A/N: Wow, did I get stuck on this chapter. Geez. It's here, though, finally! I can't believe I broke a hundred already! You like me! You really like me!... Well, at least you like seeing the Winchester boys get themselves in heaps of trouble. That's okay... I do, too. ;) Review, and I'll bake cookies shaped like Impalas for everyone.
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It was an army knife, a good seven inches from hilt to tip, a dangerous looking serrated blade that glinted in the dim light of the basement. He held the knife like he knew how to use it, and Dean had no doubt the man was a master.
At the moment, Earl was heating the blade of the knife over a lighter produced from the pocket of his sooty work pants.
Somehow, he doubted it was for sterilization purposes.
The miner had a calm, collected look on his face that was beginning to irritate the hell out of Dean. Right now he'd give anything to wipe that look off his face.
Depositing the lighter in his pocket, Earl grabbed Dean by the elbow and hauled him upright, the burning against his back as it rubbed against the backs of his arms and back.
A wave of nausea hit him, an after effect of the drugs, and he struggled to keep his head clear.
Earl smiled a slow smile that stretched his face into a sinister mask.
"You're going to want to scream," he said.
Carefully pulling the hem of his shirt out, Earl used the knife to slice through the material of his sweatshirt, narrowly avoiding the skin beneath.
"That's good," Earl continued.
With the tip of the blade, Earl pushed the ripped shirts to the side, exposing Dean's chest.
"Why are you doing this?" Sam demanded angrily from his place on the floor.
"Because I can," Earl replied, his voice steely, never taking his eyes off the older Winchester.
"Because you're weak," Dean said, staring him down even still.
Earl swung back to the older brother. "You're not too smart, are you, Dean?"
"Well, I don't know," Dean replied. "I like to think I'm street smart."
Earl laughed humorlessly. "And you think you're funny, too. Not a good mix."
Dean tried to shrug, the movement barely showing.
"I'll deflate your ego, boy, don't you worry," Earl said, sneering.
He began circling Dean, moving slowly.
"Humans are curious things, aren't they? Some of them can withstand hours of pain...others cave after minutes," the miner said thoughtfully. "It's always interesting to see who's who."
Dean could see Sam from the corner of his eye, pulling at the rope constricting him furiously.
"Well, it's one way to get your jollies when Viagra fails," Dean remarked.
The knife came down without warning, opening a bright red stripe on Dean's stomach.
He pulled away from the pain, wincing, without making a sound.
"Your mother never taught you not to talk back, I see," Earl said, disappearing behind him for a moment.
Dean swung his head to the side, catching his brother's eye, trying to play it cool, give him a tough guy grin an show him he was alright. The wound was shallow, barely anything to worry about.
"That's okay," Earl's voice said from behind them. "I'll teach you."
"Please," Sam said, trying to turn around to see what he was up to. "Let us go, you can't want this."
Earl appeared again, wiping the bloody knife on a clean white rag.
"But I do, Sam," he replied. "That's the whole point."
---
How the hell could a guy do a total 360 like this and not get past their radar? It didn't make sense. He and Dean were supposed to be able see right through acts like this, but somehow Earl and Betty... how could they have suspected anything like this? The biggest worry on their minds had been how to save the friendly couple from death or tragedy, and now...
Now they were royally screwed.
Sam knew pleading with Earl would get them nowhere. But at least it would keep him distracted, even for a matter of seconds, enough to prolong injury, give them more of a chance to escape, to to figure out how to do so.
"What about Betty?" he asked. "Does she know what you're doing?"
"She's squeamish, my wife. Can't stand blood," was all Earl said.
How could Betty be a part of this, Sam mourned inside. He had liked her, liked them both, felt comfortable and at ease, and now they were trapped in a dingy cellar, tied and at the mercy of this sick bastard.
There would be time to beat himself up later, Sam reminded himself, this was not the time.
Now was the time for thinking, and soon, action.
It was unnerving, not being able to see what Earl was up to behind them. The hair on his neck stood up at the possibilities.
Sam's mind was going a mile a minute, and he was struggling to maintain composure. How his brother managed to look so calm was a mystery to him.
The moment Earl reappeared, Sam would pulling at the rope around his hands again. On the hope that the miner wouldn't notice while his attention was on Dean, Sam thought maybe he could pull his hands free. Then, when Earl's back was turned, he could be up and on him, knock him out somehow, get Dean free, and make a break for it.
He had ideas, but no way to act on them.
His wrists were already sore and chafed, and the rope had no give. It was a wonder the circulation to his hands wasn't being cut off.
Craning his neck, he inspected the cut on Dean's stomach. The ripped ends of his shirt had fallen back across the wound, covering it for the most part, which meant he couldn't tell if it was still bleeding.
His brother was watching him with raised brows.
Sam offered a shaky smile.
We'll be okay, he wanted to say. We'll find a way.
And then, Earl stalked back into view, holding something in in his hand.
---
"So, what's our next fun activity?" Dean asked brightly, trying to see what was in the man's hand without being obvious.
Earl's face was stony. "I teach you your lesson, boy."
"Oh, goody, lessons," Dean said dryly. "I do love lessons. Will we be learning to count today, or just figuring out what Blue wants to do?"
Earl's face only briefly showed his confusion, before he shook his head. "I'm really going to enjoy killing you."
Dean let a slow smile spread across his face. "Likewise."
"Any last words?" Earl asked, holding up his hand finally letting the object come into view.
In the light, a curved hook caught the light.
Across from him, he heard Sam take in a sharp breath and hold it.
"You better pray I don't get out of this," Dean said, his voice pure ice.
"I'll make sure of it," Earl replied easily.
He went to work.
---
Sam thought he might be sick, he couldn't watch this, couldn't.
He turned his head and closed his eyes for good measure, ducking his head and breathing in through his mouth and out through his nose, trying to fight off the sickness he felt settle in his stomach.
Dean was making no noise, but he knew it had to hurt like hell.
Earl meant what he said, about teaching him a lesson. His brother wouldn't be talking back now. Not with his mouth sewn shut, literally sewn shut and held tight with some crude black stitch-work. The curved needle moved far too easily through the skin, and though Dean at first tried to move away, Earl held his head against the wooden pillar and used the other one to complete his work.
His brother had closed his eyes, against the pain, he was sure, but Sam had a feeling he also didn't want his baby brother to have to see it.
He was afraid he was going to throw up.
He'd seen a lot of nasty things in his life; dead bodies, ghosts, goblins, demons so ugly they put horror movie creatures to shame. Still, his stomach turned at the sight of this.
He opened his eyes again, and chanced a look.
Dean's mouth was bleeding remarkably little, and Earl stepped back for a moment to inspect his job. Seeming satisfied, he disappeared again.
Leaning heavily against the pillar, Dean opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly and pulling in a deep breath through his nose.
Sam could have cried at the sight of his brother's mouth stitched shut, his eyes refusing to show the pain that was evident.
Earl appeared again, holding a bottle of water and the bloody rag he'd wiped his knife on earlier. He doused the rag in water and dabbed blood from Dean's lips almost tenderly, showing no emotion as the boy pulled away from the touch of the rough fabric on his mouth.
"Nothing to say now," he remarked as he cleaned away the blood.
"You sick bastard!" Sam exploded, his entire body straining against the ties.
"Upset, baby brother?" Earl asked, turning his attention on Sam. "I'd have thought you'd be happy not to hear your brother criticize you anymore."
"Fuck you!" Sam spat, and for a moment he swore Dean looked proud.
"Don't worry," Earl continued. "Your turn will come."
A soft thud made him turn away, and Sam saw that Dean had slid to the ground with some difficulty. His arms were raised painfully behind him, the rope catching on the aged wood.
"Get up!" Earl raged, pulling Dean roughly to his feet again.
Sagging, Dean obeyed, still putting most of his weight on the pillar.
Earl reared back and punched Dean, catching him on the jaw, before angrily storming back to his bag of tricks behind them.
"Dean?" Sam asked, not caring that Earl would hear. "Are you okay?"
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, reeling from the punch.
"Dean?" Sam asked again, his voice small.
All his brother could do was nod, but that in itself comforted him.
Or it did until Earl stalked back carrying more rope.
Sam watched as the miner tied the rope first around Dean's upper legs, then his chest, and finally, looped it around his neck. Biting back a curse, Sam realized that if his brother leaned forward even an inch, he would choke himself. Already weak from being drugged, Sam knew, because he was still feeling rubbery himself, and now with shock a very real possibility, Dean was in no position to stand. How long did Earl plan to make him?
Wiping his hands, Earl stood before the two brothers, glaring.
"No tricks. You won't get out anyway, so don't be stupid," he spat.
Sam was surprised when Earl turned his back on them and went back up the stairs, his footsteps thudding heavily before the door slammed and the lock clicked.
"Good," Sam whispered for Dean's benefit. "It gives us time to work."
Glancing at his brother, Sam swallowed hard.
They had no time.