This is going to be a long story - it's already over 100 pages in Word. Will bring in more characters/storylines as the story progresses. I've been writing this one for awhile and decided it was time to publish. I'm leaving tonight for vacation, but provided I can get WiFi, I will update throughout the week.

What you should know:

*Dean is deaf. As expected, he handles it like a badass. The situation will be explained further in later chapters.

*This takes place around the end of Season 4. Sam isn't addicted to demon blood and Ruby is irrelevant. I didn't stick too closely to canon, so don't look too closely.

*I'll try to further clarify things as we go.

CHAPTER 1

Sam walked his older brother into the motel room, supporting most of Dean's weight. Dean was shaky at best and his knees finally buckled as they approached the bed. Sam slowly lowered him down and kept a hand on Dean's shoulder since he looked as though he may fall over at any moment.

Sam clenched his jaw in anger as he looked at his normally arrogant, smartass older brother's ashen face and haunted eyes. The sons of bitches who did this…

He forced himself to focus on Dean, releasing him long enough to kneel and pull off Dean's boots. He left on the socks since Dean was shivering. Dean's eyes drooped closed and Sam realized that he was probably going into shock.

"Dean," he said softly as he squeezed his brother's arm gently. Dean's eyes opened but remained fixed on the floor. "Dean," he tried again as he moved his hand to Dean's cheek. Slowly, Dean's eyes moved up to Sam's face.

"You need to stay awake for a little while, okay?" Sam signed the words, figuring that lip reading might be more than Dean could handle right then.

It took Dean a moment longer to process than normal, but he finally nodded slightly. He was dying to lie down, to sleep, to force away all that had happened, but Sam said to stay awake. Sam was the only thing that made sense, the only thing he could really trust. He felt lost, his mind jumbled and fuzzy. Sammy was his anchor and Dean clung to him.

Sam stood and attempted to move away but Dean had a grip on him. Sam took his arm gently, careful of the wounds on his wrist. After making sure his brother was looking at him, he spoke and signed at the same time. "Dean, it's okay. I'm not leaving you; I just need to get some stuff to clean you up, okay?"

After a moment of processing, Dean released Sam's shirt and his hand fell limply in his lap. Sam quickly grabbed the washcloths and wet them before picking up the first aid kit and returning to the bed Dean was seated on. Dean was watching every move, so Sam tried to keep it together.

"Hey man, you doing okay?" Sam asked gently. He knew it was a stupid question; of course he wasn't okay, but he needed to keep Dean focused on him. He had to get him cleaned up and make sure he wasn't going to go into shock. He opened a bottle of water and coaxed Dean to take a few sips. He knew that his brother was dehydrated on top of the physical and emotional trauma he had endured.

"Can you help me with your shirt? We need to get you cleaned up."

Dean didn't move, so Sam started undoing the buttons of the flannel shirt Dean was wearing – Sam's flannel. Dean's mind clicked after a few seconds and he weakly helped Sam remove the shirt, then his jeans. Sam began to inventory Dean's injuries, noting the contusions on most of his body and cuts on his chest, arms and face, not to mention the wounds on his wrists. Sam worked to clean the cuts quickly and he palpated the worst of the bruises to check for broken bones. Dean wasn't responding to any pain and his body had begun to tremble.

"Shit, Dean. We'll have to check you again later. You're going into shock," Sam said as he moved the first aid supplies and pulled back the covers on Dean's bed. He guided Dean to lie down and tucked the blankets in around him. Grabbing his wallet, he dashed to the drink machine to get some Gatorade. He returned to the room and slipped off his own boots before settling himself next to his brother.

He helped Dean take a few sips of Gatorade and returned the bottle to the table. Dean's eyes had slipped closed and Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. After a moment, Dean opened his eyes.

"Dean," he said before signing, "I know you're tired, but before you go to sleep I have to make sure you don't have a concussion. Did you hit your head?"

Dean blinked a few times, but he didn't seem to comprehend the question.

"Does your head hurt?" Sam tried again. Dean nodded. "Did you hit your head, Dean?"

Dean licked his lips as he tried to think. "Don't know," he rasped out, swallowing hard as his dry throat burned.

"Sounds like it's possible then," Sam said mostly to himself. "Look at me, Dean," he signed as his brother seemed to be close to drifting off again.

Dean obeyed, straining to keep his eyes open and his mind from slipping into unconsciousness. Sam said to stay awake, so he had to.

Sam looked in Dean's eyes, relieved to see his pupils equal and reactive, though a bit on the small side. Definitely going into shock. That didn't completely rule out a concussion, but it meant that it was okay for Dean to go to sleep.

"Alright, man, almost done. Are you hurting anywhere?" Sam asked as he pointed his index fingers toward each other and tapped them twice. Dean nodded. "Where?"

"Everywhere," Dean answered hoarsely.

Sam closed his eyes, taking a moment to gather himself. "Okay," he said, rising from the bed. "Here's some medicine. I can't give you the good stuff until I finish checking you out, but this should help. Try to get some rest and we'll go from there."

Dean nodded as Sam placed two pills in his mouth and offered the bottle. As soon as the pills were down, Dean was out. Sam tucked the blankets around Dean's trembling form before settling himself against the headboard. He rubbed his hands over his face wearily, remembering the state he had found Dean in. His brother had been missing for almost three days, having gone out for breakfast two mornings ago but not returning to the motel.

Earlier

After a couple of hours and unanswered text messages, Sam was frantic. He searched everywhere he knew to look, finding the Impala abandoned on the side of the road across town. He noted that the spare tire had been put on, the lug wrench discarded nearby. Dean must have been grabbed while he was changing the tire. The keys were in the ignition, so Sam took off in search of his brother.

It wasn't until much later that he finally caught a break. Two days later he received a call that Dean's phone had been turned back on and the cell phone company was able to trace it using GPS.

Sam raced to the location, reminding himself that it may just be Dean's phone, not Dean, that he found. He parked the Impala down the block from the house he was headed for so as not to tip anyone off. He checked his Taurus, ensuring it was loaded and ready. He didn't know what he may be up against or if it may be supernatural, so he also loaded the sawed-off shotgun with salt rounds and stuck the demon-killing knife in his belt. Feeling prepared, he quietly approached the house that the cell phone company had referred him to. Dark was falling and Sam crept through the brush as he peered in the windows. He worked his way around the house, entering the garage silently.

Through the window in the door he saw a man enter the kitchen. He put a plate in the microwave, set the timer, and left the room. Sam, seeing a plan forming, grabbed a roll of duct tape from the pegboard wall before letting himself into the house soundlessly. He knew that within seconds the guy would return to retrieve his meal. He placed the roll of tape on the table and pulled out his gun. He moved into position. The microwave beeped and footsteps approached the kitchen. As soon as the man stepped through the doorway, Sam grabbed him from behind, locking him in a chokehold and pressing the barrel of the gun into his side.

"Not a sound," Sam hissed, tightening his hold. "I will drop you right here, understand?"

The guy nodded frantically, his face red as he gasped for air. He pulled uselessly at Sam's arm, trying to loosen the grip on his airway.

"Who else is here?" Sam demanded in a quiet voice. "How many more?"

"Just…one," the man choked out. "Bedroom…sleeping."

Sam loosened his grip slightly. "You better be telling me the truth." He shoved the man into one of the kitchen chairs. He quickly ripped off a piece of tape, slapping it over the man's mouth before pinning his arms securely behind him with another. He taped the guy's ankles to the chair legs before standing back up.

"I will ask you one more time," Sam warned as he pressed the gun to the man's neck. "Are there any more of you here?"

The man shook his head emphatically and sighed when Sam removed the gun. "And how about your captive? Where can I find him?" Sam spat out venomously.

The man closed his eyes in defeat, realizing that they were busted. Sam clenched his jaw in anger before leaving the room in search of the other man.

He crept through the hallways, not taking any chances. He cleared the living room, basement, and one bedroom before approaching another door. He wrapped his hand around the knob and slowly turned it to release the latch. When the door swung open, Sam's heart clenched at what he found.

"Oh my – " he muttered.

His brother was lying curled up on the floor. If not for the very subtle rise and fall of his chest, Sam would be sure he was dead. The setting sun shone through the window, giving Sam a limited view of his brother's battered body. His shirt had been removed and his skin was pale – at least the part not covered in bruises - and he was so still. It was dark in the room, but Sam could tell that Dean's hands were tied behind him. He wanted so badly to run to his brother's side, but he knew he had to secure the other attacker before he could.

"Dean," he gasped softly as he checked the hallway. He didn't want the other guy to sneak up on him. "Dean, I know you can't hear me, but I'll be right back. I promise."

Swallowing hard, Sam forced himself away from Dean. He went to the bedroom at the end of the hall, and once he had secured the second attacker in the kitchen with his buddy and cleared the rest of the house, he returned to help Dean. He put the safety on the Taurus and returned it to the waistband of his jeans before approaching Dean. He sank to his knees beside his brother and his stomach churned as his eyes swept over the still form.

"Shit," he cursed. Dean's torso was covered with cuts and bruises, some obviously fresh. Sam's eyes drifted to his brother's face and the urge to kill the men in the kitchen grew. A piece of cloth had been tied over Dean's eyes and another had been forced into his mouth and tied painfully tight. He had cuts on his arms and face, and his wrists were bound savagely with a thick black zip tie. He cringed when he saw the reddish-purple tinge to Dean's hands where the circulation had been cut off. His ankles had received the same treatment, though his socks had been left on as a barrier, so they seemed to be in better shape.

Despite the fact that his brother couldn't hear him, Sam spoke softly. "Dean, I'm here. Everything's going to be okay; I'm getting you out of here." He gently placed his hand on Dean's arm, noting the chill of his skin, before he began to remove the bonds. He started by removing the gag and blindfold then cut through the zip ties. Once his brother was free, Sam ran his hands through his hair. Dean looked awful. He was pale and clammy, his skin was varying shades of blue and purple punctuated by angry red lacerations, and he was unconscious. Sam checked his head for any signs of injury and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't find as much as a bump. Sam pulled off his jacket before removing his flannel shirt and working it onto his brother's limp body. His hands shook as he fastened the buttons.

"Dean," he called as he tried to rouse his brother. When Dean didn't move or react, Sam scooped him up and headed for the Impala. He realized as he hauled his fully grown brother that he should have pulled the car up closer, but he couldn't bear the idea of leaving Dean in that house another moment. When he reached the car, he pulled open the door and gently placed his brother in the backseat. He draped his jacket across Dean's upper body before climbing into the driver's seat. Sam put the car in gear, but rather than head for the motel, he returned to the house. The guys who did this had to be dealt with.

As the car slowed to a stop in the driveway, Dean roused.

"S'mmy?" he rasped, his voice no louder than a whisper. Sam turned around in the seat. He pushed up the too-long sleeve of the flannel and took his brother's hand. Dean's eyes cracked open as he sought his brother's face.

"I'm here," he assured Dean. Dean's eyes struggled to stay open but he gripped Sam's hand tightly. "You're safe now. We're in the Impala and we're going to go to the motel, but I have to take care of something. Will you be okay, Dean?"

Dean didn't answer and continued to squeeze Sam's hand.

"Dean, I need to go deal with something. I'll be right back," Sam said gently. "You'll be safe here, I promise."

After a few seconds of consideration, Dean released Sam's hand and closed his eyes. Sam locked the car doors, placing the keys in his pocket before he approached the house once again. He entered the kitchen to find the captives/attackers struggling against their bonds to no avail.

"Alright," he said, pulling out his gun once again. He loaded a round in the chamber and removed the safety. "Who wants to go first?"

Both men looked at him in sheer terror. "What, you honestly want me to believe you're scared? Well, let me tell you something. You should be. You snatched my brother, beat the shit out of him, and kept him tied up in this godforsaken place for nearly 3 days. Who the hell knows what else you did to him, or would have done to him, had I not found you. So, yeah, I'd be scared if I were you."

Sam took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't know how much I'd like to kill you. I would love nothing more than to empty every round I have into you, but fortunately for you, I'm not like you. I'm not a monster."

He replaced the safety and put away his gun. Grabbing the roll of tape, he reinforced their bonds and checked them for weapons or anything they could use to free themselves.

"This time," he said, "I'm going to let the law sort this out. I have more important things to worry about than wasting my time dealing with you pieces of shit."

With that, Sam slammed the door and returned to the car to check on his brother.