SNSNSNSNSNSN

Now had my very own Sam and Dean, I'd find every excuse to … work from home!!

I am astounded by all the reviews I am getting on this story. Thanks to all who took the time to review, it means much! A special thanks to all of you who have stuck with me from my last story to this one! It means the world!

Thanks again to my friend Charlene for all the encouragement! You all can hate her though, cause she gets a sneak peek!!!!

Rated T for foul language and torture. Of course, there is Hurt, Limp, and Abused!Sam, Over Protective (with a bit of hurt!) and Fired up Pissed!Dean, and lots of angst in this story.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Drip

The first sign of consciousness was a twitch of his finger. Just a small one, but it was enough for Sam to actually feel pain.

Drip

Groaning, he tried desperately to fall back into that black void of oblivion where the pain didn't exist.

Drip Drip

His hand moved to his face, and instantly he regretted the action. His throbbing head pounded all the more for touching his bruised jaw.

Drip

His first conscious thought was how dry his throat was. Licking his lips to try and moisten them, he opened his mouth to speak, but what came out was a far cry from his usual voice.

"De………….."

Drip Drip Drip

He blinked and jerked his head despite the war waging within his brain. The chuckle he heard nearly stilled his heart and made his blood run cold. The dripping he'd felt earlier turned into a splash of moisture on his face.

"Oh Dean's not here, Sam. I'm afraid all you have is me."

Sam jerked up far too fast for his throbbing head to agree with. The world swayed and swam long before he even made it into a sitting position, his ribs screamed in protest to the movement, and his stomach clenched and recoiled, the bile there threatening to make an appearance.

"Oh God…"

He flopped back down, though managed to roll onto his back. Not that it made any difference; every part of him ached from his head down to his feet. He could feel every muscle demanding attention, begging for a reprieve. And all that screaming only made his head scream its own demands for silence.

In the end, Sam rolled to his side and threw up.

"No Sam, not God, though close!"

Blood was caked to his face, starting under his nose and trailing down to his lips, his chin, and finally flaking off in spots on his throat and collar. A deep bruise marred his left cheek, and a gash to his right temple caught brown strands in the dried crimson against his flesh. But, overall, his face didn't look so bad … all things considered.

His body, however, was another matter entirely. His back, sides, and stomach were littered in bruises that had bruises themselves. And every movement caused a new sensation in pain to race up Sam Winchester's spine, causing a domino effect as each offence, each bruise made itself known in succession.

"Now that is truly disgusting."

The man Sam recognized as the man from (how long ago was it anyway?) before spoke, and Sam lifted his head to glare at him. The hate in the youngest Winchester's eyes spoke more than anything he might have said in that moment. And the man sitting on a chair staring at him tsk'd and tossed the washcloth he was holding at him. It certainly explained the water dripping.

"Here, clean yourself up; you look like you lost ten rounds with a pissed off Poltergeist."

Sam blinked and stared, his fingers toying with the wet cloth, though he made no move to use it. The man was a hunter? Is that what this was about? But, the other man shook his head and chuckled.

"I know what you're thinking, I'm not a hunter. My name is Daniel Murdoch. Doctor Daniel Murdoch."

"You're … a doctor?"

Daniel nodded and Sam smirked and mumbled.

"Talk about taking the Hippocratic Oath seriously…"

Laughter rang out from the doctor that Sam was beginning to believe was insane.

"Oh dear boy, you have no idea!"

Steeling himself, Sam pressed his hands against the floor and pushed, the cry that came from him was immediate. Daniel smiled, his head canting to the side as he watched the young Winchester's resolve.

Waiting until the world quit spinning; Sam gritted his teeth and rose up to his knees. The action caused the entire room to shift, at least in Sam's perspective, and he had to close his eyes to stave off two things … throwing up again … and falling in his own vomit.

"You see Allen; I told you they were all stubborn bastards. It's just a shame that John didn't live long enough to see this."

That caused Sam to jerk his head, which caused a chain reaction. White spots danced before his eyes, making him close them to try and stop what was about to happen. It wasn't fast enough and Sam fell forward, only stopping the blow to his face with a quick reaction of his hands.

Groaning, he swallowed down the nasty taste that was again threatening, and looked up. It was the first time he noticed the other man … the one who had stopped his escape from the room.

"What … does my dad have to do with this?"

Sam felt sick, and it wasn't from the beating he had taken. Something was causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up more than any ghost or supernatural creature had ever done.

"Nothing … now. You see John Winchester went and died on me before my plan came into light. Now Dean on the other hand … "

Dan Murdoch actually grinned as Sam struggled unsteadily to his feet, the sway back and forth making him wonder just how he was able to keep himself vertical.

"You stay away from Dean! If you come near him, I swear to God, I'll kill you!!"

"Oh Sam, you shouldn't worry so much!"

With a twisted grin, Dr. Murdoch rose from his seat, Allen never straying far from his side as he stepped to Sam and patted his cheek.

"You see, there is something far worse for Dean Winchester than his own death…."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Damn it Sam, what in the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I was going to get us some money!"

Dean snorted as he pressed the washcloth a little too hard against the gash on his brother's head, causing a wince from Sam.

"Oh sure Sam, like going into a Hell's Angels Bar was the smartest thing you've ever done!"

Sam tried pulling back, his anger flaring at Dean's lack of confidence in him, though, truth be told, it hadn't exactly been smart, but he'd been desperate at the time.

"It would have worked Dean!"

"Yeah, if you'd quit three games before you did!"

"They …"

"They what?"

"They wouldn't let me!!"

Dean ground his teeth together to keep from saying anything, and began to slowly count backward from ten.

He jerked at Sam's shirt, tugging it up to see what damage had been done to his brother's ribs, and all but growled at the purple and black bruises forming.

"God you idiot!"

It was said louder than he'd first intended, but Sam definitely heard it. He jerked back and stared up at Dean, anger radiating from him, though it was matched by Dean's anger … tenfold.

"Oh like you never go in and hustle a game!"

"Not against ten bikers … without backup! It's a good thing I came along Sam, or else you wouldn't be here right now!"

"I was doing just fine, Dean!"

"Yeah, well, maybe next time I won't be there to save your ass!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That maybe I'm tired of it Sam! That maybe I'm tired of always having to come in and save you!"

The words were out of his mouth before he had time to stop them. And once they were out, he held strong to them like the stubborn bastard he was. The effect was instantaneous … Sam looked at him a moment, his anger dissipating to hurt. Raw hurt. Rising from the bed without a word, his brother moved to the bathroom, mumbling something about a shower before shutting and locking the door. Dean stood there, staring, knowing damn well he didn't mean it … but what he didn't know was how to fix it.

Dean startled as his cell rang, pulling him from a memory that he wished he had forgotten. Glancing at the caller ID, Dean felt relief wash over him, not the kind that he would have felt on finding his brother, but the kind in knowing that he wasn't in this alone.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Joshua, what'd you find out?"

Dean, being desperate, had gone to Bobby, who had pulled together the close-knit conglomery of hunters that had been John Winchester's friends.

"No, nothing. Just the tracks leading away and the one tire track."

Joshua had been a damn good friend to the Winchesters, and was one of the best trackers Dean had ever heard of. He was more thankful than he could ever express that both Bobby and Joshua were dropping everything to help him find Sam.

"Yeah. No, I already called Missouri hoping her whole psychic thing could locate Sam."

Dean let out a breath and actually laughed, though the sound was bitter and hoarse. He was at his rope's end, the frayed pieces were beginning to slip from his hand, and eventually all that would be left would be some wild free fall away from his brother.

"Yeah, ok, I'll see you soon."

"Oh, and Joshua … ? Thanks."

Before the older hunter could answer, Dean hung up the phone and went back to the map. There was a red mark where they had killed the Sasquach, and then a trail in the same color that led back to the road. And while Dean was looking for his brother in the vicinity, for his gut told him that Sam was still here, even if his heart was screaming at him to do more.

As the phone rang again, he snatched it up on pure reflex, his gaze looking at the caller ID and in that instant, his heart stopped.

"Sam?"

There was a crackle on the line, but it sounded made … as if it weren't a bad connection, but something on the other end making noise.

"Sammy? Where are you?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"

The voice was cold … and something about it niggled at the back of Dean's brain. Later he might dwell on it, but for now, he felt all the blood drain from his face at the very idea that he was talking to whatever sick bastard had his brother.

"I swear to God, if you so much as harm one hair on his head…"

"It's a little too late for that Dean Winchester."

SNSNSNSNSNSN