Author's Note: Happy return from spring hellatus one and all. To celebrate the return of the boys, here's the next installment. Comments and criticism are, as always, craved like a vamp wants blood.

Warnings: Spoilers in this chapter through 6.14. This story takes place between 6.14 and 6.15. Oh, and more whumpage. Duh.

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 6

The Call

"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."

Dean tried not to cringe at the sound of Sam's voice. It sounded like his throat had gone through a meat grinder and echoes of the yells he had heard over the phone rang through Dean's ears as he tried not to think of how long Sam would have had to scream to destroy his voice like that.

Sam's eyes moved from Dean to Walt and back. "You came," he rasped.

"Of course. I always come after my pain in the ass little brother," Dean replied, throwing up a cocky grin.

Sam's eyes narrowed. You shouldn't have come, his look said.

Dean rolled his eyes. No way I'd leave you, Sammy.

"Idiot," Sam breathed hoarsely. He seemed to deflate against his bonds, too weary and in too much pain to keep up the silent argument.

Dean's stomach tightened at his brother's pained, defeated posture. He wished he could check his watch to see how long he'd been out. To see how much longer he needed his brother to hold on. Bobby was waiting on that two hour mark to call Cas and come in for them. The older hunter wouldn't move in as carelessly as Dean had, whether he ended up with angelic backup or not.

"Touching reunion, boys," Walt said, his gaze lingering on Sam's slumped form for a moment before turning back to Dean. "But we're running short on time here."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Got a hot date, Walt?"

"Only with whoever you're working for," the older hunter retorted.

"So, going stag then," Dean supplied.

Walt's features darkened and Dean choked back a swallow. He didn't like the predatory glint in the older man's eyes, especially when Dean couldn't defend himself. Or his brother. Reminded him a bit too much of the look on Walt's face before he'd shot Sam in that motel room. Dean forcefully shoved the memory of Sam's bloody corpse on the bed from his mind.

Walt turned to Roy and nodded. Dean frowned as Roy bent over a pile of junk and pulled out a wicked looking knife. Dean exhaled sharply when he realized there was blood on the weapon. His eyes went back to the pile Roy had pulled the blade from and realized it was a bunch of weapons. Blood-stained weapons. Stained with Sam's blood.

Sam tensed when he saw the knife and let out a shuddered breath. Every protective instinct in Dean's body was straining against the ropes at the fearful sound his brother had made.

"We're running short on time until the shit hits the fan," Tim said, stepping up next to Walt. "Problem is, we don't know what we've stepped in."

Dean frowned at the analogy. That was definitely a mixed… something. Sam, the geek-boy wonder, would know the official term. His gaze flicked over to said geek-boy, who was watching Roy—or more specifically the blade in his hand—warily.

Yeah, these guys were going to die for grinding down his little brother like this.

"And you think we're involved," Dean finished. "You want answers. Blah blah blah. Heard it already, guys."

Tim leaned into Dean's personal space and the younger hunter tried not to flinch. "This is no joke, Dean."

"And we're out of patience," Walt added.

"So here's how this is gonna work. You're going to answer our questions or Roy's gonna introduce, well, re-introduce," Tim amended, "dear Sammy to some pointy objects. Got it?"

Panic was gnawing at Dean's gut. Shit. Shit. Shit.

He looked over at Sam and saw the lantern light glint off the blade that Roy was turning over in his hands. Sam had pulled his gaze from the knife, though, and was looking directly at Dean. There was worry on his face, but his expression was nevertheless determined.

Don't you dare say anything, Dean, his hazel eyes said.

Dean really didn't like the idea of causing Sam more pain by remaining silent. It felt too much like a betrayal, to sit there and watch Sam suffer. But his brother was right; there was nothing they could tell these guys.

You sure?

Dean. Dean was constantly amazed by how exasperated Sam could look through a single glance. Little brothers.

Yeah, alright.

"Got it," Dean replied, bringing his gaze back to his captors.

"So, how did you come back from the dead?" Walt asked as Tim backed up from Dean's face. "Who brought you back?"

Dean spared a look for his brother before replying. "Guardian angel."

Reggie snorted from where he was watching. "You two really are brothers."

Dean didn't have time to wonder what he meant by that.

"Angels, right," Tim snorted as he shook his head.

"Wrong answer, Dean," Walt said, nodding to Roy.

The other hunter gripped the knife's hilt and sunk the tip of the blade into a wound on Sam's chest that was just healing over. Sam gasped. And then Roy shoved the knife deeper into the wound and jerked the blade sharply across Sam's skin, leaving a long, bloody trail. Sam cried out, though he didn't manage much volume, and jerked feebly. Blood trickled from the reopened wound into the tatters of Sam's t-shirt that barely covered his abused upper body.

Dean's breath was caught in his throat and his muscles were rigid. He was supposed to protect Sam, not get him hurt like this. Dammit. But there were bigger issues to worry about; Sam knew that, wanted Dean to stay strong.

"Let's try again," Walt said, eyeing Dean's reaction. "Who are you working for?"

Dean ran his tongue over his front teeth as he considered. "Nobody." He pressed on at the looks on Tim's and Walt's faces. "Just because you don't want to hear it doesn't mean it's not true. We don't work for anyone."

"And yet I still don't believe you," Tim said.

"Sounds like a personal problem," Dean growled in reply.

"Roy."

Sam sucked in a breath before Roy slashed down his arm. Sam screwed his eyes shut and cried out again. His head sagged forward, but from the rise and fall of his chest, Sam was breathing harshly against the pain.

Dean clenched his jaw as he watched the blood dripping from the wound, suddenly remembering seeing Sam's arms similarly shredded when he'd been at the mercy of the Adam and Kate ghouls… His brother still had scars from then and Dean's stomach twisted sickeningly as he wondered if Roy had been tracing them.

He felt like he was back in that kitchen with those pagan gods all over again, listening to his brother's yells as he'd been cut and his fingernail had been pulled out, helpless to do anything to help. These hunters were no better than those monsters or any of the demons Dean'd seen in Hell. How could they still be human?

He couldn't… God, he couldn't keep watching Sam tortured like this.

"Sammy…"

Sam was panting, his shaggy hair covering his face. But he looked up at Dean's voice as if he could sense his brother's conviction wavering.

"There's nothing," he wheezed as sweat dripped down the side of his face, "to tell."

A flush of pride spread through Dean at his baby brother's strength, defying these bastards with everything he had. He'd been held, been tortured for eight days and was still holding on.

That's my boy.

And Sam was right. Even if they told the truth, the hunters'd probably think Dean was making up stories and take it out on Sam anyway. They'd probably believe Sam was in line with Lucifer, though, considering the stories going around, but that was something Dean would take to his grave. No one'd understand what that had cost Sam; what it had cost them all to save the freakin' ungrateful world.

"Sammy's right," Dean said, nodding at his brother. "We don't know anything."

"You're lying," Tim hissed.

"We just want to gank monsters, just like you," Dean said, inclining his head toward his captors.

Walt shook his head. "Roy."

Dean couldn't help closing his eyes when Sam screamed.

One hour forty-five minutes.

Dean had been gone for one hour and forty-five minutes according to Bobby's watch and the hunter had a bad feeling in his gut. It was dark and Bobby was pacing back and forth aside the Impala, shining his flashlight into the woods at every sound and hoping to see Dean and Sam breaking through the trees. But the only sounds he'd heard were birds and chirping insects. No cars had even passed along the road.

They were well and true in the middle of nowhere and Bobby was worried about his boys. He did another lap around the Impala before checking his watch again.

One hour forty-seven minutes.

"You know," Walt said after awhile, when Sam's yells had long since died into feeble gasps, "I can't figure you out, Dean."

Dean reluctantly tore his gaze from his battered, bleeding brother back to the older man. "Yeah?" he managed around the lump in his throat.

"You know, making a show of all this love and concern for your kid brother."

Dean blinked. Making a show? When it came to Sam? No friggin' way."The hell're you talking about?"

Walt held up Sam's phone. "We hoped there might be some info on who you two're working for or what you're after on Sam's phone. You know?" Dean shoved down a sigh at that. "Turns out there was something better."

"Better?" Dean looked over at Sam, who, despite the pain and effort it was clearly taking for him just to stay conscious, looked just as nonplussed as he felt.

"Here we thought nothing could tear apart the Winchesters. Not even death." Dean's eyes narrowed. "Turns out that rumor was wrong."

"You really enjoy the sound of your own voice, don't you, Walt?" Dean couldn't help but groan. He immediately regretted the words, waiting for the sound of his brother's pain that never came.

Walt had an infuriatingly pleased smile on his face instead. "Not mine."

That gave Dean pause. "What?"

Instead of answering, Walt pressed a button on Sam's Blackberry. "First saved voice message," the automated voice crackled through the speaker phone before Dean's voice filled up the barn. "Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you."

Dean's jaw dropped. Bloodsucking freak? Even at his angriest, he'd never said anything like that. "What the?"

He was about to interrupt with a nasty comment about how ridiculous this was when he glanced over at Sam and saw his brother's face had lost its remaining color under the dirt and caked on blood. His entire body was tense, and his lips were pressed in a thin line.

Oh, that couldn't be good.

"Well I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you," Dean's voice continued on the message. "You're a monster, Sam. A vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."

The silence in the barn as Walt ended the voicemail was palpable. Dean's mind had gone strangely blank at seeing Sam's stricken face. It just didn't seem real.

"I'm done trying to save you." The words echoed through Dean's head. "You're a monster." He thought he was going to be sick.

"When?" Dean finally croaked out. "When is that message from?"

Tim gave him an odd look. "You should know, Dean. You sent it."

Dean glared at the hunter but turned right back to Sam. "When is that message from, Sam?" he repeated. He needed to know. He needed to know why Sam had saved a message of him saying horrible things he'd never actually said. And gank the son of a bitch that had.

Sam frowned, looking like he wanted to squirm under the scrutiny but knew it would hurt too much to move. Clearly the last thing he wanted to relive was that message. "Since Lilith," he rasped out finally, his tone defeated.

"What?" Lilith? Ah hell. That meant the message was about two and a half years old. And Sam'd freakin' saved it this whole time, masochist that he was.

Sam was shaking. "After, well, you know…" After I nearly killed you while I was high on demon blood. Yeah, Dean was familiar with the timeline.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean breathed. "I didn't…"

Sam shook his head and turned a little green for his effort. "No, s'okay."

"How the hell is that okay?" Dean growled. "I never left you a message like that!"

Sam was watching him like he was speaking a foreign language. "I heard it," he disagreed haltingly, "before the convent…" Sam's words were cut off by a bone-rattling cough that made his whole body seize painfully. Once the wave passed, Sam hung limply from his bonds, not looking at Dean.

"Sammy, there's no way I'd—"

"Retconning an old phone call, Dean?" Walt interrupted, feigning shock. "That's pretty low, even for someone like you."

"Eat me," Dean growled at the hunter. "I didn't—"

Dean's words were abruptly cut off as a pair of hands shoved a piece of duct tape across his mouth from behind. Dean jerked in surprise as Reggie stepped out from behind him. He hadn't even noticed the fourth hunter move.

Dean huffed through his nose. Son. Of. A. Bitch!

"I think it's clear we're not gonna get any answers from you at this point, Dean," Walt said, crossing his arms. "And our patience for your stupid jokes is gone."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He was going for an intimidating look, but trussed up as he was, he probably didn't look as dangerous as he'd hoped. The smirk on Tim's face was clue enough.

"Can't have you interrupting story time. And this one is so good," Walt continued. "The Winchesters aren't as united a front as rumor has it. One's a blood-sucking monster and the other?" He studied Dean. "Well, you're some kind of unnatural freak, anyway."

"Hey," Roy broke in, jerking his head at Sam, "he's unconscious again."

"Not surprised," Reggie said. "But it's not like he can die, right?" He nodded toward Dean. "Either of them."

"Seems that way," Tim agreed.

"Or at least stay dead," Walt amended. "Fact he's stayed alive this long should be proof enough of that."

Dean looked over at Sam as the words of the message rang through his mind in an unending loop. We are so boned.

Walt and the other hunters had backed off once Sam had gone under. Either they were giving them a break or were planning something. Dean had a feeling it was the latter and didn't like anywhere that thought took him. Dean had no idea how much time had passed, but he was getting worried about Sam. The last time he'd seen his brother's eyes, they'd been glassy from blood loss and there was no telling how low he was after all this time.

Dean hated to admit it, but Walt had a point; it was damn impressive that Sam was still alive, much less defiant.

But Walt playing the phone call seemed to have broken something inside Sam he'd been holding together against the torture. It had shattered his will to resist any longer and he'd fallen unconscious.

A vampire. God, Sam really thought he'd said that. It ate at Dean from the inside thinking that Sam had heard that and accepted that Dean had actually felt that way about him. It really said a lot about where both their heads had been for all those months.

With the other hunters gathered off to the side of the barn, Dean's gaze had been locked on his brother.

Sam was like the puzzles he'd enjoyed so much as a kid and, to a different degree, as an adult. Sam had always enjoyed the research side of a hunt, putting the pieces together to figure out what they were dealing with and how to destroy it. He was damn capable in action, but it was the geek stuff he reveled in. Dean hated puzzles, was bored by putting things together. He did it on the hunt because it was necessary, but he preferred the action.

But Sam had always been the exception to that rule. Ever since they were kids, there hadn't been anything about Sam that Dean hadn't wanted to piece together in order to get a better picture of his little brother. Every time he thought he'd gotten all the pieces in the right place, something new would spring up—soccer, Stanford, visions, demon blood, a wall in his head, whatever.

This mysterious phone call threw a total wrench into Dean's current Sammy puzzle. So he looked at his brother, tried to put the clues together like that slumped mop-head would give him the answers if he stared hard enough.

"You're not you anymore…"

"Since Lilith… I heard it…before the convent…"

"…And there's no going back."

Realization hit Dean like a bolt of lightning. He inhaled sharply as everything clicked into place.

"Sam... has a part to play. A very important part. He may need a little nudging in the right direction, but I'll make sure he plays it."

Sam had never gotten the message Dean had sent when the angels had held him in the beautiful room. Sam'd heard this message when he was with Ruby. And he'd gone into the convent once he was sure all his bridges had been burned and had nothing else to live for.

No wonder Sam had never mentioned Dean's message after.

And the look on Sam's face when they'd reunited after Dean's trip to the future… They'd never talked about Sam's flinch when Dean had taken out the knife to give to him, but damn if it didn't make sense now.

Dean's Sammy puzzle looked so much clearer now.

He would have slumped in the chair if his bindings had any give in them. He was suddenly exhausted. He thought I was going to make good on that promise. Dean shook his head. God, Sam had been holding onto all of that for this long and Dean'd had no clue. If that didn't show what a worthless brother he was… I'd like to bring Zachariah back to life just to kill him again for this. Friggin' angels.

Dean blinked as the other hunters broke from their little meeting. Walt and Tim came to stand in front of Dean while Roy and Reggie headed off toward Sam. Dean swallowed, his gut telling him something bad was coming. Just leave Sam. Take me, I don't care. Just leave Sam.

"We were just trying to figure out what could work on you Winchesters," Walt said finally. "Shotguns apparently don't work in the long-term. But knives and crowbars sure seem to cause a lot of pain."

"You boys seem to bleed, anyway. You seem to feel pain," Tim added. "Like any beast."

"I suppose that'll have to be enough." Walt sounded strangely wistful.

Tim nodded vaguely. "But we still need answers if we're going to stop whatever the monsters are up to." He leaned over and pulled the tape from Dean's face.

Dean yelped and the sharp sting brought tears to his eyes. "Dammit," he muttered, flexing his jaw. "Watch the face."

"Never give up, do you?"

Dean gave the two hunters his best shit-eating grin but said nothing. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing how shaken Sam's message had left him.

Walt looked over at Roy and Reggie. "Wake 'im up," he said. "Time to get some answers."

"I thought we'd done this already," Dean growled. "I've got nothing to say."

"No, we figured as much," Walt agreed.

"But we wondered if the positions were reversed," Tim said.

"If Sam would be as quiet," Walt finished. "He has a lot of faith in a guy who thinks he's a bloodsucking freak, after all."

"Which, you know, he is," Tim added.

Dean glowered. "Last I heard, you weren't above using that 'freak' to do your dirty work, Tim."

Tim's face sharpened. "My best friend was killed by demons," he hissed. "And it was your precious Sammy's fault. Least he could do was take some go-juice and take care of 'em."

"You are a sick son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Tim," Walt warned before the other hunter could retort.

Tim nodded and visibly collected himself. "Right. Well, let's see if Dean's as good a screamer as his brother. See if we can finally get some answers," he said.

Walt walked over to the weapons cache and grabbed a couple knives. He returned and handed one to Tim, who gripped it appreciatively. Dean swallowed. Not good.

"He awake yet?" Walt called.

Roy shook his head. "Not yet."

Tim shrugged. "Whatever. Let him wake up to his brother's screams." He lifted the knife and Dean tensed.

The barn doors suddenly burst open with a huge gust of wind, scattering hay all over and the pile of weapons clattered in protest. Dean blinked, looking from the blade inches from his face to the empty entrance.

What the?

"What, you having a shindig in my backyard and don't even invite me? I'm insulted, ya idjits."

Bobby strode into the barn, shotgun in one hand knife in the other with Cas close on his heels. They stopped just inside the entrance, eyeing the scene. Bobby finally made eye contact with Dean and simply nodded.

Relief flooded through Dean. Bobby was here. Cas had actually come. They were going to get Sam out of here and looked after.

Walt recovered speech first. "Singer?"

"Who the hell is that?" Tim demanded, gesturing at Cas with his knife.

Dean grinned. "Our guardian angel."

tbc…