(A/N) Sorry for the little to no warning, but this is the last chapter. Writer's block on this story has been absolutely crippling, so much so that I haven't even looked at this story until two days ago. By the way, I toned down the sex scene to keep this story T. I hope you all liked it, so please leave a review for your thoughts!

-Җ-

THE NEW YORK TIMES

New York, Tuesday, July 21st, 1914

IMMIGRANTS UNDER ATTACK: HATE CRIMES SPREADING LIKE WILDFIRE THROUGHOUT THE TRI-STATE AREA

New York City has been known to be a place of acceptance; being the home of Ellis Island, this sprawling metropolis is home to people of every different race, color, age, ethnicity, religion, and skin color. Every day, its ports bring in a new batch of immigrants ready to make their homes in the United States. However, the accounts of New York City being accepting is growing increasingly false as gangs and white supremacists begin to show their faces. In the South, the KKK rages, and even though it is safer up north, that doesn't mean that everyone is safe from the atrocities that groups like the KKK are doing.

There have been several reports of immigrants being lynched, and there has yet to be any suspects. So far, there have been twelve cases in all of people having emigrated from their country only to be violently murdered in the name of America. There is no specific target on a certain ethnicity; the victims have varied in religion, origin, and gender as well, however all of the victims were, indeed, immigrants. Most of the families of the victims stated that they did not want their names or the names of their deceased relatives to be put in the paper, however there were two victims that had no families to speak of, both of which had come to America alone.

Esperanza Céspedes, a widower from Spain, had only been in America for two months before she was murdered. Working as a seamstress, she'd been on her way to the American Dream when her life was brutally taken from her. Isabel Ureña, a coworker, was sent to Esperanza's house when the Spanish immigrant hadn't shown up for work, and was horrified to find the door to her tenement ajar, having been nearly ripped from its hinges.

"It was awful," Isabel tells us through her tears, "She was hanging from the ceiling on a hook that was meant for a small chandelier. There was a stool under her that was kicked over, like someone was trying to pretend that it was a suicide, but it clearly wasn't." Despite the alleged suicide, authorities concluded that Esperanza was, indeed, murdered, having been stabbed in the abdomen multiple times before being strung up on the ceiling. The stool that was kicked over did not have any boot marks on it, and hadn't even been stood on at all, considering how it was meant for sitting.

The next victim was a man named Quinten Nakken, who'd originally come from the Netherlands. This man had worked at a car manufacturer, and had been coming home from work when he'd been assaulted and eventually strangled to death by an unidentified group of men. A witness who wishes to remain anonymous has stated that all of the men were white, and that, though their clothes were ragged, one of them was wearing a very expensive-looking gold watch. Quinten was then dragged into the alleyway, where the witness interviewed came and found him dead.

The funerals of these two people will be held next Saturday, and it is suggested that people attempt to show support as Ellis Island tries to see if they had family back in their home countries.

"This should not be happening," preaches the up and coming politician-turned-real-estate-agent Castiel Novak. "America is the land of the free, the home of the brave. What these people are doing is making sure that this land is not safe for those who are free and those who are brave, and I want to tell them that they are not being the heroes that they think they are being. This hatred, this cold-blooded murder, is not what this city, or this county, for that matter, needs. What we need is respect for one another, and it doesn't matter if you've been born on this very ground or have intentions to call this ground your home. As long as you have legally stepped onto American soil, you are an American and should be treated as such!"

There have also been reports of kidnappings throughout New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, and though there have been no bodies recovered, police suspect that those who've been taken will not be coming back in one piece. These nativists are on a rampage, and the problem is that President Woodrow Wilson is too preoccupied with political reform in the Soyth and handling the KKK that he can't afford to be concerned with hate crimes such as these.

If you are an immigrant, it is suggested that you watch your back at every turn. These people are out for blood, and it doesn't matter if you have three kids and the cleanest record of all time; they will find you, and they will kill you. Stay safe, people of New York.

Dean slowly lowered the newspaper, and he and Sam exchanged a grim look.

"That could be us one day," Sam murmured.

-Җ-

Dean awoke to darkness, but not the darkness that was associated with the absence of light; no, this was the darkness that was associated with something covering your eyes. Dean could, faintly, see a warm yellow glow that was smothered by what seemed to be burlap, and his heart leapt into his throat as he realized that he couldn't move his hands. The stench inside of what seemed to be a sack that was pulled over Dean's head, was awful, like moldy vegetables and stinky socks all rolled into one, and he would've covered his nose if he'd been able. He had a splitting headache, pain exploding inside of his skull like fireworks whenever he moved his head, and even when he was sitting still, his head throbbed.

"Sam?" Dean called out, despite the fact that the sound made his skull feel like it was being crushed. His voice, however, was nothing but a harsh rasping sound that nobody could've heard, even if they'd been standing directly next to him. "Cas? Anyone?" The memories of the recent events slowly trickled back to him, and his breath began to saw in and out of his lungs. The nativists had him. He'd read the article, he knew what they were going to do; he would be lynched and would swing by his neck by the docks to scare off other immigrants and make them get right back on the boat from which they came.

Dean froze up as he heard creaking and heavy footsteps, which must've signaled someone coming down a rickety set of steps, and a gruff voice announced to the people upstairs, "He's awake." A shadow blocked what little light came through the burlap, and in one swift motion the sack was yanked from Dean's head. The immigrant blinked rapidly for a few moments to adjust to the blazing of the lantern above him, and quickly got his bearings of his surroundings. He was clearly in a basement of sorts, what with the stone brick walls and the prominent stink of mildew, and was accompanied by the leader of the nativist group that had attacked Dean beforehand. It was a face that had haunted the Italian in his nightmares, and he couldn't help but tremble a bit. There was no sign of Sam or Cas, which was possibly a good thing, but then again, it could mean the worst.

"Mornin', you heap of pond scum." The man spit on Dean's shoes, and the immigrant swallowed hard, wanting to kick out but finding his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. He was well and truly trapped, and he wasn't going anywhere without this man's say-so. "Don't worry, we won't hurt ya. Well, not yet." A bead of sweat made its way down Dean's temple, and a few other sets of footsteps could be heard descending down the stairs. "If you behave, we just may let you off with just a good beating." The tone in the man's voice made it blatantly obvious that that probably wasn't going to be the case, and Dean could already feel the noose around his neck.

"Hello there, Dean Winchester."

Dean's blood turned to ice in his veins as he came face-to-face with Alastair. The immigrant's former boss grinned, and Dean wanted to vomit at just how unnecessarily dressed-up he was, as if he wanted to flaunt his money in front of Dean and gloat to him just how much richer he was. His lapels were made of gold, his cufflinks imbedded with diamonds, and his suit was tailored and made of an inky blackness that was unnatural and difficult to look at, making it seem like it was sucking in all of the light around it. Abaddon was hefting her lavish skirts, eying the dirty floor with disgust and obviously not wanting to get the hem out her outfit soiled, and when she looked up at Dean, her expression didn't change. It was as if he was just as gross as the floor, and the immigrant took incredible offense to that, though he really didn't think that he'd be able to voice his complaints without getting a fist to his gut.

"So, as you already know, we have both you and your…what did you call him, Abaddon?"

"Sugar daddy."

"Ah, yes. Well, we have both of you in our custody. You two aren't going anywhere, and, if you wanted to know, I plan to shoot you and cut you up into little pieces. I'm still debating whether I should feed the pieces to my dogs or ship your sack of meat and bones to the doorstep of Castiel's mansion so your poor excuse of a brother can see it. I'll decide on that later, though."

"And Cas?" Dean demanded, trying to sound strong, but his voice quivered a little. What did he ever do to deserve this? Yes, he would already be dead when they started to divide him up like some sort of roasted chicken, but at least with the other victims there had been bodies to bury. Dean just might go down the gullet of some hungry mutt. The immigrant shuddered as he imagined Alastair combining the two things; feeding Dean's cut-up body to Achilles and Bee, and maybe to some of the horses and the cats. Would they know it was Dean, or would they eat it anyway because food was food? "What will you do with him?"

"Ransom," Alastair growled, the corners of his lips tilting upwards into a chilling sneer. "His family is filthy rich. They own half the ports on the East Coast, and they'd be more than willing to pay whatever it takes. He is the son with the most power, after all; the pride and joy. His brother Samandriel is a D-list politician, his other brother, Gabriel, I think, is an atrocity working as a tenement owner, and his only other sibling is a whiny bitch of a woman named Anael. It would be a shame if my boys and I just shot him, killing the only Novak son with any sort of potential. Things would be a whole lot easier if we just did that, but then again, I'd be a whole lot less rich."

"But you're already living comfortably in the upper class! I can understand if someone wanted the money if they were broke, but you?" Dean shook his head, disbelieving. He was just starting to brush the surface of how greedy men could be, and it made his hands tremble a bit in his bonds.

"Do you understand debt, idiot?" Alastair snarled, prowling over like a big cat ready to pounce.

"Yeah, with great help from you," Dean snapped. "You think I could get by on those meager paychecks?"

"No," Alastair replied simply, and Dean swallowed hard. It wasn't even like Alastair was guilty about it. He didn't care that Dean and his brother had been struggling to pay rent, didn't care that Dean had nearly starved to death. Granted, he probably didn't know about that last part, but then again, Dean wasn't entirely sure if Alastair would even feel remorse over that. "But, I'm a problematic gambler. Do you understand what that is?"

"I'm an immigrant, not deaf," Dean scoffed, but his snarky façade crumbled a bit as the nativist man began to charge forward but had to be restrained by Abaddon.

Alastair continued, "Well, I gambled more than I could pay, and now I'm several million dollars in debt to the gang leader Azazel. He has contacts scattered all over the city, and he'll have my hide if I show my face in public. I need to pay him off."

"My heart bleeds," Dean told him blandly, shocked when he was slapped across the face. Alastair's ring had bitten into his skin, and now blood was trickling down his cheek and soaking into the collar of his shirt.

"You're so insolent. The world will be a better place without you," Dean's former boss hissed, and with that, he, Abaddon, and the other man ascended the stairs, leaving the immigrant to wonder whether he was going to make it to tomorrow.

-Җ-

"They should be back home from work by now. Both of them," Sam fretted as he wore a path into the floorboards with his constant pacing back and forth. Achilles and Bee watched on with slightly concerned looks as Sam ran his hands through his hair, and Balthazar looked no less troubled than Sam felt.

"I'm worried about them, too, but perhaps they wanted some alone time," the butler supplied helpfully. "A date, perhaps?"

"They would've sent a telegram ahead," Sam replied, shaking his head. "They know how dangerous it is out there, and they know that we'd be worried sick if we didn't get word of their whereabouts." Balthazar didn't have a halfhearted counter-argument this time, and he stood by with an expression that was slowly becoming more and more worried. The dogs seemed to sense their mounting anxiety, and they rose from their bed to rub up against their legs in an attempt to comfort.

Finally, the butler supplied, "Maybe they're both being held late at work." He sounded unsure of himself.

"This late? When have their bosses ever done that? I think I should go check up on them, in case something's happened," Sam decided, his face setting with determination.

"And go out alone?" Balthazar asked, his eyes narrowing. "I think not. Do you want to be lynched?"

"I'll take Achilles with me," Sam replied, already shrugging his coat on. "Maybe Benny, if he's up for it." The Italian immigrant threw the door open and the slightly chilled, crisp summer evening air drifted over the threshold. He whistled and Achilles bounded out the door, and before Balthazar could object, Sam was off into the night, slamming the door behind him.

He jogged down the winding path towards the stables, and the feeling of wrong settled in his gut. Something was going on, and it wasn't because Dean and Cas were being held late for work. No, this was something much worse. Achilles bounded ahead, occasionally looking over his shoulder to check if Sam was still following him, and finally they reached the stables. A warm glow from the oil lamps came from within the building, and Achilles ducked inside, with Sam hot on his heels.

The stables always had a soothing atmosphere to them. There was quiet except for the sound of Sam's footsteps, the clicking of Achilles's claws, and horses shuffling around their stalls and nosing through the hay. Bones, Sam's unofficial favorite, nickered a greeting and poked his head out, but Sam couldn't pay him any heed just yet. There were more pressing matters at hand than a desire for carrots and treats. "Benny?" Sam called, softly enough that it wouldn't spook the horses but loud enough that he stable hand would hear. "Benny!"

"Sam?" Benny clambered out of one of the stalls, which had a wheelbarrow filled with fresh hay beside it. The stable hand grinned. "How've you been, brother?"

"There's no time to talk," Sam panted, and rested his hands on his knees, still out of breath from the run. "Dean and Cas aren't home yet. I'm pretty sure they're in danger." The easygoing smile melted off of Benny's face, and without a word the two of them set off at a brisk pace to the tack room, leaving Achilles to idle by the door.

"What makes you think that they're not out together for a romantic evening of some sorts?" Benny inquired as he took Bela's bridle from its hook and selected her saddle from the rack, while Sam did the same for Bones's things.

"A hunch," the immigrant replied. "They would've telegrammed us if they'd been going out together or had been kept super late at work."

"I can only agree, brother."

The two of them had their horses tacked in record time, despite the fact that Bones had given Sam a hard time with the bridle and had used the human's height disadvantage against him. Then they were off, cantering down the trail as fast as they could go without leaving Achilles behind. The Rhodesian ridgeback, despite his old age, was incredibly fast.

"It's 'cause Master Novak used to take him hunting all the time. He hunted lions, too," Benny explained over the roar of the wind in their ears as they flew down the path. Sam, despite his inexperience, managed to stay on the saddle even though he felt like his stomach was back at the stable.

The ride to Purgatory Range didn't take that long, and they quickly dismounted and brought their horses to a hitching stand so they could investigate without having to keep a hold on the reins. Immediately, Achilles was on high alert, and without warning the dog darted towards what seemed to be the main office, and Benny and Sam had no choice but to follow. The dog raced up the steps and began sniffing under the crack in the door, whining and scratching at it, though the lights inside were off. Luckily, Sam had enough sense to keep his lock-picking tools in his coat, and Benny raised an eyebrow when the immigrant produced them from his pocket.

"I'm pretty sure that's ten kinds of illegal, Samuel," Benny chided, but there was no heat behind it as the lock clicked and the door slid open slowly and silently.

"Is there an oil lamp somewhere? It's too dark," Sam murmured, his heart in his throat as he regarded the roiling blackness beyond and wondered what horrors could lay inside of it. The images of ghouls and demons that were dancing in Sam's vision dissipated as Benny, after a few minutes or so of fumbling around, managed to find a lamp and light it. They looked around the office, which didn't seem all that out of the ordinary. There were neatly stacked papers, stationery like ink and notebooks, amongst other things. That's when Benny turned and his eyes widened. Sam followed his gaze to see a small bloodstain on the floor. It wasn't old, but it wasn't fresh, either.

Sam and Benny exchanged a look.

"You think Achilles can track him?" Sam asked, kneeling down and brushing his fingers over the dark, rust-colored splatter. Benny shook his head, his expression grim and his fists clenched at his sides.

"They probably loaded Dean into a carriage; the scent'll be lost," the stable hand responded, stroking his beard in his aggravation. They had no choice but to ransack the room in an attempt to find any sort of clue that would lead to where Dean was being kept.

"I think I found something," Sam announced as he held up an envelope that had been neatly opened beforehand. Benny came over, setting down the horse figurine that he'd been studying and probably considering stealing. He held up the lamp as Sam pulled out the paper in the envelope to reveal a letter from none other than Alastair, who'd instructed Abaddon to bring "the package" to his factory after hours.

"It's not much, but it's something," Sam breathed, his eyes raking over the loopy cursive of Alastair's signature, hoping to find something that would hint that Dean was "the package". "And what about Cas?"

"One thing at a time, brother," Benny stated, something like hope sparkling in his eyes. He ushered Achilles out the door and stood at the threshold, looking over his shoulder at Sam with a wolfish grin, "Now, let's go investigate, shall we?"

-Җ-

"Stamp your seal or I'm going to pump you full of lead," a voice growled off to Castiel's right. The former ward boss trembled a bit as his hands were untied, and immediately he raised them up to take off his blindfold. He was sitting at a table, surrounded by vicious-looking men who had guns aimed at him. On the table was an inkwell, and next to that was a piece of paper. It was already written on, and Alastair's name was signed in neat cursive beneath it. There was another space where Castiel's seal was supposed to go. Castiel skimmed it and found, to his horror, that it was a ransom note intended to be sent to his parents, and that these people wanted him to stamp his seal to show proof that they had Castiel in their possession.

"I'd rather die," Castiel growled. They were asking for four million dollars, a sum that would cripple even his parents, as wealthy as they were. Yes, he did hate the fact that they'd banished Gabriel and only cared about Castiel because he had power in the government (he still had yet to find a way to break the news to them of his recent change in occupation), but Zachariah and Naomi Novak did not deserve to pay a ransom for their son. They were still his parents, after all.

"I'm pretty sure you'll be singing a different tune once you realize we have that little piece of immigrant shit as well," grouched one of the men, who cocked his pistol. Castiel could barely hear anything over the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears, and he felt like his heart was going to stop. They had Dean. From the look on the man's face, they didn't know just how much Dean meant to Castiel, but they were pretty sure that Castiel wouldn't want him hurt or killed. How did they even find Dean? Did they track him back to his job and then take him? Have they been torturing him in the meantime?

"What have you done with him?" Castiel demanded, and he was glad that he managed to keep the quiver out of his voice.

"Oh, he's fine. For now, at least," Alastair chuckled darkly, startling Castiel as he emerged from the group of people, looking like a god amongst peasants in his fancy attire. "But every time you refuse to stamp your seal, I'll get one of my boys to stab him once. You may not know where or how deeply, but he'll be stabbed, all right. He might die from the first slice, he might slowly suffer and bleed out, but I can guarantee that every refusal brings your stupid, slimy friend closer to becoming a human shish-kebab. Understand?" Castiel nodded, trying to hide the fact that he was trembling so hard he feared he's shake right out of his skin. He began to take off his ring, but the nativist shook his head, giving a pointed look at Castiel's sleeve.

Seals couldn't be forged like signatures could, and apparently these nativists had discovered the Novak family secret; they didn't carry around rings to stamp their seal. It was branded onto their skin. If a Novak stamped their letter with the false seal on the ring, the person receiving the letter, if they were related, would immediately know that something was wrong; the ring had either been stolen or the Novak actually had a different meaning than what was written on the letter. With trembling fingers, Castiel rolled up his cuff to reveal a swirling symbol the size of a dime, scarred onto his lower wrist.

Acutely aware of the sizable amount of gun barrels aimed in his direction, he dipped his index finger into the inkwell and dabbed the scar, recalling the agony of the burn that his parents had tried to help him through, though it did little to help when his father was the one holding the branding iron. Slowly, he stamped the paper.

-Җ-

"C'mon, Bela, git!" Benny bellowed as the Arabian mare balked, eying the Brooklyn Bridge with wild eyes. He managed to whip her back up into a canter, but her ears were alternating between standing straight up and being pinned against her neck. They passed cars and carriages, and Sam was thankful for the fact that, unlike Bela, Bones just seemed to be regarding everything with detached interest rather than fear. Since the dog couldn't've possibly kept up with them, Achilles was now riding with Sam, and even though the Rhodesian ridgeback didn't seem to be enjoying it at all, he didn't complain. They thundered down the line, and Bela continued to give Benny a hard time, the mare spooking way too easily for his liking. Sam continued on with Bones, and he was glad for the dappled horse's incredible size; it made people move out of the way faster. People gawked as they flew past them, and after giving her a few smacks on the rump, Benny was finally having some luck with his horse, who rode like the wind when she wasn't stalling.

"Follow me!" Sam called back, and Benny gave him a short salute as the bridge bled into the city. Towering buildings loomed on their side, their windows blazing with yellow light as if people just couldn't find it in themselves to sleep, even at this late hour. These streets were a bit unfamiliar to Sam, but he remembered enough from his time in the tenement to know where things were. Bones's canter began to slow, and Sam felt incredibly bad for the big horse; he was getting quite the workout, with only a small, short break in between, but despite this, Sam begged for more. For the horse to go faster. His brother was in danger, and he needed to get there as fast as possible. The Percheron seemed to understand him, by some miracle, and put on a burst of speed as they raced towards Alastair's factory.

As soon as they arrived, they were dismounting, and Achilles seemed to be incredibly glad to have his four paws on the ground again. Bones was breathing heavily, and Sam patted his neck, promising extra carrots, and the horse somehow managed to give him an accusing look, as if he was skeptical that same would hold up his promise. Bela was taking her hard gallop with as much complaining as possible. She whinnied and stamped her feet, her tail lashing and her ears pinning to her head as she tried to bite a chunk out of Benny's leg as he dismounted.

"Stop your fussin', you bitch," the stable hand growled as he hitched her to the nearby post with Bones, who seemed to want nothing to do with his companion's whickering and whining. The Arabian, thankfully, knew that Bones was far too big of an adversary to anger, so she refrained from kicking or biting. Sam and Benny had enough on their hands; they didn't want to have to deal with quarreling horses as well. The two of them looked up at the foreboding structure that was Alastair's car factory. Its lights were off, making it seemed abandoned, and going in there was on the bottom of Sam's list of things he wanted to do, though they didn't really have much of a choice. They left their horses to chug water from the troughs, and slowly approached the door.

Sam tried the doorknob and found it unlocked, which was both a good sign and a bad sign. "I guess we're going in, then." He made a move to step over the threshold and into the darkness, but Benny's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"You think we're going in there without protection?" the stable hand scoffed, and suddenly Sam was being given a pistol, which was loaded and ready to be used. Sam was abruptly thankful for what little training he'd had from his father when he was younger. Those times had been the better times, when his dad hadn't been so drunk he was falling down. "Let's go find Dean and Master Novak."

They slipped into the yawning expanse of blackness, and Sam found it quite idiotic that they hadn't brought a lantern or something to illuminate the area, which was hazardous to say the least. Benny kept close to Sam's side, and for a while they fumbled around in the darkness, trying to make as little noise as possible but ultimately failing as they knocked over tools and kicked tin buckets out of the way. The only other sound, really, was Achilles's claws clicking against the floor as the Rhodesian ridgeback sniffed around and came up with nothing. Then Sam caught a glimpse of a light in the distance. It was faint, but it was definitely there, and the immigrant patted Benny's shoulder and gestured to the light, which they began to slowly pick their way towards. Achilles tailed them warily, his nose twitching and his eyes bright as he scanned the darkness.

When they finally reached the source of the light, they found that a small lantern had been left beside a heavy metal door that was securely padlocked. Benny and Sam exchanged a look and Sam took out his lock-picking equipment once more, sweat beading on his forehead as his fingers shook and caused him to fumble with the tools. Benny and Achilles stood watch, and when the door finally swung open, Achilles bounded inside before Sam could stop him. A startled, muffled cry could be heard, and Sam snatched up the lantern and held it up, only to find Achilles showering a very-much-surprised Dean with an uncountable amount of dog kisses. The elder Winchester was gagged and tied to a chair, and tears began to leak out of the corners of his eyes as Benny and Sam rushed over to untie him.

"Where's Cas? Is he with you? Did you get him out before me?" were the first questions out of Dean's mouth. They weren't questions on how his brother and his good friend gotten there, or what they were going to do now; they were questions that clearly expressed Dean's concern for his lover, and the fact that Castiel was in incredible danger was only made all the more prominent when Dean stated, "They're using him for ransom."

"I can only assume you have no damn clue where they're keeping him?" Benny asked, and Dean shrugged helplessly, still visibly trembling. Sam noted the robe burns on his brother's wrists; when they'd taken him, the elder Winchester sure as hell didn't go quietly, and it was just what Sam would expect from him. "Fine, let's get moving."

With the extra light, it was much easier to navigate through the maze of paths in between the conveyer belts, which were brimming with half-made cars. Cars that were created using the labor and exploitation of immigrants who didn't know any better than to refuse the offer of work here. Immigrants like Sam and Dean. Achilles prowled ahead of them, his nose to the ground, and the trio could do nothing but put their faith in the dog; he was their best chance of finding Castiel in time, what with his acute sense of smell.

"This place feels like a grave," Dean murmured, the sound of his throat clicking echoing through the facility as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I never wanted to come back here again. I hated this place so much that I'm glad that I was unconscious when they dragged me in here. That way, I wouldn't've had to see this and know I was being held hostage in the same place where I was a prisoner, even if people said I was free."

"I can only agree," Sam ground out through gritted teeth, his fist tightening on the handle of his gun as he regarded the station where he'd attached the back right wheel to the cars more times than he could possibly count.

Suddenly, Achilles stopped in his tracks, his muscles tensing and his body going as still as a statue's. His ears perked, and a muscle in his haunch jumped as he began to growl low in his throat, his fur bristling. Moments later, the sound of voices and footsteps came into their line of hearing. The trio and their trusty canine immediately scrambled for a hiding place, and eventually managed to wriggle their way under the conveyer belt, their breathing coming out short and fast as the voices and footsteps grew louder. Sam was quick to extinguish their lantern.

"The boss swears on his life that he heard something blundering around up here," stated a low, gravelly voice as its owner strolled down the path. The hidden intruders couldn't see his face, only his grubby trousers and worn boots, but the formidable-looking gun tucked into his waistband was not to be overlooked. His arms were burly and tattooed, and his fingers were like sausages, though there was really no time to make fun of them since they could easily strangle the life out of someone if they managed to close around a neck.

"What the hell is he talking about?" scoffed another voice that boasted a heavy Brooklyn accent. "There ain't nothing here." Its owner was a bit lankier, with baggy jeans and shoes that looked like they'd once been clean, but that time had been long ago. He was carrying a huge rifle in his arms, and judging by the near-professional way he held it, he had experience. Sam swallowed hard as he imagined his skull exploding and his brains splattering with the force of a .7 caliber bullet, which the man had plenty of, judging from his full-to-bursting ammo bag.

"It's just his paranoia, I guess," the first voice replied tiredly, and then he fell silent, stopping in his tracks. Sam's heart slammed against his ribcage as the light from the man's lantern swept around. Achilles was, thankfully, silent, and Sam reminded himself to stuff the dog full of treats when they got home. It wasn't like he hadn't expected anything less; Achilles was highly trained, and the dog probably thought this was just another hunting trip, except instead of lions the prey was humans.

"What is it?" the man with the rifle asked, and Sam heard the distinct sound of the safety being turned off. The first man didn't reply, and Sam held his gun out in front of him as he prepared to see one of them stoop down and take a good look at their hiding place before shooting them all full of lead. Benny, slowly and silently, switched off the safety, his fingers hovering over the trigger as he aimed at the man with the rifle's hand, which would effectively cripple him and keep him from aiming well. Sam put a hand on the stable hand's wrist before he could do anything else, shaking his head, and Benny reluctantly lowered his gun.

"Just thought I heard something," the first man muttered, still high on alert.

"Man, this place is crawling with rats. I reckon it was just one of those," the man with the rifle replied, and Sam finally allowed himself to breathe when the two began to continue on down the line. When they were out of sight and out of earshot, the renegades finally dared to wriggle out of their hiding spot, still very much shaken from the encounter despite the fact that nothing had really happened.

"Why didn't you let me shoot?" Benny whispered as Sam lit the lantern once more, watching the flame dance and twirl as if it had no worries at all. If only things were that simple.

Sam softly replied, "Guns are loud. Only use them if you absolutely need to; we don't want to alert the rest of the people in this facility that we're here. We need the element of surprise to find Cas."

"Good call," Dean stated, giving Sam a nod, and the younger Winchester basked in the praise from his brother for a moment before ushering Achilles on and getting moving. Occasionally, they heard voices from the two men, but they never sounded close enough that they should extinguish their lantern, which they'd decided to drape with a cloth to dim the light slightly.

Then, Achilles began to trot on more briskly, his nose to the ground, and his tail beginning to propel back and forth. The three men exchanged a look as the dog began to bound forward a few paces, stop and wait for them to catch up, and then repeat the process.

"We're close," Sam murmured, and they began to tread more lightly as they approached a door that was similar to the one that had led to Dean's cell. Only this time, there were two guards stationed outside, both who were clearly the men that had been patrolling; one of them held a rifle and had baggy pants, and the other had work boots and scuffed-up trousers. Sam could easily see by the light of the guards' lantern, so he extinguished his and set it aside, creeping behind an unstable and dangerous-looking piece of equipment to survey them from afar. Dean, Benny, and Achilles followed, and the dog seemed to be growing more nervous by the minute, to the point where Sam feared he would spook and blow their cover.

"We have to find a way to take out the guards," Dean murmured, his eyes narrowing. "We can't use our guns, but we can't take them in a fistfight, either."

"Maybe we don't have to kill them," Benny mused, and suddenly he was off, whistling softly to Achilles and getting the dog to bound after him. They were gone before anyone else could object, and Sam and Dean could only wait helplessly in silence.

"Stai bene?" Sam asked quietly, the Italian rolling much more easily off his tongue than English ever could.

Are you okay?

"Fine, why?" Dean countered a little too defensively, sounding anything but fine. He kept rubbing his arms and the rope burns, and Sam needed to make sure that they were properly checked out, less they get infected.

"You're my brother, and I'm just making sure you're okay," Sam reassured.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean sighed, and in that moment he looked ten years older. The shadows under his eyes were dark, the lines of his face more defined, and he hadn't been able to shave in a while, leaving him with a very prominent scruff. "I'm just really worried about Cas. What if they're torturing him?"

"They won't be doing that, not if they want the ransom," Sam explained firmly, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of this fact.

Abruptly, the sound of Achilles's baying ripped through the silence, echoing throughout the nearly-deserted factory and making Sam and Dean nearly jump right out of their skin. The guards were immediately on high alert, their guns drawn as they scanned the darkness beyond the light of their lamps. The man with the rifle motioned to his companion and the two took off, leaving Sam and Dean to sneak out into the open and toward the door. Sam felt helpless and exposed; he was out in the open and the bright light from the lantern was shining on him, but he couldn't afford to feel any more anxious than he already was as he peeked through the small window in the door. It revealed the backs of at least five people clustered in a semicircle around what was clearly Cas tied to the chair in a similar way that Dean had been, only this time there was a table in front of him. Another man, whose voice was muffled to the point of incomprehensibleness and yet still achingly familiar, was talking to the former ward boss with a condescending tone that chilled Sam to his very bone.

Luckily, this door wasn't locked, and all Sam would have to do was open the door and start shooting. All of the men were clearly armed though, and Dean had no weapons except his fists. They were incredibly outnumbered, and yet, despite the fact that his conscience and his instincts had joined forces to scream a big fat "NO!" to him, Sam slowly turned the knob and allowed the door to swing open silently. The men didn't hear him, or if they did they didn't acknowledge him, and with trembling hands Sam raised his gun and began firing.

-Җ-

THE NEW YORK TIMES

New York, Thursday, July 23rd, 1914

NEW YORK GETS WHIPPED INTO SHAPE BY UP-AND-COMING POLITICIAN: HATE CRIMES DROP BY 40% AND PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN ARRESTED UNDER CHARGES OF KIDDNAPPING AND ASSAULT

Samandriel Novak isn't taking no for an answer. The brother of the incredibly prominent retired politician, Castiel Novak, this young man, elected into office after Woodrow Wilson signed the bill banning all forms of bribery for votes and therefore banning ward bosses, is a vigilant Progressive and is bringing reform down upon New York like a hurricane. He's jailed hundreds of corrupt politicians and businessmen, and has even gone so far as to replace half of the police force to make it less biased; many immigrants have been appointed as officers, and even some people of color!

"This sprawling metropolis that we call home is a place where anyone can be anything," Samandriel preaches during his first speech as mayor of New York City. "We cannot afford to judge people by their ethnicity or the color of their skin. The time for reform is now, and I will stop at nothing to make sure that justice is exacted upon every scoundrel that has dared to swindle others for money and get away with it."

And Samandriel did uphold his promise, and during his first week of office he opened up a case against the entrepreneur Alastair Brown, accusing him of kidnapping both his brother Castiel and Castiel's close friend, an Italian immigrant named Dean Winchester. Samandriel claimed that Alastair had held his brother for ransom from the Novak family, and was planning on killing Dean, but with the help of one of Castiel's stable hands and Dean's brother, Sam Winchester, they were freed. The police investigated and found Alastair to be behind not only the kidnapping, but other organized killings of immigrants all over New York City and Long Island. He also was under violation for paying below the minimum wage, and is currently serving a life sentence behind bars.

Samandriel also plans to…

-Җ-

Dean closed the newspaper, smiling at the photograph of Samandriel standing at the podium, his mouth open mid-speech and his eyes hard with determination. Samandriel "Alfie", had been a huge help in getting Alastair in jail, where he belongs, and had become incredibly close to Sam and Dean over the last few months. The immigrant folded up the newspaper and placed it gently onto the dresser, extinguishing the candle that he'd been reading by and curling around Cas, who'd looked like he was fast asleep when Dean had last checked, though he couldn't really see much in the dark now.

"Dean?" Castiel rasped, and the green-eyed man smiled at the ex-ward boss's bleary-sounding voice. "Why do you keep reading that article over and over again? Christmas is tomorrow and you still read it every night before bed."

"I still can't believe that happened, that this is happening. All of this change to make this country a better place than it already is," Dean murmured into Castiel's hair. "It's all so exciting."

"Well I'd like to sleep, thank you very much, and I'd appreciate it if you learned how to make the pages stop rustling so loudly," Castiel grouched, hunkering down a little and pulling the comforter farther up over his body. Dean grinned and settled down, glad to be the big spoon for once. He slipped off into a sleep that involved wonderful dreams, all of which he forgot in the morning. Then again, anyone would forget their dreams when the next day was Natale.

-Җ-

"Why did you wake me up this early?" Dean grumbled as Castiel dragged him down the steps of the mansion. The two of them were bundled up to fend off the cold December weather, though Dean was still half-asleep and blinking up blearily at the sky. "It isn't even eight o' clock yet."

"Trust me, it'll be worth it," Castiel replied and led Dean along down the path towards the stables. Dean didn't question it, just allowed himself to be guided, and the two of them enjoyed the beauty of the outdoors, which remained even in the throes of winter. The trees were skeletal, having long since shed all of their leaves, but the air was clear and crisp, nipping at the two lovers' noses and cheeks and turning them red. Animals rustled in the undergrowth, some of which still had foliage, and birds could clearly be seen from where they hunkered down in the trees.

"So, how's your new job been?" Dean asked, his gloved fingers lacing through Castiel's as they walked along.

"It's been no better or worse than the last time you asked me this question," the ex-ward boss responded, and Dean chuckled. Castiel couldn't help but grow mesmerized as he watched Dean walk along. Now that he'd officially lost his Italian tan, his pale skin made the green of his eyes pop out even more, and the rosy color that was beginning to tinge his cheeks, nose, and ears made him look like a meticulously crafted porcelain doll. "Joshua is very fair and kind, and I've slowly been climbing the ranks."

"You know that much about real estate already?" Dean inquired, incredulous, and Castiel just gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Well, I've been studying it to make sure I don't make a fool of myself, and so far that's been working out pretty well for me," he replied, and the two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence. Dean longed to bring Achilles out, but the dog's leg had been injured during the fight to get Dean and Castiel out of Alastair's clutches. He was healing fine, he just couldn't walk for long distances as of that moment. Finally, they rounded the bend, and their footsteps began to ring out in the quiet as dirt bled into cobblestones. Many of the stable hands weren't up at this hour, but Benny certainly was, and he was wearing a shit-eating grin on his face that Dean looked highly suspicious of.

"Are we going out for a ride?" Dean asked hesitantly as they stepped over the threshold and into the warmth of the building. A fire or two must've been going upstairs in the stable hand's rooms, and Castiel rubbed together his hands, his fingers having gone numb despite being cloaked in his gloves. "Because I don't think I can keep up this early in the morning."

"No, we're not going for a ride," Castiel replied, grinning, and Dean quirked an accusing eyebrow as they continued down the line, greeting the horses as they passed. Castiel patted Lincoln Continental on the neck and the Quarter Horse whinnied and made a movement that suggested he was going to nuzzle Cas, but instead the horse began lipping at the man's pockets in search for carrots.

"Gluttonous bastard," Castiel snorted and stroked his horse's nose, reluctantly continuing on. They passed row after row of horses, and Dean was hard set on getting to know all of the new horses that had been bought to replace the ones that the nativists had killed. Samuel Colt Jr., the new Mustang, whickered a greeting, and Adam and Eve, the twin Gypsy Vanners that were replacements for Eve, completely ignored them as they pranced around in their paddock.

"C'mon, Cas, not now," Dean murmured softly as the ex-ward boss led Dean over to Amara's empty stall. The immigrant balked, letting go of Castiel's hand, and shook his head. "It's too early in the morning to grieve." Castiel smiled at Dean and then whistled softly, clucking his tongue and tapping at the edge of the stall. A small black nose poked over the edge, snuffling around. Dean's mouth dropped open, and he shoved past Castiel to gaze into the stall.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Castiel whispered as the immigrant watched the Friesian foal with an expression of total shock. "Her name is Impala." When Dean finally managed to regain control of his vocal cords, the first words out of his mouth were, "Oh my god." Impala looked up at Dean curiously, her ears rotating this way and that and her eyes bright with intelligence. "She's mine?"

"Indeed," Castiel replied. "I got her for cheap. Her mother had abandoned her for some reason, and the owners thought that she had a terminal illness that only animals could detect. They'd been desperate to sell her off, and once I purchased her and took her to the vet, he concluded that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her." Castiel barely was able to finish the sentence when Dean threw his arms around the man, kissing him with abandon. It was chaste, because Dean was immediately unlatching the gate and stepping into the stall, but it still rocked Castiel to his very core and made him feel severely love drunk.

"Hiyah, Impala," Dean murmured, crouching a bit so he could be eye-to-eye with the foal. "I'm Dean." The little horse nosed at him curiously, her tiny tail flicking back and forth, and after getting her bearings, allowed Dean to stroke her neck. She was about the size of an incredibly large dog or a small pony, considering that Friesians were a larger breed, and could easily have tackled Dean if she wanted to. "We're going to be great friends." Castiel slipped into the stall with them, and put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

There were tears in the immigrant's eyes.

-Җ-

"How did you meet Sam and Dean, Uncle Cas?" asked Hester, Anna's oldest daughter, as she sat down in front of Cas's chair. Her skirts were askew, her hair a bit messy from all the roughhousing she'd been doing with Samandriel's kids, but her eyes were bright, and she gave Castiel a gap-toothed smile. Gabriel, Anna, and Samandriel exchanged a look, knowing clearly well just how close Dean and Castiel were, but Zachariah and Naomi actually seemed genuinely curious.

Dean couldn't stop grinning. This was his and Sam's first real Christmas, since their madre died, and on top of the fact that he had a Friesian foal waiting for him back at the stables only made him even more happy. They were in the main living room, and a gigantic Christmas tree lit up the room with beautiful ornaments and rolls of ribbon; it had been incredibly fun to decorate it a few days before. The entire mansion was bedecked in garlands and statues of reindeer, as well as candles that smelled of pine and gingerbread. Artemis and Apollo had graced the family with their presence, the cats making Dean sneeze, though he really didn't mind since it was entertaining to watch them bat around wads of wrapping paper.

Bee was lounging about on people's laps, moving from person to person throughout the night, and Achilles sat nearby, uncaring of the fact that Samandriel's son, Gadreel, was pestering him, pulling on his tail and ears to see if it would cause a reaction. The mansion was alive with the sounds of servants celebrating, and music from a grand piano floated down the hall, undoubtedly coming from either Benny or Charlie, both who excelled when it came to playing the piano. Now that they were exceptionally stuffed from their dinner and had already opened gifts, the Winchesters and the Novaks were ready to hunker down for some good gossip.

"Yeah, how did you two meet?" Zachariah asked, taking a swig from his glass of eggnog. "I'm dying to know." The rest of the children filtered in and sat at Castiel's feet, and Dean chuckled as Castiel sent him a panicked look. According to him, he wasn't really good with children, but Dean knew otherwise; all of his nieces and nephews loved him.

"Well…" Castiel hesitated, turning to Dean for guidance, and the immigrant made a "go on" gesture. "Um…" He stood up straighter, setting his glass down, and smiled softly.

"It was a cool, crisp December morning, and light filtered through the arched windows of Tammany Hall, illuminating all of the tiny dust particles that floated lazily through the air…"

END