From the moment Sam first laid eyes on him, he couldn't imagine ever being with another person for the rest of his life, however long that might be. He was so perfect, beautiful in every imaginable way, and the thought of not being with him felt like pure torture. It didn't seem fair that Sam had gotten the chance to see this example of a perfect person, but that he would never be good enough to actually catch the interest of such a man.
Which is why Sam was so surprised when the man made his way across the bar, locking eyes with Sam the entire time. Sam was barely aware of the fact that he was holding his breath, waiting on the edge of his seat for the man to come closer. After what felt like hours had passed, Sam realized that the man was standing right in front of him.
Sam felt frozen to his seat, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the other man's. The other man didn't seem as affected as Sam, but he did offer a divine smile that charmingly showed off his perfectly straight and white teeth, and then he reached out one hand. "I would have to be a total moron to not try and introduce myself to a lovely creature such as yourself. I'm Milo."
Sam had to gulp a couple of times, and his throat still felt far too try. It felt like a major effort to pry his tongue away from where it was sticking to the roof of his mouth so that he could choke out a response to that. "Sam," he said breathlessly, while clumsily reaching up to accept the handshake with what he hoped wasn't too clammy of a hand. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt so enthralled by anyone, let alone someone he'd never even spoken to before. In the back of his mind, he could remember the only two other people he'd had crushes on, but those were nothing in comparison to the god-like man in front of him.
Milo's smile seemed to grow just a bit brighter at that. "I'd ask if we've ever met before, but I know that I wouldn't be able to forget a face like yours." He looked around for a moment, and as soon as he looked away, Sam felt like he was missing an essential piece of himself from not being able to look into those dazzling eyes. When Milo's gaze settled back on him, it felt like a huge relief. "You here with anyone else?"
Distantly, Sam could remember that he and Dean had rolled into town for the purposes of a hunt, and that they had important business going on. After a long couple of days that yielded no results, Dean had dragged them both to the bar, and then skipped off with some barely-legal girl ages ago. Sam had decided to sit around and have a couple more drinks before heading back to their cheap motel so that he wouldn't walk in on anything unsavory. Now he was so grateful that he had. "Just me," he said softly, like he was afraid speaking any louder would remind Milo that he could do a lot better than Sam.
At that quiet declaration, Milo's entire face seemed to light up, as though he'd just heard the best news possible. "That's really great for me, Sam. How about I show you somewhere nicer than the inside of this dingy old bar?"
Sam nodded, eager to do anything Milo asked of him. Since Milo was still holding Sam's hand, it was easy enough for him to tug Sam forward. Though the move through Sam off balance, and he ended up tumbling forward into the chest of the man who turned out to be just a bit taller than him. That was something rare. "Where will we go?" Sam couldn't help asking.
Milo threw a few bills down on the counter to pay for Sam's drink, and then pulled him outside. The cool night air felt remarkably refreshing, though Sam hadn't even realized just how hot and stuffy it had been inside of the bar. "I'm going to take us on an adventure," Milo said with a strange smirk. He reached up with his free hand to brush a lock of Sam's hair back behind his ear. "No one ever told me you would be so beautiful," he murmured. "Some people just have it all, I suppose. But I'm sure no one would mind if I were to enjoy my time with you before bringing you home."
Most of what Milo said seemed to slip in through one of Sam's ears, and out the other. He didn't really care, though, because just listening to Milo's enchanting voice, deep and appropriately rumbly, sent the good kind of shivers down Sam's spine. But that last part did somehow catch in Sam's mind, and he tilted his head curiously. "Home?" Sam wasn't even sure where home was. Well no, that wasn't true. Even though he'd had an unusual life so far, he did know where home was. Instead of being a place like it was for most, it was a person for him. Home would always be Dean. It's why he'd felt so strange and uncomfortable the entire time he was at school, away from his brother and without exchanging a single word with him in years. Thinking of Dean so fondly felt like having a bucket of ice water dumped over Sam's head.
What was he even doing right now? Sam had never been the type to just go off with a complete stranger, no matter how much Dean might enjoy doing that. And the way he'd felt so connected to Milo for no discernable reason left a bad feeling in Sam's stomach. Whatever was happening here wasn't just a normal hookup situation, and Sam knew that going with this man would be a truly terrible idea. He yanked his hand free from Milo's, and took a few steps back. Milo arched one eyebrow. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted to go on an adventure?"
And of course Sam didn't have any weapons on him, since they'd just been going out for a night of careless drinking, and they hadn't even figured out the cause of the mysterious deaths yet. Was Milo the cause? Had Sam inadvertently discovered the monster that they were after? Or was this town just unlucky enough to have two problems going on at once? Sam furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about what Milo had said. No one had told him what Sam would look like? That he was bringing him home? That didn't sound like some random monster; that sounded like something much more personal, even if it was far beyond Sam's abilities at the moment to figure out what exactly. "I just realized that I have other plans for tonight. It was nice meeting you, but I've got to go."
He turned to hurry away, or maybe even duck back into the bar so that he could barricade himself in the bathroom and call Dean, but Milo reached out to grab Sam's arm. This time, his grip wasn't gentle, and it felt like a steel rod had just been wrapped around him. It was definitely going to leave a nasty bruise there. "Where are you off to in such a rush?" Milo asked, though now his voice didn't sound as smooth and pleasant. It sounded rough, and annoyed. "I have so many plans for you, and it would be an awful shame to put them to waste."
Even though he knew it would be futile, Sam tried to pull himself free of Milo's grasp. Just as he'd suspected, he was unable to get himself free. He wasn't exactly a muscle bound weight lifting fanatic, but he was still stronger than the average person, and there's no way that the average person would be able to keep such a tight grip on him. Sam tried to kick at Milo's legs in an attempt to distract the man, but Milo didn't even seem remotely phased. "Let go of me!" Sam shouted, hoping to catch the attention of someone inside the bar.
Milo sighed, and his shoulders slumped down with what almost seemed like disappointment. "I was really hoping that it wouldn't have to go this way. You've got to admit, I really had you there for a few minutes, though. You were eating right out of my hand, and you would've done anything I asked. I could've told you to slit your own throat, and you would've agreed." Horror welled up in Sam because he knew that Milo was right. A minute ago, he would've done anything the other man had asked of him. "You were so happy to be just another weak willed little human? Why not go back to that? It would make everything so much easier."
"I'm not going to make anything easy for you," Sam spat. He swung out to punch Milo in the face, but Milo caught his fist, and squeezed it until there were several loud cracks, and Sam could feel pain shooting up his hand. He'd had enough broken bones in the past to know what had just happened. "Who are you?" Sam demanded. "What do you want from me?"
Milo let go of Sam's injured hand, since it was basically useless at the moment anyways, and then cupped one of Sam's cheeks. Sam immediately jerked his head back, and growled at the man. Milo sighed, and nodded once. "Alright, I get it. You're a tough guy and you won't go down without a fight. You want to know what I want from you? At the moment, I want nothing more than for you to take a little nap. And when you wake up, this'll all be over, I promise."
Fear began building up in Sam's chest, and it was strange, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a fear like this. Whoever this man was, he was a lot different than the usual baddies he and Dean went up against. Whatever Milo's plans were, they were no doubt much more sinister than the usual 'eating people' goal that a majority of monsters seemed to share. Before he could spend more time thinking about it, though, there was a gentle pat to the top of his head, and then everything went dark.
,,,
When Dean woke up the next morning, he saw that the random chick from the bar- what was her name again? Andy? Addie? Abby?- was long gone, as evidenced by the coolness of the sheets next to him. He got up and stretched, a wry grin on his face. Last night had been fun. That chick had been more creative than Dean's usual one-nighters, and he'd enjoyed every minute of it.
And based on the fact that Sam was nowhere in sight, it seemed likely that his brother had gotten the hint to not return to the motel room for the night, and had possibly found his own hookup to crash with. The thought made Dean feel strangely sour, though he wasn't sure why. Probably because he knew that Sam was a sucker for anyone with a sob story and big eyes, and was a lot more likely to get himself into serious trouble than Dean was.
Though a quick glance at his phone to check the time did have Dean raising his eyebrows in surprise. Usually on a morning like this, Sam would've barged into the room at like six in the morning with some disgustingly healthy crap for breakfast, and cheered about how much boring research they were going to get to do. Whoever Sam had spent the night with must've been really good to get his brother to actually sleep in for once.
Dean ignored the strange pang in his stomach as he got into the shower to clean up and get dressed. He didn't want any evidence of the night left, no matter how fun it had been, because now it was time to get serious and continue working on the case. They hadn't had any progress so far, but there had to be an explanation for the string of suicides, each of which contained traces of blood from the suicide before theirs.
When it was ten o'clock and Sam still hadn't checked in at all, Dean had to force himself to take deep breaths, and try not to worry too much. He knew that his little brother was plenty capable of taking care of himself, and wasn't so little these days anyways. Someone would have to be a complete idiot to try and mess with someone who towered over them the way that Sam surely would. Then again, there was always the even worse case scenario, in which Sam had found someone that he really liked and they'd run off together to get married in Vegas and would then settle down somewhere so Sam could quit living a hunter's life.
By noon, Dean's stomach convinced him to head out of the motel room and grab something to eat, despite the fact that his stomach was also twisted up in knots of worry. Sam hadn't answered any of Dean's calls, and hadn't attempted to call Dean. Dean went to the local diner, scarfed down a bland meal without bothering to taste any of it, then asked around if anyone had seen someone matching Sam's description.
Nobody had, and Dean was starting to feel desperate. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to piss Sam off lately, and he was pretty sure that his brother was responsible enough to at least get in touch with Dean if something had come up. Which left the unfortunate idea that something bad had happened that was outside of Sam's control. What if the kid was seriously hurt? What if whatever they were hunting had gotten to him while Dean had been off screwing around? The thought of his brother being dead, or even injured, was completely unacceptable, and yet Dean didn't know what else to think based on what little he knew of the situation.
Out of ideas, and unable to focus on the details of the hunt without Sam there, Dean headed back to the bar he'd been in last night. It's the last time he'd seen his brother, and he was trying desperately to think of every single thing that had happened before he'd taken off. Unfortunately, the bar wasn't open for over an hour.
Dean knew that he should really be using that time to work on the case, because saving the lives of random civilians was very important, but he couldn't help feeling overwhelmed at the thought of Sam being gone again. The last time he'd left, it had nearly killed Dean, and he didn't think he'd survive that again. But even so, he'd much rather learn that Sam had left on his own than any of the other possibilities. Dean would rather be dead than know that his brother was unsafe.
He went back to the motel room, where he mostly just paced around for a while, trying to stop his brain from showing him images of all the worst case instances of what could've happened to Sam. When it was finally time for the bar to open up, he rushed back there as quickly as possible.
When he rushed in, he could see someone in a large hoodie still setting up. They probably hadn't meant to unlock the door quite yet, but Dean didn't care about that. He was a man on a mission, and when that mission involved tracking down his little brother, he wasn't going to let anything get in his way, including shoving his way into a business before they were even technically open.
There was a man in a purple vest standing behind the bar, wiping it down and humming under his breath. The hoodie person didn't pay any attention to Dean, but the vest person looked up thoughtfully. His eyes flicked down to his wristwatch, and then back to Dean. "Sorry, but we're not technically open 'til 1:30. Katya must've left the door open." He nodded towards the hoodie person before focusing back on Dean. "On the other hand, you look pretty desperate, and what's ten minutes between friends? So what can I get you?"
Dean blinked a few times as he processed what he'd just been told, trying to make sure that he filtered out anything that wasn't relevant to finding Sam. Then he walked right up to the bar, not even attempting to put on his usual charming grin. "I know you probably have a lot of customers in here every night, but this is very important. Do you remember a big guy, few inches taller than me? He has brown hair, a bit on the long side for a guy but not too bad, and a really goofy face, and I can't find him anywhere, and-"
The vest guy held his hands up. "Whoa, buddy, slow down there. Take a couple of deep breaths before you talk so much that you pass out." He nudged his rag out of the way, and leaned over the bar to get a closer look at Dean. "You know what? I think that I do know who you're talking about. There aren't a lot of guys around here who are taller than you, which really helps narrow it down. And he left before we got too crowded."
It was possible that they were talking about two different people, but Dean couldn't help getting his hopes up that they were both talking about Sam. "He left by himself?"
The guy shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure he left with another tall dude. I thought that maybe you were having a convention or something. Or that you were a traveling basketball team, I guess. The other guy paid for his drinks, and then they left together."
Dean forced himself to take in and let out several deep breaths before he continued asking his questions. "You wouldn't happen to have overheard what they said, did you?"
The man smiled, and nodded once. "Yeah. Well I mean, I didn't actually hear them, but it's pretty damn obvious that they were heading out, and both planned on going back to the same place. People hook up after meeting in bars all the time. It's really common." He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, like he was thinking really hard about what had happened. "I was otherwise occupied at the time, so I wasn't really paying much attention, but as far as I can remember, they both seemed really into the idea of leaving together. I didn't hear anything specifically about where they were going, but I didn't recognize either of them, so your best bet would be checking either the motel or the Johnson's B&B."
While it was nice to know that Sam had willingly left the bar, or at least appeared to willingly leave the bar, overall that had been completely useless. Whatever reason Sam had for leaving the bar last night didn't help Dean find him today, and didn't explain why he wasn't answering any of Dean's calls, or tried to return to the motel room or anything. "Is there anything else you can remember? Please?"
The man sighed. "Sorry, but I don't usually pay all that much attention to the customers. Though now that I think about it, weren't you here last night too? Again, it's mostly just the tall person thing that caught my attention. And I remember that you took off with Ashley, right? So you don't have any right to get so upset about your crush going somewhere else."
Dean clenched his teeth as he tried to think of the million things that were wrong with that statement. It would be so easy to just swing across the bar and punch the vest-wearing idiot right in the face, but that wouldn't help solve any of Dean's problems, and in all likelihood, would only cause more. "Thanks for your help," he managed to grunt out. Then he turned and hurried out of the bar, hoping that whatever happened, Sam was going to be okay.
,,,
Sam's head felt like it had been run over by a truck, more than once, as he returned to consciousness. Even the sound of his own heartbeat seemed so loud that it caused physical pain, and he had to refrain from groaning loudly. He wasn't usually much of a heavy drinker, but the few times he'd gotten totally wasted, he'd woken up feeling only slightly worse than he did right now. And since he knows that he wouldn't have had that much to drink in the middle of a job, he knew that this awful headache was cause for concern.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was sitting in a rather comfortable armchair, though having his limbs tied to it made it a bit less comfy, and he seemed to be sitting in the middle of a fancy looking bedroom. There were velvet and embroidered curtains draped artifully around the room, old looking paintings in golden frames, a four poster bed in one corner that looked to be straight out of a medieval fantasy, and most importantly, a large and heavy looking wooden door.
There weren't any other people in the room, but that didn't mean anything in terms of whether he was being watched or not, and Sam knew that it was always better to be safe than sorry by just not saying anything. As he sat there, all of his memories of last night flooded back. Milo. Whoever- or whatever- he was, he was the one responsible for Sam being tied up in here right now. But why?
This definitely didn't match the pattern of the other victims that had drawn Sam and Dean to the town in the first place, since those had all been suicides within the victims' own homes. This was clearly a kidnapping, and an unfamiliar place, and Sam had no idea what to make of any of it. And the things he remembered Milo saying definitely sent bad shivers down Sam's spine. Had someone hired Milo to kidnap him? But what could he have meant when he said that he was taking Sam home? Wherever he was at the moment certainly couldn't be considered home. So what the hell was going on?
He slumped down in the seat, trying to look as relaxed and non-threatening as possible. Of course the reality was that no matter how bad of a headache he was sporting, he would fight until his dying breath to get away from this place. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that it couldn't be anything good. There were no good reasons for kidnapping someone. Though Sam was curious about how Milo had managed to so thoroughly capture his attention back at the bar. It sickened him to think of how easily he would've gone along with anything the man said, even though there was someone else Sam was in love with.
After just a few minutes of waiting around for something to happen, the large door to the room slowly swung open, and Milo walked inside. He walked right up to Sam, clearly not worried about being injured by someone who was tied down so thoroughly, and who hadn't been able to harm him at all last night. Or whenever that was. Now that Sam thought about it, he hadn't been put to sleep by any natural means that he could think of, which meant that he could've been asleep for any amount of time.
Milo leaned forward to brush aside some of Sam's hair, and Sam was starting to get really sick and tired of that. He knew that it was probably wise to wait things out, and get more information about his captors and location, but Sam was suddenly filled with the urge to cause harm, so he smashed his head forward. Clearly it was a move that surprised Milo, based on the way that he didn't duck aside and instead let their heads be bashed together. Then again, the way Milo stepped back, seemingly unharmed, while Sam's headache had only increased tenfold, made Sam question his spur of the moment decision to do such a thing.
Instead of looking irritated, or pained in any way, Milo just looked disappointed. "Come on, Sammy. We were getting along so well last night, weren't we?"
Sam sincerely hoped that Milo was only referring to the few minutes where Sam had been under his spell, and not any of the unknown time after he'd been knocked unconscious. Instead of asking and sounding vulnerable, he just bared his teeth. "Don't call me Sammy."
Milo held his hands up. "You're right, that was rude of me. I don't know what could've possibly come over me. Only your brother dearest can call you that, right?"
So Sam's beginning theories before had been on the right track. Whatever was going on here was definitely personal. Milo knew Sam, and had to have seen him at some point before this trip, since he couldn't remember Dean calling him 'Sammy' at any point while they'd been in this town. But he couldn't remember the last time that Dean had actually called him that, which was worrisome. It meant that he had no idea how long Milo had been watching him. And he still didn't know why. "Who are you?" He struggled to keep his voice calm because he knew that yelling and getting angry was a bad enough idea with the usual sort of riff raff he hunted down, let alone someone who'd yet to be ruffled by anything Sam had seen.
Milo smiled. "I guess I could give you an answer to that. But you should be made aware of the fact that you aren't asking the right person to be getting all of your answers from. Of course it bolsters my ego quite a bit to think that you actually believe me to be the person in charge at the moment, but I'm afraid that I'm just a mercenary in this situation. A hired strong arm who has certain sought after abilities in certain circles."
"Okay, so then tell me who you work for. And why I'm here."
Milo arched one eyebrow. "But you didn't even ask nicely." He sounded genuinely offended, but clearly he was just a good actor, since Sam didn't believe for a moment that anything he said had any kind of effect on the other man. "Fine, fine, I can see that you're feeling desperate for answers. I'm afraid that I don't have all of them myself. Mercenaries aren't usually let in on the very important plans. But there are a couple of things I do know." Of course it was never as easy as that, though, since Milo didn't continue for several long seconds, and when he did, it was with a shit-eating grin. "But I'm afraid that I don't offer up any kind of answers for free. It'll cost you."
Sam narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to play right into this guy's hands, but he also really did want to know what was going on. "What's the price?" he asked warily.
Milo clapped his hands together. "Oh, you are truly a delight, aren't you? The price is two kisses, one for each piece of information I can share with you."
"You wouldn't tell me anything if your bosses weren't okay with it. Last I checked, mercenaries don't risk losing out on a paycheck just for a couple of kisses. And if your bosses are okay with you sharing this information, then it's even more likely that they actually want me to know it. Which means that I shouldn't have to pay you anything."
Apparently there was nothing in the world that could put Milo into a bad mood. He just nodded once. "Brains on top of beauty and brawn and blood. You really are the cream of the crop, aren't you?"
It was hard to try and listen to Milo and only pick out the important bits of information. But he was pretty sure that he'd just caught one. "Blood?"
For the first time since he'd met Milo, the other man actually looked a bit flustered. "Ah, I didn't mean to say that. But I guess it's too late now to go back and try to pretend that I didn't. But there's no point in worrying your pretty little head about it. I'm sure that my boss would much rather explain all of that to you, since I barely even understand it myself. But as for the other information- whether I'm supposed to give it to you or not, I won't do it without receiving my just pay."
Out of all the things in the world that Milo could ask for, Sam didn't understand why a couple of kisses from him would rank anywhere near the top of the list of most valuable things. Not that Sam had much in the way of money or riches to offer, but he at least had a few various magical artifacts lying around, and plenty of important knowledge of his own.
Sam was pretty tempted to just tell Milo to screw off and leave him alone, but he really did think that knowing at least a little bit about his current situation would be helpful, and he couldn't really think of anything particularly bad about a couple of kisses. Unless Milo turned out to be a bad kisser or something, but Sam didn't think that would matter since he was certain that he wouldn't enjoy it no matter what.
He heaved out a big sigh, and then nodded once. "Fine. Two kisses, no tongue, and then you tell me what you know."
Milo reached out to press one hand against Sam's forehead. "Just a precaution. I don't particularly mind being head butted, but I'm sure that it can't be very good for your delicate little head." Then he leaned forward, and pressed two quick pecks to Sam's lips. It was over within a couple of seconds, and not nearly as bad as Sam had started making it out in his head to be. Of course it was still worse than just not having to kiss a stranger at all, but at this point Sam figured that he needed to choose his battles wisely. And Milo seemed to be pretty satisfied with the very short kisses anyways, based on the excited look on his face. "Alright, so fair's fair. I can tell you two very important pieces of information, though I'm not sure entirely how useful they'll be to you. The first is that you are meant to be a king someday, which is why it's best to bring you home for safe keeping until then. The second-"
They were interrupted by someone rushing into the room, slamming the heavy door back into the wall. "Milo! What the fuck are you doing in here? We were all told very specifically-"
"I know what we were told," Milo interrupted, not sounding at all bothered. "I've decided to take a few liberties with this job. Just look at that beautiful face. How could I just stand around and do nothing? And I wasn't gonna tell the kid anything that the boss wasn't already planning on telling him."
"Not a kid," Sam muttered petulantly, even though he knew it was completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
Milo snorted, but continued talking to the other man instead of Sam. "Besides, the boss isn't even gonna be here until-"
The other man scowled. "He's on his way right now."
That seemed to stop Milo short, and he put his hands on his hips. "Are you sure?" When the other man nodded, Milo let out a sigh, and then glanced back at Sam. "Sorry darling, guess our date is being cut short. I may have taken a few artistic liberties with the boss' instructions, but I'm not suicidal enough to go against him right to his face."
The most worrying part about that statement was the idea that someone like Milo had people that he was afraid of going up against. That was a pretty frightening thought. "You owe me another piece of information," he tried, even though he was pretty sure that it wouldn't matter.
Milo arched one eyebrow, and then grinned at Sam. "You're right." He ignored the other man who was trying to physically drag him out of the room at that point. "I suppose this just means that I'm going to have to owe you one, Sam Winchester." Was it supposed to be intimidating that Milo knew Sam's full name when he'd clearly been following him for some amount of time before this kidnapping? Then Milo let himself be pulled away, and the heavy door was slammed shut a moment later.
Sam blinked a few times as he tried to take in everything that had just happened. Whatever was going on, it certainly didn't look good for him. He slumped down in his seat, and tried struggling again, but his limbs were strapped down too securely for him to break free, and it would be a complete waste of energy to keep trying. His only hope at this point was that Dean would figure out where he was, and would come to the rescue. Though the idea of his brother having to save him for the millionth time bruised his pride, he'd rather have a bruised pride than be dead, or have to deal with whatever Milo's boss wanted him for.
,,,
"Hey, Dad? It's me, Dean. I know I've already called you like a thousand times, but this time it's really important. It's not just about some stupid hunt, or at least, I don't think it is." He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Sammy's missing," he finally whispered. "And I have no idea where he could be, or who he's with, and I'm so scared that-" he cut himself off, not willing to admit to his fears out loud, just in case they came true. "I know that what you're doing right now is important, but what could be more important than the life of your son? Even if I have to hear you two going at it again, I'll be happy, as long as you're both safe and where I can see you. I know it's a lot to ask, but can't you please just come and help? I don't think that I can do this on my own." Then there was a beep, to let Dean know that he'd reached the limit of how long his message could be.
He groaned as he shut the phone and slipped it into his pocket. What the hell was he even supposed to do now? He turned around to kick the wall of the bar, not caring that it caused more damage to his toes than to the brick wall. Then he closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressing the top of his head against the gritty wall. He opened his eyes a moment later, staring listlessly at the ground.
His eyes widened after a few seconds when he realized just what it was that he was staring at. A cheap flip phone that had clearly been dropped. It could've belonged to anyone, really, but Dean's instincts were suddenly certain that that was the phone Sam had been using last. He quickly scooped it up and flipped it open. When he checked the call log, he could see the many missed calls from his own number. This was definitely Sam's. For a moment, Dean wondered if this could all be as simple as Sam being unable to get into contact with him due to losing his phone. But he quickly brushed that idea aside. Even if Sam lost his phone, it didn't explain why he'd never showed up at the motel. No, there was definitely more going on, and Dean was determined to figure out what.
When he returned to the motel, it finally occurred to Dean that finding Sam's phone was actually detrimental to his ability to find Sam. If it had still been on his brother, then Dean could've called the phone company and figured out an excuse to track the phone, and use that to find Sam. He sank down onto the creaky bed as he berated himself for not thinking of that plan sooner, while also reminding himself that it didn't matter anymore since he'd be unable to track his brother when he was holding his brother's phone in his hand.
Just to make sure that he hadn't missed anything important, Dean searched the call log and the messages on the phone, but there didn't seem to be any correspondence with anyone besides Dean in the past couple of days. In his frustration, it was tempting to fling the phone across the room, or maybe even stomp on it a couple of times, but he refrained from doing so because he knew that it would annoy Sam once they were reunited.
Dean got up to pace back and forth across the motel room. It wouldn't be productive in any way, but he couldn't think of anything else he could do at the moment, short of knocking on every door in town to ask if anyone had seen his brother. And as much as he hated to admit it, the case that they'd originally come here for was still important. Sam would be very disappointed if anyone else got killed when Dean could've prevented it.
When he got tired of that, he retreated to the dinky little bathroom, where a strange feeling of wrongness jolted through Dean. He paused in the middle of a step, and slowly ran his eyes around the small room, taking in every detail to try and figure out what could be off. When he finally spotted it, he felt like an idiot for not seeing it immediately. The salt line on the window sill was broken. It was just a tiny little gap, probably caused by an elbow brushing it when Dean got out of the shower, but even the sliver of space was enough to be an issue. He quickly fixed it, then walked around to check everywhere else in the motel room.
Nothing else seemed disturbed, and there weren't any indications of an intruder, but Dean couldn't just relax after that discovery. He'd never make it very far as a hunter if he was stupid enough to brush aside such a glaring sign of danger. He walked casually, just in case there were any creepy invisible baddies in the room, and hauled his duffel bag up onto the clean bed so that he could begin rummaging through it. It wasn't unusual for him to pull out his guns and start taking them apart to clean them, so taking one out now wouldn't seem too suspicious. Not that there was necessarily anything in the room with Dean, but if there was, he wasn't going to be taking any chances.
Once he had a weapon in his hand, he definitely felt a bit better about the situation. It was loaded with silver bullets, which were very effective against a multitude of creatures, and he hoped that it would actually be useful in this case. Though maybe it was asking for too much to hope that whatever was causing the suicides would be connected to whatever had taken Sam, or even that they had the same weaknesses.
Not wanting to waste the time of dismantling his gun, since that would only leave him unarmed at the moment anyways, Dean got up and casually strolled out of the motel room. He paused to make sure that the salt lines were all in place, and then he closed and locked the door behind him. He still had no idea where to even begin looking for his brother, and as much as it burned him up inside to not make Sam his priority, he knew that he could at least try and help save more people.
He headed to the house of the latest victim, and flashed a fake badge and pretty smile so that he'd be let inside by the grieving girlfriend. "Sorry about the mess. I was always picking up after Sarah, and I'm-" her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat before continuing, though she abruptly changed the topic. "What can I help you with, Detective? I already talked to the police last week."
She led him into a small living room, and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. "I apologize for taking up your time, miss, but this is important. I'm sure you're aware that Sarah wasn't the first person in town who took their own life within the past couple of months."
The woman nodded once. "I know. Some people are talking about a cult with a suicide pact. But that's just ridiculous, because Sarah would never be involved with something like that."
"You also never thought she'd be the type to take her own life," Dean pointed out tactlessly. He really needed Sam's soft touch and puppy dog eyes on these cases if he didn't want to offend everyone that they tried to talk to.
The woman narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms over her hips. "Sarah struggled with depression as a teenager, but only because her parents died when she was still so young. She confided in me everything about that time of her, including her multiple hospitalizations. When she was in college, she petitioned to have those visits wiped off of everything but her private doctor's medical records so that they wouldn't interfere with her future."
Dean couldn't keep the surprise off of his face. "But in the report, you were very adamant about the fact that there had never been any indication of suicidal thoughts or actions."
"Of course I said that! I know Sarah better than anyone in this town, and I know that even though depression rarely ever just disappears, she hasn't battled against it in decades. She talked about everything with me, and there were absolutely no signs that she was going to-!" she bowed her head down and spoke in a softer voice, forcing herself to remain calm. "She proposed to me three days before she died. I enthusiastically accepted. Why would anyone kill themself so soon after going out of their way to make a choice about their future?"
Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't remember seeing that in any report either."
The woman sighed, and she looked completely exhausted. "No one really cares, Detective. It's just a bunch of crazy people killing themselves as far as anyone is concerned. No one seems at all concerned about the fact that Sarah hung herself, and had no other injuries, but when I found her, there was blood on the doorknob. I'm not an idiot. I've talked to some of the others who have lost people. According to them, at least of the ones who were the ones to discover their loved ones, there was blood on the doorknobs in all the cases, no matter how far from the door the body was. And only one of them said that they could've seen it coming."
Clearly this woman had put a lot of thought into everything, not that Dean could blame her. If he were in her situation, and found Sammy, he would not be able to just accept it just like that. Even if there was absolutely nothing supernatural about what was going on, there was definitely more to the story. Maybe some kind of deranged serial killer or something. Which was still something Dean could try and put a stop to. "Miss Anderson-"
"It would've been Anderson-Lecky some time next year," she said somberly. "Detective, you wouldn't be here right now if you didn't think there was something going on too. Whatever it takes to figure things out, I'll help."
Dean couldn't help feeling impressed by this woman. She was older, somewhere in her late forties, and had just recently lost the person she'd been with for the past twenty-five years, but she was bound and determined to get to the bottom of this, to the point where she'd already begun to do her own research into the matter. "I have to ask; what exactly is it that you think is going on?"
That made the woman frown for a moment before she shrugged, a helpless look on her face. "I don't know. But I know that this isn't natural. That many people wouldn't just arbitrarily decide to kill themselves. Maybe one or two, but thirteen in three months? It doesn't seem right. I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, we need to stop it."
It would be cruel for Dean to deny this woman the chance to get closure and justice, since that was exactly what had been motivating his dad for the past twenty years. He would just do his best to keep her safe. And he had the feeling that if he rejected her help now, she would just go off and investigate on her own anyways. "Miss-"
"Just call me Catherine," she interrupted. "And you said your name is Blake, right Detective?" When he didn't respond immediately, she leaned forward in her seat so that she could meet Dean's eyes. "Now why don't you tell me just what the hell is going on around here?"
,,,
Sam wanted to berate himself for somehow being able to actually fall asleep in the middle of a kidnapping, but in his defense, his head had been killing him all day, and once Milo had taken off, there had been absolutely nothing to do for several hours. He was woken up by the sound of the door to the room opening, and was relieved to find that his head wasn't bothering him much anymore, despite a slight ache in the front from where he'd smashed it against Milo's. It would be much easier to escape without anything impairing him.
He scowled when he saw who was entering the room. A girl, probably around eleven or twelve years old. Now he was left in the awkward position of trying to figure out whether she was a natural made monster, or if she was being possessed, because the answer to that would definitely change up his plans on how to escape. If she was some innocent person being possessed, he didn't want to hurt her. "So who're you supposed to be?"
The girl smiled, and it sent shivers down Sam's spine. "I'm the boss. I know you must've been eagerly awaiting me, and I do apologize for the long wait, but you should be honored that I rushed to get here so quickly as it is. I know you've been looking for me for a while now. We've actually met before, but I guess you wouldn't remember me since I was wearing a different face at the time. And you were still in diapers." That sounded like it had to be referring to- but it couldn't be- Sam must not have been very good at hiding his mix of growing confusion and panic if the way the girl's grin grew was anything to go by. "You're a smart kid, Sammy. I'm sure you can figure it out. But I'll give you a hint anyways." A moment later, her eyes were a sickly yellow.
Sam's eyes widened, and it took a strong effort on his part to not start hyperventilating. He knew that he needed to remain calm to figure out what the hell was going on, even though he kinda just wanted to start screaming and never stop. While Dad was off ignoring all of Dean's calls, the thing he was searching for was standing right in front of Sam. Which also told him that he'd have to figure out a way of escaping that involved hurting Yellow-Eyes without hurting the girl. "What do you want with me?"
The demon chuckled, and walked closer to Sam, apparently just as confident in her ability to remain unharmed, just like Milo had been earlier. "To be perfectly honest, I never intended to meet you so early. I had a whole grand event planned out, where all of my children would fight to the death to figure out which one would be the winner. Your gifts may not have manifested yet, at least not consciously, but I was betting on you being a strong contender?"
"Your children?" Sam felt like he was going to be sick.
The girl shrugged. "Well, not the way you're thinking. Mommy didn't screw a demon, if that's what you're afraid of. Your daddy really is your daddy, though you'd probably prefer to learn otherwise. But we do share DNA. And I'm the one who made you into who you're supposed to be."
If Sam lingered on the idea that he had any kind of connection to the creature that had killed his mother, he was going to completely freak out. He needed to focus on the more relevant details at the moment. "If you hadn't planned on us meeting, then why am I here right now?"
The demon sighed. "Isn't that the big question? To be honest, it's because someone's been trying very hard to interfere with my plans. I wouldn't normally care, but this person is being a particularly persistent pain in the ass. So many of my children are already dead, long before I could bring them into the arena."
"You don't seem very broken up about it."
She shrugged again. "Most of them were going to end up dead eventually anyways. But it would've been on my terms, and it would've served my purpose. But it would be foolish to have any attachment to any of my children. Except for the winner." She laughed loudly. "I said I was betting on you, but you aren't the guaranteed victor quite yet, Sammy. You still need to prove yourself."
None of this was making any sense. "But what's the point in any of this? What is your purpose?" He couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice, because if this had anything to do with why his mother had been killed, he needed to know. And if he made it out of here alive, then he could tell Dean and Dad all about it too.
She stepped even closer, though she did stand just far enough back that Sam wouldn't be able to headbutt her even if he wanted to. "I want an heir, Sammy. And I'm going to get one. If that means keeping you safe here until the danger is over, then so be it." She paused for a moment, and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe we can even make your stay here have more than one purpose." She reached into the pocket of the bright pink sweater dress she was wearing, and pulled out a pocket knife. Sam flinched back, which only seemed to amuse her. "I already told you that I want you to live. What would be the point in roughing you up now?" Then she jammed the knife down into her own wrist, and Sam couldn't bite back his shout. She only seemed more amused by how worried he was about the girl, and then she shoved her arm forward so that it was pressed against Sam's mouth. "Come on, Sammy, drink up."
He wanted to spit out some venomous words, but he couldn't open his mouth if he didn't want any of that demon blood to drip inside. He had no idea why Yellow-Eyes wanted him to drink her blood, but he knew that if that's what the demon wanted, then he absolutely could not do that. Not to mention how revolting the thought of drinking anyone's blood was.
The demon's self inflicted injury finished healing, and she pulled her arm away with a soft 'tut'. "Come on, Sammy, be a good boy. How about we make a little deal? You have a few sips of my blood, which I know many people would literally kill for the opportunity to do so, or I'll slit this girl's throat, and then leave her to die."
It was unfair, because of course Sam would do whatever he could to protect the lives of innocent people. He scowled, but nodded once. "Fine."
She looked happy despite his angry tone. "Wonderful." Then she stabbed her arm again, and Sam hoped that those injuries wouldn't be enough to kill the girl anyways. When the bloody arm was raised to his lips, his instincts screamed for him to clamp his mouth shut and refuse to play along, but he forced himself to open his mouth. A few drops of blood landed on his tongue before the wound healed again, and Sam was surprised to find that it didn't taste like the usual coppery blood of a human. It tasted oddly sweet, and there was no tinge of iron to it. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"
"What was the point of that, though?"
Yellow-Eyes smirked. "The point is that I wanted you to do that, and you did." She reached up to ruffle his hair, most likely leaving behind bloody streaks in the strands, before she backed away. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Sammy, even if I never expected it to be under these circumstances." The use of the familiar nickname grated on Sam's nerves, but unlike with Milo, he felt it would be best to just say nothing. They knew barely anything at all about this demon, but they knew that it was very powerful and very dangerous. It wasn't worth the risk of annoying Yellow-Eyes over something as petty as a name, even though he was sure that the demon was calling him Sammy solely to bother him.
Without another word, the demon turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Sam slumped back in his seat as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. Yellow-Eyes had mentioned gifts. As much as he didn't want anything from the demon, maybe they would be something that would help him escape?
Then Sam couldn't help letting his mind wander to Jessica. She'd been his best friend from the day that they met, and when she'd suggested that they move in together so that they'd be able to watch out for each other, he'd been eager to accept. He hadn't known what he was really dragging her into, though. At least not right away. But once he'd started having those dreams about Jessica, he should've known to get as far away from her as possible, in order to keep her safe. He should've somehow known that his dream was real.
Sam jolted at that thought. Why would it have ever occurred to him that he'd be dreaming about something that would actually happen? At the time, he'd assumed that they were just nightmares related to his mom, but that didn't really make sense, since he'd been too little to actually remember anything he'd seen that night. It was crazy, but if Sam really had somehow dreamed the future before, then what if that was one of the so called gifts that Yellow-Eyes had mentioned? But the demon had said that Sam hadn't manifested them yet. Did that mean Yellow-Eyes didn't know about Sam's nightmares? Or were the nightmares what she'd meant by saying it hadn't been consciously?
He had no idea what the answers to his questions were. But he knew that Yellow-Eyes wouldn't have fed him demon blood without a reason. And he knew that if there was a way to get out of here and get back to Dean, then he'd have to take it, even it it meant playing right into the demon's hands.
,,,
Dean leaned back against the couch once he'd finished explaining as much as he felt was necessary to know for this case. He left out everything about why his family had become a family of hunters in the first place, and the stuff about the childhood that would've been downright unbearable without Sam in it, and all the drama about Sam going off to college, but he'd told her everything else. That almost all the stories of things that go bump in the night were real. That he had no proof, but believed the suicides to be the result of something supernatural. That he'd come to town with Sam, who'd since gone missing without a trace beyond a dropped phone.
Once he'd gotten it all out, Catherine stared at Dean with wide eyes. He wouldn't blame her if she called him crazy and demanded that he immediately leave her house. But after a minute of silence between them, she let out a sigh, and leaned back in her own seat. "I don't know what's crazier. The fact that you seem to believe that all that stuff is real, or the fact that I think I believe you about it all."
Dean shrugged. "I'm not going to go out and do anything stupid just to try to convince you that I'm telling the truth. I'm letting you know so that you can understand why it would be too dangerous for you to try figuring shit out on your own, and so that you don't wander into the wrong mess, and wind up getting yourself killed."
One corner of Catherine's mouth tilted up into a wistful smile. "Yeah, Sarah would kill me if she found out that I'd gone and gotten myself killed so soon after her." She sighed, and a more serious look covered her face. "So do you have any idea what might be causing the suicides?"
"Unfortunately, I don't. We interviewed a few of the witnesses when we first rolled into town, but no one has been able to tell us anything useful. Sam's usually the smart one who's good at figuring this stuff out."
Catherine stood up and stretched her arms over her head. "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. You wouldn't be working together if he thought that you were a total idiot. But if you really don't think that you can solve this without him, then why don't we just focus on finding him first? Maybe we'll even solve two things in one, if it turns out that his disappearance has anything to do with the rest of the stuff that's been going on."
It was tempting, but Dean knew that spending more time focused on Sam would only result in letting more innocent people die. He loved his brother more than anything, but he also trusted that Sam could take care of himself, at least for a little while longer. And Dean just knew that he had to still be alive. While, he didn't actually know that, but he wanted to believe that if anything permanent happened to Sam, he would just know it. "I don't think that they could be connected. It wouldn't make any sense for whatever's at play here to spend months comfortably being involved with suicides, only to suddenly change it up and make a person disappear instead."
Catherine nodded once. "I'm sure you'll find him. In the meantime, how do we go about figuring out what's behind all the deaths?"
Normally this would be around the time that they jumped right into the research, whether in books or by talking to people, but Dean could see Catherine's current condition, and he found himself feeling sympathy for her situation. "A good start would be you going and taking a shower and changing into clean clothes while I make some food. It's never a good idea to start an investigation on an empty stomach."
For a moment, it seemed like Catherine was going to argue with him, but then she just sighed and nodded again. "Yeah, alright. Not that anyone would really blame me for going around town looking like this, but I suppose that I do still have some dignity to maintain." She offered Dean a small smile. "Thank you." Then she turned to walk away, and Dean could hear the footsteps going up the stairs a few seconds later.
He found his way into the kitchen, and was relieved to find some easy to make boxes of macaroni and cheese. Most of the stuff in the fridge looked like it had already gone bad, and Dean didn't want to touch any of it. But while the water was boiling on the stove, he scrounged around for a couple of trashbags, and emptied out everything that seemed to have passed it's date.
By the time Catherine came back downstairs, the food was ready, and there was a space cleared at the kitchen table for them to sit down. She smiled gratefully. "You really didn't have to do all this. To be honest, a lot of this mess is from Sarah, not me. I always have- had to clean up after her. I'm a little afraid that if I clean the house now, it'll always be too clean, because it'll never have Sarah around to mess things back up again."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Dean finally remembered to say. "I know that it's not easy to lose the people you love the most. I'm not so good with the whole 'talking about feelings' thing, but I'm here to listen if there's anything that you do need to talk about, I promise."
They quickly finished eating, and then Dean cleaned up and put everything back where they'd found it. Both of them headed outside, and Catherine gestured to her car. "Might be easier than walking around everywhere. It's a small town, but it's not that small." Once they were both inside, Catherine turned to look at Dean. "So where do we start? You said that you already talked to some people, right? So now what?"
He frowned. "You might not want to be around for this part, but it's the part where we go to the morgue and investigate the bodies. You never know what kinds of weird crap you can find out from that. The problem is that the suicides were weeks apart, and most of the bodies are probably already gone."
Catherine imitated his frown. "Sarah's will still be there," she said after a few seconds. "Her brother is a lawyer in California, and we decided that instead of making him leave in the middle of an important case, we'd wait until it was over for the funeral."
Dean reached over to put his hand on Catherine's shoulder for a moment as a show of support. "Now I'm sure that you won't want to be around for this part. You shouldn't have to see the body for any reason."
Catherine stubbornly shook her head. "I can do this. I'm not missing out on anything that could potentially help us find out what's going on. I'd never be able to forgive myself for that. Come one, Detective." She used the title almost teasingly, in an attempt to lighten up the tense atmosphere.
They got to the morgue in a decent amount of time, and spent a moment arguing over whether or not Catherine could get a fake badge. He finally got her to quit arguing when he pointed out that she lived in this small town, and everyone would know that she wasn't a detective from out of town.
Walking inside a morgue always felt so morbid, but Dean had done this enough times by now that he wasn't too bothered. When they walked inside, there was already someone in there, standing over a metal table with a dead old man on it. The man in the lab coat looked up at them, and frowned. "Miss Anderson. Is there something I can do for you?"
Dean stepped forward, and flashed his badge. "I need to see the body of Sarah Lecky."
The other man, who had a name tag that said Veronica on it, looked ready to start asking all kinds of questions about why Dean needed to see the body. But instead of asking, he wisely chose to just nod and lead the way into the room where the bodies were stored. He glanced over at Catherine with some concern. "I'm really not sure that it's a good idea for you to be seeing this, Miss Anderson. It's best to just remember our loved ones how they were in life, not how they are in death." When Catherine made no move to leave, the man just sighed, and pulled open one of the lockers so he could slide out of the tray with the covered body. "If you have any questions, just holler."
Once the man had left to go back to the autopsy he'd been in the middle of, Dean pulled back the light sheet to get a look at the body. Sarah Lecky looked to be a couple years older than her girlfriend. She had very pale scars running up and down her arms and legs that were barely visible from most angles. There was a big ugly bruise wrapped around her neck, and Dean snapped on a pair of rubber gloves from the nearby box. He did all of the typical tests, but nothing important seemed to jump out at him.
Catherine didn't put on any gloves, or make any move to touch the body, but she did look down at her dead girlfriend with a look of devastation that could only come from losing someone who had been so beloved. "I miss her so much," she whispered. She reached into her pocket to pull out a ring. "This is the ring she proposed to me with. She knows I love silver, so she got me a silver ring even though she's allergic to it. She was always doing stupid things like that."
At first, Dean wanted to try and give the woman some privacy, but then what she'd said seemed to catch something in his mind. Allergic to silver? That was pretty rare. Most cases were people who were actually allergic to the nickel that cheap jewelry makers used to make jewelry with, and then they covered it with a thin layer of silver or gold. But that ring looked like the expensive kind, which meant that it was probably almost entirely silver. That shouldn't cause any kind of allergic reaction. "Have you ever seen her touch silver before?" Dean couldn't help asking before it occurred to him that it might be insensitive.
If Catherine was startled by the question, she didn't show it. "Once. It was actually how we met. My necklace broke and fell, and I didn't even realize it until she was handing it back to me. She got a rash on her hand so bad that it looked like she'd been burnt, and I drove her to the emergency room immediately because I felt bad that she'd been hurt while trying to help me."
Burned by silver. Probably not human then. He pulled off his gloves, and hurried back into the other room, where the lab coat guy just seemed to be finishing up. "Do you have files on all of the suicide victims from the past three months?"
The man nodded. "Yeah, why?"
"I just need to see them. To find out if they have any allergies on record."
The man scoffed, and shook his head. "They don't. I haven't got the ability to memorize everyone's file or anything, but I remember wondering why so many people without a single allergy were so eager to off themselves during pollen season when they're the ones who are best off. You can still look at them if you want, but that's all they'll say."
Dean accepted that information, then grabbed Catherine so that they could leave. Of course it had never occurred to him to question the existence of the victims' allergies. They got back into Catherine's car, and Dean gave her the address to one of the witnesses he hadn't talked to yet. They headed off, and Dean couldn't help staring out the window, wondering if he was really onto something here, or if this was just another strange coincidence.
,,,
It had never occurred to Sam to pay much attention to these things in the movies, but now that he was actively a part of a kidnapping scenario, he had to wonder. In all the movies, where people are locked up and tortured for days on end, where do they go to the bathroom? Do they just pee themselves? Or do their captors risk untying them long enough to escort them to a bathroom?
Either way, Sam was about to find out for himself. He had a pretty big bladder normally, but he was pretty sure that it had been about a day already since he'd been taken, and he really needed to pee. He didn't want to damage his pride by calling out for someone to take him to a bathroom. But he was pretty sure that his pride would be hurt even worse if he pissed his pants here.
"Hey! Somebody! Hey! I need to use the bathroom!" He wasn't even sure if sound traveled through the thick door, because he hadn't heard anything coming from the other side. And he didn't know if there was anyone standing right outside, or what the layout of this building was at all. But he really hoped that someone could hear him.
After a few more minutes of yelling himself hoarse, Sam resigned himself to the fact that he had no other choice than the pee his pants. But he didn't want that to be the case. He was already annoyed enough about the fact that he was in this situation at all. Anything else would just be unnecessary humiliation.
Just when he was about to give up, and forever after sympathize with all the kidnapping scenes that the movies didn't show, the door opened, and Milo walked in. "Thought I heard you making a ruckus up in here. You know that we're not going to suddenly decide to let you go just because you yell a whole bunch."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't let me out of the building. But unless you want to be mopping up the floor and this chair, you might want to let me at least use the bathroom."
Milo blinked a few times as though he'd just been told something completely insane. "The bathroom?" Then he suddenly started laughing. "Oh my goodness, you're just a human. You have to use the bathroom. We really should've been more prepared for this to happen." He tilted his head. "Here's the thing though. The boss already took off, and no one around here is going to snitch on me for interacting with you. But that doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to get sloppy, and do something that would allow you to take off. So I'll take you to the bathroom if you're okay with having a bit of a headache. I'll just do the same thing I did to you last night."
That had been a killer headache, but he'd rather that than a wet pair of pants. "Fine, deal, can you just hurry up with this please? I really need to go."
Milo reached out to pat the top of Sam's head, and then everything went dark. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the fanciest looking bathroom he'd ever seen. Marble sinks and floors, and an actual chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was very over the top, but Sam didn't care about that. All he cared about was getting some relief. Which is why he was annoyed to find that while his legs had been unbound, his arms had been strapped behind his back.
"How am I supposed to do this without using my hands?"
Milo offered a lecherous grin. "I'd be more than happy to offer my assistance."
That was not a pleasant thought. "How about you just let me take care of this myself? You didn't seem to get any injuries when I tried attacking you before, and it's really easy for you to use your weird knock out powers on me, so it shouldn't make a difference whether my hands are tied or not, right?"
Milo sighed. "I suppose you're right. A guy can always dream though, right?" He touched Sam's hands and arms more times than necessary while removing the ropes, but Sam was just glad to have them off. Until he walked over to the closest urinal and realized that Milo was just standing there, staring at him shamelessly. "Sorry, but even if I wasn't interested in the free show, I'd have to watch. It may be unlikely that you could get the drop on me, but I'd rather not take that risk at all."
Sam sighed, but decided that there were more important things to worry about. He took care of his business, and then washed his hands. "So if you didn't even consider the fact that I'd have to take pee breaks, did you also forget about the fact that I'll need to eat? Yellow-Eyes seems intent on keeping me alive, so I don't think she'd appreciate it if you let me starve to death."
Milo tilted his head. "Yellow-Eyes?" Then a look of understanding crossed his features, and he nodded. "Oh, you mean Azazel. Yeah he probably wouldn't want to find out that you died from neglect." He laughed at the look on Sam's face. "I'm kidding, don't worry. You really need to learn how to not take everything so seriously. I have to eat too, and don't worry because I just eat normal stuff. I'll take you back to your room, and then I'll whip up something for you to eat."
Sam nodded, and let himself be knocked out again. He woke up bound to the same chair as before, and he sighed. He hadn't yet gotten a chance to get away, but he was pretty sure that his best best would be when Yellow-Eyes, apparently actually named Azazel, wasn't around so that he wouldn't have to worry about hurting the human girl who was being possessed. Then again, Milo and whoever else was around might also be possessed. But Sam couldn't think of any demons that acted like Milo, with the strange knockout thing, and the way he'd enthralled Sam at first, and how he seemed impervious to any damage.
It was really boring to just sit around in a room, and Sam couldn't help almost wishing that he was being tortured, at least so he'd have something to do. It felt like ages before Milo returned. "Lettuce, bacon, tomato, turkey, American cheese, and mayo on wheat toast. And some delicious homemade potato chips on the side. Hope you're not too picky." In fact Sam was rather picky most of the time, but with the way his stomach growled, he would have to be an idiot to turn down the offer of food. Milo laughed at the reaction, and set the plate down on Sam's lap while crouching in front of Sam. "Here's the thing, I don't really think it would be a good idea to untie you. So I guess it's just up to me to feed you and make sure that you are nice and full and satisfied."
It was very awkward and embarrassing to be hand fed when he was a grown ass man, but it was a good sandwich, and he was too hungry to turn it down just on a matter of pride. There was the slight possibility that the food could be laced with something, but Sam didn't think that that was the case. Milo could easily render him unconscious if he wanted, and nobody seemed to be trying to question Sam about any kind of information, so drugging him wouldn't really accomplish anything at all.
When the food on the plate was gone, Sam felt much better than before. When Milo stood up and grabbed the plate, Sam decided to take a risk on talking. Milo didn't seem particularly interested in hurting Sam. "You still owe me a second piece of information."
Milo snorted. "All in good time, my friend. No point in jumping the gun here. I've always been someone with the firm belief that delayed gratification is the best sort."
"But you were just going to tell me right away before you were interrupted."
Milo shrugged. "I'm also of the firm belief that a man is allowed to change his mind about absolutely anything at any time. Now sit tight, and if you need anything, I guess you should just start shouting again. You sound pretty cute with a sore throat. Makes me think of all kinds of delicious reasons for why your voice is so wrecked." Then he turned and left, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts again.
,,,
When they returned to Catherine's house at the end of the day, Dean wasn't sure whether he'd managed to obtain more questions or answers. None of the victims had anything official note on any medical record to indicate an allergy, but speaking with their loved ones yielded the information that all of them apparently had severe silver allergies, to the point where most of them refused to touch the precious metal for even a few seconds.
They'd grabbed some take out on the way, and Catherine poured everything out of the cartons and onto paper plates so that they could at least pretend to be civilized people. "I'm not really sure what the big deal is about everyone being allergic to silver, but I suppose anything that connects all the victims is probably important, right?"
"Right. But that's not the only thing so interesting about this allergy business. Normal humans aren't allergic to silver. At least not any that I've ever heard of."
Catherine paused with the fork hovering in the air near her mouth. "What are you saying?"
He frowned. "I don't really know anything for certain. But for that many people to be so inhumanly allergic to silver, and to be connected by all the suicides, I can't help thinking that maybe the victims weren't human. But there's a lot of creatures who have a weakness to silver, and without meeting any while they're still alive it's impossible to say for sure what they were exactly. But whatever it is, maybe whoever's behind these suicides is actually doing everyone a favor-"
Catherine lunged across the table to slap Dean across the face. "How dare you say that? As difficult as it is to believe that Sarah wasn't entirely human, I find that I really don't care even if she wasn't. I loved her more than anything, and nothing could ever change that. No matter what she was, she was an amazing person, and she made everyone who knew her so happy. So don't you dare imply that she was some kind of monster even if she wasn't human. And I find that pretty hard to believe anyways, since your only evidence at this point is a silver allergy!"
Dean blinked a few times, and tried to think of a logical way to explain the situation. "I know that it might be hard to believe, but you should know that we've never met any non-human creatures who were good guys. Maybe she was really kind and loving with you, but that doesn't change the fact that she could've been getting up to anything when you weren't around to see it."
Catherine clenched her jaw, and looked ready to take another swung at Dean. He'd let her if she really felt that it was necessary, but he kind of hoped that she wouldn't because she had a pretty good arm for an older lady. "You have no idea what you're talking about. If it's really that easy for these people to disguise themselves as humans, then there's probably millions of them that you never even learn about because they don't do anything that might catch a hunter's attention. Assuming that the circumstances of one's birth, or whatever else, immediately makes them an evil killer makes you a prejudiced and judgy bastard. I get that you're trying to do good, and stopping the ones who are hurting people is a noble goal, but trying to say that all of them are bad just makes you suck. I know Sarah. She could never hurt anybody, even unintentionally. She just couldn't. And I don't think you can be any good at your job if you're going to be that blind. I'm not stupid enough to think that I can figure everything out on my own, but I'm also not stupid enough to work with anyone who's going to so quickly jump to make up facts of the case that don't exist." Out of steam, she sank back down into her seat, and scooped up another mouthful of rice.
Dean stared at her while she chewed her food as though she hadn't just hit him and ranted on like some kind of crazy person. He couldn't really think of anything to say that wouldn't get her set off again. "You're very… accepting."
Catherine shrugged. "I'm a woman who's been in a relationship with another woman since the eighties." The way she said it implied that that was more than enough explanation, but she continued anyways. "And even if I weren't, I'm a person who wishes for everyone to be treated with basic respect and decency. And to be frank, I'm quite disappointed to find out that you aren't the same way. And it just occurred to me that you've never even tried to have anyone arrested so that they could get a fair trial, and that just isn't right."
Trying to explain that monsters weren't people seemed like it would be a pointless argument at the moment. But there was no way that any of them could be harmless. It would ruin everything if that were true. How many monsters had Dean killed who'd just been- No, he couldn't think like that. He knew that he was right. But regardless of whether or not the victims were monsters, there was still the problem of whatever was causing them to be dead. He took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out. "You kinda sound like Sam right now." Catherine arched one eyebrow curiously. "When we were younger, he got into a big fight with dear old Dad about whether or not monsters are people too. Whether they've got souls."
Catherine quickly swallowed what was in her mouth. "You guys have the same dad?"
"Yeah, didn't I mention it before? We're brothers."
For some reason, that brought up a strange look on Catherine's face. "Brothers? That's, um, interesting. From the way you talked about him, I thought…" she trailed off, and decided not to elaborate on what it was that she'd thought. "So where do we go from here?"
That was actually a good question, so Dean decided to let their previous conversation go. "We finish dinner and then get a good night's sleep. It's never good to try hunting when you're tired, because that's when you're more likely to make careless mistakes. So we've established that the silver allergy is currently the only thing connecting all of the suicides, besides all taking place in the same town within a short amount of time. So we see if there's anyone who would know who has silver allergies. Are there any jewelry stores or tattoo and piercing shops around here?"
"A few."
Dean nodded once. "Good. Then we'll check those out, see if any place has had all thirteen victims as customers at any point. I'm going to go back to my motel, just in case Sam shows up looking for me, as much as I doubt that happening. So let's get some sleep and regroup in the morning. Say around nine? Those kinds of stores probably won't be open until a little later, but that'll give us time to have breakfast and talk things over to see if anything jumps out at us."
He helped clean up what little mess had been made by their dinner, and then he headed out. The Impala was still parked in Catherine's driveway where he'd left it, and he drove back to the motel. Though he felt more annoyed than usual at the thought of going inside. Crappy motels were all the same, and Dean had seen enough to last a lifetime, but he knew that the one thing that had always made them decent living places was that he'd had Sam with him.
Just thinking about the fact that he had no idea where Sam was made his heart clench in his chest. When Sam had first gone off to school, it had been a horrible, lonely, miserable time for Dean. But at least he'd known where to find the kid if anything really bad were to happen. Right now, he didn't even have that going for him, and he was scared to think about what could be happening to his brother right at this moment.
He pushed the motel door open, but paused before actually stepping inside. The salt line right in front of the door was broken. It didn't look deliberate, but like someone had stepped on it while walking into the room. But if someone could just step right in, there was no reason to break the line. Dean had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he didn't like it.
He quickly pulled out his gun and walked into the dark room, wishing that he'd come back an hour ago so that there would at least be some natural light on his side. He rushed over to the light switch and flicked it so that the room was bathed in artificial light, and tensed even more when he saw a man lounging on the bed that Sam had claimed. He didn't say anything, just continued holding out his gun and glaring at the man.
After a few seconds, the man smiled, but didn't make any attempt to stand up. Which was good for him, because Dean was feeling pretty trigger happy at the moment. "Dean, relax. I come bearing the gift of good news. I thought you might be a little bit worried about your brother, and I know he's been a bit worried about you, so I thought that I could make you both happy by assuring you both of each other's continued good health."
"Who the fuck are you?"
Now that Dean took more time to get a good look, even with the man sitting down, he was obviously tall. And hadn't that bartender said that Sam had left with a tall guy? "I suppose it's only fair you learn my name, since I already know yours, along with basically everything else about you. I'm Milo."
The name meant nothing to Dean, but the fact that this man was claiming to know Sam meant everything. "Where's Sam? And why are you here right now?"
Milo shrugged. "Your brother is a truly fascinating specimen. And I have a deal with him. I owe him some information, but my boss has kindly informed me that I shouldn't be talking about things that are none of my business. So instead, I thought he'd be happy to learn how his brother's doing. And I'd hate to be a liar, which is why I came all this way just to see you for myself so that I can honestly tell Sam that you look just fine without him around."
"You aren't telling him shit. Now tell me where he is so that I can go and get him."
Milo sighed. "When is it ever that easy, Dean? I'm not going to tell you anything, even if you threaten to shoot me. On a scale of fluffy bunnies to God himself, you rank somewhere around the threatened kitten." He sounded too goddamn confident in himself, and Dean wanted to bring him down a few levels.
Dean scowled. "Fine. No threats." He started to lower his gun, and then pulled the trigger, firing right into Milo's leg. When the bullet simply bounced off of the man's leg, Dean could suddenly understand the smugness about him. And also promptly led Dean to wonder how the hell he was going to get out of this one.