Thanks for the awesome response. I will try to get all the wonderful reviews responded to, but in the meantime here is the second part.
The Cure
Chapter 2
Something woke Dean. For a moment the hunter lay tense on his brother's bed as a prickle of unease shivered at the back of his neck. Listening carefully, he controlled his breathing and waited, but he heard nothing else and after a few moments, he let himself relax. Sitting up slowly, he scanned the room. Weapons bag? Check. Broken bed? Check. He wrinkled his nose. Stinky beer smell? Double check. And then he frowned at what he didn't see.
"Sam?"
Sam tensed when the door opened and the three men from the night before strode into the shed. The first guy, a pale faced skinhead, reached up and pulled on a string, bathing the room in a dim light. "What do you want?" the hunter demanded, his voice sounding stronger than before.
"Want?" the woman's voice surprised him. He hadn't seen her come in. "We don't want anything." She moved from behind the men to stand in front of them.
The hunter snorted. "Sure, that's why I'm sleeping sitting up."
"Better than sleeping six feet under," the second guy, a huge man with 'Tiny' tattooed on his ham sized fist grunted and Sam had to admit the guy had a point. The third guy, nondescript at best, just watched. Sam dubbed him the Gray Man.
Ignoring the guys, Sam focused on the woman, Rita? Robin? Rachel, she seemed to be in charge. "What do you want?" he repeated as he continued to twist against his bindings, careful to keep his movements hidden.
"We want to save you -"
Save him? Sam was confused. He wasn't aware that there was anything in town that he needed saving from, except maybe this crowd.
Rachel smiled sweetly, "- from yourself."
"From myself?" unease sizzled hotly and Sam doubled his efforts to get his wrists undone. The skin was burned raw from the friction but he kept twisting. "What?" he chuckled mirthlessly, "This some sort of intervention or something? 'Cause I'm sorry to disappoint y'all and everything but I'm not addicted… to anything."
Rachel stood in front of him, her dark eyes appraising him coldly – was this really the same woman from last night? Shit, why didn't he just leave with Dean? "Not sure if 'addiction' is quite the word I'd use, but I've heard it called worse."
His brow furrowed with confusion, he looked at her. "What are you talking about?"
"You. And your brother," the way she said 'brother' made his skin crawl. "What you guys do. Alone in your room. At night."
Comprehension bleached his face and Sam started to shake his head, his struggles to get loose horrified. "Whoa! Wait! You think – me? And Dean?" sure they'd been mistaken for a 'couple' before but this was ridiculous, "he's my brother, lady, and only my brother." Dean would be beyond pissed if he was here, about a lot of stuff, "And what we do? In our rooms? Is sleep! You can't be serious!"
Rachel ignored him as she turned towards her pals. "Wow," she mocked hitching a thumb back towards Sam. "First time we've heard that one, isn't it, boys?"
A chorus of affirmations had Sam huffing in annoyance, starting to get really pissed off now. "Is this what this is all about? You think I'm gay? What, you hear my brother – and yes boys and girl, he is my brother – call me a 'bitch' and that makes me one? Well in that case, you're-"
A hard backhand rocked Sam's head back as Tiny loomed over him, both fists clenched in anger.
"You be careful now what you say, faggot, you're only alive 'cause we ain't killed ya yet!"
Rachel put a restraining hand on Tiny's bunched biceps and purred, "Easy, boy, let's not get too hasty… We haven't had to kill anyone in a while."
Tiny stepped back but his eyes, beady and piercing with anger, promised pain. Sam met the gaze, thanking his father for being the bastard he was in the way he'd trained his boys. Dean would have seen the hint of fear that flickered in Sam's gaze, but all Tiny saw was anything else. Skinhead grinned at Sam while the Gray Man continued to watch.
"I'm. Not. Gay," Sam reiterated and then added, "But even if I were, that doesn't give you any right-"
"Rights?" Tiny's leash wasn't short enough and he'd moved in on Sam again. "Queers aint' got no rights!"
The hunter just stared at him. "I'm sorry," the words tumbled off his lips, too much Dean's brother to just shut up, "This is America. Everyone has rights." Seeing the fist coming, didn't really help and this time he blacked out briefly. When he regained his senses, Rachel was running her fingers through his hair. Repulsed, Sam jerked away, his gaze once again momentarily captured by the black stone around her neck. Wasn't it red last night?
"Such pretty hair…," she smiled at him daring him to do something as she continued fingering his dark locks, pulling his attention away from the jewelry, "for a boy."
"Yeah," Skinhead leered. "Betcha all your boyfriends like it." He flicked his tongue over his lips. "I like it. I like hair… a lot." The irony was not lost on Sam and he just stared at the bald man, his mouth suddenly dry.
Rachel glanced at her friend for a moment as she tugged at the hair curled against the nape of Sam's neck. "You want it?"
"Don't!" Sam barked, and twisted at the bindings harder, no longer caring if they saw the attempt or if he sprained his wrists but the rope didn't give. Whoever had tied him knew what they were doing. "Don't touch me."
"Touch you?" the woman scoffed as she grabbed the top of his hair and yanked his head back, she lowered her lips to his ear and whispered, "By the time we're done with you, you'll be begging for me to touch you." Letting him go roughly, she moved back, her dark gaze holding his. "But don't worry, Sammy, we only have your best interests at heart. See we understand that what you have is a sickness… a disease. Something that you've been infected with… but… lucky for you..." She smiled widely and spread her arms out wide, "we have the cure."
"A cure?" Was this broad nuts? Sam internally huffed. Well, duh.
"By the time we're done with you," Rachel promised, "you won't be gay anymore!"
Adrenaline fired through Sam as Rachel's 'boys' moved towards him, their faces twisted with eagerness. He kicked out, his long legs powerful and lethal, catching Skinhead solidly in the midsection and hearing a satisfying crack as Tiny and the Gray Man jumped back. Still bound to the chair, Sam pushed to his feet then swung the chair towards his assailants. Thank God for chairs.
Tiny, cursing loudly as one of his beefy arms shot out to protect Rachel, almost tripped over his downed buddy as the Gray Man pulled a knife.
"DEAN!" Sam shouted as he edged towards the door, both hampered and protected by the chair. Rachel watched from the side, her arms folded across her chest, the expression on her face clearly un-amused. But that was okay because Sam wasn't so amused himself. Faking a lunge at the Gray Man and kicking out at Tiny, the hunter levered back around and slammed the chair against the wall, hard. The wood splintered and he shucked off the rope around his chest. Time to get out of here.
Slamming through the door, Sam stumbled for a moment, his hands still bound behind him, but recovered and started to run down a gravel path. He got to the very edge of a road when a large body plowed into him and Sam went down under Tiny's sizable girth, the wind knocked out of him. He was yanked onto his back and before he could recover a huge fist slammed into his face. And then again. And again. And again.
The world grayed, blood filled the back of his throat. This was it. They were going to beat him to death. But then as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Sam barely noticed when Tiny got off him. Someone was talking to him, he heard whispers of words but none of them made sense as rough hands grabbed him and dragged him up. He knew he was supposed to be doing something but he couldn't think past one word, Dean.
Dean.
Dean.
But Dean wasn't coming.
And then Rachel was whispering something in his ear and Sam's eyes rolled back into his head.
No one would admit seeing Sam and that pissed Dean off. In small towns like this strangers stood out. They were watched with suspicion, so the idea that no one remembered a giant one with floppy hair and dimples was enough to set alarm bells off. They were hiding something from him. He just wasn't sure what. So that left the girl. There was no way in hell she could deny seeing Sam last night but again no one would tell him where he could find her either. Ooh they all knew who he was talking about, he saw it in their eyes – as if the most beautiful woman in the room wasn't known – but still they shook their heads and wished him luck.
Frustration warred with anger and fear.
Standing outside the bar, Dean glanced up and down the almost empty street. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?" he whispered then started back towards his motel. Maybe Sam had come back…
Yeah, maybe.
Three Days Later:
Sam had been missing for three days and Dean was no closer to finding him now than before. He was frustrated, exhausted and terrified, a combination that made him dangerous. The only problem was he had no idea who to lash out at, the whole freakin' town was full of suspects. He toyed with the idea of just burning the hellhole to the ground but until he found his brother, he couldn't take the risk. But once Sam was home, safe and sound or at the very least, breathing, all bets were off.
What Dean had managed to find out since his brother had disappeared sickened him. People, no not people, guys disappeared all the time, young guys like Sam, while a string of horribly mutilated John Does rented space in the morgue, yet the local lawmen just shook their heads and insisted there was no connection. They were adamant that there was no problem in their small town. The denial was dizzying. How this place had stayed under hunting radar, he had no idea and when he thought about what might have happened to Sam ... No, not his brother. He'd find Sam. He would. He just had no idea how. Not when lips were sealed so tight it was like they were sewn together.
Exhaling deeply, Dean sank down to the edge of what should have been Sam's bed and reached for the cell phone recharging on the nightstand. He hadn't even bothered to tell the front desk about the broken bed or beer stained carpet yet just growled at them to keep housekeeping the hell away.
It was time to call Bobby. After finding out about Sam's disappearance, the older man had insisted on Dean checking in with him every evening. He'd wanted to come, but the obstinate younger man brushed him off assuring Bobby Sam'd be back before Bobby could get there anyway. Now Dean was really beginning to regret not accepting the help. He just found it hard to get used to needing other people when it came to things 'Sam', even if he knew the gruff older man was worried about his brother too. Besides, Dean really did think Sam would be back by now.
"Hey, Bobby," he greeted as soon as the other man answered. "I'm not disappeared yet."
A soft snort and Dean was sure he heard the man shoving the ballcap up on his forehead to scratch at dry skin. "Apparently… nothing yet?"
Dean leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as the weight of the search threatened to shove him to the floor. "I dunno, Bobby. I just… dunno. It's like there's lot of stuff… and nothing." He didn't expect the other man to say anything and continued after another moment. "Guys keep disappearing though… it's been going on for a while. Most come back after a couple of days, don't say a word to nobody 'bout where they've been, then move on. But then there's others… and a list of John Doe's as long as my arm."
"John Doe's?"
"Yeah… "
"Dean?"
Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, it was shaking. "Every now and then, a body shows up. Just out of the blue. And… it's not pretty, Bobby. It was like they were… just… shredded… I – oh God…" the hunter closed his eyes. He'd seen some horrific things in his life but there were just some things he'd never get used to, and seeing men torn up like that was one of them. And Sam was still missing. He whispered. "It's bad."
Bobby didn't press, "But not Sam." It wasn't a question and Dean loved the man for not asking, unsure he could handle even a moment of that visualization.
"Yeah and-" Something soft scratched against the door and Dean was on his feet and armed. "Hold on," he whispered, dropped the phone on the bed and was across the room and had the door yanked open before Bobby could respond.
Nothing. There was no one there. Stepping outside into the cool night, Dean cocked his head to listen, his keen gaze doing a thorough sweep of the parking lot. But nothing. It was empty save the Impala and one other car. The sound of a leaf crinkling across the pavement sent a chill creeping down his neck as his every sense whispered that something had been there. Or someone.
The lingering scent of perfume hardened the lines on his face. The girl.
Remembering Bobby, Dean turned to go back into the room, then froze. There taped to the outside of his motel room door was an envelope. A white non-descript envelope with one line of writing on the outside. 7764 Havershire Lane.
Looking around again and still not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he plucked the message from the door and went back in his room. Closing himself off from the outside world, Dean took the envelope to the bed, leaned down and grabbed the phone. There was something inside the paper. "Had a visitor," he told Bobby as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could talk and open the lip. "Left me an envelope with an address."
"Anything inside?"
Carefully unsealing it, Dean opened the mail and then frowned. "What the-?"
"Dean?"
Sifting his fingers through the contents, the hunter felt bile rise to the back of his throat. He knew exactly what it was. Horrified, he barely gasped out, "Hair, Bobby, it's Sammy's hair!" before he dropped the envelope and made a dive for the toilet.
"Havershire Lane. Havershire Lane," Dean muttered as he peered through the front windshield at the badly marked road signs, briefly illuminated in the Impala's headlights, "Where the hell is Havershire Lane?" He just knew that was where he'd find Sam. What kind of shape his brother would be in was another thing though. Fear ate at Dean's insides and he fought to keep it in check, unable to afford the luxury of a panic attack right now, or to give into the wave of despair that kept threatening him with 'he's dead, he's dead, he's dead.' Dean would give up on himself first before he'd give up on his brother. That was just how it worked. "A-ha!" he cried out, triumphant, when he finally saw the marker for Havershire Lane. Making the right, he let out a low whistle of appreciation at the suffocating desolation of the road. There were no streetlights and very few homes that he could see, the few that he passed appeared more as small cabins on large, untamed plots of land, the road itself more a gravel path than anything else. A very good place, Dean decided, to keep someone.
7764 was even set further back from the road then its nearest neighbor's, a mile away.
Dean idled the car at the foot of a gravel driveway for a few minutes uncertain, now that he was here, how to proceed. It could very obviously be a trap. That had been Bobby's first concern. But even if it was, what choice did Dean really have? He couldn't wait for the other man to back him up, not without knowing whether or not his brother could afford the delay, and even Bobby realized that, merely wringing a promise out of Dean to 'try not to get yer self killed', then wished him luck and said he'd be there as quick as he could. Oddly enough knowing that Bobby would be in the morning did help. Now he just had to get Sam.
Deciding that stealth would be wasted, Dean rumbled the car up the lane towards the outline of a house. There were no lights on or any other sign that anyone had been here in a while. "Geez," he griped for the sake of company, "You'd think they'd have set out a welcome mat for me or something." Parking at the side, the hunter saw the outline of a smaller building further back and to the side. A shed maybe.
As the hair rose on the back of his neck, Dean grabbed the Glock from the seat beside him, Sammy's spot, steeled his nerves and got out of the car. It was hunting time.
tbc