I just want to say first, thank you all for your generous reviews! I think I might have missed replying to some of you, so if I have, I'll say it here—THANKS AGAIN. Also, sorry this chapter took me a bit longer to get out, my normal summer allergies are kicking my butt this year. Now, on with the show and kicking Sam's butt :p

--

"Go to sleep son,"

Dean blinked, somewhat startled by Bobby's voice. It was 4 am, and after a thorough search of the area Bobby had finally convinced him that they had to go back to the motel, recharge their batteries a bit so to speak.

You'll be no help to your fool brother if you're falling over with exhaustion yourself Bobby had said, and though Dean knew that he was right, the act of closing his eyes, of convincing himself to relax, was damned near impossible. The most he had been able to do was eat one of the greasy cheeseburgers Bobby had gotten for them from the fast food chain and wait on exhaustion to make it impossible for him not to sleep. For Christ's sake, Sammy was out there somewhere, and they didn't have the first clue as to where to begin, and Bobby expected for him to do normal things like eating and sleeping.

There was a soft buzzing sound, and Dean's eyes darted to his phone, expecting to see it vibrating on the countertop with Sam's number displayed in the caller ID. A half dozen silent or laughing calls later and they still didn't even know where to begin, and it was getting on Dean's last nerve. Mercifully, however, the noise was Bobby's phone, and as the older man talked with Ellen (who, judging by Bobby's end of the conversation, had no more information than they did) Dean tried to come up with some sort of game plan.

He might not be one for chick flick moments, but in times like these it was hard not to be sentimental. He had nowhere to begin, no leads, little chance of finding one in the light of day as Bobby kept promising him they would, so instead he remembered. He thought about Sam, the good, the bad, how he could be a pain in the ass one moment and the thing he was most proud of the next. Dean thought about how odd it had felt to realize one day that Sam was taller than he was, how startling it was to be the 'little' brother in one aspect for once until he found his stride and started teasing Sammy for being a giant freak instead of a midget. He thought about how it had felt to have his brother with him in the 

Impala for the first hunt after he went to Stanford but before Jessica died, he thought about how much it had hurt to see his brother drive off to college in that damned rented car, and he tried in vain to remember the last thing he said to Sam. Somehow it as incredibly important right now that he remember, as though they would be the last words he ever got to say to his brother, his epitaph. Likely he had smarted some dumbass thing off about Sam being a nerd who couldn't get laid, or perhaps he had teasingly went on about the twin's assets, whatever he had said it now seemed so inadequate. Dean Winchester wasn't in the habit of doing normal things, wasn't the sort of man who could say 'I love you' or 'I'm proud to call you brother' but now, with Sam gone and with things looking as though they couldn't get much worse, he wished that he was, that he could just tell Sam that he was more than just a brother now, he was a friend, and with the exception of close friends like Bobby and Ellen, the only family he had.

Sam was all he had, and now he was gone.

With that terrifying thought, his phone began to ring. Seeing Sam's number on the caller ID he swore, knowing that it wouldn't be his brother's voice on the other line.

--

"What the fuck do you want?"

The demon chuckled, clearly amused at Dean Winchester's less than pleased tone. His laughter only served to agitate the older brother more, and the demon chuckled louder when several moments of thick, vehement cursing followed.

"Are you finished?"

There was a moment of stunned silence on the line—clearly Dean wasn't expecting Sam's captor to actually converse with him. "Yes." He answered briskly. "Just tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Tell me what you want in exchange for Sam."



The demon laughed harder, opening the metal door to the shed where he had left Sam and turning on the light. While he had been gone the younger Winchester had gotten himself into a bit of trouble, trying so hard to fidget out of his bindings that now he was laying on his side, most of his weight resting on one arm that was bent at a rather uncomfortable angle. Stupid child, had he only sat still—

"I'm not in the mood to make deals," The demon said almost apologetically, "I just thought that you might want to hear something, something that I find very, very amusing."

Unexpectedly he stuck the phone to Sam's ear, allowing the young man to cradle it between his head and shoulder. It took the boy a few moments to realize that by some extreme sort of grace or torture, he was getting to talk to his brother.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" Sam winced at the tone of his brother's voice. He sounded anxious and sad and completely terrified all at once. "Sammy, where are you?"

For once Sam felt a sense of comfort in the name that he so often rebelled against. 'Sammy' might be the name of a chubby twelve year old, but it was also the name of a little brother who knew that his big brother would always take care of him, and he needed that right now more than he knew how to express. "I don't know." He answered miserably. "There's just a shed somewhere and it's cold and pretty dark and—NO!"

He forgot to speak, forgot to breathe, as he noticed the demon coming closer to him with a knife. He cursed himself for what had to be the millionth time for turning the chair he was tied to over, for landing on and breaking his right arm. He was all but helpless now with his legs tied to the chair's legs, he couldn't even kick at the demon as he got closer.

"SAM!" It took Sam a moment to remember that Dean was still on the line, that he was waiting for a response and had been trying to talk to him. "SAMMY?"

"Sorry, Dean, I'm still here, but he's got a knife and AAAARGH!"

The demon drove the knife into Sam's side between two of his ribs, jerking it first to the left and then to the right before he snatched the phone away from the bleeding boy. "Wasn't that fun?" he asked, the sound of laughter still in his voice.

"You son of a bitch…." Just as before, Dean's fury only served to entertain the demon, and he was laughing again heartily. "You fucking son of a bitch, when I get my hands on you…"

"Let's play a game." The demon said merrily. "You'll try to come and find me and I'll try to carve a pretty picture into your brother and we'll see who wins first." Sam moaned, the noise loud enough to carry over the phone, and for a moment Dean was too frightened to speak. That didn't stop the demon from pressing on. "You see, Dean Winchester, just because you send someone back to hell doesn't mean that they will stay, and every action has a consequence."

He smirked, looking down at the bleeding form on the floor. "Fortunately for you, you don't always have to pay for your mistakes, sometimes it's the ones near you who pay for them. Do you remember me? You sent me back to hell with your dear old Dad back when Sammy here was just a clean cut college boy. I asked you not to, and yet you both acted without the least bit of remorse, you got his book like a good little soldier and he let you read the exorcism. Tell me, Dean, if fair's fair, shouldn't I send your brother to hell? An eye for an eye and all of that human nonsense." He paused over Sam's still body, kicking him hard in the stomach. Though he was disappointed that all that the action earned was a low moan, he could tell by the choked sound that Dean made that the kick had hurt the one he had intended for it to hurt all along.

"I'm waiting for you, Dean." Turning off the light again, the demon closed the door to the shed. He didn't care that there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground, or that the metal shed was freezing. He didn't care about the blood Sam Winchester was losing, or about the fact that he had had nothing to eat or drink in far too long.

He didn't even care about the bloody footprints in the snow he was likely leaving behind.

No, all that he cared about was the fact that Dean Winchester was suffering right now more than it should be possible for humans to suffer. Grinning like a fool, he went back into the warmth of the house.

--

The noise the Dean made when he got off the phone was like that of a wounded animal, Bobby thought. One moment he was listening silently to the phone, eyes wide and face white as a sheet, and the next he was making noises that cut Bobby to the core and retching up his dinner into the trashcan.

"What did he say?" The older hunter asked gruffly, not wanting to push things or make this harder on Dean but knowing that they needed to be on the same page here. There was silence for a moment as Dean slowly put the wastebasket down and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The words the boy would say next shocked him.

"It's my fault, Bobby, mine and Dad's. Something we sent to hell while Sam was at college is back again, and it's…it's hurting Sam to hurt me."

How the hell did this damned creature get out of hell to begin with? Bobby wondered, his fists clenching.

"Alright, son, slow it down, let's go over the details." Getting up from his chair, Bobby went to the motel's kitchenette and put on a pot of coffee. Somehow they had to figure out which demon this was, decide where it had taken Sam, and find a way to send it back to hell once and for all. Pouring each of them a generous mug, and adding a liberal amount of whiskey from a flask, Bobby settled down in a chair next to Dean and prepared for the worst.

It was going to be a long night.