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Chapter 8

Dean was still sitting on the bunk with his hand chained to it. He stared at the door. He couldn't get his mind off his brother. Sam was not dead. He would not believe that, not for one minute. He winced at the pain in his head. He knew he had a concussion, but all he could think about was Sam.

He heard the scraping sounds again as the bookshelves were being moved. Two men came inside. They walked over to Dean who just sat there and glared up at them. One of them uncuffed him and told him to get up. Dean didn't move. They pulled him up to his feet and shoved him towards the door. "We're going out into the basement," they said, as they shoved him again.

"Why?" asked Dean getting nervous.

"There's more room out there." they said.

"Room for what?" asked Dean his nervousness increasing. "I want to see my brother."

"Your brother is dead."

"I don't believe that!" said Dean.

"You seen him with your own eyes, didn't you?" one of the men asked him.

"He's hurt bad, but he's not dead. I would know if he was dead. I would feel it. We're just that close. He needs a hospital. I know the doctor's not going to do anything. Please let me see him again!"

"No," one of the men said. "Sam is dead, Dean. I'm the one who shot him!"

"What!" yelled Dean. "You son of a bitch!" He lunged for the man but the other pulled him back, and hit him in the head. Dean saw double and almost fell but steadied himself. They carried him over to the center of the basement. There was a chair sitting there. Dean looked down at the chair and then back at the men.

"Sit down!"

"NO!" said Dean and kept on standing.

The men just grinned and pushed him down onto the chair. They chained his hands and feet.

"I think I'm getting used to this," he said. "Don't you people know how to do anything but tie me up?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, we do," said one of the men. He went over to a covered table against the wall and took off the cover.

Dean looked. "Oh, God!" he said. There were all kinds of different weapons, sitting there. "Come on man!" said Dean. His nervousness turned into fear. "I guess this means that your not just regular kidnappers, huh?" he asked. "Are you Satanists?"

"No, but we do have a mutual friend. Remember Scott?" they asked as Dean jerked his head up and stared at them.

"Scott?" he asked.

"We all served some time together. He taught us and our friends upstairs all kinds of different fun things to do. The doctor actually released us from a hospital for the criminally insane, just for this very purpose."

"What are you going to do?" asked Dean, although he already knew the answer.

"Well, let's put it this way," said one of the men. "The doctor wants you to hurt, Dean. He wants you in great pain. He told us that he wants every single part of your body to hurt and hurt bad. We're here to oblige him."

"Why? I didn't do anything! I did not kill his brother! Why does he want to do that?"

"We don't ask questions, we just do what he says."

Dean shook his head as one of the men went over and picked up an ice pick off the table, and then he walked back over to Dean, who bit his bottom lip nervously.

"First," said one of the men, "Sam was shot in the leg. Now, this is not a bullet but I like this better." He looked at the ice pick that he was holding in his hand, and then he looked down at Dean who shook his head.

"You don't want to do this. Please!" said Dean.

"Oh yes I do," said the man as he jabbed the ice pick into Dean's left leg. Dean screamed in agony as the pick went in. "What the hell are you doing?" he yelled as the pain exploded in his whole body. He started breathing heavy as tears came to his eyes.

"Did that hurt?" asked the men, conversationally. "Let's see, what's next?"

"No!" yelled Dean. "Don't!" Neither one of the men were paying him any attention. They walked back over and looked at the weapons again. Dean's leg was bleeding pretty badly from the wound. The men came back over to Dean. "Wait a minute!" said Dean as he saw what was in one man's hand.

"Second, Sam was shot in the side." said the man. In his hand was a knife. He plunged the knife into Dean's side. Dean screamed as the man withdrew it. "Stop! You son of bitch! I will kill you!"

"What did you say?" they asked as they walked back over to the table. They picked up some brass knuckles and turned on Dean. They hit him in the face, then in the stomach and they just kept on hitting him over and over again. He was bruised and bloody from the beating and barely conscious. "Tell me again, Dean. What did you say about killing us?" Dean could barely talk, but decided that it was a pretty good idea to keep his mouth shut for now, so he just sat there.

"That's what I thought," they said. "You got something else to say to us?" they asked.

Dean shook his head. He had a black eye. His nose and mouth were bleeding, his head was hurting more than ever, and his leg and side were both bleeding from the wounds that he had just received. He couldn't take the pain anymore and passed out. The two men unchained him from the chair and carried him back into his room. They threw him, unconscious, on the floor as they locked the door and pushed the bookshelves back in place.

Three hours later Dean woke up. He tried to move but moaned at the pain that each movement caused. The doctor had gotten what he wanted. Every part of his body hurt. Slowly, painfully he pulled himself up to a sitting position. He got very dizzy and almost passed out again, but he fought through it. He crawled over to the cot and pulled himself up on it. He fell back against the pillow breathing hard from the effort.

He was thirsty, so he grabbed the water bottle and drank it down. Almost immediately Dean got so sleepy that he could hardly hold his eyes open. He looked at the water bottle. "Shit," he said, "they drugged it." He threw it down as heaviness settled over his entire body. He couldn't move. He tried very hard to stay awake, but finally he gave up and drifted off into unconsciousness again.

The doctor came into the room and replaced the bottle of water with another one. He strapped Dean down to the bunk. "Wake up soon Dean. We're just getting started. This is only the beginning." The doctor left the room again and locked the door. He pushed the bookshelves in front of it and looked over to where Sam was. He decided he would check on him later. He went upstairs thinking about what he was going to do to the brothers next.