I do not own SN, but again, if only it were possible. Thank you everyone for wonderful reviews! I appreciate them all!

Chapter Four

The Asian man stood casually in front of Sam's cell, his prison, his cage, and lit a cigarette. He puffed on the nicotine filled tobacco stick and walked over towards Sam. The man, dressed full in business attire, pulled a set of keys out of his pants pocket. Sam didn't know what was in store for him and he was sure he didn't want to find out, either.

Sam waited for the man to enter the cage. The ropes that were binding his hands were starting to rub his skin raw; he could feel the little splinters of the rope's twine digging into his skin as he moved. The dirty gag used to hush his voice was starting to make his jaw feel constricted, too tight. He needed to breathe.

The Asian man grabbed the back of Sam's bindings and started to drag the young hunter out of the cage and across the cold concrete floor. The man dropped Sam in front of a large stone slab – an altar – and walked over towards the wall behind the sacrificial stone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, a small red box containing small matches. He struck one of the matches against the side of the box and stared at the flame that danced wildly at the end of the wooden stick. He held the match above a candle and let the wick tangle with the fire. The candle slowly started to dimly illuminate the room.

The skinny man, who Sam now recognized as the same man from the alleyway, grabbed the bindings on Sam's feet and arms and hoisted him up onto the stone. The cold concrete immediately sent chills down the young hunter's back. Sam didn't like where this was going, not at all; him lying on his back on a sacrificial slab of stone while bound at the his hands and feet - not good.

The man turned around and exited up the stairs. Sam had a moment to try and get away, and to take a more detailed glance at his surroundings. He knew there was an altar, he could tell anyone that with personal experience, but he wanted to see what else the room held. He saw the metal cage he had previously been held in clearly now. He could see the wall behind him was glowing with an eerie yellow tint, meaning the wall was either white or yellow. The wall was also made out of concrete; he could see the uneven groves and patchwork on the stone wall.

The room was pretty bare and small, too. It looked like there was only one way out of this place, and that was the staircase located on the opposite side of the room. He could make out curtains, red velvet ones, hanging lifeless next to the candle. The other side of the room was dark, because the candle only lit the side he was currently sitting on, but he could see small markings drawn on the wall. He wondered what they were.

Sam scooted his butt across the altar, trying to force his body off of the giant concrete monstrosity. He was almost off of it when the door flew open, and not just the Asian man came back, but two other goons as well.

"Trying to escape? How cute," the Asian man said with such distain for the young hunter lying awkwardly on the stone altar. "Where could you have gone to, anyway?"

Sam processed that question for a moment; the man was right. He was tied down, like a pig is hog-tied, right before being sent to the slaughter. That is how Sam felt. He didn't know what these men wanted from him, or why they had kidnapped him; all he knew was that this situation sucked, royally.

The two lackeys, also Asian men, were standing behind the "leader" of them, the one that was dressed like he was going to a board meeting in an hour. Sam watched with fearful eyes as the two men from behind advanced towards him. One of the men grabbed his hands, and the other grabbed his feet and they flipped Sam onto his side. He felt something cold wrap around one of his ankles – a metal shackle. This only fueled the fire that was burning in his soul and he tried to break free once more.

Sam wriggled and struggled hard against the bonds, but it was futile. His hands hand been bound together by someone who had taken their 'how to tie inescapable knots' class. He felt another shackle clamp down tightly around his other ankle, and then the rope tug at his flesh as one of the lackeys cut it off. Sam tried to move his feet, thinking they were free, but they weren't. They were chained to the stone slab.

Sam had been so busy before, looking at around the room, that he hadn't noticed one important factor - the altar he was currently lying on. It was a long slab of concrete on the top of a rectangular stone base. The top had four half circle rings imbedded into the concrete, one on each corner. Two of those rings were already being used. Those rings were what kept the shackles chained to Sam's feet, and him unable to move off of the death bed. The sacrificial stone itself was about ten feet in length, and four feet wide.

Sam felt the men using the same cruel method of binding his feet to the altar, now being performed on his hands. He tried yet again to break their hold, but he couldn't move. He felt one hand cuffed, and then chained, before the man cut had cut the ropes off of his hands. With one hand free, Sam swung at the man who was trying to capture his flailing arm. The man backhanded Sam hard across the face before he grabbed the stray hand and chained it to the altar.

There Sam laid now, his body outstretched, each appendage chained to one side of the slab. Sam, still gagged, tried to muffle something to their "leader".

The sophisticated Asian man sauntered towards Sam and traced the cloth of Sam's gag lightly. He smiled maliciously as he gazed upon their new chosen victim. "Tabby was right. He is a fine catch indeed. Strong, well-built, and he has great potential," the man said, moving his finger from the dirty rag and up towards Sam's rose colored cheeks. The man brushed his finger over Sam's face delicately. With each touch he seemed to consume a part of the young man's being.

"Let's begin," the man instructed, and then turned around, his form disappearing within the red velvet curtains, and then reappearing with something in his hand.

Sam lied there helplessly, his eyes wide with the realization of what the man held in his hand. Sam swallowed forcibly, trying to push his saliva down past the nuisance of a rag that was shoved into his mouth. The gag was one piece, tied completely around Sam's head, but tied tightly, forcing part of the gag in-between his teeth ruthlessly.

The man approached Sam, with the item in hand and hovered over the hunter's vulnerable frame. The man held the silver dagger above Sam's face, watching the candle light as it reflected off of the shimmering metal. The two lackeys stood behind the sacrificial stone, watching their "leader's" every movement.

The "leader" lifted the blade smoothly into the air and pressed the cold metal firmly on to Sam's neck. He flipped the blade over, the razor sharp edge touching Sam's exposed flesh, and slid it downwards, cutting off Sam's sweatshirt slowly. The man reached the rim of Sam's sweatshirt and proceeded to cut off Sam's undershirt too.

Sam felt a cold chill brush over his now exposed torso. He couldn't speak; all he could do was mumble at the man, try to plead with him to give him some sort of an answer. The man ignored Sam's protest and ran the knife over Sam's exposed flesh absentmindedly. He stopped right above Sam's navel and lifted the knife upwards, the tip resting threateningly upon his stomach.

"Do you know what you are?" the man asked Sam, his gaze never leaving the dagger. He stared at the blade intently and started twirling it around slowly. A tiny trickle of blood sprouted from underneath the tip of the knife.

"Oh, I forgot. You can't answer me," the man said, nodding at one of the lackeys.

The dimwitted follower of this so called "leader" placed his hands behind Sam's neck and untied the gag. Sam felt like a weight had just been pulled out of his mouth. He moved his jaw around, trying to regain some sense of feeling back in his overstressed muscles. His swallowed and immediately noticed that his throat was raw and dry from the lack of saliva being permitted to dampen his abused airway.

Sam asked the man, his voice barely a whisper, "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

"That is the question of the day, but everyone put in your situation asks that question. Why me? Well, you have a gift," the man paused and looked up at Sam. "You just don't know it yet."

Sam was confused. Were they talking about his spoon bending powers? His visions? What? What gift did he have that he didn't know about? Sam looked at the man, puzzled.

"What do you mean… a gift?" Sam asked, his voice more audible now that he had a constant flow of saliva wetting the back of his throat.

"It's a secret," the man said. He lifted his index finger and held it in front of his mouth. "You can't know yet."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"You'll find out," the man answered bluntly.

"What is with the elusive shit? Just tell me!" Sam yelled, anger flaring from every cell of his infuriated body.

The man smiled mockingly, "What's with the twenty questions? Just shut up and accept your fate. It makes life so much easier, and less painful." The man looked over at one of his followers and nodded his head with assent.

One of them vanished behind the red curtain and returned with a small, black, leather-bound book in hand. He handed the book over to the "leader" and then took his place, standing back behind Sam again.

The business-like man opened the book up and flipped through the yellowed pages. Sam watched his every move, his heart beating so rapidly in his chest that he was surprised it didn't just pop out. The man stopped and grinned wickedly at Sam. He set the book down on the altar, and placed the knife on Sam's stomach once more.

Sam felt a sharp sting as the knife made its first incision. The blade moved along his stomach, and with each movement, Sam hissed. He grit his teeth together, trying to mask the pain and anguish that was exploding through his body right now. He felt the man twirl the knife around, creating some kind of circle on his stomach, right about his navel. Sam could fee the blood starting to trickle down his stomach and drip down his sides.

Tears started to sting the corners of his eyes as he fought back the excruciating pain that coursed through his stomach. He started panting, hard and unintentionally, and balled his hands into a fist, as if the pressure from squeezing his hands together might relieve the pain. The man stared down at Sam's newly crimson painted stomach and sneered. He cut the knife harshly down the center of the gash-formed circle, and then again towards the opposite side. Each cut penetrated the skin deeper. The man only had two more marks to make. "And," he thought cruelly, "He had better make them count."

Meanwhile, Sam was busy trying to correct his labored breathing, but it wasn't working. The young hunter felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. This made him feel weak. Dean could handle this, and so could he. He dared to glance downwards towards his morbidly painted skin, but he couldn't see, so instead he stared at the ceiling, praying that this painful venture would soon cease.

The man made another cut, but this time, he dragged the bloodied knife slowly down the young hunter's skin. The crimson-splashed dagger slid down the hunter's stomach, and across his blood-slick skin. One more gash and the symbol will be complete. The man moved the knife to the outer rim of the circle on Sam's stomach, the circle in which his first fateful incision was formed.

Sam's bottom lip trembled from the amount of pain his body was racked with at the moment. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for another assault to come. He could feel the damp basement breeze blow past his blood soaked stomach, the warm wet blood turning to ice as soon as the breeze contaminated it with its chill. Not once did he cry out. The pain, albeit unbearable, was not something he was willing to give into easily.

The man forcefully slid the knife into Sam's skin. He watched as the tip of the blade disappeared into Sam's flesh. The man still pushed deeper, until the blade was about one-fourth of the way in. He dragged the now partially embedded knife across the young hunter's stomach, the blade slipping downwards as he had passed over Sam's navel. Dark crimson blood poured from the newly formed gash; a lot more blood was being produced by its incision than those of its shallow brothers'.

Sam let out a strangled cry and pulled on the shackles that were binding his wrists to the altar. He pulled as hard as he could on the metal restraints, but it did no good. The pain still rampaged through his body. The fiery torture ripped through his stomach, further, and further, until it finally stopped.

Sam let his body relax on the cold stone. It had stopped, for now. The pain was still there, throbbing, and with every heartbeat bringing the young hunter closer to the edge. He mustered up enough courage to look down at his injured flesh, but he wasn't ready for what he saw. As Sam lifted up his head, he could feel the sweat beads dripping down his face. His stomach was no longer tan, but a bright cardinal red, though in some parts the blood was a deep crimson - those were the deeper gashes.

He couldn't make out the symbol, the one that the man had brutally carved into his stomach. Either Sam was delirious from the blood loss, or he had completely lost it, but he could hear someone mumbling something in Latin. Sam wearily twisted his head over to see where it was coming from.

The man, the business dressed one, was chanting something, but Sam couldn't make it out. He heard words here and there, so Sam knew he was speaking in Latin. A few minutes later the chanting slowed down. Sam stared blankly at the ceiling. His mind was already trying to cope with the pain, but that meant blocking everything out.

The leader stopped chanting, and looked over at Sam. He smiled sadistically, and then recited the final words of the incantation, "Adstringo."

As soon as the final word has passed through the Asian mans thin lips, Sam jolted. Pain exploded throughout every opening in his body. He pulled at the restraints once again, hoping by some miracle they would break and he could curl up into a protective ball, but they didn't budge. Sam let out a sobbed choke, and tried earnestly to fight the pain.

Sam looked up at the man, pain etched in every pore of his face as he spoke, "Why?"

The man reached down and placed his hand on the bloodied symbol. He lifted one hand up and held onto his ear. He closed his eyes, and recited one more word, "Amoveo."

Sam let his body fall back onto the altar. He was panting hard, barely able to breathe at all. His sweat covered brow was a definite sign of the young hunter's struggle.

Sam looked up at the man and tried to steady his breath, "What… did you… do?"

The man smiled, a mechanical smile, and laughed wickedly, "It is great, isn't it? Do you know Latin Sam?"

Sam couldn't move. His breathing was a bit more labored, but it still wasn't controlled either. Sam tried to think of the words that the man had said, but he was drawing a blank; the pain had clouded his senses. He thought hard, and then he remembered at least two of them.

Sam spoke wearily, but with certainty, "Adstringo… bind. Amoveo," Sam coughed slightly, "remove."

"Good job, Sam," the man said, mockingly clapping his hands together. "You must have excelled in school."

Sam gasped as the pain shot through his limbs. It was coming in waves, intervals, and it wouldn't cease. The last gash the man had inflicted was the obvious cause of the pain's never-ending cycle. Sam's vision started to blur, but he didn't want to succumb to the darkness, not yet. He needed answers.

"What do you gain?" Sam said, struggled.

"It doesn't matter—"

"It does. What did… he offer – the demon that is?" Sam interjected.

"So, you know. Who are you?" the man said, raising a curious brow.

With what little strength Sam had left, he smiled, a mocking smile, and repeated what the man had said to him earlier that night, "You'll find out."

"Fair enough," the man said, and headed for the stairs. "Goodnight, Sam."

Those words had haunted his sleep the previous night. Now, Sam was left alone in the freezing basement as the man's words echoed throughout his brain yet again. Sam closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him. It was the easy way out, to escape the pain, he knew, but he couldn't bare it any longer. His world faded into darkness, his mind clinging to the hope that his dreams would bring him some sort of peace – an escape.