A/N: Okay, the story is going to stick with Sam from here on in. We can all well imagine panicking upset Dean (yum!) and I wanted to focus more on what this experience does to Sam. Especially after the YED said (to Dean): "Are you sure what you brought back is 100 percent pure Sammy?"
Thanks for the encouraging reviews. You guys rock ;-)
The house was quiet except for the monotonous drone of the late night talk show. Light from the television danced around the large lounge and silhouetted what she could see of his still form.Edging further into the room, she noted what remained of the bottle of whiskey sitting next to the corner of the sofa. Venturing closer revealed the steady hum of his snoring and she watched him for a moment. Confusing emotions tightened her face and brought tears to her eyes as she saw him sleeping. Shaking her head and retreating back into the hallway, she tiptoed across to the basement door. It was dark inside and she considered whether to switch on the light. Knowing he would see the light under the door, she grabbed a torch from the cupboard beside the front door and crept down into the basement.
"Shit!" She gasped in fright and paused inside the door. The trembling circle of torchlight danced across his sprawled body and then ran back to the dark puddle on the floor beside his head.
"Oh crap, no!" Amber whispered in a panic, hurrying carefully down the stairs and kneeling beside the still body at the bottom. "Oh no no no no no!"
He was face down on the basement floor and not moving. She shone the torch onto the side of what she could see of his pale face and saw that the pool of blood trailed under him. "Oh god, no. Sam? Oh, please! Has he killed you?" Reaching out warily, Amber grabbed the shoulder nearest her and shook him firmly. "Sam?" She called out, as loud as she dared. "Sam? Please don't be dead!" Amber wiped away tears and sat down on the bottom step beside him, her head hung low.
"Ow …"
"Sam?" Amber flicked her head up with a gasp and watched as Sam slowly lifted his chin. She slid off the stair and knelt beside him, timidly placing her hand on his shoulder. "Sam?"
"Mmm."
Amber watched him turn his face towards her and he winced in the bright torchlight. Apologizing hurriedly, she moved the beam away slightly and then saw the deep gash across the bridge of his nose. It seemed to have stopped bleeding but the skin was dark and swollen under his eyes. Her shoulders sinking, she groaned in dismay.
"Genius plan."
"What?" Amber frowned. She then took in the rope curled loosely across the back of his legs and her frown grew. Shining the torch at the free end and seeing the bends from the knot that had once been tied there, she then flicked the light over to the piping. She looked back down at Sam and watched him slowly rolling onto his side. Guessing his attempt to escape and imagining his stumble, she sighed in relief. "I thought you were dead.""And?"
Amber flinched at the angry sarcasm in his tone and fresh tears welled in her eyes. "My dad is not a bad person." She stated evenly, glaring down at him. She watched him look up at her and thought she saw a slight nod of understanding.
"Why is he doing this, Amber?"
Watching him trying to sit up and grimacing in pain, Amber did find herself feeling sorry for him. But this was exactly what her father had warned her against. Okay, so he did not look anything like the monster her father described -- in fact he was kind of fit, in a prep-school kind of way -- but he could still be just as dangerous.
Curiosity had brought her down here after her father's friends had dumped him in the basement and left. And intrigue had made her want to remove the tape that covered his face, needing to see for herself the cause of her family's suffering. She had heard the shouting from beneath the house after her father had discovered her and the silence that had followed. And then her father had sought out comfort with the bottle he had been saving. Seeing him at peace in his slumber for the first time in months had made her think the worst, sure that ending his torment meant only one thing."Amber?"
Torn from her thoughts, Amber flicked the torchlight back at Sam and saw him sitting awkwardly against the bottom of the bannister. He flinched away from the light again but this time she left the beam on his face, studying him. Underneath the blood and bruising, his face was nicely shaped and she gazed for a moment into the sorrowful blue eyes that looked back at her. "I can see why she would have trusted you." She commented quietly, watching him frown in confusion. "You're just her type.""Who?"
Amber smiled suddenly and moved back from him. Climbing up a few steps above him, she nodded and wiped away further tears. "You look like Spence. Her boyfriend in college."
Sam shook his head slowly and gave a shrug of his shoulders.
"Did you meet her in university?" Amber cleared her throat and sniffed loudly. "Or just grab her from somewhere?" She saw him recoil at the sudden change in her tone and it fascinated her.
"Please, Amber. What is it that you think I have done?"
Amber laughed nervously, watching the helpless way he sagged against the side of the stairs and hearing his voice crack with emotion. Suddenly afraid of the sympathy she felt for him, she stood and made her way back up to the main house.
"Please!"
Ignoring the desperation in his gentle cry, Amber quickened her pace and scrambled through the door. She hurried into the hall and sank against the door as it closed behind her. Closing her eyes and aware of her rapid breaths echoing through the hall, she wiped her face and tried to calm.
"What are you doing?"
Amber gasped in fright and spun to see her father standing at the end of the hall. She groaned in dismay and stepped away from the door.
"Didn't I tell you to stay away?"
"Yeah, but - "
"But nothing!"
Flinching and edging back from him, Amber shrugged slightly.
"Oh, honey." Her father strode down the hall towards her and held out his arms. Quickly embracing her and hugging her tight against him, he sighed gently into her hair. "I knew I should have sent you to your cousins'."
Amber hugged him back and pressed her face into his chest. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"God, Amber … I can't lose you, too." He leaned back and looked down at her tearstained face. "Please … stay away from him."
"Okay." Amber nodded slowly and peered into his sorrowful, tired eyes. "But … what … what are you going to do?"
"I don't know, honey." He answered honestly, pulling her back against him. "I just don't know."
His head hurt more than ever. Leaning back against the stairs and closing his eyes, he could taste blood in his throat and could not quite breathe through his nose. Great. Probably broken. Resting for a moment, Sam then heard voices from beyond the door at the top of the stairs. Able to make out the odd word not spoken too quietly, he could sense the emotion between father and daughter and it only added to his confusion. Sure that something utterly horrible had happened to this family but oblivious as to how it might involve him, Sam considered how he might try and get them to talk. And that was only if he could not somehow escape.
Struggling up onto his knees, his head pounding, he somehow shuffled across the floor and met the front of a metal shelving unit. Resting against the tall side bars, he took a second to catch his breath and then turned himself around. The lowest shelf seemed empty as he lifted his arms up behind him and clumsily searched with his bound hands. Getting up onto his knees and fumbling in the dark, he found a large plastic box on the second shelf and closed his eyes as he dragged it to the edge. It was heavy and that was promising.
Hooking the handle and somehow lifting the box down took a massive effort. With the box on the floor beside him, he sank back down onto his heels and hung his throbbing head, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Tools. Sam's fingers searched the top layer of the open box, his heart racing. With a sigh of dismay, he lifted the plastic drawer of wrenches from the box and struggled to place it quietly on the floor. The corner of the tray caught his boot and toppled.The sound of the metal wrenches scattering on the concrete seemed impossibly loud. Sam paused, holding his breath, listening for any sign from the house above that he had been heard. After what seemed long enough, he started moving again and leaned backwards, searching the main compartment of the box. His heart leapt as he found something fairly sharp and explored it with his fingers. A flat-head screwdriver. That will do.
Nestling down on the floor and sitting back on his heels again, Sam angled the screwdriver in his hand and flexed his wrist as much as the tape allowed. Scoring at the edge of the tape with the corner of the screwdriver blade, he could feel the slight tearing and sighed in relief. Hope stirred deep inside him. Suddenly he was imagining Dean arriving at the house, punching and kicking his way through to rescue his brother. Sure that there would be some way of locating him, memories of his brother never having failed before forcing a smile to his weary face, Sam struggled on.There had to be a way. Follow the trail from the car park, chant some voodoo shit or other. Dean would find a way. In the meantime, keep fighting your way out. You don't want to be found down here on your ass, praying for a rescue.
The tape parted enough for him to know that he was making headway. Still gripping the screwdriver just in case, he strained his wrists and heard the start of a ripping noise. Smiling in delight, he felt the tape tear open and he sagged back on his heels with a groan. How long he had been tied up he was unsure but his arms ached, his shoulders screaming in protest as he moved his hands round in front of him. His arms trembled as he rolled his shoulders and flexed out sore muscles but there was no time to pause for breath. Swinging his feet around before him, his hands shaking, he worked on the tape binding his ankles and in a few moments was free.Standing upright was tough at first. Doubling over and heaving dryly, he clutched at his swimming head and groaned hoarsely. Concussion. Great. Have to thank him for that later. Now that sounded like his brother. Grinning merrily, Sam rolled his body back upright and began to search the basement. They had blocked the windows. Unpinning the wooden slats would take time and he just needed to get out of the place. Fast. Turning in the darkness towards the stairs and realizing it was his only option, Sam reached out for the bannisters.
Climbing slowly, his ears straining to pick up any sound beyond the door, Sam made his way up the stairs. Reaching into his back pocket for the scraps he had found at the bottom of the toolbox, he frowned at the small keyhole beneath the handle. Always was the better lock-picker. Sam could imagine teasing his brother and being given the usual quirked eyebrow 'smart-ass' reply before Dean would then quickly point out one of his own, unique strengths (usually involving women). God, where are you, Dean?
The house was quiet. His heart in his throat, Sam stepped out into the dimly lit hallway and carefully closed the door behind him. Glancing both ways along the length of the hall, he moved away from the basement and headed for the front door. Movement in the corner of his eye made him stop. Turning, he saw his own shadowy reflection in the mirror on the wall and sighed in relief. Jeez, you look like hell. He smiled thinly as he turned away. And then he saw her.His head spinning, he stepped closer to the framed photographs lined up beside the mirror. The light from the lamp on the corner table was just enough to see her. In a family portrait, at her high school graduation, in someone's yard party. Smiling, laughing, young and alive. Sure, her hair was different and her face softer somehow but it was her. Backing away from the photographs, his heart thudding against his chest, Sam shook his head slowly. Meg …?
He had paused too long and sensed the movement behind him too late. Spinning, he blocked the blow but his tired arms were not moving quick enough to deflect the second. Collapsing back against the wall, his head cracking the glass of the framed photographs, he had enough time to realize that this was not Amber's father. This guy was taller, more solid. And while Sam pondered the gravity of his mistake, he was dragged back to the basement door and flung down the stairs.
Finally finishing his tumble down into the basement, Sam ended up in a sprawled heap face down on the concrete floor. Despite glancing another blow to his head on one of the many stairs he had hit, Sam had managed to remain conscious this time but soon found himself wishing he was not.
"Dom? Dom, what the fu - ?"
"Houdini here managed to get out."
Sam moved his left arm and pressed himself up from the floor slightly, hissing as pain tore through his body. Unsure if there was actually any part of him that did not hurt, he decided to stay where he was for just a moment.
"Well, I'm hardly the expert here, Dom."
Footsteps on the stairs and Sam glanced up as the lights flickered on to see the two men heading down towards him. Quickly rolling onto his side, he yelped in pain and dragged his right arm out from under him. His wrist was swollen and red, an ominous lump a short way up his arm suggesting more than just a sprain. Clutching his arm to his chest and curling around the pain, he was only vaguely aware of the man that reached the bottom of the stairs first.
The kick sent him flying backwards. Landing in an awkward sprawl on his back, he had not even time to catch his breath before a booted foot was pressed down onto his chest. With his good hand he tried to lift the foot off and cried out as the pressure only grew.
"What do think, James? Shall I squash this bug?"
Sam's focus was blurred but he saw the heavier man smiling down at him. The man then turned and shrugged towards his companion. Sam followed his gaze and saw Amber's father waiting on the bottom step, looking on in disinterest.
"Or shall we pull it's wings off first?"
Sam looked back up at his attacker and saw the smile grow. This guy was younger and fairer than the other, his dark jeans and black sweater giving him the cliched image of a hired thug. Not a good look, dude. The Dean-like voice calmed Sam a little and he stared evenly up at the man.
The pressure on his chest was released as the man stepped back and Sam gasped in relief, coughing dryly. And then the same booted foot slammed into his side. Lifting him from the floor, the blow sent him tumbling over onto his side and he clutched at the pain in his ribs. He could not breathe. Each slight movement of his ribcage sent sharp, stabbing pain through his chest. Gasping and wheezing, he rolled away and buried his face into the cold brick of the outer wall."We've been looking for you for a long time."
Sam cried out in protest as his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly pulled onto his back. His vision blurred and his head swimming, he slapped out wildly with his left arm and his stomach turned as he heard the amused laugh this generated. And then his damaged wrist was grabbed and squeezed. Yelling and sobbing, Sam begged for the pain to end. Tossing all pride aside, tears pouring down his face, Sam grabbed at the strong fingers that gripped his wrist and tried to prize his arm free.
"Dom, stop!"
The grip eased and Sam collapsed back against the floor, his chest heaving.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"I know but … just … stop for a second."
Sam was released and quickly cradled his injured right arm, choking on his sobs as he curled back away from them and rolled onto his side.
"What? You suddenly having second thoughts?"
"No, Dom. I just - "
"Just what, James? After all this time? After everything?"
"I'm not like you - okay? I just need some time. Please. Go upstairs. Give me a second."
Sam was vaguely aware of a frustrated grumble before hearing footsteps ascending the stairs and he slowly managed to calm. Still cradling his throbbing wrist, he chanced looking back over his shoulder and watched Amber's father -- James, right? -- slowly sitting down on the bottom stair, clutching a beige-brown folder.
Carefully pushing himself upright, still struggling to take an even breath, Sam turned slowly. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Tensing against pain in his chest and arm, he groaned softly and clenched his teeth.
"Do you know what they told us …?"
Opening his eyes, Sam turned and watched James looking down at the folder he held in his hands.
"When she first went missing." James lifted his head and looked over at Sam. "They said they would only worry when she was gone for over a week." He gave a small laugh and shook his head. "We worried after the first hour!" Getting to his feet, James crossed the room and stood at Sam's feet to glare angrily down at him. "She was our daughter! When she didn't call in at the usual time, the world dropped from under us!"
Sam watched nervously, edging further against the wall and at a complete loss. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. Seeing the torment that filled James' face, his heart sank and he shook his head slowly.
James looked back down at the folder in his hands and smiled thinly. Crouching down, he opened the file and flopped it onto the floor. His smile faltered as he sorted through the papers and photographs, selecting a few. "My daughter was missing for over a year." He lifted up one of the images and studied it for a moment. "And, apparently, she was with you."
Sam watched as the photograph was turned to face him. It was a grainy, faded image from a security camera. He frowned slightly and then could make out the two of them sat together at a table. Tears suddenly stung his eyes as he remembered the night he had spent in the bus station and had been so determined to leave with her.
"Where were you going?" James asked quietly.
Sam swallowed back the blood and bile in his throat and met James' unwavering gaze. "California." He managed hoarsely.
James nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "That's what her ticket said." He looked down at the file and cleared his throat. "So why didn't you go?"
His heart racing, Sam thought back over that evening. The pretty young blonde who so intrigued him and seemed to understand him. The call his brother made to say goodbye. The unanswered calls Sam had made to Dean the following morning. His decision to go back to his brother and the good fortune of that choice. Because I had to rescue my big brother from a Nordic god in the form of a hook-wielding scarecrow. For a moment, he actually wondered if answering with the truth would be of help here or not.
James sighed and reached down for another photograph. "And Chicago?"
Sam frowned, watching the image being held up before him and groaning as he looked at another hidden camera screenshot. This time they were sat talking in a crowded bar.
"Why did you take her to Chicago?"
"I …" Sam shook his head slowly. "We met by chance."
James' scowl grew and he dropped the photo. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not." Sam urged, his cracked ribs stabbing at his chest and making him wince in pain.
"Fine." James got to his feet and sighed loudly. "I guess I'll let Dom get rid of some more pent up stress on you."
"No!" Sam gasped and gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of pain. "Please. Please."
James turned slowly and raised his eyebrows in interest.
"I met - " Sam paused, unable to say the name that had brought him and his family so much pain. "I met your daughter when I was hitching." He closed his eyes at the memory and shook his head. "She was running away from home and we ended up at the same bus - "
"Wait. Wait." James strode back closer to Sam. "She was what?"
Sam saw renewed sorrow in James' eyes and groaned in dismay. "Look, it's what she told me, Mr Masters … I swear!"
"My Megan was at the top of her class. An A-grade student with a free ride to Harvard." James insisted calmly. "She was happy and stable."
Sam made no reply and could feel his throat tightening. Chicago. The confirmation that his meeting Meg had been anything but happenstance; she was nothing close to the attractive potential friend he had first taken her to be. And her betrayal still stung. Dad … The memory was still so raw. Stepping into the motel room and seeing their father standing there by the window. After searching for so very long. And then having to go their separate ways in order to be safe. To be safe from the evil bitch that had stolen the life of an innocent girl. It had never occurred to him that somewhere out there was a family mourning her loss."Jefferson City?"
Pulled from his thoughts, Sam looked up at the next photograph and his stomach turned. Seeing separate shots, one of Meg alone in the foyer and one of him setting off the fire alarm, Sam remembered the Sunrise apartments where his father had been held hostage.
"They found her the next day ..." James stated quietly. "Anonymous 9-1-1 call."
Lost in his own grief, Sam's head was filled with images of his father strapped down to the bed, his father torturing Dean, his father begging him to shoot him.
"Look at her!"
Flicking his head up, Sam met the mortuary shots of a waxy grey, blue-lipped Meg. He choked on a sob and suddenly felt tears welling, recalling the horrific exorcism and the agony she had suffered before she died. At the time he had grabbed onto the peace that had come over her and how she had thanked them for freeing her. Now all he could see was the battered girl who had lay spluttering, dying on the floor of Bobby's house.
"You did this." James insisted quietly. "Didn't you."
Sam shook his head firmly, ignoring the pain it caused, and could feel his lips trembling as the first tears fell. "No."
James considered this for a moment and then nodded slightly. "That's what the evidence says, too." He wiped a hand across his face and sighed wearily. "You know … they closed the case over a year ago." Peering down at the file, he sniffed and licked his dry lips. "But I just knew … knew you did this … and I've been trying to find you ever since."
Sam frowned in intrigue, suddenly wondering how James had managed a task that even the most determined FBI agent seemed unable to achieve.
"She had 24 broken bones."
Closing his eyes, Sam saw a quick replay of the Daevas dragging Meg from the warehouse and tossing her through the window.
"Internal bleeding." James continued in all but a whisper. He looked up at Sam and renewed anger filled his face. "It says here that she was tied up, beaten, tortured..."
A chill ran through Sam as he saw the smile that suddenly danced on James' lips.
"Familiar?"
Sam held his breath and watched James regarding him evenly, his dread growing.
"See." James stood back up straight and took a deep breath. "All this time … all I've thought about is finding you … and making you suffer just as you made her suffer."
Sam drew in a breath and hugged at his injured arm. "It wasn't me."
"So you say."
"Please!" Sam urged, terror cracking his voice. "You have to believe me."
"Right …" James scoffed dryly and turned away. Stepping up onto the first stair, he paused and glanced back. "I almost gave up ... I mean, my obsession with finding you was costing me so much. My wife left me. I ran out of cash to pay for people to look for you …"
Sam looked on in dread, very able to understand the tortured soul Meg's father had become. He was not dissimilar to Sam's own father, consumed with revenge and driven almost beyond sanity with hatred and grief.
"But, that's of no matter now ..." He shrugged and gave a loud sigh. "One of my contacts suddenly called me last week and tells me he's had found you. And it seems you're on the FBI's most wanted list, no less."
Sam closed his eyes and hung his head in dismay.
"It was then that I knew for sure that I was right." James continued quietly, "And I just had to get to you before they did."
Crying hurt his chest but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Letting his head sink lower, Sam heard James ascending the stairs and was aware of the lights being switched off before the door slammed shut and he was alone with the sound of his weeping.
Tbc ...
