Day Two: Failed Rescue. Sam, caught by demons, caged, and tortured, is waiting for Dean to rescue him.

Title: That Deep, Dark Basement

Sam sat curled in on himself in the dog cage. It was the only way he could fit in the crate. It was Day Three. Three damn days of not eating and being taunted by the demons. He could handle torture. Honestly, a little box and a lean few days was hardly noteworthy, but it was the humiliation that got to him. The demons had tied his hands together with itchy, old rope and gagged him with an old, oily rag that made him nauseous. For the most part, the demons didn't touch him and only made denigrating comments about him or Dean. Sometimes Sam would growl or try to spit insults, but nothing substantial came out.

They captured him while he was following leads in a dive bar and brought him to this musty basement, full of crates and the dank smell of mildew. Sam kept replaying the events in his mind of all the things he did wrong, the ways he could have prevented this.

Sam resigned to the fact it would be his brother who saved him again. It felt like more and more often Dean was coming to his rescue. He was tired of being so weak in front of his older brother.

Sam's stomach growled and his face felt warm. He dropped down onto the floor of the cage. He hadn't realized he passed out until he came to, blinking away the blackness.

"Getting sleepy, Sam?" One of the demons asked.

Screw you, Sam thought. He picked himself back up and flipped the demon off with a shaky hand.

The demon stood up from its seat on a wooden box, trooping over to him and bending down. "I'm getting bored waiting for your brother. Do you think he's given up by now? Does he even want to find you?"

Sam tried not to let the words get to him. He and Dean would endlessly search for the other. If Dean disappeared, Sam wouldn't let a second go by without searching for him. He believed Dean would do the same.

The demon turned to the group, six other men, and asked in an eerily cheery voice, "Who wants to play with Sammy?"

The demons all piped up, volunteering themselves.

"Calm down, we all get a turn."

Sam was starting to feel sick. He watched the demon reach into his pants pocket and pull out the key. He edged to the back of the cage and tried to become as small as possible. The demon reached in to grab his ankles, but he kicked out and landed a foot to its face.

"That was a mistake," its grin grew wider. Sam pressed hard into the corner, the bars digging into his skin. The demon flicked its wrist and Sam was yanked out of the cage. He yelped through the gag when the metal scraped against his skin. The demon's eyes glinted and Sam was suddenly in the air, flying, and crash landed face first into the cement wall. The inside of cheek throbbed and he tasted metallic blood as it dripped down his chin. "Get the whip," the demon ordered.

Sam grimaced, listening to the sound of footsteps retreat and return. He struggled against the invisible binds, but the demon's powers kept him tight against the wall. He wiggled his toes and tried to touch the floor, but there was no point. He was trapped.

The footsteps approached him and his whole body grew tight with anticipation.

His back lit up with fire. The pain was like a razor slicing through him. He could feel where the whip cut into him. It ripped open his shirt and opened the skin on his back. Droplets of blood leaked down. He howled around the rag.

Again, it struck him. He heard the crack ring out only afterwards, punctuating the attack. "Nggh!" Sam shouted. The slashes continued, turning from strikes he could pinpoint, to an indiscernible agony that covered his entire back. They hit him, again and again until he lost count.

He shrieked. It almost didn't feel like it came from him, but when it echoed through the room and the demons cackled, he knew it was his. His back was numb and he could only feel the blood when it reached his pants and soaked the fabric. He tried to hold it together, push back the screams, but they reverberated through the basement without his permission.

He didn't realize he passed out until he was on the floor. His head uncomfortably angled towards the wall and he could see some of the demons watching raptly. Sam floated in and out of awareness, not fully grasping what was going on, but still gripped with anxiety. He didn't register the presence to his other side until the little, white grains rained down on him.

"HNNNNG," Sam yelled as the salt pelted his wounds. He writhed, his body twitching and jerking wildly. Tears crept down his cheeks, and the demons laughed.

"Sam!"

He heard Dean's voice accompanied by the sounds of him pounding down the steps. Gunshots rang out, sounds of a struggle, a large thump, then Dean grunting angrily.

"Sammy!"

Dean yelled. Sam's head was abruptly twisted to the other side, so that he could see his brother, trapped on the wall like a pinned up butterfly.

Sam grunted, trying to call out to him, but the rag garbled his words.

"I'm gonna get you out of here. It's okay," Dean promised.

Sam wanted to believe it, but hope was draining rapidly.

"I don't think so, Dean-o," one of the demons said.

Sam hated himself. He hated that he got Dean into this situation, that he couldn't get out on his own, and now that his brother was going to witness the demons torture him. Sam watched as a demon in a navy-blue suit neared him and took its scuffed loafer, slowly placing it on his back. Sam cried out as the demon rubbed its sole into Sam's salted wounds.

"Stop it! Leave him alone! I'll kill you," Dean roared from his spot on the wall. All Sam could do was whimper. His eyelids grew heavy and slid closed and he was freed from it all momentarily.

When he woke up, he found that he was scrunched up. He tried to stretch out, but the movement immediately shot pain through his back and he stilled. He squinted as he attempted to gather his surroundings. He was back in the crate, but now there was a body beside him.

"Please wake up, Sammy," Dean was looking at him with desperation. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes. Sam opened his eyes all the way and focused. "Thank God," Dean breathed, "I'm gonna take that thing off you. Come here."

Sam lowered his head so Dean could undo the tie. Dean gently pulled it from his mouth.

Sam rubbed his jaw and swallowed, grateful to be free of the taste of petroleum. "Thanks," he croaked. It was the first thing he had said in days.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam jumped in first. "I'm sorry. I should've been more careful. It's my fault you got caught."

Dean shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. I came in here, guns blazing, without a plan. I screwed things up. Bobby knows where I am. He'll come whenever I don't answer the phone. Shit, Sam, your back," he turned Sam's shoulder so he could get a better look at the lashes. Sam hissed at the movement.

"It's worse than it looks," he lied.

"I'm going to pick out the salt," Dean's voice was low. Sam glanced behind him and saw Dean was looking down, shadows obscuring his face. There was something dangerous about him and if Sam didn't know it was directed at the demons, he would have been afraid. Sam turned back around and did his best not to gasp out and cry throughout the arduous process. He dug his fingers into his knees and bit his lip, grateful Dean couldn't see the pain reflected on his face.