Bobby Singer would have been lying if he had said he thought this would've been a simple job. It turned out to be more complicated than he expected, but after the fact he realized he should have expected that there would be issues.

It started out simple enough. Ian Foster had called him about a demon issue. After the tragic death of his wife, Karen, Bobby poured himself into research in understanding demons. He considered himself something of an expert on the creatures. With this in mind, it was no surprise that he got a call for help with a demon case. The problem was really Foster.

Bobby had worked with Ian Foster before; Bobby had sworn he wouldn't again. It wasn't that Foster was stupid - well, it wasn't just that. It was more that Foster had a tendency to act before he thought, and his decisions were often not ones that Bobby would make. He was reckless and dangerous.

And Bobby would be lying to himself if he didn't think Foster liked hurting the creatures they hunted a little too much.

In fact it was this factor that drove Bobby to take the case in the first place. With a werewolf or a vampire, Bobby figured Foster could go crazy. As long as the job got done, Bobby wouldn't interfere. But a case with a demon? Bobby didn't like the idea of Foster being left to dealt with the host of a demon. Someone innocent, trapped in their own body. Bobby wasn't confident that Foster would see it that way.

Still, when Ian called and said he had a teenager and a case with a demon, Bobby was in no rush to meet Ian at the hunting cabin he was lodging in. He took his time getting there, figuring the kid was probably restrained but otherwise alright in Foster's hands.

His truck finally pulled up to the cabin, and Foster welcomed him as he got out of his truck. Bobby forced a small smirk and said, "Let's get this over with."

As soon as Bobby descended the basement stairs, he knew he was in trouble. He had started the descent with a set and determined gaze - Foster had said it was a teenager and Bobby had a soft spot for kids. He certainly didn't want to let the demon get under his skin.

But Bobby's eyes softened as he took in the trembling shoulders, the lanky arms of a teen still growing into his limbs, and the muffled sniffling coming from beneath the hood. The kid was terrified. Trying his hardest to hide it? Sure. But there was no denying his fear, and Bobby certainly couldn't blame him for it. It wasn't unheard of for a demon to let the host stay in control to try to get some sympathy from a hunter, but it wasn't usually the first move. More of a last resort if the demon couldn't deal with more torture. Hurting a host was a lot harder to justify when a demon wasn't spouting threats and insults at you using the host's body. The most concerning factor for Bobby, however, was that the kid had been tied up and shoved in the corner of a basement. No demon traps in sight, not even a grain of salt.

The boy, having obviously heard their footsteps, had managed to calm his hitching breaths through the hood. He tensed as Bobby stepped closer, pressing himself into the corner. As he moved, muffled whimpers escaped beneath the hood. Bobby bit his lip wondering sorts of injuries the kid was nursing. He gently reached down and tugged the hood off the kid's head. Unruly, chestnut waves of hair fell out and obscured much of the kid's face. The bottom half of his face was hidden as well, wrapped in layer upon layer of silver duct tape gagging the poor kid. Bloodshot eyes of a striking hazel blinked at the sudden change of light, widening as they landed on Bobby. They immediately narrowed into a glare, but Bobby could see a flicker of fear behind the kid's bravado. The kid sniffled again, trying to do away with any evidence that he had been crying; however, the tearstained cheeks and puffy red eyes told their own story. Still, Bobby was impressed. The kid couldn't be older than fifteen or sixteen at the most - Bobby wouldn't think less of him if he were sobbing and pleading. This kid had mettle.

Bobby could see this situation was bad - he'd have to be blind to miss that. But worst of all, he had a sinking feeling this wasn't the simple exorcism he'd been expecting. Ian Foster had never struck Bobby as a genius, but he wouldn't be fool enough to leave a demon possessed teenager free of a devil's trap. The guy didn't even appear to have holy water on his person.

Bobby unscrewed his own flask of the blessed liquid and poured a bit on the kid's head. The teen reacted as one might expect a teen to react if he'd been kidnapped and doused with an unknown liquid. He sputtered back and squeaked behind the several layers of tape wrapped around his head. But he certainly didn't sizzle or smoke.

This kid wasn't possessed.

Bobby rounded on Foster, growling low in his throat, "What in the hell are you playing at? You said this was a case of a demon! The kid ain't even possessed! You son of a bitch-"

Ian interrupted, "Ah ah, I said this was a case involving a demon. I didn't say he was possessed..." he trailed off, smirking at Bobby.

Bobby gaped at him for a moment before glancing at the teen. He certainly didn't seem shocked like Bobby would've expected. Nor did the talk of demonic possession seem to make him anymore frightened than he already was. As Bobby thought this over, Ian watching him in silence until finally Bobby snapped, "Well? Are you gonna explain yourself or am I expected to figure it out?"

"You're right, he's not possessed-"

"-yeah, the holy water told me that much, moron-"

"-but...and this is a big but...this kid is front and center in a big bad's plans for the future."

"...a 'big bad'? I oughta strangle you, you big dope. What's wrong with you? What is your big plan here, what do you think we're gonna do with him, huh?"

"Listen to me, alright. This demon, he's real evil. I been doin' research, Bobby. A string of dead parents, all of 'em died in house fires, right? On the night their kid turns 6 months old. All of 'em! Not to mention the omens leading up to it. So I dug deeper. You ever heard of a yellow-eyed demon?" The kid twitched and tensed up at the discussion taking place, sniffling every once in awhile. "I mean it Bobby, this is real and this is some real dangerous shit."

"Christ," Bobby muttered, turning away from the other hunter and glancing at the kid. He sighed then added, "That doesn't answer the question of what you plan on doin' with him."

"I dunno. Figure out what he is, for starts-"

"He's a kid, dumbass-"

"You don't know that! He's a weapon, Bobby. This demon is bad news, I'm telling you. So we figure him out, what he can do. Crack his skull open and see what we're working with if we have to."

At 'crack his skull open' Bobby thought he might be sick. Possibly that he might attack Foster. The kid heard it and let out a choked sob that broke off into a quiet whimper. Bobby suddenly felt overwhelmed by his guilt - he had felt bad enough the kid had been kidnapped, now they were outright terrorizing him.

"Jesus, Foster, do you even know his name?"

"...Sam. Sam Winchester." Bobby paused for a moment, mulling over the name before Foster tentatively added, "he's...he's John Winchester's son."

The name sounded familiar to Bobby but he couldn't place it. Then suddenly it hit him. He'd heard that name from Pastor Jim Murphy. Shit. Shit. "You mean to tell me you kidnapped a hunter's kid? Just how stupid are you? Christ. And your game plan is to torture him? How old even is the kid?"

"Bobby, I've done the research. I'm onto something here-"

"Save it. Bad enough you've terrorized the son of a fellow hunter, you roped me into it acting like it was a goddamn exorcism! Shit. Shit. Go upstairs, I'll be up in a minute."

"Don't you untie him, Bobby Singer. I mean it, I'll-"

"You won't do a damn thing! Your ideas are what got us into this mess. Christ, I'm just gonna talk to the kid, give him some water. No one is around anyways and you seem to have wrapped a whole roll of tape around his mouth, jackass."

As he skulked away, Foster looked over his shoulder and muttered, "Mark my words, that kid is involved in this demon's plan whether he likes it or not. One day he's gonna be used for something big, and I plan to stop it." With that, Foster disappeared up the stairs leaving the room in silence save for the hitching breaths still coming from the kid bound and gagged in the corner of the room.

Bobby scrubbed a hand down his face before rounding on the teenager - Sam. As Bobby took a step forward a muffled string of pleas escaped behind the layers of tape. No doubt the kid was still stuck on the thought that Bobby intended to torture and kill him. The kid tried to keep it together but Bobby's approach set him off in a panic, tears beginning to trace new paths through the dirt and grime on his face. As Bobby got closer and Sam's face was less obscured by shadows and his own hair, Bobby realized he had already experienced quite the beating. He noticed drying blood which had dripped from his nose which thankfully looked swollen and not broken. Dark bruises covered the left side of Sam's face and there was a small gash at his hairline which appeared to have left the surrounding hair matted with dried blood. As Sam tried to wedge himself even further back into the corner - an impossible task - he let out another pained moan which drew Bobby's attention to his misshapen shoulder. Shit. A dislocated shoulder was a painful injury. The longer it was kept out of joint the more likely that there would be damage. He needed a hospital. Bobby let out a sigh and said, "Aw, hell...you sure are a mess kiddo." Sam turned his head towards Bobby, his hazel eyes shifting from narrow, glaring, and impassive to wide, teary and vulnerable. How long had Foster kept the kid tied up and terrified? Sam's defenses were crumbling and Bobby only wished he had raced to get here the second Ian had called him.

Bobby stooped down, whispering, "Alright, Sam- it's Sam, right?" At the kid's jerky nod, Bobby continued, "Okay, Sam, I need you to stay calm for a minute here. I'm gonna take the tape off your mouth and get you some water. Then I'm gonna figure this out, okay? I'm not gonna let him hurt you anymore, alright?" Another jerky nod as a single tear tracked down his cheek. "Good, you're doing good, kid." He reached into his pocket taking out his pocket knife and slowly opened it, saying, "Alright, there are too many layers, just stay still and I'm gonna cut the tape away. Just stay calm, I'm gonna do my best not to cut you." He quickly sliced through the tape and began working on gently peeling it away, whispering, "that's it, just another minute, I'll have this off in a second..."

As soon as the tape came free, Bobby had to pull a large wad of cloth out of his mouth as well. As gently as he could, Bobby dislodged the cloth which had become crusted with saliva from Sam's mouth. With his mouth free for the first time since his captivity Sam drew in a deep breath which immediately set him off on harsh chain of hacking coughs. As he choked and gasped, Bobby quickly took his flask of holy water and let Sam have a small gulp. Desperately thirsty, Sam let out a keening noise when Bobby removed the flask.

"Gimme a minute, I'm gonna get you some regular water, Sam." Bobby disappeared for a moment before returning quickly with a glass of water. Sam had managed to settle his breathing in the meantime and warily eyed Bobby upon his return. When Bobby guided the glass to his lips he tried to take in large gulps quickly, but Bobby pulled back, saying, "Slow, small sips, kid. Don't want you to get sick." When Sam pulled away he leaned his head against the wall behind him and returned to appraising Bobby with his gaze.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Bobby was not a man of many words, not to mention he had never considered himself an expert in calming down frightened kids. Still, he felt the need to somehow ease Sam's fear. He cleared his throat and said, "I...I don't know how much you were listening to us, Sam...but I don't intend to hurt you...or let him hurt you for that matter," Bobby added looking at the stairs. Sam just stared at Bobby with those piercing eyes. Kid looked like a goddamn kicked puppy with those eyes. Bobby couldn't hold his gaze and had to look away in his guilt. He could try to take the kid out now, but he certainly hadn't come armed like Foster had. He had assumed that most of his weapons would be useless in dealing with a demon possession. Sure he had brought some weapons, but Foster had a whole arsenal. If he couldn't get Ian to see reason he'd have to call in someone for backup.

After a few minutes of silence, Bobby asked, "How old are you, Sam?"

Bobby looked up to see Sam had been biting his lower lip in an effort to keep it from trembling. Finally he croaked out, "F-fourteen...fifteen in two mo-" The kid broke off and then tried to stifle a dry sob. It occurred to Bobby that Sam no longer thought he'd make it to fifteen. The kid composed himself quickly and they returned to sitting in silence. As Bobby racked his brain for a way to set the kid at ease, Sam turned to face the wall. With a few tears breaking free from his steely defenses, Sam choked out a hoarse whisper, "I...I-I'm never gonna see my f-family again...am I?"

Bobby had heard of John Winchester. He knew that he had been training his sons since they were children. Sam probably wasn't afraid of werewolves or demons. He could probably take apart, clean, and reassemble any gun Bobby handed to him. Sam knew how to be a hunter, Bobby was sure of that.

But Sam probably never expected that he'd become the hunted.

And he was terrified.

"Sam? Sam," Bobby said, attempting to draw the kid's face away from the wall, "Look at me, Sam." Bobby peered over his shoulder, making sure Foster hadn't snuck back down the stairs. Taking in Sam's pained expression, Bobby instantly softened, "I'm gonna make sure you get out of this, kiddo."

Sam looked skeptical. Which, to be fair, he was still tied up in a basement staring at a grizzled hunter he had never met. He attempted to steel himself again, muttering "No. You'd have let me go if that were the case." He sniffled and attempted to shift, biting back a moan as it jostled his shoulder. After a moment of silence he eyed the stairs fearfully and added, "He's...h-he's gonna k-kill me."

Bobby gently gripped Sam's knee and squeezed lightly, peering into his hazel eyes.

"Not if I can help it."