Dean shoved his phone in his pocket and took an abortive half step towards Tony. His cousin. Who was alive and standing in a clearing. A dozen feet away, wearing the dark grey suit and red tie he had been wearing the day he had been shot, the day he had died under Dean's hands. Alive and well, although his hair was mussed and his face was a riot of emotions.

"Tony? I, uh… are you? Uh. Really… real?"

Dean took a breath and moved forwards towards Tony, who stepped back, looking around the clearing and at Dean and up at the dark, cloudy sky.

"Dean?" Tony's voice was just as Dean remembered it and the hunter moved forwards again, slowly raising his hands like he was talking to an easily spooked animal. "Where the hell are we?" Tony asked. "This isn't- where are we? How'd you get here? We were at the Compound…"

"Yeah," Dean said. He swallowed hard, reaching out to finally close the gap and drop a hand on his shorter cousin's shoulder. "We were when you died."

Tony reared back and Dean could almost see the memories flashing over his face. He winced internally- he also remembered that day vividly and it sure wasn't a walk in the park; the sniper in the trees, the presence of Bucky Barnes, who had killed Tony's parents, Tony lunging forwards and taking the bullets, Tony struggling to breathe on the ground, the arc reactor which kept his heart steady blinking out and the blood coating Sam, Dean, and Rhodey's hands…

"Dean." Tony repeated, this time his voice steady and sure. He reached out, pulling Dean into a short, firm hug. Both of them frowned- something was different. Both of them stepped back, looking down at there their chests had connected.

Tony reached up with trembling hands and felt across his chest, hands shaking harder as he found… nothing.

"Is it…?" Dean asked, voice hardly a whisper.

Tony nodded, undoing buttons as fast as he could but leaving his tie fastened, pulling his shirt open to reveal… nothing. Smooth skin covering muscle and bone, with no arc reactor to be seen.

"Wow," Dean said.

"Wow," Tony agreed and took a slow, deep, painless breath, the first he had truly taken in nearly a decade.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the tremors run out of his hands before he began buttoning his shirt up. Tony Stark turned and looked at Dean, letting a smile spread across his face.

Dean couldn't help but grin back.

"Where are we? Where's Sam?" Tony finally asked.

Dean's smile dropped as the events of the last few hours reared their heads: Sam thought he was dead. "Shit."

It had been almost six hours since Dean had arrived back in the park and Tony had appeared and they had finally almost made it back to the bunker- there hadn't even been any cars in the area for them to hotwire, so they had to walk, once Dean had figured out where they were. Fortunately, they were only two dozen miles from the Bunker. Unfortunately, there wasn't much between the park and Bunker itself, so it was walking or nothing.

Dean took the moment to catch Tony up on everything that had happened since Tony's death- Barnes' gradual rehabilitation in Wakanda, his and Sam's problems with the Darkness, how the Avengers had shown up to help, and then every crazy thing that had happened since then, how they had tried to destroy her, how she had tried to kill God, and how Dean had gone to his probable death to kill her. How he hadn't- they had made up and Amara had decided to reward him, apparently, with Tony's life.

"Wow," Tony said. "That's a lot."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Remember any of it?"

Tony took a moment- they were making their final approach to the bunker, picking their way around puddles and mud on the old service road, and Tony focused on the path.

"No," he finally said. "A good feeling, a sort of- warm. But not anything specific."

Dean nodded. "About as good as you could hope for, I think."

Tony hesitated a second. "How's Pepper?"

Dean stopped in his tracks; he hadn't even thought. "Shit."

"What? What!?" Tony surged forward and grabbed his arm, panic written across his face. "Did something happen?"

"No, but she's probably with the Avengers- her and that kid, Peter Parker, who you had hired as the intern before… and they were coming out here when it all was going down but they didn't make it before we had to leave- she's going to show up and I'm going to be alive! You're going to be alive!"

"Yeah… what if, I don't know… I could call her from the bunker-"

"She's not going to believe it's you, Bobby hung up on me twice after I got back-"

"If she's with the Avengers-"

"They'll be here sooner than later, I made them promise to check back with Sam within twenty four hours of me, you know. Dying." Dean grinned and reached out to smack Tony lightly on the shoulder. "You'll see her soon."

Tony hummed in agreement but the frown turned into a true smile as they rounded the last corner and saw the impala sitting outside the stairs down to the bunker door.

"Man, I love this place." Tony followed Dean down the stairs and through the door into the dimly lit map room. He preceded Dean further down into the bunker and Dean had a short moment to think how well matched Tony looked- like Henry Winchester and his suit, Tony looked like a proper Man of Letters, back in the bunker. His stomach growled and he frowned; there was probably next to no food in the bunker, unless Sam had gone shopping in the ten or so hours since Dean had been presumed dead, which he was guessing not.

A second later, Dean had bigger problems than food. Tony stopped abruptly and as Dean rounded the table, so did he as several large splatters of blood on the floor came into view. There was a sigil on the wall, the familiar markings the same dark color as the dried blood on the floor and a handprint laid over them. The blood on the floor was smeared down the short hall towards the garage and Dean frowned- that was someone being dragged, someone tall and unconscious.

"That's a lot of blood," Tony said.

"Sammy!" Dean called down the hall, moving towards the library doors and pulling out the pistol from under the map table. "Sam! Cas!"

He found another of their many weapons and handed the gun to Tony. "Take this. Check the bedrooms. Sam's is still second on the left."

Tony nodded and headed that way. "Sam!"

"Sam!" Dean followed the blood down towards the garage, but there wasn't much there to see. No new cars, no signs anyone had been there at all, except that the blood trail stopped without much warning, where Sam must have been loaded into a car.

He rendezvoused with Tony back in the war room, where Tony was crouching and looking at the sigil and the handprint. Dean looked around- the impala keys were on the table, where Sam must have set them. There were a few untidy piles of books they had all left from their desperate search to get rid of Amara. There was a small stack of rags and tools in the corner that Natasha and Clint had been using to polish weapons the previous day. And not many other clues. Dean went to kneel by Tony, poking at the bloody sigil.

"That's an angel banishing sigil," Dean said. "With some modifications. My guess is that Cas can't get back here with his angel mojo or he'd be here by now."

"I was looking more at a handprint," Tony said. "I'm no expert by any means, but I would say woman? And my guess is with a little hacking we could get a read on the fingerprint."

"Right," Dean said. "You get on that, see if we can find out who was here. I'm gonna check the cameras, see if I can catch anyone on the cameras near here- assuming they didn't get back here until close to one thirty or two in the morning, since the actual cemetery is pretty far away, there might be something around then."

They set up quickly at the table, Tony using Sam's laptop. Fortunately, their initial answers came fast.

"An SUV ran a read light a few blocks from here at 2:21 am, heading away. And there wasn't another car before or after for nearly half an hour on both sides."

"You think it's them?" Tony asked.

"Worth a shot." Dean leaned over to look at Tony's screen.

"The name with the prints matches from a British Government employment report. Name, Antonia Bevell. Goes by "Toni". But everything else in here is probably fake; it says she works for a small finance department auditing books and nothing else. Very… Mycroftian."

"Right," Dean said, flipping his laptop closed. "That's enough to be going on. Let's go."

"Wait," Tony stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "We need fifteen minutes. I need to change clothing, we both need to eat, quickly, and we should get rid of that sigil."

Dean frowned and was ready to argue, but there was no denying the truth of Tony's words. "Fine, fifteen minutes. I think some of Clint's stuff's around, you're about his size, or you can try some of my crap. I'll get rid of the sigil and make some sandwiches or something."

"Right."

Thirteen minutes later, there was a stack of hasty sandwiches, a damp spot on the wall was the only indication of the sigil, and Tony was standing at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a pair of Clint's jeans and a graphic t-shirt with a purple dog on it along with a pair of Dean's boots and one of his leather jackets.

Three hours later, they were at a car rental place.

Dean leaned casually against the counter. "Jamie Ross?"

The stocky man on the other side grunted. "Who's asking?"

"The blonde woman you drove yesterday, what was her name?"

"Blonde? Doesn't ring- hey, aren't you Tony Stark?" The man's face went from bored to confused in a few seconds.

Tony shrugged innocently. "People tell me that all the time. But, you know, Tony Stark's been dead for, like, a year and half," Tony added, with the air of someone explaining something to a three year old. "I recommend you answer my friend's question."

Ross sneered. "Sorry mate, you got the wrong-" Tony's fist connected with the man's jaw with enough force his head snapped back and his teeth clacked together. The sound of bone hitting bone in his mouth almost- almost- masked the sound of Dean's pistol cocking.

"Blonde. Name. Now," Dean said brightly.

"I-I-I don't know her name!" Ross stammered, hands half raised.

"What do you know?" Tony asked.

Dean set a cup of coffee in front of Tony, who was clicking away on Dean's laptop and frowning.

"Find anything?"

"Yeah, I ran the, uh, tail number that knock-off Lannister gave us. The plane that the chick flew in on has diplomatic registry." Tony closed the laptop and picked up the coffee.

"Which means?"

"Which means its flight plans are sealed unless you want me to hack the State Department."

Dean hesitated. "Can you?"

"'Course I can," Tony scoffed. "But it'll take a little time and-" He set the coffee down so quickly that some of the drink splashed out of the travel lid. "Dean, look-"

Outside, a large white van with a logo for Gregory Marion's Veterinary Clinic was pulling around the corner and down the street. Tony and Dean exchanged a quick look- if Sam had been hurt, and hurt badly and the kidnappers wanted to keep him alive… a hospital wouldn't be an option, but a vet…

Tony and Dean repeated their act from the rental car place except this time they started with the gun out. It expedited the process dramatically.

"So you dug the bullet out of his leg, no questions asked?" Dean growled at the man sitting in front of his own desk.

The vet ran a shaky hand through his hair. "She offered me a hundred grand!"

"And you took it?" Tony asked, disgusted.

"Student loans were a bitch, okay?"

Dean's pistol lifted slightly and Tony had to wave him down. "No, no, Dean. Don't hurt him. Yet."

"All right, look," Gregory eyed the pistol. "She didn't give me her name. When we were done the driver bailed, I got paid, and then some other chick shows up and they all drove away."

Tony leaned close. "And that's… all you know?"

"Yeah… totally." Gregory's eyes shifted off to the side and Tony stepped back again.

"Dean. Hurt him."

Dean eyed the man for a long moment until the vet was squirming, clearly ready to bolt but unsure if he could make the door in time. Dean slowly lifted the pistol again, letting the barrel drift until it landed, aimed square at the man's crotch, cocking the weapon.

"Oh, oh, ahh!" Gregory was suddenly much more eager to offer information. "I have her phone number! Look, look, look, look, I don't know where they went but she called me a few hours ago- a couple hours, asking about the sedative I gave the guy so I've got her phone number!"

Dean lowered the pistol and slid it into his waistband. He stepped forward and Gregory flinched as Dean reached out to pat his cheek condescendingly. "That wasn't so hard. Can we get that number? Now."

"Actually," Tony said. "I'd like you to make a call for me."

Dean shot him a look, but Tony clearly knew what he was doing and a moment later Dean understood as well.

The two cousins and their hostage stood awkwardly as Gregory picked up his phone and dialed. The line rang twice and then a woman answered.

"Dr Marion," the smooth voice said.

"Yeah, I'm just calling, you know, to, uh, check on the patient."

Dean mentally rolled his eyes at how awkward it sounded. Tony didn't bother with the mental bit and his eyes where Gregory could see.

"Is everything all right, Doctor?" the woman asked, the longer sentence bringing with it a British accent: the woman wasn't an American, or at least she didn't live there and hadn't for a while.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Definitely," Gregory stammered.

"I'm hanging up now."

Dean reached forward and snatched the phone from Gregory's hand. "Listen to me, bitch. I don't care who you are. I don't care what you want. You have my brother."

"Dean Winchester. I heard you were dead?" The woman, despite her words, didn't miss a beat.

"Well, you heard wrong. Now, I'm going to give you a chance - just one- to hand back Sam."

"Sorry," she said, voice slipping from smooth to oily. "Not possible."

Dean's voice grew deeper, anger thrumming through each word. "You think you can run from me? Try it. Because when I find you - and I will find you- if he is not in one piece, I will take you apart. You understand me?"

The woman didn't answer. The line clicked and the call ended. And Dean Winchester snapped Gregory's phone in half.

Faced with the sight of an angry man who had just doubled over a smartphone with his bare hands, Gregory didn't complain about his ruined cell.

Dean turned to Tony. "We got her number. Can you put a trace on it from here, with the laptop?"

"Probably, but we should head towards the bunker. If I can't, we can use what's there to put us through."

"It's been at least eighteen hours," Dean said.

"I know," Tony snapped, then took a deep breath. "Don't worry, we'll find him."

They got back in the car, Dean driving in silence as Tony typed away. They had only been on the road for an hour when a large van flew out of a stand of trees along the road, smashing into the car and shattering the passenger window. Dean slammed on the breaks and twisted the wheel, turning the hit into a sideways skid and glancing over at Tony, who had been shoved over almost into him and looked dazed; he had hit his head on the door before being knocked the other way.

Tony nodded at him anyway- he was at least conscious- and dropped to the floor, hoping the other driver hadn't seen him.

Dean got out of the car, frowning; there was no way it was an accidental hit, but for the moment he was going to pretend it was. Buy some time- as much as they could.

He walked around and glared at the dent in the passenger door and the missing window. A voice from behind, just as accented as the woman on the phone's had been but more rough. "Dean Winchester, I presume."

Dean turned around and the woman's posture matched her voice- she was standing casually with her hands behind her back, but her shoulders and knees screamed that she was ready to fight- this was the enforcer.

She walked towards Dean as if she were merely coming to inspect the damages on the car. "You should be more careful about the location services on your phone," she casually observed.

"You one of them?" Dean asked, any patience he might have had for banter long depleted.

"I'm one of them," she agreed, stopping.

Dean closed the gap and grabbed her by the collar. "You tell me where my brother is and I might take it easy on you."

"Oh, please don't," she replied and swung, a pair of brass knuckles glinting harshly in the light.

They exchanged punches but Dean, running on no sleep for the past week and dealing with the near death and subsequent healing of God, the reconciling of the deity with his sister, and the resurrection of his dead cousin all before the kidnapping of his brother, couldn't keep up with the woman. She was fast, strong, and had clearly been trained, and trained well.

A final, strong hit sent Dean staggering and he reached back for his gun, only to find it wasn't there.

"Looking for this?" she asked, dangling it in front of him before throwing it away towards the car. "So, round two?"

She advanced and Dean scuttled back, regaining his feet in time to be struck so hard he crashed into the side of the Impala. Scooping up the gun she had tossed away only a moment before, she smiled at him, eyes bright but cold, pointed the pistol, and cocked it, finger caressing the trigger. "You know, I would have thought… a strapping lad like you, you would have lasted a tad longer. But hey, you know what they say, good things come to those-"

A gunshot echoed out and she fell more shots, as the woman reflexively pulled the trigger twice, Dean dropping low as one bullet hit the car just above the tire and the other passed over the car altogether.

"Thanks, Tony," Dean said, out of breath. He rolled sideways and glanced up to see Tony peering out of the shattered window, the gun Dean had handed him hours ago in the Bunker gripped firmly in his hand.

"Sorry it wasn't sooner- I didn't want to miss," Tony said, popping the safety on and opening the car door gingerly, avoiding the broken glass as Dean pulled himself cautiously to his feet.

"I'll take bruises over bullet holes anyday," Dean agreed.

Tony looked down at the woman on the ground, a mixture of emotions playing over his face- anger, regret, resignation.

"Hey," Dean said. "You had to."

"Yeah," Tony said grimly. "And now we have to deal with it."

They spent nearly three quarters of an hour tidying up- sliding the woman into her car with as much grace as they could, pushing the car back into the small service road in the trees it had come from to hit them initially. Dean tossed Tony the cell phone he found in the front seat of the van, slid the wicked effective brass knuckles in his pocket, and headed back to the impala, carefully sweeping the broken glass out onto the ground.

"The last call's from Aldrich, Missouri. I'm guessing Sam's probably around there," Tony called, jogging over.

"Good. Let's go."

The Avengers once again crammed themselves onto the small cement landing outside the primary Bunker door. The quinjet was just barely visible through some trees and the sunrise light, Natasha having put it down in their customary place just a few hundred yards away. Clint extricated an arm from the mass of superhero muscles and pounded on the door a few times. They could hear the sound echo but there was no answer.

Clint knocked again before shoving open the door. "Hello?" he called down into the hall. They piled through the doors, pairs of sharp eyes raking over the dimly lit map room and the open doors to the library one after another.

The blood had dried a dark, flaking brownish red, the smears running down the hall to the garage still visible despite the color. Papers were strewn about the room. Steve made it to the bottom of the stairs first and ran his hand under the edge of the bottom of the table. "The pistol's gone!"

Natasha, Clint, and Bruce were inspecting the blood. "It's old," Natasha said. "At least a day, maybe a little more."

"It stops in the garage," Bruce called from down the hall. "No other unique marks."

"Something's been cleaned off here, though," Clint said. "I think, at least." He pointed to where the sigil had been.

"Fan out," Steve commanded. "Check all the room's we've been in for both Sam and Cas."

He watched as everyone left and then pulled out his phone, hitting a name in his contacts and waiting for the phone to stop ringing. "Pepper! Thank god. Where are you?"

Charlie's head popped back into the room at the sound of Pepper's name. Steve gave her a thumbs up but stayed focused on the conversation. "Pepper, we've got a problem. Sam's not here and it looks like Cas is gone too. There's also, um. Quite a bit of blood. But!" he hurried to reassure her. "It leads to the garage and vanishes. We're starting a search now, but I just wanted to let you know what was happening. See you soon. Be careful."

Fifteen minutes later everyone was back in the map room.

"Anyone?" Steve asked.

"I'm not actually one hundred percent sure," Clint awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Since I packed pretty fast and it's been a crazy few days but I'm pretty sure both a pair of pants and one of my t-shirts are gone."

"The second hidden pistol from the library is gone," Bruce said.

"I'm doing some looking around at the security cameras," Charlie was clicking away at her laptop. "It's been slow going, but my best guess right now is this one. Just found it," she said. She swiveled around her laptop to show them the same footage of the black car running the intersection that Tony and Dean had watched almost 28 hours earlier. "I'll start tracing the plates."

"Right," Steve said. His game face was on and everyone's shoulders went back. "Let's go find him."

Tony yawned and sat up, his hair mussed from leaning against the window as Dean drove.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"About half an hour hour from Aldrich, Missouri. Time to start finding something a little more concrete."

Tony knew better than ask Dean if he was going to sleep before they got there- he knew Dean just as well as he knew himself and there was no possible way he was going to convince Dean to do anything besides search until Sam was actually in the car with them. "Right then," he said. "I'll start with… what, realtors? They're a slick group, they've probably had a house purchased for a while."

"Do it," Dean agreed.

They drove on in intense silence, Tony tapping away as Dean glared out the front windshield as if that might get them there more quickly.

"It's a pretty rural area," Tony commented.

"They probably won't be in a hotel or a warehouse, they've got money behind them."

Tony nodded in agreement and kept working. "Got something," he finally announced. "Turn left in twenty eight miles and there's a real estate office after a second left. They've got a farmhouse in Aldrich that they rented out two weeks ago."

An hour later, Tony was leaving a real estate office, a piece of paper in his hand. He met up with Dean at the Impala, trading the paper for a cup of bad coffee. "Got it," he said, pointing at the paper and taking a sip of coffee. "It is the farm house; rented two weeks ago to a blonde woman with a British accent."

Dean crumpled the paper. "Gotcha."

Charlie was simultaneously downing her own cup of coffee. She was almost alone in the bunker; just her, Bruce, and Rhodey. Sam Wilson, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, and Thor had gone to hunt down the licence plate renters. She had just put down the phone with Steve- apparently they had hit a dead end and were going to intimidate a veterinarian- when the phone rang again. She frowned and flipped it over, her heart dropping as she saw the name: Castiel.

"Cas! Where are you!? What happened? Where's Sam?" She was talking before she even actually answered the phone.

"Hello, Charlie," Castiel interrupted. "Are you at the bunker."

"Yeah! We got back and you were gone and Sam was gone and there was blood all over the floor and-"

"There was a woman," Cas interrupted. "I got in with Sam and there was a sigil on the wall. She sent me away and… drained me, I suppose. I just woke up in Florida and I-. Well. I may have stolen a car."

"Be careful, Cas, but get back here as soon as you can. We need the help."

Charlie ended the call and immediately called Steve back. "Steve, I've just heard from Cas. He's on his way, but he's powered down. Apparently there's a woman."

"Right," Steve said. "We just talked to a vet who dug a bullet out of Sam's leg. There's the woman and also two men. The woman's got a British accent, the men are about six feet and five foot eight, sandy and brown haired respectively. That's who we're looking for."

"Two men and a woman. Got it, I'll start searching on our end."

"Goddamn that's a lot of warding." Dean spat at the ground contemplatively, looking at the lone farmhouse, pre-dawn light starting to filter around them. It was nearly twenty eight hours since Sam had been taken.

"Uh… I don't see anything."

"It's not visible, most of it, at least. You can just sort of feel it, see it at the corner of your eyes."

Tony tried it and realized he could; it was as if there was a faint almost too-perfect brightness at the edges of his vision, something not quite right.

"Probably a good thing Cas isn't here. Who knows what they would do to him?"

"Question…" Tony half raised a hand. "What are they going to do to us?"

"Nothing. I think," Dean said, not very reassuringly. "But they'll know we're here the moment we get any closer so as soon as we move in we're going to have to go fast. You ready?"

"Let's do it."

Steve jogged out of the police station, Wanda at his heels.

"That was fast," Sam Wilson commented. "Especially considering the time."

"He just batted his eyes and gave them the 'are you sure you want to disappoint Captain America?' look and they caved right in," Wanda said.

Steve rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "We've got a report of a woman, dead, in a van on the side of the road. Blonde, carrying weapons, and without ID. We're guessing it's her and by the placement of the van and the woman, there had to be at least one, if not two, strong people with her."

"So the two men killed the british woman who sent Castiel to who-knows-where with the sigil and then they took off with Sam," Clint guessed.

"Sounds like a likely scenario. Back to the bunker?" Natasha asked.

"Yes," Steve said. "We'll check in with Charlie and the tech end of things and hopefully Pepper and Peter should be there so we can keep them under lock and key, just in case everything goes sideways."

Dean and Tony burst through the front door of the house only to find the british duo already waiting for them in the dingy front kitchen. The man was tall and had neatly styled brown hair and a neat suit. He was standing next to a similarly tall woman, blonde hair neatly pulled into a bun. The set of her shoulders made Dean snarl and she didn't have to speak for them to know: this was the woman they'd talked to on the phone, who had shot Sam in the bunker, and who had dragged him across the country.

However, there wasn't exactly a great deal of time to look at their opponents before battle was joined. Dean lunged towards the woman, pistol out, but she was already moving and he couldn't get a good bead on her so he swung, the brass knuckles he had taken from her dead henchwoman on his other hand missing her face by only an inch as she ducked and his punch went by- his reaction times, sped up by adrenaline, were still dragged down by the events of the last forty eight hours and how little sleep he had gotten. Dean ducked a return hit but missed the follow up, the british woman's fist connecting with his jaw with such force he fell backwards, smashing his head on the table and making the world go black in a burst of sparks, a hand on his ankle already dragging him as gunshots rang out-

Tony had squeezed off a shot before getting in too close but it had only grazed the man's side and he must have had on a bulletproof vest of the caliber Tony had never seen because it didn't even stop the man from swinging a trained palm towards him in an open handed slap intended to strike Tony's ear as his momentum carried him forwards. Tony ducked and ended up just barreling straight into the man, setting his shoulder into the guy's chest and hearing the air rush out of his lungs in a satisfying whoosh, taking them both back onto the floor of the kitchen. Peripherally, he could hear Dean struggling and then the sound of movement, but before he could turn his opponent drove an elbow into his chest. Tony grunted and shoved forwards, bringing a closed fist into the man's face and feeling the snap as he broke his nose. The stranger didn't even wince and managed to get to his feet faster than Tony would have thought possible, landing a painful kick on Tony's ribs once, twice, until Tony could roll behind a stray chair and gain his own feet, watching as the man seemingly lost his patience and moved forwards to strike again and Tony took his shot, stepping in and hitting him hard, elbow and then closed fist on the backstroke. The man swayed, then crumpled to the floor.

Tony took a half step towards the semi-open door to the basement where the woman and Dean must have gone, but thought better of it, quickly rummaging around until he found, of all things, a pair of handcuffs. Not quite the zip ties he had been looking for, but it worked. He flipped the man onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind him, resisting the urge to give him one last kick as he left him on the floor and headed for the stairs.

Just in time, too.

Tony quietly opened the door at the top of the stairs just slightly more and slid through, taking in the scene below: the blonde woman had managed to drag Dean down the stairs and chain him up, hands above his head, right next to…

"Sam…" Tony breathed, and began making his way silently down the stairs. Sam was a mess, tied to a chair, covered in blood, his shirt soaked in blood and water and covered in holes that did nothing to disguise the wounds underneath. His hair was also wet and his face and arms were littered with cuts, burns, and other injuries. The woman stepped left, blocking Tony's view for a moment, which was probably good because if he got any more angry, he would probably have charged down the stairs and lost the element of surprise. Dean was now fully visible, awake and pissed off.

"...I know, Sam. I'm really alive. I'll tell you everything, okay? First off, though, who's Angry Spice?"

The woman seemed amused, rather than angry, heading to a small table near- Tony's stomach lurched- a drain in the floor. It was covered in tools of torture and she seemed willing to let Sam and Dean chat for a moment as she picked through them. Tony didn't mind- it gave him more time to creep down the very open, visible, potentially creaky stairs.

"She's uhh- she's Men of Letters. British. British Men of Letters. Toni Bevell."

Tony winced at Sam's voice; it was cracked and strained.

"Is that a thing?" Dean asked. "What the hell? Aren't we supposed to be on the same team?"

Bevell turned, apparently finished choosing her weapon of choice: a thin tipped knife with a mid-length blade. "Gentlemen. So to recap- you live in the Men of Letters bunker, awash in the world's greatest collection of occult knowledge, and yet you know… nothing."

"Right, what a waste," Dean snarked back.

"Hmmm. It seems…" Bevell began, reaching back down to straighten an already perfectly aligned weapon, "It seems you apes have never read a single book. The Men of Letters has a long tradition of intellectual excellence. In London, we've undertaken exhaustive studies of even the most arcane topics." She hefted what looked like a small ice pick. "For example. Parts of the body most sensitive to intense pain."

Bevell reached up and grabbed Dean's face. Tony swore mentally and dropped his focus on Bevell for a moment to instead silently navigate the last few stairs before creeping forward.

"The ear drum," Bevell continued. "Decaying tooth. Below the belt-" Dean's eyes widened for a fraction of a second "- and my favorite. Under the eyelid." She let the sharp point of the pick settle gently on Dean's cheekbone, fractions of an inch away from the delicate meat of his eye.

Next to Dean, Sam, who had seemingly been gathering strength for the last few moments, struggled to pull free from the chair. Toni Bevell didn't even glance his way.

"Did you know it's possible to die from pain?" she asked, and Sam struggled harder. Dean didn't even move.

"What do you even want?" he asked.

"Information," she said. "Passwords. Names of hunters. Everything you know."

"Hmmm," Dean said mockingly. "How about… no."

Tony decided enough was enough and stepped forwards swiftly, cocking the pistol loudly just inches from Bevell's head.

"Get away from my family."

"Tony?" Sam's voice broke, but Tony didn't look his way, eyes laser focused on the woman in front of him and her sharp tool.

"Yeah," Dean answered for him.

Tony reached sideways with one hand, picking up the set of keys from the small table without removing the pistol from its current target. He looked at Toni. "Drop it. Ground. Now." The woman didn't move. Tony stepped forward and hit her hard and she dropped. "That's the ground." He pressed the keys in to Dean's hands and then took a step back as Toni Bevell reached up towards him and the gun, knocking it away even as Tony fired. She regained her feet, forcing Tony to take a step back as she lashed out more quickly than he could counter, striking him in the throat and stomach. Dean yanked his hands out of the now-unlocked shackles as the fighting continued.

The hunter stumbled forwards, finding his own pistol on the floor and firing a shot in the air even as Tony rushed forward and Bevell picked up a piece of glass. Dean turned even as she slashed upen her hand.

"Xi!" she called and Tony immediately gasped; there was no air and a tight hand seemed to have closed around his throat, cutting off all hope of oxygen. He struggled, but there was nothing to grab, to pull away, only magic, slowly strangling him.

Dean slowly walked towards Bevell, gun held high in both hands. "Kill the spell now. I'm not kidding."

Toni sneered. "Shoot me and your friend… whoever he is… has no chance."

Tony almost missed the quick look Dean threw his way and didn't have enough time or oxygen to interpret it.

"The gun," she said.

Dean frowned- then fired.

"Dean!" Sam said, panicking. "Tony!"

But Tony hadn't fallen to his knees out of pain or near death- the flow of oxygen to his starved brain was almost intoxicating.

"I'm okay," he choked out, and Sam relaxed a little.

"It's okay," Dean confirmed. "It's a Chinese mind-control technique. Hard to do when you're dead. Turns out this ape did read a book or two."

Dean's hand landed on Tony's shoulder. Tony reached up and grabbed it, pulling himself to his feet. They turned together to Sam, who looked worse and worse the closer Tony got and the more he looked.

From this angle, it was clear they were going to have an almost impossible task on their hands getting Sam home. Dean carefully cut the ties holding Sam's wrists with a knife but then gasped when he got to Sam's feet. A huge, deep burn tore into the whole length of his right foot. Higher, the poorly treated bullet wound- the one they had spoken to the vet about- had clearly not been looked at since Sam had arrived many hours before. Sam's hands, as Sam groaned and brought his bound shoulders from their locked position, were missing several fingernails.

Dean met Tony's eyes and they winced; their meagre first aid kit wasn't going to even put a dent in this for the three hour drive back to the bunker.

"Okay, Sammy, up you get," Dean carefully half knelt, pushing one of his shoulders under Sam's less damaged arm and slowly standing, taking as much of Sam's weight as he could. "This would be easier if you weren't such a giant, you know."

Sam's breathing was ragged by the time he was fully standing but he managed to quip back all the same. "Not my fault… you decided to stop growing," he huffed.

Tony shook his head. He'd been poking around in some corners but it hadn't been very productive; there were no medical supplies to be seen. "Sorry to say it, but I think we're going to have to go up the stairs as is," he announced and Sam nodded, thin lipped. "Here we go."

Tony wanted to get under Sam's other arm and take the rest of his weight off the damaged foot and leg, but there simply wasn't room on the narrow staircase. He contented himself with carefully putting a hand on Sam's back, helping the other two men balance as they slowly maneuvered up the stairs without putting too much pressure on Sam's wounds.

It was taking them much longer than was probably good for Sam or for Dean's head wound, most likely, although moving faster couldn't have been any better for them. Still, it took several minutes to get into the kitchen, where Sam and Dean stopped dead.

"Uhhh… Tony?" Dean asked and Tony scooted around them to see the brown haired man standing and leaning against the counter, as casually as a handcuffed man with a broken nose and a swollen jaw could. Despite his mussed hair, the blood on his face, and the metal around his wrists, he wouldn't have looked too out of place in a Bond film.

"Right." Tony didn't take his eyes off the man. "Dean, can you get Sam to the car? I'll just be a minute."

"Yeah. I can do that." Dean carefully nudged Sam towards the door.

Tony waited, silent and staring, until they were out of earshot. To his credit, the man didn't quail under his glare. Once the boys were gone, Tony crossed and casually pulled himself up to sit on the counter, invading the man's personal space. "So. You're with the… hmm. Men of Letters."

The man turned but didn't take a step back. "Yes. British Chapter. My name is Mick Davies. I'd shake your hand, but…"

Tony didn't laugh. "Why did you take Sam." It wasn't a question, but a demand for answers.

"What Sam- and what you- might have picked up is basically true. We were keen on knowing about the two of them, seeing as they seem to be partially carrying on the Men of Letters' work here, now that the American chapter is defunct. Although," his eyes raked Tony over coals, taking in his jeans, the boots, the borrowed jacket. "I wasn't aware they were recruiting. I've given you my name…" he trailed off, voice expectant.

"If all you wanted was information, why the kidnapping? The torture?" Tony didn't share his own name, and his casual tone hardened.

Mick didn't respond in kind. "Well, part of our group suspected there would be some resistance amongst you American hunters. No argument- I agree, Lady Bevell went too far. I deeply apologize. She'll face consequences in London."

"Too late for that," Tony said, ignoring the pang of guilt- Dean had to do it, to save Tony.

Finally, a reaction from Mick. A flash of fear crossed his face, followed by anger and then resignation. "A pity."

"Hm." Tony shook his head. "Generally, I'd regret it. But not after what you did to Sam."

"Well." Mick started to move his arm forward, like he was going to run his hand through his hair but stopped, the handcuffs halting the movement. "That puts a bit of a damper on the olive branch I want to offer. We want to work with you."

Tony couldn't help it. He laughed, incredulous. "Why would I believe that?"

"If I wasn't sincere, if we really meant you harm, we could have easily taken all of you prisoner. We could have killed Sam hours ago."

"Is that supposed to make us want to work with you? 'Cause it's really not working."

"My business card's on the table. Think it over. And what have you got to lose? If you're recruiting, the American Men of Letters might need some help, especially if this is all you've got." He looked Tony up and down again, this time disparagingly.

"Let me tell you a thing, Mick." Tony took a step in so he was just inches from Mick's face. "We don't need you. The Men of Letters don't need you. The hunters don't need you. And we're doing just fine. If you ever, ever, step foot on American soil again, I will know. And I will make sure you are ruined. I won't touch you. But you'll wish I had." Mick looked politely disbelieving. Tony backed up a little, so Mick could get a good look at him. "You asked who I am. Maybe you don't recognize me because you're British. You're not in the tech business. It's been a while since you've seen me because I've been presumed dead for a little more than a year."

He could see the coin dropping. "You're…"

"I'm Tony fucking Stark. So when I say we'll ruin you, that I'll ruin you? I mean it." He turned and picked up the business card and ripped it in half. "Get out of here. Don't come back."

Tony turned, tossing the pieces of business card over his shoulder.

"Aren't you going to uncuff me?" Mick called belatedly.

"No." Tony answered. "I'm sure the key's around somewhere. Do it yourself."

He turned on his heel and walked out to the car. Dean and Sam were waiting, Sam laying across the back seats, his uninjured leg in the footwell to keep him from tipping over, the other foot resting gingerly on the leather. Dean tossed Tony the keys. "You kill him?" he asked bluntly.

"No," Tony said. "Just put the fear of god. Or the fear of me. You're letting me drive?"

"Only if you can get us back in two hours." Dean smiled faintly. "Plus I want to keep an eye on him," he jerked a thumb at Sam.

"Right," Tony said. "Let's get him home."

"Pepper, can you get ahold of the Compound? Ask them to start a face trace on the woman from the police report."

Pepper nodded and Steve turned back around, absently accepting a cup of coffee from Peter Parker who, at a loss for what to do since he didn't have the faintest idea where the were, who they were looking for, or why they were important enough that all the Avengers and Pepper Potts-Stark were on the hunt, had taken it upon himself to keep them fed, hydrated, and caffeinated.

Natasha had just picked up her phone as well, tossing Clint the file she had been reading. "I'm going to call SHIELD. We're going to need all the help we can get to find these guys."

Charlie emerged from the library. "Castiel says he's only about eight hours away. It was a guess, though, so who knows?"

"Right," Steve said. "How's the-"

But he was cut off right there, the words dying on his lips because right then the door to the Bunker slowly scraped open, allowing several quiet male voices to filter in and suddenly Steve wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Come on Sammy, you can do it, just a little farther and then-"

"The steps inside," Sam grated out between clenched teeth.

His shirt was soaked with sweat around the neck and the lines around his eyes were tight with pain and Dean had to stop himself from swearing because of course, why hadn't he realized, once they got inside the Bunker there was that damn flight of stairs down to the actual room.

"One thing at a time," Tony said. He was in front this time, making sure they weren't all about to tumble down the half flight of cement stairs and onto the landing. They got to the bottom and he shoved open the door. "Just a few more steps, Sam, you can do it…"

Tony didn't even notice the lights were on, so focused was he; Sam and Dean had overbalanced on the last step and had almost fallen into the wall on Sam's bad side. He and Dean had, in fact, turned the lights down to their usual dim setting before leaving, not that it had been something highly on their mind at the time.

It wasn't until they were actually inside the room, door swinging closed behind them, Sam with his head down, shaking hard and breathing rough, Tony and Dean supporting him from both sides, that Tony and Dean realized they weren't alone,

Tony's head popped up sharply as something below them shattered.

Fifteen feet below, in the map room proper, a shattered coffee mug was on the ground at Charlie's feet.

Above them, two dead men and one who, until seconds ago had been missing in action, stood together.

Dean raised his free hand and gave a half wave. "Uh… hi."

Only Peter waved back.

"Tony… what?" Pepper's voice cracked. "Oh, my god."

"Hey, Pep." Tony's voice was shaking and when he lifted a hand in an aborted gesture, his fingers were as well. "Sorry about… all this."

"Tony." A moment later, she was rushing towards the stairs, weaving through shocked avengers, piles of files, over computer cords and bags of weapons, and up the steps.

Tony quickly unentangled himself from Sam as carefully as he could and when Pepper arrived he was ready, wrapping his arms around her as she reached him. "Hey, hi."

Pepper's rush up the stairs seemed to have triggered a wave of movement from below. Rhodey was right behind Pepper and Wanda, Steve, and Bruce hurried towards the stairs after them. Clint and Natasha moving the other way, going to fetch bottles of water. Thor began shoving things out of the way with Vision's help. Charlie disappeared and reappeared moments later with their first aid kit, starting to lay it out on the table next to the library sofa.

Dean reluctantly relinquished his grip on his brother as Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey got out of the way and the three avengers reached the top of the stairs. Steve guided as Wanda carefully extended a tendril of red magic out, cradling under Sam's legs and up around his back. She let out a slow breath- it was merely days before Amara had drained the power from her body and it was good to use it again, albeit with caution. Bruce gripped Dean's arm; the moment he had let Sam go he seemed to have gone a bit wobbly as well, days of stress and no sleep and bad coffee and relief all catching up at once.

It took some time, but finally, everyone was slowly settling again. Sam had been deposited on the sofa, Dean had been convinced to sit nearby in an armchair after Charlie had hugged him so tightly Thor practically had to pry her off. Bruce had commandeered the first aid kit and was cutting Sam's ruined shirt and pants - leaving him in his boxers, not that it was anything anyone hadn't seen before- off so that he didn't have to lift his arms or move his bad leg. Vision had procured a bowl of hot water and a pile of bandages.

Everyone hissed as Bruce finished; Sam was a mess. Dean swore profusely as Sam's full injuries were finally revealed. The stab wounds were coated in dirt and congealed blood. Bruises littered his torso and shoulders and his thigh was swollen and red around the veterinarian's hasty stitches. The four missing fingernails were replaced with grime. Sam's hair was greasy and a jagged cut ran above one ear for almost two inches.

Slowly, Bruce worked on patching Sam up, starting with some painkillers. The world around Sam seemed to have faded into a sort of haze, injuries slowly hurting less and less. In the background, people were chattering loudly; Peter was talking to Tony at about a hundred miles an hour, Dean was explaining something to Steve, Natasha, and Charlie, and Bruce, Sam Wilson, and Clint were talking quietly as they passed each other bandages and bottles.

"Sam? Sam." Sam faded back in as someone called his name. Wanda was holding out a bottle of water and he took it carefully, taking several sips. Dean had done his best to force Sam to drink some water in the car on the way home, but he had been in so much pain it hadn't been very successful. This time was better and Sam began tracking a little more, keeping an eye on Bruce as the physicist kept cleaning and bandaging.

"Thanks, Wanda," Sam said rustily.

She nodded and smiled.

"Hey, Sam," Bruce said. "Couple questions, okay? If you can answer them?"

Sam nodded and took another sip of water.

"The gunshot, how did they treat it?"

"Veterinarian. I think," Sam let his head loll to lock onto his brother and Tony, "Tony and Dean found him?" Dean nodded. "He got the bullet out and stitched it up, gave me some sort of numbing shot before hand. After, they mostly left it alone."

"Mostly?"

"She hit it. A few times," Sam shrugged.

Everyone who was paying attention tensed. "Who?" Dean demanded.

"The blonde woman. Not Bevell."

"She's dead," Dean said. "She came after us when we were trying to find you."

"She was the… torturer. The main one." Sam grimaced as he pulled himself towards a half-sitting position, despite Bruce's restraining hand. Thor helped pull Sam's leg around onto the sofa even as Sam sat so they could keep working on his leg.

"Careful, Sam," Bruce cautioned, prodding at the bullet injury. He had removed the stitches which were pulling on Sam's swollen skin and was working on carefully cleaning it up.

"She also did. Um. The foot." A shudder ran involuntarily through Sam's body and he bit his lower lip in an effort to keep from crying out. "Well. Bevell told her to, but she was the one who actually held the blowtorch."

"Blowtorch." Dean's voice had the icy edge it always had when he had gone beyond anger. His hand twitched towards a gun Steve had confiscated, citing the head wound and sleep deprivation. "That bitch is lucky she's already dead and that it was fast or…" he made a compulsive squeezing motion.

Sam flinched as Sam Wilson started carefully cleaning around the burn. "Sorry," he murmured.

Wilson threw him a look Sam associated with his father, one that said "don't be an idiot."

"Sam?" Bruce drew his attention back.

"Yeah?" Sam answered. Things were starting to get fuzzy again.

"What about these?" Bruce carefully ran a finger over Sam's arm and the hunter looked down to see a small cluster of needle tracks.

"She- Toni- gave me a halu-" Sam's head jerked up suddenly and his eyes ran over all of them as if looking for something, for someone. He blinked once hard and then brought his hands together, squeezing his left with the right and digging the nails tightly into the skin.

Dean stood, crossing the few feet of space between them. At this point, everyone was watching, Peter having trailed off into silence and all sets of eyes were fixed on the brothers as an expression crossed Dean's face, one that wasn't often there: panic.

"Sammy?" Dean knelt next to the couch and reached out to grab Sam's hand.

Sam slowly focused on him, eyes still wildly darting around the room.

"Sammy? What did she give you?"

Sam closed his eyes and took a slow breath before letting his hands drop and giving Dean a weak smile. "A hallucinogenic."

"That fucking…" Dean proceeded to swear for several sentences, standing up and kicking the leg of his armchair furiously before collapsing back into it. "Is… you know. He here?"

Sam did one more slow sweep of the room. "No."

Everyone who knew what they were talking about- everyone except Peter, really- relaxed.

"I just… was worried, for a sec." Sam forced his shoulders to relax as Bruce and Sam Wilson finished wrapping up the rest of his injuries.

"Well. You're back here now, Sam." Pepper smiled at him from where she sat next to Tony as Bruce helped Sam stand up. Dean began to stand also, to help, but Thor's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Worry not, Dean. We will help Sam."

Dean relaxed marginally and watched as Pepper stood, crossing to wrap Sam in a careful hug.

"Hey, Pepper," Sam said, voice muffled by Pepper's hair. "Good to see you." His voice was suspiciously choked and when Pepper laughed slightly it was shaky.

"Good to see you too, Sam." She let him go and both of them (and several others) wiped their eyes. "Now go to bed."

"Sorry, you can't shower yet," Bruce said. "But tomorrow we'll wrap everything again and make it waterproof."

"Thanks," Sam said, voice rough.

"Come on, you should sleep." Bruce took Sam's arm and with Sam Wilson acting as spotter, they slowly made their way out of the room.

With Sam gone and all medical crisis averted, all eyes turned to Dean and Tony.

"Now." Steve took a drink of his beer and then pointed the mouth of the bottle at Dean and then Tony. "You two. Talk; what exactly happened the last two days?"

"Well," Dean said, looking longingly at the beer; Wilson had given him some pain meds, diagnosed a slight concussion from Toni Bevell's whack on the head, and told him no when he asked for a beer. "That's a long story."

"I, um… have a question before that," the kid- Dean still wasn't a hundred percent sure who he was, but apparently Pepper had brought him, so that was good enough for him- sort of raised his hand. "Who the heck are you guys?"

Everyone laughed and Dean smiled at the kid. "That's a long story too."

Sam Winchester walked into the Bunker kitchen without. It had been two weeks since they had arrived back at the Bunker- Sam un-kidnapped, Dean not killed by the Darkness, and Tony miraculously alive. Most of the Avengers had returned to the Compound- Sam Wilson, Steve, Bruce, Thor, Vision, Clint, Wanda, and Natasha. Peter had returned to Queens- he apparently had school and wouldn't stop repeating "Ned is never going to believe this". Tony, Pepper, and Charlie had remained behind, plotting how to reintroduce Tony to the land of the living.

Castiel had arrived only ten hours after Sam, Dean, and Tony. He was exhausted and only, as Dean put it, on two percent battery life. But he had taken a nap at Charlie's insistence and a day later was able to begin slowly healing Sam's injuries.

This was going to be the last day before everything went crazy again; the moment it was announced that Tony was not, in fact, dead, it was bound to spark a period of temporary insanity.

They had a plan, though; Pepper would announce that Tony had been found on a tiny island, where he had been surviving. Without even the smallest bit of technology and only the barest amount of survival equipment, Tony had managed to keep himself alive for a year but had been unable to create a viable escape plan or way to signal rescue. The sole survivor of the plane crash, Stark Industries search teams who had never stopped quietly looking for their supposedly dead owner had located him a month and a half previous. Since then Mr Stark had been recovering in the privacy of his own home, where he had regained weight he had lost and was now in excellent health.

What a media nightmare it was going to be.

They were ready for it, though, ready for that and for other things.

None of them knew it, but the future would continue to bring surprises and changes, big and small to all of them.

Bucky Barnes will return from Wakanda, having lost of his HYDRA programming but retaining his ability to walk silently into the kitchen at two in the morning, invariably scaring the shit out of whoever happened to be there.

Peter Parker will take a second year of internship with Stark Industries but also begin applying to colleges. He will continue his extracurriculars and regularly trained with the Avengers, despite not actually fighting with them.

The Accords may still be the law of the land, but the framework Tony, T'Challa, and the rest of the Avengers had worked so hard to implement will hold up, allowing them to maintain their freedom and fight for those who needed it.

Charlie Bradbury continues her liaison position before taking over as SHIELD head of Cyber Security. She will also participate in several months of escalating flirtation before officially asking Maria Hill on their first date.

Tony Stark will suit up, taking out the Iron Man armour which had been in storage since his death, flying out with the Avengers. No longer limited by a large piece of metal and shrapnel in his chest, he becomes the fastest man in the sky, much to the chagrin of Colonel Rhodes.

Castiel will keep hunting with the Winchesters, spending the majority of his time at the Bunker. He and the boys take down Lucifer, a process hardly easier than the first time they had done it, years before, but possible through magic, trickery, and a good amount of blackmail. Dean will swear he's going retire afterwards. White picket fence, the works- he'll even allow Sam to get a dog. But after Lucifer is locked away, they begin another hunt. Dean doesn't retire. They do get a dog, although Sam is not allowed to take it anywhere near the Impala.

But that is all in the more distant future, things yet to come.

However, in a time more close at hand, Sam and Dean Winchester, their cousin Tony, his wife and CEO Pepper Potts-Stark, the angel Castiel, Charlie Queen of Moons, high school intern Peter Parker, and the entire organization known as the Avengers with all past and present members will gather in Stark Tower. It will be in mid- May, not long after Sam's birthday, with Tony's birthday only a week away. They would eat a variety of cakes and pies, play a number of cheesy party games which involve a good deal more alcohol than the typical game, and exchange a few small gifts. They will take pictures and play cards and try to outdo each other with the wildest mission story, a contest Dean and Sam almost always win, unless Castiel or Thor is playing.

At the end of the evening, each person will have looked around and smiled; their lives are crazy and broken and haphazardly mended and dangerous and unusual, but here they are.

Somewhere, a million miles away and yet right there, Chuck Shirley smiles.

END

Hello. First, thank you all. This fic is the longest thing I've ever written and it's been a labor of love for almost exactly two years. You all have sent me the most amazing comments and reviews during that time and I will be forever grateful for your words. Thank you.

Second, if you want to talk to me about this fic, ideas for what else could have happened, or anything else at all, you can find me on tumblr dare-to-do-our-duty (take note that on ao3 those marks between words are underscores but on tumblr they're dashes!)

And lastly, there WILL be a companion fic that goes with this one! It will be stories that didn't fit in here, mostly because I thought of them too late in the timeline and I couldn't go back and change things. They'll include Jody Mills! The Hulk! Several different endings for this fic ranging from depressing to fluffy! If you have ideas you want to see, let me know. When the story is up I'll make an announcement here and on tumblr.

Again, thank you all.

-H