Back For Good.

Happy birthday to Sendintheclowns.

AU Post IMTOD – not really sure if it's even after ELAC. I'll let the birthday girl decide!

Dean tells Sam to leave.

He didn't expect his little brother to take him seriously…

Authors Notes: This AU explores what might have happened if Dean told his brother to leave after their father's death.

Not to imply that Sam is stupid or a wimp, as you'll soon learn. Justifiably insecure may be. Also assumes that a certain demon from season 1 puts in an earlier appearance than Born Under A Bad Sign. Either way you interpret it: please remember folks; this is an AU.

Warning: Use of bad language, excessive force, drugs, violence and torture.

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Sam watched his brother mournfully from the kitchen window. Dean hadn't spoken to him in days apart from the odd grunt each morning. He might as well have been speaking Caveman for all Sam knew. Giving up on any heavy subjects, such as their dead father, or the missing Colt, Sam even tried small talk, but it always came across as loaded. Frankly, he was getting tired of the scowls and eyes that narrowed in suspicion every time Sam so much as opened his mouth. Nevertheless, Sam refused to give up on him.

Loved his brother too damn much to give in.

He finished preparing the sandwich and pulled a cold beer out of the cooler, took a deep fortifying breath, then pushed open the screen door.

Sam approached cautiously then gently cleared his throat to get Dean's attention without startling him. His older brother was already sporting a slight bruise on his forehead from the last time Sam came out here without warning him. Movement under the Impala stilled as though Dean were waiting for Sam to explain what he was doing there. And that was part of the problem; Sam felt like he had to ask permission to be within a hundred feet of his brother.

"I brought you some lunch….uh….and a beer."

A gruff noise that almost sounded like 'thanks' before more metallic clunking indicated Dean had carried on.

Sam bit his bottom lip, well aware he was skating on thin ice.

"Uh…let me know if you want another one…I'll bring it right out…no trouble if ya still hungry..." He trailed off when Dean suddenly pushed himself out from underneath the car and glared at him obnoxiously.

Sam blinked back at his brother, then lowered his chin to glance at the ground. "Dean…please don't shut me out." he began softly. "Can we talk about this?"

"What the hell for?" Came the blunt answer. "I don't need to talk and I certainly don't need to talk to you." Quizzical green eyes narrowed as they studied Sam's face. "Why are you even still here?" Dean didn't sound mad at him, more curious.

Sam's head shot up in painful shock and he almost stumbled back. "Wh-what?"

"Seriously." Dean grabbed the beer and chugged back a few mouthfuls before continuing. "You planned to go back to school, right? I had to let you go and all that? Well here's your chance."

"Dad wouldn't wan…" But Sam didn't get the chance to finish.

"Cut the crap Sam! Since when did you give a damn about what Dad wanted?" Now he sounded mad. Dean smirked when he added cruelly "Just go. You don't wanna be here, and I sure as hell don't want you around." Without stopping to take note of Sam's sharp intake of breath, he disappeared back under the car.

Sam stood there at a loss, eyes wide with hurt. It wasn't until his stomach started churning dangerously that he was staggering back inside the house. He didn't even get time to shut the bathroom door before he crashed to his knees in front of the basin, and vomited so harshly he could swear his colon would shoot round the u-bend. The worst over, Sam splashed his face with water and swilled his mouth out before staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and his skin seemed grey and sunken. He was trying so hard to take care of his brother, fixing him lunch and preparing dinner when Bobby was out on an errand, but Sam clearly wasn't taking very good care of himself, and he was slowly losing all will to survive.

This was it, however. That last push.

Sam had no idea how long he sat on the toilet lid trying to compose himself. It seemed like an eternity but when he emerged the sun was still high in the sky. His left leg jiggled nervously as he considered his options; he didn't want to leave his brother, but the anger in Dean's eyes had clearly spelled it out: Sam was no longer welcome in his brother's life.

Welcome...

Trouble was Sam couldn't go back to Stanford now even if he wanted to. There were too many memories there, some of them sweet, others more than a little bitter.

With no solid plan in mind, Sam headed to the bedroom and packed up his meagre belongings. Taking one final look round, he left a note for Bobby in the kitchen, simply thanking him for letting him stay and briefly wondered about leaving Dean a letter. He figured Dean probably wouldn't even read it, but Sam owed him something.

Owed him everything...

Sam desperately wanted to say goodbye in person, but it was just too hard. He couldn't face his brother now so he left the house, silently slipped out the yard gates, and didn't dare look back.

But while he could fool his mind that this was for the best - for Dean's sake – his heart was having some trouble with it.

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Dean waited until he heard Sam retreat back to the house before levering himself out and taking a bite of the sandwich, surprised at just how hungry he was. Washing it down with another mouthful of beer Dean reflected on his harsh words. Guilt assaulted him without mercy but he refused to let it get to him; plain fact was he was sick of Sam's mollycoddling.

He was just sick of his little brother in general right now.

You ok Dean?

You wanna talk Dean?

You wanna beer?

You want me to help out with the car?

No, no, no and no.

Well, maybe a yes to the beer, but that was it. It just wasn't Dean's way, talking things through. Shutting the fuck up and getting on with it was his usual MO; it sure had worked for him in the past and he wasn't changing his ways this late in the game.

Sam had always been a walking mixed bag of emotions, and Dean didn't doubt his brother's heart was in the right place. As a child Sam had lived in constant fear of losing his family and even now that hadn't changed. But as a teenager that fear had morphed into something else, and Sam had been so angry, questioning everything about their father's decisions, generally driving Dean and John up the wall. It was impossible to predict the Sammy climate at any given time, the emotional roller coaster one long wild ride with no tracks and no end in sight. His seemingly childish petulance often led to blazing row after blazing row, and Dean was always there to shield his little brother from the heat. But there had always been that fear, the driving force behind Sam Winchester and his in-built concern for his family. Even his decision to leave the hunt for higher education hadn't been entirely selfish, Dean acknowledged reluctantly. By the age of eighteen, Sam had been on enough hunts and seen enough injuries to last a lifetime and he couldn't take it anymore; he couldn't stand by and watch his father and brother die, couldn't live a life he so hated. So after one last blazing row, Sam had left Dean to singe in the heat of their father's wrath.

And now John Winchester was dead, his life probably given in trade for Dean's, and Dean was having his own trouble dealing with it. Sam's solution to talk it out wasn't viable and in reality Dean wasn't sure he was even ready to deal with the fallout from that particular discussion.

That was the last thing he needed right now.

It didn't occur to him to ask what his little brother might need.

He shrugged, turned on the radio not really listening to the news broadcast.

...reports say that a serial killer from the 1970s is once again on the rampage, popped up from nowhere . He had once been likened to Jack The Ripper in his viciousness, the notorious serial killer of the White Chapel murders in London during the late 1800s... experts say that he's changed his MO, and is now targeting men and the individuals are taken...tortured and slaughtered. In each case, the victim is finally butchered in front of the family before the murderer kills them all and makes his escape....

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Sam trudged along dejectedly, duffle bag over his shoulder. He'd checked his cell phone several times in the last hour in hopes that he might've missed Dean's call, asking him to come back. But the damn thing remained frustratingly silent and Sam was tempted to just throw it away.

He had no idea where he was going, at times could barely see. Dust, just dust getting in his eyes making them water. Maybe he'd just hitchhike around for a few months until he decided what to do with himself, or get a job in some sleazy run down bar someplace, where they wouldn't care about little things like his real name or social security number. At least he wouldn't have to bother disappearing; it wasn't as though Dean would come looking for him now.

A low rumble reached his ears and he turned to see an old Ford Mustang cresting the hill behind him. He shielded his eyes against the glaring sun and watched as the car slowed to a crawl then stopped beside him.

"Need a ride kid?" The driver smiled up at him with twinkling slate blue eyes. His voice seemed friendly enough, but an odd shiver ran down Sam's back. It was nothing he could put his finger on but for some reason he just wasn't sure about this guy.

"Uh…" On the other hand, it wasn't far off sunset and he had miles to go before he reached the nearest motel, not to mention that he really didn't trust his instincts all that well these days. He cursed his indecision. Damnit, he could take care of himself for Christ sake; he'd just have to chance it and keep a close eye on this guy. First sign of trouble and Sam was out of there, moving car or not. So he heard himself answering "Sure, that would be a real help."

Maybe it was time to stop caring about it. He had nothing left anyhow.

He climbed into the front passenger seat and shoved his duffle through into the back.

"Where you headed?"

Sam paused before answering. "The next motel for now if that's ok?"

"Drifter huh?" Before Sam could answer the guy extended a hand. "The name's Richard."

Sam hesitated then accepted the handshake, immediately regretting it as that shiver went up and down his spine a little more insistently.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

But I'm desperate right now.

…stop being a pussy and introduce yaself!

"I'm Sam. Nice to meet you." Sam lied through his teeth in response. Something about this guy...

"So…Sammy! Your brother finally get sick of the sight of ya huh?"

Sam flinched in his seat, fumbling for the door handle, but several loud clunks indicated that the car was now well and truly locked down. Sam was trapped.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded furiously.

The guy turned, his eyes flashing black as beetles and hissed at Sam. "Hell? Funny you should say that sweetie." The flash of a syringe and needle caught Sam's angry gaze, before the demon lunged across the seat, pinning Sam against the passenger door. "'Cos that's exactly where you're headed."

Sam tried to fight him off but the bastard's strength was astounding. The needle slid into his neck and he soon felt a burning warmth spread through him as muscles relaxed against his will. Sam blinked sluggishly and tried to raise a hand to his neck but his limbs were heavy as lead. His head thunked painfully against the passenger doorframe, breathing dangerously slowed, and his sightless eyes stared out the windshield.

As darkness descended the last thing Sam felt was the car moving off.

I really didn't think this through properly…

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Bobby tipped the peak of his cap against the sun and sighed. He was so godamned tired and almost dreaded heading back to the yard. The atmosphere between the brothers had been strained at best and downright hostile at worse. Much more of their bullshit and he was seriously considering banging their stubborn heads together.

He was just too old for this crap. If Dean and Sam didn't start talking soon Bobby was certain they'd destroy each other. Sam was already wilting inside, barely eating or sleeping; only an idiot would fail to notice. And his older brother was certainly doing a good impression of an idiot right now, feigning blissful ignorance and drowning in denial that something was very wrong.

Bobby carried on grumbling to himself as the truck ate up the miles, wondering when he'd turned into such a fussy old woman. Maybe he'd always been that way but hadn't realised it...

He couldn't help but admire the old red Mustang that was sitting at the side of the road just ahead, and his expert eye ran over the sleek lines before he realised the guy sitting slumped and pale in the passenger seat looked worryingly familiar. Bobby sat up straighter when the car pulled away with a screech of tyres, heading in the opposite direction.

What in God's name is Sam doing all the way out here? And in some stranger's car no less!

He thought about turning round and following but the car was already a high speed blot in the distance. No way could his old truck keep up with it. Instead, he grabbed a pen from the glove compartment and scribbled down the licence plate number. Bobby pulled out his cell phone, hit speed dial, and when Dean finally answered Bobby let rip.

"What the hell did you say to that kid?!"

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Dean shimmied out from beneath the Impala when he heard his cell phone going off like a Claymore. Flipping it open and placing it to his ear, he didn't make it passed the first syllable before an angry voice bellowed down the line.

"Whoa! Hold on Bobby, what's all the yellin'? What did I say to who?"

"Sam of course! Who else?"

Dean stumbled around this a little. "Uh, what makes you think…?" He didn't get a chance to finish.

"'Cos I've just seen your brother in some guy's car, and at a guess I'd say he aint there by choice!"

Dean felt a cold pit open up inside him as he headed over to the house.

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Sam felt sick to his stomach when he eventually woke up and slowly raised his head, and he was having some considerable trouble remembering how he'd wound up with a monster hangover because he sure didn't remember getting drunk. It sort of took the fun out of it. Opening his eyes didn't help either because it was just as dark as when they were closed. But this, he quickly realised, was because he was blindfolded. He moaned softly as his head pounded and his mouth felt as though it were stuff with dirty cotton. Which it was. He'd been gagged.

Ohhh, that's just perfect.

Now that his remaining senses were coming back on line, he understood that he'd been tightly tied to a chair, his arms secured behind him and the ropes were cutting into his skin, but most worrying of all he was no longer wearing a shirt.

Freezing, ice cold water suddenly drenched him from overhead and he shook and shivered in his tight bindings. He let out another soft moan, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Welcome back Sam. Glad you could join me; it's been too long."

It was in that instant that Sam figured out whom, or rather what his captor was.

Meg.

Not the best news I've had all day...

He could almost feel the bitch (or was it bastard given that she was possessing a guy this time?) grinning smugly.

"I can tell that sharp and pretty head of yours has figured it out."

So you read minds on top of everything else? How about this: go fu...

"Such language Sammy. You disappoint me. You've obviously spent way too much time around that foul mouthed brother of yours."

He felt a weight on his lap, realised he was being straddled and tried to struggle away but he was bound way too tightly. Something cold and metallic was slowly drawn down his bare chest and he tried not to flinch or tense up with pain as liquid warmth spilled down his body and soaked through the waistband of his jeans.

"I couldn't believe my luck when you willingly left the sanctity of the salvage yard. I've been waiting for an opportunity, seeing as you guys upped the protection symbols round the place. I had no idea you guys were so...resourceful. Of course, Dean was the one I hoped for but you'll do nicely. For now."

Sam gave out a muffled whimper as the blade scored deeper into the epidermis and deeper still. He tried to breathe through the pain and gather his wits, but Meg wouldn't give him a chance; she was enjoying herself way too much. The knife went dangerously deep this time and he tried not to cry out, but it was useless. He was useless.

"Don't worry Sam. I don't intend to kill you right away." Sam shuddered at the feel of a hot tongue on his body, licking away at the blood. "I hope to draw out the fun for a long, long time, and then maybe I'll invite your darling brother along for dessert. If he cares enough to come rescue your sorry ass."

The blade sliced into his upper arms before being dragged across his shoulders. The sickly sweet smell of copper invaded Sam's nostrils, and he knew he was already losing too much blood. But he wasn't going to beg. If it was the last thing he did, Sam would make his brother proud of him this one last time, so he remained quiet behind the foul tasting cloth lodged between his teeth, only letting loose the odd grunt of pain. But when the bitch spoke again fear curdled in his stomache.

"And once I've finished with you and your brother? Maybe Bobby Singer's next."

It finally registered with Sam just how bad this was and he tried to scream and threaten her if she ever went anywhere near his brother, but she just laughed at him.

"Sorry gorgeous. Didn't quite catch that..."

Sam felt the gag ripped down but before he could speak, a mouth clamped down hard on his and a tongue began forcing its way between his lips. He tried to move his head but it was held in an iron grip as she plundered his mouth. Biting down hard on that dry, reptilian tongue made no difference. A horrible thought occurred to him as the demon attempted to wind its tongue round his vocal chords; judging by the deep voice, Meg was still possessing a guy. Right? A guy. So...

I'm being kissed by a guy!

If Sam ever made it out of here alive, Dean would never let him live it down. Trying to push the notion away, he struggled helplessly but Meg wasn't letting him go, and he could barely breathe as she deepened the kiss; he felt like vomiting when she started moaning with pleasure, sucking and licking her way into his mouth. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it; he tested his bonds again, hoping that he'd managed to loosen them somehow, but no such luck. The ropes seemed to tighten with each movement in fact, and if he wasn't careful he'd end up cutting off the circulation to his arms. So he mentally shrugged and tried to reason that there were worse things than being tonsil-hockeyed to death by a demon.

It was just that right now, he couldn't think of a single one....

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Dean, still not quite believing it, kept the cell phone to his ear and headed for the house, picking up the pace the closer he got.

The kitchen door thumped against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean barked out. "You here?" When he received no answer, he lowered the phone and began a man hunt. Where the hell is he?

His movements became frantic as he searched each room with still no sign of his little brother. He searched the bathroom, closets, airing cupboard and even checked under the kitchen sink, stupid as that was. Nothing. Trying to calm his fear Dean went back to the bedroom and noticed this time round that Sam's belongings had gone.

Nonononono....how could he leave me again?

Staring at the empty space where his brother's duffle used to reside next to the furthest bed, he tried to think. All the while he heard Bobby Singer faintly ranting in his hand and shoved the cell back in his ear.

"He's gone. He packed up and left." Dean's voice was cold and emotionless but his heart pounded with guilt. I told him to go. I virtually challengedhim to leave me. "It's his decision, Bobby. I aint got no say in it."

"It might have been his decision but why'd he make it? What did you say Dean?"

"Told him to go back to Stanford, like he wanted all along. I should never have disrupted his life in the first place." Dean stared unseeingly ahead. "I thought he'd be safer there."

There was a pause and Dean could feel Bobby's anger pouring through the ear piece.

"You stupid ass!" Bobby raged. " He was never safe there, not after what happened to Jess, and maybe Sam never wanted to be a part of the hunt forever but he wanted to be a part of your life. You're all he's got left...and now he's in trouble. Dean, the way that guy sped away in a hurry, the way Sam was sitting in the passenger seat...he looked sick. Real sick."

"Yeah well, he's always looked like that, and as Sam's so fond of telling me: he's a big boy now. He can look out for himself." Dean inwardly winced at his own words, knew it was his stubborn, argumentative childish side talking, but it hurt that Sam had so easily taken off again without a word; he hadn't even said goodbye.

But...

...Sam was out there alone, possibly in danger, very probably hurt, and all Dean could do was point the finger? Sometimes even he felt disgusted with himself. Before Bobby could yell at him some more Dean sighed and spoke up again. "Look, you got the licence plate right? Check it out and I'll hit the road, see if I can't find him. A red Ford Mustang you say?"

"Yeah," Bobby answered after a pause, obviously placated for now. "An early 1970s model unless I'm mistaken."

"Well there can't be too many of those out there, someone's bound to have seen 'em." Dean had made his way back to the kitchen by now, and he froze when his gaze fell on the folded sheet of paper bearing his name, resting against the toaster.

"Dean?" Bobby was getting worried at the sudden silence.

"Just a sec."

He touched it tentatively at first, then delved right in and unfolded it.

Another silence. Then:

"Aw Sammy." Dean whispered, fearfully. "What have I done?"

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Sam roused slowly, chin resting on his chest. He really hoped losing consciousness from blood loss would also come hand in hand with memory loss, but sadly he could recall every waking moment since his capture. Up to and including, and he grimaced at this point, the kiss. It was like being assaulted by a reptile, his mouth ravaged by a hot, rough tongue, and Sam desperately wanted water or possibly concentrated nitric acid to wash his mouth out. Not that it would do him much good. As soon as the kiss was over, he? She? It? Ladyboy? had yanked the gag back in place and reached round his neck to tighten the knot, the material cutting into the soft flesh of his cheeks.

He tested his bonds for any give and the ropes immediately tightened up again, making him wince in pain.

Nope. Still fucked. Ropes must be charmed or something. And suddenly that had him worried.

Given that kiss, was it just possible...?

"Not a chance big boy. You're not my type." A familiar voice right by his ear made him jump. "Humans are such scum, I wouldn't waste my time."

Quashing back that terrible, curious part of him that wanted to know just what exactly was a demon's type in the battlefield of sexual exuberance, Sam sighed through his nose in relief. The last thing he wanted to worry about was being raped; at least now he knew his 'virtue' would remain intact, so anything else? He could deal with it. Sam wasn't a Winchester for nothing, in spite of what his brother and father might have thought of him.

He was about to change his mind.

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Author's notes:

Here we go, a new story for Sendintheclowns's birthday. Hope you enjoy it darling.

Kind regards,

.