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Chapter 2

The doctor went back into Sam's room. "Where's Dean?" asked Sam.

"I don't know. I checked him out and told him he could come back here. Maybe he went to the cafeteria or something."

"Yeah, maybe," said Sam but he had a bad feeling. "So, I can go tomorrow huh?"

"Yes, but first I want to give you one more dose of antibiotics just to make sure that your leg doesn't get infected."

"I don't need anymore." said Sam. "I'm ok."

"I know, but it wouldn't hurt to get one more." said the doctor as he took a syringe out of his lab coat and walked over to Sam.

He inserted the needle into the IV port and delivered the contents into his veins. Sam winced as heat spread up his body. He fell back against the pillow as the drug began to take effect.

"Doctor, I don't remember the other antibiotics making me feel this way. This one is making me so sleepy." said Sam. He could hardly hold his eyes opened. The feeling of unease grew as Sam started to get out of the bed.

"I need to go find Dean." said Sam as he grew even more sleepy. He couldn't get out of the bed. "What did you do?" he asked the doctor. "That wasn't an antibiotic."

"No, it wasn't Sam, it was a sedative."

"Why did you give...me...that?" he asked.

"Because it will be easier to move you that way."

"Move me...where?" asked Sam as he fought to stay awake. "I don't understand."

"You will," said the doctor as Sam passed out. He was taken down to another van.

They laid him down on the floor and tied his hands behind his back. They drove away. The doctor tied up loose ends inside the hospital as he wrote discharge orders for Sam. That way no one would get suspicious. Then he left the hospital and drove to his house. It was payback time. Sam and Dean would be sorry for what had happened to his brother. They would both pay.

Scraping, rattling, darkness. Dean slid out from under a black quicksand sleep and struggled to orient himself. He could not see a thing in the opaque darkness. His head felt as if it had been cracked through the skull. He reached up to touch it and felt a sticky, painful wound. 'What had happened?'

The scraping sounded again, and he tried to sit up. A crack opened in the darkness. Dim light showed through as the silhouette of a man stepped into the doorway. Dean frowned. "Who are you?"

The man turned on the light and it flooded the room, blinding Dean. He squinted and turned his face away from it, then he forced himself to look back at him. The face was familiar but he couldn't place it. He couldn't remember.

"Headache?" asked the doctor. His eyes were hard, piercing. "You're lucky you're alive."

"Who are you?" asked Dean as he tried to sit up again, but the pain in his head pulled him back down.

"Think. It'll come back to you."

Dean tried to think. He had been in the hospital with Sam waiting on the doctor to come and release him. He had wanted to examine Dean again and took him to another room. He squinted his eyes at him. Was he the doctor? He looked different, but he also looked the same. His hair had changed.

"Doc?" asked Dean.

The doctor didn't answer him and Dean watched at he brought out a two liter bottle of water and sat it down by his cot. Dean rose up as much as he could and looked down at himself. Blood had dried all over the front of his shirt. He touched his head again, found the gash that had bled.

"Was I in an accident?' he asked.

"No accident." said the doctor moving back toward the door. "It was quite deliberate."

Confused, Dean tried to focus. He was in a small room, with nothing but a cot to lie on and a commode. It wasn't the hospital. The walls were filled with studs and tarpaper, like in a basement. He couldn't imagine why he would be here with the doctor. 'Where was Sam? Was he here too?'
The doctor had wanted to give Dean one last exam before he discharged Sam. He went with him to an exam room. That was the last thing he remembered.

"Do you remember what I told you?" asked the doctor.

"No, what?" answered Dean.

"Think! What did I tell you?" asked the doctor impatiently.

"Nothing...I don't know. I can't remember." said Dean.

His teeth came together, and he spoke through them. "My brother." said the doctor. "What did I say about my brother?"

The doctor's curiosity about what Dean remembered implicated him and he realized he was in danger. He tried to rise up again. "What did you do? Knock me in the head with something? Where is my brother?"

"I asked you a question!" said the doctor. His face was harder then Dean remembered and his eyes were cold.

"Is Sam hurt?" asked Dean. He tried to get up again. What had happened to his head?

"I need to use your phone," said Dean, "Please. I need to call Sam."

The doctor laughed; a brittle, frigid sound. "You're not calling anyone and you're not going anywhere. You're staying right here where I put you."

Finally Dean managed to sit up. "Why? What did I do? What purpose would that serve?"

"Many purposes." said the doctor.

With great effort, Dean got up and started toward the doctor who took out a gun and leveled it on him. He froze.

"Get back on that bed before I blow your head off!" said the doctor. Dean knew he meant it. It was clear in his eyes. "Why? What do you want?" he asked.

"I want revenge."

"For what? What did I do? Where is my brother? Is Sam ok?"

"Shut up and get back on that cot!" said the doctor.

Dean backed to the bed and slowly lowered himself down. "What are you keeping me here for?"

The doctor didn't answer. He just kept that gun on him as he backed out the door. Dean saw that he was in a room inside a basement, and across the room outside the door stood wooden stairs, probably going into his house. The doctor closed the door behind him. Dean heard it lock and then he heard scraping noises as if something was being pushed in front of the door.
Dean wondered how he had gotten here. Was he drugged? His throat felt blistered and parched, and he wondered how much time had passed. He looked down at the water bottle the doctor had brought him, grabbed it and drank it down. It went down smooth, wetting the tissues in his throat, hydrating his mouth. He looked at his watch, squinted, and focused on the date. It was April 17th, four days after Friday the 13th. Where was Sam? Where was his brother? Was he ok? He felt a lethargy washing over him, making him weak, sleepy, heavy again. He lay back and searched his brain for a plan of escape, but his mind was muddled and he couldn't concentrate. He was so tired.

Then he heard voices. Distant muffled voices coming from the vent over his head. Somewhere in another room of the house, their voices carried. Sleep tried to pull him under into a swampy haze, but he fought to stay awake.

"I told you we should have killed him." Dean heard the voices say. "We never should have brought him here."

"Because of him my brother is dead." said another voice that sounded like the doctor. "He's gonna pay! His brother will never find him. We have them both right where we want them."

The sounds became more muddled, confused, and the words blurred and flattened in Deans head as he drifted deeper. "Where are you Sam? What are they doing to you?" he said before he went entirely under. No clearer plea would form in his mind. He couldn't make his thoughts evolve into words and soon his brain released those thoughts as blackness overtook him again.