A/N: Dean has been knocked unconscious. Now things are going to get hairy.

Bought And Sold (Chapter 15: We Gotta Get Out Of This Place) by frostygossamer

When Dean eventually came to, at first all he was aware of was the ache in his chin and the loud rush of blood in his ears. Gradually he realized he was laying on the floor and the noise was actually coming from outside the room. He opened his eyes and sat up, looking around. He was in the garret, a place used for punishment whenever the guys broke Plucky's rules or dared to get sassy. He was familiar with that attic. He had spent a lot of time in there after Meg first brought him to the manhouse.

Still rubbing his jaw as he stood up, Dean tried the door ineffectively. He knew fine well that there was only one way out of the garret, and that was locked and double-barred as usual. He put his face to the grill in the door and hollered.

"Hey! Wanna let me outta here? You want me to apologize you gotta bring me to the missus, right?"

There was no reply. He guessed maybe the mister had forgotten about him for now, what with the protest and all.

The only daylight illuminating the attic room came from a small window set high in the wall. Dean dragged a wooden storage box over to the wall, and climbed up on it so he could see outside. Craning his head at an awkward angle, he could barely see the edge of the crowd down in the alley that were making that godawful din. After a moment he spotted Sam apparently chatting to a good looking dark-skinned woman, beside the TV truck he had noticed earlier.

"Sam," he groused to himself. "Thought I told you to get your butt out of town. Baby, you're gonna get your sweet ass nailed."

Then he smelled it. Smoke. Glancing toward the doorway, Dean could see the first faint curling fumes drifting in under the door. He jumped down from the box and peeked out the grill.

"Hey!" he shouted.

He could see that the hall beyond was already foggy. The dry reek caught in his throat and he started to cough hoarsely.

"Hey, yo-yos!" he shouted even louder. "I'm locked in here and the freakin' house is on fire!"

His yelling was useless. No one was there. He went back to the skylight and tried calling again.

"Sam! I'm up here! Sam!" but neither Sam nor anyone else could hear him above the hubbub in the street.

He was trapped. He was going to burn to death or die of smoke inhalation and no one would save him. No one even knew he was up there, no one he could trust to tell anyone. He climbed off of the wooden box and sat down on it, dejected. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he felt his amulet slide out of his shirt and hang down. He grabbed it and smiled to himself.

"Well, Sammy," he said to it. "Guess this is the end for me. Only pray you're gonna be safe."

~o~

By the time the fire truck arrived, the blaze was well under way. Smoke and flames were billowing out of every window on every floor of the sub-fire-code building. Firewomen bravely ran into the roaring blaze and succeeded in rescuing most of the prostituted guys. Jay was found crawling on the floor with a wet washcloth over his face. Vic managed to climb out his window with help from the fire crew.

Neither Missus Pennywhistle nor any of her criminal accessories were found in the building, all having long ago safely made their escape. All the paperwork and files in her office had been reduced to nothing but ashes.

Sam ran frantically from one group of working-boys to another, searching for Dean.

"Did you see him? See Smith anyplace?" he demanded. "Did he get out? Is he safe? Where is he? Oh Jeez."

The last time he had been seen was by Jay and Vic when he was punched out and manhandled from Vic's room. No one had seen Dean outside the house. No one could remember rescuing anyone fitting his description.

"Oh God no!" Sam gasped, as realization hit him. "He's still trapped in the freakin' building!"

He grabbed a scarf from someone and, wrapping it around his nose and mouth, recklessly tried to run inside the house to search for Dean himself. He fought his way to the room he had visited Dean in. He found a firewoman with an axe had already broken in the door. And Dean wasn't in there. Where was he?

Sam all but collapsed in the doorway but he was quickly grabbed by a couple burly women fire-fighters. He got dragged protesting back outside, where he stood choking on the sidewalk.

"You don't wanna be in there, hun," one of them scolded him, in a firm but gentle voice. "The place's fulla toxic smoke. You wouldn't've gotten farther than a couple more feet without breathing apparatus."

Sam could only stand outside and sob. After everything, after being separated from his brother and then finding him again all these years later, was it going to end this way? He stepped back a few feet so he could properly see the full building, and studied each and every window for any sign of life.

"DEAN!" he shouted hopelessly. There was no response.

He couldn't help but think Dean must be dead already. And in the heat of the inferno, there would be nothing left of him but ash indistinguishable from the dirt. Sam's downcast gaze settled on the ash-strewn walkway he was standing on.

His brother was gone.

~o~

Dean sat slumped on his wooden storage box in the attic. He could hardly find any air to breathe, even up there in the garret, and flames were licking around the door. He had accepted that he couldn't be saved and was reconciled to his fate. Then a familiar sound roused him from his stupor. His name.

Someone was calling his name, his REAL name. Sam's cry came drifting up to him from below. Dean couldn't guess how his brother had found out the truth, but it pleased him that the secret was out and the deception was over. He only wished he could have spoken with Sam to explain why he had deceived him, beg Sam to forgive him for being such a wuss.

He was suddenly seized by an overwhelming need to see his beloved brother one last time. He climbed up on the box one final time with some difficulty and peered out the tiny window. His sight was clouded by tears caused by the smoke, so he could barely make out the distant figure of Sam.

Dean smiled to himself, touching the amulet his little brother Sammy had given him so long ago. He remembered how he had meant to give it back to Sam the moment they met again, back when he had believed he was going home. Now he was going home to be with his dad for good.

He pulled the cord off over his head and hefted the little brass token in his hand. Maybe he could leave it for Sam after all. He shoved open the tiny, inadequate skylight and stuck his hand through it, letting the amulet drop to the earth.

Then, overcome by fumes, he passed out in a heap on the garret floor.

~o~

Something hit the ground at Sam's feet with a small "clunk". Squatting down, he picked up the tiny item that had dropped on the dirt from somewhere high above. It was a small yellow-metal token on a length of black cord.

Sam knew it at once. It was an amulet, THE amulet. The gift he himself had given his brother the day he left home. The token his brother had sworn to always keep. Dean's amulet. The one thing Dean knew only his brother would realize came from him.

If it was from Dean then Dean knew. He knew who Sam was. But why had he said nothing?

Sam's eyes traced a straight line directly up the building. He tried desperately to make out where the small object could have fallen from. Then he spotted a glimmer of sunlight right at the top of the building. A small pane of glass? An attic window maybe?

"There!" he yelped, grabbing a passing firewoman by the shoulders and shaking her urgently. "Up there. At the very top. There's someone alive up there. ALIVE!"

Even though none of the fire crew could actually see any sign of life, they acted on Sam's 'sighting'. They mobilized the turntable, raising a long telescopic ladder up the outside of the building to the level of the garret. A large firewoman scaled up, stove in the skylight with her fire axe and disappeared inside.

Sam watched enthralled until she reemerged with an inert body draped over her shoulder and carefully descended. Was it Dean? Was he alive? Or had he succumbed to the infernal heat and toxic smoke filling the building?

Sam could only hold his breath and wait.

He rushed to where an ambulance had parked up to tend to the evacuees. But before he could get near enough to see what was going on with the guy they had placed in the back of the vehicle, he was grabbed by strong hands and held back.

"Let the EMTs do their job, Sam," a gruff voice told him. "They got their hands full."

Sam took a shaky breath. Of course. That was right. Dean, or whoever that turned out to be, was in safe hands now. Sam should butt out of it and give them space to work on him. It wouldn't help anyone if he got in the way.

However much Sam longed to take Dean and hold him and tell him how much he loved him, it could wait.

~o~

Sam avoided the eye of TV correspondent Cassie, who was now moving amongst the survivors trying to make a 'piece' out of their stories and recording sound bites from the remaining protesters. He sensed that few of the now ex-hookers would be very keen to speak on TV about their former 'professional' activities, as yet. Although Sam expected there could be one or two kiss-and-tell stories in the press over the coming weeks.

Leaving the chaotic alley behind for a few minutes, Sam found a small sandwich shop around the corner, where he borrowed a phone for a quick call. He needed to hear Bobby's voice.

The gruff man-matron picked up the call on the first ring.

"Bobby," Sam began, his voice heavy with despondence and exhaustion.

"Son," Bobby responded. "How are things your end? Any news about Dean?"

Sam sighed deeply. "Bobby, I've just come from there. The assholes started a goddamn fire. The place is a burned-out shell. I don't know... They found someone. I reckon it's Dean... but I don't know if he's alive or..."

If Sam hadn't been so bone-tired he would have burst out weeping right there, but as it was he just felt used up and wrung out. Bobby absorbed the not so good news without catching a breath.

"B-but you haven't seen- You don't KNOW that he's gone. Do you, son?" asked Bobby hopefully.

"No," agreed Sam. "I'm gonna go back and talk to the EMTs. I wanted to tell you..."

"OK, Sam," Bobby said. "I understand. Go see what the score is and if... You know... You get back to me right away. Meanwhile I'll be organizing someplace safe for you. Preferably BOTH of you."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam told him. "I owe you," and he put down the phone.

He ordered a coffee and a pastrami sandwich to go. He took a bite of the sandwich but he could barely swallow, so he wrapped it up and put it in the pocket of his backpack.

Then he jogged back to the alley to find out if he still had a brother.

TBC

A/N: Good place to stop for now. Last chapter following soon.