A/N: THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! They are really helping to motivate me!

Sorry the chapters are kind of short, as some people have pointed out, but I'm going more by "scene" than by "chapter" here, making it so that when the directors would cut in an episode, I end a "chapter". But that simply means more chapters quicker :)

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

After a slight detour to pick up a straggling citizen looking through some nearby trash cans, Sam, Kali, and about a half dozen other diner patrons were herded into the back of a conspicuously inconspicuous white van. Sam wondered why the Leviathans worried about being inconspicuous, as they could be driving a tank and the citizens of Grants Pass wouldn't do more than blink twice – if that.

The windows were blacked out and the ride was short, giving Sam only a little time to form the next part of his admittedly rash plan. He had left almost all his weaponry in the Impala, with the exception of his machete and a small plastic bottle full of a specialized mixture of holy water and borax – effective on whatever he ran into.

Sam closed his eyes. He would have to give up his weapons if he was planning on getting into Susan's hideout alive. There was no chance the Leviathans would believe that he was an innocent piece of meat, loaded down with specialized monster-killing gear as he was. Once he was in, getting out would be a problem, but he was certain that after finding Kevin he could improvise, find something capable of chopping necks in half. Glancing around, he moved slowly, unbuckling the machete sheath from his belt and slipping it under the car seat; it was quickly followed by the plastic bottle of holy borax.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. He had no idea what kind of a place he was going to be taken to, although he was pretty certain some kind of large foreboding warehouse – probably on a pier or behind a garbage dump – was in order. Monster types seemed to gravitate toward that kind of thing. The ease with which he could break out depended largely on where the Turducken People were being stored, and then of course there was the whole matter of actually locating Kevin.

The prophet was alive, that much was certain, thanks to the comment the Leviathan had made to its partner. Susan was keeping him alive – of course she was. He was her only leverage against Crowley, who no doubt wanted her dead almost as much as he had Dick Roman. She was, after all, Roman's right-hand monster, and probably had the capability of putting the whole world domination thing back on the rails, given time and assets. Sam added ganking her to his suicidal laundry list of things-to-do-while-in-captivity.

-15 minutes later -

"Alright, lovelies," said one Leviathan, opening the back of the van and grabbing the nearest Turducken Person. "This way."

Sam followed the others into the sunlight and, after his eyes adjusted to the bright golden light that was very much at odds with how he was feeling at the moment, he was surprised to see the building that lay before him. It was a quaint two-story cottage, complete with Tudor trim, low sweeping eaves, and a red front door. He could just hear Dean making a snarky comment about the appearance. Honestly, however, it was an ingenious plan. It was the last place he himself would have thought to look.

They were led around the side of the house, past several mimosa trees and butterfly bushes and a few bloody corpses. The smell of flowers and rotten flesh made Sam want to gag, but he held it back. To a Turducken Person, scent made absolutely no difference whatsoever. And at the moment, Sam Winchester was a Turducken Person.

The Leviathans threw open two battered wooden cellar doors after undoing several lengths of sturdy-looking chains, and began tossing people down into the dimness below. It was eerily quiet – Sam expected some kind of scream for help, whimpering or crying or groans of agony. There was nothing.

He was taken by the jacket and hurled into the cellar. His foot caught on the cement steps going down and he clattered and rolled down the flight of stairs, landing sprawling on the concrete floor below.

The cellar doors slammed shut. Sam got to his knees and did a quick scan of the room. There were at least two dozen people here. A couple were chained to the walls – no doubt they had put up some semblance of a fight, enough to make the Leviathans distrustful. All over the floor were plastic trays covered in crumbs and foil sandwich wrappers. More Turducken. Just wonderful. Sam only hoped he wouldn't be forced to eat that stuff – he couldn't afford dull reflexes at the moment. Not to mention the crap it probably did to one's body.

"Kali, are you alright?" Sam asked the waitress, who had slumped down into a beleaguered sitting position against one wall.

"I want pickles," she almost sobbed.

"Right." Sam patted her hand briskly. "Okay, well, just hang in there. We're gonna get out of here."

Slowly he walked around the small cellar, attempting to talk to each individual. Each time he got nothing more than blank stares or slurred complaints about hunger. Frustration began to build inside him – he remembered when he used to think people were stupid because they didn't believe in monsters. Now he wished only that someone, anyone, would couple more than four coherent words together to make an even-vaguely helpful sentence.

"When Crowley said I was on my own," Sam thought to himself, "I had no idea how right he was."