Dean stared at his little brother, alone in the dampness and rank stench, his head moving slightly but not lifting. Then he felt as though a steel fist clamped around his heart when his brother mumbled, "Dean…" his breath ragged, voice broken.
"Sam," Dean groaned, "Oh God, Sammy. What am I supposed to do?"
-0-0-
Then a thought slammed into him harder than a good blast of the demon mojo that usually tossed him and his brother around like pebbles. God! Or rather, angel.
"Cas!" Dean begged, nearly shouting at the ceiling. "Cas c'mon, please you gotta help me out here!" He glanced around the room impatiently, eyes dancing between the window and his semi-conscious brother on the computer screen. He was about to begin yelling when he heard the nearly inaudible flutter of wings, feeling the presence of another body standing close behind him.
"Cas," he muttered, turning to lock eyes with him.
"Dean," the angel returned stoically.
"It's Alistair. He has Sam."
Cas's confused expression didn't last long, and Dean gathered that he was using his super telekinetic angel brain juice to read into several people's minds for the meaning behind Dean's statement. A dawning comprehension followed, and he nodded, now up to speed.
"Cas you gotta find him," Dean demanded.
A hint of a frown appeared on his face. "I can't. The Inokian charms make him imperceptible to me."
Dean growled, grabbing the angel by the front of his trench coat. "Alistair found him and he's a demon, so there's gotta be a way and you're gonna find it."
Castiel frowned pensively. "Yes, I see now. I will have to locate Alistair. But it won't be easy. He's surely covered his tracks thoroughly." With a soft whoosh he vanished, leaving Dean grasping at thin air.
"Angels," he muttered angrily, then slumped down into the chair at the desk to stare at the room Sam was confined in.
Alistair was playing him like a god damned fiddle, and Dean began to wonder if there would ever be a day when their lifestyle would cease to bite them in the ass. Footsteps on the creaking floorboards outside the bedroom door pulled him temporarily out of his despair, and with a last furtive glance at his brother's pale slumped form, he slammed the laptop shut. Lisa stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and concern splayed across her features.
"So what's going on, Dean?"
Dean pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers digging into his temples in attempted calm. "Lisa, I've got to go for a while. I can't explain."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Sure, she was aware that he had nightmares of the terrible things he imagined his brother going through in Hell, she knew that he was overly cautious about certain things, jumped at unexpected noises, could be a little paranoid, but she thought that he had for the most part left the old life behind. She wouldn't lie to herself and say that she hadn't expected him to run out on her, but it still came as a bit of a shock.
"Will you at least tell me what this is about?" she asked, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. She patted the place next to her, pleading with her eyes. Dean joined her on the bed, but didn't touch her. He hung his head wearily.
"It's about Sam," he finally admitted, trying to hide the pain in his broken voice.
"Sam?" she couldn't hide her concerned curiosity. "Honey, we can get you help for the dreams. You don't have to leave."
Dean shook his head, his lips pursed. "No, you don't get it. It's Sam. He's back. And he's in trouble."
Lisa turned her gaze toward Dean's averted face. She knew him well enough to detect the glimmer of withheld tears, the clenched jaw and the bobbing adam's apple as he tried to swallow his hurt, the shoulders that curled up as the guilt inside tore him up. She would never question his love for her and her son, but this kind of agony only came from the love of family. Blood.
She was past questioning the finer points of the bizarre life her boyfriend led. She had seen and heard just enough to know that if Dean said his brother was back from the dead, back from Hell, in danger because of some weirdo evil thing, then he probably was. What she never really knew for sure was where she stood in the picture; just that it was not first in line when it came to Sam Winchester.
"What are you going to do?" She asked, placing a comforting hand on Dean's neck.
Dean tensed, wanting to feel comforted by her touch, but all he could feel was mind-numbing fear. He swallowed, his mouth dry. "Listen, Lisa, I just need some time." She sighed and nodded, leaving the room wordlessly. Dean let out a huge breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then rather reluctantly pushed himself off the bed and toward the computer. He didn't want to see this, he really didn't; he knew it was part of the whole deal, Alistair knew he'd be watching and that was half of the reason he'd kidnapped Sam in the first place. But it was his little brother, and if he was going to suffer, he wasn't going to do it alone.
-0-0-
He stood behind the desk momentarily, shifting from one foot to the other, hands itching for the computer. Flip it open. Or don't? "Damnit," he groaned, pressing the power button after all. Snatching up the paper, he typed the web address with trembling fingers. "I need a drink for this," he grumbled, but stopped before he could finish the thought. The video feed was running, but he'd missed the opening number this time around. Alistair was already well into round two.
"AhhHHH you hell-spawned sonofabitch," Sam groaned through gritted teeth. Dean couldn't see much other than his brother's hands, bound to the arms of the chair and gripping them fiercely. His knuckles were pearly, translucent white but his forearms seemed to be marred by angry red smears and blisters. Alistair moved aside and Dean caught a flash of the red-hot poking rod that he held in his right hand.
"How do you like that venom that's coursing through your veins right now, Sammy my boy?"
Sam's chest rose and fell sharply, his breath coming out in strong puffs as he tried to control himself from screaming. "It's Sam," he spat.
"Tomato, tomoto." The demon twirled the iron spike in his hand lazily, relishing how the boy's eyes followed it's every arcing movement, and then he brought the rod closer and closer to a patch of untouched skin on the underside of Sam's arm. He moved slowly, feeling the apprehension mount as the hot spike came closer, loving every moment of building up his fear. Finally metal touched skin with a sickening sizzle, and Dean felt his eyes water when Sam's head flew back and he screamed.
Alistair laughed cruelly, removing the hot blade only to jab it quickly into the back of the boy's hand. Sam screamed again and squirmed in the chair, his back arching, sweat and drool flowing down his face.
"Internal pain is so much harder to bear than external pain," his voice smooth and black as satin. "I mean I've been burned my fair share of times, but that poison I put in you is something else. Every beat of your heart spreads it further throughout your body. Every inch of you blazes white hot. From your toes all the way up to your eyeballs, you're burning inside and out. Pity." He waited for Sam's screams to taper off, amused by the small whimpers that escaped from time to time as another wave of the venom hit him like a flamethrower.
He circled the chair slowly, his steps echoing off the stone floor and walls, then stopped behind the chair. Taking a large handful of Sam's long hair, he jerked his head back, exposing his sliced and bloody throat from earlier. Lowering his face down so that his chin brushed Sam's forehead, Alistair looked directly into the camera while he pressed the hot iron rod to Sam's cheek. Sam's eyes rolled back and he howled again, the sound weak and shattered due to overuse.
"You know what I find utterly fulfilling about all of this, Sam? It's the fact that you blame yourself, while your brother blames himself. If you were never born, none of this would be happening, dear John and Dean wouldn't have gone to Hell, Mommy and Jess wouldn't have died, and maybe a whole lot of other people would have been much better off."
Tears coursed down Sam's face, clearing murky trails through blood and sweat and grime. Dean didn't know if it was from the pain or the blasphemy coming out of Alistair's mouth, but he swore to himself that he was going to slaughter the bastard.
"Then there's your brother. My favorite. He feels responsible for you. In his sad, pathetic little mind, everything I do to you is his fault. He'll never forgive himself. I wonder if I can make you blame him, too."
"Go to Hell!" Sam grunted. Alistair smiled mockingly.
"You know, I don't think I will. You wouldn't want that, anyway. I'd just pop down to little old Lucifer's cage and join in all the fun he and Michael are having with your soul right now. I don't see how that would make things any better for you. Do you?"
Alistair let go of Sam's hair, and he raised his head with an extreme amount of effort. It wobbled on his weak neck, but he tried to look into the camera. He hadn't wanted to think about his brother, but if Dean were watching, he had to try to get him a message. Dean stared into Sam's frantic eyes, pupils so dilated that he could barely see the hazel, face and arms torched and raw, neck flayed and bloody, and begged that he would be able to save him. His gut clenched painfully when Sam's eyes locked shut as another pass of the poison hit him.
"Dean!" he panted as it passed.
The demon, who had turned his back to arrange something else on the table, laughed coldly. "Oh, that's just precious. You think big brother is going to come and save the day?" Sam's head rolled down and he stared across the room through his lashes. "Think again little boy. Now I'm sorry but this might sting a little."
Sam watched the red light blinking on the camera, trying to focus on something to hold on to consciousness. Then scalding water rushed down his back, torching and steaming his skin. He moaned in agony and dropped his head completely, his half-opened eyes gazing dully into his lap.
"This is what Hell feels like, Sam. Sweltering and excruciating. This is how your brother felt for forty years, and it's all your fault."
"Dean, don' lis'n," Sam groaned, unable to lift his head. "S'not. True."
"Enough!" Alistair shouted, the tiniest hint of impatience in his voice. "I think I'm just going to let you burn in here. Have fun riding out the storm." Alistair stomped up to the camera, completely blocking Dean's view of his brother. He spoke to the camera. "Just so you know, Deano, that poison flooding through his body won't kill him. Oh no, much worse. It'll get worse and worse for about twelve hours. It's going to make him wish he were dead. In fact, it's going to make YOU wish he were dead. Eat that up." Then he vanished, followed by the slam of a door, and Dean was left staring at the lump of his barely conscious brother once again.