A/N: Okay, I'm really sorry it's taken me this long to update. Been working my ass off on the Virtual Season, and let this slip to the back burner. That's so not cool for me to do, soI apologize for my tardiness and hope that this update is worth the wait. I also hope that you guys will check out the VS, cause i really think you'll enjoy it. Okays so that's it...this chap is dedicated to my friend Naturally for kicking my ass and telling me to get it in gear! Thanx chica...


Chapter 16
Fire surged through him at the captor's lightening touch, the oxygen in the stone prison waning to a frightening level of suffocation beneath the radiating, intense heat. The figure held firm to his arm, dragging him down the long, damp hallway that spread the length of thousand pieces of coarse slabs of rock sealed together with the same tar black pitch. Death's clinging scent hung in the stale air as his captor pushed him on, and the copper undertone of blood was palpable.

The youngest Winchester turned his eyes away from the stained walls to the source of the flaring touch. His gaze traveled slowly along the cloaked arm and hooded head of his faceless murderer. As if aware of his stare, the follower jerked his head and stared Sam down head on, the frosty whites of his eyes glimmering against the torch light.

Sam swallowed nervously, the words of his high school drama coach rolling around his mind. Look the part. With determined compliance, the dark-haired man slammed an unfazed mask in place, blanking his face and widening his eyes in trust, hoping the brown ringed pupils would convey the willingness and submission his captors desired. Why he had thought his small part in "Our Town" had been hard, he'd never know.

He should be afraid, the pounding tempo of his heart and shivering of his spine that he was trying so desperately to control, to conceal, revealed that. The situation at hand demanded he kick, scream, and fight. But the years of intense training under his father's command advised him otherwise.

Sam had loathed the stamina and strength of will challenges his Dad had commanded him and Dean to do, but what other choice was there than to acquiesce? It was there "bonding time" as his older brother had dubbed it. Although, Sam struggled to see how standing out in a murky swamp and allowing the hoards of mosquitoes and other of nature's damn pests have a go at you could be lovingly referred to as quality time.

His dad had sworn a point to his little excursions, although Sam called it a method to the man's madness. But now, he couldn't just see it, he understood it. Strength against all elements. Calm in the midst of outstanding attack. Complete mental control over your circumstances, not matter how harsh.

It was rough, and incredibly brutal, but in the light of the moment, all that time spent setting his mind like flint against the stinging welts inflicted upon his body, was now warranted. He found himself peacefully calm, not to the point of resignation, but to the acknowledgement that he would escape to fight another day, his brother along side.

Sam's mind was clear, focused. The plan he'd concocted, and bragged about so confidently to Dean seemed to be working so far. Playing along with the Father's expectations appeared to be working to his favor, none of the followers looked as if they picked up the mental shift he'd made. Although he didn't know how long the façade would hold once Andrew entered the picture again.

He gathered that whatever Father Andrew had done in the name of his crazed immortality by branding him and taking over his mind was completely under the man's control. The strange fact that Sam was on alert and was in full control of his mind baffled him. From what he could recall amidst the jumbled memories of the past few days of research, none of the other police reports or articles had reported the victims exhibiting any signs of a struggle.

Chosen. That had been the word echoing through his nightmares. How, he wasn't sure, but Sam figured Andrew governed whether or not his victims "knew" what was happening. It was as if the priest was the only one who knew where the on and off switch was and could sense where his sacrifice's mind was at.

The psycho wanted him coherent. He could sense it, and that thought alone shot to hell the fear of dying. Death was just another path, one he could handle for the most part. Enduring torture at the hands of a mad man was an entirely different thing. Sam's breath hitched at the oncoming affliction, but caught and steadied the exhales before either of his guards registered it.

Why? The nagging question gnawed at his stomach, churning the meager contents found there. It'd been his question all along, and the more he dwelt on it, the answer seemed blatantly obvious. He was different. Special. Psychic Boy. In all his dealing with wielding and controlling the supernatural, how could Father Andrew not pick up the Friends Network? Maybe if he worked it well enough, he could get Andrew to explain the difference in the selection process; his "gift" wasn't even under his control. But monologue-ing really didn't serve any other purpose but pissing off either the captor or captive, better yet both.

One thing was for damn sure. This "gift" was turning out to be a bitch. It was bad enough that every ghost, spirit, and monster they went after turned on him, even the crazy ass people wanted him, but Dean had always been there to save his ass. The thing was—this time there was no Dean. Well, his brother was around, but being chained to the wall was kind of had the same effect as leaving someone a voice message. You never knew when and if they were going to get it, and even when they responded, chances were it would be too late.

The prospect of the damn thing really getting him killed was unacceptable. Somehow, he was getting rid of the death trap his associates dotingly referred to as a "shining". God, if they only knew. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Death is the great equalizer, right? He'd get to be normal or at least on the same plain as everyone else. Maybe in his death, his "gift" would pass to Dean. Now, that'd be something that'd bring the world to its knees. The great Dean Winchester fully equipped with foresight and telekinesis. The thought alone almost blew Sam's stoic cover.

Unconscious movement propelled his long legs into another step, but a sharp jerk to his arm whipped Sam around to a sudden stop. Slightly taken aback by the quick circle, Sam struggled to get his bearing for a minute before his eyes focused on the tall, wide archway before him.

A row of lighted torches cast shadows on the curved walls of the hallway, and the followers noticeably changed their walking pace from hurried purpose to one of reverence. Sam shut his eyes for a brief moment, finding his center, and then prepared himself for stage two of his brilliant, yet insane plan to outwit his soon to be murderers as the hands guided him into the large, circular opening complete with a long stone table that reached his waist—the dreaded symbol engraved deep into the slate.

"It is time, Samuel." The fixed face of indifference faltered as cloaked figures appeared from every arc of the stone, surrounding the room and blocking the only exit visible in Sam's line of sight. Uh…not good.

"Adveho," Sam met the speaker's hazy eyes on the Latin utterance. A cracked smirk appeared on the hidden figure as he stretched out his hand and gestured for Sam to comply. When Sam made no effort to move towards him, the figure snapped the order again, this time making a show of outstretching his slender arm and thrusting it back to his chest signaling for Sam to draw nearer.

As if on cue, the men that held him released their hold. Sam shuffled his feet and treaded slowly over to the beckoning man, his eyes scanning the room hastily as the distance grew shorter. Drawing nigh, the cloaked man stretched his arm out again, turning his skeletal hand palm up offering for the youngest Winchester to accept it.

The movement was Sam's hope, and he reached out to take the bony appendage. A startled shriek filled the tense air as Sam tightened his grip to the point of crushing. With a single yank, a sharp elbow, and well placed kick Sam floored his would be assassin and made a break for the far exit barely covered by two of the followers.

It was now or never. With serene gracefulness, his enemies simultaneously pulled back their hoods, revealing the decaying remains of flesh on bone. Hollow white braced for Sam's charge and with a warrior's grunt Sam barreled their line. The formerly quiet room morphed into one of battle. Loud voices of confusion and anger drowned out Sam's frantic struggle.

At long last, the skeletal bodies presented him with an opening, and with lightening quickness Sam capitalized on it, ducking and sliding his slender frame between the two dusting remains. He rose to break into a victorious run when a force, unlike anything he'd ever felt, gripped every inch of him and threw him backwards.

A loud thud echoed in the hall to the accompaniment of Sam's hollowed scream when the boy's body was brought down onto the altar with crushing speed. Stunned silence encompassed the room yet again as Sam's deep, heaving breaths punctuated the air. Slow, light footfalls clipped against the stone, and Sam rolled his head to catch a glimpse of the one who'd onslaught his agony.

"Bind him." The steeled order chilled his core. He recognized the voice, the smallest pained whimper escaping his lips at what was to come from his torturer.

"Father Andrew?" Sam's piqued at the hesitative question presented by one to his left, and he grunted his longing and gratitude for the interruption. Maybe…oh God, maybe…

"Bind him." Fury occupied Andrew's words, and before Sam could even offer a fight or even a buck against the bonds, strong arms pinned him unmoving, and set to work. The only movement allowed him was the panicked turning of his head as Sam watched his captors fingers, bony and lacking skin, secure the knots.

A firm hand grasped his chin and forced his face forward. Milky skin stained red greeted Sam's brown eyes, bearing a heinous smile twisted by the slacken jaw, unhinged and broken. Rotting teeth clattered in anticipation and a skinless wrist snapped for the other brethren to abandon their position, their job completed. Glassy orbs locked onto Sam, flickering malice and sickening excitement. A stream of garbled words flooded from the evil being, but it was enough. Sam understood, and shuddered under the threatening gaze.

"Prepare for the sacrifice. And get the brother! I will break them both."

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