The three men appeared suddenly in the unlit church. Dean stepped forward, a determined expression etched across his face. He pulled out his gun and started walking ahead wordlessly.

"This is the room where I found Sam," Dean finally announced. He pushed open the doors with a frown set. Light streamed in to reveal a large room with odd symbols painted on all the walls and disturbing things seen in every witch's home. What drew their attention though was the large blood stain on the ground in the middle of the room. The dried blood had seen no attempt to be cleaned.

Sam froze. Suddenly, he remembered it all. Coming her with his older brother, finding her, getting taken. Her voice filled his head as the scene of his torture came rushing back to him.

"Well, what do we have here?" she had said mockingly. "If it isn't little Sammy Winchester. Oh, I have so much planned for you." She had pulled out a knife, commenting, "I usually wouldn't use these human weapons, but for you, I'll make an exception."

He was vaguely aware of his body hitting the floor, of Dean calling to him. He couldn't move. Perhaps it was fear that paralyzed him, or maybe the memory.

Wrong and wrong. "Nice little trick, right? One less hunter to take care of," the witch's voice came from the back of the room as she stepped forward. "Comes with the curse."

"You mother—" Dean said, trying to get to her angrily. He was cut off, as he always was before he finished that one insult, by Castiel, who simply stepped forward.

"Take off the curse," his deep voice commanded.

The witch laughed. "Or what? You'll kill me? Not much use to you dead, am I?"

"We'll make you," Bobby's accented voice told her before the owner knocked her out with a hard blow to her head with the back of his gun. "Come on, help me tie her up," he said to the men. "Where's Sam?"

"On the floor," the youngest's voice came from below all of them. Sam stood, slightly unbalanced by the lack of an arm on one side. "So what now?"

Water spilled from the tilted cup onto the witch, making her splutter and gasp into consciousness.

"Morning, sunshine," her captor's gruff voice drawled. "Figured we could make you a deal."

"Oh, and what would that be?" she asked.

"You take that curse off my brother," another voice stated angrily.

"And?" she pushed. A one sided deal wasn't a deal at all.

"And we make your death quick."

"And if I don't?"

"You'll beg for death until you do."

She looked at Dean, a cheeky expression on her face. "I have a deal for you. Your brother for my life." With that, she smirked.

Sam's eyes widened. He pressed his hand to his chest as he fell to his knees.

"Pity if he were to stop breathing," she cooed.

"You bitch!" Dean yelled, lunging for her. Cas and Bobby restrained him, both holding one of his arms.

"So how about it? You don't touch a pretty blonde hair on my head and your precious Sammy gets away unscathed. Well," she cut off, looking at him, "nothing new."

"Fine," Dean growled. Sam gasped, his breath labored. He rose to his feet once again, still breathing heavily. He cocked his head angrily.

"There. Now are any of you going to untie me?" she asked.

Dean walked to the chair, undoing the rope. She stood up, shaking her blonde hair down.

"Thanks, boys. It was fun."