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Chapter 9 - Skeleton City.
For the next few days, as the trio moved out of their temporary shelter and started to progress further and further into the city, Sam didn't see hide nor hair of the man who had haunted him before. Lucifer was like a distant memory, something that had never even existed in the first place, and for that, Sam was glad - even if it meant he had to bleed into a small cup every few hours just to keep it that way. The small group had bigger problems then Sam's hallucinations - like how the walls of the broken city rose slowly around them, monsters in the dust and rubble, as they travelled further and further into the city.
Dean was antsy and Cas was cagey - neither of them liked this. Used to the long, open and empty road before them, the skeleton city that surrounded was like a cage to them, something that they wanted desperately to escape. In fact, Sam seemed to be the only one in the group with any type of calmness. Unlike the other two, Sam actually quite liked the city. If he closed his eyes, he could just about imagine the city as it had once been, bustling and loud and warm.
He let his eyes flutter shut, walking in a straight line behind Cas and Dean until he heard a loud grunt of pain as someone had the wind knock out of them, and a cry of alarm. His eyes flew open and he saw Dean scrambling backwards on the concrete road, at the feet of a young, blond woman.
Sam took a step forward, a cry on his lips, but stopped when he felt cold, sharp steel against his neck and a brush of breath against his ear as someone whispered, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Another woman. Sam felt her head turn to look at Cas, who had turned his attention from the brawl to Sam. "And you! Trench coat! Hands behind your head and on your knees!"
Painfully aware of the violent nature of humanity from his own experience, he chose not to risk Sam's life and complied. Sam looked back over at Dean, who had somehow been pinned down by the small, blond girl.
"Don't struggle," she ordered, "or I will use force."
Dean chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by his split lip, "What do you call this then?" His lips twisted into a smirk. "But seriously, give it your best shot. You hit like a girl anyway."
The blond woman smiled like a dragon who had just cornered her prey. "Thanks for the compliment!" she growled as she drew back her fist and slammed it into Dean's nose, knocking him out cold. His body crashed to the ground with a loud thump, and Castiel visibly flinched.
She turned to her partner. "So, are you going to help me carry him, or should we get pervy trench coat guy to help?"
Well, thought Sam, this day wasn't exactly going as planned.
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Sam and Cas watched as their hands and feet were tied in such a way that would permit only a slow shuffling walk, afraid to resist when there was a knife at an unconscious Dean's throat. He too was bound, but in a way that inhibited any movement, and had been set on one of their more durable blankets to be dragged by the woman who had knocked him out. The other woman, taller and seemingly more mellow, called her Jo - in return, Jo called her Jess. Jess held Sam and Cas' ropes.
When everything was ready, the small group set off. The two women refused to answer any questions as to where, why or to what and who they where marching, replying only with, "All questions must be held until you have been debriefed by the leader. Please remain silent on the journey." Their tones were cruel mockeries of the disembodied voices on aeroplanes that told you to put on your safety belt, and they gave Sam the cold, sharp feeling of ice slipping down the back of your neck.
Cas tried to get a look at Dean. He didn't even know if he had woken up or not. Jo was walking behind them, and if Cas tried to turn around, he got yanked back. If he tried to stop, he got a sharp prod between the shoulder blades with a dagger. Despite his restraints, Cas still wanted to seize Sam and haul ass, but with Dean that tightly bound and possibly still unconscious, there was definitely no way they were all getting out of there alive.
It was only when the group reached a large gate with two armed men posted on either side that Jo drew level to them, and Cas saw a very awake, very pissed Dean bound and gagged on the blanket. Jess explained where they had ambushed the trio (or in her words, 'apprehended') before the gates were opened and they were permitted access to whatever lay beyond. Was it danger? Death? Or a small village that appeared to hold about 20-30 inhabitants? Cas decided to trust his eyes and his gut and go for all three.
The street stretched down to slip at the end, where it was guarded heavily
Everyone stopped when they entered to gawk at the new arrivals as they were marched to small cabin to the left of the compound. Dean struggled on the blanket, growling muffled threats through his gag, all of which earned him a dull 'thunk' as he was pulled unceremoniously over the threshold and his head hit 'accidentally' off the wooden frame of the door. The trio were steered and dragged into the centre of a room facing an old oak desk at which a older man with dark hair, peppered with grey, sat. An unsettling, familiar, sickening feeling settled in Dean's stomach when he saw the man's face, though he couldn't tell why. Gut instinct? Or something more?
"So," the man started in a gruff tone, "what brings you boys, strangers I might add, to my district?"
"Your district?!" Dean's gag was off and he didn't look happy - immediately standing slightly in front of the other two as he glared around at the strangers around them. "Since when was anything 'yours'?"
"Since I earned it," the man shot back calmly. "Just like you'll have to earn our trust if you want to take a step out of here again."
The man approached Dean until he was directly in front of him. Dean stared hard into his eyes, then spat in his face.
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After being stripped of their weapons and being patted down by a polite but gruff woman named Ellen, the trio was bundled into a small, shed-like structure with 3 narrow beds. Apparently they were to contained "until it was deemed that they were not a threat to the camp or it's inhabitants." But Dean only heard "until we decide whether or not to kill you." He paced back and forth in front of the heavy door, bolted from the outside.
For the first day they were mostly left alone, the only outside interaction being when the small hatch at the bottom of the door was opened and a tray with 3 bowls of brown sludge was pushed through. Dean picked one up and sniffed it experimentally.
"Doesn't look to bad." He shrugged, pouring some into his mouth. "I was wrong." Dean pulled a face and picked up the tray to bring it to the other two. Cas raised an eyebrow and Dean handed him a bowl. "We either eat this, or we don't eat at all. But I'd leave it a while to see if it has any adverse reactions on me." Castiel glared at Dean, suddenly realizing that he had gone first so that if it was drugged or poisoned, he was the only one affected.
After 30 minutes of waiting, Dean decided that the food was safe to eat. Unfortunately, as it turns out, the only thing worse than brown sludge is cold brown sludge. Sam picked at the lumpy mixture, before sighing and setting it on the floor. After a second, he swung his legs up and lay down on the hard, scratchy mattress and tried to sleep. Dean spent the evening pacing and trying to find a way out, Cas tried to get him to calm down and come to bed, but Dean refused. Eventually Cas gave up and went to sleep, leaving Dean to pace until a scream shattered his concentration.
Dean whipped round to see Sam writhing and screaming on the bed, he barely got to his side in time to stop his head from cracking off the floor. Cas was by his side in an instant. They both knew what had happened, in all of the excitement, Sam hadn't been bled. Dean had screwed up again, and now Sammy might die. Or worse.
Dean's head was swimming - he had no knife, no way to relieve Sam's suffering. He swallowed his pride and paranoia, doing the only thing he could think of.
"HELP US!" he bellowed, "PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP US!"
After what seemed like hours, but was surely only a few seconds the door burst open and a man with greying hair and a beaten and battered blue hat stormed in.
"What the hell are you idjits hollering ab-" his voice cut out as he saw Sam. "You brought an infected into the camp? What were you boys thinking?!"
Dean pushed himself away from the bed and stalked over to the man. "Listen here, he's not an infected, he's half gone. And if you don't give me a knife to that I can help him, you're going to wish that the blond chick had killed me when she had the chance!"
The man hesitated. "My wife was half gone... Balls!" he exclaimed, taking a syringe from his pack and presenting it to Dean. "This'll work better." he muttered gruffly, casting a concerned look at Sam. Cas appeared at Dean's side and snatched the syringe from the mans hand. He swung back to Sam and set to work extracting the white fluid from key areas. The lymph nodes, the major arteries, the joints. He only paused to squish the pale liquid onto the concrete floor in order to make room for more.
After a while, Sam's breathing became more even, and his whimpering quietened as he slipped back into unconsciousness, sweat beaded on his pale skin. Only then did Cas lift him back onto the bed. He turned to the man in the door way and gave him a grateful nod.
"Do you mind if I hang onto this?" he asked in a monotone voice.
The man nodded curtly. "My name's Bobby, just so you know. I'm going to try and- well, to argue your case. My wife lived here for many months before I- before the end. I don't see why the same can't be true for your kid."
"He's not our- never mind. Thank you Bobby. We'd really appreciate your help." Dean's voice was raw, but surprisingly soft. The next few days went like clockwork. Wake up, eat, guarded trip to the bathroom, back to the shed, exercise in the small fenced yard, eat again and then free for the rest of the day until dinner, after which it was time to bleed Sam and sleep.
Three days in, however, they were pulled from the small room and stood in front of a panel. This was it, this was when it was what decided whether Sam lived or died.
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