Broken Promises, Uncovered secrets.
Summary. . . . . Things had been tough for Sam in the years following his abuse at the hands of the Burton family, yet one thing had always remained a constant, his family. Vicious words spoken in anger and fear though had taken even that away from him. Now Sam's alone and someone has reawakened his nightmare.
Disclaimer. . . . . I don't know why I bother; y'all know they don't belong to me. Mistakes though they're all mine.
A.N. . . . . . Again I so very sorry for the late post, work woes and laptop breakdowns have been the bain of my life this past week. I hope that the content makes up for the wait. Enjoy, Peanut x
At the first touch of the stranger's hands on his body, his mind had been taken back in time six years, back to the worst time in his life. When the guy had started to reel off names he didn't recognize, he had briefly hoped that this was all some kind of mistake, that he had been mistaken for someone else. When he had mentioned her name though, he knew that small possibility wasn't to be. He tried really hard to focus on what the guy was saying but images from his past, some he remembered vividly some he wasn't sure were his, from those dark days, began to assault his head bringing back feelings he had tried so hard to repress. He tried to force them back into the small recess in his mind that he had locked them in, but it was no use the lock had been broken and Sherry Burton's long dead face was once again haunting Sam Winchester's life.
He shuddered and cringed and cried as more and more memories attacked him, he remembered the feel of her, how she had touched him, how her voice sounded, how she smelt, the pain of the beatings and the assaults, the feel of her tongue in his mouth, his body being breached. He involuntarily gagged at that thought, the movement sending spikes of pain once again racing through his body, his stomach rolling in response. He knew he was pleading, begging for it to stop, but in his jumbled mind he didn't know who he was begging to, Sherry or the guy.
In his more lucid moments he could see the guy working at a laptop and wondered who he was, and why he was doing this, but those moments wouldn't last very long before Sherry was back ruining his life once again. He fought and he battled but he couldn't seem to break free from the past, a sense of dread began to wash over him as he contemplated being stuck in this living hell for ever. Whispered words though began to break through the fog that had clogged his mind.
"Show. . . . Lying. . . . Naked."
He forced his mind to focus, to forget everything that it was being shown, to concentrate on those spoken words; words that began to become more and more clearer.
"Another show. . . . . Lying down. . . . . Naked."
Did they mean what he thought they did? The more he concentrated the more he managed to push his memories back and more of the guys words forced themselves to be known.
"We're gonna do another show when I get back, only this time you're gonna have to be lying down. Oh, and naked!"
As he remembered all of what had been said, he began to feel intense anger well up within his body, quelling most of his fears. He didn't deserve this. He'd done nothing wrong, why did this keep happening to him? He heard the guy close the door as he left, he knew he wouldn't have long, he knew he couldn't sit there and wait for him to come back, sit there and wait to let it happen again, to be used again, he knew he had to get free, that no one was gonna come rescue him this time, that he was the only one who could stop it.
He began pulling on the ropes that bound his wrists, testing them, his left arm immediately protesting the movement as the damage to his shoulder throbbed with every effort he made. His right hand though gave a little, boosting his confidence and making him concentrate more on that wrist. He pulled and pushed and tugged, gaining a little bit of give every now and then, but it was taking too long and he was conscious of what little time he had. He realized he had no choice, pain or destruction, because deep down he knew that if he was touched that way again he didn't want to come back.
Bracing himself for what was about to come, he began to pull his hand through the too small gap in the ropes. The pain started immediately as the ropes burned and in some places ripped the skin clean off of his wrist and hand, the knowledge of what would befall him if he was still here when the guy got back though, urged him to battle through the pain and pull all the more. Sweat began to flow from all his pours as the pain increased but he continued to pull. He felt the snare of splinters as they began shred his palm and bury themselves deep inside, yet he still pulled until with one last painful yank, and the crack of breaking bones, he was free.
He sat there panting from the effort and crying with relief before his brain registered that he still wasn't out of trouble yet. He reached over to undo the knots on the rope that bound his other wrist, his trembling, sweaty, bloodied hand though just couldn't do it. Frustrated at being so close yet still so far, he rammed his back into the back of the chair forgetting for just a second the injury to his shoulder. His head reared back and a scream of agony was ripped from his mouth as the pain registered though, before being replaced with an almost maniacal laughter as he realized the solution to his problem was within easy reach. All he had to do was pull it from out of his shoulder.
With effort he turned his head, trying to see if it would be possible, confident when he caught a glimpse that it could be done, it would be excruciatingly painful but it was his only hope. Steeling him self and with his hand still shaky, the smallest finger already swelling, he brought his arm across his body and seized a hold of the knife still embedded within his body. He took a few deep breaths before laboriously starting to pull it free. Spasms of intense agony wracked his body as the serrated edge of the blade ripped and pulled at his flesh forcing him to stop. Gasping for breath and sweating more profusely, his arm dropped to his side as he began to give up once again.
Remembered words from long ago battled with the newer ones the guy had said earlier in his head. "Show, lying, naked. . . . . You're stronger than this Sam. . . . . Show, lying, naked. . . . . . Sam, you have to fight back. . . . . . Lying, naked. . . . . . You're the strongest person I know Sam. . . . . . You can beat this."
His arm began moving again, he didn't deserve this, he'd worked so hard to put the past behind him, to try and have a normal life, to try and be a better man, to get to Stanford, to get to the point where he could date someone like Jess, and he was damned if he was going to allow someone to take all that away from him again. Reaching again for the knife's handle and knowing what he had to lose, he pulled hard and fast. He tried to push through the pain, tried to ignore the sickening, sucking pop as the blade broke free, he tried to ignore the blood as it began to pour down his back once again, and instead he focused on getting free.
He refused to pass out even though his body was begging him to do so, he had to keep going, he had to get to safety, he had to get to help. Using the knife he hacked at the bonds securing his legs to the chair, ignoring the stabbing pain from his ribs as he bent over. Once done he attempted to stand, using the chair to keep him up as his equilibrium rolled alarmingly, threatening to send him crashing back down. Moving tenderly forward, he began to head for the door, knife still grasped in his hand, each step yet more torture to his abused body. His head rang, his face ached, he didn't want to think about his shoulder or his ribs, and each step felt like he was walking on broken glass as pins and needles from circulation returning to his limbs let them selves known. Yet he kept on moving, leaning on the cold stone walls for support. Reaching the door, he wondered what he would do if it was locked, cursing himself for even thinking that way he reached out and grasped the handle, turning it. It opened.
He waited, listening carefully, intently for any noise before stepping outside. A small square hallway could just be made out from the dim light of the room behind him, six passages leading off of it, the sight of which forcing yet more doubts into his mind once again. Which way should he go? What if he went the wrong way? What if the guy was waiting in the tunnel he chose? Would it be better to just stay and wait? He did after all still have the knife. His Dad's training kicked back into his mind though, "no matter what Sam you keep moving" had become some sort of Winchester motto while he had been growing up, and it had never failed him in past hunts; but which way to go?
He couldn't help but smile at his predicament, that smile turning into a laugh as he remembered the old picking game, eenie meenie minie mo. Still smiling he decided to go down the closest passage on the left. Closing the door behind him, He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that engulfed him, yet knowing that they wouldn't be much help, there was just no light coming from anywhere but the room. He wished he could keep the door open but knew that by closing it he would buy himself a few more precious seconds and possibly a warning when the guy came back. Using the wall for support he slowly began inching forward.
Having no sense of time, He had no idea how long he had been walking when he started to hear noises behind him, he tried to hurry his steps, tried to get as much distance between him and his kidnapper. He nearly fell as the wall suddenly stopped, his arms flailing and panicking slightly in the pitch blackness his breathing hitched before his hands struck the wall again and he realized he had come to a turn in the tunnel. Fingers trailing across the cold, rough stone once more he began his escape again as cries of disbelief echoed down the enclosed space, his captor had found him gone, he no longer had time to go slow, he could only hope that his pursuer made the wrong choice.
Unable to see anything and moving more recklessly than he would have liked, he had no way of knowing about the loose rocks that littered the pathway ahead until he stumbled and fell over them. As he tried to lever himself back up off the floor his fingers graced yet more stones, dirt and rocks. He moved his hands further up the mound hoping that it was just a small pile. It wasn't, he'd run himself into a dead end. He couldn't help the cry of distress that left his mouth, immediately regretting it knowing that he could have just given his position away, hoping that the tunnels walls would have disguised it somewhat.
The faint beam of torchlight ghosting the wall near the corner told him that it hadn't. All he could do was watch as the light grew closer and closer.
A.N. . . . . . Sorry couldn't help it on this new chapter either; I just had to end it on a cliffy. So is it Caleb, or Joe? Hope the chapter made up for the wait, as always thanks for reading, Peanut x