Hello again everyone, Yes scifi girl it's been on before. I took it off to change somethings and now I'm posting again. I also posted it on Supernatural.tv before I posted here. You may have seen it there. Hope everyone still likes it. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 4

Weary, Dean went back to his cot and sank down. It was hot, sweltering, and he was thirsty again. His stomach burned with hunger. He wondered where his cell phone was. He had been wearing it that morning in the hospital when the doctor took him to examine him. He must have taken it.

He spotted the lid on the toilet tank and stumbled toward it, lifted it and slipped it between the cot and the wall. Maybe if the doctor came back he could use it to knock him off guard and somehow get the gun out of his hands.

He heard the scraping sound again and knew his banging had alerted the doctor that he was awake. Dean waited, every muscle in his body poised in readiness.

The doctor's face was hard as he stepped into the room. He held the gun in one hand and a box of fried chicken in the other. In his jacket pocket was another bottle of water. "Just so you know, if you try to escape, I'll kill you."

Dean's fingers closed over the tank lid. "What do you want from me?"

The doctor didn't answer. He just thrust the box at him and set the bottled water down beside the door.

"Go ahead and eat while I'm feeling generous. I don't want you dead just yet."
Dean needed him to come farther into the room. Just a little closer. "Look" said Dean, "If you think you're going to get ransom for me or something, you're sadly mistaken. I don't even know anybody with money. Not anybody who'd put a dime out for me. It's just me and my brother. I don't even know where my father is."

"It's not ransom that I want," said the doctor. "It's revenge."

"Why?" asked Dean, "What did I do?"

"You killed my brother," answered the doctor. "Cody's dead because of you!"

"Cody? The deputy? I didn't kill him. The sheriff did!" said Dean. "He wanted to help me."

"Yes, I know!" said the doctor. "Because of that, he's dead. He was blown away, remember? When we had his funeral we had to keep the casket closed because half of his face was gone. It was your fault, now you'll pay!"

"Where's my brother?" asked Dean. "Is he hurt? What have you done to him?"

"Sam is somewhere, where you can't get to him. He's going to die!" said the doctor. "You're my scapegoat, a distraction."

"Scapegoat? For what?"

The doctor didn't answer; he only smiled coldly at him. Dean had to make the doctor come closer. Softening his voice, Dean said, "Look, you seem like a decent person," he said as his hand closed around the toilet lid. "You were motivated by grief and shock when you abducted us. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time. Revenge and all that. Maybe you even planned to kill me and my brother, but now you have got to realize how crazy this sounds. I didn't kill Cody. Please, don't kill Sam! I'm begging you." said Dean. "He's not ready to go through something like this again. He's still weak from the last time."

"Yes, I know. I am his doctor, remember. He's going to get a whole lot weaker."

"Don't, please. Let him go. Keep me. If you really think I killed your brother, then just keep me. Sam wasn't even there at the time. He was being held captive in a place miles away from there. He didn't even know what was going on."

The doctor stared at Dean then. His eyes dull and unmoving as he seemed to process his words. Blocking the tank lid with his body, Dean started to slide it out of its hiding place. "I think I have a fever," he said, "I've been having chills and my head is splitting."

"Your head hurts because you fell down some stairs," said the doctor. "You have a severe concussion."

"Fell?" asked Dean, "How?"

"We dropped you." said the doctor. He said it so coldly that Dean wondered for a moment if he was a psychopath.

"We?" asked Dean.
"You're making me tired Dean. I didn't come down here for an interrogation. You're the prisoner, remember?" said the doctor and Dean fell silent.

"So tell me. Are you going to eat that chicken or not?" the doctor asked. "It would probably be a good idea if you did. It may be awhile before I feel like feeding you again."

Dean got to his feet and feigned interest in the chicken. The tank lid was still behind his back, clutched tightly in his hand. He slowly walked toward the doctor, acting like he was interested in the food. He got a couple of feet in front of him when the doctor told him to stop. Dean stopped, holding his breath.

"Drop the lid, Dean!" he said.

"What?" asked Dean.

"I'm not stupid. Drop the toilet lid or I will blow that hand off!"

Dean sighed. He had no doubt that he would do what he said, so he dropped the lid. The doctor bent down to pick it up and Dean hit him knocking him down! The gun slid across the floor. He stumbled over and grabbed it, pointing it at the doctor. The sudden movement made him very dizzy, but he stood his ground. He shook his head to clear his mind and looked at the doctor. "Where is my brother!" he yelled.

"Give me the gun!" said the doctor as he got to his feet wiping the blood from his mouth.

"Forget it!" said Dean. "You are going to take me to Sam right now!"

The doctor laughed. "No I'm not," he said. "But if you don't give me that gun right now, your brother will die! I'm not alone in this house Dean. I told the ones upstairs that if I'm not back in 10 minutes, not to even come looking for me, just kill Sam!"

"You're bluffing," said Dean uncertainly.

"Try me," said the doctor. "You have 2 minutes to decide. What's it going to be?" The two just stared at each other.

"Let me guess. You're the oldest, right? You have always looked out for Sam, haven't you? You promised you would always watch out for him and protect him. Well, you're about to kill your brother, Dean. You have one minute. It's your choice," said the doctor. "30 seconds!" he said again.

"Ok!" said Dean as he shook his head in defeat. He handed over the gun.

The doctor took it, went over to the door, and yelled up the basement steps. "I'm ok!" he yelled. "Don't do anything." He walked back over to Dean and hit him hard in the face with the butt of the gun, knocking Dean back against the cot. Dean fell. Blood poured from his nose and mouth. The doctor walked over to Dean, grabbed him by the hair and said ominously, "Don't you ever do that again! Get the hell back on that cot, NOW!" Dean did as he was told. The doctor cuffed one of his hands to the cot, and then he hit him again. The doctor picked up the food, that Dean didn't touch, but left the water.
"I don't feel generous anymore, Dean. I don't know if I will even bring you anything to eat for days. I'll just have to wait and see. I'm going to enjoy your food, son." The doctor left and locked the door back. Dean heard scraping noises as the bookshelves were being slid back in place in front of the door of what had become his prison.

Dean just lay there, not moving. He was dizzy from where he had been hit with the gun. He was seeing double, because of the concussion that the gash in his head had caused. He thought about his brother. "I won't let them kill you, Sam!" said Dean out loud, as he closed his eyes.