Warning: I could say anything here, really, and you'd still know there was swearing. Not so much, but enough.

Author's Note: Thanks to all those who are reviewing, especially Lighthouse Watcher… now if some of that good feeling you give me could transfer into real life so cars didn't keep on breaking down… sorry, I know bitching is useless, but it just makes you feel better.

Chapter 16: Slaver's Last Gasp

Dean pulled his gun up immediately, hands firming around the familiar hold on the shotgun. Beside him Ash and Anya did the same, looking determined. But that was only three guns. And against the nine or ten pointing at them, it was never going to be enough. Especially with another four people to protect.

Mahone chuckled from behind his men. Dean recognised a few, though he couldn't put names to faces. Including one he recognised as the man who had shot Dani. He felt his own snarl form, mirroring Sam's bloodshot-eyed stare.

"You know, I've been searching for you in every inch of this damned city," Mahone told them. His eyes never left Dean's though, showing him that the comment was just for the older hunter. "And all I had to do was wait for you to show up here. Took your time. I almost killed your baby brother looking for you."

Sam flinched beside him, but remained glaring. Dean growled under his breath. "I'm going to kill you for every finger you laid on my brother," he spat harshly, voice wavering. Mahone laughed.

"You won't get the chance. With the odds against you like this, you might as well just surrender. Else you might just end up dead."

Dean jumped as Sam laughed, a bitter, rich sound he had never really thought would come from his little brother's mouth. He turned, seeing in the corner of his eye that Mahone was just as stunned, and suddenly calculating, like he was continually being surprised by what the hunter managed to do.

"You won't kill us," Sam affirmed, sounding far stronger than he had before. As if he were taking control. As if all his pain was washing away. "You know how pissed the demon would be. And you know he'll know the instant I'm dead. Once he learns you had Dean, and then killed him, you'll wish it had let the hellhounds take you back to hell like you deserved."

Mahone's grin slipped further with every word until finally he was scowling, anger and hate battling for dominance in the dim light of his stormy eyes. "Careful there, Sam. There's plenty of other targets. Even if the demon cared about little miss Anya and her brother, there's still four other deaths that it wouldn't even notice. Two of which would be on you. Do they even know it's your fault they're here? Or did you leave that little detail out?"

Sam clenched his fists, taking a step forward. But Dean placed a hand on Sam's chest, forcing him to stop, before looking back to Mahone. Before he could speak however, Mahone continued.

"And then of course, there's a certain little wife of mine, Dean. She's here, too, somewhere. And that's on your head."

Dean growled again, finger itching to pull the trigger. "You fucking bastard! What did you do to her?"

Mahone just shrugged. "I gave her exactly what she deserved for helping you out. And for calling the cops. Did you know you and your brother have all but destroyed me?" The anger flashed in his eyes. "It's going to be fun returning the favour. I'm pretty sure the demon won't care if I hurt you a little bit. And even if he does, I'll make you watch as I kill Holly nice and slow."

Dean snarled, and the twins cocked their guns, matching glares on their faces. Ash's eyes were a little white with horror, but they were both ready to kill the bastard tormenting them in whatever way they could.

He turned back to Mahone. "I'm going to kill you," he said, so simply that Mahone's eyes widened slightly.

And then he regained his swagger a little. "The question is, Winchester, do you have the balls to do it? Or can you only watch it happen?"

Dean took a step forward, standing squarely in front of the group behind him. He felt confidence as Sam stood behind him, felt courage as he knew Sam had his back, felt that hunter inside come alive like only a Winchester could. He knew his little brother was feeling the same.

"The question is, Mahone, do you have the balls to find out?"

He didn't give the man a chance to answer. He pulled the trigger, praying he wasn't killing them all.

To his relief his prayers were answered – no one shot back, but watched in stunned silence as Mahone was blown off his feet, falling and sliding back with a pained cry.

Dean dropped the aim of the shotgun, grinning ruthlessly as Mahone coughed, moaned, and sat up, a hand to his bloodied chest and ruined shirt. The man looked up at Dean, shocked.

"Rock salt," Dean explained. "Hurts like a bitch, don't it."

The loathing crept across Mahone's face like a shadow, twisting it until he was almost unrecognisable as even being human.

"Get them!" came the guttural cry, and Dean stepped back, defensive. "I want them alive! Get them!"

He continued shouting the orders like it was some kind of mantra, screaming and screaming at them, his voice mixing in with the pounding feet of his guards. The three armed hunters managed to shoot off only one round each, the three bullets only depleting their enemy by only one. That man fell as the tide rushed at them.

Dean swung the shotgun like a club, hitting his first opponent in the temple; the guy crashed to the ground, and the hunter turned to find another. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mena, the bucks night guy and the couple huddling against the wall, arms covering heads. Sam was trying to fend off his own opponent, while Ash and Anya fought back-to-back, arms up, guns discarded. The fighting quarters were too close to brave shooting at anyone.

Dean took all this in during a frenzied second as he turned to try to help Sam. He grabbed the guy his little brother was fighting, pulling the solid man back hard enough for him to hit the opposite wall. Letting Sam half-collapse with exhaustion, he turned to the man.

He didn't turn quick enough, and the guy punched him hard in the face. Dean spun back, vision going blank for a second, a second too long. The man tackled him, shoving them both through the open door of a cell.

Dean lashed out wildly, glad to hear and feel his fist connect with something solid. The man over him grunted as his other fist connected with somewhere a little softer.

He barely saw the fist coming, couldn't turn to block it in time. His vision went black again, coming around in time to see a second fist coming his way.

The fist never made it. A strangled cry came from somewhere close before the man on top of him was pushed out of sight.

Dean rolled over, feeling dazed from the strength of the punches, and his sight landed on his little brother. Sam had been the tackler and was now laying into the man, shouting wordlessly with each punch. And the man wasn't fighting back either, his face a mess of blood.

Dean struggled uneasily to his feet, stumbling over to the edge of the empty cell and pulling Sam away. His little brother came away effortlessly, panting slightly and nearly falling as he stood on his two feet.

"Mahone may have been the one ordering him about," Sam muttered as he stared down at the unconscious man. "But this was the sick son of a bitch doing it all. And loving every fucking second. I should kill him for what he's done. I bet he's done it to so many…"

With a start Dean realized Sam was talking about being tortured. Suddenly wishing he hadn't pulled Sam away, he grabbed his little brother around his chest and made him walk back further.

"He deserves every bit of pain you can give him, Sammy," Dean snarled quietly in his little brother's ear. "But you're not him, and you never will be. You don't deserve to live with that guilt."

Feeling the anger burning in his chest, Dean guided Sam to the door, and out.

He should have known something was up. Should have guessed from the sudden silence that something was wrong. But he shepherded his little brother out of the door, ignoring every bit of training, every instinct that screamed at him to stop, because something had gone terribly wrong for them.

The two shots fired nearly simultaneously made both brothers jump, hearts sinking. Dean, barely out of the cell and hidden still by the outwardly swinging door, could only watch in horror while Sam…

Sam jumped, gasping. As if in slow motion he glanced down to where his hand was lying against his pelvis. And Dean could only watch as he drew it away to look at the blood dripping from the limb, before the older man's gaze turned from it to the blood almost pulsing from the wound where that bullet had hit him hard above the leg.

Everything seemed to go quiet. Sam glanced at Dean, horror flitting across his face, and guilt, and grief… and then he fell, eyes rolling back as the darkness consumed them from the inside.

Time sped up once more, sound returning with it, and Dean screamed something incoherent, lunging forward to catch his falling sibling. He managed to gather his brother before Sam hit the ground, easing the unconscious hunter the rest of the distance.

"Sammy?" he asked, brushing the hair out of his brother's eyes. He looked about, heart pounding, taking in the rest of his brother's body. He looked so bad, broken and bleeding. With a start Dean realized blood was pumping quickly from the hole in Sam's hip and he placed a hand over it. "Sammy, can you hear me?" he begged desperately.

He didn't notice the sudden silence, didn't notice Anya taking the gun from Mena's hands where she stood behind Mahone's fallen body, his head half gone, lying motionless on the ground, the second gun lying inches from his limp hand. Didn't hear the pounding feet approaching, the shouts that made the rest look about in terror or resignation. All he could see, hear, was Sam as his breathing became more laboured, as his pulse began to slow, as his baby brother didn't respond to the pressure on his wound.

"Sam!" he screamed suddenly, letting the younger hunter drop to the floor completely, and kneeling over him. Ash was suddenly next to him, offering a bundled cloth of some kind. Dean didn't have the attention span to notice that it was the kid's shirt. "Sammy, come on!"

He pressed the shirt against Sam's wound, pressed hard and flinched when Sam didn't. He leaned forward, placing a finger against his little brother's neck. He began breathing again as he found a pulse, however weak it was.

"Come on, Sammy," he breathed for the younger man's ears only. "You can't leave me yet. You can't follow Dad this soon."

The feet suddenly pounded around the corner and stopped, though Dean still barely noticed them. The silence that afflicted the corridor became heavier, before it was drowned out by horrified mutterings. Feet stepped lightly around bodies, and Dean flinched as a hand touched his shoulder.

But he didn't look up, didn't move besides that one jump, just called out to Sam again as he felt his little brother slipping. "Come on, Sammy, hold on. Please, hold on."

Regaining his voice, Dean cried out, glistening eyes never leaving Sam's closed ones. "Someone call an ambulance, we have to get him out of here."

"We don't need to, Dean," Ash said softly by his side. It was the kid's hand on his shoulder, Dean realized. He looked up to stare at the younger kid, and saw the grief in his eyes. Dean felt his throat constrict.

"Don't you dare say it," he spat quietly. Ash shook his head, and the grief suddenly changed to something else. Dean wasn't sure was it was, couldn't think straight, couldn't… suddenly he looked around, and the tears dropped suddenly as relief made him sag. He realized why they didn't need to call anyone.

"The cops are here, Dean."

Phew, there's a relief. Wonder how they got there? Wait, I already know. And I guess you'll find out next posting! Until then, bye.