A/N: Sam and Dean investigate the disappearance of a young girl. Things go from bad to worse. Features: Winchester whumpage, Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean and Limp!Sam. Many thanks to the super amazing Faye and Refur for their awesome beta powers and words of encouragement.
And...thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate it! You guys made my month! 3
Chapter 2: That Man
That man wears his skin like a dancer wears her veils
That man stalks his victims like a cancer stalks a cell
That man's soul has left him his heart's as deadly as a rusty nail
That man sheds his skin like a veil --- Cowboy Junkies
Matty Townsend whistles a little tune while he drags Olivia down the basement stairs. The girl is making little whimpering sounds that improve Matty's mood immensely. This one is turning out to be very good. Maybe tonight he'll remove something delicate and have a little sample. He thinks her skin might taste like innocence and fear. His tongue darts across his lips. Yes.
The tall one groans inside the cage. Matty reaches one shined shoe through the bars and gives his side a sharp kick. No response. Matty tosses Olivia into the far corner of the cage, out of the boy's reach. He considers. Maybe Olivia can wait. He has a new one to play with. A strong one. And from the smell of him, some sort of psychic. The demon in Matty grins. He knew he felt someone tap, tap, tapping at his chamber door earlier.
It's a good thing he did.
He doesn't need a pair of hunters getting in his business. Not when everything has been running so smoothly for so long. No, sir.
Still whistling, Matty turns the key.
---
Sam listens to the demon's footsteps die away. When the silence is thick and constant he rolls over and inches toward Olivia. His chest aches and he folds his t-shirt up and over the wound. It doesn't really stop the bleeding, but it's the best he can do. "Olivia," he whispers, "can you hear me?"
The girl opens her good eye and stares at him. The eye blinks once. Closes.
He tries again. "Olivia. Please."
"I'm going to die."
He can barely hear her words. They fall from her mouth small and tight and bitter. Like moth balls.
"No."
The eye opens again. "It's okay."
Sam inches closer and puts an arm around her. Olivia stifles a cry and scrabbles away like a spider. She crouches in the corner, head bowed and Sam simply stares. He wonders what Matthias Townsend has done to turn a beautiful thirteen-year-old girl into this. He sees the blade bite into her skin. Sam shudders. Maybe he doesn't want to know.
"How do you know my name?" she asks.
"We saw your mom yesterday," Sam tells her. "We've been looking for you."
She turns her head and her hair hangs limp, shadow on shadow. She will not look at him. "You found me."
Sam grunts and positions himself on his back in front of the cage door. He pistons his legs out and slams against the lock mechanism. It creaks but holds fast.
"He doesn't like that," Olivia says.
"I don't...care...what...he...likes," Sam hisses between kicks.
Sam drops his legs and gasps for breath. Fuck. His chest hurts. It hurts with some new and improved kind of pain he's never felt before. He moans and curls into himself.
Olivia scrambles closer. "What happened to– " she stops and backs away again. Now she lifts her head and looks at Sam, her face perfectly blank. "I stabbed you." She holds her hand up, studies it, as if it belongs to someone else. "I stabbed you," she says again. She drops her face down into the dirt and a jagged noise rips out of her.
Sam gingerly uncurls himself and carefully crawls over to her. This time she doesn't back away. "It's okay," Sam grits through a mist of pain. "It wasn't you. You didn't mean to. There was something inside you. Something made you do it." He brushes the tangled hair out of her face. "It wasn't you, Olivia."
"It was the Bad Man," she says through the tears. "The Bad Man made me do it." Abruptly, she stops crying. She sniffs and wipes her face with her bandaged hand. It leaves a smear of dirt and blood across one cheek. "He likes it when I cry," she tells Sam in a way that makes his skin crawl. "He says it tastes good. He says I taste good."
Sam presses his face against her dirty hair and holds her. He doesn't even realize he's crying until her voice whispers in his ear, "Save the tears for him."
---
When Dean comes to he's tired to a chair. He jerks against the rope and rolls his neck. He feels like somebody just played kick the can with his head. He shakes off some of the pain and concentrates on his surroundings.
He's in a bedroom. There's plenty of dust so maybe it's a guest room. Or maybe Old Man Demon's just a piss poor housekeeper. Too busy with the whole killing kids thing to find time to vacuum. He cocks his head and listens. Where's Sam? He remembers the blood on his brother's shirt (the fucker stabbed Sammy) and the pounding in his head doesn't seem like such a big deal.
The door opens and Old Man Demon steps in like a dapper Jack Palance on a metric ton of acid. "Ah, Dean. I'm glad to see you're awake."
If Dean could kill with hate alone Matthias Townsend would be a smoldering ruin on the floor. But hate won't cut it and Matthias just waggles his eyebrows instead. "That's not a very friendly look, now is it?"
"Where's Sam?" Dean snarls.
"Your brother is quite safe."
Dean decides he doesn't just hate the older fucker for tying him up or killing kids or hurting Sam. He also hates him for his prissy manner of talking. As if he's really some old genteel dude instead of an old asshole stuffed full of demon.
"I'm thinking my idea of safe and your idea of safe are two different things."
The demon just smiles and looks at Dean. "You may be right," he finally admits. Then, "You're quite interesting. And I can't help but notice you're fairly appealing to the eyes." Matthias walks around Dean and pokes one arm. "Quite young and muscular."
Dean turns his head to follow the demon's movement. Still glaring.
"This body I'm in now is not the best of models. Matty was already a bit long in the tooth when we met. You, on the other hand, would make a nice upgrade." The demon's eyes narrow. "And I can't help but feel you owe me something after the little scene you and your brother caused me."
Dean grins. "Believe me, you aren't getting anywhere near me and if you so much as lay a finger on my brother's head I will kill you. And then I will cut you into so many pieces your pal Satan will think it's raining confetti when you come home."
The demon smiles, delighted. "Confetti! What a charming metaphor."
"Really? Then how about this?" Dean stares the demon full in the eyes and recites from memory: "Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis." A pained expression crosses the demon's face and when it smiles Dean swears there are more teeth. Pointed teeth. "Quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum--"
"That's enough of that," Matty says and in a flash he's in front of Dean. He stuffs a lace handkerchief into Dean's mouth. Dean tries to bite the prying fingers but the demon is too quick. Matty pats Dean's shoulder in a there, there gesture. He moves toward the door, pauses. "And by the way, Dean, I'm afraid I already did lay a finger on your brother's head." He puts a hand to his mouth, feigning chagrin. "My bad."
---
Sam manages to get up on his knees and inspect the lock. "Do you have a safety pin?" he asks Olivia.
She shakes her head.
Sam signs and flicks his eyes around the cage for the hundredth time. Steel bars. Dirt floor. Solid lock. About ten feet by ten feet. And then it hits him: dirt floor. He moves to the far side of the cage and checks the floor. It's smooth and hard, but it's still just dirt. And dirt? You can dig that shit up. Shadows pool beyond the cage and Sam squints. He can see more dirt and cobwebs and what looks like field stone walls.
He feels Olivia's presence and turns to look at her. "That's where he's going to bury us," she says with a nod toward the darkness.
Sam shakes his head and grins. "No he's not. Help me dig." It takes a minute, but his short fingernails finally gain purchase and he scrapes away a little of the dirt. He scrapes again and again and by the time a fingernail gives, he's got a pile in front of him. Eventually Olivia pitches in with her good hand. Sam can squeeze one hand under the bottom bar of the cage.
"This is going to take forever," the girl mutters.
Sam inspects his bleeding finger. Keeps digging. "All we have to do is get enough room for you to get out," Sam tells her.
Olivia stops, still holding a handful of dirt. "What about you?"
"My brother can help me. If you get out, you can run for help. What matters is that you get away." Sam manages a smile. For the first time Olivia really seems to see him. More importantly, she believes him.
Olivia scoops the dirt away and says, "Maybe I should leave something behind to prove I was here. I saw that on TV once. A girl was kidnapped and she left a necklace in the cell they kept her in. Later they found the necklace and knew she'd been there."
"Did they rescue her?"
Olivia wipes her hand on her jeans. "No. She died." She looks up at Sam. "But at least they knew who did it, right?" She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small object. He leans forward to see what she has but a voice stops him.
"Tut, tut," Matty says reproachfully. "What's this? Digging a hole to China? I don't think so." He stands outside the cage, frowning in at them.
Sam grips Olivia's arm but she pulls away. She thrusts something into his hand and stumbles to the other end of the cage, arms squeezed desperately around her. "No."
"Yes, my dear. Come along. Don't make a fuss." Matthias unlocks the cage and steps inside.
Sam is on his feet and lurching toward the demon. He doesn't remember standing, yet here he is. "Leave her alone!"
"Don't be jealous," the demon smiles. "You'll have your turn." Sam lashes out with a well-aimed punch. Matthias sidesteps gracefully and catches Sam's hand. He squeezes and Sam drops to his knees. Bolts of agony flare in his hand, up his arm, as bones pop. It hurts like a fucking bitch, but it's the sound of the bones breaking he hates most. "Please," he grits through clenched teeth, "kill me, not her." Matthias smiles tenderly at Sam. "My dear boy, this isn't an either-or situation. You'll both be dead by morning." He leans down to grab Olivia's leg, and pulls.
She drags fistfuls of dirt along with her, but in a moment she's out of the cage. The demon grasps Olivia firmly under the arms and kisses the top her head. "I had been thinking about a midnight snack, but now I'm not so sure. Let's see what happens, shall we?"
Sam pushes himself to his feet, sways, and falls against the bars. His hand is agony. "Don't!" he calls desperately. "Olivia!"
Sam kicks at the bars when she starts to scream. He screams along with her, begging and pleading for Matthias to stop, let her go. He screams until it feels like his chest is on fire and his voice is broken glass. He screams right along with her, cursing Matthias and vowing vengeance until he can't breathe and the world slips sideways into darkness.
---
Dean is trying to get his hand to bend in a direction it clearly does not want to go. Cursing, he tries to reach his back pocket again. He can feel the hard lump of the army knife in one pocket, the softer lump of the holy water plastic bottle in the other. Things could be worse. At least he's not sitting in a puddle. He's got one finger hooked in his pocket when the screaming starts.
He doesn't realize he was holding his breath until it comes out in a rush. His mouth goes dry. Faint screams from below. Two people. One of them sounds like Olivia. And the other one is Sam.
Sam.
Dean jerks the chair a few inches to the left, doubling his efforts. Sweat beads down his back and his teeth are clenched so hard his jaw aches. He reaches again and his wrist feels like it's about to snap and thank christ, there's the knife.
Finally.
He inches it out slowly, desperate not to drop it. It takes a fucking eternity.
When the screaming stops he doesn't know whether to panic more or less.
---
Sam jerks awake. It's clear something's wrong. Not just I'm-trapped-in-a-cage-and-there's-a-demon-killer wrong but something a few steps beyond even that. When Sam wakes he can't breath. It's the sound of the air whistling in his chest that actually wakes him. He tries to move his hand to the knife wound but there's also something wrong with his hand.
Sam raises his hand to his face and looks at it. He can see it's swollen and purple and there are bones pushed out of place. There's dried blood on his wrist. He shuts his eyes, steels himself. Looks like he got his cast off just in time to get another one. Gritting his teeth, Sam pries open the fingers with his good hand and sees more blood. There's something stuck in his palm. A star. More accurately, a starfish.
And he remembers, Olivia.
The basement is quiet except for his labored breathing and he rolls himself over with enormous effort. On his side, propped on one elbow, he can see she's back in the cage. He looks down at the starfish and remembers the feel of her fingers, the feel of something being pressed into his hand. Sam closes his damaged hand around the tiny prize. He doesn't want to lose it. He'll give it back to her when this is over. Or when he can find a doctor to cut it out of his palm.
"Olivia." He squeezes her name out through his clenched jaw.
She doesn't move.
He inches closer. With his good hand he can reach her. He puts a hand on her arm, tentative. "Olivia."
His ears ring and the floor undulates. He thinks he might pass out. Sam presses his cheek against the dirt floor and practices breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The in part seems to be more difficult than the out. After a few minutes Sam crawls close enough to see Olivia's face.
Air is suddenly trapped in his throat, in his lungs, and he falls back onto his arm, panting.
No.
Olivia's eyes are open. They're fixed sightlessly on the ceiling. In supplication. There's a bib of blood down the front of her shirt. Her throat is cut neatly from ear to ear. Sam's eyes are drawn to the slash. He's pretty sure he can see her spine. He turns his head away just in time, face pressed against the cold bars, and vomits.
Sam collapses onto his back with a low groan. His ribs feel like they're being crushed. He puts his good hand to the wound and it comes away red. He looks down at his shirt and sees more blood. Shit. The knife must have pierced his lung. He imagines a pink balloon slowly leaking air into his chest. Pretty soon there'll be nothing left but a shriveled up lung rattling around his chest. There's pressure in Sam's throat and he can't tell if he needs to laugh or cry but he can't do either one because they both require oxygen.
He doesn't really want to die but he wouldn't mind if the pain stopped. He'd like to see Dean. He hopes Dean is okay but he's pretty sure he is because he's not down here in a cage and he's certainly not the one that got gutted by a demon hiding inside a little girl.
A dead little girl.
You let Olivia die.
And Jess. That's two for two.
And while you're at it, where's Ava?
Kathryn's face winks into his mind, I want you to bring her back.
Sam's face is wet. He's crying. No, wait. It's something else.
There's something on his forehead.
He looks up blearily and there's Jess.
Pinned above him like a perfect butterfly.
Oh no. Please no.
She looks at him, her eyes wide with why before the fire blooms hot and fast around her. The fire shifts and then it's Olivia's face looking down. She smiles and her hair burns and she whispers save your tears. She reaches for Sam's chest with flaming hands and then the pain takes him away.
---
Dean is coiled behind the door, waiting to spring, when Old Man Demon walks in.
Old Man Demon sees the empty chair and spins, his cane slicing through the air.
This time, Dean is ready.
He ducks and the cane whistles above his head. The cane swings again and Dean uses the door as a shield. He sidesteps, then aims a powerful kick to Old Man Demon's knee. It doesn't bring the demon down, but it knocks him back a few steps. It gives Dean just enough time. He uncaps the holy water and squirts most of the bottle in Matthias' face.
Matthias shrieks, his hands clutching at bubbling skin and the cane drops.
He decides right then that listening to a demon burn is quite possibly the best sound ever. Dean snatches the cane and bolts out of the room. He can hear the hiss of Old Man Demon's burning skin (and his eyes, his eyes--that's just nasty) between the yelling and cursing. He slams the door shut. "You just got yourself a time out, dickweed," Dean snarks. He tilts a kitchen chair tight beneath the door knob.
He recaps the bottle and stuffs it back into his pocket. Then Dean turns in a slow circle taking in the kitchen.
Table, chairs, pots and pans. A lot of boring kitchen type shit. But no Sam.
He can see a rectangle of couch and the shattered coffee table through the doorway. His gun is gone, but he brandishes the cane like a bat. "Sam?"
He moves carefully into the living room. Behind him he hears a low scream of rage and the bedroom door rattles. Dean spies the door leading down to the basement and decides this would be a good time to hurry the fuck up. The door is locked but a hearty whack with the cane solves that particular problem. He pounds down the steps. "Sammy? You down here?"
He looks around the large, open room. Cement floor, fluorescent lights, a large table in the center of the room. Dean walks closer, heart pounding, eyes darting from side to side. The table is covered in peeling layers of red. Fresh red droplets pool along the left side of the table. Blood. A tray of gruesome instruments sits at the far end of the table.
Dean swallows, not liking the decor. "Sam? Olivia?"
Another boom from upstairs. There isn't much time.
There's another doorway and Dean steps through. This part of the basement is older. More of a root cellar, really. Dirt floor. No windows. And a big fucking cage.
And there's Sam. In the cage. He's on the ground and his head is pressed against the bars and Dean struggles to breath. Shit. He pulls a set of picks from his front pocket and the padlock snaps open within seconds. "Sammy? Hey there, Geek Boy, this would be a good time to wake up."
He can see Olivia's in the cage too. Her glassy eyes stare up at the ceiling and Dean yanks open the door. Double Shit.
A huge crash from above. Sounds like Old Man Demon is on the move.
Dean kneels beside his brother. Sam's breathing is labored and he's making a weird whistling sound. His skin feels clammy and it's hard to tell in the crap lighting, but his face looks gray. There's blood caked to all forty-seven shirts Sam's wearing and Dean's jaw clenches. He inhales through his nose. Come on Sam. Hold on a little longer.
Old Man Demon's voice drifts toward Dean. "Mr. Winchester? I'd like to have a word with you."
Dean shakes Sam's shoulder. "Oh yeah? I'd like a word with you. Two words, really. Ready? Here they are: Fuck. Off."
The demon's voice floats closer. "Why must you humans insist on being so crude?"
Dean drags Sam out of the cage. He wipes sweat off his neck. "Oh, I dunno. How come you demons like to kill little kids?"
Matthias Townsend stands in the doorway, his face a mask of pointed teeth. "That one's easy, Dean." He grins and it's a look that makes a fucking shark look like Barbie. "It's fun."
Sam's eyes flutter open and he looks up at Dean, not seeing him. "Olivia?"
"Sam, wake up, I could use a little help here."
Sam blinks and he turns his head to see Matthias. He opens his mouth and spits the words out in a desperate litany. "Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei Matthias Townsend."
Dean props Sam against the wall. "Now that's what I'm talking about." He positions himself in front of Sam, still holding the cane. He levels a glare at Matthias and his voice joins Sam's.
Matthias growls and the knives and scalpels from the tray lift into the air. They circle the table and then fly at Dean. Dean watches them come. He grips the cane tightly in sweaty palms. Sam hooks a long arm around Dean's legs and pulls. Dean makes a startled noise and drops to the floor. The instruments bounce harmlessly off the bars of the cage, then fall to the ground. A scalpel bounces off Dean's coat, then lands on the floor with a clink.
The demon stalks closer, eyes black, teeth grinding. He reaches for Dean and Dean bats at a hand with the cane. Dean pushes himself backwards, still muttering the exorcism rite with Sam. Sam reaches for a thin blade and drives it into the center of the demon's shoe, effectively anchoring Matthias' foot to the floor.
The demon hisses and pulls his foot free from the ground, the knife still embedded in his shoe. He reaches down and pulls the knife free and blood spatters across his pant leg and Sam's face. He tosses the knife over his shoulder and kicks Sam in the jaw. Sam's head smashes against the stone wall with a meaty thwuck and his recital stutters to a stop.
Dean grabs for Sam but continues the ritual.
The demon reaches for Dean with a murderous cry.
But he's too late.
Dean says the final word--Amen--and Matthias falls against the cage, trembling with rage. "No! You cannot--" but the words are lost in the whirl of black smoke pouring from his mouth.
The demon is gone. Expelled.
Matthias slumps to his knees, head lolling.
---
Dean puts an arm around Sam, pats his too-pale cheek. He puts a gentle hand to the back of Sam's head and it comes away slick with blood. "Sammy? You with me?"
Sam's eyes are dull but they track Dean's movement. The pupils look okay. Dean can't tell if Sam's really seeing him or not. "Sam. We gotta get out of here."
"Dad," Sam's eyes flicker. "I'm okay."
Dean flinches. Takes a steadying breath. He doesn't bother to correct Sam, just pulls up all twenty feet of him and slings an arm around his waist. Sam starts to slide. Cursing, Dean throws the other arm around Sam as well. "Can you walk, Sam?" His voice is pleading. Please Sammy, please be okay.
---
Dad wants him to walk. He's trying, but he's tired and he doesn't really want to. Sam manages one step, then another. Dad's holding him up, which is weird, because Dad's dead. Uh oh. "Am I dead?" he asks John. His voice sounds funny and he's cold. They must be outside. Maybe on a hunt.
---
Dean's face pulls taut with pain. He tries to laugh but the sound comes out a bit too watery for his liking. "No. And you're not going to be. Not until you've had the chance to annoy for about a hundred more years. I know you've got it in you."
---
Sam turns toward Dad but it's hard to see him. It's like looking through water. He's trying to figure out what's going on when the pain reminds him. Demon. Stabbed. Dying. At least Dean won't have to kill him now. "Why...did you...tell...Dean he might...have to...kill me?" Sam demands, each word a struggle. "That was…a shitty thing…to do." Sam sucks in a shallow breath. "Not...fair."
---
Dean's heart constricts with guilt. Fear. And the faint embers of anger toward John Winchester. He sighs and drags Sam another step. "You're right," Dean agrees. "It was pretty lousy."
They make it back to the larger room. The staircase feels about a million miles away. Sam's knees buckle and Dean throws a hand out for balance. He pulls at Sam's sleeve. "Dude! Come on. Stay with me, here."
Sam takes a wheezing breath and it sounds like he's trying to force sand into his lungs. "I don't feel good," he mumbles softly.
In the brighter light Dean can see Sam's lips are blue. He glances at Sam's hands and his nostrils flare. Sam's right hand is all fucked up. It looks like something died on the end of his arm. And the fingernails on his other hand are tinged blue.
A coil of fear wraps around Dean's gut and squeezes hard. Shit on a stick. This is bad. He lowers Sam awkwardly to the ground and reaches for his cell--but it's gone. Off with his gun in Old Man Demon's–well, just Old Man now–secret drawer of contraband.
Dean rubs an impatient hand across the back of his neck. He recognizes the signs now, Sam's in shock. He feels for Sam's pulse and it's there, thank you sweet jesus, but it's too fast and too weak. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, and pushes it under Sam's legs. Sam blinks up at Dean. He's whispering now, the strain of talking out loud too much. "Dad? I'm sorry about Mom. I'm sorry for being like this. I don't want to be a monster." He closes his eyes and his face twists with pain or regret. Dean can't tell which. "I don't want to hurt Dean." He takes a ragged breath and his back arches, tears on his face.
Dean's throat pinches shut. His eyes burn. "You're not a monster, Sam," he croaks. "Don't you say that. Ever."
Sam's good hand flutters in the air, searching. "Dean?"
Dean grabs Sam's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm here, Sammy."
Sam's eyes drift back and forth and finally, with some effort, focus on Dean's face. "Dean?"
Dean manages a precarious smile. "Yep."
Sam smiles back. "Let me die."
Dean blinks at Sam, shocked. "What? No." His voice hardens and he pulls back from Sam a little. "No way. Shut up, Sam."
"Go ahead, let him die," grates a thin voice. "You're going to."
Dean turns to see Matthias Townsend shuffle toward him. Now that he's demon-free, he just looks old and tired and not particularly threatening. The scalpel he's holding doesn't look all that friendly, though.
"For fuck's sake," Dean snarls, "we saved your ass and this is our thanks?" He looks at Sam. "I told you the pay sucks."
"You didn't save me," Matthias whines. "You took away my chance for immortality!"
"I'm gonna take away more than that if you don't back the hell up," Dean growls. He's gonna snap this ungrateful fucker like a twig.
Only he can't. Because someone else has the same idea. The ghost of Lisa Halverson stands by the table, dark eyes fastened on Matthias.
"I can see her," Dean mutters, surprised. He releases Sam's hand and she dims. He takes Sam's hand back and she snaps into focus. Huh.
Matthias falters at the site of Lisa. She flickers in front of him and reaches for his face with eager hands. Matthias screams. So does Lisa. Her pale form is superimposed over Townsend's, negative over positive, and they cancel each other out. There's a blinding flash and a series of popping sounds. The fluorescent lights shatter into darkness.
---
Dean's afraid to leave Sam, but he's more afraid not to. He races up the stairs and calls 911. He runs right back down and Sam's still alive.
Matthias Townsend isn't. He's on the floor a few feet away, the scalpel still in his hand.
Dean puts a hand to Sam's damp forehead. He pushes Sam's hair back. "Don't leave me."
Sam's answer is the sound of his breathing.