When I was writing this story I was beginning to feel bad for them my self. I'll tell you all though, the torture is just beginning. They have a long way to go. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 9

Sam woke, still locked in the tiny room. Was he dreaming or did he hear his brother scream. He just didn't know. The pain of the bullet wounds radiated through his body. His sheets reeked with the smell of blood, and cold air blew from the vent over the bed. He shivered and tried to sit up.

The doctor had taken out the tank lid and the commode seat, so he couldn't use them as weapons. He sat up wincing at the stabbing pain in his side.

Slowly he slid his legs off the bed. His broken left leg was swollen and bloody, and as he brought it to the floor, the pain exploded. He fell back onto the thin mattress. He was going to die here if something didn't give soon, and so was his brother. He knew he heard Dean scream in agony. What did they do to him? He had to get out of there. He had to get to Dean, but how?

From the foggy depths of his brain, he groped for some plan. For some way of escape. They had to get out, but no matter how bad Sam was hurt, he had a feeling that Dean was hurt more. If not yet, he would be soon. Some how he was going to have to save Dean this time, but he had no idea how?

He heard a scraping sound and knew that the doctor was coming again. The bookshelves were being moved, the door unlocked. Sam just lay there, defenseless, knowing that he could never make a run for it now.

The doctor came in cautiously, checking to make sure that Sam hadn't found some kind of weapon to waylay him with before he could get to him. "I brought you some water." he said, handing him that bottle again. He knew it was drugged. If he drank it, he could be out for days.

"Thank you." said Sam. He set it down on the concrete floor next to the bed.

"Drink it now." said the doctor.

Sam shook his head. "I'm going to be sick. I'll drink it later."

"You need food." he said, but Sam could tell by his tone of voice that he had no intentions of bringing him any. Not now.

Sam looked up at the doctor. "I need you to look at my leg. I've lost a lot of blood and the bullet shattered the bone. I need to go to a hospital."

"No hospital." said the doctor. "That doesn't fit into my plan."

"What is your plan?" asked Sam, through clenched teeth. "Why are you holding us here? Is Dean ok? I heard him scream? What do you plan on doing with us? I want to see my brother, please!"

"Ok!"said the doctor. "Get up!" He pulled out a gun. With much effort Sam pulled himself up. "Let's go!" said the doctor.

"I can't." said Sam wincing.

"If you want to see Dean, you will. Move!"

Sam hopped to the basement door as two of the men came over to him. "He wants to see his brother." said the doctor. They nodded and one got on each side of Sam and helped him out the door. "I'm warning you Sam! Don't try anything!"

"I won't. I just want to see Dean."

They helped him over to Dean's door. The doctor held a gun on him as the men moved the bookshelve and opened the door. Sam gasped in horror as he stared at his brother. Dean was lying on a bunk strapped down. His whole face was bloody from the beating that he had recieved and he was unconscious. "Dean!" yelled Sam and started to hop in but the men grabbed him, dragging him back. "NO!" yelled Sam. "LET ME GO! DEAN, MY GOD!" He looked at Dean's leg, and his side. They were both bloody. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM! LET ME GO!" he yelled again as he struggled to get free. His own wounds, though, made him no match for his captors as they dragged him back over to his own room and shoved him down on his bunk.

"What do you want with us? What do you plan on doing with us?" said Sam in fear. He had never seen his brother beaten so badly.

"I plan to kill you, but not for awhile." His tone was matter of fact. "You are both still of use to me."

He was crazy, or evil, or both, thought Sam. "Dean didn't kill your brother doctor!" The doctors face was stone cold. "Yes he did. He'll pay. He thinks you're dead you know."

Sam caught his breath, shivered at the pain. He watched with a chill as the doctor left him there on the bloody sheets, locked the door, and scraped the bookshelves back in place in front of the door. What were they going to do? How were they going to get out? Sam didn't know, but he did know that if he didn't get them both out of there soon they were going to die. Sam laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes against the panic, and prayed.