Disclaimers: Duh, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint).

Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders"...what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him? One-shot? You tell me...;)

You Pick the Animal

Dean sat helpless, tied to the chair as Pa Bender whispered angrily in his ear.

"Alright, you wanna play games? We'll play some games. Looks like we're gonna have a hunt tonight after all boys!" he said happily to his sons, then looked at Dean, the swift flicker of hatred flowing across his features. "And you get to pick the animal: the boy, or the cop."

Dean gasped in shock, then tried to gather his wits in order to come up with something, some truth, some fabrication, anything, that would make them back down.

"Wait, wait...no, look, nobody's comin' for me, alright...it's just us."

"You don't choose, I will," said the madman as he waved the poker in Dean's view, then without warning pushed it into the flesh of his left shoulder.

Dean bellowed in pain and anger, struggling against the grip the son had on his head.

"OH!...You...Son-of-a-BITCH!"

The poker was thrust into Dean's face, the yellow tip sizzling, shining off the sweat of Dean's cheek, his eye widening in fear.

"Next time I'll take an eye."

That was it, he couldn't hunt without sight. He silently begged Sam to forgive him as he yelled, "Alright, alright! The guy, the guy, take the guy!" Sam could take care of himself in a fight, and there was a good chance that Sam would be able to turn the tables on this wacked out family.

Pa Bender removed the key from around his neck and handed it to his son.

"Lee, go do it."

The man grinned in glee as he went to let loose the 'animal'.

oooOOOooo

Sam was sitting in the cage, confident that Dean would find the key and that the next footsteps he heard would be his brothers'. The bolt on his cage retracted, and without thought, Sam rose from his cramped position and exited the cell. He waited a few moments by the cage that held the sherrif, thinking that hers would be the next one opened, when the bolt on his cage slid shut.

He whirled around and looked at it in horror.

"Uh-oh," he gulped.

Kathleen looked up at him, confusion on her face. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at the cell like that?"

"Because last time that happened, the guy who's cell was unlocked was the next to be hunted," Sam said quietly. "I thought Dean found the release to the cages..."

"It wasn't him, was it," Kathleen said, the inflection in her tone making it a statement, not a question.

"No. I'm the next prey."

Sam thought furiously for a moment, then, "I can't get you out of the cage, what I have to do is draw them away, then circle back to the house. Hopefully I'll be able to find Dean, get you out, then we'll all get the hell out of here."

"Good luck," she said holding out her hand. The deputy knew it was their only chance, but she was still scared. The young man looked barely old enough to have graduated high school, much less be able to take on three crazed, but obviously skilled, hunters.

Sam nodded and gripped the proffered hand, then slunk quietly to the door, and vanished through it into the cold night.

oooOOOooo

Dean watched as Sam slipped through the barn door and faded into the darkness like a shadow. The sickos had moved his chair so he could see the beginning of their 'hunt'. If he hadn't been looking at that spot at that precise time, he would have missed him. Dean felt a surge of pride in the skills of his baby brother. 'You keep it up, Sammy. Show them that hunting a Winchester is worse than any other hunt of their lives.' Dean's thoughts turned bloodthirsty. 'And if they harm so much as a hair on your head, they'll be the next ones hanging on their trophy walls, I swear to God.'

Missy hummed an eerie, off-key child's melody as Dean settled in to wait through the next few hours of hell.

oooOOOooo

Sam ran low over the muddy ground, intent on getting to the edge of the forest, when a reflection in the moonlight caught his eye. He crouched, tuning his senses to his surroundings as he picked up and tested the blade. It was old, kind of rusty, but it was secure in the hilt and still held an edge. Good enough. In the hands of the previous amateurs, the knife was a help as well as a hindrance, giving confidence, but sometimes cockiness. In the hands of Sam Winchester, though, it became an extension of the claws and fangs this deadly animal already possessed, more dangerous than the cougar that Pa had boasted of in his kills.

Grabbing the knife in an easy back-handed grip, he started for the woods once again, his long legs easily eating up the ground and bringing him to cover in mere seconds. He quickly scanned the area, and chose a denser path than he normally would have, suspecting that the Benders had set some unexpected 'surprises' on the more well-worn trails. His lithe body slid through the undergrowth easily, the branches barely rustling as he moved deeper into the wilds like a child of the forest.

He kept his eyes moving, darting from tree to ground and up overhead, hypersensitive to any tripwires that might be hidden. The dim light of the moon enhanced the silvery edges of the leaves and grasses, and more than once he spied traps and easily avoided them. His acute hearing alerted him to the others trying to pick up his trail, and he grinned as he heard them bickering when they temporarily lost it. Sam came to a small clearing and picked up a couple of rocks from the ground. Zeroing in on his hunters, he threw one rock as hard as he could to his left, then crouched in the bushes to wait until they headed off in that direction.

Waiting for a few moments, Sam rose and tossed another rock to his right. The distant sounds of the three hunters stilled, then continued, now in two places. The hunters knew this was a trick, tossed rocks were often used, but they weren't worried. Their over-confidence told them that they could easily handle this whelp.

Back in the clearing, Sam stayed silent until he could distictively hear the sounds of the lone hunter, then crept from his hiding place to turn the tables on the Benders.

Sam moved slowly through the unfamaliar terrain, aware that this was the hunters' playground, not his. He paused often, tracking the lone hunter with his hearing, and then his sight as single man came into view, rifle poised to shoot. Sam eased into the shadow of a tree, resisting making sharp movements that would alert the other to his presence. He gripped the knife tighter in his hand and sprang onto the other man's back, knocking him to the ground. The rifle went spinning into the underbrush as the two men grappled, Sam desperately trying to keep the Bender from yelling to his father or brother.

Sam pounced on Jared as he tried to rise, taking his legs out from under him. Jared fell on top of Sam, but the younger Winchester rolled free. His opponent grabbed a wickedly long hunting knife from his boot and waved it menacingly at Sam. He was unnerved when the blade didn't seem to terrify his prey. Instead, the younger man fell into a fighting crouch, his own blade held skillfully in his right hand. Jared began to realize that this wasn't one of their ordinary, cowering victims. He opened his mouth to yell for his father when Sam lunged straight at him, slapping his pitiful defense aside and plunging his rusty knife deep into his throat, silencing him forever.

Rolling to his knees, Sam forced his heaving stomach to quiet. He had never killed a man before, not like this. He tried to tell himself that it was self-defense, but then relentlessly pushed all thoughts other than survival to the back of his mind. He would deal with that later.

Sam picked up Jared's knife from the forest floor and resumed his hunt. One down, two to go.

oooOOOooo

Sam backtracked through the woods, following Jared's trail as well as he could, until he heard the other two talking in low voices.

"...shouldn't'a split up, pa..."

" Shut up, boy...hunting longer'n you..."

"...think 'e got Jared?" followed by a slap.

"Don' sass me, boy!" An angry whisper.

Sam started to back away when his foot caught on a tree root, causing him to stumble. The two hunters spun around, and the brother fired three rounds into the woods before Pa slapped the barrel of the rifle into the air.

"You stupid little shit! 'Coulda been Jared, you think 'a that?"

"Sorry, pa," said a meek voice.

The father just nodded curtly and directed his son to scout to the left of the tree cluster, as he went around to the right.

The moon came out from behind the clouds for a moment and illuminated the trees, showing a fresh splatter of blood on the bark. The patriarch grinned evilly as he caressed the blood, then lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it off his fingers. The pair followed the trail of dark liquid deeper into the woods.

oooOOOooo

Sam held his breath as the pair walked past him. He had backtracked on his own trail, daring to hide closer to the hunters, rather than expend his energy in trying to run. They had nearly passed his hiding spot when his luck ran out again. The moon came out once more and the father saw one of Sam's footprints that had not quite matched the trail he wanted them to follow. Turning, he glimpsed Sam's face before he bolted from behind the tree.

"GIT 'EM!" the father yelled to his son.

The young man dove after his prey, catching Sam in the middle of the back and knocking him into the mud. Sam grunted as Lee landed on his back, putting pressure on the bullet graze in his side. He jackknifed his body and threw the Bender brother off him, then rolled swiftly to his feet and flung himself at the other man, knowing he had to disable him quickly. The two grappled in the cold mud for a few moments, Sam's desperate energy fighting the larger man's brute strength, neither willing to yield. A shot startled them both as Pa Bender fired his rifle, but Sam refused to stop fighting. To stop fighting would be to die. He took advantage of the other man's hesitation and wrenched his arm behind his back in a fierce hold.

"Stop it right NOW!" the father roared as he took aim.

Sam used Lee's unsteady momentum to turn him around just as his father fired once more. The bullet hit the youngest Bender brother in the chest, and Sam was too startled to do anything but let him fall, staring down at the body in shock.

Pa nearly dropped the rifle in horror, appalled at what he had just done. Enraged, he raised the rifle and fired at Sam again, but his shock hampered his aim. Sam turned and fled into the woods, the eldest hunter close on his heels.

oooOOOooo

Sam's breath came in harsh spurts now, he had long since given up being quiet, and he ran as fast as he could, knowing the last hunter was right behind him. He tried to remember in which direction the house was, but the darkness of the forest was confusing to him. He had barely escaped two traps that were laid out; one tripwire that at the last second he was able to jump over, and one pile of leaves that didn't look right that he avoided just in case. The third trap he didn't see. He flew over the trail, finally seeing the house through a clearing, and his eagerness to get to Dean overwhelmed his caution. As he put his left foot down, he felt it give just a little, and threw his body to the side.

He wasn't quite fast enough.

The arrow that had been aimed for his heart slammed into the back of his right shoulder with enough force to throw him to the ground. He lay dazed for a few moments, and that was long enough for the father to catch up to him.

"I got'cha now, you animal," he sneered angrily. "And you gonna pay for what you done to my boys!"

Sam gripped the knife under his body and waited until the bigger man grabbed his arm and tried to yank him up. He lashed out with the knife, catching the other man in the left forearm. Growling in pain and anger now, the father threw Sam forcefully against a tree. Darkness climbed out of the tunnel and dragged Sam under.

oooOOOooo

Sam was only unconcious for a few minutes, but when he awoke, his arms and wrists were bound behind his back with rough rope, and Pa was just finishing tying his ankles as well. Roughly the patriarch grabbed the rope tied around Sams upper arms and started to drag the young man towards the house. The arrow was still lodged in his back and the pain became too much for him. Blackness surrounded him, and with a strangled gasp, he fell into it again.

oooOOOooo

Bored, Dean was going through his mental list of Metallica songs again, trying to get the awful sound of the girl's psychotic humming out of his head when he heard footsteps pound on the front porch.

"Missy!"

The filthy girl ran to the front of the house to do her father's bidding, leaving Dean to fret. Sam was supposed to get him out of here, Sam was supposed to come back, not the father!

Dean gasped in horror as the father came into the entry of the living room, dragging Sam's wet, muddy body, trussed up like a wounded animal, and dropping him roughly on the floor before stalking out of sight. Sam lay unmoving, his arms pulled viciously tight behind his back, wrapped with thick rope around his upper arms and wrists. An arrow shaft stuck out from his upper back somewhere, and there was a dark stain on his right side. His thighs and ankles were also bound with rope. From what Dean could see under the shaggy hair that halfway obscured Sam's face, there were bruises starting to form around his neck and on his cheeckbone, and blood dripped from his nose.

"Sam...Sammy," Dean whispered. "Sammy, bro, wake up. Please, wake up Sammy."

The old turntable was cranked up again, and a staticky old jazz record was played, its levity contrasting harshly with the dark, musty atmosphere of the dilapidated house and its insane occupants. Dean could hear thumps and banging in the kitchen, and wondered what the two Benders were up to. A few minutes later, the father returned and grabbed Sam again, this time by the hair, and dragged him into the room beyond, leaving Dean's imagination to drop into overdrive at every sound he heard. He yelled and swore colorfully but they ignored him.

For a long while Dean heard nothing but scrapes and soft commands given to the girl. Then he heard a scream and a strangled moan come from his brother's throat.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Let him go you sick sonuvaBITCH!"

Dean renewed his earlier struggles to free himself. The ropes were rough, but the blood oozing from his wrists had made them loose and slippery. He pulled as hard as he could, his back arching with the effort and the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief. He threw back his head and clenched his teeth and concentrated on Sam as he ripped his wrist from its painful prison. Dean clutched his wounded wrist to his stomach and tried to quiet his ragged gasps for air. Calmer, he reached into his pocket for his swiss army knife and cut the ropes on his other wrist and ankles. 'Stupid, not to check for weapons,' he thought. 'Makes it easier for me to thin the herd though, I guess.'

He crept forward and dared a glance into the room, then jerked his head back, his mind swirling with the images. 'Fucked up, dude, sooooo fucked up!' was all he could logically think of.

He had seen the dirty kitchen, the stained walls with its peeling plaster, dishes covered with grime littered all along the countertops. A single lightbulb hung from a thin chain, giving little light and covering nearly everything with shadows. To the forefront was an old counter, chipped and covered with dirt and old blood, with all kinds of knives, saws and other tools arrayed haphazardly on its surface. A table in the center of the kitchen looked like it was an old slab that someone would clean large game on. The surface was butcher-block, with grooves along the edges to catch the blood, and a metal bucket attached to the side to catch the refuse. This one was modified a bit, in that there were large eyebolts screwed into it at the sides and foot. In one corner of the kitchen stood Missy, her hair covering half of her face, head cocked pitifully to one side, but the one eye that showed was entranced by the tiny knife she still held in her hands. The father stood at the sink with his back to the cleaning table, on which lay Sam. Most of his clothes had been removed and discarded in a heap on top of some of the dishes, leaving him in just his jeans. His wrists were tied to the eyebolts at the sides of the table, his ankles to the end. There was further bruising on his chest and arms, but what worried Dean the most was the blood that was running from his right shoulder into the blood grooves.

oooOOOooo

Sam remembered being dragged towards the house, the fiery stabs of pain from his shoulder that caused him to black out. He remembered being dropped onto a hard floor, and feeling the mud puddle beneath his body. He remembered hearing someone whispering his name, and then he remembered the all-consuming agony that raced from his shoulder to devour his entire body and then fled into his brain; he remembered the blinding flash that was followed by nothing.

He felt cold now. The pain had receeded, now his body ached all over, deep in his joints and bones. The cold seeped into his muscles, making the ache in his skull throb in time with his heartbeat.

His eyes fluttered open and the darkness slowly fell back. He could see a dirty ceiling with a single lightbulb hanging on a chain, swinging and casting dancing shadows on the walls. Macabre mobiles of bone, hair and feathers hung from hooks on the ceiling, and the movement of the light sent them swinging all around Sam's fevered vision. He shifted his eyes to the side and saw the light glinting off of a collection of knives that sat displayed along the top of the counter. Old brown stains and newer burgundy ones covered the counter under the knives and dripped down out of Sams field of view. His stomach started to rebel again, and he clenched his teeth to force the revulsion down.

Movement to the side caught his eye and he watched in detached shock as the father approached him with a murderous mask on his face and a bloody saw in his fist.

Sam closed his eyes and heard a tinny 'drip, drip, drip' sound that came from near his head, but in the muddiness of his brain the sound quickly swirled away.

He heard a louder sound now, a crash and yelling, then a quiet command.

He felt evil coming closer to him and struggled to open his eyes again as he felt a tiny hand close around his throat and squeeze.

oooOOOooo

Dean let his rage fill him and he knocked over the first thing he could reach, an old coat rack, swinging it furiously into the wall. The father came running out of the kitchen then, wielding a bloody hacksaw. The oldest Winchester swung the coat rack at the man, catching him in the ribs with the top hooks. Bender fell to the side, and Dean jumped on top of him, pinning the saw under one knee as he buried the tiny swiss army knife into the stomach of his opponent. The knife didn't do any mortal damage, but it was painful enough to bring fear into the insane man's mind.

Dean saw the fear, but it was rapidly consumed again by madness. The father threw Dean off of him and started to attack him again as Dean scuttled along the floor, searching for a weapon. As Bender launched himself, Dean's fingers found the weapon he sought: a homemade short spear, sharpened and crudely covered with metal scraps. He braced it on the floor just as the patriarch landed on him, driving the spear into his own body.

"...you'll pay...just like that...boy...killed my sons..." Bender coughed, blood splattering onto Dean's face.

"Missy...kill 'im!" The father yelled weakly as he died.

Dean dropped the body of the Bender patriarch with disgust, and ran to the kitchen, knowing that if the girl had heard her father, she could slit Sam's throat with ease.

He grabbed the doorframe and swung around into the kitchen. Missy stood at the head of the table, her small hand around Sam's neck. Sam's mouth was open, gasping for oxygen. Dean darted around the table and grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from Sam, then tossed her to the side. She collided with one of the kitchen cabinets and slid to the floor, dazed.

Dean ignored her as his hand found a knife and began to saw at the ropes binding his brother to the table. Freeing him at last, he gently gathered Sam's limp body to his chest and held him, stroking his long hair with a shaking hand.

"You're safe now, Sammy. You're safe."

Safe now. He dared to hope.

oooOOOooo

A/N: Want more? Let me know...;)