Sam was visited several times by the old man that day. "I've never seen anything like it." Meredith admitted. "Usually if you don't squirm or fuss, he does nothing."

"Yeah that seems to be how it's going." Sam coughed out with weak sarcasm. The man had knocked him out twice, and honestly, Meredith didn't know how he was still conscious at all.

"You hunters…" The man grumbled as he made his way down the basement stairs again. "I'll bet my bottom dollar you're brother's on his way here to kill me, as we speak." He was in front of Sam by then, and the shaggy haired boy was too tired to feel the adrenaline rush that should have been pulsing through his veins. "That's why you need to be punished… In fact, before he comes… I think I'll kill you. That way, if I die, at least you'll be gone too."

"Stop!" Meredith shouted. "He's barely alive, right now! Let him be!" She felt tears welling in her eyes, and she could only assume it was because she identified with Sam. They had similar situations and social expectations, but she had been there longer than him. Why did she have to watch him die? Why didn't the old hag kill her first? It wasn't fair to Sam or anyone.

"Time for a nap." The old man tapped her wrist, and she became dizzy, before passing out.

"Don't… touch her." Sam commanded, suddenly shivering with cold. His moist bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, and the red fingerprints on his hands burned and itched like mosquito bites. He kept rubbing the top of his hand against the rope, which was only irritating his skin further.

Meredith wasn't kidding when she said getting knocked out several times by that guy made you feel like crap.

Sam was feeling like LOADS of crap.

Right before the man was about to give Sam another dose of his siren-infection, the walls shook slightly. "That sounds like a car pulling into the parking lot." The old man smiled a less than toothy grin. "I bet it's your stupid brother, now."