SPN

Being told directly that his guard wanted to kill him—had dreamed of killing him for at least fifteen, maybe twenty years—did nothing for Sam's nerves. Of course, it was obvious that Ethan didn't like him, but having a grudge against someone was very different from a childhood fantasy of drowning him. Ethan wasn't just a dick, he was a psychopath—and if Sam's counterpart from this reality picked up on that, no wonder he made himself scarce. But where the hell was Dean?

Not wanting to engage with his tormenter, Sam turned his back on the glass door and took a deep, calming breath. He had to get out of here. There had to be a way out! Even if he couldn't make it back to the bunker, even if he never returned home, he still had to escape the compound, or he would die—and it wouldn't even be a noble death, trying to save lives—it would be a senseless murder. Sam shivered at the thought. He could bear sacrificing himself, like a martyr, but he never wanted to be a victim.

Eager for some kind of refuge, Sam sidled through the open threshold into the bathroom. It was a tiny and sterile alcove, with no windows or decorations—not even a mirror. Stainless steel grab bars (for prisoners with disabilities?) were mounted on every wall, as well as the low ceiling, which Sam realized would allow his captors to handcuff him anywhere they pleased. A ceramic toilet sat in one corner, with a shower hose across from it, and nothing but a small drain on the floor. No doors, no curtains… No privacy at all. But at least his captors were kind enough to provide soap and several towels, all folded up on the counter by the sink. How thoughtful of them.

Sam scoffed, quickly relieving himself before spending a good ten minutes at the sink, trying to scrub away his shame and humiliation without actually exposing himself. Then, discouraged and fatigued, he curled up on the floor and weighed his options. Maybe he could use the shower hose to strangle Ethan. But honestly, what were the odds of that? Even if he could trick the bastard into the bathroom, he would still have to overpower him, and right now, Ethan was in far better shape. But even if he pulled it off, then what? Ethan wouldn't enter his cell without shutting the glass door behind him, which meant Sam would still be trapped. Strangling a guard with a shower hose would definitely be considered an abuse of his bathroom privileges—Campbell would happily have him strapped to a bed with a catheter and a feeding tube for the rest of his life. Death might actually be preferable.

After a few more minutes, Ethan yelled into the room. "Quit hiding, Sam! Mr. Campbell wants you supervised! If you're not out in thirty seconds, I'm coming in, and trust me, you won't like the consequences!"

Groaning, Sam climbed miserably to his feet and reluctantly made his way back into Ethan's line of sight. He glanced through the ballistic glass barrier to meet his guard's piercing blue gaze. On the bright side, at least he wasn't Lucifer… but when he smiled, it was just as disturbing.

"You're always so shy, pretty boy. Why is that? Why are you so different from your brother?"

"Shut up!" Sam snapped. He had no interest in conversation, especially not with Ethan, and especially not about his family. He didn't want to think about what Dean might be like in this reality—he didn't want it to complicate his relationship with his real brother back home. But of course, Ethan didn't care about what he wanted.

"You know, Dean and I are best friends," he casually remarked, making Sam stiffen. "We grew up together, studied together, trained together… We're practically family. That's why you surprised me when you didn't recognize me. I can't imagine a world where we're strangers. It's just… so far-fetched."

Sam turned away from the bastard, slowly putting the pieces together. Ethan and Dean were best friends. Ethan wanted to kill Sam, but he didn't think he could get away with it—which made sense. If Dean found out, he'd be pissed. Sam couldn't help but wonder if his counterpart ever sensed Ethan's hostility, and if he ever mentioned it to anyone. Would they believe him? From what he could tell so far, the Sam in this reality wasn't even considered human, while Ethan was obviously well-respected. But why!?

"You hold Dean back," Ethan continued. "He's the finest hunter I know. He could be our chief one day—he could even surpass your grandpa, and old Samuel's a damn legend! I'm telling you, pretty boy, Dean is just… magnificent." The admiration in Ethan's voice made Sam's skin crawl. "And then there's you." His tone grew dark and venomous. "Sweet, precious Sammy, always in need of his family to protect him. If you weren't such a wimp, if you cared as much about the business as you care about 'academics,' maybe you wouldn't be such a damn target, always getting into trouble. You're a liability, Sam—a piece of trash—and when you ran away, I thought, finally! Dean can focus on his career! But no. He's too distracted now, sick with worry for his beloved baby brother." Ethan scoffed. "If only he could see you for what you really are. A worthless freak."

Sam flinched at the derogatory label. "You know, killing me won't change anything. I'm not the guy you're really mad at—he's the one Dean cares about, and he's still out there."

"Yeah, I know," Ethan agreed. "But that's okay. Killing you will be therapeutic. I might even resuscitate you so I can kill you again. That's the beauty of drowning your victims, pretty boy. It doesn't have to be a one-time deal."

Something in his voice—the experience—made Sam shudder. "You've done it before, haven't you?" He glanced back around to observe Ethan's smug satisfaction.

"Oh, plenty of times," he confessed. "Usually not with anyone worth mentioning. It's safer to select people that no one'll ever miss, but on occasion, I do like to push my limits. See what I can get away with. It's impressive, really. And a lot of fun."

Just when Sam thought he couldn't hate the bastard more than he already did. "What, torturing monsters not enough for you?"

Ethan shrugged. "Hunting monsters… What can I say? It's my job. And after awhile, every job gets a little tedious. You have to admit, it's always nice to have an outlet where you can blow off some steam, right?"

Sam shook his head. "There's something wrong with you."

Ethan laughed. "Yeah, that's what they all say. But they're just victims. I don't blame them for being such poor sports about it." He took a step forward and pressed his hand against the glass, gazing in at Sam with hunger in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Holding a girl's head above the water, basking in her fear as she stares down at her reflection, sobbing helplessly… and then feeling her struggle as you plunge her head in…"

"Shut up," Sam said, backing away.

"There's nothing like it," Ethan continued. "On good days, when I'm very patient, it can take over an hour to finally drown her—and that's really what it's all about, pretty boy. Spending that quality time with her at the very end of her life, knowing you're the last person who will ever touch her, who will ever speak to her, who will ever kiss her. It's very… intimate. And when she's gone, having her limp body in your arms… That's a treat in itself. I can't wait to experience it with you."

By now, Sam's back was pressed up against the wall in the far corner of his cell. "That'll never happen." If he could beat the devil… he had to beat this lunatic.

Ethan licked his lips. "Who's going to stop it, pretty boy? You?" He laughed. "Oh, it will happen all right. Hopefully, it'll happen soon."

SPN

Needless to say, Sam was actually relieved when Campbell and his colleagues returned the next morning with looks of fascination on their faces. He wasn't able to get any sleep with Ethan watching, so he spent the night curled up on the floor with his face buried in his arms. (He did manage to stomach a bowl of soup when Danielle came to check on him, but it took all the discipline he had, and it didn't help whatsoever.)

Presently, from his place in the corner, Sam watched warily as Campbell, Ethan, Danielle, and Dr. Robert gathered around him—he noticed the doctor holding a clipboard, and Campbell holding some printed radiographs, probably from his X-rays. Sam could easily guess what they revealed—Enochian sigils carved directly on his ribs, courtesy of Castiel.

"Well," Dr. Robert said, gazing down at Sam, who didn't bother to get up. "How are we feeling today?" Sam glared at him, refusing to answer. The doctor sighed. "You know, son, you're not doing yourself any favors by this stubborn attitude. Please, cooperate. Let's figure this out together."

"Why?" Sam retorted. "When you're done with me, you're going to let Ethan kill me. Why should I help you?"

A very brief flicker of surprise crossed the doctor's face, but if he felt any degree of disapproval, he quickly stifled it. Meanwhile, Danielle glanced at Ethan, who simply shrugged, as if he had no idea what Sam was talking about. Figures.

"No one's going to kill you, son," Campbell calmly interjected. "Not as long as you prove useful, and it's starting to look like you could be very useful." He pulled a sheet out from the top of his stack and showed Sam the radiograph. Sure enough, it was a crystal clear image of his ribcage—along with Castiel's handiwork. "Care to explain this? Someone chiseled your bones with exquisite detail… Why? And more importantly, how'd you survive the procedure? Was it some kind of spell?"

Sam hesitated, mustering his best poker face while considering his options. Of course, he didn't trust these bastards with his safety, no matter how useful he might be—Ethan was too obsessed with the idea of drowning him. The only hope Sam had was to get as far away from here as possible, as quickly as possible. And if they were so desperate for answers, maybe he finally had some leverage to escape.

Taking a deep breath, Sam met Campbell's gaze. "I've got nothing to say to you. Any of you. Just looking at you is nauseating. If you want my cooperation, then go get Dr. Visyak. I'll speak to her. No one else."

Campbell narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Dr. Robert and Danielle exchanged baffled looks. Ethan crossed his arms. They weren't expecting Sam's demand, and they weren't sure what to make of it. For a long, drawn-out moment, they didn't say a word.

Then, Campbell broke the silence. "Dr. Visyak's a very busy woman. She's the director of research and development at the compound, and we can't ask her to waste her time interviewing a specimen."

Sam clenched his jaw. He didn't like the word 'specimen' anymore than 'freak.' Disgruntled, he dropped his gaze and gave them all the silent treatment.

After another lengthy pause, Campbell grunted. "Very well. Have it your way. But I'm warning you, young man. If we call in Dr. Visyak, and you still refuse to cooperate, the consequences will be severe. Trust me. You won't like them."

SPN

Author's Note: How's that for some insight into Ethan's character? Let me know what you think!

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