Re-uploaded this to fix a few mistakes. Sorry if it caused any confusion with the flow of the chapter. Please, let me know what you think! OH, and I will be adding a day to the first chapter as well, so check back to see it! I'll let everyone know once its up. Thanks!
November 13th 2004.
The world was dark and spinning rapidly. Or at least, that's how it felt in Sam's head. He had no idea where he was, or what happened, but as he began to come to the blurry world of consciousness he realized he wasn't at home. He wasn't in his bed, nor on his couch. Sam opened his eyes only to find himself unable to see, that shock of blindness woke him quickly. His head snapped up from where it had been hanging down, now he could feel the heavy black cloth tied over his eyes. He felt the rough ropes binding his wrists to the arms of some chair, a hard chair. Trying to kick his feet he found his ankles bound to the legs as well, and the pressure across his chest told him torso was securely tied down as well.
He began to panic, pulling franticly against the ropes. Hard enough that his wrists began to sting as blood welled up along the edges of the cuts that dug into his skin. Sam didn't care though, he had no idea where he was or even how long he'd been there. The last event he could remember was being grabbed in his apartment. But he sure as hell knew he was getting out of this. 'Sick son of a bitch psycho freak monster.' Sam cursed to himself, not wanting to make too much noise. From what he could hear, he was alone, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone knowing he was awake and trying to get away. No, the best approach to this was silence. There was a long moment of dead silence, and then he felt it, the feeling that had become such a familiar plague. Those eyes were on him, and he quickly froze in his spot.
A gentle hand ran down the side of his face, and Sam quickly turned and snapped his teeth, trying to bite the hand away. He missed, but his point was still made clear. A light chuckle met his ears and he could tell the figure was standing over him, his face only inches apart from Sam's as the thing's warm breath flushed over his cheeks. "Sammy, be sweet or I'll have to cover the pretty little mouth of yours." Sam thought quickly on his feet, well, metaphorically speaking at least. Without warning he spit in the stranger's face, and then smirked as he felt the figure lean away from him. The next sound in the room was a resounding smack, as the large hand that had just touched him so gently slapped him hard across the face.
Sam's head now forcefully turned to the side, his cheek already reddening, was then jerked back straight as something was shoved into his mouth. By the taste of it, it was rubber. And it forced his jaw open and was then buckled securely behind his head. Sam struggled, trying his best to rock from side to side as much as he could; the figure still had a firm grip on him, pulling the hair on the back of his head to hold him still. "Now Sam, I asked you to be sweet. And you weren't. That is why I had to put that in your mouth, you understand?" The deep voice asked, and he could feel the warm breath washing over his face once more. It smelled of mint, and whiskey.
Furious, humiliated, and more than anything terrified, Sam turned his head away, not wanting to let the figure be that close. The gag in his mouth muffled his speech, and he could do nothing but groan around it as he felt that touch brush along his jaw line. Tucking a stray lock of hair back behind Sam's ear, the voice spoke again in the darkness. "Now, I'll take this blind fold off of you, alright? I miss those beautiful hazel eyes." He spoke, his voice calm and soft, as if he was trying to lessen the panic in Sam's mind. It didn't help at all, only served to terrify him more as he felt the black cloth being lifted off his face. Blinking his eyes open, he was met with those burning green ones. Such a beautiful color, how on Earth could they belong to someone so evil?
A new round of fear and a new round of struggling erupted in Sam, he nearly flipped his chair over trying to get away from the man. He was a man. It was no demon from hell or pale, hazy ghost, not even a monster. It was a man, a normal-looking man. Short blonde hair turned up in the front, a strong jaw line with a fair bit of stubble across his face. His captor grabbed Sam's forearms and the arms of the chair, holding it, and Sam, still. "Hello Sammy, my name's Dean. I am so glad to meet you face to face." He said, "Well, I mean, without being punched this time of course." Dean's brilliant green eyes studied Sam's fearful expression, watching the muscle in the younger man's jaw clenched tight on the red rubber ball in his mouth. It hurt Dean to see that fearful look in Sam's eyes. It truly did pain him.
But Dean knew, in time, Sam would lose that fear. And hell, he had all the time in the world. Leaning back away from the young man, the blonde glanced over his shoulder to the table in the small cabin- that was the best Sam could do to describe it, it looked like a cabin, a hunting cabin in the middle of the woods. 'Great, just fucking great.' Sam thought; no one to hear him scream. On the worn wooden table behind Dean sat a tall glass of perfectly clear water. Dean looked back to Sam, smiling gently. "You thirsty? I can give you a drink, if you can promise me you won't spit on me again." Sam saw his opportunity in this, hesitantly, he nodded in head in agreement, and Dean moved away to get the water before returning.
The gag was taken off for a moment, letting it hang loosely around the young man's neck as Dean tipped the water up to his lips. Sam honestly drank at first, he had to admit he was thirsty, but before the glass was done he took in the last mouthful and spit it all right back in Dean's face. Dean dropped the glass to the floor with a loud shatter, his hands coming up to wipe the water from his eyes and face. Sam threw all of his weight to one side, trying to snap the ropes that bound his arms but ended up only tipping over his chair. Landing hard on the ground in a pile of broken glass, Sam groaned painfully, and resorted to the only thing he knew to do at this point.
Sam screamed as loud as he could, "Help! Somebody please HELP!" But Sam was cut off quickly, as Dean recovered from the water in his face and was over Sam in an instant, delivering a hard blow to the side of Sam's face, and then another squarely to his stomach. Dean's fist was clenched tight, his knuckles pure white as he struggled to catch his breath from his anger. Forcing the gag back into the young man's mouth he stood up, leaving Sam lying on his side, still securely bound to the chair. Out of sheer anger he kicked Sam in the face, hard, pissed off with the sheer lack of obedience. Then he stormed out of the room, leaving the boy alone.
November 14th 2004.
Sam had no idea how long he had been left lying there on the floor. At first he was just willing to lay there and recover from the hard blows. But the gag prevented him from working his jaw, which felt like it had been popped out of place. So that pain never really let up. He realized quickly this was more humiliating than he first thought. A trickle of drool ran down the side of his face and slowly pooled on the floor under his cheek. He could do nothing to help it, the gag in his mouth made it impossible to close his lips. And pressing his tongue down flat, it made it very hard to swallow. And the worst part was he was quickly developing the pressing need to use the bathroom. Drinking that tall glass of water may not have been the best idea.
Hours, it felt like, he laid there, no sound in the small cabin what so ever. Just Sam's own breathing, and his heart beat. As he sat in the silence, trying to hear anything he could, the faint sound of water running reached his ears. It sounded like a stream or a water fall. His eyes scanned the room in front of him, but he couldn't see much, a worn table, one wooden chair that looked like the one he was strapped to. A fire place sat to the right of that, and then empty wall. He knew that there was a lot of open space behind him, but he couldn't turn his head far enough to look. Sam fought for a long time against the restraints, leaving deep bloody gouges in his wrists. But being tipped on his side like this he couldn't do much.
'God please, I know I'm not a saint but I have never asked you for anything, please, please, get me out of here. He's going to kill me. Help me God, I need it. I'll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life, just please, please just save me. Save me from this freak. I want to see my Mom and Dad again. And Jessica. Please God, help me.' Sam prayed over, and over again, hoping for some small miracle to get him out of this alive, and relatively unharmed. The last cries of a desperate man.
The pain in his bladder was quickly growing far too much to bear. And, against his will, but out of his control, his body couldn't take it anymore. Now he was forced to lie there, in pain, in a puddle of urine and his own drool. Tears streamed down Sam's face, his eyes closed tight as he sobbed around the gag in his mouth. When Dean returned, free of anger now and very guilty for hurting his Sammy, he was greeted with the pathetic sight and horrible stench. Without a word he got down, lifting Sam's chair back up right, ignoring the groan of pain from the younger man and the look of fear in his eyes. Sam's heart beat picked up quickly, unsure of what beating he would get this time, he tried to plead with Dean, but it was nothing more than a muffled groan.
There was no more anger in Dean's face, or in his eyes, not right now at least. "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't mean to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you." He whispered softly as he began unbinding Sam's ankles. But before Sam got any sharp ideas Dean paused, looking him level in the eye. "I'm going to help you get into the bath, alright? Do not, fight with me." The older man's voice held a sharp note of authority. And for once Sam wasn't planning on escape, not at the moment at least. He wanted nothing more than to wash the urine from his skin and be out of these disgusting clothes. A bath was exactly what he wanted.
Dean snapped a pair of hand cuffs onto his wrists once he freed him from the ropes, not missing the deep bloody marks there. Sam flinched at the hard metal on his sensitive wounds, and it hurt Dean a lot to see his beautiful Sam so upset, so hurt- and he was being unusually gentle for the moment. Slowly he helped Sam stand, the poor boy's breath was still catching sharply in his throat, tears still running down his face as he choked out tears around the rubber ball in his mouth. Dean held onto Sam's shoulder, as the young man's knees were obviously weak; as Sam stood his legs almost gave out from under him. Dean caught him though, and guided him across the little cabin's main room and into the bathroom. Standing, Sam noticed Dean was a few inches shorter than himself, not that it at all offset the other man's authority as he followed him, trying to calm down the pounding of his heart and the sobs that were threatening to spill out.
Once they got to the bathroom, Sam had attempted to compose himself some. Watching as Dean turned on the water, filling the large, claw-footed tub. Then his captor turned back to look at Sam. He looked like a mess, a pathetic mess, as those green eyes studied over him slowly. The side of Sam's face was wet with spit and tears; there was a large dark urine stain on his jeans, not to mention his hair was a disheveled knot. Large bloody marks stained the smooth skin on his wrists from struggling against his bindings. Dean frowned, stepping closer to his Sammy and tore the shirt from his body carefully. Not in an aggressive way, though it still scared Sam as Dean took the shirt, and literally tore it in two right up the sleeves, so that it could be removed over the handcuffs. Then Dean unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off, along with Sam's boxers.
This brought on a whole new wave of tears as he stood there, closing his eyes, totally exposed in front of Dean, the monster that was keeping him prisoner. He tried to cover himself as best he could with his hands, but he could still feel those burning green eyes on him. Only when he felt the gaze pull away did Sam open his eyes, seeing Dean's back facing him, as the man pulled out of his own clothes as well. It only terrified him more, Sammy backed away, trying to reach for the door to run when Dean grabbed hold of him firmly. Though his harsh grip loosened when Sam flinched with pain and he spoke, "No no Sammy, don't do that. Just relax, I'm not going to hurt you." The deep, rough voice whispered to him, causing Sam to cringe and shut his eyes as that mint-whiskey breath washed over him.
Sam was afraid of another beating, there were already dark bruises formed on his stomach and the side of his face from the last time he'd pissed this man off. So when he felt those large, strong hands pulling him gently towards the tub, Sam followed Dean's guidance. Dean got in first, leaning back at one end and slowly tugging Sam in as well. Sam sank down into the warm water, his back leaning against Dean's chest as he felt those two, strong arms wrap around him for a moment. Dean nuzzled his face into the back of Sam's neck, enjoying being so close to his beautiful Sammy; Sam kept his eyes closed tight, tremors wracking his entire frame in fear. He felt Dean stir behind him, turning off the water.
The next thing he felt was a warm, wet cloth running along the side of his face. It washed over his forehead, then his cheeks, moving up Sam's jaw line before dipping down his neck and scrubbing lightly at his skin. "There you go Sammy, you'll feel a lot better after this." Dean's voice was quiet, and Sam could once again tell he was trying to be soothing. But it didn't stop the nervous trembling, or the tears from running down his face. "I am sorry for leaving you there alone yesterday. You're new to this, you didn't understand the punishment, and I know that." Dean continued, but Sam made no response. 'Yesterday? I've been here that long?' Sam thought, only now getting the idea of just how long he had been left there, lying on the floor.
Sam was lost in thought, trying to block out the entire world around him. The warmth of the water was soothing, but the feel of the other man's well muscled chest pressed to his back, his head leaning back on Dean's shoulder, it unnerved him. It wouldn't let him forget the situation he was in, wouldn't let him escape those haunting green eyes. The boy didn't respond to anything as Dean washed him clean. But the sharp sting of pain did break him from his terrified daze, as Dean gently scrubbed his wrists, cleaning the dried blood away. Sam picked his head up, looking down to see Dean's arms reaching around him and with the most gentle of touches, washing over the cuts.
That show of kindness, it really touched Sam, though not like Dean had hoped it would. It didn't do anything but confirm to Sam that this man was a serious psycho on a fucking insane mental break down. Definitely someone would be looking for him from the Institution right? It had to be all over the news, 'serial killer and rapist escaped from lockdown today, FBI manhunt scouring the country.' Little did Sam know Dean was hardly a man at all, nor was he wanted by any law enforcement. Sam blacked out for quite a while. Exhaustion, starvation, the sheer trauma of it all, his beaten body couldn't cope.
November 15th 2004.
When he came too, the room was dark. He couldn't see a damn thing as he blinked his eyes, trying to focus. He was lying on his back, his arms spread out to either side of his torso. Whatever he was laying on was soft, warm, and he could feel a sheet over his lower half. A bed, he was laying on a bed. Opening his mouth to let out a short groan he realized his mouth was empty. A feeling of relief washed over Sam; maybe it had all been a horrible dream- a very, very horrible dream, a true nightmare. Sam sighed with gratitude, and then he tried to sit up. As he did a sharp pain shot through his wrists. He tugged some, but found quickly he was bound. Each arm wore a padded leather cuff, chained to the head board of the bed.
Instantly the panic set back in. Sam pulled as hard as he could, the pain not even bothering him anymore. He had to get out of here; he would never survive if he couldn't get away. Sam collapsed back to the bed, his chest heaving from exhaustion and fear. "Help! Somebody! Help me!" He screamed as loud as he could, though his voice was hoarse and cracked on each word. As he fell silent again, stopping his screaming, he felt that gaze on him. A weight sunk down on the bed, and he tried to get as far away as he could. But those glowing green eyes came into his view. Sam's heart felt like it would jump from his chest as he stared up at Dean in fear.
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