The lawyer speak in this chapter broke me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, here we go... xXx
He occasionally came close to waking up. Bright white light was stabbing his eyes, he remembered sharp pain in his head from the otherwise hazy events, hot throbbing in his jaw. Fever and chills, uncontrollable shivering. Voices, which he could hear only through one ear and couldn´t catch the meaning they carried.
He didn´t know how much time passed before he finally woke up with more or less clear mind. It could have been hours, or even days. Not too long, however, because he could still feel the after-effects of the remorseless ass-kicking.
He almost wanted to go back into feverish hallucinating.
He was lying on bare floor in in a cell identical to the one where he had found his mother. The only thing that was different were the smudges on the walls; had different shapes and locations. In place of his clothes, he was issued a new garment, a courtesy of the institution. He could finally appreciate how the rough and unyielding fabric grazed against his skin. Furthermore, while he was out, his captors rewarded him with another essential accessory from the setting of a generic mental hospital horror: a tight straitjacket.
Very tight.
So much for the ´while there´s life, there is hope´ saying, he thought. If he doesn´t manage to ditch this piece soon, he won´t exactly have an easy time breathing.
Okay, while he wasn´t moving and was laying down completely calm, he could manage. But one attempt at sitting up later left him feeling like he was being crushed in the grip of an angry boa constrictor.
Don´t panic. If you loose your cool, it´s the end for you.
Hmm, because otherwise it´s all rainbows and unicorns.
In that moment it was incredibly appealing to just give up. Stop foolishly hoping, close his eyes and succumb to whatever they had in store for him.
But he would never forgive himself.
Mom was still there, alive and near. And Dean was still somewhere, although very very far, but undoubtedly planning his own suicidal rescue mission despite Sam´s best efforts.
Which didn´t mean Sam was counting with him, no – he has to gather all of his strength, do the impossible and turn his failure into success before his brother flies head-first into the same mess.
Of course, for now he could only wait, fully dependent on how the situation will unveil, without being able to influence it.
Or I could call it waiting for another opportunity.
He was starting to feel really tired from his intensive effort to stay positive. Irrespective of the persisting weakness resulting from his body trying to cope with the damage; the deaf ear and most likely chipped jaw aside, at least a few ribs were bruised and the tight clamp around his chest wasn´t helping any.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply and calmly. If nothing else, he can at least rest. Gather his strength.
At least that´s what he planned on doing, before he fell into a deep slumber.
Sea again, pleasant this time. It rocked him softly in its warm embrace. Waves on the surface high above him where whispering, everything will be alright. They washed away both fear and pain.
Infinite time, no danger. He was safe.
Before a flash slashed through the water.
A harpoon at first, but then it sunk into Sam´s shoulder, it changed into a butcher´s hook. Whatever it was, it was pulling him towards the surface, under the suddenly dark sky, full of bloody red storm clouds.
"Wakey wakey, dandy!"
He blinked, his constricted rib cage ached when he instinctively gasped for breath.
"Aww, look at the poor thing."
These two again. A still nameless beard guy and Freddy. Sam felt a flicker of childish satisfaction when he noticed the still unfaded bruise around Freddy´s nose, now also crooked-looking. Perhaps some of his glee showed on his face, because the guy flushed a little red.
"What, not smiling today?" he smirked at Sam, while his partner was lifting Sam on his legs.
Get this damn thing off me and I´ll show you a smile, Sam thought. He didn´t say anything aloud. For one he had no breath to waste on these two, for another there was no point reacting to obvious provocations.
While the two led him through the corridor and Freddy kept relentlessly prodding and poking, Sam was trying to map his surroundings as inconspicuously as possible, to create an approximate mental map of the building. Just not to think how and if he´ll have a chance to use his findings.
No windows anywhere, they are most likely located underground.
They passed elevators and stairways twice. Walked by three gratings, the outdated type, which the beard guy opened with keys from a hefty bundle. That comforted Sam, an ordinary lock didn´t mean an invincible obstacle. A guard was sitting in a booth by the last iron bars, which wasn´t all that comforting.
No signs, directional signs, anything that could hint Sam at where the entire object is situated and what the hell was its purpose.
He was slowly inclining to the theory that this must have originally been some kind of secret government institution. The lack of information was a clue in itself.
They reached from the block with the cells to a corridor looking like an altogether ordinary bureau. Just without name tags on the door. Obviously.
And obviously, they had to go the entire way here at a brisk pace.
Sam refused to beg for them to slow down, one of the reasons being that he could vividly imagine how Freddy would relish in his suffering, but when they finally arrived to the last door, there were white spots dancing in his vision and his lungs were screaming complaints about insufficient supplying. It crossed his mind that swooning like a Victorian missy wasn´t exactly a win either.
Maybe it could be against what awaited him at the other side of the last door.
Nothing horrible at first glance.
The gray, dingy corridor gave the impression of a place everyone left tens of years ago and returned only recently without bothering to clean up, change the furniture or reconstruct the place. Freddy knocked on the old door and Sam was ushered inside.
A gray office, and an equally gray, bland man behind the desk. He didn´t even lift his head from the papers in front of him when the orderlies seated Sam, gasping for breath, on a chair facing the man. He didn´t speak, just waved his hand in the universal gesture of ´get out´.
The beard guy obeyed without a word. Freddy patted Sam on the shoulder and leaned closer.
"Bon voyage, bugger," he hissed. His breath reeked of onion and raw meat.
Sam´s expression betrayed none of his thoughts, but Freddy, behind whom the door finally closed, managed managed to plant a seed inside his mind.
Bon voyage? To where?
While he stayed in the same building as Mary, he could plan ahead, hold on to the hope. If they want to relocate him...
It kept getting more difficult to focus on controlling his breathing, he had to calm down. Otherwise fainting could easily be on his daily schedule. And right now, he couldn´t afford to give up like that.
"So, Sam Winchester," the man behind the desk suddenly spoke up. His voice evoked imagery of ancient archives full of dust and spiderwebs. "I was authorized to inform you that the upper management just reached a decision regarding the next course of action in your case."
"Eh... what?" Sam only managed to stammer out. Even from this one word, his injured jaw flared up in pain again.
The man shifted his glasses and looked at Sam for the first time.
"Your treatment. The course of your treatment."
If Sam was confused up till now, now he was completely lost. "I´m not... sick," he stuttered. The pain that changed his words into barely intelligible mumble transformed his statement into slightly absurd issue.
"Yes you are, naturally you cannot dispute that," the clerk stated. "A lamentable concern. And then there is the second aspect of your case."
"What the hell is going on?" Although Sam put extra effort into clearly pronouncing each syllable of his question, the man ignored him. He rustled through his papers and glanced into them with almost loving eyes.
"According to the procedure codex I will now summarize the decision the upper management reached: Sam Winchester, you do not exist. Therefore there is no entitled claimant, so the right of the finder was employed, which in its conclusion fully ratifies the chosen process and you lose the right to anyhow object against the decision of the management."
Great, Sam thought bitterly, at least I know where I wound up. In a cuckoo nest ruled by cuckoos.
"At the same time I am commissioned to execute your treatment," the four-eyes continued and flashed Sam an unexpected smile. A wide, brilliant and utterly deranged smile. As if he was trying to confirm Sam´s thought. "If you have no objections, we can start right away. If you do have objections, I can note them down. We will start in the time directly following this entry."
Sam shortly closed his eyes and suppressed the urge to start screaming. "Just... questions," he said at last. "I have some questions."
The man hesitated. "I am not authorized to answer potential questions. But I can record them and deliver the answers withing 30 working days starting-"
"No thanks," Sam interrupted him. He´d rather go through another session with the taser than have another chat with this white-collar from Ministry of Nightmares.
"I´m noting down that you withdrew your appeal for additional information," the man muttered to himself. "We can immediately begin your treatment."
Not that I´d have a choice, Sam thought. But sure, I´ll get a horse dose of roofies and once I recover from that a bit, I´ll act out a perfectly healthy patient and slowly pull myself together. I´ll manage... somehow I´ll manage. For now I´ll at least get away from this babbling lunatic.
The babbling lunatic was meanwhile meticulously recording data into a form. In a pause between two sheets of paper he pulled out and opened a black case lined with crimson velvet. Inside rested an outdated type of syringe, full of transparent liquid.
He finished writing and looked up at Sam, the eyes behind the polished glasses glinting madly.
"This is a very curious opportunity," he said, lifted the syringe and tapped the glass with a finger. It looked slightly cracked, but upon closer inspection, Sam could discern tiny signs, similar to runes. "Usually, this procedure is somewhat more complicated. Sodium thiopental should be applied first, after which the patient falls asleep, but in this case it is recommended to directly use potassium chloride, therefore..."
Sam forgot how to breathe.
No... this is madness...
"...I can establish a comprehensive image about the therapeutic process with the full awareness of the patient."
I can´t... I can´t end up like this!
"Naturally, during the entire course of the procedure I will be putting together extensive notes. Which could, in a manner of speaking, balance out your unfortunate non-existence, Mr Winchester."
"I exist, dammit!"
"Yes, that is the problem and the discrepancy which needs to be remedied in accordance with the decision of the upper management."
To hell with you and your upper management!
While four-eyes stood up and walked over to the table to begin the treatment, Sam gave up his attempts at protecting himself verbally. Although he didn´t see any purpose in trying to run away or fight back, he was seized by purely animal instincts.
He pushed himself off the desk with his legs and fell to the ground together with his chair. He cried out when the bruised side of his head connected with the ground but he didn´t stop kicking around. A thought flashed through his had, as insane as the clerk with the deadly injection himself – he won´t let him get close, he´ll resist until... until...
"Be reasonable, Mr Winchester, I already explained to you that as a non-existant person you lose any claim for objections!"
And as a person in very tight straitjacket I also lose any claim for physical effort, he probably forgot to add.Either I calm down and let myself be killed or I will continue, nod off in a minute and he kills me either way. Really great.
"I have to alert you," the man continued with an absurdly indignant expression, "if you don´t allow me to focus on the execution of my duty, I will not be held responsible for potential application of the medicine into a muscle, which will cause unwanted complications and devalue the results of my work."
If Sam could gather enough air in his lungs, he´d probably start screaming at this point.
Instead he stopped kicking and froze. Perhaps he should be continuing, the world was going black around him and the comforting embrace of unconsciousness was opening before him, but something was urging him to hold on until the last seconds, perhaps subconscious compulsion to keep at least semblance of control over the situation, perhaps desperate hope for a rescue in the last minute...
Once he stopped resisting, the clerk was suddenly right above him with a spidery jump.
The moment where the point of the syringe penetrated through the skin on his neck, Sam was still waiting for something to happen, something that would stop the entire process.
Fire spread through his veins, incinerating each and every last speck of hope.
It forced Sam to scream long after his breath ran out and then only wheeze, it broke him in spasms.
And right as he stopped his heart and knock out the last scrap of breath from his lungs after the last deathly rattle, he made him believe.
This is the end.