Sam was pretty sure he was slowly going insane. After a solid week of no contact, no communication, and with even the demons refusing to talk to him or look at him or acknowledge him in any way, Sam had gone on a hunger strike. Another three days of eating and drinking nothing, and he'd passed out on the floor and awoken to find a pissed off demon lingering near the nightstand. He'd asked Sam then if he planned to eat or drink any of his meal, and Sam had defiantly said no.
It was almost the last time Sam said no to one of his captors.
The kid-glove treatment had ended that day. The comfortable bedroom instantly transformed into a damp cellar. The demon pushed Sam backward and chained him to a dank wall by one cuff, and the next time he refused to drink the juice that the demon brought him, the torture started.
"You gonna drink this?"
Sam glared defiantly back, remaining silent but refusing to drink.
Slap! The open-handed blow rocked the boy's head back and split his lip wide open.
"How about now?"
Silence.
The punch in the gut came swiftly, and most of Sam's air left him in a single pained 'whoosh.' He tried to curl up in a fetal position, but the guy was back in Sam's face, holding the fucking juice.
"Thirsty yet?"
Sam spit out a mouthful of blood, "Bite me."
And the hellhound materialized from nowhere. Sam couldn't see it, but he could hear it, and he could feel its foul breath on his face.
The demon chuckled. "Whatever you say, you stubborn little bastard." and he made a gesture.
The hellhound took a small chunk of Sam's shoulder then, and the pain and the noise it made, chewing, caused Sam to retch violently. The pain and the fear and revulsion suddenly became too much, and the boy reached for the juice, downing it all in one chug. He set the small glass off to the side and scuttled back against the wet, rock wall, curling in on himself as much as possible.
"I'll be right back with breakfast. You hungry?" The demon smirked.
Sam nodded painfully, his hand clasped over his injured shoulder and blood streaming down between his fingers and along his arm like small rivers. And when the pancakes and bacon and eggs arrived, they brought with them memories of Dean so sharp that the word 'painful' couldn't describe them.
Sam ate them anyway.
###
Breaking the two demons took longer than they thought. Two entire weeks, to Dean's disgust. John still refused to torture the girl, but he wasn't so shy with the man who had stabbed both of his sons.
In the end, it was Ralph who broke and spilled the address of the location where they were keeping Sam. John was quick to exorcise both demons then, placing their human meat suits gently on the floor of the old factory building and calling 911.
In the next instant, he and Dean were on the road, rocketing toward the last known location of their youngest.
"You think we can trust what he told us?" Dean questioned, pushing the old Impala mercilessly along the old backroad that led to the defunct manufacturing plant.
"We'll know shortly," John answered distractedly, fiddling with his phone.
"What?" Dean asked shortly, glancing at the phone and then up at his father.
"Calling for reinforcements."
"Dad, we can't afford to wait for people to show? Those fuckers have had Sam for two damn weeks already!"
"I told you, they won't kill him, Dean."
Dean set his jaw. "Call who you want. I'm not waiting."
"Calm down, son. I have people ready and waiting. We won't have to wait for anyone."
And they didn't. When the Impala chugged up to the meeting place a quarter-mile from their destination, six other hunters whom Dean had never seen before were already there waiting, and they all carried knives identical to the ones Dean and his father wielded.
The determined group advanced in complete silence, focused on only two things - rescue young Sam Winchester and don't die doing it.