This is not the…happiest of chapters shall we say. Some major hurt!Sam so consider yourselves warned.
oOo
"Purified in fire"
- Forgiven, Disturbed
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
"But I think these means which ye call the school and rudiments of the Devil are things lawful and have been approved for such in all times and ages. As in special, this science of astrology which is one of the special members of the mathematics."
Good god, Sam had discovered the English's most base torture so far: Anna's recital of King James I's ridiculous notions on witchcraft and demonology. Thomas' damned headphones and monotonous voice would be an improvement on this. Her sharp tone reminded him of old movies where he'd see the stern schoolmistress lecturing to her students; he was pretty sure his own expression was as exasperated as the students. The more she wittered on, the more he felt he ire rise, simmering slowly in his chest.
"…There are two things which the learned have observed-"
"He clearly wasn't one of them" Sam spat, his annoyance finally getting the better of him. Anna stopped, her glare snapping up to confront him.
"What exactly is that supposed to mean, Samuel?"
"Do you honestly believe that James I had any clue whatsoever about demons? He was yet another naïve idiot who meddled in things he didn't know anything about. Sure, he was on the right lines with some of his theories, but that's all they are: theories. Even if they were on his radar, I doubt he had any idea what the Men of Letters even were. He wanted to look like an expert and no one else had the balls to stand up to him and tell him to do his own damned job," Sam snapped, Anna's eyes narrowing when he rolled his.
"This is exactly what is the problem with you Americans: you have absolutely no grasp of respecting those in power."
"We have plenty, but I don't respect people because of their power. It doesn't mean they deserve it and it definitely doesn't earn them instant respect. There are a lot of people who are in control and shouldn't be. They demand gratitude when they don't deserve it."
Anna's hands tightened on the book.
"There are also times when those who are not in control should learn their place. Clearly that is a life lesson that imbecile of a brother didn't teach you," Anna hissed, her brown eyes dark and angry. Sam felt his control snap.
"You think you're better than us? Listen lady, you don't know jack-shit about what hunting is really like. I know more than you could ever dream of knowing; I've been to hell, I'm met God – the capital G version – and ganked more things that you've had hot showers. Thomas is no better than a deluded, obsessive psychopath who is convinced I'm gonna become some demented lap dog. Toni was the same. You abduct me – twice – and think somehow I'm going to fall in line. You know what? Screw you. Screw all of you. Screw being grateful and respectful; none of you deserve it and the sooner Dean finds me or I get out of this, the sooner you're gonna realise that you made the biggest mistake of your life coming after me again."
He didn't regret it; he couldn't. The pent-up anger of the last few days; the helplessness, the frustration, everything had snowballed and her jab at Dean was the final straw. The ache for his brother was deep and incessant and it drove him forward. But the silence that fell over the cellar, the slight tightening around the edges of Anna's eyes, even though the rest of her face remained impassive, made the steel in him fold and the regret seep in. He hadn't just crossed the line; he'd danced the macabre all over it.
Anna still said nothing, instead slipping the thin piece of black ribbon that was snaked through the spine of the book down, saving the page, as she closed it and place it carefully on the bed. Sam watched her, squirming against the cuffs but they held fast, the small padlocks clinking quietly as his heart began to hammer. Anna reached into her satchel and pulled out a strange object. Sam's eyes narrowed as he tried to work out what it was. It looked a lot like a belt but it wasn't the right shape. In the centre of a long, wide strip of leather, an odd silicone bulb shape was stuck to it. He lost sight of it as Anna walked around behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, flinching when she brought her face down so that she was inches from his right ear, her breath tickling his neck as she spoke.
"I used to be a dog breeder and trainer, long before I was Lady Bevell's head of house. Do you know how we used to deal with uncooperative dogs?" Her words sent a chill rippling down's Sam's spine. "We'd muzzle them until they learn."
Her arms moved around either side of him and suddenly Sam felt something hard press against his lips. Without thinking, he opened his mouth to protest, a startled 'mmph' escaping as something large and hard was pulled back between his teeth. It was huge: it filled his mouth and blocked his tongue, forcing it down to the bottom of his mouth. He shook his head frantically, eyes wide but Anna didn't let go. His jaw was stretched uncomfortably wide and he panicked when he realised he couldn't close his mouth. A soft groan was muted further when he felt a panel of supple leather close over his lips, sealing his mouth and embracing the lower half of his face as Anna pulled it tight, tipping his head forward so that his hair fell into his eyes while she fastened the buckle tightly at the nape of his neck. Wrenching his head, Sam tried desperately to find some give in the strict gag. There was none and his shouts of indignation were reduced to indistinguishable whispers.
He glared up at Anna through the locks of hair that had fallen over his eyes, his chest heaving. She swept a hand over his forehead, brushing the long strands out of the way.
"Well, that won't do at all."
She moved over to the shelf, her eyes searching but narrowing when she couldn't see what she wanted. "Won't be a moment; sit tight, Samuel."
Breezing past him, Anna climbed the stairs and headed out, leaving Sam alone. He looked down, over his shoulder, to either side of the chair, jerking his arms futilely. The small padlocks swayed mockingly in their eyelets. Yanking his legs proved just as pointless; he wasn't going anywhere. He tried clenching his jaw but was met with the hard resistance of the bulb-like monstrosity jammed in his mouth. It was hard but coated in a slightly spongy, vile tasting silicone that reminded Sam of the air that was blown out of a deflated balloon. It was pressed up against the hard palette of his mouth and compressed his tongue. Forming any kind of sound, let alone words, was nigh on impossible. She had robbed him of the one weapon he'd always been able to rely on and, whatever she was after now, it wasn't going to be for his comfort – that much Sam did know.
The Englishwoman was back within a few minutes, satisfied when she heard the small moans and whimpers from the hunter before her. Anna enjoyed the way his eyes narrowed and then widened, accompanied by small shakes of his head when he saw the silver scissors and towel grasped in her hands.
"Now then, Thomas hadn't told me just how unpresentable you'd become. I think it's about time we sorted that out, don't you?" she remarked briskly, draping the towel around his shoulders. An incoherent yowl was his response as he tried to jerk away from her. Hooking her fingers up and through the buckle behind his head, Anna twisted Sam's head around, forcing him to quieten and look up at her. "There are two ways we can do this. First option: you behave and I just give you a bit of a trim, take some of the shagginess out of your hair. Failing that, I can go get the clippers and take the whole lot off. Despite your rudeness, Samuel, I'm willing to give you the choice. This is one of the few choices I'll ever give you. Which is it going to be? Grunt once for the first option or twice for the second."
The bitch meant it too. Sam couldn't let her do it; he wasn't a vain man, but his hair was part of his identity – who he was. He needed to keep something from his old – no – his life. He gave a soft moan and relaxed.
"Good boy. That's what I thought. You're going to stay perfectly still; any trouble at all –" she enunciated the last two words carefully "– and I'll go straight to the second option." She let go of his gag and grabbed the first locks of hair. Sam sat motionless, breathing heavily through his nose as he fought the anger, the humiliation, that rose within him.
Anna took her time, snipping and trimming as Sam watched short flecks of hair float down lifelessly around his shoulders. It wasn't the hair cut that bothered him – he was due one anyway – it was the symbolism behind the act. Anna wasn't really that bothered by his appearance – Sam doubted whether she really gave a rat's ass about him – but with each strand that fell away, she was taking a little piece of him. A little piece of his independence, his identity. The only thing that probably stopped her from shearing his whole head was the thought of what Thomas would say. And, yet again, the Winchester found himself in Thomas' debt and hated it.
She took her time, drawing out his discomfort for as long as she could, all the while Sam tried his hardest to sit calmly and silently. He couldn't provoke her. Her fingers in his hair made his skin crawl as she worked her way around his head; the sharp snicking of the scissors the only sound in the cellar.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Anna remarked as she finished, scooping the towel from his shoulders and wiping the stray hairs from the back of his neck with its corner. He glared up at her balefully as she folded the towel and put it over by the door. "It seems you are capable of behaving yourself," she continued as she moved behind him again.
Sam felt her fingers work against the buckle at the back of his head and relief filled him. His jaw was already aching from being forced open by the silicone bulb. The buckle was loosened from the back of his neck, but, rather than pull it forwards and out of his mouth, Anna pulled back, yanking his head back against the wood of the chair behind him, eliciting a muffled groan from him as he winced. Struggling feebly, he fought against her, trying to work out what the hell she was doing. The leather panel tightened across his cheeks again.
"The problem we have, therefore, is that your behaviour is clearly a choice. You need to realise it's the wrong choice." Finally, he heard her step back, but when he tried to move his head, he couldn't. A muffled whimper, barely audible, escaped his throat when he realised what she'd done. Rather than relieving him, she'd looped the buckle through the panels in the back of the chair and secured it across the back of the wood, preventing Sam from moving his head at all.
The hunter wrenched his body desperately, trying for all he was worth to move, quiet indistinguishable moans of discomfort escaping the cruel gag. Anna moved around to his side, stroking his hair softly, patronising humour glinting in her eyes as he peered up at her from the corner of his eye. "Did you honestly think that small episode was enough punishment for your vulgar outburst? Thomas has clearly been far too soft on you, Samuel. I, on the other hand, know how to tame unruly beasts. If you're going to be offensive and improper, I don't see why you should have the privilege of conversing with me at all."
She sat back down in her chair, picking up the book once more ignoring the incoherent whuffles coming from the boy. She reopened it and met Sam's horrified gaze with a serene look.
"Now, where were we?"
oOo
Thomas parked up, humming softly to himself as he stepped out of the car, grasping the wrapped piece in one hand, the paper crumpling beneath his grip. Strolling across the lawn, the car doors beeped behind him, locking automatically while he enjoyed the warmth that bathed the open Kansas air. He pushed open the front door of the farmhouse, placing the package on the table just inside the door along with the car keys. He'd been gone close to three hours and was pleased that Anna hadn't called; they'd agreed that she only would in an emergency. The knowledge that nothing dire had occurred in his absence was pleasing.
Exiting the house, he walked briskly across the clipped grass, heading for the cellar. The handle was warm under his touch as he pulled the door open. Descending the stairs, he could hear Anna's voice as she read aloud, her voice cathartic. Her back came into view as he descended, the rest of the cellar opening up before him. A frown crinkled across his brow when his eyes fell on Sam. The hunter's eyes locked onto his pleadingly, his throat clearly working as Thomas heard what was presumably supposed to be his name escape from behind the strict leather gag Anna had muzzled him with. Of course, Thomas couldn't be sure – the sound was an incoherent whimper.
"Oh dear, it looks like you've had a spot of bother, Anna," Thomas remarked, sitting himself on the bed between the two. Anna replaced the thin bookmark and closed the tome, holding it on her lap.
"Samuel is learning a lesson in humility," Anna replied, eliciting a quiet growl from the Winchester which she silenced with a pointed look. It wasn't even a glare, but Sam had clearly learned its meaning. Thomas was impressed. "It's exactly as I said before, Thomas: if you give him an inch, he'll take a mile. However, we've made some excellent progress this afternoon."
Sam wriggled on the chair, his muscles taut as he strained against his bonds, his eyes never leaving Thomas. The Englishman smiled sympathetically and stroked his hair, noting the shorter length.
"I know, Sam. I know. I'm back now," he crooned, enjoying smoothing Sam's hair affectionately, ignoring the fact that Sam couldn't move away from his touch. "You know, Anna wouldn't have to be so strict with you if you did as we asked. I expected you to show her the same level of respect as you show me. Now, I think this needs to stay on for a while longer, don't you?" Sam groaned, his eyes wide and beseeching. Thomas shook his head. "No, Sam; you can stop looking at me like that. I'm deeply disappointed in you. You really have no one to blame but yourself. But not to worry – we'll get there in time." He turned away from Sam, smiling apologetically at Anna. "Thank you so much, Anna, for looking after him. I think it's about time both of us had a cup of tea and a catch up."
Anna smiled warmly at him as she gathered her belongings, the pair of them ignoring their errant ward completely.
"That sounds like a fine idea."
oOo
The evening stretched across the open fields, the warm glow cooling as the clouds began to descend, blanketing the sky in a dismal grey. The lush green of the fields turned to an ominous dark jade, the shadows disappearing and turning to solid darkness on the ground. The first fat droplets of rain splashed down on the ground, seeping into the dusty earth. Soon it became a steady hammering, drilling against the farmhouse and metal door of the storm cellar.
The sound pattered down as a soft drumming to Sam who sat alone, languishing in the hard wooden chair. When Thomas had reappeared earlier, Sam had been sure that the Man of Letters would take pity on him and release him from Anna's contraptions. Of course he didn't. They were like some demented tag-team parents; good cop and bad cop but both fundamentally united against him. Thomas hadn't even loosened Anna's muzzle, choosing to let Sam suffer under the loathed device. His jaw ached painfully, each throb sending dull licks of pain along his nerves. The skin around his wrists and ankles was bruised from his repeated yanks. He couldn't move at all and he had never felt so truly helpless. Eventually hot, angry tears had slipped from the corners of his eyes as he howled in frustration into the isolated cellar.
The rain was interrupted by the sound of the cellar door shrieking on its hinges, Thomas' quick footfalls rapping against the concrete as he hurried in out of the driving rain.
"It's positively vile out there tonight," he remarked conversationally as he entered, shutting down the umbrella he'd used to protect himself from the elements. Propping it against the wall, the droplets of rain began to pool on the concrete. Thomas turned to face Sam, a sad smile on his face when he caught Sam's expression. He reached out and wiped the tears from Sam's cheek with a soft thumb. "Shush, it's alright, Sam. You're doing really well."
Sam simply closed his eyes, unable to take it anymore. He couldn't read the Man of Letters, no matter how much he tried. Cooperating, begging, shouting…none of it mattered. Thomas would do whatever the hell he wanted. His thumb disappeared as he walked around the back of the hunter. Sam just sat there, unable to follow his movements.
Thomas reached up onto the shelf, selecting the small brass box that was nestled at the back. Opening it, he pulled out a syringe and small bottle filled with a clear liquid. He'd been able to salvage the drug after its last use in the barn with Lucifer – there was still plenty left. It didn't require a lot to work efficiently. His fingers made quick work of extracting a small dose of the liquid before he replaced it in the padded lining of the box. Coming up silently behind the hunter, Thomas crouched down next to his left arm. Thomas didn't need to hold it; the cuff prevented Sam from moving and disrupting the needle. Wordlessly, he inserted it gently into Sam's bicep. The hunter shifted slightly, but Thomas knew it didn't feel like more than an insect bite. He depressed the plunger slowly and removed it, noting that Sam made no indication that he knew what Thomas had done.
Good.
Thomas put the syringe back on the shelf, ready for him to discard later.
Sam felt…weird. He listened as Thomas bustled around behind him, moving things and talking about nothing in particular. Sam frowned, blinking heavily. Thomas continued talking but he couldn't concentrate on what the Englishman said. He could feel his body relaxing, his eyelids drooping, vision blurring, until it was only the straps holding him up.
"Sam?"
He heard Thomas call his name but it sounded far off, like he was in a bubble.
Thomas peered down at the Winchester, satisfied. Sam's eyes, when they opened, roamed aimlessly, completely unfocused. He would go back and get the rest of his equipment and summon Anna; by the time they got back, the sedative would have taken hold properly.
oOo
Everything felt disjointed and strange, like he wasn't a part of his own body. Whenever he thought he was going to go under permanently, hit by a wave of unconsciousness, he was pulled back again, barely clinging on. Sam would blink and find himself in a new position; blink again and Thomas would be there; once more and he was gone. He moaned softly, aware that he was still gagged, but he couldn't feel the wood of the chair pressed against the back of his head anymore. Instead, he could feel cold metal against his cheek; he was led flat on his stomach on a metal surface, his arms hanging over the sides. A distant clanking noise reached him whenever he tried to pull his arms. They didn't cooperate and he was too tired to care.
Thomas turned the long thin pole over again, his hand gloved to protect him from the heat. The stand-alone fire sconce burned brightly in the centre of the room, next to the metal gurney where Sam was secured. Moving him hadn't been a problem – with Anna's help – Sam was too out of it to resist. They'd removed his shirt, revealing smooth, tanned skin that flickered bronze in the firelight before securing him down firmly on the table. He may be sedated, but he was certainly going to feel what was coming.
Turning the metal pole again in the coals, he watched the iron flaring hot. Taking a medical wipe, he cleaned the whole of Sam's right shoulder blade from the centre of his back to his side, rubbing methodically to make sure the whole patch of skin was clean. Thomas glanced up at Sam's face, content to see him still unfocused.
"Good lad, Sam. It'll be over soon, don't you worry," he soothed, stroking Sam's hair back out of his eyes. Glancing over at the pole, he then nodded to Anna. "Anna, if you would." She stepped forward, placing a hand down on the base of Sam's neck and partially onto his cheek. Slipping the mitten back on, Thomas grasped the end of the pole, lifting the whole thing from the sconce. The end was circular and flat, the same intricate design that adorned Sam's necklace carved into it. The whole base was no wider than the bottom of a coffee mug. Holding it directly over Sam's skin, Thomas glanced at Anna.
"Ready?"
Sam felt the pressure on his neck increase, pressing his head down. He didn't know why.
Then his whole world was on fire.
A muffled shriek escaped from Sam as Thomas pressed the brand down onto his exposed skin, his muscles spasming and jerking as he writhed beneath the white-hot agony that plumed with smoke from his charring skin. Anna kept her grip firm, Thomas' other hand holding Sam's shoulder flat as he held the metal in place.
Seconds were hours. Every fibre was on fire as it scorched through him, igniting an agony he couldn't describe. It was too much. Too much, too long. Sam's body slumped as the pain robbed him, mercifully, of his consciousness.
Thomas pulled the metal off, placing it back in the sconce and removing the mitten. He looked down at Sam's limp form, noting his deep even breathing rate. That was good. Hopefully it would be enough to keep him under until morning. Anna released him, finally removing the muzzle from the sleeping hunter as Thomas dabbed antiseptic cream to the open wound on Sam's shoulder. The edges were blackened, but the centre had almost bubbled up, turning a sickening yellow surrounded by a raw pink. It wouldn't be quick to heal, but Thomas knew that – and had prepared for it.
"Are you coming up?" Anna asked as she placed the contraption up on the shelf – they didn't know when they might have need of it again.
"No, I'm going to stay; I need to be here when he wakes if this is going to work. But you go on, Anna – it's been a long day," he replied, ripping open a new non-adhesive bandage, the kind that wouldn't stick to an open wound. He smeared another layer of the salve onto the gauze before placing it onto the brand lightly. Anna gave him a small pat on the back when she walked past him, leaving the Man of Letters to tend to his ward.
oOo
Consciousness slowly pulled him back from oblivion even though Sam fought desperately against it. He didn't want to wake up; he didn't want to be in this nightmare anymore. Everything ached: his jaw, his wrists, his shoulder. God, did his shoulder hurt. But why? Flashes of images catapulted through his mind's eye but they didn't form a coherent memory. Thomas coming in, soaked. Distant voices. Lying down.
Then nothing but endless burning.
He couldn't remember – not really and the more he tried, the less he could. Thomas had done something to him and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
Slowly, Sam's eyes eased open and he blinked the cellar back into focus.
"Sam?" Thomas' voice drifted to him and Sam groaned, turning his head the other way on the pillow. He didn't want Thomas to be there. Why couldn't he just go? Tugging on his arms, Sam found them buckled down at his sides, but, because he was lying on his stomach, pulling on them was uncomfortable. That wasn't the worst part though. When he tensed his back, agony flared through his right shoulder. "Sam, are you alright? I'm worried about you," Thomas asked, his voice laced with concern. Sam flinched when he felt Thomas' hand fall on his head, stroking his hair. "It's alright, I'm here." Sam lifted his head, trying to peer at his shoulder. He could see a patch of white spread across his bare skin. An image – a feeling – flashed through his mind: Anna's hand on his neck, holding him down.
"What the hell did you do to me?" he rasped, turning back to face Thomas, who removed his hand, the hunter's glare red hot and angry. Thomas was sat beside him on the wooden chair, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, trepidation written across his features as his brows furrowed in confusion.
"What do you mean?" he asked quizzically. Sam hesitated, thrown by the Englishman's tone. It was a game, yet another manipulation. It had to be.
"Stop bullshitting me. What. Did. You. Do?" Sam snapped, wincing when the tension that rippled through him aggravated whatever was on his shoulder. Thomas leaned forward, resting a hand on Sam's bicep.
"Sam, calm down; please don't agitate yourself. Look, I won't lie to you but I need you to listen to me carefully," he said, his tone mild but firm. It was the kind of tone the police used to inform a family when a death had occurred. Sam frowned at him but said nothing, oddly transfixed.
"You fell asleep – I watched you – and the next thing I know, I could hear you screaming. When I checked the monitor, you were struggling like a man possessed. Obviously, I came straight down," Thomas explained, his eyes remaining fixed on Sam who felt the uneasiness build in his chest.
"I don't remember…" Sam murmured, disconcerted. Thomas frowned, thoughtfully.
"None of it?"
"No."
"When I took some of your restraints off, you were screaming that he was going to find you, that you weren't safe. You said you needed to be safe."
Sam looked at him astonished. "Safe from who?"
"Let me finish, Sam, all in good time," Thomas interrupted softly. "When you said that, you started screaming and I could smell burning. When I moved you, I found this." Thomas leaned over and pulled gently at the tape holding the bandage down. Sam turned his head, eyes widening.
"What the hell is that?!" he exclaimed, transfixed by the charred flesh beneath. His stomach roiled uncomfortably and he swallowed the bile which rose up his throat. Thomas gently lowered the bandage back over the brand. Sam turned again, glaring up at Thomas. "Why would you do that to me?!"
"Sam, I didn't."
"Then who the hell did?!"
"You did."
Thomas' statement hit him like a punch in the gut. He tried to inhale and couldn't. His lungs locked. Thomas' gaze stayed on him as the seconds passed. His hand stayed on Sam's arm. It had to be a lie; how could he have done that?!
"I don't…I don't understand…" Sam whispered. Thomas' thumb made small circular motions on his bicep.
"I didn't want to have to tell you this…I was hoping to find a way to help you before you found out," Thomas sighed, regret weighing heavily on him. "Do you remember what you asked Lucifer, Sam, back in that barn?"
"Yeah" Sam replied, dread creeping in. That tiny voice of doubt within him began to laugh.
"You asked him to let you go on without any knowledge of what he was doing; that he'd find you a small corner in your mind where he wouldn't bother you anymore."
"What're you saying?"
Sam knew. He knew it but didn't want to believe it. Thomas gave him a small, sad smile.
"You said yes, Sam. You said yes to Lucifer."
oOo
Please review! (Thomas has got a lot of explaining to do…)