A/N: Okay... so... this was supposed to be a prank!fic. But, uh, I guess it turned into something completely different.
Disclaimer: I own the hole in the floor. That's it.
It was too dark to see. Barely any light coming from the already flickering, low hanging light. The only thing he could make out was a pool of blood under and around him and the fact that his arms were tied together by a rope, wrapped around a wooden pole. The back of his head rested against the pole and his eyes closed again, swallowing hard. His throat felt like sandpaper; so did his mouth. And when his tongue poked out to try to wet his lips, they were dry and cracked.
He wasn't sure how long he had been there or even where Sam was. But by the way his gut twisted with a small wave of nausea due to the fact that he hadn't eaten, he was sure it had been weeks. He wasn't surprised that his stomach hadn't tried to eat itself. Of course, if Sam were anywhere nearby, he'd tell him that such a thing wasn't possible. And even though Dean felt a surge of pain course through his body as he tried to pull at the rope, he couldn't help the wave after wave of worry that coursed through his body.
It wasn't very often that their hunts ended up like this. And usually if they did, they found their way out quickly. But it also wasn't every day that they went after a witch with an alliance with some of Hell's best demons. Dean had spend many days like this; waking up with no idea what was going on or what had happened before he had blacked out. And only after he would usually spend a good hour trying to free himself would he remember. But he didn't care what they did to him. He would remember crying out for Sam, desperate to hear his brother's voice. To know that he was okay. And when he would get no reply, he would scream at whoever was there. He would scream and demand for answers and he always got the same reply: "I would worry more about yourself, Dean-y boy. Sammy is the least of your worries.".
And here he was again, pulling at the rope, his body a good few inches away from the pole. But his arms were pulled back in an awkward position that hurt his shoulders and he could feel the wood digging into and against his arms, pushing tiny splinters underneath the skin. After a few more minutes of struggling and a loud cry of pain, he slumped back against the pole. It was the same damn process every day. And every day, Dean was growing more and more tired. The only thing that kept him going was hoping that he could get away to find Sam. But when he thought of his younger brother, his gut twisted into a familiar of feeling of worry and something in the back of his mind always poked around, whispering words the Sam was dead.
A man could only take so much.
So he sat there, his head hanging and tears stinging behind closed eyes. He refused to let them fall. Refused to let himself give into the feelings that would come with it. Regret and giving up. It was his idea to go on this hunt after all.
And that's when he heard it. He wasn't sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could faintly hear a man's voice screaming. Screaming his name repeatedly. Sam's voice. His head snapped up and his eyes opened, taking a moment to focus. "Sammy?" He looked around wildly, but he didn't hear anything more and the tears, unbeknownst to him, rolled down his cheeks. He rested his head against the pole and he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to get a grip on himself. He tried to swallow that lump and he tried to stop the tears now that he was aware of them. But he couldn't. And a pathetic sounding sob erupted from him, his whole body shaking with it.
Footsteps. Sudden footsteps caused his eyes to snap open again, his crying slowly stopping. His vision was blurred from the tears, but through them, he could see someone as they crouched down to be at his level, a sickening grin across their face.
"What have I told you, Dean-y boy?" The voice was dark and cold and it sent an unnerving chill go down Dean's spine. "I would worry more about yourself. Sammy is the least of your worries." As Dean's vision cleared, he could make out the face clearly. Unshaven, slightly tanned, wrinkles around the eyes as the toothy grin stayed in place. The man's eyes were a pure black. A demon, no less.
"Go back to Hell!" Dean shouted and he pulled at the rope again. His wrists hurt; rope burns were sure to be along his wrists. But he didn't care.
The demon then shook his head, pushing Dean back against the pole hard, causing the hunter to cry out in pain as the movement caused a wound he received recently to re-open. "You son of a bitch!"
"Now, now, Dean. You know the more you struggle, the worse it's gonna get for you." The demon moved his hand to grip around Dean's throat and green eyes met those black eyes.
"Where's my brother?" he managed to choke out, not bothering to struggle. He knew that if he didn't, the demon would release him. "You just don't give up, do you? No matter how much we cut and carve into your flesh, brand you with all of Hell's most unbearable methods of torture; you don't stop demanding to know where he is." The demon's face moved closer, inches away from Dean's own, "You really want to know where your baby brother is?"
Dean was quiet, his eyes unblinking as he kept his gaze on the demon. Part of him wanted to scream out a 'yes!', but if this was the real deal; if he actually got to find out where Sam was, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. It was fear. Fear that his brother was severely hurt. Or worse. When he didn't answer, the demon released his hold on Dean's neck, giving the hunter an easier way of breathing.
"Pity. I was going to let you see him." He then stood back up, wiping his hand across the jean's he wore. As if touching Dean was the foulest thing he had ever touched.
Then it kicked in. Dean's leg swung out as the demon turned to leave, hitting the other's leg. "Wait! Wait." As the demon turned back around, Dean swallowed again. He realized now how raw and strained his voice was, "Let me see him. Please. Let me see my brother."
The demon grinned that wicked grin of his again and folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me why I should."
Dean swallowed once more, desperately trying to keep the lump down that remained in his throat, "Because.. I just. Come on. I need to see him."
"Or what? What if I don't show you your little, baby brother, Dean-y boy? What are you going to do? Spit in my face?"
It was typical demon behavior. Dean should have known better. He should have known that it was just a ruse. He closed his eyes and slumped against the pole, giving up. Yet again.
There was silence as the demon kept his eyes on him. Dean could feel the gaze. As if the demon were studying him. And if Dean hadn't just had his hopes crushed for what felt like the millionth time, he would probably feel extremely uncomfortable.
Then finally the son of a bitch walked off, leaving Dean to feel horrible. He felt like he was no good. He was too weak; he couldn't break through the rope. And even if he did, he was sure the place was surrounded with demons. Not to mention that nasty witch was probably lurking about. And without Sam, Dean was no match against all of them. Not on his own. Not while he was so badly injured.
So he sat there, gaze on the dark, old wooden floor; mostly focused on a small hole in the wood. But he wasn't thinking about the hole or the floor. No. His mind was at it again. Imagining up scenarios in which ways Sam could have died. Imagining up where his brother's body could be now. Or if Sam was still alive, undergoing worse torture than what Dean had been dealing with. And if that were the case, he could almost hear Sam's cries echoing around in his ears. The cries for them to stop. The cries for Dean. It made his chest suddenly feel heavy and like his lungs and heart were being crushed together. The familiar stinging sensation was back in his eyes and he took in a deep, shuddering breath. The fact that he had no idea what happened to Sam or where he was, was more than Dean could take. He needed to know. He needed to know if Sam was okay, if he was dead, if he was hurt, if he was fighting.
He was so lost in his thoughts that the sound of a body hitting the floor broke him from his thoughts and his gaze snapped up.
His silent prayers were answered.
There, the demon stood, looking down at a large, unmoving body. The body belonged to Sam. And from what Dean could see, his brother had dealt with a lot. Large gashes glistened with blood under tears on Sam's shirt. His pants were ripped in several places, deep gashes on his legs. His hair was matted with blood; a clear sign that he had been hit in the head several times. There was blood on his face; dried, however. From a cut to his forehead and the blood had ran down the side of his face. And as the demon kicked Sam over to be on his stomach, Dean could see multiple slashes to Sam's shirt and along those slashes, on his skin, where thin, red lines. As if he had been beaten with a whip.
Dean, at first, didn't know how to react. First, his eyes were just wide, staring at his brother. Then his face heated up with a sudden feeling of rage and he pulled against the ropes, obscenities spewing from his mouth. But then it dawned on him that Sam wasn't moving. Sam wasn't moving. And he stopped his antics and stared at his brother. He desperately tried to get closer, his eyes blurring over again.
"Sam?"
No response. Just a low chuckle from the demon.
"Sam?"
Still nothing. Dean's eyes stung with tears of fear, his face twisted up into a pained expression and he let out a pathetic sounding sob.
"Sammy! You answer me!" He pulled against the ropes again, trying desperately to get free. So he could go to his brother and take him into his arms. He just wanted to hold him. He needed to hold him.
"Sam! Sammy! No! SAM!" His feet scrambled across the floor as he tried to find some kind of grip to break through the ropes. But he was just too weak. He couldn't do it. And as he slumped back again, he felt another sob wrack his body, tears falling freely from his eyes, "Sammy..."
The demon chuckled again and kicked at Sam's motionless body.
"Don't." Dean pleaded, eyes tearing away from looking at his brother to looking up at the demon, "Please. Leave him in peace. Please."
The answer to Dean's pleas was for the demon to yank Sam's limp body up, then proceeded to throw him. And not away from Dean. No. Sam hit the wall that the wooden pole was next to, then his already battered face smacked against the floor. Dean had to look away and shut his eyes. He took a moment to compose himself and when he opened his eyes, the demon was gone. But Sam was still there.
He leaned his body as close to Sam as he could, not caring if the position caused him discomfort. His forehead leaned against Sam's shoulder. His bottom lip quivered and he nudged his nose against his brother, "Come on, Sammy." His voice broke, a clear sign that he was going to lose it all over again. "You gotta wake up, Sammy. We gotta get outta here. We gotta... we gotta get you all fixed up. Hey. Come on." He buried his face into his brother's bloodied and ripped shirt, letting out another sob, "Sammy, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.. I'm sorry." He kept repeating those two words over and over again until he had to stop because his throat was getting dry. Really dry. He grew quiet, silent sobs making his body shake every now and then. But he didn't move. He didn't dare move. He didn't dare.
After a long while, he lifted his head and thought that he saw Sam flinch. A spark of hope lit inside of him and he was at it again; forehead pushing at his brother's arm and he ignored the dryness of his throat, even if it made his voice rough and raspy, "Hey, Sammy. I thought I lost ya. Come on. You can help me out of these ropes. We can get out of here."
But then his brain kicked in and he realized it had just been playing tricks on him. He looked at Sam's face, his own falling with disappointment. He knew he should probably grasp hold of the idea that his brother was dead. But without Sam, what did he have to live for? His mom and dad were gone. Castiel was gone. Bobby was gone. Dean didn't have anyone. He felt it all creep back up into his chest and his breathing was getting hard again. "S-Sammy." He decided to give one last try and closed his eyes. God was his last resort.
"G-God? Um. It's Dean. Winchester." He took in a shuddering breath and nudged Sam's shoulder with his nose, "Please. Please. Sammy can't be dead. He can't, okay? He's... he's my brother. And I need him. I need him. I can't... I can't do this without him. I need him. Please..."
Of course, God wasn't going to answer him. There wasn't anything he could do. And as he looked at his brother's lifeless form, he felt another wave of tears coming to his eyes. He gave a hopeless tug at the ropes, trying to get to his brother, but he couldn't. He couldn't get any closer than this. He forced himself to move back upright and leaned his head against the pole, his eyes closing as he let himself just go. He let the sobs take over his body, making it shake violently. His chest fell and rose quickly, stopping when whimpers of sobs escaped his lips. He choked a few times on his spit and the other times that he made any noise with his mouth was the quiet whisper of Sam's name. He couldn't believe that Sam wasgone. That Sam was dead. And he knew that if he got out of this alive, Sam would kill him if he made another deal with a crossroads demon.
Though Hell was worth it. Hell was worth knowing that Sam was alive.
He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to live this life without Sam. Because Sam was his life support. Sam was what kept him going. Gotta protect Sammy. What a great job he had done at that. He scoffed loudly at himself, banging the back of his head against the pole. He didn't try hard enough. He didn't do everything he knew he probably could have done. Because if he had, Sam would still be alive.
But Sam was dead. Sam was dead.
He banged his head against the pole again and pulled at the ropes as hard as he could, ignoring the pain the shot through his arms and the rubbing of rope against his skin. He let out a loud, aggravated yell and slammed back, his back and head bouncing off he pole again; he then repeated the actions several times. Until he started to feel dizzy and he slumped back against the pole, letting out a shaky breath.
It took him a moment to register footsteps and when he did, he looked up just as the demon from before squatted down to be eye-level with him.
"You wanted to see your brother." The demon nodded to Sam. "There you go, Dean-y boy."
Dean felt the rage, the anger; he felt his blood starting to boil in his veins and he swore he could literally see red. "You son of a bitch! I'm going to kill you! I'm going to kill every last one of you! I swear-" A slap across his face caused him to stop. He blinked in surprise, then turned his head back to face the demon. Pure black eyes looked right into his.
"I will not be spoken to in such a rude manner, boy. You and your brother shouldn't have come poking around where you shouldn't have been. This," He motioned to Sam, "is what happens when you do."
Dean gathered as much spit in his mouth that his dry mouth would allow, which wasn't a lot, and proceeded to spit it in the demon's face. The demon blinked, then ran a hand over his face, his features going hard.
"That's how you want to play this game?"
He grabbed Dean's chin, then rammed Dean's head against the pole, causing Dean's vision to blur and blacken around the edges. His mouth moved as if to speak, but he couldn't get words out because his head made contact with the pole again.
And as if by some miracle, the movements and his pulling at the ropes, the ropes around his wrists snapped. He didn't make a grab for the demon. No, instead, he reached out and grabbed Sam's hand, holding onto it tightly, "Don't worry, Sammy.. I've got you."
The demon sneered and slammed Dean's head back again, finally causing the Winchester's vision to blacken completely and his body to go limp, eyes closed.
"Game over, Dean-y boy."