Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.
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- Stolen shamelessly from Cottonmouth, who's work I adore!
Chapter 1: The Body
"Can you pass the milk, Ma?"
"Sure."
"Thanks."
"Hey, Pa?"
"Yes?"
"Can I come hunting with you later?"
"I don't think so, Timmy."
"Why not?!"
"You have to look after our pet, remember.."
"But PA-"
"Goddamnit, Timmy, I said no!"
"Fine."
"Pass the milk, please, Timmy."
"Sure, Ma."
"Thanks."
"Ma?"
"Yes?"
"What am I supposed to feed him?"
"Oh.. Timmy. I'm sure you'll think of something!"
The front door exploded open, Me, Pa and Timmy shot to their feet, listening to the sounds of running feet. The three of them were shaking in their hand-me-down shoes. Two men burst into the kitchen, Timmy backed away unconsciously and knocked the pint of milk off the table. As soon as the glass settled with a watery squelch, silence blossomed like fire within the small, painfully stifling kitchen.
Ma was chanting a mantra to herself, "Ohgodohgodohgodohgod."
"Far from it, bitch!" The man with the shorter hair snarled, training the shotgun he held until the barrel faced Ma's face, she quelled beneath it. Pa stepped in front of her, his chest pushed forwards but Timmy could see him he quaking, his hands vibrating at his sides visibly.
"Where the fuck is he?!" Short-Hair demanded, the shotgun's vision shifting between Ma, Pa and Timmy.
"Who!"
"You know who, bitch!" Short-Hair shouted at Ma, his face was reddening with, no, not anger, but pure unbridled rage. The man behind him with the shaggy hair was glaring at Pa, his sharp eyes darting around the kitchen before they rested on the cellar door, nestled away in the corner besides the pantry.
Without a word, Shaggy-Hair strode towards it, casting a sideways glance at his partner who remained steadfast.
"Ma! What're they doing!"
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!"
"Pa call the police, I'm scaaaaared," Timmy began to weep.
"Shut the fuck up!" Short-Hair demanded, pointing the expertly crafted weapon right at Timmy's face. He cried harder. Carefully, slowly, Short-Hair walked backwards towards Shaggy-Hair, the gun didn't move. After a few seconds, the two men were swallowed by the darkness of the cellar as they descended town the stairs.
Pa smiled.
.
.
"Sammy, are you sure about this?"
"Positive, Dean."
Dean stared back up the stairs at the square of light they had left behind. The cellar was deeper than he expected, much deeper. Into the depths of hell, he found himself thinking.
"But are you sure? That family seems awfully.. hick, but normal y,'know?"
Sam scoffed, about to reply when he stumbled down the last step but the man behind him caught him by the scruff his neck, pulled him up and the youngest Winchester sibling – blushing furiously – stepped off the stairs. He stood for a moment, staring around him at the inky darkness before he realised his vision had nothing to adjust to. He set about feeling the oddly damp wall beside him,searching for for a light switch. A powerful scent assaulted his nostrils, Dean's too by the sound he made behind him, painfully familiar but the source eluded him.
Click.
The room was thrown into white, cheap and tacky light. Sam dimly heard Dean gag behind him but Sam was staring around, wide eyed and felt the colour drain out of his face. Across the concrete walls of the cellar, blood was splattered vigorously, like a child playing fingerprints with ten tubs of crimson paint. There was no structure to the macabre display either, no markings, no ritualistic symbols. Just blood. And with the blood, the smell almost became a physical force. Sam could almost taste it. Eyes settling on a strange mass in the corner of the room, he made his way towards it, putting a forearm across his mouth. Dean remained behind him, staring up at the door they had entered with the shotgun wavering slightly. He was repressing the urge to vomit.
When Sam reached the mass, he watched it for a few moments before realisation sunk in.
This was him!
A human, a boy, no older than seventeen but perhaps younger, was chained to the wall. Held up by arms that might have been toned once, they were reduced to sticks by malnutrition. Shackles that had been bolted high enough in the wall to make the boy half kneel-and half hang, metal dug into the boy's thin wrists. Sam could see yellowing purple bruises buried deep within his skin. The body hung limply, there was nothing covering him but what might have been a sheet once, greasy with dried blood and covering his crotch. Sam's well trained eyes studied over the boy, feeling bile rise up in his throat. The boy had been literally ripped to shreds, strange markings and symbols littered the boy's bruised and yellowing skin, marks carved deep inside the boy's flesh. In some places, Sam was sure he could see bristles of bone deep within in maws of gore. Although he didn't know how, Sam knew the blood sprayed across the wall was the boy's. Chewing his lip, Sam brought his hand up and lifted the boy's loose head and fell backwards suddenly. The boy was still alive, one visible eye blinking hollowly. He didn't seem to be focusing on anything.
"Oh, god..." the words left Sam's mouth before he could help it, and he felt something break inside his chest as the boy whimpered, the half-spoken sob falling from his raggedy lips.
"Far from it!" Yelled a woman's voice, dripping in malice and.. a Texan accent.. Spinning around, Sam just caught Dean flying through the air and landing in a heap beneath Sam's feet. He groaned, tried to sit up but collapsed on the cold and bloody floor.
Sam was beside him instantly, one hand on his shoulder and the other immediately feeling for his pulse.
It was slow, but there.
"But not for much longer," The woman – followed closely by her husband and spawn – announced after invading his thoughts, shuffling infuriatingly slowly towards Sam. He knew why she was being so slow, Sam couldn't escape, not with a chained boy and the dead weight of his unresponsive brother. He was trapped.
But he had to try, had to fight; Sam reached into his jacket, reaching for the knife that hung there -
But found himself being flung towards the wall by an unseen force and with a crackhe was suspended there, by the chained boy whose head lifted ever so slightly.
"So you're the famous Sam Winchester then?" The woman said, the other two standing by the stairs, watching Sam with hungry eyes.
Sam opened his mouth but found himself unable to form words, his throat was being compressed by the telekinesis that held him there. Dark shapes at the edge of his vision swam dangerously close around him. White fireworks of delirum exploded in front of him.
"I expected something a little more..."
The woman laughed.
"Formidable." And then her pupils seemed to swallow her eyes and Sam was sure he was staring into the depths of hell, his vision being consumed by the same darkness he could see within the woman's soul and surely this was it, surely he was going to die of this telekinetic strangulation but oh, god, Dean!
The chained boy screamed suddenly, his voice sickeningly horse, he arched against the wall, his spine forming a perfect curve before he began to shake,convulse, crying, shouting.
Something flashed behind Sam's eyes and he was sure it was the chill of death, but he found himself sliding down the wall, gasping for air, his throat burning but alive and released. Had the boy...?
The boy beside him was still shaking, the wounds on his body were weeping heavily the more he threw himself around the chains and Sam realised the left side of his face was covered with a mask of dried blood, an enamel coating that hid even his eye with a crimson haze.
Suddenly, Sam felt a string of Latin flow out of his mouth, words that he didn't even know but felt strangely familiar, like seeing a distant relative that you once used to be very close with..
And the demons in front of him were screaming, sharp spasms of involuntary movement wracking their stolen bodies and then darkness billowing around them as it surged out of their mouthes like smog, filling the cellar with a fake night and Sam found himself chanting the unknown words faster until his tongue began to ache. His throat burnt from the strangulation but he forced the words out harder, against his will until all the breath in his lungs seemed to combust within him. There was a great whooshing sound like the air being sucked out of vacuum and Sam found himself surrounded by his unconscious brother, three dead bodies and the mysterious, bleeding boy who was once again sinking into the stupor that claimed him.
Sam stood up, massaging his throat with one hand, staring at the scene around him with wide eyes. He opened his mouth, tested his distressed vocal cords and said, "I should've been a fucking lawyer."