Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Just playing in the sandbox.

"You left him there?!" Sam shouted, and Kate winced as the pain in her head reached new, screaming, levels. Her skin felt too tight to contain her bones, her ears fuzzy and vision dark while she tried to maintain consciousness; but all that took a backseat to the absolute terror that was crushing her heart and lungs, making every breath a strain.

She really needed to sit down.

"Sam," she grunted as her knees finally gave. He took her weight easily, lowering her to Bobby's old, tattered couch. Dad moved to help, and received a fierce growl from his youngest son for his efforts. Kate shoved Sam off weakly, forcing her eyes to remain open and fixing her gaze on the older man.

"Wha' happen'd, Dad?"

John knelt on the hardwood, gathering her freezing hands in his warm ones. The heat hurt her over-stimulated nerves, but Kate resisted the urge to pull away—Dad was getting enough grief from Sam and would misinterpret the gesture. Instead, she entwined their fingers and squeezed. Dad swallowed.

"Kasadya wasn't there," he said quietly, and Kate jerked her head toward the other side of the room, where Bobby was supporting the shell-shocked blonde who had served as her host for over a year. The girl looked a little worse for wear, pale and limp, barely pulling together a nod toward the older Winchester.

"She came to kill us," Kate rasped. Dad's eyes widened, and he stood so fast he almost dragged Kate off the couch entirely. She coughed, swallowing a moan as red-hot agony echoed through her nerves at the rough treatment.

"That's not her, Dad!" Sam had their father by the shoulders and was shaking him roughly. "That's Meg Masters, the human! Dad!"

Dad finally seemed to get it, settling slowly and blinking hard. "H-how?" he stuttered.

"Yellow Eyes," Kate panted, forcing her breathing to settle. "She was supposed to get the Colt from you. He sent her back to Hell for disobeying." She closed her eyes, gathering her focus. Reaction to the use of her Grace, and to her own wounds, was well and truly set in; she felt feverish and sick, and knew it was going to just get worse for a few hours. She couldn't even spare a single longing thought for the lumpy bed in Bobby's guest room, though. "Dad, Dean. What happened to Dean?"

"Some demon, called himself Kasadya's brother, Kabaiel. He was there, and he brought back up," Dad answered, letting go of Kate's hands to collapse into the nearby rickety wood chair. The piece of furniture creaked in protest, but no one really noticed. Sam sat gingerly beside Kate. "I told Dean to hang back, provide cover, but they…" Kate's throat closed up as Dad rubbed a hand over his stubbled face. He looked old and gray. "They got to him before I could warn him."

Silence reigned until Sam spoke again, his voice cracking. "You shouldn't have left him."

Kate squeezed Sam's arm to the point she knew it hurt, torn between feeling exactly as he did and knowing that Dad really hadn't had another option. The older man stood, eyes blazing.

"I had no choice, Sam." Dad's voice was soft, tightly controlled. Dangerous. "The bastard told me they were going to keep him as collateral until I returned with the real Colt, that they'd kill him if I—"

"You could have tried!"

"I would've died!"

"Better you than him!" Sam roared. Complete silence rang deafening in the suddenly-stifled room, and Dad sat heavily. Kate forced herself to her feet.

"Both of you," she forced out, voice low and menacing enough that Dad and Sam looked up in surprise. Kate took a breath, letting her rage show deliberately in her tone. "Both of you, stop it. None of this will save Dean, and that's what matters here. You can lay blame and fight like children later." She looked up, found Meg's hazel eyes across the room. The woman pulled herself up a little straighter, brow furrowed. "Meg, do you remember where the demons are holed up? Where they may have taken our brother?"

A muscle worked in the woman's jaw, and what color her face had gained in the past hours paled, but she nodded. "I remember," she murmured. "Sunrise Apartments in Jefferson City." Her eyes widened and her throat worked around a sob. "Please don't make me go back there."

Kate shook her head. "No, no, we won't. We just need to know everything you can tell us about the place."

"And the demons inside," John piped up, standing again. His composure was firmly in place, Kate noted with approval. This was John the hunter, not John the father.

This man could help them save their brother.

Sam forced his fingers to relax around the steering wheel, deliberately loosening muscles taut with a heady concoction of fear, anticipation, and fury. Dean would've busted his ass for holding too tight to his Baby if he were here.

The thought tightened something painful in Sam's chest.

Dean.

After Jess had died, he had thought all he wanted was revenge—to rip to shreds the demon that started it all twenty-two years prior when he burned Sam's mother on the ceiling. Vengeance was like a drug, like caffeine and alcohol and speed all rolled up into one lethal combination, keeping him moving when he wanted nothing more than to shut down and break.

But this?

Dean captured, maybe dead, definitely in pain and probably being tortured? This was so much worse. Sam didn't give one single shit about revenge right now, or hunting, or the family business, none of it.

He just wanted his big brother back.

Beside him, Kate stirred, sighing and sitting up from where she'd been leaned against the cold window. She rubbed her eyes and moaned, stretched as much as the seat would allow.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, knowing how using her abilities wiped her out. It had taken them ten minutes to develop this plan after Meg told them where the demons were, and Kate had practically collapsed against him when they headed up to the guest room directly after to prepare. Dad had ordered a good night's sleep after all the weapons were cleaned, the blades sharpened, and 'all your shit's in order, kids', but Sam had shoved Kate into bed—with his pinky finger, because she was that weak on her pins by then—and told her he'd take care of her gear if she'd just do him a favor and quit looking like a dead person.

She'd slept twelve hours, waking just in time to shower and dress and stumble out the door, before promptly falling asleep again in the Impala. That had been six hours ago.

"'M fine," she croaked. Her voice sounded like someone had run it over with a truck. Repeatedly. She coughed and took a swig of the water bottle Sam had grabbed for her on the way out Bobby's door, before trying again. "Yeah, I'm good now."

"Awesome," Sam responded, deliberately loosening his fingers again. They were beginning to ache. "We're about two hours out."

Kate nodded, and they were silent for a moment.

"Are you ready for this, Sam?" she asked a second later. His jaw clenched painfully, a tension headache growing behind his eyes. He looked at her.

"I just want Dean, Katie."

She nodded again, fierce. "Good. Because we don't need any personal agendas or random individual wars in there. We need to get Dean and get out." She softened when he nodded, swallowing a choking sound that could have been a sob. Maybe. "It's going to be all right, Sammy. We'll get him back."

"But after they've done what to him?" Sam asked, voicing his real fear for the first time. Demons were evil, barbaric things.

Kate squeezed his forearm. "Dean is strong, stronger than either of us. He'll be fine."

Dean was pretty sure it was impossible to hate any being more than he had always hated Yellow Eyes, for his sins against both Dean's family and humanity in general. But this guy—whom Dean had dubbed 'Turd', That Uppity Random Demon, and it had pissed Kabaiel off so thoroughly as to be highly entertaining, despite the agony still echoing through his body from the resulting beating—this guy, Dean was sure, he hated at least as much.

He had spent his life meeting all manner of Bad Guys, from vamps to werewolves to wendigoes to spirits and ghouls. Some were hungry, most were angry, but none of them liked being what they were.

Only demons.

And Kabaiel was the worst of the lot. Sure, Kasadya was a smug little bitch, but Kabaiel was evil. And proud of it. He spent the first few hours in Dean's head playing a loop of images so horrific, things he—Kabaiel—had done, and relished doing; things to women and kids that made Dean's skin crawl.

Or would have, if Dean had had control of his own frickin' body.

Next came the manufactured images; things that hadn't happened—yet, Kabaiel swore—but fears that the demon managed to wrest from the deepest darkest corners of Dean's head and play on his own personal mental big screen. He forced Dean to watch Dad torn to pieces, Katie screaming for him bloody and beaten, Sam with black eyes and a malicious smile that should never have appeared on his little brother's face.

Would never appear on his little brother's face.

Kabaiel laughed at his certainty.

"You really have no idea what kind of poison passes for little Sammy's blood, do you, boy?" he taunted. "Exactly what kind of freak your baby brother is?"

"Shut up," Dean said tightly; though trapped as he was, in his own head with a demon, he was pretty sure there was no way he could force Kabaiel to stop anything.

"Aw, now, don't be like that. The fun's just starting!" The demon's grin turned nasty. "Because you got Sam representing one side of this thing, Kate the other, and you—poor, useless Dean—stuck right there in the middle."

Dean felt his brows come together in confusion before he could carefully wipe his expression clean—it wasn't so easy to hide his thoughts and feelings inside his own head. Kabaiel laughed and clapped his hands like a child.

"You don't know about Kate, either? That's just incredible; even your father knows something's up with her, though he has no idea what. And he's never even around!" He chuckled. "You really are the idiot child, aren't you?"

"You're the…idiot child," Dean muttered, brain cycling fast through the past months and all the oddities he'd noticed—and largely ignored, if not dismissed entirely—about his sister's behavior. The weird zone-outs, the nightmares, the ability to oust a demon from her own body—which was clearly, and disappointingly, not a family trait—the strange and sudden illnesses that left her bedridden and then good-as-new within a day.

"She's got the angel juice, Sammy the demon power shake," Kabaiel revealed slowly, as though relishing the opportunity to screw with Dean's head.

Demons lie, demons lie.

"I am not lying," Kabaiel seemed to read his thoughts, shaking with mirth. "Why would I fabricate torture, when reality is so very effective?"

"I—" Dean started, but then Kabaiel smiled again. Dean felt his body relax against the bed they had him tied to, and he reflected vaguely that he'd never ever get used to the sensation of his physical form doing something his brain hadn't commanded.

"Shhh," the demon interrupted. "Show's about to start."

Kate nodded once to Sam as they approached the door number Meg had given them as the demons' hideout. The apartment was on the fourth floor of the old building, in a narrow hallway painted white and framed by big windows on either side. It was really a cheery, open place, and not the kind of location in which you'd expect to find evil creatures holed up; but Kate imagined that was part of the appeal. She ignored the pit in her stomach, praying that their mission would be successful, but quietly so. The last thing they needed was cops showing up for a "domestic dispute" and getting caught in the crossfire.

They didn't bother with knocking or any other sort of pretenses; Kate leaned against the wall, holding her Ka-bar surreptitiously behind her and keeping watch down the hall while Sam bent to pick the lock. She counted the seconds it took him—a leftover habit from when they were younger and Dad would have them measure every aspect of a hunt in order to review it later and see what could have been done better.

Seven seconds, and the lock clicked. Kate didn't give the demons inside a chance to wonder what the sound was before she burst through the door, Sam hot on her heels.

To see nothing.

Kate blinked. There was no one in the bright living room, or the cramped, clean kitchen; both were easily visible from the doorway. Sam moved in front of her, gun at the ready as he made to clear the small apartment. Kate checked the number on the door quickly—420, just like Meg said—and, shrugging, followed. The tiny hall and bathroom were empty, as well, but the bedroom door was closed. Sam held up three fingers; counted down to one before bursting through and pulling up short so fast that Kate ran into his solid back.

Before she could do more than grunt in protest, she felt all the air leave his lungs in a rush, a single name flowing from suddenly-white lips:

"Dean."

Kate's stomach flipped and she practically shoved Sam aside to get a look. Dean was lying spread-eagled on what had once been a clean mattress. Now it was caked with old, brown blood, liberally streaked with newer scarlet—Kate shuddered at the implications of that—and torn. Kate felt her own breath stop at the sight of her older brother, unconscious and far too still. His face was swollen in places, decorated with bruises and lacerations that had obviously been made with a large blade; his arms coated in red, one elbow sticking out at an unnatural angle that made her wince. His over shirt and tee were ripped, revealing more lacerations and the beginnings of some pretty spectacular bruising. She was willing to bet there were busted ribs and maybe some internal contusions as well in that mess on his torso.

"Dean," she murmured, shouldering past Sam and kneeling beside him, hands touching the air around him as though afraid she'd hurt him just by being close. She finally settled for gentle fingers in his hair and one hand resting over his heart, where the demons had kindly carved an 'x' with some sort of jagged knife. "Keep watch for a sec," she ordered tightly, biting back the urge to kill something.

"Kate, you just did this with Meg, you're not strong enough to—"

"I am, and I will. Just make sure we don't get jumped for like, five minutes."

"I don't think this is a good id—"

"I'm not asking, Sam." And then she went to work.

Or tried to; she'd barely accessed her Grace when Dean lurched out from under her hands with a roar, tossing her effortlessly over the nightstand and into the corner. He broke the chains holding him to the bed without even trying and jumped Sam, leaving Kate in a startled heap on the carpet.

Years of training had her back in the fight before her ears stopped ringing, before her rattled brain had even consciously figured out what was going on. Adrenaline masked the agony behind her eyes and in various other places on her battered body, turned it into a low-level ache that had her limping but on her feet as she staggered toward her wrestling brothers. Dean had Sam on the floor, thighs bracketing his hips as he punched him over and over. "Dean!" she shouted, voice cracking.

She'd seen them fight before, but never like this: they both pulled their punches during training, and even downright pissed, Dean had never looked at Sam with intent to kill, never hit him hard enough that something—Dean's knuckles, or a bone in her little brother's face—cracked loudly.

But this wasn't Dean. She knew it like she knew her own name; it wasn't her brother calling the shots. The realization pissed her off, gave her strength.

"Hey!" she bellowed, angry enough not to hesitate when beetle-black eyes met hers over a leering grin, Dean's body poised over a weakly-struggling Sam who was now bloodied and beaten himself. Sam coughed as a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and Kate growled. "Leave him alone, you bastard."

Dean smiled, showing scarlet-smeared teeth. "Make me, sweetheart."

Kate lunged for him, but not to punch. Instinct sent her hand to the nape of his neck, and she yanked his forehead to hers, one hand blocking a distracted punch as the demon tried to recover from the shock of her attack, or lack thereof, while they tumbled to the carpet. He wasn't given the chance; there was a flash of bluish light, and Kate yelped as Dean's pain flooded her body.

What was going on, she had no idea, but she thought on a hunch. Dean?

She nearly smiled when she sensed him answer, almost heard it in her own head: Katie? What the hell?

Dean's fist met the side of her face, and she saw stars, but refused to let go of his neck though her head snapped to one side, breaking the connection between their foreheads. Fight him, Dean! He's going to kill Sammy!

I can't make him stop!

You can! I'll help you.

"I don't think so, little girl," Dean's physical voice was lower than usual, too languid and full of more hate than her brother even knew how to possess. The demon grinned again, yanking back and grabbing her wrist, twisting it painfully to one side with the clear intent to break it. Kate opened her mouth to cry out, but then Sam was there, wrestling Dean's arm loose, and she latched onto the back of his neck again. His voice filled her head, his near-panic almost palpable.

Katie!

She growled low in her throat, willing her Grace into Dean's body as though to heal him. The result was instantaneous; Dean's body jerked and his throat closed on a shout of pain. Black eyes flashed green again, and he began to cough; great, choking hacks that expelled black smoke onto the abused carpet.

Yes, Dean, fight!

The demon inside dug in its heels; Kate felt it in the way Dean's spine locked up, in the cry of agony she felt and heard, in the burning that raced through her nerves, a mere echo of what Dean felt. They stayed that way, at an impasse, two Winchesters versus Yellow Eyes' right hand man, for another minute before something finally cracked. Kate gasped at the blinding agony that erupted in her chest. She opened streaming eyes to see black smoke surging into the floor, charring it as the demon was sent back to hell, screaming.

Kate sucked air into spasming lungs when it was over, collapsing onto one side and shoving Dean's heavy, limp form off so she could breathe. Her ears were ringing, but she could hear Sam nearby, calling both their names, his panic rising each second neither of them answered. She levered herself up onto an elbow, still panting.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's over, he's—"

"Kate, he's not breathing!"

"What? Of course he's breathing…" she laid a hand on his chest, heart skipping when she felt nothing; not the rise and fall of breath, stuttered nor steady, not the thump of his heart, nothing.

Her world narrowed to a single point of shock.

There was nothing.

"Dean!"

A/N: Hey, how about that Season 11 premiere, huh? I think we're in for quite the roller coaster this year, guys. Special thanks to my SPNsters for their support and for fangirling with me; Nova42 and chrissie0707 for their mad kick-in-the-pants skills, cfccfc and CornishGirl for not giving up on me when I'm SLOOOOOOOOOW to churn out new words.

And thanks to all of you who read this story! You're all amazing! *passes out cookies*

Don't forget to review! Reviews are like crack for my muse.