Author's Note: This took much longer to get out than I intended, but my grad school workload picked up last week, then I traveled to NYC with friends and saw Phantom of the Opera on Broadway (which was wonderful!), and then, of course, I got sick and haven't been able to shake it. Thanks for all your reviews so far, and comments and criticisms are, of course, craved.

Warnings: Spoilers in this chapter through 6.14. This story takes place between 6.14 and 6.15.

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. I'm just happy to play in the sandbox and promise to put the toys back when I'm done.

Chapter 5

Rescue Operation

Dean shrugged and pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID.

He nearly dropped the phone.

Sam.

His thoughts jumped unbidden to getting an unexpected call from Sam when the kid'd been missing a week, gone without a trace… Of course, that had turned out to be Meg possessing his brother to get revenge on them, but still.

Bobby frowned. "Dean, you gonna answer it or what?"

Mentally shaking himself, Dean accepted the call and answered hoarsely, "Sammy?"

Dean saw Bobby's eyebrows jump up at that out of the corner of his eye but focused on the voice on the other end of the line.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean's eyes narrowed as the voice registered. Definitely not Sam. Son of a bitch. "That you, Walt?"

Dean vaguely heard Bobby curse at that and agreed whole-heartedly.

"Ding ding ding. We have a winner. And here I'd heard your brother was the smart one."

Dean's grip tightened around the phone. "Where's Sam?" he growled.

An agonized yell in the background tore through the connection and struck Dean like lightning. His knees sagged and he had to grab onto the desk to support himself as the current ran through him. He'd know that voice anywhere. Sam was alive. And Sam was in agony. Dean knew Sam's range of tones and voices and pained sounds like the back of his hand, even after everything that had changed between them.

And this was the exact sound he'd heard when he'd dreamed of his brother in Hell for that long, long year. And again when he'd learned Sam's soul was still in Hell. This was the sound that had woken Dean screaming for his brother in the middle of the night.

"Sammy? Oh, he's—" Another pained wail. "—occupied at the moment. But I'll tell him you said hi."

"You son of a bitch! I'm gonna—"

"Temper, temper, Dean," Walt interrupted. "You don't want that attitude to cause your brother any more trouble, do you?"

Dean forcibly reined his temper in, his blood still boiling just beneath his skin but not doubting the other hunter's intentions after what he'd heard. "What do you want, Walt?" he gritted out.

He could hear the smirk in Walt's voice and wanted nothing more than to violently wipe it clear. "There's a good boy." Dean ground his teeth."See, me and the boys've got some questions, but baby brother isn't answering."

"What kind of questions?"

"Oh, you know. About the apocalypse. And how you two are magically among the living again. Oh, and about the monsters behaving all weird. Like that."

Dean swallowed. Those questions were above Walt's pay grade for sure. Hell, they should be above his and Sam's, too. That was Winchester luck for ya. But they were also dangerous territory for Sam and for the wall. He opened his mouth to reply, but Walt cut him off.

"Sam's been pretty quiet," he said as another yell rang across the connection. "Well, he hasn't talked much, anyway."

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch," Dean hissed, all thoughts flooding from his mind except the sound of Sam's pain. "I'm going to kill each and every one of you. You hear me?" Walt chuckled, which only made Dean's anger ratchet up another level. "Something funny?"

"Temper, Winchester. But you know you'll have to find us first."

Dean's eyes roamed back over the map on Bobby's desk. "Don't worry, I'll find you."

"I doubt it. But I didn't call so we could trade threats."

"Then why did you call?"

"To let you know your precious Sammy is still alive and, maybe not well. But alive."

"Why? Why tell me?"

"S'not important. We'll touch base in a coupla days, Dean."

Panic rose in Dean's chest. "Wait—"

But the call ended. Dean pulled his phone from his ear and stared at it, jaw slack. All he could think of was Sam's pained yells in the background, the sound echoing through his head. "Sammy…"

"Dean?"

Dean started and looked up at Bobby's concerned face and shook his head. "Sam's alive, but…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, to make Sam's torture real with words, but Bobby appeared to understand so he didn't need to. "Walt doesn't think I, uh, we're," Dean amended at Bobby's look, "gonna find them. Said he'd call back in a couple of days."

"Dammit," Bobby cursed.

Dean opened his mouth to let out another string of curses when a thought occurred to him. He froze and stared at Bobby a moment. "Wait a sec," he said, thoughts already turning.

"What?"

Bobby blinked in confusion, but Dean was already headed to the kitchen to grab the laptop. He booted it up and was typing in the phone company's website when Bobby appeared over his shoulder. Dean grabbed his phone and dialed the number on the page, though a small part of him was surprised he didn't have the number memorized considering how many times he'd used this method to track his brother in the past.

"If Walt called on Sam's phone, it might still be on," Dean said to Bobby as he listened to the first ring.

Realization dawned on Bobby's face a split second later. "So you can track the GPS."

"Yahtzee," Dean replied as the other line picked up. Hang on, Sammy.

Sam moaned and his chin dropped back onto this chest, eyes drooping shut, but even that seemed to hurt. There was nothing but a hazy fog and buzzing sound around him—and pain. At least there wasn't fire too, though Sam wasn't sure where that thought had come from.

He jerked as something wet splashed him in the face and he forced his eyes open to see Roy standing there, a bucket in hand. Walt stood next to him, holding Sam's phone. Oh, right.

"Dean," was all Sam managed to get out before the room spun violently around him. He shut his eyes and rode out the dizzying wave with a groan.

"Dean's worried about you, Sammy," Walt said. He was standing his in front of Sam's face when the younger hunter opened his eyes again. Sam flinched weakly in surprise. "Seemed pretty sure he'd find us."

Sam swallowed roughly and attempted a glare. "I'd take him seriously," he said with more confidence than he felt. He had no idea where the other hunters had taken him and doubted they would leave a trail for Dean to follow with their years of combined experience.

Walt simply smiled and his finger ran across the keypad on the phone. The screen lit up. "I'm counting on him, actually. If he's as good as everyone says he is, that is."

"He is," Sam retorted without a second thought. But at Walt's smirk, Sam frowned. He looked from Walt's face to the phone and back to Walt before it hit him. His eyes widened and Walt tilted his head expectantly. "You want him to come," Sam whispered.

"Two Winchesters with one stone," the older hunter confirmed. He stepped out of Sam's personal space and turned to his companions. "We've got some time to kill, boys. No telling when or if Dean'll track the signal." He threw himself onto one of the hay bales. "I'll see if I can get any answers from Sammy's phone."

Bastard.

"I think we can entertain ourselves," Tim said, stepping up next to Roy.

"This would go so much easier if you'd just answer our questions, Sam," Roy said as he put the bucket down.

"No it wouldn't."

"That's probably true," Reggie agreed. He hadn't moved from where he was leaning against a post.

"If you can't die," Tim said, grabbing the blood-stained crowbar from a pile of discarded bloodied objects on the ground, "we can at least make you wish you could for what you've done."

"You and your brother," Roy added.

"Son of a bitch," Sam muttered, too weary to put any heat behind it.

And that was the last coherent thing he said for a while.

Dean tightened his grip around the Impala's steering wheel, eyes dead set on the road stretching out in front of him and willing his baby to eat up the miles just a little faster as he pressed down on the gas pedal. They'd been driving for nearly two hours now and Dean needed to unleash his coiled fear for Sam and fury at the rogue hunters on something. Preferably said hunters. And soon.

"How much farther?"

"'bout ten more miles," Bobby replied from the passenger seat. He was hunched over a map in his lap, one hand holding the address the phone company had tracked the GPS on Sam's phone to, the other hand tracing the lines of the roads on the map as the car moved. "There's a copse of trees about a mile away from the farm," he added after a few moments, tapping a darker spot on the map near the location the hunters seemed to have holed up at. "You can park 'er there and take the rest of the way on foot."

Dean nodded tightly. It made sense; the Impala's engine was loud and distinctive and he didn't want to give Walt and the others any heads up that he was crashing the party early. "Yeah, alright."

"You got a plan, Dean?"

"Of course. I go in, kill the sons of bitches that hurt my brother, and get Sam out." He figured making the bastards suffer for what they did first went without saying.

"Dean…" From Bobby's tone, it seemed he got that, too.

"No, Bobby. We've been over this. No way in hell I'm making the same mistake of letting hunters with violent grudges against us live. It only gets us—gets Sam—hurt."

Dean couldn't bring himself to worry about himself right now; what was really important, what he cared about most, was the danger to Sam. He'd barely had his brother, his real brother, back for a month and he was this close to losing him again. With the threats of the Wall and Raphael and the Mother of All Uglies hanging over them, Dean intended to savor every moment he had left with his brother.

Dammit, Sam had already been through more than any ten people should ever have to deal with. And that was before being kidnapped by hunters. This was ending. Today.

And Dean intended to make a statement to any other hunters with any funny ideas: Screwing with Sam was going to get them good and dead—and not the Winchester kind of dead that never seemed to last.

Bobby huffed, and Dean blinked and glanced over at the older hunter. "I told you, boy, that's not the issue."

"Then what?"

"We gotta assume there's at least four hunters there since Walt and Tim have partners," Bobby replied.

"Roy and Reggie."

"And they're all damn good at the job."

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "What's your point, Bobby?"

"Watch your tone, boy." Dean pursed his lips but nodded and Bobby continued. "You need backup is my point."

"No."

"You can't go in alone, half-assed, ya idjit."

"Oh, I plan on going in full-assed," Dean replied. Then winced as he realized what he'd just said. "I mean—"

"Yeah, yeah." Bobby looked down at the map and then pointed through the windshield to a spot on the road ahead. "There's the trees. Park 'er there."

"About damn time." Dean slowed the car and pulled off the road and into the small grove of trees, just far enough in as not to be seen by anyone on the road. He got out of the car and Bobby joined him at the trunk as he dug for guns.

Checking the magazine on his favorite gun, Dean turned to Bobby. "You're right, I probably do need some backup." No matter how angry Dean was, he knew four-on-one wasn't the best odds.

"So I'll come, too."

But Dean shook his head. "No. You'll be better backup here. If something happens to me, you can come in and save both our asses." Bobby snorted but didn't disagree. The younger hunter grabbed a knife and tucked it into his boot before turning back to his friend. "Give me two hours. If I'm not back with Sam by then, pray to Cas and come get us."

"And if angel boy doesn't show?"

Dean shrugged. That was a legit concern, considering the angel hadn't bothered to answer any of Dean's prayers since Sam had gone missing. "Do you need Cas' help to kick some ass?"

Bobby scoffed at that and Dean couldn't help but smile a bit. Bobby was the best damn hunter he knew not named Winchester and he trusted his life—and more importantly, Sam's life—to the man. But the odds still gave him pause. These guys had gotten the jump on them before and had proven just how dangerous they were. Dean hoped… Well, he just hoped he wouldn't be relying on Bobby's probably pointless prayers to a war-entrenched angel that couldn't spare five minutes to fill them in on the situation upstairs.

Dean shut the Impala's trunk and checked his watch. "Two hours."

Bobby looked at his own watch and nodded. "You got it, son."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't thank me till you've got your brother back, idjit."

Dean nodded and headed in the direction of the farmland they'd tracked Sam's phone to. The trees thinned out quickly but when Dean turned back, Bobby and the Impala were thankfully hidden. As he moved forward through the untamed field of chest-high plant stalks surrounding the apparently abandoned farm, Dean soon made out two buildings standing in sharp contrast to the open terrain in the now-fading sunlight.

Dean crouched down as he reached the end of his grassy camouflage. The barn and the farmhouse, neither clearly having been in use for several years, loomed dark. The hunters could be holding Sam in either building and he didn't want to make his presence known before he was sure what he was up against. Dean frowned, weighing his options. If the farmhouse had a basement, that was a likely spot for the hunters to keep a prisoner. Then again, they didn't have anything to hide this far in the middle of nowhere.

Dean nearly made a move for the house when a he spotted a hint of color out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, the tail end of a blue truck was sticking out behind the barn. That was an interesting place to park, especially if the house was being used as command central.

Which clearly meant it wasn't.

"Barn it is."

Throwing a final glance back at the dilapidated house, Dean palmed his gun and crept toward the barn. He pressed himself to the side of the building and held still for several beats, waiting to see if he triggered any motion. When he was satisfied no one had seen him, he put his eye to the crack between the siding boards and peered inside.

Walt and Roy stood huddled together near the center of the barn, talking in hushed tones that Dean couldn't make out. Dean's anger flared anew at the sight of the hunters. The last time he'd seen them, they'd been pointing shotguns at him and his brother. And he'd warned the sons of bitches that he'd be pissed when he came back.

But they weren't alone.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Not ten feet from the hunters, a figure was suspended from the rafters by its wrists. Stripped down to a t-shirt and jeans, the figure was a bloody, broken mess of a man. His meager clothes were in tatters, stained with blood, dirt, and what looked like vomit and other bodily fluids in the less than ideal lighting. The figure's head was lolled forward, chin resting on his chest; he was likely unconscious—a small mercy for the moment.

Dean took in the details of the prisoner with a detached eye, not really feeling like he could be seeing a person in such a horrible condition. It was sickening to think humans had inflicted so much damage on another person.

Demons I get. People are crazy.

And that was when Dean's brain finally registered the familiar shaggy head. Bile rose in his throat and he backed away from the barn, arms wrapped around his stomach.

"Oh god, Sammy."

He'd been expecting his brother to be in rough shape after being held for over a week, but actually seeing it made him simultaneously sick and furious. Dean reconsidered his approach of taking out the hunters and grabbing Sam. Dying was too easy for these bastards after what they'd done. For a brief moment, Dean considered whether the skills he'd learned in the Pit might be useful here before discarding the idea. He'd told Bobby two hours and he needed to get Sam out and treated.

"It's not nice sneaking around other people's property, Dean," a voice said from behind.

Dean whirled around, cursing himself for getting distracted and letting someone sneak up on him, and briefly caught sight of Tim and Reggie before the bat in Tim's hand connected with his head and everything went dark.

Dean was floating in the darkness when a throbbing in his skull assaulted his senses. He groaned, but when the memory of what he had seen in the barn returned, his eyes flew open before he shut them again against the blinding light on this side of consciousness.

"Looks like he's comin' around," someone said from… somewhere. It was hard to tell; everything seemed so distant and fluid.

Dean opened his eyes more cautiously and realized the bright light was actually coming from lanterns. Not so blinding after all.

"Looks like," another voice agreed.

As his surroundings came into focus, Dean found himself face-to-face with Walt, Roy, Tim, and Reggie. Well wasn't that just perfect.

Dean jerked toward them, wanting nothing more than to tear their throats out after what they'd done, but couldn't move. He looked down and realized he was sitting in a chair, the rope around his chest binding his arms behind his back and his ankles were secured to the chair legs. He flexed his arms and found his bonds too tight for any leeway. He supposed he shouldn't expect any less from experienced hunters.

"Well hey there, Dean," Walt said, standing just in front of the other three hunters. When Dean said nothing, Walt smiled and stepped to the side.

And that was when Dean saw Sam's limp form hanging behind the other hunters. "You son of a bitch."

"You found us pretty quickly, I'm impressed."

"Told you I would," Dean shot back, though he couldn't take his eyes off his brother. He looked worse up close, where the bruising and wounds were more apparent, even from across the barn. He couldn't see if Sam was breathing, and that scared him to his core. He needed to get free and get Sam out.

Walt nodded. "Never doubted it."

Dean opened his mouth to shoot back a nasty comment when the comment hit him. "Wait, what? You said I'd never find you."

Walt held up Sam's phone and Dean's eyes narrowed. "I assume you tracked us through this." Dean said nothing, but that was answer enough. "Did you think I'd be stupid enough to leave dear Sammy's phone on after talking to you on accident?"

Dean swallowed as he realized what that meant. Well shit, they set me up. And I fell for it. He'd underestimated them. "Yeah, I kinda did," he retorted instead.

Walt's expression darkened for a brief second but the look passed quickly. "And you see how that turned out."

"Yeah well, here I am. Were you planning on talkin' me to death?"

"I already told you, Dean, we've got questions. And Sam hasn't been real forthcoming with the answers."

Dean snorted. "So you think I'll tell you what you want to know? You must be dumber than you look, Walt."

But Walt shook his head and Dean suddenly felt worry gnawing at his gut. "You misunderstand, Dean."

"What then?"

Walt crossed his arms. "Your brother started the apocalypse. You both always seem to be at the center of whatever big bad is going down. You two die, the apocalypse ends. But now we've got monster problems and the two of you back from the dead. Shit isn't adding up."

Dean inclined his head. "Yeah, and?" Walt'd said as much on the phone already. There was clearly no point in trying to reason with these hunters. Even if he wanted to tell the truth, which he didn't, it was pretty freakin' crazy-sounding and they wouldn't believe it anyway.

"And you two obviously have something to do with it."

Dean blinked before snorting a laugh. "What, you think killing us is going to fix things?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But you two coming back from the dead is hardly natural." Dean couldn't disagree with that but said nothing. "We want to know what you're planning. Who you're working for."

"We're not working for anyone," Dean grumbled. "Not planning anything, either."

"That's what Sam said."

"Ever think he was telling the truth?"

"No."

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course not. "So now what, boys?"

Walt nodded to the hunters behind him. Roy broke off from the group, grabbed a bucket and headed across the barn. Dean's stomach clenched as the hunter approached Sam. Roy tossed the contents of the bucket—water, it looked like—at Sam's face. Sam jerked weakly and his head rose slowly from his chest. He coughed and shook his head slightly to get the dripping hair from his eyes before looking up.

"Heya, Sammy," Walt said. Sam's gaze went from Roy to Walt, though he looked like he was having trouble focusing on anything. "Thought you might like to know we've got company."

Sam frowned, like he didn't quite understanding what Walt was saying. He was really out of it. But when Tim and Reggie stepped aside and Sam's gaze met Dean's, his eyes were surprisingly clear.

And fearful.

"Dean."

tbc…