Tongue tied and Twisted

by laylaw

Dean is left gagged and bound in the middle of a field. Forced to find his way back to salvation and his little brother, the hunter must deal with repressed memories and the growing cold before it is too late. One shot. Angst and some Dean owies.

A/N: Just a little one-shot drabble I wanted to do because I was bored. Takes place after Heart I guess. I was going through Pink Floyd lyrics and this one prompted me to write the fic. Enjoy my randomness to put Dean in a bad situation. You know you love it! Oooh Oooh, please review when you're done. And I'm not sure about the ending if it makes sense hopefully it does if not it's because it is now 4:17 a.m. :P

Summary: Dean is left gagged and bound in the middle of a field. Forced to find his way back to salvation and his little brother, the hunter must deal with repressed memories and the growing cold before it is too late. One shot. Angst and some Dean owies just for fun.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural but I reserve the right to use the boys and do with them as I wish.

P.S. I do not own Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly"

And Italics are Dean's hallucinations/memories. Anything in bold are lyrics :D

Tongue -tied and Twisted

By: Babyhilts

Into the distance, a ribbon of black
Stretched to the point of no turning back
A flight of fancy on a windswept field
Standing alone my senses reeled

The earth was shifting. Jerking forward, the low rumble of a worn out exhaust followed suite. A
radio crackled white noise in the must filled air. April rains lobbed along the pickups metal frame. Suicidal drops washed away with another swipe of the rubber wipers. The windshield had developed another glossy coat.

Liquored haze and tight restraints bombarded the young man, cornered and blindfolded against the door. The glove compartment slapped his folded knees. With each dip in the back road came another slap and another inch of freedom lost. The man was crouched, hidden from view, and not at all comfortable. Slowly slipping to the floor of the truck beneath the dark abyss of the glove compartment.

The truck pulled to the side. Dean's elbow slammed against the door; bone hitting metal. He moaned. The engine purred. Fresh, rain soaked winds filtered inside the truck. A rush of hands pulled the young hunter from his crouch. Bound and blind, he fell to the slick, gravel road below. Harsh laughter pierced his steadily, beating heart. Here in the middle of nowhere two hicks had taken him. He laid, helpless on the ground, rain seeping through his Levi's. Bare arms tickled with the chill of the late breeze. Any moment now and his captors would shoot him like some sick dog. Put him out of his misery. They'd already stolen his cash, so why not?

Callused fingers combed through his hair. Short, spiked locks released the gathered rain. The cold water slithered along the curve of his back. The fingers stole him from the chill. They laced themselves through his hair, pulled tight and drew him forward. Dean's knees chaffed against the gravel. His body responded with a shudder, in hopes of expelling the cold and the growing fear.
A voice from inside the cab of the truck shouted "Well, get on with already. It's too cold to be jerking this kid around all night. Teach him a lesson and lets go."

Dean's jaw tightened, teeth sinking viciously into the gag. Whatever happened now, he would not show fear. If this was how it was going to be, if these were his last moments on earth, he would be damned is some hillbillies got their jollies by watching him break down. He'd mastered the stone mask and would keep it in place up until he drew his last breath.

The captor relinquished his grip on the young man's hair. Silence fell, swallowed up by the relentless storm. Dean waited, knowing these were the seconds before his death. He sucked in one last savoring breath through his nose. Fresh oxygen filled his lungs, partway through his system and he gasped. The steel toe of a man's heavy work boot had found its way against his hip.

Balance lost, Dean hit the ground. The binding that held his hands firmly behind his back made it impossible for him to protect the soft, fleshy part that was his left side. A fist shot out of the dark and pulled him up once again. The hit came, planted in the same spot as before, the man's pained moans drowned by the rain. Clenched hands, knuckles pursed met his face. Dean felt his lip split with the last punch and he sagged, beaten and tired along the shoulder of the road.

The hillbilly panted overhead the sprawled man. His feet crunching gravel under the hurried pace of a man at a loss of what to do next. Dean listened, waiting for his kidnapper to make his next move. The pace stopped. An engine revved from his side. The hands were back, thick and rough, knotting into the back of his t-shirt, hauling him off the rocky floor. He was steered from behind, over a ditch, staggering through thick brush that seemed impenetrable except when he was pushed through it.

Although his vision was lost, Dean counted his steps, relaying a map inside his head in case he had a chance to get back. For five minutes he was shoved with the incessant poking at his back urging him along. Towards the end of their jaunt, the young hunter stumbled forward, hitting the muddy earth below and unable to stand once again.

"Stupid punk" his captor spat, kicking soiled earth into his face. "Maybe this'll teach you to not hustle pool around here again. Have a nice night."

Back against the sinking ground, Dean waited until the sound of retreating footsteps could no longer be heard. Once he knew for sure he was alone, he released some of the built up tension. A minute ago he thought he was being put out to pasture but he managed to dodge that bullet once again. With much difficulty, Dean peeled himself from the mud. His hands were slick with the wet earth as was his shirt and pants. The bastards had stolen not only his money but his prized leather jacket as well. Thankfully he still had his boots. Although they wouldn't do him much good as they were currently full of water.

Thick leather bit his flesh. A gag, bound above his ears and behind his head, cut mercilessly into his cheeks. The light scent of corn was all around. He could not see and his arms were behind him. A storm that hadn't let up for hours and didn't show signs of stopping any time soon only amplified his growing list of problems. It would only be a matter of time before the cold finally decided to set in on the young man. In all honesty, the predicament Dean Winchester now found himself in was not a very promising one.

A fatal attraction holding me fast,
how can I escape this irresistible grasp?
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted Just an earth-bound misfit, I

The ground slipped beneath his feet and for the third time Dean hit the ground, spraying mud and rain water into the air. Teeth clenched, he cursed into the gag. He swallowed the gathered mix of warm saliva and blood back down. The buzz from his previous rendezvous at the local tavern was almost lifted. A headache was filtering in, along with the companionship of a busted hip and a swollen face. The frigid rain was good for something however, as it numbed the cuts along his flesh.
Dean maneuvered himself through the mud like a trooper and got back on his feet, prepared to do this one more time. Before he could venture out into the thick brush he would need to see. His balance was also being thrown off and to save himself from wandering around in circles all night and catching pneumonia, he had to find some way of looping his feet through his bound wrists and freeing his eyes from their own binds.

One leg, raised high in the air and arms lowered as close to the ground as possible, the hunter went through the process once more. He curled his foot in as far as he could while the other remained flat on the slippery ground below. The mud made it hard to remain upright, bound the way he was, so it was important that he made his next few moves precise and somewhat quick. Further and further, the foot and bound arms came to one another. The claws of gravity, vicious as they sometimes can be, were on his back, urging him to fall. Dean grunted his displeasure into the gag. He refused to fail again.

"Failure is not an option. Is that understood soldier?"

"Yes, sir!"

Dean shook the fuzzy memory from his head. The nag of John Winchester would not help him through this right now. He needed to concentrate. Bring his foot closer. Closer. Closer. The mud repositioned beneath his only planted boot. A groan and a few minutes later he was on his back, rolling in the dirt once again.

Pain and cold stabbed through the hunter, lighting a trail of fire along his side. His hip was throbbing with its own pulse beneath the suede belt. Water, saturated with the filth of what littered the ground around him, now lined the walls of Dean's throat. It tasted of sewage and grass and stirred his empty, whiskey pickled stomach. He eased to a sitting position and forced the bile down.

"You smell like a toilet."

The hunter gagged, biting down on the cloth in his mouth. He shouted Sam's name desperately into the bunched material. His shoulders fell when the name did nothing but get caught in the fabric.
Rain slammed the young man's back. The cold made him shiver and it dulled his senses even more. He rose to his full height, determined to not be left in the mud to die. He would find his way to Sammy, bound and gagged if it killed him.

Ice is forming on the tips of my wings
Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything
No navigator to guide my way home
Unladened, empty and turned to stone

This was the way he'd come right? There'd been brush on all sides…no corn…frozen stalks he'd determined. A cornfield. He'd been left in the cornfield, dragged through the maze of…well mais.

Dean snickered into the gag, his boot taking another cautious step forward. Things had been going much better once he'd given up trying to take off the blindfold. He'd discovered that if he took baby steps, he could make his way through the cornstalks without falling on his ass every fifteen seconds. The only problem was that once he'd started his journey back towards the gravel road, he understood how screwed he really was. Through the attempts to free himself from his binds, the hunter had let slip which way led straight to the road. Disoriented and cold, he'd gone with his gut and begun trampling through the vegetation. Unfortunately his gut punk'd him big time and for all Dean knew he'd probably been walking beside the road instead of towards it. That would explain the last thirty minutes he'd wasted.

"Never Eat Shredded Wheat, Sammy. That's how you remember."

Too bad that confident nine year old wasn't there guiding him back to his warm motel bed.

Trudging forward, through heavy precipitation and darkness, Dean continued. He was growing tired and he reasoned that it wasn't because of the strain but of the cold that was finally taking its toll on his battered body. The pain of brutal kicks had been numbed fifteen minutes earlier and for that the young Winchester was grateful. However he wasn't all that keen with the way things were turning out. His mind was numbing along with everything else, making it almost impossible now to get out a thought that made any lick of sense. Nothing seemed to fit. Once and a while he forgot he was awake, finding his way through a cornfield and would succumb to the darkness of the blindfold and end up on his knees in the mud.

Dean swallowed heavily and took another step. The ground shifted but he managed to remain upright. Another step and another step, he wouldn't stop until he was with Sam again; until he was out of this damn cornfield and on a road with solid ground.

"Dean we just got into town. You think you could take a quick breather before you run off to pickle your liver and bet away our last fifty dollars."

Dean had been fired up with the need of a good stiff drink and the chance to stretch his legs. Ten hours of driving the back roads of America could do that to a guy. Why couldn't Sam ever understand that?

"I'm hurt Sammy. When have I ever 'bet away' our money? I merely use it to gain us more. Maybe if you weren't such a powder cake you'd come help me."

Sam tossed his duffel bag roughly onto the bed and started ripping items of clothing from it's deep, dark depths. Jeans and cotton hit the mattress, highlighting the younger man's anger.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"Unpacking."

"You always throw your clothes on the bed?"

"Look, go to the bar alright? I'm going to take a shower."

The shaggy haired man disappeared behind the closed door, never hearing the sigh his brother let escape. Ever since Madison's death Sam had grown restless and moody. It reminded Dean of a younger, pimplier Sam. He'd struggled with that Sam and knew at the time he'd grow out of it but he wasn't so sure about this one. First Jessica and now Madison? She hadn't been around very long, but enough so that her death left a heavy impression on his younger brother.

Dean looked back at the closed door before exiting the motel and scrambling through the light drizzle to his Impala.

The hunter shook the water from his hair. He hoped Sam wasn't still fuming at him for leaving. He prayed his brother was looking for his sorry ass right then. The odds of him coming to the cornfield to find him were very slim but he had to hold onto the thought that somehow Sam would pull him from this mess.

Exhaustion wound its way through his body. A grunt of pleasure filled the wet gag as Dean sunk to his knees in the mud. His calves burned through the sodden jeans but he didn't care. Just a moment to rest his tired limbs was all he needed.

A moment stretched on into long, drawn out minutes that ended in a ten minute break. Dean relished in the short rest but shivered from the cold. His naked arms barely even felt the sting of the rain anymore. It was sending him closer to hypothermia but he didn't care. He swayed to the rhythm of the storm. Lightning struck the blacken sky but it was the crackle of thunder that shook the hunter from his numbed bliss. The earth shook as the sky exploded in a flurry of white, electrical heat, forking its way through the rain. Although the blindfold prevented him the pleasure of a lightning show, he knew it was there just the same. Through the thickening fog surrounding his mind Dean understood that things had just gotten a lot worse.

This knew revelation brought Dean back into hunter mode. Arms heavy at his sides however kept him grounded. The pain in his hip was back, slowly filtering through the cold and together it made the need to get back to the motel that less important. He just needed to sit for a few more minutes.

"Dean Winchester a soldier does not just lie down and die."

Dean jerked to attention, his body shaking in the rain.

"Yes sir" came the hunter's reply through a mouthful of soggy fabric.

The air splintered with the sound of thunder. Obediently Dean waited for his father's next command. The fog around him was thickening, slowly pulling away the last of his senses.

"Dean!"

"Yes?"

"What are you waiting for? I don't have time for this. Sammy could be injured and here you are, telling me you won't move because your ankle is sore. Your little brother is out in that storm."

The younger man flinched. How had he suddenly forgotten about his Sammy out there in the woods without his protection with a werewolf on the loose? It had tripped him and sure, he'd twisted his ankle some but his father was right. That was no excuse. His baby brother was out there without them, trying to ward off a blood thirsty killer.

Dean forced himself out of the mud. Up ahead he could make out his father's voice, encouraging him to follow through the storm. He would find his way to Sammy, bound and gagged if it killed him.

A soul in tension that's learning to fly
Condition grounded but determined to try
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I

Drowning in confusion, Dean's reality was altering. It had been five minutes since he'd heard the reassuring sounds of John Winchester in front of him. The tight leather around his wrists, that strangled his circulation made him question this new quest. Hadn't he been left in the cornfields because of a pool game gone bad? How could Sam have gotten all the way out here?

Dean tested his right ankle and it wasn't all that sore. Not like his father had said it was. Since when were they hunting a werewolf? And how come it had been so long since he'd last heard from his father? The hunter strained to remember the last time he could remember being with their dad.

Images. Flashes of white and medical jackets. The overwhelming scent of antibacterial cleaners and a defibrillator.

A hospital?

Dean tried to shake the truth loose from the fog. None of this was making any sense.

"Time of death, ten…"

"Dean! Get your head in the game!"

He followed the command with a curt nod but never faltered in his steps.

"Dad" he said around a mouthful of cloth "why are we here? None of this makes any sense to me."

"Do as I say. Your brother's life is on the line. Don't question my orders."

That was all it took to bring fourth the fear the hunter had felt earlier. He'd deal with all these questions once they had Sam with them again. As long as his dad was there, leading him in the right direction, it didn't matter what was true and what wasn't at the moment.

Time lapsed into another half hour of walking in the rain. Dean tripped over his sore feet, face first into the mud. He choked, hacking up soiled water. The dirty rag slipped further into his mouth making things more uncomfortable. Frustration flooded his veins.

"Dean, I need you to do me a favor."

He heard his dad but try as he may Dean didn't have the strength to turn at the sound of his father's voice. Instead he stayed planted, nodding repeatedly to himself.

"I need you to look out for Sammy. If…if you don't you might…you might have to kill him."

"Dad?"

"Find your brother before it's too late Dean. Free yourself from those binds and go to him. That is your job now. I'm trusting you to keep him safe."

And with another spike of lighting and a shot from the ashen skies John disappeared. Dean trembled, cold and alone. He had a new task now. He wasn't sure why John had told him those things, the only certainty was that if he got to Sam fast enough he could save him. Save him from the werewolf. Save him from himself.

Adrenaline surging through his system, a quick, messy plan started to form in the hunter's head. Crouching on the balls of his feet, he hovered above the sloppy, yet solid ground at least that's how it should be underneath all the sludge he figured.

With enough force, Dean only had to muster the courage to follow through and for Sam he would. Drawing back his right side Dean sent his shoulder downward, cutting through the air with enough strength so that as it impacted with the earth it would fulfill its purpose. White hot pain exploded behind closed eyes. Dean slumped against the muddy floor, panting into the gag but not pleased with himself. When he'd been twenty he'd dislocated his shoulder, doing it again couldn't be that much harder. That's all he needed now.

The pain he was feeling was only soreness not a popped shoulder. It was close but not close enough. With a grunt of disapproval, Dean sat back and prepared to fire at the earth once more. Sending his shoulder downward with twice as much force as the time before; Dean bit knowingly into the gag. His shoulder slammed roughly into the mud. The popping sound was just barely audible over the hunter's agonized screams.

Above the planet on a wing and a prayer,
My grubby halo, a vapour trail in the empty air,
Across the clouds I see my shadow fly
Out of the corner of my watering eye

Slick, twisted leather fell to the soiled ground by his feet. Dean slid the blindfold from his eyes and yanked the gag from his mouth, sucking in gluttonous breaths. The tortured right shoulder hung limp. He brought his left hand around and cradled his right arm. The pain subsided only a fraction but at least that was something. Sure a popped shoulder hurt like hell but it had been enough to help him bring his arms around front and let his teeth loosen the shoddy knots. That's all that he needed and who cared if he was in pain. Nothing a few Tylenols couldn't cure.

Water soaked lashes blurred the hunter's vision. He rubbed the clear liquid away and did a slow three sixty in place. The cornstalks seemed to thin out a bit where he was now. This was good because the more they thinned out the closer to the road he was getting. To his right they grew thicker and forward and backwards was the same, left seemed to be his only option.
Dean made the turn, nursing his right arm protectively against his chest. A few minutes into the walk and he could make out the formation of the gravel road and its winding bends. A smirk of satisfaction claimed the young man's face.

"I'm coming Sammy" he whispered. "Just hang on a little longer."

---

Sam fingers tightened around the leather steering wheel. Teeth clenched as a way of holding back the anger that dared rise to the surface. The impala was moving stealthily through the early morning air. Nearly two a.m. and Dean hadn't returned to the motel room, instead he'd been left out in the cold and damp by two pig farmers.

It had been almost an hour past midnight when Sam had wandered into the nearest dive Dean had chosen to rustle up some cash. Although usually Sam didn't bother checking in on his older brother, tonight something told him he should. The old black Chevy had been waiting in the parking lot when he got there but once inside the tavern, Sam clued into the small fact that it's owner was nowhere in sight.

Checking the men's bathroom, it had been made official that Dean was no longer at the drunken cesspool. But then why was his car still there?

As luck would have it two drunk pig farmers, one donning a very familiar leather jacket seemed to have the answers. One too many beers and a bit of trained roughing up and the men slurred out a crazy story about a arrogant punk who'd tried to hustle them a few hours earlier. They'd jumped him on his way out, tied him up and taken him out to the back roads where they'd left him in the cornfields. The one wearing Dean's jacket must have found sometime of nostalgic humor in relaying the news to Sam. With one sharp blow, the man had fallen off the barstool he'd been occupying.

"That was my brother you drunk, pieces of shit left out there."

Sam had practically ripped the jacket from the man's back before sending a hefting kick to his ribcage. If he'd had more time he would have laid into them a lot more but Dean was stranded out in the storm and if he didn't get to him soon…well he wasn't going to think that far ahead just yet.

A dream unthreatened by the morning light
Could blow this soul right through the roof of the night
There's no sensation to compare with this
Suspended animation, A state of bliss

"Murder, Dean. That's what I did."

Dean's vision blurred and Sam was suddenly before him, pushing a handgun into his chest. His brother's eyes took on a glassy look.

"I don't want to hurt anyone else. I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't. Whatever this is, you can fight it."

Dean tried desperately to look past the gun his brother held. The gun he wanted him to use. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

"No, I can't. Not forever." Sam took his brothers hand and laced his fingers around the steel weapon. "Here, you gotta do it."

Dean's vision blurred once more and through the blur he heard the sound of a single shot being fired.

"Sam!"

Dean thrashed, arms swinging wildly through the thick, black of early morning. He was seated in the ditch, soaked all the way through. Pain laced his cries for his younger brother. He'd failed him. He'd failed his father. He'd fallen asleep somehow, given in to his exhaustion and in doing so had failed them both.

"You couldn't save your dad and deep down, you know that you can't save your brother. They'd have been better off without you."

The hunter fell back into the murky waters of the ditch, a sob fresh to escape as he heard Meg's voice coming through Sam. The memories sent him spinning in the fog. Dean was vaguely aware of tires screeching off in the distance but that had to be part of this twisted nightmare too. Where was Captain Kangaroo to join to the festivities?

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I

Sam didn't bother to turn the Impala's engine off as he threw the divers' side door open and dashed across the slick road. Somehow he'd managed to spot a dark form, huddled at the edges of the ditch. How he could have seen it was beyond him but he was thankful he did. Getting closer, the young Winchester noted the spiked hair and the familiar –although slurred- voice of his older brother. He couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was being said repeatedly, in low, comforting whispers.

Sam edged forward, apprehension wrapped about him like a noose. Dean was shaking from the cold and even in the Chevy's pale headlights he could see the blue tint his lips had taken on. He was without a jacket and his clothes looked like they'd been to hell and back. On top of all that a few cuts and bruises covered his brother's face. But it was the helpless whispering that he was finally able to make out that made the hunter freeze, inches from his brother.

Dean's eyes were glassy and looked towards the road as his voiced repeated Sam's name, over and over. It was sometimes followed with a few 'I'm sorries.' Or 'I should have tried harder's' but that was it.

"Dean?"

The battered, older man took his time processing the voice. It was familiar and so very close. Gently he turned away from the road to where a hunched figure, his arm outstretched, waited for an answer.

"Dean, what the hell happened to you?"

"Sammy?"

Sam didn't like the hoarse sound emanating from his brother. It sounded sick and weak and so unlike Dean. He was wishing he had taken those two pig farmers out when he'd had the chance but now wasn't the time. Somehow their roles had been reversed and tonight Sam was going to have to look after his big brother.

"Yeah, Dean it's me."

A cautious smile parted the man's lips. Dean took hold of the hand his brother offered him.

"How did you get away from the werewolf?"

The older man swayed coming dangerously close to losing his footing. Sam steadied his brother and watched as he cradled his right arm.

"I…uh…what werewolf Dean?"

Dean's attention focused back on the road, staring out into the dark like he could see something there that Sam couldn't.

"Dad was here." Dean's voice although shaky as it was, remained determined. "I…I guess he wasn't really, but he was."

"Dean, come on man. You're scaring me here. Dad's dead."

The eldest Winchester turned at the last words. Sam stared into Dean eyes and was horrified to find them suddenly light up as if they'd just discovered something new and then just as quickly, dull.

"Dean?"

"I must have forgotten."

Sam's heart ached at the pain laced in Dean's tone. Bringing an arm around his back, he slowly directed his brother towards the Impala and out of the rain. He could feel his brother body tremble from the cold and he prayed to God that Dean's jumbled thoughts didn't mean severe hypothermia Once inside the Chevy, Sam pulled a wool blanket from the backseat and draped it about the older man. He turned the heat on full blast, not caring how much he sweated just as long as Dean was able to dispel the cold from his body.

"Why are you holding your arm?"

Dean shrugged and grimaced slightly at the movement. "I dislocated my shoulder."

"What? Why?"

"To get out of the restraints."

Duh, Sam.

Dean's attention shifted to window. Sam frowned as he watched his brother. See, a dislocated shoulder and a few cuts and bruises he could fix. All that would heal with time, it was this lost, puppy look that Dean suddenly adorned that had the youngest Winchester worried.

Sam pulled the Impala onto the dirt road. Every so often he would steal a glance at his brother to make sure he was still with him. "Dean, you okay dude?"

Dean smiled and nodded. "Fine, Sammy."

Half an hour later Sam was taking an alcohol soaked swab to Dean's cuts. With a freshly popped shoulder and some dry clothes, he was already looking a lot better. He would have been more reassured had he been more talkative the way he usually tended to be but he was happy just to have Dean almost as good as new.

Taking the soiled medical supplies and the first aid kit, Sam got off the bed and gestured for Dean to get under the covers. The eldest Winchester snorted but obliged to his younger brothers request.

"I'm not two you know."

Sam laughed. "Just get some rest."

It wasn't until an hour later, when Sam was asleep that Dean slipped out from under the covers and pulled a stray, wooden chair alongside his brother's bed. His night out in the cornfield had done a number on his sanity, bringing his problems to the surface. Problems he'd rather not face.
Dean watched the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest beneath the blankets. His lips curled into a smile. One thing was certain. For a good hour out there he'd been sure his baby brother had been in danger and at one point that he had failed him. Somehow he'd been given a second chance. He was going to try his hardest to keep Sam safe.

"Dean, you have to promise. Promise me that if I ever turn into something that I'm not…"

Dean shook the memory away. He'd be damned if he went through with that promise. He'd keep Sammy safe. From werewolves, from the Yellow Eyed Demon, from everything. He was Dean Winchester, he could do it. Even if he was bound and gagged, somehow he would find a way of saving his little brother.