A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and followed and favorited! I know the site has been unreliable about notification emails, so anyone who wants to keep up, I plan on updating every Tuesday and Friday. Just in case you don't get the notification!

Now let's see what Dean is up to...

Some of the high from the kills was wearing off by the time Dean finally stumbled back to the Impala. The Mark on his arm was twinging with delight—frankly, way too much delight. If the hunter hadn't been running on the last of his adrenaline, it might have freaked him out a bit more.

"Hey, there's my baby," he muttered as he stopped at the car, turning so he could lean back against her and catch his breath. "We did good today."

Eight vamps in total, which he was pretty sure was a personal best, on his own. Sam was gonna be pissed, but that really wasn't Dean's problem.

Still… The Mark prickled again, then faded into the background as Dean's thoughts turned briefly home. He supposed he should at least let Sam know everything was okay, so the kid would stop his incessant worrying. On the other hand, Dean would probably just get a lecture once Sam realized that what should have taken Dean a couple days at least had been rather recklessly taken care of in less than one.

Jerking open the driver's side door, Dean collapsed into the seat and reached into his jacket in search of a phone. When he clicked it on, though, the screen popped up with a message declaring that he had no service. Dean frowned.

"What?" How was that possible? He'd had service when he'd driven in earlier that day. The hunter glared at the phone, noting the icon saying he'd received a message. Yeah, probably Sam wanting to complain.

But when he opened the message, Dean groaned and leaned his head back against the headrest. His service had been disconnected pending payment. That was just perfect. Now that he thought about it, Dean couldn't remember the last time he had paid, what with Abaddon and Metatron. Months?

And then these last couple of days—or had it been over a week by now?—off on his own, adult things like phone payments had been too far down on his radar. Sam was going to have a field day.

Sam… Dean groaned again. The kid was probably half-frantic by now. Though the mother-hen routine was getting on Dean's last nerve, he did know the importance of having a means of communication.

Leaning over to the glove compartment, Dean grabbed his first back-up phone and powering it on. To his surprise, the thirteen messages he'd been expecting from his brother weren't there. No one had been trying to contact him, apparently.

"Wow," Dean said out loud, eyeing the cell with suspicion, then surprise as it remained obstinately silent. "Alright. Thank you." About damn time Sam eased up a bit. Weird, but good.

Dean's resolve wavered for a moment; he should really make the damn payment, reactive his service, and call his irritating little brother, just to reassure him.

Alternatively, this was probably a sign that he deserved a break from the rest of the world. Maybe instead he should just head back to town and hit up a bar for another relaxing drink.

Tossing the cell phone into the passenger seat, Dean turned the engine over and pulled off down the road.

SPN SPN SPN

Everything was dark when Sam's eyes fluttered open. His first reflexive move was to try to reach for his head, but his hands weren't following directions. It didn't take long for the hunter to realize they'd been pulled behind his back, bound with what seemed to be zip-ties. He was lying down on his side, but a quick sweep of the immediate area with his feet and the low, gentle vibration of a moving vehicle indicated it was the backseat of a car. The blindness was a result of a bag of some sort pulled over his head.

Great, just great. Who the hell was this guy, and how had Sam been so stupid as to let himself be sucker-punched like that?

Wait a second… Cas!

Sam jerked upright, trying to rub the hood off his head so he could see.

"Well, look who's awake," a calm voice spoke from the front. "Good timing, Sammy. We're there."

The car jerked to a stop and Sam froze with dismay; how did this guy know his name? He tensed as the sound of the engine turned off, the driver's door opening. He was in a terrible position to fight, prone in the backseat and unable to see or maneuver, while his captor had the high ground and probably a gun. Sure enough, as soon as the door by his head opened, Sam heard the familiar click of a trigger being cocked.

"Now listen up, Sammy," the stranger said, a gun barrel pressing itself against Sam's head through the hood. "Stay cool and this will all be over soon. You're not the one I'm after, so don't make this harder than it has to be."

Sam didn't reply, knowing that trying to run for it now was likely to fail, and worsen his odds of escaping later. He held still, face stony beneath the bag, as the man grabbed him under the arm and propelled him backwards out of the car. It was an awkward maneuver for Sam to extricate himself from the backseat without his hands, further ensuring that he couldn't put up much of a fight.

"Alright," the stranger said, one hand still on Sam's arm as the gun shifted to the back of the hunter's head. "Straight forward. Watch the rocks, that'd be one doozy of a fall."

"Listen to me," Sam urged, no choice but to walk blindly in the direction he was being pushed. "I don't know what you want-"

"Oh, we'll get to that," the stranger assured him. "Watch your head, low clearance."

Sam ducked, completely disoriented, wishing he knew how far they had driven or how long he'd been out. His heart clenched as he thought again of Cas, sick and alone, not knowing where Sam was. Had the angel heard what was happening? Or had the call been cut off? Sam couldn't remember, and he wasn't sure which would be worse.

The ground under his boots changed from gravel to something smooth and uneven. The man pull Sam's bound wrists back far enough for his arms to loop what seemed to be the narrow back of a chair that he was being urged onto, so that his hands were pulled behind it. Sam's feet were kicked apart, two more zip-ties now added to lash his ankles securely to the chair legs. A third was threaded through the bindings on his wrists to fasten them to one of the rungs of the chair back.

Sam waited, tense with trepidation at not being able to see his attacker or defend himself. His breaths came shallow and rapid in the few seconds of stillness. When the hood was suddenly ripped away, the hunter couldn't help but jump.

"Okay," his captor said, almost cheerful, as Sam blinked against the sudden light. "Home sweet home. Breathe, there you go."

Sam exhaled, shaking his head to flick his hair away from his eyes as he took in the scene. Some old barn, by the looks of things. The man was standing at ease in front of him, a small, knowing smile not quite hiding the threat lurking just below the surface.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded as he tested the bonds around his wrists. There was no give. "Listen to me… my friend is sick. He needs help. I was on my way to him. You have to let me go!"

"The guy on the phone?" the man asked, no trace of concern in his voice or expression. He shrugged. "Shit happens. I'm sure he'll understand. All the more reason for you to sit tight and not make trouble, because as soon as I have what I want, I'll let you go."

"What do you want?" Sam snapped, frustration coloring his tone with urgency. "Who are you?"

For a moment, the man only regarded Sam. Finally, he answered, "You're Sam Winchester. I think we can both agree on that. And your older brother, Dean, well… He and I, we go way back."

So this was about Dean. "You're a hunter?" Sam guessed. He tried again to place the man or remember if Dean had told him any stories about a team-up gone wrong enough to warrant this.

"Sure," the guy replied with a shrug. "Yeah, we can go with that. Hunting your brother counts, right?"

Great, Sam thought in dismay. A civvy. A civvy with a bone to pick, and no idea what he was getting into. Shaking his head, Sam growled, "I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah?"

"Trust me," the hunter snapped. "Look, buddy, I- I don't know who you are, all right? I don't know what you want or what my brother did, but if you got any sense, I suggest you turn tail and run back to that army recruiting ad that spit you out in the first place."

Dean would eat this guy alive, and not only did Sam not want to risk tipping his brother into a Mark-induced craze, Cas didn't have time for this.

The guy seemed unconcerned, offering a light shrug. "Name's Cole," he said, though he didn't volunteer any more details. "Here's the thing, Sammy. I've been looking for your brother for a long time."

"It's Sam," the hunter snarled, jerking against the zip-ties again, only succeeding in making his wrists ache.

"Damndest thing, I never could get a solid lead on him for years," Cole continued. "Then finally, there he goes in that gas station. That guy he killed?" Cole whistled and shook his head. "Looks like Dean hasn't changed much. But see, the trail was already cold by the time I got there. And then who should trot onto the scene but Dean's baby brother?"

There was a wolfish cast to his grin, leaving Sam with a cold prickle on the back of his neck. Whatever this was, Cole seemed to know much more about them than Sam knew about him. He thought back to the scene at the gas station where Dean had ganked that demon, where Sam had gone to cover for him, but he still couldn't place Cole.

"That was days ago," Sam pointed out with a glower. "Why wait?"

Cole chuckled. Sam tensed as his captor walked around behind him, preferring to keep his eyes on the man in case an attack was coming. He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder from behind, Cole leaning over him.

"Hate to admit it, but you managed to shake me. Good thing I got a buddy in the right places… got your license plate on a traffic cam not far out of Lebanon. Been following you since this afternoon. Now," he went on as he circled back around and leaned back against a small table not far from Sam's chair. "I've got a very important job for you."

Sam glared at Cole, not deigning to ask what that job might be. He had a good guess, anyway. Cole held up the hunter's cell phone and turned it on.

"Stay cool," he explained. "I'm gonna have a chat with your brother, and you're gonna let him know you're okay. For now. My beef isn't with you, Sam, so if everyone does what they're supposed to, there's no reason for you to get hurt. Alright?"

Sam's glare intensified. "If my brother finds you," he growled, "he's going to kill you."

Cole eyed Sam for a second, then his lips twitched up into a smile. The gun he'd been holding rose, pointed between Sam's eyes. The hunter gulped but didn't back down.

"You know," Cole replied. "I'm sorta betting he won't."

Sam's cold stare lost none of its iciness in spite of the jolt in his heart as Cole pushed a few buttons on the phone, then held it to his ear with a smile. A few seconds passed, then Cole suddenly frowned and pulled the cell back down again, staring at the screen.

"He'll probably send it right to voicemail," Sam offered with a shrug and a touch of smugness. If Dean could just stay off the grid a little while longer, maybe Sam could escape on his own and there would be no risk of a confrontation between Cole and Dean. "Tell you what. If you let me go, right now before this goes any farther, I'll do you a favor and not tell my brother about any of this. You can still walk away."

The man didn't reply, but hit the redial button, then flipped the phone to speaker and held it up. Sam waited as the phone rang once, expecting it to flick over to Dean's voicemail greeting. Instead, a short tone played, followed by a mechanical voice.

"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or-"

Cole ended the call and stepped towards Sam. The temperature in the barn seemed to drop several degrees as the hunter wiggled in the chair.

"This contact info is no good," Cole said, no longer sounding as casual as he had before. "What's his number?"

"That is his number," Sam snapped. His head spun, heart sinking in a clammy pool of denial. It couldn't be. Why was Dean's cell disconnected? Had… had he finally done it? Had he finally blown town for good, erasing his numbers and his tracks, giving in to the Mark and its corrupting power? Sam swallowed hard, fighting back the heartbreak. If his brother was gone, he might be gone for good.

And with Cas out of commission, there was no one—no one in all the world—who could pull Dean back.

All three of them were well and truly on their own.

There was only a small light in the darkness: at least Cole would never find the older Winchester either. "If he's deactivated his phone, you won't be able to track him through the GPS," Sam said, thrusting his despair back into the depths of his heart. For now, he needed to keep his game face on. "Looks like all this was for nothing."

A moment of silence ticked ominously by. Cole watched Sam, shrewd and cool, before running a hand through his hair in a gesture of reserved agitation.

"Alright," Cole said, standing and turning for a second. His shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath, probably an effort to contain himself. When he turned back around, his expression was smooth and blank again, the hint of a casual smirk playing across his features once more. "That's alright. Plan B, then."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, what's that?"

Holding the phone aloft, Cole said, "I know you boys must have a way of contacting each other. A different number where he can be reached. Rendezvous points. Some way of staying in communication."

Dean's numerous backup phones flashed through Sam's mind, along with the agonizing thought that the hunter had probably dumped all those as well, but he merely pasted on a thoughtful expression and pursed his lips. "Hmm. Nope, not really. Brothers… whatcha gonna do?"

"I need… another number," Cole ground out, advancing another step, looming over Sam. The gun twitched as though to remind the hunter of its presence, as though the threat would make him give his brother up. "How do I find Dean?"

"You don't," Sam shot back, leaning forward as much as his bonds would allow, meeting Cole's glare. "The number I've got there is all there is."

Cole's lips twitched again, his arms switching position; the phone dropped… the gun rose. Cocking the weapon with an audible click, he pointed the pistol first at Sam's forehead, then allowed his aim to sink to various other parts of the hunter's body. His shoulder… his stomach… finally, the gun pushed harshly into the top of Sam's left thigh.

"You sure about that, Sammy?"

Willing himself not to show his fear, reminding himself that he'd had worse than a gunshot before, Sam narrowed his eyes.

"It's Sam," he seethed. "And I'm sure."

Cole smiled. "Suit yourself."

He pulled the trigger.

SPN SPN SPN

Cole didn't particularly savor the sound of Sam Winchester's cries of pain, but he'd offered the man a chance to do this the easy way. Sam had refused. Besides, it wasn't like Cole had never had to get his hands dirty before, for causes much less personal than this. He could respect that Sam wasn't eager to give his brother up, but it would happen eventually.

Cole would see to that.

Blood coated Sam's jeans where he'd been shot, dripped from his nose where Cole had hit him repeatedly in the face, discolored his cheeks as a bruise was already beginning to form beneath his eye.

No reason to get too rough just yet, though. Cole would work his way up to it. Better to start off easy, let the young Winchester realize he meant business. Taking frequent breaks was more likely to convince Sam that Cole was willing to stop once he had what he needed, that Sam had everything to gain by giving in.

Besides, fear of the pain starting again once it had ceased was a powerful motivator. Torture became less effective when it was one, unbroken session with no actual end in sight.

"Now, Sam," Cole said casually, leaning back against the small table again and watching his captive as Sam shuddered with pain. "How do I find Dean? Is there another number I can call him on?"

The Winchester spat a glob of blood onto the floor and glared up at Cole. "No."

"Where is he, Sammy?"

"Screw you."

"Do you even know the guy you're protecting?" Cole asked, keeping his voice conversational though he could already feel the red-hot rage welling up within him as his mind returned to the reason he was here. "June 21, 2003."

"Wasn't there, can't help you," Sam immediately retorted with a defiant lift of his chin.

Cole ignored this. "I was just a kid. Always was a light sleeper. Heard something going on downstairs, so I got up to see what it was. And there… on the floor of our own home…" He shook his head, fist clenching as the soldier fought for control. "There's my dad, throat slit. And your brother, standing over him. That was the night Dean Winchester murdered my father. And that's… that's why he's gonna die."

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured, which meant nothing at all.

"I'm not looking for your sympathy, Sammy," Cole reminded him, straightening up and grabbing the duffel bag he'd stashed there earlier. "I'm looking for your brother. So, why don't you tell me where Dean-o is, and then I'll let you go."

"That's not gonna happen."

Cole wasn't exactly surprised. After all, he'd been taking it easy on the Winchester so far, hoping but not expecting Sam would give in before Cole really had to turn up the heat. But he also hadn't heard much surprise from Sam at the news that his brother had committed cold-blooded murder, which meant he was either complicit with the whole thing, or at the very least he already knew and had done nothing.

Neither of which was doing Sam any favors.

"He's a killer, Sam. Covering for him now won't change anything. I will find him eventually, with or without you. I'd just hate to have to kill you first."

"Look," Sam snapped, sounding a bit more insistent now. "I'm sorry about your dad. Whatever happened… Dean had a reason. I don't know how to tell you this, but there are monsters out there."

Yeah, monsters like Dean Winchester. Cole snorted, demanding, "You think I don't know that? I did two tours in Iraq. Special Ops, Darfur… The Congo."

"Not that kind of monster," the Winchester interrupted. "I mean vampires, alright? Werewolves! Monster… monsters. We hunt them, that's what we do. If Dean killed your dad, it means he was some kind of monster-"

"Boy, you better think real careful before you go spouting off that crazy talk about my dad," Cole snarled, jerking a hammer out of his duffle. He squinted at Sam for a moment, gauging him, before his eyes widened with disbelief. "Wow. You know, I don't know what's worse… the fact that you expected me to buy that, or that you actually seem to."

Cole was starting to feel less conflicted about whatever happened to this lunatic.

Sam's eyes were latched onto the hammer now, a healthy uncertainty in his gaze, but all he said was, "Look, I'm not psycho. And I'm not lying."

"Well, you see," Cole pointed out, raising the hammer and making a show of shifting his grip on it. "That's exactly what a psycho liar would say, so… see my dilemma?"

"Cole… You don't have to do this."

It was true, Cole didn't particularly relish torture the way some guys he'd been stationed with did. He did, however, have a relatively easy time pushing his distaste back far enough to advance on Sam and tap the hammer gently but threateningly against the man's right knee.

"You're right," he agreed as Sam swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. "This doesn't have to happen, Sammy. Tell me how to find Dean. Then we can all walk away from this. Well, that might be harder for you at this point," Cole admitted, nodding to Sam's injured leg. "But I'll call some help for you and everything. You can get back to that sick guy you were talking about, and we'll all move on with our lives."

Cole leaned in closer, his free hand lashing out to grip the bullet wound in Sam's other thigh and squeeze, hard enough that the Winchester threw his head back and released a strangled shout of agony. "Last chance, Sammy. Where… is… Dean?"

"G-go… to… hell."

"Wrong answer, Sammy boy." Leaning back up, Cole shifted his grip on the hammer and swung for the kneecap. Shattered bone and shattered screams rent the air, but the sounds were easy enough to tune out; it would stop when Sam wanted it to.