Life and Time
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Dean Wichester, Sam Winchester, Luther what's-his-face, or any other character you recognize from Supernatural. They belong to the powers that be. If there is another character somewhere out there named Josiah Abrams, I assure you all that it is a mere coincidence and is not intentional.
Chapter 1
Denver, Colorado
2006
With a slow and painful creak, the ancient door opened and a swirl of dust clouded the air. Like the dawn of creation, light flooded through the darkness that seemed to stretch beyond forever. In the new dawn, two silhouettes appeared in the doorway, their edges blurred by the swirling cloud of dust. One taller than the other, they entered the room, beams of light from their flashlights illuminating pieces of dust making a slow and lazy journey back to their earthen bed.
"What is this place?" Sam asked. The place smelled like earth and blood and a faint stench of rotting flesh. Lining the walls were old skeletons, still chained to the walls, their heads tilted back in their final moments of life.
"Hell if I know," Dean replied. He came to the other wall, expecting to find more dirt and rocks. Instead, he found a door. "Hey, Sam. There's a door here."
"Does it open?" Sam asked, still inspecting the skeletons with a mixed look of disgust and pity.
Dean gave the door an experimental push. It swung open with a low creak. "Oh my God," Dean breathed.
"What?" Sam asked coming over to see what had his brother so frozen. "Oh my God," Sam whispered.
In the room were two long metal poles, extending from the floor to the ceiling, slanted at an angle. Attached to these poles by chains was a naked man. His back was arched, gravity pulling it downwards, and his head was hanging, his eyes closed. Dean took a few cautious steps into the room, his light fixed on the prisoner. There were scars on the man's chest, arms, legs, and back. There were what looked like bite marks on his neck and even his shoulders, which were dislocated from hanging, the muscles in his shoulders looking as though they were ready to rip apart. Hanging around his neck was a saint medal, St. Michael the Archangel. "Holy shit," he heard Sam say under his breath.
"How long do you think he's been down here?" Sam asked.
"Can't be more than a couple weeks," Dean replied. "He hasn't decayed at all."
"That doesn't make any sense," Sam said back. "All the other bodies in this place are at least seventy-five years old. The door we came through felt like it hadn't been opened in thirty years. How does that work?"
"Well, I don't know," Dean retorted. "Why don't you tell me, College Boy?"
"I don't know, either, Dean," Sam said as the beam from Dean's flashlight roamed the man's broken body. "What's weird to me is the fact that he's not starved or malnourished, and there are no open wounds, just scars. He doesn't even look dead."
"So, what, this thing preserves his bodies like trophies?" Dean asked, confused. "All the other bodies are nothing but bones."
"Well, maybe this one was special," Sam suggested.
Dean snorted. "He must've been one bad ass son of a bitch to-"
Suddenly, Dean stopped. "Dean?" Sam asked. Dean shushed him; he had heard something. He looked around for a little bit before being half-satisfied that there was nothing out there. But then where had the sound come from? It had sounded like…breathing, very faint breathing. Dean turned back to the hanging man and saw something he hadn't noticed before. But, no, he thought. That couldn't be possible. He pulled his knife from its sheath placed behind his back and held it under the man's nose. "Dean?" Sam asked. "What're you doing?" But Dean wasn't listening. On the knife appeared a faint trace of condensation, gone in the blink of an eye. Dean kept the knife under the man's nose, just to be sure. There it was again!
"He's alive," Dean said, incredulous. "Sam, help me." Sam was next to him in a second, helping Dean break the chains that bound the man's hands and feet and pulling him down. The man groaned and his eyes groggily opened. "Hey," Dean said, patting the man's cheek with his hand. "Hey, dude, wake up." The man continued to moan, his head lolling weakly from side to side. "Hey, dude. You got a name?"
"Josiah Abrams," the man said, his voice barely above a whisper. He only got the words out once before passing out again.
The Winchester brothers stared at each other for a moment. "Well," Dean said, "this is awkward."