They didn't have far to drive to get to the cemetery. Dean went back to the caretaker's entrance that Ben had used with his bike the night before. There was a shed near the back corner of the grounds near where the four graves had already been hit. It had a hedge row around it to hide it from the view of visitors. Dean chose there to hole up and wait. He had the shed to their backs and the hedge to hide behind in front of them.
"Listen, I know you're a cop and have had training and what not, but out here you listen to me. Consider me your commanding officer. Got it?" Dean was talking quietly, not raising his voice. Ben nodded. "I say down; you get down. I say jump; you say how high. I don't want any hesitation from you. I say it, you do it. My aim is to keep you alive. Understood?"
"Got it, boss."
"Okay. I want you here." He gestured to the east side of the hedge row. "You keep your eyes out there. Anything moves, you let me know. I'll take the south side, here. Keep your gun drawn and ready."
Ben went over to the hedges, found a good spot with a gap in the branches that he could peek through and settled in. Dean shifted over a bit, pulled his gun and waited. Two hours later his phone vibrated in his pocket. He flipped it open, saw Sam's name and answered.
"Yeah?" He whispered.
"Dean, I've had no luck with the first three houses. I have three more and then, if I don't find anything, I'll head to the places outside town. I'll call you before heading in. Any luck on your end?"
Dean looked over at Ben who was, surprisingly, still quite alert. "Nothing. Quiet as a tomb."
"Funny. Okay, I'll check in later."
Ben looked over briefly and Dean just shook his head 'no', and they went back to scanning the cemetery. About another two hours later they heard what sounded like stone shattering, coming from about the southeast. Dean caught Ben's eye, put his finger to his lips and motioned for him to follow.
They made their way around the corner of the hedge row and in a crouching jog, ran over to a mausoleum. Dean held up his hand to signal a stop and he listened. He could hear the sounds of something going on further ahead. There were a couple tall monuments up ahead to either side. He motioned to the one on the left to Ben, who nodded, and to the other and himself. They each quickly made it to their respective monuments and Dean held up his hand again.
The sounds seemed to be coming from an open grave about fifteen feet ahead. There was no cover anywhere around it. This was as close as they were going to get without being seen. There was a mausoleum down to the right, but it was just as far away as the monuments they were at now. Dean signaled for Ben to stay put and crouched as low as he could get and made his way over to the grave, gun at the ready.
With the noise that was coming from the grave, Dean thought he should have seen some kind of movement by now. He was about five feet away and still nothing. Something was fishy about this. Dean rushed the last few feet to the grave's edge and found nothing. He signaled Ben over.
"Cover me." and he hopped down into the grave.
He could still hear the sounds and they were quite loud, now that he was on top of them. Not wanting to turn on a flashlight and ruin his night vision, he brushed the dirt around with his foot until he kicked what he thought was a small box. He crouched down and pulled out, from under a thin layer of dirt, what appeared to be an old tape recorder. His stomach dropped out as he hit stop. It was a trap and like a fool he'd rushed right into it. He turned to tell Ben to get back to the car and found him laying on the ground. He raised his gun again and inched closer. He could see a dart in Ben's neck. He had to get out of this hole or it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Problem was, as soon as he raised his head above the lip of the hole, he made a target of himself as well. He found himself with his gun raised and circling inside the hole, trying to cover 360 degrees.
Okay, he had to do something. Since it was a dart, Dean assumed it was a tranquilizer and not deadly. It was in the right side of Ben's neck and Ben had been standing with his back to the hole. So, going on the assumption that the enemy was to the right as he looked at Ben, Dean grabbed Ben's shoulders and tried getting out of the hole while holding Ben between himself and the enemy. It sounded cold, but another dart wouldn't kill Ben...he didn't think. He couldn't just sit here either.
He made it out of the hole. Now the trick was to make it to the car while carrying Ben, holding him between himself and the ghouls. He didn't understand the use of tranquilizer darts, but didn't have the time to worry about it now.
He got himself standing, with Ben in front of him. Unfortunately, Ben was a big guy and Dean had to tuck his gun away in order to carry him. He took about three steps and his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Not now, Sammy. Then he felt a sting in the back of his right thigh. Holding Ben with one arm, he reached back and felt a dart in his leg. He tried to keep going and felt another one hit his ass. Sonofabitch!
He set Ben down and drew his gun. He started to circle around, but the world started circling faster. He squeezed off a shot in case any cops were on watch tonight and then hit the ground.
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"Come on Dean. Pick up the phone." Sam had had no luck at any of the abandoned homes in the surrounding area of the cemetery and was headed toward the outskirts of town. He was a good ten minutes away, but if Dean didn't pick up, he'd turn around and head to the cemetery.
"Hey, this is me, you know what to do..."
"Damn it." Sam hung up and turned the bike around. He pulled up to the cemetery's back entrance ten long minutes later and saw the Impala still sitting there. He drew his gun and a flashlight and started walking, scanning everything he could as he went. He got to the shed that Dean had mentioned earlier, but nobody was there. He tried Dean's cell again and could hear it ringing out in the cemetery somewhere. He took off at a run.
He finally found the phone. It was in a pile of stuff. Ben's cell, his gun, and miscellaneous pocket detritus. Also in the pile was Dean's cell, his guns, the knife he kept in the ankle strap, his keys and his wallet. Looking through the pile again, Sam didn't see Ben's wallet. He scanned the ground nearby, but didn't find it.
"Damn it, Dean." Sam gathered up the stuff from the ground, stuffing it into various pockets and headed back to the bike. He put the stuff into the saddle bags Ben had on the bike and made a quick jog to the Impala. He pulled out some fake FBI tags and put them on the dash. That should keep the car from getting towed any time soon. He made sure it was locked up tight and then ransacked the trunk for some gear. He filled a backpack, threw it on, and headed back to the bike.
Pulling out his flashlight, he again studied his map. There were four abandoned factory-type properties around the outskirts of town. None looked any better than the others, so Sam chose the closest one. He had no other idea of how to locate Dean and Ben other than to keep going with his search. Tucking the map and flashlight away, Sam took off, feeling more urgency than ever. He knew Dean would heap the guilt on himself over this. He had to find them.
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When Dean came to, he had no idea how much time had passed. He tried to look around but couldn't move his head. He was laying on his back on what felt like a wooden table. He had been stripped down to his boxer briefs and hoped that at least someone had a good time, since he didn't remember any of it. He was bound in some way to the table at his ankles; there was another strap across his forehead, holding it in place. With his head strapped down, what he could see was severely limited. His arms were raised and strapped down as well. From what he could see of the room, which wasn't much, he was guessing he was in one of the abandoned factories. Specifically, based on the hooks he could see hanging from the ceiling, the old meat processing plant.
"Dean. Are you awake?"
"Ben?"
"Yeah. I'm tied to a chair off to your left."
"Tied how?"
"My ankles to the legs and my forearms to the arms of the chair. My shirt is gone and so are my boots."
"The boots are to make it harder if you escape. You don't move as fast in bare feet. What can you see of the room?"
"Well, it looks like an old meat locker as you can probably tell with the hooks above you. Concrete floors and walls. A soothing mint green paint pealing off the walls. Fluorescent lights throughout but the only ones on are the few over us. Can't make out too much of the room back behind you but there is a door over in the corner, your upper right, I suppose it would be. I can see lighted windows in it."
"You are strapped down to a table about three feet high. The straps go right through slots in the table to buckle or whatever below the tabletop. I can't see underneath, so I'm not sure how they are fastened. They look pretty tight."
"Thanks Einstein. They are pretty tight. Can you see anything else?"
"Uh, it looks like there might be some sort of cart or table down near your right leg, but I can't really see it. There's just a shadow on the floor."
"Are you hurt?" Dean asked.
"Other than some chafing from the ropes? No. You?"
"Just my pride." This wasn't looking good for him. It was nothing new. Dean spent 3 months in Hell getting tortured by the best. Doesn't mean he's looking forward to it. He didn't want Ben getting hurt. Isn't this why he did the memory wipe in the first place? So they wouldn't get hurt because of him? Damn it!
"Listen, Ben. I'm sorry I got you into this. I should have sent you home."
"Don't Dean. I poked myself into your lives. No blame is on you. I didn't have to come out here looking for you and I didn't have to go with you tonight."
"Well, still, this whole mess is my fault. I doubt they prepare you for torture in sheriff boot camp or whatever it is you go through. Just do me a favor. If they ask you something, just answer them. Don't make them beat it out of you. Otherwise, no matter what happens, stay quiet. Maybe they'll leave you alone." He sighed.
"And you have had training in torture?"
"Actually, yes." Dean sounded defeated.
"Seriously? You've been tortured?"
"Both." He didn't fancy telling Ben this, but if they were going to die here, he wasn't going to go out a liar.
"Both? Both what? What do you mean?"
"Been tortured and have tortured. We'll leave it at that. If we get out of this, by some miracle, maybe I'll tell you."
"Hell." Ben muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"Garth said you had been to Hell. I can't imagine it was a picnic."
Dean remained silent. He wasn't going to go there right now. Ben didn't need to hear this right now and he didn't want to. He needed to prepare himself mentally for whatever was coming. He also lifted a small prayer for Sammy to get his ass here on the double.
Just then the door in the corner opened and someone approached. Coming into view was a guy about twenty eight years old, give or take. He looked corporate. Neat, light brown hair with the part along the side, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a red tie. All of that was covered by an apron. Guess he didn't want to get any blood on himself.
"Well, if it isn't Dean Winchester! THE Dean Winchester in the flesh!" He leaned over Dean's chest and took a deep breath through his nose. "And that flesh smells SO good!"
Dean's skin crawled. "You have me at a disadvantage..."
"You can call me Eric. That's the name of my current form. I have no true name."
He walked around the table at my feet. I could just make out a blurry blob down to my left, which I assumed was Ben.
"And you. You are NOT Sam Winchester. Pity. According to your wallet, you are one Benjamin Braeden from Michigan. Long way from home, aren't you boy." He didn't say it as a question and Ben stayed silent. "Don't worry, I'll have your full story soon enough."
Eric continued his walk around the table, running his finger lightly along Dean's ribs and up his arm as he went. "I have waited so very long for this moment, Dean." He ran his finger across Dean's forehead as he passed, sending chills down his spine. Eric continued like that until he got to the cart Ben had mentioned. When he turned back around and into view, he was holding a knife.
"Let's get acquainted, shall we?"
