More whumptober! This is a variation on the scene in 12x2

7. Kidnapped

Sam shivered uncontrollably even though he tried to hide it. Even though he was no longer tied to the chair, it wasn't like he could move. Not with a bullet hole in his leg and his other foot burned to a crisp. Not to mention the rest of his body, covered in cuts and burns and contusions. He didn't want Toni Bevel to come back. He didn't want her messing with his head again, but he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to take much more of the physical torture either. His body was already going into shock and he was sure that too much more of the same treatment would probably kill him.

Not that he cared.

Dean was dead. He hadn't been able to save his brother. After everything he had gone through to save him from the Mark, Dean had still had to sacrifice himself to stop the Darkness. And Cas…Cas would try to come for him, Sam was sure of it. But this place had to be warded against everything. And Sam was afraid that if Cas did get in they would only kill him, or, worse, use him to get Sam to talk, and he would rather die than see his friend tortured. It would be easier this way. Just dying. He didn't want to see anyone else die in front of him.

Dean.

One tear slid from Sam's eye and ran down his blood encrusted cheek. He couldn't believe he had lost him again. But maybe now it wouldn't be too long before he saw him.

That at least was a comfort to Sam.

XXX

Dean drove the Impala possibly faster than he ever had. Mom was in the passenger seat, and Cas was waiting at the property. They would get Sam back. There was no other option. No one kidnapped his little brother and lived to tell about it.

He pulled up behind Cas' truck as they stopped on the side of the road, the angel watching him with relief in his eyes.

Dean got out of the car, and went to the trunk to pull out his weapons.

"You figure out where the warding is?" Dean asked Cas.

The angel nodded.

"Good." Dean closed the trunk and handed his mom some weapons. "I'll break it. We're all going in. No prisoners."

"I wasn't planning on it," Cas said darkly as he and Mom followed Dean toward the house.

Dean's little brother was in there, and there would be hell to pay if they hurt him.

XXX

Sam heard the footsteps above and cringed, curling himself tighter into a ball in the corner he had inserted himself in. He just wanted this to be over. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.

He thought he heard gun-shots above, but maybe he was still hallucinating. He just really hoped it wasn't a rescue attempt gone wrong.

The door to the basement opened and footsteps, several pairs, cautiously made their way down. He didn't say anything, didn't even look, because he couldn't stand the thought of who might be there and whether they had another blowtorch.

"Sammy?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. Dean? No, it was impossible, unless…

He was already dead.

But he still hurt. A lot. He'd died a lot of times and he never remembered it hurting after the fact, not like this.

"Dean, here." That sounded like Cas. Footsteps hurried in his direction and he instinctively shrank back, a whimper escaping his throat.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "Sammy!"

Hands were on him then and he flinched, until he felt the familiar worry as the palms searched him, fingers gently probing and slipping under the tears in his clothes to check his wounds. This was all so familiar, Sam allowed himself to relax for a long second. If he was dead, this was okay.

"Sammy, come on, open your eyes," Dean coaxed and hands sandwiched Sam's face between them, lifting his head off the floor. Sam still didn't open his eyes. He didn't want this dream to go away.

"Sammy, it's me. It's really me," Dean pleaded. "Look at me, man."

Sam finally peeled his eyes open, and blinked. Dean was hovering over him, a worried expression on his face. Cas was right behind him, leaning in. Both of them had bruises and blood on their faces, and they were solid and real and Sam couldn't believe it.

"Dean?" he whispered.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, little brother. It's me."

"You're dead," Sam said, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Dean shook his head. "No. I'm not. I'll tell you what happened later but we need to get you out of here."

Sam still couldn't believe it, though. He reached out and grabbed at Dean's shirt, pressing his fingers against his brother's chest. There was a heartbeat there, strong and thrumming. He gripped the collar of his brother's shirt and pulled it down to check his anti-possession tattoo, but it was still there, unscathed. Dean huffed but smiled, grabbing Sam's searching hand and holding it firmly in his. "This is real, Sam. I'm alive."

"Dean," was all Sam could say and his brother was suddenly pulling him into a sitting position. Sam collapsed against his chest as Dean held him tightly. Sam pressed his face against Dean's neck, breathing in his familiar scent. Alive. He was shuddering, and soundless sobs were escaping. Dean held him through it and made no move to let go any time soon.

"It's okay, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay now," he said.

And Sam knew it was, because no matter what happened now, Dean was alive, and that was all that mattered to him.