Sorry for the lag in updates. I am accustomed to primarily updating on Archive of our Own (under the penname ashitanoyuki) so I tend to forget to post here. If you like, the story is much farther along on that website than it is here.

Sam almost wished for the trite cliché of waking with no memory of what had happened or where one was. His head entire body throbbed with pain; it felt as though sand and gravel was embedded in his back, screaming as his tattered shirt brushed against the irritants. Sam shook his head, and noted the feel of rough cloth against his face; it seemed his captors had seemed fit to hood him, as well as shackling him spread eagle to what felt like some sort of vertical board. "Who's there?" he croaked, his voice cracking as his dry throat scratched and cramped. He wondered how long he had gone without water; unless his keepers had poured water down his throat when he was unconscious, the only thing he had consumed since his capture was Ruby's blood.

"About time you woke up." Sam twisted his head in the direction of Ruby's voice—a futile exercise, the material that scratched against his face reminded him. "I was starting to think I might have gone too far."

"Let me out," Sam demanded, his voice rough and crackling. He needed water; he considered informing Ruby, but pride stopped him. "You might have me all caught up here, but you're not the only person who's got people. They're going to burn you all to the ground when they find you, and trust me, it's going to be a pleasure to watch."

"Hm, empty threats," Ruby replied lightly. "They're not going to get all of us. This is so much bigger than one organization." Soft fingertips ghosted across his neck, and the material of the hood scratched across his face as Ruby freed his mouth. She pressed a dripping wrist—had she cut herself open again?—to Sam's lips. "Drink this before I get you anything else," she ordered, cupping Sam's chin with her other hand.

Sam was tempted to refuse, but the need for water won out. Defiantly, he sank his teeth into Ruby's wrist, and was disappointed when she did not flinch. He sucked, pulling her blood down his throat, half-hoping that he could drain her of blood and leave her dead on the floor—but something strange was going on. Even as he sucked and pulled at her wrist, the flow of blood was slowing, much too quickly for him to have drained her. He gasped, lunging forward at her wrist again, a sharp surge of energy rushing through his body as he desperately swallowed the liquid, lapping at her wrist with his dry, coated tongue as the flow of blood petered out. Were it not for the constant pressure of her other hand on his chin, he would have thought that she had surreptitiously switched wrists; he could not find the wound, even as he licked the remnants of blood from her arm.

"That's probably enough for now," Ruby said, a smug tone lacing her words. Sam spat, a few feeble drops of blood hitting the floor almost directly in front of him. "Water?" she offered, pressing an open bottle to his lips.

Sam was too thirsty to be embarrassed at the idea of being fed from a bottle by an impossible captor. He drank, sucking the bottle dry, cheap plastic crackling in around itself. "Go to hell," he gasped as the water settled uncomfortably in his empty stomach.

"Sounds homey," was Ruby's reply. "Well, Sam, I do hate to inform you of this, but for the time being, we need our own people, not a reluctant newbie recruit. The powers that be have decided to trade you for some of ours, provided our darling police are willing to trade—which they will be. You are much, much higher profile than a few two-bit drug dealers, after all." She patted his cheek mockingly. "But don't worry—death row cases take a long time to go through, and we'll have you back long before they get you to the chair."

"I'll be taking the injection, if it's all the same," Sam spat, refusing to acknowledge the fear that coiled in his gut at her words. True, in his line of work and entertainment, there was always the possibility of arrest and execution, but the idea of going to trial and prison as the result of a hostage trade was much less honorable, and somehow entirely more frightening, than the result of being caught in an honest arrest. He cursed, furious—in his experience, criminals tended to stick together unless crossed first, and here were these people violating the unspoken code and turning him in for their own benefit. Sam twisted, his powerful arms straining at the cuffs that bound him, but it seemed that even the additive in Ruby's blood did not give him enough strength to break chains and steel.

"Ruby." Sam turned his hooded head in the direction of the unfamiliar voice.

"What do you want, Meg?" Ruby snapped, releasing Sam's face.

"Abaddon's ready to make the video." A light pair of booted footsteps crunched as the new figure walked into the room. "Damnit, you fed him blood now, of all times? I don't know if our restraints will hold when he's like this!"

"Hey. Abaddon's orders. I'm making sure that when we come for him again, he's good and willing to come with us." Ruby paused for a moment; Sam wished that he could see what was going on between the two women. "I didn't give him enough to make him a threat, anyways. Just enough to give him that edge."

"Yeah, well, it was still a stupid idea." The newcomer—Meg, Sam guessed—sighed, exasperated. "Whatever. Pack him up and bring him over to the showroom, will you? The sooner we get Jake and Ava back, the sooner we can move this forward."

"Shut your mouth in front of the newbie," Ruby ordered sternly. "He doesn't get to know anything until we get him back."

Sam frowned as he listened to the exchange. Whatever these two women were discussing—or rather, explicitly not discussing—sounded bigger than run-of-the-mill cartel business. Since when were drug cartels so concerned with the freedom of petty drug runners? Unless these Jake and Ava figures were somehow higher-ups, which Sam doubted, he could not understand why this group was going so far out of the way to get them back. Cartels lost members to arrest and police violence all the time, and he had always heard of it being treated as simply another hazard of the trade.

Sam felt the chains around his ankles release, only to be fettered together by a pair of slim, soft hands. He kicked out, connecting with something solid, but was rewarded with only the barest grunt of pain. He fell as the shackles on his wrists were released, falling forward onto his face as his bound feet proved to be unable to catch his weight. One of the women—most likely Ruby, he thought—twisted his arms behind him, shackling them together. "See, he restrains easy enough." Yes, it was Ruby. Sam growled, jerking in her grasp, but her seemingly inhuman hands held him firmly. "Help me carry him? Walking's going to take forever."

Meg let out an exasperated huff. "You could always let his feet go," she suggested, nevertheless seizing his legs, sharp nails digging at the skin beneath Sam's worn jeans.

"I don't feel like tracking him down and putting out an escapee call if he makes a break for it." Ruby's tone was casually flippant as she wrapped an arm around his upper torso, securing her hand between Sam's arm and side. "Didn't you say Abaddon wants him quickly?"

"We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you hadn't given him blood," Meg grumbled as the two women set off. It was awkward, being carried by two people so much smaller than him. Sam thrashed, still unable to comprehend how two tiny women could be so strong—one of them could probably hold their own against both Dean and himself in a physical fight! He slackened after a few minutes of fruitless struggle, resigned to the bumpy, humiliating ride, carried as he was between two women who it seemed had never learned the art of walking at the same pace. Meg halfway marched forward, while Ruby lagged behind, occasionally breaking into a trot to catch up with the other woman before slowing again. It was jerky and uncomfortable, and once again, Sam cursed himself for ending up in this situation.

The chill of air conditioning hit Sam sharply, making him shiver in his captors' hands. Shade may have protected him from the worst of the heat and dryness in the air, but it had not prepared him for the burst of cold that circulated through the new building. Abbadon was clearly high up, he thought wryly, to be able to get such quick results from his underlings, and to have air conditioning in the middle of an illegal camp—and with an organization like this, the camp had to be illegal. Cartels were not known for permanent settlements in the United States, or if they were, Sam had never heard of one.

His captors secured him to a sturdy chair, chaining his feet to the legs and his hands behind him, and then wrapping lengths of chain around his body. Apparently, they had learned better than to use something as flimsy as belts; Sam grudgingly gave them credit for that.

"That took longer than expected," yet another woman said, cruel voice floating out from across the room. "Take the hood off and mask yourselves. Max, get to the camera."

Sam blinked and squinted as blindingly bright light hit his eyes, so long in the dark. Ruby and another woman, who he deduced had to be Meg, positioned themselves behind him, each holding a matching Glock trained to his temple, eyes hardly visible behind dark ski masks. The message was clear; he was their prisoner.

A trim, sinister looking woman walked towards him, her appearance surprisingly casual for a person who he assumed was high up in the organization—either this woman was Abbadon, and was thus far from the thug of a man he had expected, or was someone close to Abbadon, to speak with such authority. Either way, there was little point in speculating. Sam glared up at her, flexing his hands behind his back.

"Nice touch with the blood on his chin," Abaddon said, appraising Sam's appearance, an eyebrow raised as her gaze swept over him. "Especially with no visible wounds. Makes him look even more monstrous than the media already does." She gripped his hair and twisted his head around, looking for wounds and markings. "Good thing you kept him intact. I don't want this one looking like a victim. We need him to look like a merciless killer, or no way the cops will go for the trade." She leaned down, staring into Sam's defiant eyes. "Keep that look, Samuel Winchester. Defiant and unrepentant is exactly what we need from you."

Sam bit back a growl, the urge to spit in the woman's face nearly irresistible. He settled for staring blankly off into space, away from the pale, twitchy boy who scurried into the room with a camera trained on him.

Abaddon nodded at Meg and Ruby, who shifted in unison, likely to look into the camera. Sam carefully avoided following suit. "If any station to whom we send this video does not air the entire thing, we will kill every employee who works there, and who has worked there in the past," Meg said impassively, a rather abrupt beginning to the video to Sam's mind. "You have two particular prisoners in your custody, New Mexico police force. Their names are Ava Wilson and Jake Talley. As you can see, we have a prisoner of our own." Meg nudged Sam's face with the gun, glaring a warning at him. Reluctantly, Sam looked into the camera, face impassive. "The infamous school shooter, Samuel Winchester. I know you people want to get your hands on him."

"We propose a trade," Ruby said calmly, taking over from Meg. "Ava Wilson and Jake Talley for Samuel Winchester. No tricks, no funny business, just a neat, simple exchange of persons. I am sure that you would much rather have a dangerous murderer in your custody than a couple of minor level drug dealers, but that's up to you, now, isn't it?"

"Clear all the charges against Ava Wilson and Jake Talley," Meg said, casually rubbing the barrel of the gun against Sam's temple. "Clear the charges and release them to us. We will give you Sam Winchester. If you do not cooperate, then we will find a use for him much greater than a few petty diners and high schools."

"You have three days from the time this airs to release Ava and Jake with clean records," Ruby said, placing a possessive hand on Sam's shoulder. "We will know if you have released them, so do not bother trying to contact us. If three days pass and they have not been released, Sam Winchester will remain with us, and you will wish you were lucky enough to only have to deal with drug problems in your districts."

The pale camera man fumbled slightly in turning the camera off, breaking out into a light sweat. Meg and Ruby ignored him, turning instead to Abaddon. "Was that acceptable?" Meg asked, peeling her ski mask off and folding her hands politely in front of her.

"Yes, I believe so," Abaddon replied casually, taking the video camera from the camera man with two fingers, nails painted red and sharpened into claws. "Take Mr. Winchester to the restrooms, and then put him back in the chair. I want to keep an eye on him myself, until we get Jake and Ava back."

"I'll take him," Ruby volunteered, pushing her ski mask up slightly without removing it completely. She unchained Sam from the chair, leaving his wrists and feet bound. "He knows better than to fight me, isn't that right?" she added, tilting her head up to give Sam a mocking smile.

Sam glared in reply, mind whirring as he followed Ruby down a hallway, hobbling in the fetters over a filthy throw carpet and scuffed hardwood. Somehow, at least some of the members of the cartel had some sort of superhuman strength. It seemed unlikely that he would be unable to escape from them. The police, though—the police he could handle. This hostage trade might actually be his best chance at escape.

Ruby opened a shabby door and pulled Sam into a small bathroom, surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the building—at least the parts that Sam had seen—but still tinged with rust and mildew. He waited for Ruby to release his cuffs, and was shocked when instead she left him bound and reached around him to unzip his jeans. "Wait—what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, leaping forward, his shin colliding with the toilet, as she slipped her fingers under his waistband and began to tug.

"I might be stronger than you, but I'm still not stupid enough to give you your hands back," she said coolly, tugging his pants down around his ankles. Sam flushed, his face burning; he could feel his penis retreating upwards with the shame at being forced into such a vulnerable position. "You're going to have to sit for this," she added, stepping back slightly. "I'm not aiming your dick for you."

Any need Sam had had to relieve himself seemed unimportant in this situation. "At least leave the room," he said, glaring at his captor with as much dignity as he could muster.

"No dice," Ruby replied, shrugging her slim shoulders. "Eyes on you at all times when you've got the blood in you. Now hurry up, I do have responsibilities other than baby-sitting you."

Crimson, Sam had to struggle to relieve himself under Ruby's painfully watchful gaze. He was surprised at the shame he felt as she tugged his pants back to his waist and fastened them for him, and turned his back to the sink to wash his hands for him. He was going to enjoy taking revenge on this pitiful little cartel, he decided. There was no doubt in his mind that even if the police took the bait and made the trade, he would be back to burn the place to the ground, with everyone involved in his kidnap trapped inside. The idea was the only tolerable part of the situation.

Ruby led him back to the chair and chained him down in the mercifully empty room. Her thin hands worked quickly, securing him fast. She glanced around, and then pulled a small knife out of her pocket. "One more, for luck," she whispered, gashing her wrist and shoving it against Sam's mouth.

Sam knew what was expected of him. He drank, and this time, he could feel the enhanced strength, the power, coiling up through his veins as soon as the blood touched his tongue. It was frustrating; he felt the need to move, to test his power and abilities, but the chains held him tightly even in his heightened state. He was horrified to hear a whine rise to his throat when Ruby pulled away too soon, her skin miraculously healing over the wound. The woman smirked, wiping the blood off of Sam's face with her hand, and licked her fingers clean. "If I don't see you again before you're shipped off, remember me," she murmured, leaning forward and placing a light kiss to Sam's lips. Sam was too surprised to protest, but when she had left the room, he found it hard to take his mind off of the sensation of her blood flowing down his throat, and her soft lips against his skin.

0o0o0o0o0

Dean was sleeping fitfully when Rufus burst into his room with a shout, waking him instantly. "We know where Sam is, and you're not going to like it," he informed Dean, wrenching the sheets off of the bed and exposing Dean's nearly naked body to the cool air. "The six o' clock news had some video sent in. One of my girls knows the place—we took her in when she escaped from the same people who've got Sam."

Dean was awake instantly. He practically leapt out of the bed and stumbled to the door. "Show me. Now."

"Turn on the TV," Rufus said, grimly. "The news isn't shutting up about it, not on any of the channels. There will be something about it, I bet you half my year's profits."

Dean reversed direction and seized the remote control from where he had left it on the floor near the television. When he had turned the TV off, it had been on CNN; he flipped the television back on, and was greeted by the sight of a pretty blonde reporter, a still shot of his brother in chains in the background.

"—Going to treat with criminals and engage in an actual hostage exchange," the woman said, her pretty face far too cheery for the early time, and the situation, Dean thought furiously. "The Taft High School shooter, identified as Samuel Winchester, is to enter police custody as soon as the paperwork releasing the persons requested in the video. Already, there is public controversy in the streets over the Police Chief Burton's decision to engage in negotiations with what some are calling a terrorist group. Cassie, how does it look out there?"

The channel cut to a young woman standing at the edge of a city sidewalk, and Dean turned the television off with a harsh click. "So, he's gotten his dumb ass mixed up in a hostage situation," Dean said slowly, a spike of rage rising in his thoughts. He shook his head—he had promised Rufus that he was a professional, and he had no intention of acting otherwise. He turned to face Rufus, who stood a polite yard away, watching him. "You said one of your people knows where this group is. Have her take me there," he ordered, turning to his duffel bag and digging out a pair of pants.

"I've included you in the recon group," Rufus answered, and Dean felt a rush of gratitude towards the man. "Girl who knows where to find him is named Lily. I've got you in her van, and we're leaving in an hour. Don't worry about guns—I've got plenty on hand, so save your ammo."

"Thanks," Dean said, dressing in a hurry and half racing into the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. He dashed out into the hall and down the stairs of the safe house, grabbing a piece of leftover pizza and a coke from the refrigerator—he could have a drink once Sam was back in his custody and properly dealt with. He forced himself to eat slowly—getting sick would be a hindrance, and wolfing down his food would not make the hour pass any quicker.

Lily turned out to be a quiet, hard-faced young woman about Sam's age. "He's your brother?" she asked Dean without preamble. "He ever mention anything strange going on with him? I don't mean his hack and slash tendencies—we all got those. I mean really weird. Make movies about it and call it fiction sort of weird."

"No?" Dean answered, perplexed, as he followed the woman out to one of Rufus's many armored vans.

"Then he's either keeping shit from you, or this group made a mistake," was Lily's casual answer. "They don't take anyone prisoner, even if they're just trading them. They don't let you go when they get you either. They're still after me, and I'll bet they're going to get Sam back if the cops take him. He's safer off with us, at least." She hopped in the driver's seat of the van, alarmingly small in contrast to the enormous seats and extensive, open back. "We don't have all day. Get in," she ordered, glaring at Dean.

Dean shrugged and climbed into the passenger's seat. "Got another three to sit in the back. They should be here—oh, I guess now," Lily said, as the doors at the back of the van slid open, and two men and a woman clambered in.

"You good to go, Lils?" one of the men shouted, twisting at a hearing aid in his left ear.

Lily grunted, starting the van and pulling carefully out of the driveway. Dean settled back, staring aimlessly out the window. It would be a long ride, but he could occupy himself for hours, planning what he would do to Sam when they found him.

It was dark when Lily stopped the car; apart from a break for gas and to use the bathroom, they had driven straight from the safe house to this unassuming little cluster of badly built houses and shacks. If Dean had been asked, he might have said that it was just low income housing, existing on the outskirts of a town as it did. It hardly seemed like a place to keep prisoners. "He'll be guarded," Lily said, hopping out of the car and sliding around back. "Here. Shoot first and ask questions later. If you shoot someone with a normal gun and they don't drop, use these," she added, gesturing to a rack of guns that lined the side of the van.

What's the difference?" Dean asked, taking two of the "special" guns and a type of automatic that he was particularly fond of.

Lily grinned. "Salt bullets," she said, holstering two of her own. "You don't want to ask. Wouldn't believe me if I told you anyways."

Dean shrugged; Rufus picked up weird ones like anyone else, he supposed. "What's the plan?" he asked, glancing at Lily for direction.

The woman sighed. "Get in as quietly as we can, get him out as quietly as we can, shoot any of the bastards that see us," she answered. "And don't lick your hands if you get blood on them!" she added, glaring sharply at the group.

Dean shook his head at her vehemence, and tapped his foot, waiting for the rest of the group to choose their weapons. He sighed in relief when Lily gave the signal to proceed, following quietly behind the blonde woman as they crept through the complex.

Lily took them around first to the shacks, glancing in each of them, shaking her head each time. Curious, Dean looked in a few himself. They were primarily empty, except for one, where a young man about Sam's age who could use a shave and a haircut looked up at him. "Let me out, man," he whispered, meeting Dean's eyes.

One of the men grabbed Dean's arm as he made for the prisoner. "Not Sam, not our problem," he hissed, pulling Dean along.

Dean blinked a few times; he knew that. Somehow, though, it was as if he had to fulfill the young man's request; it had not been a desire to help him so much as a physical need to obey him. Out of his line of sight, however, Dean could not understand why he had felt so compelled to free the other prisoner. "Right. Sorry, man," he muttered, falling back in line behind Lily.

Lily threw out an arm, halting the group at the largest of the houses, situated in the center of the shabby complex. "There's probably going to be guards. Be quiet about this, and don't fucking split up," she ordered, pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of her many pockets. Dean made a mental note to invest in a pair of cargo pants.

Quietly, Lily moved around to the side of the house, peering in windows until she found an empty room. Dean watched as she layered the window in tape and smashed it with the butt of her gun, pulling the shards aside to unlock and open the window. "Everyone in. Do not leave the room until we're all there, even if you hear Sam screaming like he's being murdered," she commanded.

"You sure he's here?" the other woman in the group asked, hoisting herself over the window ledge and into the room.

"Doubt he'd be anywhere else," was Lily's reply. Dean nodded; he would have to trust Lily's knowledge of the complex here. He placed his hands on the windowsill and leapt, pulling his body around and lowering himself as quietly as he could into the room. The two men followed, and Lily brought up the rear, before treading softly to the door and easing it open.

The hallway was shabby and smelled of blood. Dean wrinkled his nose as he walked almost directly behind Lily, keeping to the stained, old carpets as much as possible—his boots were loud on hardwood. Lily glanced around when they reached the end of the hall, and, confirming that the entire group was ready, stepped around the corner and out into the open room.

Sam sat in the center of the room, asleep, chained to a chair, an olive skinned woman with dark hair only a few feet behind him. She seemed unconcerned, glancing at the group; then her eyes landed on Lily. "Well, well, well. Look who returned," she purred, rising from her chair and walking around Sam to better look at the group. "Little Lily, come back where she belongs."

"Casey," Lily growled, her hand straying to one of the special guns. Dean frowned; Lily had said to use those only if regular bullets did not take down their intended target, but Lily was going straight for the salt gun instead? It did not make sense to him. "Why don't you keep quiet and let us through?"

Casey tutted, shaking her head. "And here I thought you might be back to join us. You know we'll take you back without question. You even brought playthings!" she cried, gesturing to the rest of the group.

"Not in the mood!" Lily shouted. There was a bang, and Casey screamed, stumbling backwards and clutching at her shoulder. Dean took the opening to rush over to Sam, a lock pick in his teeth.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, awake—the gunshot probably woke half the complex, Dean thought bitterly.

"Save it," Dean muttered, picking Sam's bonds as quickly as he could. "I will deal with you when we're safely out of here."

"You bitch!" Casey screamed, launching herself at Lily only to be met with another gunshot to the face. "You dare use the secrets we taught you against us?"

"Pick Sam up and take him out, now," Lily ordered, face grim and determined, refusing to answer the woman in front of her. "I'm a pretty good distraction, in this instance. Don't hear from me in an hour, leave me. They're not getting me alive anyways."

Dean did not question her. He dragged Sam to his feet and pulled, sprinting out of the house with the rest of the group behind him. He was acutely aware of other people in the complex peering out of their doors; a few started to run after them. Dean grasped his automatic tightly, ready to take down anyone who thought they could stop him.

"In the back!" Dean shouted, shoving Sam forward as soon as the van came into view. He turned, aiming his automatic at the people behind him, and opened fire as soon as the rest of the recon group had gotten past him. Several of the people from the complex fell; others, despite the rain of bullets that Dean had unleashed, seemed unaffected. "What the hell?" Dean whispered disbelievingly, reaching for one of Lily's special guns. He shot, and the person he had aimed at screamed, stumbling backwards. "Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, taking aim at another and backing away quickly. Grateful that Lily had entrusted the spare keys to one of the other members of the group, he leapt into the back of the van with Sam. "Get us out of here!" he shouted up to the driver. "We'll come back as soon as Lily contacts us!"

The driver did not hesitate; before Dean had even fully closed the door, he was peeling away, speeding down the road and out of sight of the complex. Dean sighed, relieved, and allowed himself a moment of weakness; he pulled Sam close to him and gripped him tightly. "You are in so much fucking trouble, everything else I've ever done is gonna look like a cakewalk when I'm through with you," he whispered, but he could not force any venom behind his words. He swallowed hard; he was being weak, and he had to mask it before Sam caught on.

Sam allowed Dean to hold him, gripping the sides of Dean's jacket. "I know," he whispered, and in that moment he looked small, and Dean was strongly reminded of his status as the older brother. "I know. I fucked up. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"You will be," Dean whispered, burying his head in Sam's hair. Perhaps it was weak; he would still have to punish Sam severely and remind him of his place, and of the importance of being careful. For the moment, however, Dean wanted nothing more than to simply hold his brother and cherish the knowledge that he was back, he was safe, and everything was going to be all right.