Other People Stop Looking
A/N: Hello everyone! Okay, so this chapter is shorter than the rest – not sure how that happened, I like to keep them all as even as I can, but the natural stopping point came earlier than I thought and that's just the way it goes. On the upside, it being shorter meant that I could get it up earlier.
Also, thanks everyone who wished me happy birthday for the 17th. Me thinks it's some sexy Winchester boys birthday today (at least in NZ time. I think it's the 18th still in America?). Anyway, Happy Birthday Jared!
Warning: There is a wee scene in here that may be upsetting for some people. Nothing hugely gory and graphic but be prepared.
Chapter Two
Jacob was a tall man with heavy eyebrows and a dark head of hair. He was older than Damien, younger than the other man, and Sam placed him in his late thirties. He dressed like a hunter; solid boots and cargo pants, a long coat with the dozen or so pockets that hunters needed for salt and charms and concealed weapons and such. His demeanor suggested authority and he looked at Sam with clinical detachment.
"We'll start with 10mls," he informed Baseball Cap, and Sam got the feeling that Jacob was a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question, because Baseball Cap nodded quickly and pulled out a capped syringe.
Sam backed up, an automatic reaction despite there being no where for him to go. His eyes flicked uncomfortably over the three men.
"It never ceases to amaze me how human they look," Jacob observed thoughtfully.
"You're hunters." It wasn't a question and it wasn't answered. Jacob's steel gray eyes regarded him coldly. Baseball Cap held the syringe up to the light and tapped it gently, expelling air bubbles.
"What is that?" Sam asked apprehensively. The solution was a diluted brown. Sam wondered whether it was too much to hope for Dean to burst through the door.
Jacob approached the cage, addressing Sam for the first time. "We've had others like you, you know. Nasty little abominations, but some of them have been... useful."
There was no where left to back up to, the bars of the cage were pressing hard against his spine, and Jacob bent to unlock the door.
"You've got it wrong," Sam protested in a last ditch attempt, fear curling up in his stomach. "You've got the wrong person."
Jacob cocked his head to the side, a leer spreading across his face. "I think 'person' is too strong a word for what you are, don't you?"
The cage of the door swung open and Jacob stepped aside to let the older man enter. He had to hunch over to fit in the small space. Sam eyed him warily as he and the syringe approached, stinging from Jacob's implication. He caught a glimpse of Damien's anxious face and then Baseball Cap was looming above him.
Sam pressed himself impossibly harder against the bars, waited until the last minute, then struck out with his unchained limbs, sweeping the mans legs out from under him.
He went down with a grunt and, taking into account his age and stature, Sam expected him to take longer to get up. His misjudgment was disastrous and next thing he knew, the mans hands were fisted in his hair, slamming his head back against the unyielding metal bars.
Pain exploded in the back of his skull, winding itself around to invade the space behind his eyes, his vision dulling to red. Somewhere in the midst of this he felt his arm being dragged above his head and pinned to the cage wall. The small sting on the soft inside of his elbow was barely registrable in the middle of his skull caving in but Sam felt it and had enough presence of mind to realize that he was in some seriously deep shit.
And then... he wasn't in the cage anymore. The pain in his head amped up unbelievably and the image of a room fell into place around him. It was neat and tidy, apart from a few dolls scattered on the floor. There was a poster of one of the Disney princesses on the wall and in the bed, under a soft pink duvet, was a sleeping child, her serene face washed with a glow from the nightlight.
Sam barely had time to be confused at the sudden change of location before there was a scratching at the window, like fingernails being drawn along the glass and then, slowly, the lock opened with a small click and the window began to rise.
He went to move forward but was held in place by invisible bonds. Trapped, he could only observe as a dark shadow stole into the room and hovered over the girl. He saw her twitch, as if sensing the presence, and her sleepy eyes blinked open, gazing at the shadow in drowsy incomprehension.
A split-second glimpse of terror dawning on the girl's face, then the shadow pounced. The pain in Sam's head reached unbearable levels as he watched the horrific scene play out in front of him, and gradually the room faded and the girl's screams were drowned out by Sam's own.
XXX
"What did you see?"
Sam couldn't stop screaming, couldn't stop seeing soft blonde hair matted with blood and eyes trapped in terror but without the light of life, tiny hands falling limp.
"What did you see?"
He was fighting instinctively, struggling to reach the girl even though it was too late, and he felt warmth on his wrists, metal grinding and slamming against metal, and then a boot to the stomach.
Sam's screams cut off to be replaced by frantic gasps for air.
"What did you see?"
"A girl," Sam choked out between dry heaves and painful intakes of breath, "A shadow."
"A demon?"
Sam shook his head, which was one of his very worst ideas ever. His brain pulsed angry red. "Don't know."
A hand twisted in his hair and wrenched his head up. He opened his eyes to a florescent lightning bolt to the brain. Jacob said something but Sam couldn't hear him over the roar of blood in his ears and his stomach was threatening imminent revolt.
"... demon? Was it a demon?" Jacob shook him and he felt his brain crash against his skull.
"No... don't think... so."
Jacob released him and he crumpled back against the bars, panting and trying to curl in on himself as if it would take the pain away.
XXX
Jacob didn't care about the girl, or about the next three people Sam saw meeting a grisly end. It didn't take Sam long to realize that Jacob was after demons, in particular the yellow-eyed demon, and no amount of pleading and begging could convince him to save the people Sam saw.
They left the lights on now, but Sam had withdrawn his wish that they would. His head felt like it was caving in, sending the rest of his body out on strike.
When he opened his eyes there was a cup of water, taunting him just within his reach, but no matter how much he wanted it – and God, he wanted it – he couldn't convince his arm to reach out and take it.
His neck ached from the tilt of resting his head on the hard floor, his hip and side protesting the prolonged stasis in one position and, as curled into himself as he was, there was no warmth to draw from the wooden floorboards, but Sam stayed where he was, shivering, in turns trying to sleep around the agony in his head or staring at the cup of water, willing his unresponsive arm to reach out and take it.
It went on for what felt like years. Time had ceased to make sense. It could have been day or night. He could have been there a week or a month. Maybe longer. It felt like forever.
Jacob and his cronies would come in with their syringe full of death, stick him with it and wait for a report of what he saw, once, twice, three times a day. Maybe more. Sam was given enough beatings for not speaking fast enough after each vision that he began to report it as he saw it, his voice sounding strangely disconnected to his own ears, before the crushing pain and devastation that followed could take over.
Then Jacob upped the dosage, and one vision would spin into another and another. His head was filled with images of murder after murder, people torn apart, feasted upon, drained, by the things that hid in the darkness, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Sometimes Damien came alone and stared at him with a mix of caution and pity, like he was trying to work Sam out. He brought water and sometimes helped Sam drink it if he couldn't do it himself. He brought food, too, sometimes, but despite being unable to remember when he last ate, Sam had no appetite, couldn't keep anything down and soon stopped trying.
His nose bled almost constantly, to the point where Sam wondered vaguely if it was possible for a person to bleed out through their nose. His mouth tasted like metal and it made him feel sick, or maybe that was the pain in his head that never, never went away.
Finally – finally – the dosage reached its limit, the syringe full of brown liquid death, and Sam thought that it couldn't possibly get worse.
Then Jacob took him downstairs.
XXX
"Took your time."
"Well, nice to see you, too, Dean," Bobby grumbled as he stepped into the motel room. "Not like I just drove almost two days straight to get here."
"I was expecting you yesterday," Dean said dully.
Bobby sighed, and took off his cap to run a hand through his hair before replacing it. "I know. Sorry. It took longer than I thought it would to get the information I needed."
Dean glowered, "This is the information you couldn't have just told me over the damn phone?"
Bobby raised his eyebrows at the oldest Winchester, "Boy, I'm here to help you out. Don't you take that tone with me, it ain't gonna help you find Sam, and if I'd told you over the phone you would've rushed in like a flaming idjit and got your stubborn ass killed. Now, if you'll stop acting like a jackass I'll tell you what I know."
Dean had the decency to look chastised and Bobby immediately softened his demeanor. Close inspection of the younger hunter revealed dark circles under his eyes, as if he'd barely slept since Sam went missing – hell, he probably hadn't. His jaw was stubbled, clothes rumpled like he hadn't bothered to change. The motel room was littered with crumpled paper, research upon research, and no answers. Kid must've been at the end of his rope, and Bobby sympathized, he cared about Sam too, but it was barely seven in the morning, he'd been driving all night and what he really needed was a strong cup of coffee.
Dean, to his credit, stayed completely silent while Bobby brewed the coffee in the rusty old machine on the bench, though he paced like a caged animal. Bobby added a dash of whiskey to the two mugs of black coffee he had poured, and brought them over to the table, taking a seat and placing one of the mugs in front of the empty chair.
"Jacob Long."
Dean's brow furrowed. "Who?" he asked, as he gave up his pacing and glaring and took the free seat, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug.
"He's a hunter," Bobby started, staring solemnly at the tabletop, "Or was. I thought he'd retired but I've heard a few whispers. He lives in the big house on the hill. Everglade Hall, the property's called. You know it?"
Dean nodded. Hell, the kid probably knew every inch of this town by now, and the place was almost a ruddy mansion. Pretty hard to miss.
"You think we should ask him about Sam?" Dean asked doubtfully.
"Hell no." Bobby took a generous swig of his coffee. "See, Jacob was always the sort to take payment for his hunts. Putting a price on human lives, like. He specialized in demons. Was damn good at it too, although his treatment of them afterwards wasn't very... host-friendly."
"What does this have to do with Sam?" Dean tossed his head impatiently.
"I'm getting to it. You just ain't gonna like it."
Dean ran a weary hand over his face, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Bobby could see how he'd reigned in his emotions, struggling to set them aside so he could focus.
"What is it, Bobby?"
Bobby took another gulp of coffee, stalling and took his cap from his head and twisted it between his hands. "Those whispers I've been hearing... seems like, before Gordon Walker went to jail, him and Jacob were spending a lot of time together."
Bobby risked a glance at Dean's face and started counting. He got to three before Dean exploded, shoving his chair back hard enough to topple it over and letting out a string of curse words that impressed even Bobby. He prowled to the wall, both hands curled into fists, but managed to stop himself just short of actually punching it. He stood there, with his back to Bobby for a long moment, and Bobby pretended he couldn't see the slight shake of his tense shoulders.
"Okay," Dean cleared his throat surreptitiously. "Okay, so, you think this Jacob has Sam. How do you know he hasn't already... how do you know Sam isn't...?"
He couldn't bring himself to say it – head down, eyes averted – and Bobby put him out of his misery as fast as possible.
"It's not really Jacob's style to shoot first and ask questions later. He'll be trying to learn things."
Dean looked up sharply, "How does he do that?"
Bobby shook his head. "I don't know, kid, but we're gonna have to move fast."
XXX
TBC...
