Title: Trouble for Two

Themes: Angst, guilt, kidnap, torture, hurt/comfort

Setting: After 'Swan Song.' This is an alternate version of what happened after Sam's return to corporeal existence. Dean follows Sam's advice to live a normal life, but one day six months later something comes up that threatens his brother, and it's Dean to the rescue as the clock ticks.

Rating: T/M for language and graphic violence.

-0-0-

It started out like any other typical post-apocalyptic Wednesday. Dean Winchester awoke to the beep-beep-beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table, snapping him more than kindly out of the nightmare that he had been having. With a graceless swing of his free arm, he thumped the snooze button, then pressed his eyes closed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel the images that threatened to burn themselves permanently onto his retinas. After taking a moment to push the newest haunting pictures to the back of his mind, Dean opened his eyes to absorb the beauty of the morning and the woman beside him.

Accustomed to broken bones, swollen ugly bruises, homestyle patch-up jobs, stiff joints and sore muscles from long nights in the Impala, scratchy hotel sheets, greasy burger joints, the occasional hangover, and passionate but empty sex, home life had come as a surprise to the elder Winchester brother. He would never admit it, but Dean cherished little moments like these—like waking up in the morning next to this beautiful woman who loved him, surrounded by her scent, an arm draped across his chest in acceptance and trust; like the sun shining through the bedroom curtains, fully knowing that on the other side of the window was his own front yard, and across the street were friendly and trustworthy neighbors rather than skanky roadies; like playing ball with Ben and teaching him how to fix things. Yea, so maybe living the white-picket-fence life was turning him into a sissy, but he liked to think he was simply gaining an appreciation for the small comforts in life. Still, you'd never hear him saying it out loud.

Dean sighed when the alarm started up again, hitting the off button this time, and grudgingly slid out of the warm bed. Lisa shifted a little in her sleep, perhaps noticing subconsciously the absence of her partner's barrel chest.

'Cute,' Dean thought, his lips pulling into an amused smirk before he planted a soft kiss on her forehead and shuffled to the closet for his work clothes. A few minutes later, with a backward glance of affection for his very own dark haired beauty, he slipped from the room and made his way to the kitchen.

The past six months had given Dean a lot of time to figure out what it meant to be a family man, but there were still times when he felt rather out of place. Still, six months had also formed in him little habits that hadn't existed before, and mornings seemed to be his specialty. Dean Winchester, at the stove at 8am before the rest of the family was even awake, making breakfast and packing lunches, was a sight that no one from his previous life would have believed. But when Lisa and Ben wandered downstairs following the beckoning scent of eggs, toast, and bacon, they slipped into a comfortable routine.

"Good morning," Lisa whispered, the smile evident in her voice as she snaked her arms around Dean's stomach and pressed herself to his back, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Morning," he responded warmly. "What are the plans for today?"

She kissed his cheek chastely and then moved to the cupboard to grab plates and glasses for the three of them. "The usual. Oh, and Ben has a soccer game after school today."

"Yea?"

"Are you gonna come?" Ben asked hopefully, plopping down at the table.

Dean shifted his weight and glanced over his shoulder at the young boy who was eyeing him expectantly. "I'll try. Depends on how much I've got at the shop today. Ya wanna give me your plate?" He tipped some scrambled eggs and a couple slices of bacon onto the dish and handed it back.

-0-0-

Running. Long legs aching, lungs burning, extreme fatigue blurring his vision, Sam Winchester was running harder and faster than he'd ever run before—which was really saying something. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd thrown himself into the pit of Hell and, having surprisingly found himself given a second chance at life, didn't feel like wasting it, but he really didn't relish being caught by his pursuer.

For the past six months, he'd been on the hunt, slaughtering as many baddies as he could find. Only problem was, it seemed as though the last little escapade had brought him one step too close to a danger he couldn't handle on his own, and he'd been followed ever since. And now, he was running for his life.

Sam sprinted past a drugstore and a restaurant that hadn't opened yet due to the early hour, then rounded the corner and rushed into a dark alleyway, still cool from the not long past evening. Crouching down beside a dumpster and pressing his back against brick, he glanced around to get his bearings. The demon had gotten wind of him last night and had forced Sam to attempt escape on foot; he'd been avoiding capture for hours. Now he sat, panting and exhausted, senses on edge, eyes darting around nervously, fingers fumbling in his pockets to reassure himself that he was still armed.

'It couldn't've been him…' he thought, a little panicked. 'He's supposed to be dead.'

A thud and a crunch from nearby jerked him back to attention. Carefully extracting the silver blade that had been tucked into his boot, Sam shifted his weight and strained his ears, ready to spring up at the tiniest pindrop.

"Come out, come out, Sammy," a voice growled. Sam jumped up and stared around wildly, circling in a defensive stance. A chuckle from the shadows. "Ahh, Sam, why don't you put that away? Besides, it won't do you any good against me. We're both grown-ups here. Let's play nice."

"Fat chance," Sam bit back, hiding the fear from his voice even while his heart hammered in his throat. "And if you're such a grown-up, why don't you come face me. Or are you scared?"

"Tsk tsk, so hostile," the voice drawled. "Really, that's not necessary."

"Oh, I think it is," Sam spat back. However, the silence that greeted him was more unnerving than the voice had been. Then without warning, there was a barely perceptible blur of movement from behind him and before he even had time to react, the blade was knocked from his grasp. A very familiar blast of force threw him against the cold stone wall, blood trickling down the side of his face where it smashed into the brick. A black shoe stepped out of the shadows, followed by a leg, torso, and then a bone-chillingly familiar face.

"You!" Sam gasped between pained grunts against the pressure that held him flat against the wall.

The demon smiled crookedly, straightening out his sleeves with practiced nonchalance. "Yes. Me. Happy to see me?" Sam did his best to scowl through a grimace of pain. "Hmmm, I see you're not going to make this any easier for me," the man voiced pensively. "Are you sure you want to do it like this? It would be much less painful if you came without a fight."

Sam gritted his teeth, staring into the delighted eyes of the demon before him. "Eat me," he spat.

"I don't think that would be very pleasant," the demon replied, picking up a piece of scrap metal as though curious. "I'm really sorry we have to do this the hard way." The pipe collided with Sam's skull with a sickening clang and everything went black.

-0-0-

As Dean followed the familiar roads to the mechanic shop downtown, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something wasn't right. He didn't have any reason to think anything was wrong, actually, but call it old instincts. A painful image from the recurring nightmare he'd had again last night and had been trying not to think about flashed before his eyes. Sam, bloody, screaming. Dean groaned and shook his head.

Ever since his little brother had condemned himself to the pit in order to save the rest of the world from destruction, Dean had been having the most excruciating nightmares involving the punishment that he couldn't prevent his Sammy from having to suffer. During his waking hours he had to use all of his force of will to push those thoughts to the back of his mind, but once his head hit the pillow they all rushed to the surface. There were more times than he could count that he woke up and had to rush to the bathroom to avoid vomiting all over the comforter.

'It was only a dream,' he forced himself to think. 'Still, what the hell?'

Dean was preoccupied all morning. He tried to remind himself that if he didn't work up to his normal speed he wouldn't be able to get off in time to watch Ben's game, but even then he could only go through the motions. By the time lunch rolled around, half of his coworkers were beginning to ask him if everything was alright.

"Yea, I'm fine," he said for the fifth time, getting frustrated. A further retort was prevented by his phone ringing. He slipped off his gloves, wiped his greasy hands on his pants, and stuffed his hand in his pocket for his cell. "Yea?"

The caller was mysteriously silent, and the line went dead. Dean grunted, a deeper feeling of unease settling into his stomach as he checked the caller id; the number was unlisted. Before he could try returning the call though, his phone rang again and this time he recognized the number.

"Hey Sid."

"Dean. Wanna meet up at Carter's? They have two-for-one burgers today."

"Yea, okay," he replied distractedly, "see ya in a few."

As per his baby brother's dying request, he hadn't hunted in six months, but as he wove his way through traffic to his favorite local bar and restaurant Dean found himself going over news reports and facts in his head, searching for signs of anything supernatural. Nothing seemed to stick out, but this day was feeling more and more abnormal.

Sid blabbered his way through lunch, not seeming to notice that Dean wasn't paying even a speck of attention. Then it happened. Dean's phone rang. He picked it up and glanced at the caller id, his blood running ice cold. Unknown number.

"Hey, you gonna get that?" Sid asked. Dean stared blankly at the screen. "Dude?"

Dean flipped open the phone and brought it to his ear slowly. Sid raised an eyebrow.

"Hello Dean," greeted a voice eerily cold and amused, "it took me a very long time to find this number." Dean's voice was stuck in his throat, which turned out to be good for him, since anything he could've said would have confused the clueless man sitting across from him. "It's okay, I'll do the talking," the man continued. "You're a tough one to track down, Winchester. But I did it. Ha. Of course I did. We've all got our connections."

Dean gritted his teeth in an effort to keep his face from betraying his anger and fear.

"Anyway, we can chat later. Right now I've got a big event to prepare for. I just wanted to drop a line to let you know that I left a little gift for you at your place. I hope you like it."

His pulse quickening, he curled his fingers around the phone until he thought he might break it. His face went ashen faster than the snap of a finger.

"You might want to take the afternoon off. The show starts in an hour, and I don't think you'll want to miss it."

The line went dead. Dean sat frozen, the dial tone buzzing from the phone that he hadn't yet closed.

"Dude, everything alright? You look kinda sick," Sid said, trying to catch his friend's eyes.

Suddenly Dean jumped up and grabbed his keys. "Look, I gotta go." He rushed out of the restaurant without even giving his friend the chance to question. His whole body trembled as he raced home, white knuckled and sweating.