A/N I'm so sorry that this is such a late update. It's been one of those weeks at work (one of those weeks when the managers realize that you are doing the work of like three people and try and bribe you to not quit or talk to higher management by buying everyone a drink from Maverick which is just so convincing...) but hey, we got here in the end. :) On that same note, I didn't edit as closely I typically do, so please forgive the increase of mistakes that are probably scattered throughout.
Also, sorry if this doesn't work, or seems off... It all worked in my head...until I got ready to post and then I started to second guess but that isn't that unusual for me.
Thank you so much for reviewing! They truly do mean a lot to me.
Chapter Six
Sam didn't know how long he was in the trunk before they reached their destination in Big Timber. It hadn't felt long enough to travel all the way to Montana, but he also felt like he was losing large gaps of time.
All Sam knew for certain was that it was early evening when Darrion popped the lid of the trunk. He grinned down at him, but the glimmer of unease was back in Darrion's eyes. Perhaps the reality of what he was doing had hit him, maybe he was having second thoughts now…Sam could always hope.
Darrion uncharacteristically didn't say anything as he grabbed Sam under the armpits and hauled him briskly out of the trunk. He let go before Sam had found his feet, and he crumpled into the dirt as his legs refused to support him.
Darrion arched an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking that all you hunters were supposed to be lethal….don't look so scary now, freak."
Sam didn't respond as he worked himself laboriously back up onto his knees, glancing furtively around. They had driven down a poorly maintained dirt road that ran up a sloping hill. Built into the hillside was the wooden opening of a mineshaft with boards across the entrance, one reading in large black letters, Danger! Keep Out! Several yards away from the entrance was a rickety old storage shed.
Darrion gripped him by the hair, pulling Sam's head back so that he was straining to look at him. "What? No witty comebacks? No bitchy looks? It's sad, almost."
Sam didn't waste his breath on a reply, and Darrion let his head fall forward again. Grabbing the collar of his ratted t-shirt instead, he began to drag Sam along the ground. Scrambling, Sam attempted to get his feet underneath him and, with an eye roll, Darrion paused long enough to allow him to do so.
"You know," he said with a huff as Sam stumbled, almost going down again. "I don't think that you could try and run away even if I gave you the opportunity."
It was to Sam's utter humiliation that his body proved Darrion right as his knees gave out again, dropping him to the ground. Darrion jerked on his collar, just keeping him from hitting the dirt.
"Useless piece of trash," he muttered, and this time did not wait for Sam to regain his balance as he began to drag him. The sharp rocks and pebbles caught and scraped against Sam's side as his shirt rode up, and he closed his eyes as dizziness made the scenery turn nauseatingly around him.
There was a creak of old hinges, and then Darrion was shifting his grip on Sam, heaving him up and over the ledge of the doorframe. Sam grunted, his hip catching painfully on the old wood, and then Darrion dropped him.
Sam opened his eyes again, blinking to clear his vision. They were in the old storage shed. Darrion stood, fumbling with something in his back pocket.
"Look, I'm going to go scout around, see if I can find the exact location of the Talamh because I don't want to drag your sorry ass through every twist and turn. Now, despite all the time that we've spent together, I don't exactly trust you. On the off chance that you decide to crawl back to town…"
He held up a pair of old-fashioned shackles that had been polished until they shone. They were bulky and heavy, a thick link chain connecting the cuffs together.
"You like 'em?" Darrion asked as he locked one end around Sam's wrist, and twisted the key until it popped out. "Mr. Harris had a collection of all these old shackles and other forms of imprisonment, was thinking about selling them to a museum but I took a liking to this one. Said I could keep it." He pulled Sam's shackled hand over his head and locked the other shackle around a rotting beam of wood.
"Alright." He stood back, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the situation, and nodded in satisfaction. "Well…I'll be back. Don't bother to wait up for me."
Sam glared at him, pouring every ounce of frustration into the look.
Maybe Darrion would come face to face with the Talamh, and then it would kill him. That'd be nice.
Some of the wishful thinking must have manifested itself across his face because Darrion's eyes darkened. He jabbed a finger roughly into Sam's chest. "Just because I'm gone doesn't mean that you get to do stupid things. You try and escape, or sabotage me, or do anything else fishy…you will regret it. So don't."
It was a warning and a promise, and Sam gave a short nod.
Darrion eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before leaving.
The old door slammed jerkily shut behind him, and Sam tilted his head to the side. Through a warped opening in the splintered walls, he watched Darrion return to the car and pull an already packed duffle from the back seat before ducking through the boarded entrance and into the mine.
Sam waited a heartbeat longer to make sure that Darrion didn't come back before tugging hard on the shackle, trying to squeeze his hand through.
This was the best chance that he had had to escape since this whole fiasco had begun, and he wasn't going to let it pass by. If Darrion caught him in the act, then let him do to him as he would. Sam couldn't risk passing up this opportunity.
The shackle was tight around his wrist, however, and his energy bottomed out after only a couple of minutes. Pausing to blink sweat out of his eyes and catch his breath, Sam looked around him desperately. He needed something else, something to help him break out.
There were several dust-covered boxes scattered across the floor of the shed. They had most likely been left behind after the abandonment and were probably filled with tools and other supplies.
Twisting over onto his side, Sam stretched his free arm out until his fingers were brushing the first wooden crate. Hooking his fingers over the edge, he began to drag it back. It was heavier than it looked, and it took more effort than he had anticipated to get it close enough to look through.
Sam began to pick through the contents, searching for…what, he didn't exactly know, but he would know it when he saw it. Tossing aside a bolt cutter—that would snap right through the chain links, but he wasn't strong enough to move a box, never mind work a pair of bolt cutters—he pulled out an old hammer. He tossed that aside, and soon the rusted head of a pickaxe followed. Same problem with that one.
It took him another two boxes before he found what he was looking for. Down, at the very bottom of the crate, was a string of wire that someone had probably stuck there because they didn't know what else to do with it.
Untwisting the end, Sam shook his head to get his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. This was where it was going to get hard. Picking locks was a delicate thing, and his hands weren't exactly steady.
With his tongue in-between his teeth, Sam forced the end of the wire into the shackle not attached to his arm and tried to jimmy it open.
It was slow going. Sam kept dropping the wire or having to stop to rest as his arm muscles burned with the exertion. His fingers were pricked and bleeding when he finally dropped his head against his outstretched arm, feeling numb and defeated.
Sam was so close to getting away….and he didn't know if he could do it. Once again, his own weakness and inadequacy were going to be his downfall. Could he get more pathetic?
How was he supposed to beat the devil when he couldn't even break free from this?
It felt like a failure. Like he had screwed up all over again. What would Dean have said if he could see him now? He'd be so disappointed, just like he had been ever since he had come back from hell. And weighed down by yet another mistake that Sam was unable to fix by himself.
Breathing out slowly, Sam counted to ten and then raised his head, returning tiredly to the task of picking the lock.
He couldn't do much for Dean, but if he got free then he would use whatever remained of his life to try and find a way to beat Lucifer. Dean wasn't going to pay for his mistakes, it would be his last gift to his brother. And it would be the last gift for himself, a chance to see Dean again and try and make things right.
Sam almost didn't believe it when the lock finally clicked. He stared at it for a long second, his tired brain having trouble computing what he saw before elation trickled through him. Shaking the shackle free from the beam, Sam grabbed the nearest shelf. Using it as leverage, he pulled himself up on trembling legs.
His heart jumped painfully, thumping faster against his chest in an effort to keep up.
The door wasn't far away and Sam shifted his weight so that he was leaning against the wall and forced his legs to carry him forward. The small shed was doing looped-de-loops and Sam closed his eyes against the resulting dizziness, feeling his way along to the door.
The doorframe was a welcome sturdiness, and Sam clutched at it to keep his balance as he eased his way outside.
It was fully dark now, and Darrion's old car was a mere shadow against the trees. Sam squinted, letting his gaze travel past the car and towards the mine entrance. Darrion was nowhere in sight.
That was good, it meant that he might actually make it. The only issue that he could foresee was that there was nothing to hold onto between him and the car.
Taking measured breaths, Sam blinked sweat out of his eyes and took a step forward. Immediately he staggered to the side, swaying like an old drunk. He made it three more steps before he crashed to his knees, retching feebly into the dirt.
Cold sweat was pouring over his body, his heart giving odd staccato jumps.
Sam began to crawl. He didn't think his legs would support him even if he could get back up onto them without aid.
The car wasn't that far away, but Sam felt like he had run a marathon by the time that he reached it and he leaned against the front end, gasping air raggedly until he felt he could continue. Grabbing onto the grill with trembling fingers, he once again made the pain-staking trek back upright. Bracing his hand against the cool metal, he stumbled to the driver's side door, glancing back at the entrance of the mine as he did so.
Still no Darrion.
Squinting, he stuck the wire that he had brought with him into the lock, trying to pick it despite his unreliable and blurry eyesight. This lock was easier than the one on the shackle had been. It was more familiar and the angle was better. This time, his unsteadiness hindered him only a little.
The lock clicked.
Sam smiled tiredly. It was the first thing that had gone right this evening.
He should have known better, should have known that the universe wasn't going to let him slip away into the night so easily.
No sooner had he pulled the door open, than a bright light cut through the darkness. Jerking his head around, Sam saw Darrion emerging from the mine with a flashlight, and he felt his heart leap into his throat.
Darrion was juggling the duffle in one hand as he searched through his pockets with the other. He looked up just as the flashlight bounced off the car, reflecting into Sam's eyes and momentarily blinding him.
Darrion froze, his mouth dropping open. They stared at each other for half a moment, and then Sam yanked on the handle of the door, scrambling to get inside as Darrion sprinted towards him.
Sam tumbled into the seat as Darrion vaulted over the hood. His hand closed around the door just as Sam attempted to slam it shut. If Sam had been at full strength, Darrion would have lost his fingers, but as it was, he only grimaced as he yanked the door back open.
"You piece of filth!" he snarled as he grabbed Sam's arm and flung him viciously to the ground. The fury snapping in Darrion's eyes was so brilliant that Sam threw up a hand to protect himself from the blows that he was sure were coming.
Darrion leaned over him, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt and shaking him so hard that Sam's teeth began to rattle.
"Thought you could run, huh? Thought you could escape, you bastard," he snarled, and before Sam could form a response, Darrion began to drag him back towards the shed by his collar. The material cut into his neck, constricting his breathing, and Sam wheezed wetly. His fingers came up, scrambling to provide some relief.
Darrion showed no mercy as he pitched Sam back through the shed door and into the wooden shelves. The equipment tumbled down onto him, and Sam threw his hands up over his head to protect himself.
Darrion snorted, towering over him as his lip curled up in disgust. Sam coughed on nothing, working to get enough air back into his lungs.
"You can…you can do with me what you will," he managed, "I don't care."
Darrion slapped him hard, and Sam blinked back the stars that burst in front of his eyes.
"I really don't. I don't care. You can kill me right—" The second slap split his lip, and Sam licked the blood away, steadfastly making eye contact.
Darrion's eyes narrowed. "You bastard, you son of a bitch," he repeated, shaking his head. Straightening, he began to pace in agitation.
"I'm putting everything into this job. I'm putting my life on the line, but if you…" he paused, chewing at his fingernails and staring at Sam before he began to pace again. His voice was softer now, no longer intended for Sam. "I need this damn job—hell, I need a smoke, I want a smoke. And I'm out of the damn gum. I just—"
He rounded back to face Sam, his hands on his hips. "I need to do this job, and to do that, I need you because if I don't have you, then that thing down there is going to eat me alive. And I can't spend the damn money if I'm dead. No, you aren't going to run again. I'll break your legs first."
A chill passed through Sam as Darrion moved towards him and he pushed himself further into the corner.
Darrion stopped.
He had kicked something over in his rush to get at Sam and he was staring down at it in fascination. Sam heaved himself up onto an elbow, trying to see what Darrion found so intriguing. It looked like an old-fashioned blow torch.
"No—" the word had escaped Sam before he could stop it, but he didn't care. "You can't—don't do that," he rasped out, his fear going up a notch which he hadn't even thought was possible.
Darrion was studying it intently, a thin film of sweat now covering his face. "I told you that I was going to make you pay if you tried to run." His hands were shaking and if it was adrenaline or the need for nicotine Sam didn't know.
"Stop, you don't want to do this—" Sam tried to protest again, terror squirming at his insides, but Darrion had cottoned onto the idea. He began to fiddle with the blowtorch, trying to figure out how it worked.
Sam shrank back, trying to find something that he could use as a weapon.
"STOP THAT!" Darrion jerked his head around and glowered at him as he raised the blowtorch in a silent threat. Sam stopped, holding up both hands in a placating apology until Darrion looked away again.
It didn't take Darrion as long as Sam thought it would to figure out the torch and within what felt like a few short minutes, a bright blue flame was sparking to life.
"Please, you don't want to do this," Sam tried again as Darrion set the torch aside, the flame dying, and moved to Sam's side. He easily ignored his weak attempts to break free and fixed the shackles around both of his wrists.
"Why shouldn't I? You said yourself that doesn't matter what I do to you. And it's not like you're going to live long enough to need to be free of these, this is just to ensure that you don't run. And I've thought better of breaking your legs, I don't want to carry you all the way down to the Talamh. You know what? You deserve this, you deserve to die like the freak that you are."
Lifting Sam bodily up by the arms, he threw him down into the relatively clutter-free space in the middle of the shed. Sam scrambled to roll over, lunging for the door, and Darrion kicked him harshly in the gut.
All the air fled from Sam's body and Darrion took advantage of his vulnerability. Rolling him over onto his stomach, he straddled Sam, his weight resting on his back and pressing him firmly down. He stretched, reaching for the blowtorch, and then leaned over Sam to pin his right arm firmly down.
Darrion's hands had steadied, his focus fully on the task in front of him.
"Don't. Don't—"
"Don't wriggle, it's just going to be worse for you if you do."
The flames sparked to life, flickering brightly in the small shed. An unwelcomed and intense heat licked at Sam's skin, searing it.
The flames touched the edge of the keyhole on the shackle and Sam threw back his head, a scream wrenching its way out of his throat as his skin began to burn. Darrion pushed him down as he struggled, coughing as the nauseating smell of fumes and burning flesh permeated the small area.
Sam's chest seized as he fought for air, the agony consuming him as his wrist began to blister. Darrion moved the torch closer, grunting a little with the effort of holding a writhing Sam still until at last, he seemed satisfied.
The flame shut off, but the pain didn't cease. The metal was still burning into his flesh, frying the nerves there.
Darrion wasn't done yet, however, as he pulled Sam's other wrist up.
Sam screwed his eyes shut, unable to watch. His screams reverberated off the shed walls, growing fainter as he grew weaker.
At last, Darrion sat up.
Sam's wrist throbbed unmercifully, the still hot shackles branding themselves into his skin. His whole body was beginning to tremble, trying to compensate for the trauma it had just been put through, and he gasped out pain-filled groans.
"That'll teach you," Darrion said, breathing heavily through his nose.
Counting to ten silently, Sam opened his eyes and looked down at his wrists, willing his stomach, not to revolt. The skin there was grotesque. It was already blistering and turning a leathery grey from the intense heat. The shackles were destroyed and useless. The once polished metal was blackened, and the locking mechanisms were deformed and melted inwards.
They would never be opened with keys again.
Turning his head away, Sam refused to look at Darrion and give him any further satisfaction from his pain.
Darrion wasn't looking at him either, though. He had collapsed down to sit on a feeble-looking crate. He was silent for a long time after that, his own eyes closed and his fist over his mouth.
Sam refused to move for several minutes, desperate to keep his wrists as still as possible and the pain at bay. Eventually, though, he managed to curl up in a small ball on the floor, his tender wrists pulled up carefully against his chest in an attempt to protect them from any further harm.
Darrion watched his slow movements from the corner, his face expressionless. When Sam stopped moving, it seemed to galvanize him into motion and he began to move around, muttering curses under his breath.
"It smells like a pig stye in here. Well, I guess it smells more like a burnt pig, but you get the meaning," he bit out as he thrust the door open and used the blowtorch to prop it open. Sam shivered hard against the cool breeze that came flooding in and winced as his body harshly protested the movement.
Darrion sat down again, only to stand a moment later and come to a stop next to Sam, staring down at him.
It was unnerving.
"Why not just go after the Talamh now, why are we waiting?" Sam asked to break the silence.
Darrion scoffed. "I'm waiting until morning. I've been driving all day while you've been resting your ass." Darrion threw his hands up in a no-duh expression, before rolling his eyes and pacing back and forth.
"Then go to sleep," Sam muttered under his breath. Darrion lunged towards him and Sam flinched, hunching protectively over his arms.
"No. I can't—I have to…you know what, I don't have to explain a damn thing to you. You're the bait. You're the freak, nothing else." Darrion looked away, shaking his head as his arms swung restlessly back and forth. But Sam recognized the symptoms well enough from his own addiction.
Despite his brief relief in form of torturing Sam, Darrion still was thinking about nicotine and wasn't going to be able to sleep until he had given in to his need, or had found a way to alleviate his need for a smoke.
Before Sam might have scoffed at his weakness, at the control that a simple substance had over him, but he knew better now. Sam had been the weak one, the one being controlled and used. For anyone else besides Darrion, Sam would have felt empathy and compassion but all he could muster for Darrion was muted disdain.
"I need some air," Darrion announced and turned abruptly on his heel before stepping out of the small shed. Sam lifted his head, watching Darrion's outline through the gaps in the wall. He began to pace around the car, and Sam dropped his head back to the ground.
Darrion was out there for a long time, long enough for Sam to drift off—or pass out, his body had been through enough that it was possible—because when he opened his eyes again, the door was closed. A lamp had been lit and was reflecting warmly throughout the shed, and Darrion was sitting hunched on the crate, chuckling at something.
Sam swallowed thickly, looking over to try and see what Darrion was doing. He had a plastic bag on the floor and was digging through it. He pulled something out, and the light shone off something shiny, a watch.
His watch, Sam realized a moment later with a jolt of surprise. He had been wearing it when Darrion had kidnapped him.
Darrion turned it over admiringly, before strapping it around his own wrist. He dug into the bag again and pulled out Sam's old shirt, which he tossed into the corner carelessly. Next came Sam's cellphone, and Darrion looked over at him.
"I've had it powered off on the slight chance that someone might try and find you, or trace us, but out here…there's no reception. And I am damn curious about what precious big brother Dean has to say to you in private since he was willing to rat you out to a complete stranger." Darrion's lips twitched upwards in a mockery of a smile.
The phone turned on with a beep, and the small but bright light illuminated Darrion's face. Sam watched listlessly as Darrion began to scroll through his texts. There wasn't much there that Darrion could drool over.
Sam and Dean spent too much time together not to have most of their deep and real conversations in person. All that was in the texts were simple 'on my way' or 'bring dinner' or similar things.
Bobby didn't text, not really, and there were precious few others that he was in constant contact with. Most of it was information exchanges between other hunters, which might have been a concern in other circles but Darrion already knew about the supernatural. Ruby's contact information and their conversations had been deleted.
Darrion's eyebrows drew together in a frown. He was clearly disappointed in the lack of drama or damning evidence that he found there.
"So nothing in the texts. What about photos, or voicemail?"
Sam's stomach weakly turned over, and something of that fear must have shown in his face because Darrion's frown changed into a grin. He began to fiddle with the phone, and Sam shifted, feeling worse than he had a minute ago.
Darrion was going to have a field day when he found Dean's voicemail, the one that Dean had sent right before Sam had released Lucifer and Sam…Sam really, really, didn't want Darrion to know, didn't want him to hear the poisonous words. He should have deleted it long ago—it wasn't like he was going to forget it, the words were seared into his brain—but he hadn't. He had kept it as a reminder of what had happened, how far he had fallen and his own limitations, of how he could never trust himself again.
Of how he was a freak and a monster.
Dread boiled throughout his insides.
Darrion turned to look at him, the phone pressed against his ear as he listened. "What's your password?"
Sam was silent, staring at a spot on the wall just above Darrion. A foot lashed out, catching him in the side and Sam jerked back, desperate to protect his wrists from further damage.
"I said, what's your password?"
"No."
Darrion arched an eyebrow, looking gleeful. "Why not? Is there something in there that you want to hide? There is, isn't there? Oh, this is going to be good." He shifted into a more comfortable position and scooted back so that his feet were up on a second crate and his back was against the wall. He began to press different buttons, trying different passwords.
Sam didn't want to watch, and curled in tighter, trying to ease the pain in his now aching belly. The dread that was still present didn't make him feel any better.
The password to access his voicemail wasn't all that difficult to get past. He hadn't ever had anything to hide before, and Darrion would probably be able to crack it if he tried hard enough. But perhaps he would get bored, he would just let it go…
The silence was palpable in the shed.
Darrion's tongue was in-between his teeth when his eyes suddenly widened with excitement and surprise. "HAH!" He sat up straight, his eyes shining as he thrust his first into the air. "I got it! I hacked into your phone! I mean, it took me like an hour and it was probably nothing short of pure chance, but I did it! Now, let's see…"
He must have put the phone on speaker because a moment later Dean's voice was echoing out, but it was just him making a ridiculously complicated and long dinner order. Sam knew that the next one would be from Bobby—and thank goodness that Cas didn't like him enough to call him, the last thing that they needed was for Darrion to know that he knew an angel—and then…and then it would that voicemail.
Bobby's voice faded out, and the automated voice chimed in, asking if he wanted to save it or not and Sam closed his eyes. He was going to throw up, not that he had anything left in his stomach, but something bad was going to happen, maybe he would just pass out—
It turned over to the next message, and Dean's voice filled the shed, harsh and abrasive.
"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak…"
Sam knew the voicemail by heart, but each word stabbed him anew. Which was stupid, because Dean had somewhat forgiven him, or at least was trying. He had least hadn't followed through with anything that he had promised, he hadn't tried to hunt him down. But it just proved that Dean thought of him as a monster. A freak.
All those times that Dean had reassured him that he didn't view him that way, that he didn't think that Sam was an abomination…some part of Sam had always known that Dean had just been covering up his fears, being kind to him because he loved him, but to hear it said with so much venom…to hear his own brother telling him that he was out of second chances without an ounce of hesitation in his voice was more crippling than if Dean had stuck a physical knife in between his ribs.
Darrion was blinking in surprise when the voicemail came to an end. He looked over at Sam and then threw his head back, laughing. He laughed so hard that tears formed in his eyes and began to roll down his face. He was gasping for air by the time he managed to get himself under control.
He replayed the message, still chortling to himself.
"And you act like he was coming to save you, like he loved you! How dumb are you? Dean hates you! How did you even get him to be in the same room as you? Did you have to beg? I would have paid good money to see that."
Darrion was laughing again. "Hey, blood-sucking freak! Monster! Your own brother believed that you were so inhuman that you were, what was it, past saving…, and then you had the audacity to believe that he was coming to rescue you. The only reason that he would be coming after you, would be to finish the job, but luckily for him, I'm doing it."
He stood, coming to crouch next to Sam. "You truly are just a monster, an abomination, aren't you? Sounds like it would have been better if I had just caught you two years ago and finished you off. You could have died believing big brother still loved you. I mean, I would have missed out on a wonderful financial opportunity, but hey, at least your life would have ended better."
Yeah, well, Sam wished that too, but since when had anybody gotten what they wanted?
Darrion shook his head, straightening and patting Sam's head like he was some sort of dog. "Thanks for that, I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. I guess in an odd sort of way, this makes me the good guy, the one just hunting down the monster."
Darrion went back to the phone and with an amused look continued to go through it, but Sam wasn't interested in anything else. The voicemail was the only damning evidence of his atrocities.
Maybe Darrion was right. Maybe Darrion was doing the right thing, if by accident, in taking Sam out of the equation.
Darrion eventually had to admit that there was nothing else of interest on the phone, and he abandoned it. He continued to pull some of Sam's belongings out of the bag, but there wasn't much left and he chucked the bag to the side when it was empty.
Stretching, Darrion yawned until his jaw cracked. Mocking Sam seemed to have taken the edge off longing away and he slumped back into the seat, scratching at his belly. Rolling his head to the side, he eyed Sam.
"Can't have you scuttling away like some sort of bug," he mumbled through another yawn. He grabbed a stray length of rope.
"I won't run," Sam tried, his voice small, but Darrion just yanked him forward, electing a short gasp of pain. He looped the end of the rope around the metal links connecting the shackles and jerked Sam's arms up.
Sam cried out weakly, renewed pain pulsing up from his wrists as his blisters threatened to pop and the burns came alive. Darrion wound the end of the rope loosely around his fist ensuring that there was no way Sam would be able to escape without alerting him.
"Sleep well, monster…"
Still smirking, Darrion scooted the second box closer to the first and pulled up another one. Laying down across the three, he drew his jacket over his head and upper body. Folding his arms across his chest, he heaved a sigh of contentment.
Not long afterward, he began to snore softly.
#
"My best guess, and it's not so much of a guess, is that Darrion is headed for Big Timber, Montana," Bobby said over the phone as Dean watched the numbers on the gas pump flick upwards.
"Thanks, we'll owe you one. Hey, is there any chance that those are just rumors, and that the Talamh isn't there?" Dean asked, rubbing at his forehead as he leaned back against the car. "'Cause, I mean, it would really put a damper on this rescue mission if one of us got eaten by that thing." Darrion could for all that Dean cared.
Bobby heaved a sigh. "I dunno, Dean…from what I've been reading and people I've been talking to, there is pretty strong evidence of there being some truth to the rumors."
Dean scowled, kicking out at an empty water bottle. "That was probably just hopeful wishing anyway. When has anything ever been easy for Sam and me?"
The gas pump clicked, and Dean returned the nozzle before moving towards the convenience store attached to the gas station. He was going to need a coffee. It was past midnight and he still had hours to go before he even reached Montana, never mind Big Timber.
"Yeah, daises just pop up where ever you boys go," Bobby said sarcastically, before his voice became serious again. "Dean, look, you've got to be careful when you get there. You're going up against Darrion and the Talamh."
Dean sighed. "Bobby, I can't promise much. Sam's in there, and I'm not going to sit by while he gets himself killed. It's not happening. Either both of us make it out of there, or I die trying."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"So, if it's me or Sam, I'm just supposed to pick me? Wow, great advice," Dean snapped. He made a face, already regretting the words. Bobby hadn't deserved that.
"You watch your tongue, boy! That kid…he's like a son to me, you both are and I've already lived through both of your deaths once; I would rather not do a repeat performance. I just want you to screw your head on right and stop taking stupid risks."
Dean was silent as he paid for his coffee, and waited until he was almost to the door before speaking again. "I can't make that promise, Bobby. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get Sammy out of there. He's my brother, despite everything, and I…I can't lose him again."
Bobby's retort was quick. "I'm not askin' you too. Get it through your thick head that I'm just askin' you to play safe."
"Sheesh, you'd think that I've got some sort of death wish or something. I'm not gonna try and get myself killed, okay? Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
"Yeah, and you sound it. Look, I've got a long drive, don't worry about me." Dean ducked into the Impala, setting the coffee down carefully.
"I'm getting greyer after every visit from you boys. All I do is worry about you two. What time do you think you'll get to Big Timber?"
"If I keep making good time, I should get to Big Timber sometime early to mid-morning, so I'll call around then."
"Sounds good."
"Right, talk to you soon." Dean clicked off the line and tossed the phone aside, starting the engine.
Bobby was concerned, about both of them. Not that Dean blamed him. Bobby would never admit it, but even though he knew a seemingly endless amount of people, he wasn't close to most of them. The Winchesters were about all that he had left of his family—them and Rufus—and Bobby was afraid of not just losing one member of his small family, but two at the same time.
Dean couldn't make any promises, however. He had sat by and watched Sam die once. Sam had made some pretty bad mistakes and Dean was still angry…but that part of Dean—the part that was willing to die for Sam—was still very much alive. Sam was his brother, his baby brother, and Dean loved him, probably more than he could vocalize even if he had the desire to do so.
Perhaps that was why the betrayal had hurt so much. But, Dean thought as he pulled back onto the highway, that was also the reason to rebuild and strengthen their relationship.
#
Sam didn't sleep that night, not really. He was in too much pain and his mind refused to rest. His soul ached in a way that it hadn't even after Jess had died. It felt like the first few days after Lucifer had risen. It felt like when he heard the voicemail for the first time, or when Bobby had told him to lose his number.
At least when Jess had died, she'd died knowing that he loved her. He'd still had his pride, his belief that he was trying to avenge her and was trying to help others. He had been so young and innocent then.
So much had changed. He'd ruined everything that he thought he stood for. He had let Dean down in ways that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He'd let Bobby down, hell, he'd let down pretty much everybody except for Ruby, the one person that he should have. He had even failed himself.
By the time the bright sunlight began to drift lazily through the rotten boards and across Darrion's face, Sam was simply ready for this nightmare to be over. Whatever happened would happen.
The jacket had slipped down off of Darrion's face throughout the night, and the light made him bat blindly at the sunlight, before twisting over onto his side and going back to sleep. The snoring didn't resume, however, and Darrion's eyes popped open every few minutes until he eventually gave sleeping up as a bad job.
Sitting up and rubbing at the back of his neck, Darrion dropped the ends of the rope as he yawned, stretching his arms. His back popped, and he slumped back against the wall, staring tiredly at the floor and working through another yawn.
"Well," he said, running a hand through his hair and combing it roughly back into place. "I guess that there is no better time than the present. Whadda say?" He tilted his head to the side, regarding Sam. "Although, the Talamh isn't the real monster here, is it?" he tacked on with a smirk.
Picking up the packed and ready duffle by the door, Darrion swung it over his shoulder, before moving back towards Sam.
"You think you can manage to walk?"
Sam stayed silent in moot protest and Darrion rolled his eyes. Grabbing him by the arms, he wrapped one around his neck and hauled Sam to his feet, and began to walk him forcibly out of the shed and towards the mine.
The entrance was dark and foreboding.
A shiver went down Sam's spine and he couldn't help the twinge of fear. Every sense that he possessed was telling him not to go into that mine.
Darrion easily ducked underneath the wooden boards, dragging Sam through with him. The inside of the mine was dark and cool, and Sam shivered.
"Hold up." Darrion let Sam go, leaning him up absently against the rock wall. Sam slumped against it, trying to take shallow breaths as he watched Darrion cross over to a pile of equipment that was resting just inside one of the passageways.
Darrion bent down, retrieving a bulky-looking oxygen tank that was attached to a mask.
Damnit, Sam had been hoping that Darrion might now know about the Talamh's musk. He shouldn't have been surprised, though. Darrion hadn't exactly come running out of the mine with his tail between his legs the night before.
Looking over at Sam as he buckled the tank around his chest, Darrion said, "Sorry, looks like I forgot to pick up two…my bad." He fixed the mask over his face and Sam felt a small, obscene sort of gratitude. Darrion wouldn't be able to talk to him quite as well with the mask impeding communication.
Flicking the flashlight on, Darrion adjusted the bag on his shoulders, and grabbed ahold of Sam once more, supporting him down into the belly of the mine.
They were following recent bright red spray paint that marked the turns. Probably from the night before when Darrion had scouted out the Talamh.
It wasn't long before a faint, but rancid, odor began to penetrate the air around them.
Sam's heart skipped a beat, the fear from earlier setting heavily in his guts. He didn't want to be here. He shouldn't be here. Something bad was going to happen if he went further into the mine.
The skin along the back of his neck began to prickle, unease mixing with growing dread with every step that he took. The pain from his destroyed wrists and body began to fade, replaced with an ever-increasing and persistent terror. He knew—in a vague sort of way—that the fear was the Talamh's doing, but his judgment was being relentlessly chipped away by emotions.
They shouldn't be here. They did not belong.
Sam dug his heels into the ground, stumbling to a halt and refusing to take another step, even as Darrion tugged at him.
"We need—we have to go back. We need to get out of here," Sam stated stubbornly. Darrion's look of annoyance was clear even through the mask as he jerked Sam in closer, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist as he propelled him bodily forward.
"No." Sam balked, shaking his head vigorously. "No, we have to go back, this isn't right. I'll do something bad, I'm going to mess up again, or-or—" the endless possibilities were rolling around Sam's head, the prospect of how this could all go to hell dizzying. Darrion paused long enough to cuff him around the head, but Sam tried to yank himself backward.
"I can't, I don't want to. I want to leave," he began, the acidic fear eating away at his insides. Lucifer was going to be down there, or worse. Maybe his Dad. His Dad was going to be there, he was going to kill him, going to let Sam know one last time what a disappointment he was.
"No, no, no, no…" He let his knees stop supporting his weight, and Darrion staggered. Seizing the moment, Sam jerked away, rolling over onto his hands and knees. He was fully prepared to crawl his way back up the mine if that was what it took to get him out.
Darrion lunged for him, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him back upright.
"Out, we have to get out, we have to leave," Sam jabbered hoarsely, but Darrion only pulled him in closer. Either he couldn't hear him, or he wasn't paying attention.
They came to a T-shaped intersection, and Darrion dragged him down the lefthand passage. The rancid smell of so strong here that Sam could taste it.
Darrion finally released Sam, letting him slide towards the ground.
Sam's chest heaved as he looked around. He couldn't see anything, but he knew something was out there. Knew that any moment now something was going to leap out and kill him.
Darrion stepped over Sam, kicking him harshly in the chest to keep him down as Sam struggled to get back up onto his feet.
Stars danced in front of Sam's eyes, and he dragged air in greedily even as he dug his hands into the wall, pulling himself back up. It was useless. Darrion's hand wrapped firmly in his hair, and Sam began to thrash.
"No, no, stop, we need to leave, something bad is coming, something bad. I might do something bad," he rambled but even adrenaline had its limits and his body was weak. Hefting him back upright, Darrion slammed him up against the wall of the mine and shoved his arms up above his head.
Holding them there with one hand, he pulled a giant stake from the duffle with the other. He proceeded to ease the stake through one of the chain links that connected the shackles.
Darrion had already drilled the hole, or it had been there previously because the nail slid halfway into the wall with no issue. Darrion let Sam go, and he dropped down against the wall, crying out sharply as all his weight rested on his abused wrists.
Darrion hefted up a sledgehammer, and Sam ducked his head, hunching his shoulders in an effort to protect himself from the coming blows. This was it. This was how he was going to die. A hammer to the head.
The hammer came swinging down, and Sam flinched. There was a crack, but he didn't feel any new pain. Craning his head back, he saw that the stake had been driven further into the wall.
Darrion swung the hammer again, and again, the loud cracks revibrating down into Sam's bones. He was not trying to be subtle; he was trying to wake the Talamh up.
When he stopped, the head of the nail was flush against the wall.
"Please." Sam was a proud man, and he didn't beg, but he didn't have a choice. The terror of what was coming had overridden all emotions, even shame.
Darrion stepped back, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. He nodded once and turned away.
"Please, don't leave me here, don't—" Sam jerked against his chains, popping one of his pus-filled blisters and tearing at his skin. What if it was Azazel came back, what if he forced Sam to use his powers, to become the king of the demons? If that happened, then they would all be screwed. He had shown that he couldn't be trusted with that power.
To his great relief, Darrion stopped and turned around. Sam slumped back.
"Thank you," he gasped out, but Darrion wasn't looking remorseful.
"I almost forgot!" he half-yelled through the mask as he pulled his pocket knife out. "We need you to be…well, irresistible and there's not a wild carnivore that I know of that doesn't come running at the smell of blood."
Pinning Sam's left arm back against the rocky wall, he dug the blade into Sam's flesh, making him clench his teeth together as pain roared back to the front of his senses. Darrion didn't stop after the first simple cut, instead, he took his time, cutting some sort of intricate design or lettering. He wasn't careful with how deep he dug the blade in either, and warm blood began to flow down Sam's arm, staining it a dark red and pot marking the dirt at his feet.
Darrion stepped back at last, grinning appreciatively through the mask.
Turning his head to look at his arm, Sam's stomach flipped over. Illuminated by the light of the flashlight that Darrion was holding was one word that had been carved crudely into his flesh.
Monster.
"Just one last goodbye from dear big brother," Darrion jeered. And, adding insult to injury, flashed Sam's cellphone in his face before tucking it into the front pocket of Sam's jeans. He understood that there was no way to make Sam's last moments worse than with that.
If there was one thing that Sam feared and hated himself for more than anything, it was letting Dean down. Dean, the brother who had always looked out for him, who had sold his soul to bring him back. Dean, whom he had tried so hard to be like. Dean, who thought him a monster. Dean, who was coming to hunt him. Who was going to kill him if he didn't get out of here.
Still smiling, Darrion wiped the knife clean on his pants before slipping it back into his pocket. He gave Sam a nonchalant wave and moved away from him and back into the main tunnel. Sam could still see him, however, as he pulled out a sniper's rifle and began to assemble it.
The red pointer beam was pointed directly down the right-hand passageway.
So, that was where the Talmah was.
Sam gave his wrists another jerk, but nothing new happened except that he spotted the walls with blood from his heavily bleeding arm.
He needed to get free before the Talamh came to get him before Dean did.
Darrion was right. Sam was a monster. Even if Dean did come for him, it wouldn't be to save him, it would be to hunt him. He was doomed to die like a freak, like one of the creatures that they had hunted.
But if he could just get free, if he could just get out of here, he could prove to Dean that he wasn't like that. Or, that if he was, that he was still on Dean's side, that he was trying to help, he really was, and that he didn't deserve to die at his brother's hands.
The nail wasn't budging from the wall, and tears were starting to prick at Sam's eyes. If he had a knife and was able to, he would have cut his own hand off to get free. Better to lose that than to die like this, than to let Dean see him as he truly was.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he strained against his bonds, terror lending him strength as he strove to escape.
Something—or someone—was coming down the tunnel and the fear was so acidic now that he could taste it. Sam forced his eyes open.
Whatever came out of that tunnel, he would face it as best as he could. He would die like a man, not like some sobbing child.
Something was happening, it sounded like Darrion was struggling against someone. His laser light disappeared, and trepidation froze Sam's insides. A moment later, a figure appeared at the intersection.
His heart skipped a beat, and then began to flutter wildly in his chest as shame and horror tore through him with a ferocity that he hadn't known was possible.
He was seeing things, he had to be seeing things, this couldn't be real. Dean couldn't be standing at the head of the tunnel, because if Dean was here, then he wasn't here to save him.
Dean was coming to make good on his word, he was coming to hunt him and Sam was trapped, unable to get free.
Dean was here to finally fulfill Dad's last orders.
Dean was here to kill him.