S'at what... what your kids would... would want?"

"Don't talk about them." Larry stepped forward and slammed his fist into the side of Dean's head.

James chuckled and slipped the brass weapon off his knuckles. He tucked them into a pocket, uncaring for the blood that coated them and instead took out the knife they'd removed from Dean. "Time to get a little more creative."

"Why don't you just kill me already?" Dean looked up at James and Larry, and around to the other two men before looking back to James. "'Cause you're actually enjoyin' this, aren't you? Sick bastard. This is fun for you." He let his eyes move to Larry. "This ok with you? Huh?" He coughed and glared at the man. "You really gonna be ok with murder? With this?"

"Stop talking to him," James ordered and put the point of the knife to Dean's cheek just below his eye. "Or I'm gonna start right here. Get me an eye."

"Jesus." Larry swallowed and stared at the silver blade so close to Dean's eye. It made him uncomfortable, and the things Dean was saying started to sink in past his grief and his rage. "James..."

"Don't you get cold feet on me now," James said as he lowered the knife and turned to look at the man. "You wanted this."

"Yeah; but this..." Larry waved a hand toward Dean. The amount of blood and damage they had done to him was starting to sicken him. "We should just turn him in now. I think... we've done enough. I didn't want to t-torture anyone. Not even him. This isn't right."

"No way." James shook his head. "I saw the video just like you did. No way I'm letting this sick, son of a bitch get off that easy. The cops dropped the ball or he bought them off, I don't know. But I know he won't be walking away from us."

Larry shook his head. "This just... I don't know about murder, James. I mean, it's..."

"Larry, dammit." James turned on him angrily. He opened his mouth to threaten him and startled backwards a step as an explosion sounded from outside. It was strong enough to shake dust loose from the ceiling. "What the hell is that? Go on! Go find out!" He waved Larry and his two hired guns along with him. "Whoever it is, make sure they don't know anything. And if they do..." he looked at Larry with a smirk. "... tie 'em up somewhere and I'll talk to them when we're done here."

Dean watched Larry stare at James hard and figured the guy had to know James was going to kill anyone who could get them caught. "You think real hard, Larry!" Dean called as the man finally followed the other two out of sight around the boxes. "'Cause it won't just be me he buries in this place!"

"Shuddup," James snarled and turned, landing a heavy fist across Dean's jaw.

Dean's head was spinning with the repeated blows he'd taken. He shook his head slowly and worked his jaw open and closed to try and relieve some of the pain. "How many people you gonna kill, asshat?"

"Oh, I don't know." James shrugged and knelt down in front of Dean. "I'm in triple digits these days, so a few more aren't really going to bother me."

"Huh?" Dean looked up in surprise. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Dean Winchester." James chuckled and ran his fingers through the blood on Dean's jaw, laughing again as the man flinched away. "When Larry called me and told me you and your brother were here, I thought I was screwed!" He smirked. "And then I realized what a golden opportunity this was." He leaned in and winked at Dean. "The brothers Winchester come to town hunting a ghoul and get wrapped up by local townies out for revenge." He nodded as Dean's eyes went wide in shock. "Just my luck I'd snacked on this poor bastard the day before Larry called him, or I would have missed all this."

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed and instantly reevaluated just how screwed he really was.

"Soon as we're done with you..." James leaned in to breathe in Dean's ear. "... I'm gonna have me a little Winchester snack, make myself one handsome bastard, and go find that little brother of yours for some quality family time."

Dean reared in his bonds, ignoring the flares of pain through his chest as he roared out his denial. "You leave him alone!"

James leaned back and stood up with a grin. "He'll never even see me coming, your brother. I'm gonna be a superstar in the monster community. I mean, a lowly ghoul takes down the Winchesters? Angels, demons, freakin' Dick Roman – yeah, yeah; I know all about those freaky bastards who copied you, too – all of them tried and failed. But now you're mine and your brother soon will be."

Dean watched him laugh and struggled against his restraints with new motivation. He couldn't let his little brother fall victim to a ghoul; not again, not wearing the face of a brother. "Just kill me and leave Sam out of it. He'll buy the story that it was families of the leviathan's victims that did it and he'll leave them alone. I know he will. Hell, he'll probably turn himself in just to give them some closure if I'm dead. Just leave Sam alone."

James shook his head and held up Dean's knife again. "Sorry, Dean. But I really, really enjoy my work."

Dean twisted his already bloody wrists under the straps, trying to create enough give to free at least one. "Sammy's gonna kill you." He smirked. "We've got a personal beef against ghouls."

"Can't kill me if he doesn't know I'm coming." James grinned. He whipped his hand forward and sank the blade of Dean's knife into the man's shoulder just as a second explosion sounded from outside, followed by the sound of men yelling mixing with the shout of pain that Dean couldn't hold back. "Aw, what now? Dammit. Don't go anywhere."

Dean was panting for breath. He slid his eyes to the left and looked at the handle of his blade. It stood out from the meat of his shoulder and twitched with every breath he took. "Crap," he whispered and swallowed, working to keep from throwing up. He looked back up to watch James as he walked out from between the crates and sucked in a surprised breath as something big slammed into the man and bowled him from sight. Dean listened to the sound of fighting and then everything went silent. He considered for a moment and then dropped his head.

"Sammy?" Dean rasped. "Tell me you didn't... didn't walk in here... no backup."

Sam stepped through the opening in the crates and his stomach fell as he saw the damage the men had already done to his brother. "I uh, have a sort of a plan." He went to Dean and swallowed hard, seeing the knife stuck in his shoulder. "Blew up somebody's Saab out front." He smirked when Dean's eyes opened wearily to look up at him. "Thought you'd appreciate that. Dean." Sam put a careful hand to the hilt of his brother's knife. "I have to take this out first. Just... take a deep breath." Sam knew they were running out of time. Sooner rather than later, one of the men he had lured outside would come back in and they needed to be long gone before that happened. "On three."

"Sammy, wait..." Dean opened his mouth to tell his brother that the man he'd taken out was actually a ghoul but his brother chose that moment to pull the knife free. The pain made Dean shout but Sam's hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the sound. Dean lost his battle finally and slipped into unconsciousness.

"Shit." Sam took his hand from his brother's mouth as Dean went limp and checked his pulse. It was fast but beating steadily. "Ok. I'm getting you out of here." He quickly unbuckled the straps holding Dean to the chair and used the bloody knife to slice through the ropes around Dean's chest before putting it in his own jacket. He caught his brother before Dean could slide to the floor. Sam grunted with the effort of slinging him over his shoulders and hoped he didn't cause more damage just trying to help him.

Dean was dead weight as Sam moved quickly through the warehouse and away from the men. He held tightly to his brother as he moved, and fought not to flinch at every sound that echoed through the warehouse, worried at any moment the men who had taken Dean would leap out and kill them both. He found the side door he had come in through and slipped back outside silently. Sam peered up toward the front of the warehouse. A flickering glow from the car fires he had started lit the night. He could hear raised voices still, men shouting for more water, and Sam turned away and headed along the back of the warehouse toward where he'd moved the Impala.

"Almost there," Sam whispered, though his brother couldn't hear him. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he turned a corner around a high, stone wall and found the car where he'd left it, safely away from the prying eyes of anyone in or outside of the warehouse. Sam tugged open the passenger door and gently lowered Dean down, maneuvering him into the seat.

"Dean?" Sam tipped his brother's head back against the seat and brushed some of the blood away from his face. He hissed out a breath in sympathy and narrowed his eyes angrily as he saw the recognizable impression of brass knuckles along Dean's jaw. "Jesus, Dean. What'd they do to you?"

"Pretty much what I'm gonna do to you."

Sam gasped and spun to his feet but not fast enough as the man he'd beaten unconscious before tackled him into the car. The Impala shook with the impact. The air went out of his lungs in a rush as the man's shoulder slammed into his stomach. He grunted painfully when he was dumped to the ground and a booted foot drove into his ribs.

"Kind of figured if I played with big brother long enough, little brother would show up." James grinned. "You guys have a reputation." He took a step back and looked down at the gasping man.

"Why?" Sam coughed and eased himself up slowly so he was sitting against the back passenger door; acutely aware of his big brother, helpless in the front seat. "Why'd you take him?"

"Well, those meat sacks you lured out front?" James chuckled and hooked a finger back toward the warehouse. "They think you two murdered a bunch of people on video in a diner." He nodded with a smile when Sam's eyes went wide. "Of course, they've got no clue what a leviathan is, so they really think it was you two morons." He pulled the brass knuckles out of his pocket and slipped them comfortably back over his hand. "Now me, I can't even tell you how happy I am those bastards just up and vanished. "

sam scowled, confused. "How do you know about them? What they are?"

"Ghoul," Dean's voice came rough and soft from inside the car.

Sam craned his head and saw Dean's hand fall out into the open air. He turned his gaze back to James with dawning realization. "You're what we came here after." He shook his head and slid a hand across his aching stomach. "Wish I'd just killed you in the warehouse now."

"I was going to kill Dean, snack on him, and come after you but..." James flashed the brass knuckles to Sam. "I think I'm gonna make you scream for him, Sammy, before I kill him. Let him hear his little brother screaming for his help as he dies, knowing he's unable to do a damn thing but lay there bleeding out. That's my kinda dinner theater."

"It's Sam." Sam took that moment to kick one leg out, sweeping James' from underneath him. As the ghoul fell, Dean's arm whipped out of the car and grabbed the fist with the weapon, holding it firm. Sam pulled the small silver blade free from his belt buckle and lunged up over James. He buried the blade into the ghoul's heart and gave it a twist. James' body went limp against the ground. Sam leaned back, breathing heavily and got to his feet. "Don't go anywhere."

"S'mmy?" Dean slurred and turned his head and two swollen eyes in search of him. "Y'kay?"

"Hey. Yeah." Sam took a precious moment to lean down where his brother could see him and smiled. "I'm good. Just have to grab the machete."

Dean nodded and looked down where James the ghoul was valiantly trying to get his body to obey him with a heart no longer pumping blood. "Told you... not ta'... screw wi'Sammy."

Sam pulled a machete out of the trunk and returned. He looked down at the ghoul as it squirmed on the ground. It was slowly gaining more movement, and Sam knew it was healing the damage he'd inflicted. He didn't intend to give it any more time. "The only thing about killing you that bothers me is that those poor bastards you tricked into grabbing my brother are never going to know the truth." He sighed and raised the machete. "They're just going to have to find peace without you."

Dean watched with no small amount of pleasure as his little brother expertly severed the ghoul's head from it's shoulders with a single stroke. If he'd had the energy, he'd have kicked the bastard's head just to get it away from his baby. "M'on. Gotta... shag ass."

Sam nodded. "One more minute." He went back to the trunk and put the machete away, then took out lighter fluid and a book of matches. He pushed the passenger door closed before he doused the body liberally, making sure it would burn. He put the fluid back in the trunk, lit the book of matches, and tossed them down as he jogged around to the driver's side. "Alright, we're getting out of St. Louis. It's not safe."

Dean nodded. He agreed whole-heartedly and closed his eyes in exhaustion. "Not their fault. Th'other guys." He shook his head. "S'what I would'a done... been you."

Sam looked over as his brother passed out again and understood exactly what Dean was saying; that if he'd been in the place of those men, watching their children murdered, he would have gone seeking revenge. "I know." Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder to keep him from sliding over to his side in the seat and watched the road as he turned away from the warehouse and headed out of town. "Me too," he whispered and kept his grip on his brother; needing the contact and the comfort of feeling him alive. "Me too."

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The End.

Next chapter: N is for Nukekubi