-CHAPTER 6-

Dean's arms hurt, but it wasn't until he came to that he realized why.

He was suspended in the air, hanging only by his arms.

A rough rope tied around his wrists rubbed harshly against his skin as his arms supported his whole weight. His whole arms tingled with pain, almost going numb as they stretched above his hand, pulling on his sockets.

He strained his eyes, trying to see his surroundings, but it was too dark. All he could see was a door, outlined with weak light. By its position, he figured he was inside the building, the one with the stairs. He stretched out his legs, trying to feel the ground with his feet. But he was too far up, and the motion only caused him to swing, putting more pressure on his shoulders and wrists.

Dean groaned, memories still fresh from the last time he found himself strung up by his arms. Only a month ago, the Wendigo had tried to store him like a slab of meat. Thank God he had Sam then.

Dean jerked in his bindings, alarmed by the sudden thought. "Sam? Sam?" he called out into the dark. He was terrified Sam would answer.

"Sam!" he cried harshly, insistently, as he thrashed in the air. But either he was out cold, or he wasn't there. He prayed fervently that it was the latter, desperately hoping that Sam wasn't stuck tied up with him.

Frantically, Dean tried to twist out of his bonds, but he only managed to rub his wrists bloody. He could do nothing as the blood trickled down his sensitive skin, tickling the pinpricks of pain and driving him mad.

His legs kicked out in the air, desperate for purchase, when his shin slammed against something hard. Startled, Dean lifted his leg, patting his foot around to feel for it. It was a ledge of some kind, sticking into the space Dean dangled from. It sounded like wood when he banged his shoe against it. A platform, he realized. One that stood right underneath the doorway, a space for people to stand on before the room dropped away. It extended about five feet, judging by the distance of the door's faint glow.

And if the floor of the building was at ground level, Dean figured the bottom was at least three feet below him.

Dean hooked one foot on the ledge and tried to swing his body so he could get the other one up there beside it. The rope pulled at his wrists with each movement, forcing a gasp from him each time. Every time he managed to get both feet planted on the wood, the weight of his body would drag him off again. Dean didn't stop trying.

But then, beyond his own labored breathing, he thought he heard an echo. Freezing in place as best as he could, he held his breath until all he heard was the creaking of the rope above him.

And then he heard whispers.

Low and deep, they seemed to drift from the platform and surround him, filling his ears with unintelligible murmurings, like a swarm of gnats. As Dean focused on the sound, the whispering grew louder. Eventually he could make out a few phrases from the low mumbling that filled the air.

"...Run away..." it seemed to hiss at him. "...Teach you...Never..."

"What?" Dean asked, his voice sounding especially loud against the echoing whispers.

"...Pay!" The voice was suddenly loud and clear, and as soon as Dean heard it, something slashed sharp across his back, jerking Dean in the air. It left a long line of pain throbbing across his skin.

"The hell!" Dean shouted angrily, his back burning as his struggling intensified. The rope dug into his wrists as he twisted and turned. He strained to see, hating that he couldn't his assailant.

In reply, the whispering grew faster, but no more intelligible. Another strike against his back, and Dean could feel his flesh ripping from the force. He had to bite down on his lip, just to keep from crying out.

"Stop that, you bastard!" he yelled into the dark when he got his breath back. His eyes searched for the door, looking for light, but a black form stood in its way.

Another lash struck across his shoulders, tearing into his skin, and this time Dean had to grunt at the pain. Before he could recover, again the force whipped against his back, spinning him around.

"Goddamn piece of shit!" the voice roared. The lash came again, striking against already exposed wounds.

Dean's back seized up in pain. He instinctively tried to pull himself up and maybe out of the way, but his arms were useless and numb, and he was hit again. Distantly he could feel blood oozing down his back.

The voice got louder, filling Dean's head with its anger. "...My family!" it screamed at him, sending more lashes against his back. Pain erupted in white flashes behind his eyes.

"Killed my family!" it raged at him.

But all Dean could feel was the flesh of his back tearing apart.