Febuwhump Day 23: Don't Leave. Sam is traumatized by the dark.

Title: Leave the Light On

SAM

Sam was introduced to the room early on in his captivity. He was spirited, indignant, altogether seemingly impossible to break. He had been attacked and taken to an abandoned meat factory where he had his hands and feet bound. He had already been beaten, choked, and waterboarded, but he wasn't fazed by torture. The devil himself taught Sam the meaning of the word, back when he was trapped in the cage and his misery was Lucifer's only form of entertainment, so the petty aggressions meant little to him.

His captor crouched in front of him. "Say it."

Sam spat out blood. "Screw you."

"I'm giving you one last chance. Just two little words: Yes, Master, and this all comes to a stop."

Sam glared back at him. "Fuck. Off," he was a Winchester and in no world would a Winchester call another man master. He could bruise and burn him all he wanted, but Sam would never play ball.

His captor sighed. "Just remember that it didn't have to be this way," he seized Sam by his hair and dragged him across the barren room into one of the freezers. He dropped him in the middle of the room and knelt behind his back to cut through the rope around his wrists. "That door is made of steel and will be locked from the outside. You're trapped in here. You chose this."

Sam immediately scrambled to undo the knot around his ankles, but by the time his numb fingers managed to pull it off, his captor had gone, the door slowly shutting behind him and leaving Sam alone in the pitch dark, chilly room.

He stumbled in the dark with his hands held out in front of him to find the door. He yanked on the handle and when it didn't relent, he kicked against it with all his might. He pounded and beat on it, but the reinforced steel didn't budge, so he began to feel around the wall for any weak points, but the entire perimeter was made of four inch thick impenetrable walls.
Sam rested his back against the wall and slid to the floor. He was sweating from exertion, but he knew that soon the cold would overtake him and he would be fighting for warmth. How long was he going to be left in here? Was he supposed to die, malnourished, dehydrated, and frostbitten? He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't go down at the hands of some deranged human on a power trip.

When Sam regained his energy, he felt around the room for anything that could help him break through the door, but it had been entirely cleared out. He tried the door once more, struggling against it, but the lock was secure and it offered no give.

Sam was fatigued from the struggle so he curled into a ball on the floor. Goosebumps popped up on his skin and he tried to rub warmth back into his body, but only grew colder. If his captor came back to give him food, he could overpower him then. He would wait for that.

But as days passed, Sam realized he wasn't coming back. He would slam his fists on the walls and scream and curse, but no one could hear him. His mouth grew dry and he thirsted desperately for a drink. He resigned to lapping from pools of water that formed on the floor. His stomach growled louder each day, but there wasn't so much as a crumb for him to eat. He wondered how long it would take for him to die of starvation and his mind became muddled and he drifted in and out of consciousness. He didn't know how many days had passed when the door finally opened and it felt like an angel had come from heaven to rescue him, but it was his captor who stepped through the light and regarded him with a smug grin.

"Is there something you want to say to me?"

Sam squinted at him, confused by the question, and began to crawl towards the door. His captor placed a boot on his fingers when he neared, threatening to press down.

"Are you going to do what I say now?"

Sam could put up with torture, but he wouldn't let himself die because of his pride, so he bit his tongue and forced himself to say, "Yes, Master."

"Good boy."

…

A couple weeks passed and the terror of being locked in the freezer faded. Sam regained his rage and when his captor approached him with a knife and teased it on his skin, telling him, "I'm going to brand you. Everyone will see you belong to me," with a sickly grin, Sam began to buck wildly. The knife dug into his stomach and sliced him open so that blood freely flowed from the deep wound, but Sam didn't mind the pain if it meant he wouldn't live with the humiliation of a scar that claimed he was his captor's object.

"Sam, I think you've forgotten your place. I am your master and you will treat me as such."

Fear struck icy cold in Sam's heart when his captor yanked him by his wrists, nearly pulling his arms out of his sockets, and pulled him back into the freezer.

"Wait, no!" his captor freed his hands from the binds once more and Sam instantly began to work open the knots around his feet, but it was already too late, "Come back! Stop! Let me out!" he screamed, but when the door shut and he heard the click of the lock, all hope dissolved and he deflated.

He huddled with his knees against his chest and tried to capture whatever warmth he was able to, but he quickly began shivering. He tried to exercise to maintain his body heat, but the lack of food made him weak and he resigned to sleeping in the corner of the room and licking the wet spots in the floor when he thought he might die of thirst.

Ten days later, the door opened again. Sam didn't crawl towards it this time, he didn't have the energy to, just watched as his captor regarded him. "Did you learn your lesson?"

Sam nodded with chattering teeth.

"I'm going to brand you now. Do you have a problem with that?"

He shook his head.

"Use your words," his voice was dark.

"No, Master."

…

Sam became compliant as time went on. He remembered what it felt like to be in the dark, dank freezer and he would do anything not to go back. His captor kept him bound, hand-feeding him, cleaning him, and spending a disturbing amount of time with him. Sam's eyes grew dull and he became despondent, except to respond Yes, Master or No, Master when it was required of him.

His mind slowly stopped working at full capacity and he couldn't think clearly through the heavy cloud that shrouded his brain. It wasn't resistance that landed him in the freezer for the third time, but a confused inability to obey directions.

He screamed in the confines of the room, shrieking with wild fear, a cornered animal afraid for its life. He yelled until his voice was hoarse and he couldn't remember why he was there anymore. His survival instincts didn't kick in and he didn't bother trying to quench his thirst with the thin pools of water. His captor retrieved him after only three days that time. If he had come any later, Sam would have died.

DEAN

It had been two months since Sam vanished and his disappearance weighed on Dean every second of the day. He could only imagine the horrible things happening to his little brother, or worse, his long dead, decaying corpse thrown out in some field or landfill. The thoughts made him ill.

It was by sheer luck that Dean found him. He overheard a conversation about the abandoned meat factory, that someone had heard screams coming from there. It could have been anything, but there was a feeling in his gut that this was his little brother.

After the sun set, he snuck into the warehouse and stepped silently through it, gun poised and fingers all but twitching on the trigger. He was ready to kill.

Dean walked through the massive rooms of the factory, some with long conveyor belts on them and some with hundreds of shelves that went to the top of the tall room. He prepared himself to enter the adjacent room. With his back against the wall, he peered around the corner. There he was: a muscular man with cropped hair stooped over something. His body obscured the view of the form under him, but Dean knew it was Sam. He could feel him like a telepathic connection.

"Hey!" he jumped out from around the corner and the man spun around. He stared at Dean, paralyzed for a moment, then jumped to life, sprinting across the wide, empty room. With an ear throbbing bang from Dean's gun, he dropped to the floor.

Dean returned his attention to the body the man had left behind. It was a long, thin man with his hair covering his face. "Sammy!" Dean shouted and raced to his side. Sam peered nervously up at him.

"D-Dean?"

"Yeah, hey, it's me. God, it's good to see you. Are you okay?"

Sam looked up at him with wet eyes.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay," he choked out as tears broke free.

Dean swallowed hard and pulled a knife from his pocket, sawing off the ropes. When he was freed, Sam tried to push himself off the ground, but his limbs shook with the effort. Dean hauled him off up with his hands under his arms and then allowed Sam to cling to him as they stumbled out of the factory. He tried not to let the heartbreak consume him when he felt Sam's sharp bones beneath his clothes.

When they arrived at the car, Sam tried to stand on his own and Dean knew he was trying not to appear weak. He watched closely as Sam swayed towards the car, opened the door, and collapsed inside.

Dean fought back tremors as he got in and twisted the key in the ignition. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam's voice was small.

"Should I take you to the hospital?"

"No, please don't."

"Are you sure?"
"I just want to go home. I think I'm gonna…" Sam trailed off and when Dean turned to find out why, he saw that Sam's head was drooped on his shoulder.

"Sammy! Sam!" Dean was about to pull the car over when Sam's forehead furrowed and he gradually opened his eyes.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"You fainted. I think I should take you to the hospital."

"No, I just haven't eaten. No hospitals. I can't go to the hospital."

"Why not?"

Sam's hand trailed to his stomach, but didn't speak.

Dean sighed. "Okay."

When they got home, Dean helped him through the bunker and into his room. Sam sat on the bed and stroked the fabric of his bedspread. It was late and Sam was tired, so Dean assumed he would be grateful to sleep in his own bed, but when he tried to shut the door to leave Sam alone in the dim room, he began screeching.

The screams were the loudest and most high-pitched he had ever heard from Sam. It made his stomach churn. "DEAN! DEAN, DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"Woah! Sammy, I'm here," he ran to Sam's side and pulled him into his arms. Sam trembled under the hug and urgently gripped Dean's shirt. "I'm not leaving. I've got you," he petted the back of Sam's head, "You're home now," Sam's breath was labored. It shot terror through Dean to wonder what made Sam react like that. He had never seen his brother this way before.

"I'm home now," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, you're safe. Big brother's here."

"I'm safe," Sam repeated, "You're here."