Author's Note: So the first half of this chapter is one reason why I love fanfiction! It's so much fun to consider the different possibilities for those nagging questions. Enjoy!
SPN
"You're tired," Madison observed without a trace of uncertainty in her voice, and Dean had to admit, she wasn't wrong. They had been hiking for hours, pausing only long enough to contend with the various monsters that sought to kill them. The sun had set, and the trees blocked out much of the moonlight, but that didn't slow them down. Dean's eyes were used to the dark, and for over a year now, he felt strangely at home in the night.
However, he was still human, and he was going on two days without sleep. On top of that, he was still recovering from his interrogation with Fenris. He would never admit it, especially in Crowley's presence, but even now, he remained haunted by those ten years in hell. Those last ten years when he couldn't resist his own depravity. Sometimes he could still hear Alastair's voice whispering in his ear, encouraging him to commit violent atrocities, and the shame was overwhelming. It could not be erased, no matter how many lives he saved.
Drawing from that nightmare to break Fenris took a lasting toll on the hunter. It weighed him down, threatening to engulf him, and only one thing kept him on his feet. Sam. How much worse was it for Sam? If Dean could barely cope with his memories of Alastair, how could he expect his brother to cope with Lucifer? There was simply no comparison. But try telling that to a concerned werewolf.
"You need to rest," she warned him. "Seriously. I can smell that dragon from here, and it's no joke. You're no good to anyone if you wear yourself out."
Dean clenched his jaw and pressed ahead. Thankfully, Cas and Crowley were on the same wavelength—they knew him well enough not to question his endurance, and kept hiking despite Madison's advice. "I'll be fine," Dean told her. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Not when Sam's in danger." He left it at that, and Madison got the message.
Sam… Dean wondered how he was holding up, and tried not to think about the distance separating them. They weren't even in the same dimension! For all he knew, Lucifer could be standing on their doorstep, just waiting for an opportunity to break inside… and then what? Mom was no match for the friggin' devil, and Sam would do anything to keep her safe. Even consent.
Son of a bitch… This was taking too long.
Suddenly, Cas broke the silence. "Why would God create a human portal in a realm not meant for humans?"
The question came out of nowhere, and caught Dean off guard. "What?"
"It's something I've been asking myself since meeting Benny," the angel explained. "When reapers collect humans, their souls are carried to heaven or hell. Not Purgatory. God designed Purgatory specifically to contain leviathans. From the leviathans sprang Eve, and from Eve sprang the first wave of monsters. Purgatory is their domain. Humans were never meant to set foot here."
"Just what we need," Crowley grumbled. "Cosmic speculation with Castiel."
Dean couldn't help but share the demon's attitude. This was hardly the time. "What's your point, Cas?"
"The portal!" he insisted with growing conviction. "Why would God provide an escape hatch for humans when humans never come here? Present company excluded."
"You're the angel," Crowley spat. "You tell us."
Madison nearly tripped in surprise. "Angel!?" She began to stare at Cas in wide-eyed astonishment.
Of course, he didn't seem to notice. "Human tradition describes Purgatory as purification for souls to gain the holiness required to enter heaven. What if there's some truth behind the myth? What if there's a way for human-born monsters to purify themselves to restore their humanity? That would explain the portal's existence, at least in theory."
Dean shook his head. "I don't know, man. That sounds too good to be true." He made it a point not to look at Madison—the idea would naturally intrigue her, and if she got her hopes up, she would probably be let down. She didn't deserve that.
"Dean's right," Crowley agreed. "You're spewing nonsense, Cas. It's a dog-eat-dog universe, and you're not doing anyone any favors by suggesting otherwise."
As they spoke, the terrain grew increasingly jagged and rocky. Dean had to watch where he stepped to avoid tripping over large chunks of limestone. It would have been easier to navigate in the day, but they couldn't afford to wait that long. Thankfully, as the ground sloped upwards, the forest began thinning out, and soon the moonlight broke through the trees.
"Does anyone else smell that?" Madison asked.
It was barely noticeable—at first—especially with the sulfur coming from Crowley, but the more they climbed, the more prominent it became. Ash. Just like Fenris described. It filled Dean's nose and made his eyes water.
Madison charged forward and the others hastily pursued. They were close, and while they didn't know the exact location of the cavern, they had a plan to find it.
"HEY GODZILLA!" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs. "ANYBODY HOME!? YOU HAVE SOMETHING WE WANT, AND WE'RE NOT LEAVING TILL WE GET IT!"
A slight tremor rippled beneath their feet. Dean grabbed a tree to steady himself while loose rocks scattered across the ground. Encouraged, he tried again. "COME ON OUT, YOU BIG LIZARD! WE DON'T GOT ALL NIGHT!"
"MY MOTHER ALWAYS SAID YOU LOT WERE OVERRATED, INCOMPETENT PILLOCKS!" Crowley pitched in. "AND THAT'S WHY YOU FANCY VIRGINS!"
"YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER!" Dean continued to roar. "WHEN WE FIND YOU, WE'RE GONNA SCRAPE EVERY LAST SCALE FROM YOUR WORTHLESS SKIN, UNLESS YOU GIVE US WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR!"
"WHAT ARE YOU, A COWARD!?" Cas demanded, eager to help. "COME OUT AND FIGHT!"
The ground began to shake in earnest. Dean braced himself as smoke and steam billowed into the air from unseen cracks and crevices. The last dragons he encountered had been disguised as humans… This time, it would be the real deal, and he shivered in anticipation.
"This way!" Madison veered to the left, scrambling uphill towards the foot of a massive mountain cliff. Dean caught his breath… A gap in the wall offered access to the cavern beneath the surface. They found it! Along with its dangerous occupant…
Thud…
Thud…
Thud…
Thud…
From out of the shadows emerged an iridescent, serpentine monster with bright, amber eyes. It snarled angrily, rearing back on its hind legs while spreading its wings—each the length of a commercial airplane.
Dean's heart stopped, and he could only wonder if he would ever see his brother again.
SPN
Propped upright in the corner of another moving vehicle—probably in the cargo hold of another SUV—with his legs stretched out in front of him, Sam struggled to maintain his balance. He couldn't bend his knee with the splint in place, and there wasn't enough room to lie down, which was probably for the best. If he lay down, he'd have to fight the urge to sleep, and right now, he couldn't afford to sleep at any cost. Either the devil would come for him… or the round thumbtack that Ketch stuck on the side of his head would reactivate… and neither option appealed to him.
Instead, he tried to focus on a game plan. How was he going to get out of this? What information did he have? Not much. He had been taken by Ketch and put on an airplane. He was probably in England, but couldn't be sure of that, and with the blindfold and headphones rendering him disabled, he had no way of learning more. He couldn't talk. He couldn't fight. He couldn't defend himself.
I need help… But who would help him? Mom? She was on the other side of the Atlantic. Cas? He wouldn't be able to find Sam, and even if he could, the Men of Letters would have the wards in place to repel angels. So who did that leave?
No one…
A few faces came to mind. Jody. Eileen. Garth. Donna. Even Amelia. But he couldn't rely on them—not against the Men of Letters, and certainly not against Lucifer. His life wasn't worth risking theirs.
Crowley? Rowena? But why would they care?
Sam had no one. He was entirely on his own, and a deep ache filled his heart.
Mom would come for him.
But how did he know that?
Because family always comes for each other.
But how did he know that? He didn't have a family. Not really.
"Mom. For me… just, um… having you here… fills in the biggest blank."
He so desperately wanted a mother… all his life… and he thought she understood, but still…
She left.
Sam wasn't the baby boy she longed for. Honestly, if anything, he was the reason she lost her chance to have a normal, happy family. She probably hated him. So why would she come for him? She wouldn't.
No one would.
As Sam grappled with his grief, the vehicle began decelerating and soon came to a smooth halt. He stiffened, bracing himself for more abuse, and sure enough, he was not left hanging.
Everything rocked as doors undoubtedly opened and closed. A cold draft on Sam's face was his only warning before a pair of hands clamped around his arm and dragged him forward. His knee flared in agony as stars exploded behind his eyelids. He howled, recoiling frantically, straining against his handcuffs, but helpless to resist. The next thing he knew, he was lying face-up on the ground. Straps were tightly fastened over his chest, waist, thighs, and ankles. He squirmed, moaning miserably.
Moments later, something shifted underneath him, and he realized he wasn't lying directly on the ground, but on a sturdy sheet of canvas-like material. A stretcher. His captors picked it up, and he felt the ground disappear beneath him. His stomach flipped as they began to walk. The stretcher swayed, tilted upwards, then leveled out. Stairs, perhaps?
They proceeded forward, occasionally rounding corners, for several minutes. Then, the stretcher tilted upwards a second time, and they climbed much farther than before. When it finally leveled out again, Sam wondered what floor he was on. More importantly, what building was he in? Where the hell was he? A frustrated, anguished whimper escaped his gag—not that he could hear it.
Eventually, the stretcher was placed on some kind of raised platform. A table? A counter?
Dread coursed through his veins. This was it. He was exactly where Ketch wanted him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
What now?
Much to his surprise—and relief—a pair of hands gingerly removed his headphones. He could hear!
"…won't damage the Somnus Inhibitor?" Ketch was in the middle of a question, and he actually sounded concerned.
"Not in the least!" someone replied in a cocky male voice with an English accent. "You needn't fret, Mr. Ketch. I've got it sorted."
"I should hope so, Mr. Rawlings. Otherwise, if the lad falls asleep, I reckon you'll be the first to die."
Whoever removed Sam's headphones proceeded to undo his gag. The handkerchief was pulled from his mouth, and he wasted no time trying to object. "Please! Let me go!"
Instead of answering, someone pressed what felt like a solid rubber muzzle over his nose and mouth. Startled, he bucked anxiously, making his restraints pinch his skin. An elastic strap was pulled around the back of his head, holding the muzzle tightly in place. It was heavy and oppressive.
"Just breathe," a man told him in a soft, short-winded voice. "You'll be all right."
Suddenly, air began blowing directly into his nose and mouth. Sam realized he was wearing an oxygen mask, and the discovery left him rattled. Why was he wearing a damn oxygen mask? And why would they remove his headphones, but not his blindfold? What the hell was going on!?
He couldn't stop shivering, and it wasn't entirely from the cold.
"Be careful with him," the breathless man exclaimed as several pairs of hands unfastened the straps to the stretcher. Sam would have lashed out, but his wrists were still cuffed behind his back, and his knee was still broken. He was at their mercy.
"On three," someone said as various people grabbed his arms, legs, feet, and shoulders. "One… Two… Three…" They lifted Sam off the platform and carried him to another section of the room. "Easy does it… Watch his head!" They gingerly lowered him onto the floor.
Except, it wasn't the floor. It was some kind of cramped container, and he barely fit—his shoulders brushed the walls on both sides—his toes tapped the opposite end. It almost felt like a…
Like a coffin.
Crap…
Something fell, landing firmly on the frame just inches above his body.
A lid?
Oh, god…
Moments later, he heard the unmistakable sound of running water.
Not again.
It rushed into the container from an entry point above him, icy and relentless. Sam recoiled, kicking his legs in a panic. Excruciating pain radiated out from his knee, and it was all he could do not to throw up.
They were going to submerge him—hence the oxygen mask. Sam would have been furious if he had the energy, but his heart wasn't in it. These bastards had taken everything from him.
He had nothing left.
SPN
Author's Note: If Sam seems a little out of character, just remember, Lucifer has been messing with his head. A lot. Poor guy!
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