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Dean watched helplessly from behind the door as Jack shocked Sam again and again. Each time, Sam's body tensed, and after each shock he dropped his head and breathed heavily through his nose. He didn't make any sound, though, as the electricity coursed through his body, and Jack quickly got bored. Dean let out a relieved sigh when he dropped the cattle prod onto a nearby shelf and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Sam as he tried to catch his breath.

"Impressive." Jack said thoughtfully as he circled around Sam's chair. "I guess I'll just have to try something different."

Dean watched Jack disappear up the stairs. "Sammy, you okay?" He asked.

Sam nodded but didn't try to speak through the tape.

Dean considered weather or not he should tell Sam who Jack was and why they were there. On one hand, Sam was going to find out sooner or later, and he deserved to know; but on the other hand, it might add unneeded panic. Sam was scared, Dean would know that even if he couldn't see his brother's eyebrows creased with worry and hear his rapid breathing.

It's not like Sam was weak. He didn't scare easily. He was a hunter, for god's sake. He faced monsters and demons on an almost daily basis, but this? It was all too fresh in his mind. It was the feeling of having no control, of knowing that you were trapped and that someone wanted to hurt you, was going to hurt you, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was a scar that was still too fresh, and if Sam did have a weakness, this was it.

Sam had been so quick to give up last time, so willing to blame himself. So convinced that in some twisted way he deserved what Marcus was dishing out. Dean wasn't about to let that happen again, wasn't about to let Sam fall into that defeated mindset. He couldn't.

Sam and Dean weren't alone for ten minutes before heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs alerted them to Jack's return. During that time, Sam had managed to get himself, and the chair he was securely tied to, halfway across the cement floor in Dean's direction. Dean wasn't entirely sure what his plan was if Sam would have reached his door. With Sam's hands tied to the chair arms, he couldn't have turned the doorknob – not that it would have made a difference, the door was locked. Nonetheless, it's not like they could just sit there and do nothing while they waited for Jack to come back. Maybe Dean could have stuck a few fingers through the slot in the door and at least managed to rip the duct tape off of Sam's eyes and mouth. The chair scraping against the floor as Sam moved was noisy, though, and Dean was sure that Jack was aware of their attempts to escape.

At the sound of the footsteps, Sam froze, and Dean cursed under his breath. He wondered what kind of explanations his brother was coming up with as to why they were in this situation – again. No doubt Marcus and the warehouse were flashing through his mind. It was all too similar to ignore, even if Sam hadn't been given the recap yet.

Dean watched Jack circle around Sam's chair. Sam remained still, listening, but unable to do anything. Jack stepped out of Dean's view and then back a second later, swinging a wooden baseball bat by his side as he walked. Dean's heart raced as he closed in on Sam, passing directly in front of Dean's view and showing off the bat menacingly. Sam wouldn't even know it was coming.

"Baseball bat." Dean said, feeling like a failure for just muttering those two words. Some protector he was. Some big brother. He couldn't help Sam, all he could do was let Sam know what type of weapon he was going to be facing, and watch as that warning did nothing at all to prevent Sam from being hurt from said weapon.

Sam's shoulder's tensed slightly at the words, but other than that he gave no indication that he had even heard what Dean said.

"Sammy..." Dean said, wishing for some magic words to make it better.

Jack circled around Sam's chair once more and came back to stand in front of Dean's door. Dean clenched his hands into fists, wanting nothing more that to break through the door and beat Jack to a pulp.

"Sorry, Dean." Jack said. "Private show." He slid the cover back over the slot.

Dean's anger was replaced with panic as he heard Jack's footsteps moving away from the door, closer to Sam.

"Sam!" He shouted, pounding his fists against the door. "Sammy!"

Dean could hear clearly the whoosh of air as Jack swung the bat. There was no mistaking the soft thud as the wood made contact with Sam's stomach or legs or face, and the muffled cry of pain from Sam. Dean sank to his knees and pressed an ear to the door. There was a soft crack and Sam cried out again. Possibly a rib breaking – maybe a different bone. Maybe it was Sam's scull. The rage was quickly returning, and Dean pounded again on the door.

"I'm going to kill you, Jack. Do you hear me!" He shouted. "You're a dead man!"

But Dean's threats were ignored as the beating continued.


By the time the noises on the other side of the door stopped, Dean had given up hoping that Jack would stop soon and was focused instead on just hoping that Sam would be alive when it was over. There was no way to be sure, but based on Dean's internal clock, Jack had spent a good twenty minutes using the bat on Sam. Dean heard every hit. Every broken bone. He knew Sam wasn't going to be in good shape, or even okay shape, but he had to be alive.

Dean held his breath and listened. He heard the bat drop to the ground, then a series of obscure sounds that he couldn't place. Dean listened intently, but didn't hear any signs of Sam. No muffled words, no heavy breathing – nothing that Dean could identify as Sam. He heard footsteps on the stairs and waited for them to fade away before he got to his feet, keeping an ear pressed firmly to the door.

"Sam?" He called, feeling almost positive that he wouldn't get a response from his brother. Best case scenario, Sam was unconscious on the other side of the wall. "Sam." He tried again. "Come on, man. If you're out there, make some noise. I can't see you."

Dean waited, but heard nothing.

After that, Dean went back to trying everything in his power to break down the door that blocked him from his brother and their escape. Periodically, he would stop long enough to catch his breath and listen for Sam through the door. He would shout Sam's name, but no response ever came. So Dean would go back to beating on the door, using the adrenaline to keep his rising panic at bay.

When he was too exhausted to throw himself against the door one more time, and so hungry that he barely had the strength to walk across the room to the rocking chair, he finally quit, collapsing into the chair and dropping his head into his hands. It had been hours. The lighting through the window was beginning to turn purple. The sun was setting. He had spent the entire day locked in that room with nothing to eat or drink, and Sam... where the hell was Sam? Was he really still unconscious next door, or had something worse happened?

"Sammy." Dean tried again, voice hoarse from dehydration and too much angry yelling. "Are you out there? Sam, please. Just answer me."

He waited for a long time to hear an answer, but none came.

The purple sky eventually turned black and Dean tried to fight against his exhaustion. He was so tired, though. If could just get some sleep, he could try again tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be strong enough to break down the door. He would find Sam locked away in some other room of the house, bruised, but alive. Maybe Sam would be annoyed that it took Dean so long to get them out, but they would be okay.


A noise startled Dean awake and he sat up quickly, head pounding, his eyes taking longer to adjust to the darkness than he would have liked. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and then another to realize that something had woken him. He listened in the dark but there was nothing. He licked his dry lips and blinked slowly. He was just about to call out for Sam once more when the noise came again. It was above him. Someone was awake in the house.

Dean looked up at the ceiling and stared hard, as if he could see through to the room above if he just tried hard enough. A sliver of light appeared and Dean's eyes widened. Was he starting to hallucinate? He didn't think that just twenty-four hours without food or water would do that. As he watched, the sliver got wider and wider until there was a good sized chunk of the ceiling missing. Dean blinked against the bright light from the room above. It was some sort of trap door. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before, but decided that it must have blended in quite well with the ceiling.

He waited for a few seconds and then something came tumbling over the edge. It ht the floor with a thud as the door in the ceiling closed above him. Dean immediately recognized the Sam-shaped lump on the floor and he scrambled to his brother's side, turning him carefully onto his back.

"Sammy?" He said, feeling an odd need to whisper in the dark.

He first felt under Sam's nose to make sure he was breathing, and exhaled audibly when he felt the small puffs of air. He brushed the hair away from Sam's eyes and had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to control his anger. The left side of Sam's face was a swollen bruise. He had a gash across his cheek and there was blood dried in his hair and on his clothes. Dean moved his hands down Sam's arms, feeling for broken bones. He was pretty sure Sam's right arm was broken just below the elbow, but other than that Sam's arms were in okay shape, considering. He pulled up Sam's shirt and hissed at the sight. His brother's entire chest was one giant bruise. He gently felt for broken ribs and concluded that Sam had at least three.

As he moved to Sam's legs, he noticed something large in Sam's pocket and he pulled it out. It was a bottle of water, and Dean unscrewed the cap quickly and took two large gulps. He could have easily drank the entire thing, but it was smarter to save it for later. And besides, Sam would need some when he woke up.

The rest of Sam's body was free of broken bones.

Dean gathered up the dirty blanket he had been sleeping on and bunched it into a ball. He gently lifted Sam's head and placed the makeshift pillow underneath. As he watched Sam sleep, he was suddenly cold. He shivered, rubbing his hands against his arms.

After a minute, he retreated to the rocking chair and watched Sam until, eventually, he couldn't fight off the exhaustion any longer and he reluctantly fell back into a fitful sleep.