The Impala rolled into a seedy Gas N' Sip around eleven o'clock. The sudden jolting had woken up the youngest Winchester brother, who had been sleeping with his head against the backseat window. He glared slightly at his older brother before yawning.

"Whatever, Princess. Dad and I are gonna go pay and get some coffee. Pump the gas," Dean said, swinging his legs out from inside the Impala with his father following suit. Sam rolled his eyes as he stretched and exited the car, not wanting to be awake at all right now. He unscrewed the gas cap and put the nozzle in, shivering due to how much colder it was outside. He didn't notice at first the man staring at him, who was pumping a van adjacent to him. He looked up, locking eyes with him.

Sam didn't think much of it, he just let his head drop again as he waited for Dean. He definitely didn't notice the man sneaking behind him until he had already covered his face with a dirty rag drenched in chloroform. Sam struggled for a second, thinking about how careless he had been to allow this to happen before he slumped against his attacker, unconscious.

Dean and John exited the building as Dean whistled some forgotten song under his breath, his arms full of junk food that he knew his little brother wouldn't approve of.

"Sammy, dude, I got the goods! Coffee, licorice, chips, the works. I got your whiney-ass a granola bar too, before you even ask," Dean said as he made his way to the Impala. Sam wasn't standing outside it anymore. Dean ducked his head to look into the Impala, but Sam wasn't there either.

"Where is he?" John asked, looking only a tad worried.

"I dunno. He's small, he could fit anywhere!" Dean said, commenting on how short his sixteen-year-old brother was.

"Sam?" Dean started to panic, throwing his purchases into the car as he looked desperately around as if Sam was just hiding somewhere. He noticed the gas cap was still off the Impala and that the nozzle laid unused on the cement ground.

"Son of a bitch," John said. "Get in the car. Now."

Sam blinked his eyes open after what felt like centuries of being closed. All he saw was darkness, though. He tried to analyze his situation. He was in a cramped space, like a car trunk or something, and his ankles and wrists were bound. He could taste something dirty in his mouth and realized he had rags shoved in that had then been taped over with duct tape so he wouldn't spit them out. He could feel fabric on his eyes, and he knew he was blindfolded.

'Great,' he thought, struggling against his chains. 'Just my luck!'

Sam was pushed around in the trunk due to how awful the driver was at driving in a straight line, but Sam concluded it was on purpose. How had he gotten into this situation in the first place? He was just pumping gas and minding his own business. He wondered if Dean and his dad had thought he ran away. Sam was always doing that, but not at some Gas N' Sip at night where he didn't even know which state he was in.

He was royally screwed this time, that he knew. He'd been taken before, by everything from shapeshifters to demons, and his family always found him. But he'd never been kidnapped like this before. How would his brother and father even begin to start looking? Was this even a monster thing, or was this just humans being psycho? So many questions raced through Sam's head that he didn't even notice the car had stopped before he felt rough hands dragging him out. He felt his body land on the hard ground and could barely make out what the voices around him were saying. He felt himself being dragged across the ground and tried not to wince as his now bare-feet dug into the stone dirt drive.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. It smelled like human sweat and bodily functions. Sam tried not to gag since he already had mounds of rags stuck in his mouth and he knew it would only make it worse. He could feel himself being pushed down to the cement ground. Someone had ripped off his blindfold and he could finally see what he had gotten himself into.

The first thing he noticed were the people chained to the wall and ground. They all wore dirty clothing and had glassy looks in their eyes like they could no longer feel anything. This worried Sam greatly. He was strong, but exactly how strong? Naked light bulbs hung from the rafters and they seemed to be in some sort of warehouse. He looked up to his kidnappers. They were muscular men who were taller and stronger than Sam.

"You're gonna be a bestseller, you know?" one said, grabbing Sam from under the chin so he would lock eyes with him. Sam struggled, but the man had a tight grip.

"He's a fighter. They like to break those, you know," another said, smiling at Sam wickedly. He watched as the second man walked to a shelf and grabbed a stack of worn clothing made of some sort of burlap material. Sam had noticed all the other prisoners wearing similar clothing. The man threw them down by Sam, not looking amused.

"This is your life now. Geusedse to it. Rick, the iron."

The first man, Rick, smiled as he walked to a furnace Sam had not noticed at first. He squirmed to get away but the second man sent a kick to his stomach that made him stop. He watched terrified as the man Rick returned with a few hot irons in his hands.

"866," Rick said. "That's your name now."

Sam barely had time to react before he felt the hot iron number plunged into his forearm. He screamed from behind the gag, desperate to get away, but the second man held him down. Soon, the second number had followed, and then the third. Sam had passed out halfway through the second number six.

This was his life now.

"If I was a normal sixteen-year-old boy where would I be?" John muttered.

"It's Sam. He's pretty fucking far from 'normal' don't you think?" Dean spat, looking out the passenger window.

"Language. I'm still your father."

"Yes, Sir."