Beta-reading and all around awesomeness by Jackfan2. Everything else that stinks, my bad.

Chapter III

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sam found himself driving back to Cleveland. He had needed a place with Internet connection and the nearby city had been the obvious choice. Plus, he had to find a place where he could stay and fight the urge to keep on driving, aimlessly and with no point of reference, just looking for Dean. Just DO something.

Planting himself at one of the thousands of small coffee shops inside the city limits, laptop open on his table, a myriad of scribbled papers stacked around and his cell phone in close range, Sam looked like any other of the many students that strolled the city streets.

The fact that in his browsing history of his computer were a couple of federal and government agencies whose pages he'd hacked into for information was just one of the small details that made him stand apart.

The third coffee that he had ordered about half an hour ago lay cold and forgotten near Sam's cell phone. Every couple of seconds he would peel his eyes from the computer screen and look at the small device, fearful that, despite the fierce shrill that it gave when it rang, Sam might've missed a call.

Sam just wanted that phone to ring.

Ring with his brother's voice on the other side, having somehow miraculously escaped his mysterious captors and demanding to be picked up from some out-of-woods backdrop.

Ring with the captors' voices, demanding some sort of delusional exchange of something implausible and laughable for Dean, something ridiculous but that would at least give him a sign that his brother was indeed still alive.

Ring with Bobby's voice, telling him he knew who had Dean and where he was.

Just ring.

Sam had considered summoning Castiel to ask for his help. The angel seemed particularly fond of his brother and would probably answer his call, but every time Sam found himself going over the list of herbs and props necessary for the summoning ritual, all he could think of was the look the angel had given him when Sam had killed Alistair. It was an incredulous, slightly scared look that made Sam wonder if the only thing stopping the angel from smiting him there and then had been the utter surprise and shock of what he'd just seen. A surprise and shock that would be missing if he called the angel now.

Each time that thought would come, Sam ended up deciding that he wouldn't risk being smitten by Castiel's wrath. Not yet, anyway. Give it five more minutes and he probably wouldn't care any longer.

It had been three hours since Dean had been taken. Three hours spent in the hands of God knows who, being put through God knows what.

Sam had taken a whole afternoon to find Dean when the angels had taken him; Dean had been in Alistair's hands for less than fifteen minutes - this time around, anyway- and he'd been half dead when Sam had found him. Three hours was an eternity.

Sam could call Ruby. Maybe she could cast that handy spell again, pinpoint Dean's location…

The phone rang.

"Bobby?" Sam asked hopefully, even though he had seen the caller ID, praying for some good news.

On the other side of the call, the older hunter sighed. Not a good sign. "Got some bad news, Sam."

The younger Winchester took a deep breath and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Good news, bad news… at this point I just want some news, Bobby," he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he truly felt.

"The guy you told me about, Ruiz, he's a hunter alright," Bobby confirmed. "The bottle red-hair is his sister-in-law. Started hunting together when his brother was killed. They usually hang out with another hunter, guy named Peter Tigermman."

"Name doesn't ring a bell," Sam butted in as he furiously scribbles down the names of his brother's kidnappers. The ones living on borrowed time.

"Yeah, but the crew he used to hang around with should… Tigermman and Gordon were real close buddies."

"Fuck!"

"That about sums it up, yeah," Bobby agreed. "Back in their day, Tigermman and Gordon served in the same regiment. Really top secret shit. Built quite the reputation for themselves after that," the hunter added with a slight trepidation to his voice.

"What sort of reputation?" Sam asked, already knowing that he wouldn't like the answer.

"They're just stories, Sam… old stories that won't help us find your brother."

"WHAT stories, Bobby?" Sam reinforced, his voice allowing a tiny bit of the power growing inside him to escape. On the other side, he could hear Bobby gulp.

"Stories about how far they would go to get what they wanted... stories about people being found in the middle of the desert with broken legs and evidences of being drowned to death even though the only water around was the one in their lungs," Bobby relayed. He knew how this would sound to Sam and he knew exactly the images that were going on inside the young man's mind right then. "Stories about their definition of 'what's to be hunted' and 'what's not' being very blurry."

"Jesus! Bobby… I…" Sam stopped, closing his eyes to stop his thoughts from going any darker. "Fuck! I don't get it… Gordon's axe to grind was with me, not Dean. Why the hell would Tigermman take Dean in the first place? I was right there and they didn't even try!" He vented. The fact that he had been the one to actually kill Gordon, therefore adding to Tigermman's reasons to come after him instead, went unsaid. Bobby didn't know about that and Sam wasn't about to share that piece of information now of all times.

"I have no idea, Sam… none of this makes a lick of sense," Bobby said, the weariness clear in his tone. "A contact of mine is looking in to Ruiz' home address, maybe we can put a tap on the guy and see where they're keeping Dean. I'm on my way to you right now. Just… just don't go doing anything stupid until I get there, ok?"

Sam looked at the computer, watching as the site he'd hacked into to get the GPS signal to Ruiz' truck was still running its course. "Sure thing Bobby… call me when you get here," Sam said, a cold and determined look in his face as he closed the cell phone and ended the call.

0o0o0o0o000o

"We're here."

They were all standing in the middle of a decrepit looking train bridge, one that looked like it hadn't fulfilled its purpose in over twenty years. Half the train tracks were gone, with occasional spurts of yellowed weeds coming from the gravel and the rotten wood. The rust that had taken over the iron structure of the bridge gave it a red tinge that made the whole thing look like it was covered in blood.

Dean shivered as a gush of cold wind raised goosebumps all over his exposed skin.

"Now's a good time to start talking, Winchester… what's it gonna be?" Tiger asked, waiting until he was standing right in front of the chilled man before snuggling deeper in to his warm coat. "It's getting kind of chilly and I really wanted to get this thing done and over before I went home."

"What was the question again?" Dean asked, clenching his teeth to stop them from chattering. He was not about to give the man that satisfaction.

"The question, Dean, is whether you want a quick death or a very, very slow one, because, either way, I have no use for you if don't tell me the answers I want."

Dean chuckled. "Your sales pitch sucks, man. Anyone ever tell you that?"

The tall man smiled as he took a clear plastic bag from his coat. The confident stride as he neared Dean and the quiet, content smirk in his face worked a lot faster to chill Dean to the bone than the weather did. "You ever see a man drown, Dean? Have you ever experienced for yourself that helpless feeling of opening your mouth to suck air and get absolutely nothing in return?"

Dean looked away, ignoring the question, focusing on the old bolts that were keeping the bridge from collapsing. He had always associated bridges with water, but there was no water running under this one. If the bridge chose that particular moment to fall down, they wouldn't drown, they would be pancakes.

Like all of Alistair's lessons, too recent in memory and too painful to forget, the mere mention of that frantic struggle for air brought to the forefront of Dean's mind the more recent events. Dean could feel it happening all over again, the demons' fingers ghosting over his flesh, pushing into his throat, leaving him gasping for air. He felt it even now, when no one was touching him.

"I tell you… a man would do just about anything to get that next mouthful of air. It gives quite a rush to whomever holds the power to decide to either give, or deny that next breath," Tiger whispered near Dean's ear, relinquish the fact that he had finally succeeded in ripping a shiver from the other man.

Dean took a step back, his action thwarted mid way by the arms holding him in place. He sighed, hands held out in a non-threatening gesture to appease Tiger. "Even if I did have those answers," Dean said, talking in earnest for the first time, "you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Dean looked at the man in front of him, focusing on the steal eyes and expecting stance. With one glance at the two thugs holding him each by one arm, Tiger ordered Dean some space. His reward for agreeing to open his mouth.

Dean hoped that this guy was very opened minded, or else it would be a very long fall from where he stood to the bottom of the ravine under them. Given that he didn't know how to fly, Dean decided to give it a shot.

"I didn't make a deal to get out of Hell… and no one made one for me either," he added because, if that had been his first theory, it was fair to assume that it would be Tiger's too. "There were no demons involved in any way. I was pulled out by… by an angel."

In the following silence, Dean could easily hear the rustling of leaves on the trees and the wind blowing through the hill.

Then laughter exploded.

Bottle-red, Mustache and Beetle-Eyes were laughing like a pack of hyenas. Pepe, on the other hand, crossed himself, looking at Dean like he'd just spit on his mother's grave.

"You were right," Tiger said, a smile playing too in his lips. "I don't believe you, not even one bit. But I'm curious," he said, one short gesture silencing the surrounding cackle "Why would an angel, of all creatures, go to the trouble to fight his way in to Hell just to take you out?"

Dean sighed. No matter how many times he heard it or tried it for measure inside his head, this next part never failed to sound massively ridiculous even to him. "According to Ca… this angel, I'm the one that's supposed to stop the Apocalypse from happening."

There was no laughter this time. But the silence and the snarl on Tiger's face was far worse.

"How convenient," Tiger said, a flick of his hand signaling Mustache and Beetle-Eyes that Dean's chance to talk had come and gone and that they could take repossession of his arms. "Guess that means that it would be really bad for the world if we were to kill you, wouldn't it?"

Dean tried to push the other men away, but his leg chose that exact moment to give out and once again Dean found himself supported by the two goons at his side.

"What the hell do you want me to tell you?" Dean asked with a gasp. He was getting tired of the constant manhandling. "If you won't believe the truth, I can always make up a couple of bed time stories just for you and you merry band here!"

"Guess there's an easy way for me to believe your story, Dean Winchester," Tiger said, Dean's name sounding like a curse in the other man's lips. "If an angel comes down from the heavens in all of his glorious form, right now, and rescues you, I'll not only release you, but go so far as to swear myself to your cause and obey your every command," Tiger said, turning his back on Dean. The mocking tone of his vice was enough to let Dean know how improbable the other man though that was to happen.

Nothing happen. No angel, no rescue, not even a flickering of the sunlight to make them wonder about a presence or not of any god, watching them, paying attention.

Was it really that much of a waste if Tiger and his people killed Dean now? Because Castiel didn't seemed all that knowledgeable of what part Dean was suppose to play in the whole Apocalypse thing, and Uriel wanted the end to come so badly that he had given Dean's head on a plate to Alistair... and Alistair had all but bought him dinner and roses over what Dean had done already.

Could he really count on Castiel to come in like a damn knight in shining armor and rescue him? Dean highly doubted that. His personal angel hadn't even been around when Dean Smith got his existence created and then summarily erased, and whether Castiel had been pushed away from him or had simply given up on trying to pull something useful out of Dean, that was anyone's guess.

"Get on with it," Tiger snapped, tired of pretending that he was giving divine intervention time to happen. "We're losing day light."

Before Dean could realize that Tiger was no longer addressing him, Mustache had already grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down, forcing Dean to lie on his back on the pebbled ground near the tracks.

After his little stunt with Pepe, the hunters were taking no more chances. While Mustache kept his hold on Dean's shoulders, the other two men held on to his legs.

Dean tried to buck free of them, body contorting like a vicious eel. It was of no use, and all it got him where bruised-shaped finger prints where the three men were holding him down and grazed skin on his back, where it rubbed viciously against the ground.

Bottle-red neared him cautiously, rope coiled in her hands. Dean watched with wide eyes as she tied one end to the bridge's metal frame and the other to his left ankle. "T'hell are you doing, bitch?"

Pepe, eyes still red-rimmed from his earlier 'interaction' with Dean, took pleasure in punching him in his swollen knee. "That's the mother of my niece you're talking about, pendejo!"

Dean clenched his eyes, water leaking from the edges as he bit down the scream that demanded release.

Two tugs to make sure that the rope wouldn't loosen up on either end and the bulky men released their hold on the prisoner.

With the bruising hold on him gone, Dean gave into his renewed agony. Rolling to his side, he drew the swollen and throbbing joint to his chest, wrapping bound hands around his knee, a desperate but fruitless attempt to ease the pain.

"Get up," Tiger commanded, booted feet filling Dean's field of vision.

Dean didn't even try. He had a pretty good idea of what Tiger was planning and had already decided that he was not in the mood to play along.

Tiger was in no mood to play either. Bending over, the man simply picked up the rope lying on the ground and dragged Dean over to the edge of the bridge.

Not built with the intent to have people strolling around on it, the train bridge had no rail at all. No boundary to stand between the tracks and the edge where the only thing that lay was the nothingness of empty air.

Too late, Dean tried to get up. Failing miserably, while his body slid over the gravel and uneven wood of the train tracks, Dean could find no leverage or place to hang on or pull back.

Fighting the natural instinct of using his hands to protect the more fragile parts of his exposed male anatomy, Dean instead reached for the rope that was dragging him closer and closer to the edge. Even if that piece of cord was able to stop his fall, Dean was sure that it wouldn't be a fun trip or a happy stop.

Thanks to the handcuffs that forced his hands into an awkward position, his grasp on the line was tenuous at best. Try as he might, and he did, there was no strength to the gesture and he could not manage a tight grip of the tether line securing his leg. Still, as soon as his fingers brushed the rope, Dean pulled with all his might, determined to fight.

It was enough to faze Tiger for a few seconds, a ineffectual game of tug-o-war between prey and predator. Tiger couldn't quite understand what Dean was trying to accomplish when it was so painfully obvious that he was at a disadvantage. He had no idea of what stubborn mules the Winchester men could be.

Dean took advantage of Tiger's momentary hesitation and hooked his free leg around the other man's shins. Tripping, Tiger lost his balance more out of surprise than out of the force behind the move.

Because the only free leg that Dean had was his busted knee leg. And his busted knee didn't appreciate the move one bit.

Dean blacked out for a couple of seconds, nothing but the sharp, hot stab of pain in his leg registering in his mind.

Before Dean could recover and follow up on his desperate move, or at least take a bit of satisfaction from the fact that he'd sent Tiger to his knees, Dean felt a powerful tug on his bound hands, the strange feeling of weightlessness that came from being hulled up too fast to adjust and then, the unstoppable notion that his body was moving forward, away from the safe ground of the bridge beneath his feet and that there was nothing that he could do.

One second was all he had to realize just how up high they really were. One second for a brief glimpse of the breath-taking view around; a fleeting impression of the cityscape and the large lake a small distance away. Then the world was swirling madly around as he was pushed and gravity took charge; the ground left his feet and he was falling. Dean never figured that a distance that, by his quick calculations, was of about four stories high, took quite that long to cover.

At a dizzying speed, the canopy of the trees charged past, then shrank farther and farther away. Speed increasing, the once discernible landscape colors were now a blur of green and blue, sometimes intertwined with the grey of the ground bellow. The ground, rushing to meet him faster and faster. Unmoving, unchangeable, hard rock.

Dean closed his eyes, for a brief moment convinced that the hunters had made their calculations of the rope length wrong, and he would be nothing more than a red stain at the bottom of the ravine.

There was no warning or time to fear the end. The only difference between free falling and hanging in suspension was the deep jolt that traversed Dean's entire body and the sickening sound, resonating through his core, of something breaking as he came to an abrupt stop.

Dean had literally reached the end of his rope. After that, he knew no more.

0o0o00o0o0o0o0

"Can I get you anything else?"

Sam pried his eyes away from the computer's bright screen and focused on the waitress. She was probably around his age, but looked painfully young next to him, with her dark blond hair and bright blue gaze. The lines of tiredness were there in the corners of her eyes, a statement of long hours on the job and probably another part-time elsewhere just to make the money reach the end of the month, but there were no dark clouds hiding inside her gaze.

Sam longed for that kind of tiredness, honest to God exhaustion that came from a normal job and everyday problems. Instead, his exhaustion was born out of going more than three weeks since tasting Ruby's blood; exhaustion of fighting against something inside of him that more and more looked like their only hope of wining this war; exhaustion over not being able to protect his brother even from mere humans. Exhaustion from too long hours of research that gave no fruits and staring at a computer, willing the search engine to run faster.

It had been only a few hours since he'd stopped being Sam Wesson and already Sam Winchester was missing it. How messed up was his brain that, when stuck in a normal life, he couldn't wait to start being a hunter and then, once back to being a hunter, he was longing for the long hours of boredom and mindless droning over a phone trying to explain basic stuff to computer-challenged people?

The waitress was still waiting, Sam realized, dull pencil rhythmically bouncing on her notepad to the rhythm of her gum chewing. He looked at the coffee cup on his table, still more than half full.

"Do you have any pie?" he found himself asking.

She smiled at that, the relief showing in her honest sigh. Clearly, someone had informed her that it was her job to get this particular customer to start spending some money or pick up his stuff and go. She probably wasn't all that eager to impose the second option.

"We have pecan, apple, chocolate, peach, strawberry, blueb-"

"Apple's fine," Sam said, briefly wondering how he'd managed to stumble in to the one place with the longest pie list ever. Dean would love it here. "And could you wrap me a slice of strawberry and one of apple to go?"

"Sure thing," she said, practically bouncing on her feet as she walked back to the counter. Sam felt old.

He looked at the computer again. The search of the name Bobby had provided him hadn't come up with much. Peter Tigermman, like most hunters, kept a low profile.

Even after some serious hacking on Sam's part, Tigermman's comprehensive military records were unattainable. Given their confidentiality, a complete explanation for Tigermman's exodus from the military wasn't part of any single file, though he did manage to pull bits and pieces from other accounts and the words 'dishonorable discharge' appeared a couple of times. Sam shuddered to think what sort of man Tigermman was and what sort of actions he might've done for the US Army to go from 'top secret' to 'you're not one of us and we're ashamed that you ever were'.

The blip in the GPS software pulled Sam's attention away from his dark thoughts. The thing was slower than an old turtle with arthritis and had taken its sweet time just to allow him access… and then took even a longer time to establish the satellite connection. At long last, Sam was online with the tracker device.

Finally, he had a location on Ruiz' truck. And if Ruiz was anywhere near that vehicle, he'd found Dean.

Sam looked at his watch. Bobby had been five hours away last time they'd talked. That had been barely an hour ago.

"Here's your pie," the waitress said as she placed the plastic plate with a generous slice of pie on the table, "and here's your order." She handed a paper bag to Sam with a flourish. "Enjoy!"

The smell of still hot apple pie hit Sam with a thousand memories, images of the numerous times he'd watched his brother devour slice after slice, face relaxed in bliss. Haste suddenly made Sam's skin crawl with need to find him, more urgent than ever. He looked at his watch again, remembering his promise to Bobby, and then at the blinking red light, calling to him from the Ohio topographic map.

Bobby was going to bite his head off.

"Could you bring me the check, please?"

o0o00o0o0o0o0o0

His hands were numb. Which was good, because his leg was on fire.

Dean gasped awake, for a second completely lost and confused about why the world was looking so weird. There were clouds on the ground. There weren't supposed to be clouds in the ground, were they?

"Welcome back," Tiger's voice came from too close. "Would hate to start this next part without your full attention."

Dean jerked away before he could stop himself or the words could register in his sluggish brain. Hanging from his broken leg, the sudden movement only served to swing him around and increase the pressure on the broken limb. "Son of a bitch!"

Dean wasn't sure if he was referring to any of the fuzzy images of the people around him or the way his life seemed to plot against him with a vengeance reserved only for the worst of enemies.

He blinked away the tears that had seemed to pool inside his eyelids and resisted the urge to shake his head to clear his vision. It was a odd thing to feel his tears roll up rather than down.

Tiger was still holding the plastic bag Dean had seen in his hand before, only now he could see water sloshing inside of it.

The second that image registered, the dots connected inside Dean's mind and his heart started hammering inside his chest. Unmoving, wide eyes, Dean watched as Tiger moved closer, his inverted figure looking like nothing more than long legs, moving casually, gracefully, like he had all the time in the world.

Dean felt like a worm at the end of the hook, helpless to do nothing more than wait for the fish's teeth to sink in. He tried throwing a punch with his bound hands as soon as Tiger was within range, but the position he was in screwed with his distances perception. He failed completely.

"Is this really necessary, man?" Dean tried to argue, moving the fight to his mouth when his fists couldn't prove his point. "I mean... look at me, I'm a hunter, just like you... we're on the same side, you idiot!"

"My side doesn't make deals with demons or gets free passes out of Hell," Tiger supplied as he forced Dean's head inside the transparent bag and held it around the prisoner's neck. "My side stopped being yours when you came back from the dead, like some filthy zombie!"

Dean didn't have time to take a deep breath.

Suddenly, the world outside was plunged through a filter of plastic and water before it reached his eyes, making everything look bigger and wider, like an extended and blurry version of reality. The water reached his nose first, gravity pushing the unwelcome liquid inside, clogging his sinuses and increasing the pressure inside his head. When it came to his mouth, Dean prayed that they would be that stupid and had truly forget to tape his mouth shut.

Quickly, opening his mouth, he began swallowing, fighting against the awkwardness of the position to drink the water as fast as he could. There may not be much air inside the bag but at least he wouldn't be trying to suck his oxygen from the water like some fish.

Unfortunately, stupid they were not. The fingers that Tiger had been keeping on Dean's neck moved aside and suddenly all he could hear was the gulpgulp of more water being poured down, the bag filled with more and more liquid.

Dean couldn't swallow fast enough. He'd fallen for Tiger's trick and now, with his mouth already full of water, he could do nothing more but thrash helplessly on his broken leg and, hopefully, drown fast.

Sad fact was, he was going to drown in the smallest amount of water ever known to drown a human being. And that was even worse than being kidnapped from a public toilet.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

AN: *Evil laughter* Yes! I've just drowned Dean and he will stay drown unless I receive one million… no, make that one gazillion reviews!

Just kidding ;)

To those wonderful reviewers to whom I didn't had a chance to answer so far: THANK YOU!! You guys are made of awesome!

Blackrain/coldsummer: Thank you for reviewing every single chapter so far! I've never eaten in a Pepe's, never even step foot in one, but I'm sure that it's a nice place and you and Dean were just unlucky ;)

And I really hope that I didn't get you in trouble with your mom *g*

Masondixon: Idiots are always the worst kind of threat, because who can't count on their reasoning to be, well… reasonable ;)

As for what Heaven lets or doesn't let happen… Alistair would've pretty much killed Dean in 'Head of a pin' if Sam hadn't showed up… didn't see Heaven much concerned then. I believe that, in between the two separate fractions in Heaven, the ones who want the Apocalypse to happen and the ones who don't AND between the fact that even Castiel, who should know this things, knows that Dean is important but doesn't seemed the know in what aspect and to do what… I think we have plenty of room to doubt ;)