Dante pulled his truck off the road, took out a cell phone—two could play at this game—and tracked the final distance on foot. He was only slightly hindered by the assaulting wind and rain pounding against him, threatening to force him back. Stepping sideways almost as much as forward, Dante bent into the winds and pressed forward.
The one man he'd been trailing met up with two others. Dante immediately identified them as Stewart Calgary and Rick Malloy from files his sister had shown him. It wasn't until he reached the old building near the shore they were holed up in that Dante saw two others. A skinny kid, maybe twenty at the most with his arm in a sling and another, taller, thin figure with bangs stuck to his skin, was a familiar one.
Sam didn't give them any trouble, but the skinny kid still saw fit to hit him across the kidneys with a baton, eliciting a harsh shout Dante heard even from the distance he was keeping. Sam stumbled forward, lost his balance and dropped to one knee. Malloy grabbed hands firmly cuffed behind his back and Sam was hauled to his feet. It was unnecessary cruelty, and unfortunately something Dante had seen and dealt with before.
Dante couldn't get close enough to get shots off at them, and with four he doubted he could take them all down before one of them dealt some fatal attack on Sam. He'd sent his sister off to help Dean, entrusting her to his abilities; there was no way Dante was going to pay him back by delivering Dean a dead brother. Sam could take a hit to his back. A shot to his chest was another matter entirely. For now, Dante was forced to hang back and watch, waiting for the chance to strike efficiently. Inside they met up with a fifth man.
Slipping into the large building ten minutes or so after the other men, Dante realized it was much bigger than its outside appearance suggested. It wasn't the most stable building either. Dante sidestepped around several spots where the floor groaned under his weight, floorboards weak or shattered. Taking longer than he'd first thought to locate the men with Sam, Dante was again forced to hang back or be spotted. His only chance was the element of surprise, so he chose to keep to the shadows, watching.
As long as they didn't do actual life-threatening harm, Dante had time. He was one to their five unless he could free Sam and he couldn't count on that happening. Odds were just a bit too much against him right now. Hopefully backup in the form of Dean and Concha would be arriving before too long.
Sam was taken to a portion of the building near the back and down one level from the main level. It was dark and damp, a musty odor hung in the air. Lining each side was three small rooms with bars for doors. It was some sort of prison, but the rooms were small, more suited for children than for adults. Each room had a bench along one wall; it was too narrow for most adults to fit on. The walls lining the corridor and rooms were grooved from years of water trickling down. An abundance of rivulets coursed the walls and floor, most likely from the hurricane.
Concha had mentioned an old orphanage dating from around the Civil War, and Dante wondered if this was it.
Dante watched as Sam was shoved into one of the rooms in the middle of the corridor. His jacket, shirts, socks and boots were taken, leaving him shivering in nothing but jeans. The poor kid couldn't even sit comfortably, and had to hunch on the floor.
Calgary and one of the unidentified men left. A minute later Dante heard movement above the room, a panel was shoved to the side revealing a space maybe two foot by two foot, also with heavy bars. It allowed them to observe Sam from the main floor above. Just dandy.
A minute later the man who'd left with Calgary reappeared, this time carrying a large box. He set it down; taking small shovels from inside, one went to the skinny kid, one he kept. They worked for a few minutes, shoveling ground glass and what looked to be bits of metal from the box and lined a portion of the hallway completely. Three more trips with the box and the corridor was completely covered in a few inches of glass and metal shards. Unless the place outright flooded there was enough weight there the small amount of water trickling through wasn't going to dislodge it.
It made sense now, why Sam was nearly stripped and why his cuffs were removed. Even if he managed to find a way out of the locked room, he couldn't go anywhere without completely shredding his feet.
Why they were doing this escaped Dante. It made no sense. They'd had both brothers back at the parking garage. Why not just kill them then and there? Why do this? This was doing nothing more than baiting Dean, which was a stupid idea. The man was dangerous, especially when his brother was threatened. Why take those risks? It seemed stupid and inefficient to Dante, and Stewart Calgary's file read anything but stupid and inefficient. The man wasn't an amateur. He'd have to have known better.
So there had to be another reason.
For now Sam was safe. He wasn't comfortable, but he hadn't been overly harmed. It was warm enough Dante didn't have to worry about him getting hypothermic for sometime yet. He'd be cold, hungry and thirsty, but alive. If the situation changed, Dante would get more aggressive. For now he wanted to gather more information and hopefully be able to wait for Concha and Dean.
Moving as quietly as possible on the now glass and metal shard covered floor, Dante crept back to the main level once the man and kid vacated the corridor. Finding a vantage spot he estimated had to be over the lower corridor, Dante settled back and watched.
It didn't take long, and in pretty short order Dante had a few answers that were nothing less than horrific.
Sam doubted this time the spirit of a small boy was going to help him escape. He knew the child hovered about, Sam felt the temperature drop when he neared, was literally surrounded by the presence of that child and others.
This part of the orphanage Sam was in now was where they'd punished some of the children. Others, mentally disabled most likely, had been kept locked away here. It tore at Sam's heart, how they'd been alone, afraid, unprotected and unwanted. In his opinion that had to be the worst thing to do to a child. It had shattered them, the children here. The walls of his prison might have been leaking water, but it could have just as easily been blood and fear from children dead more than a century.
Reaching out gingerly, Sam touched the moist walls. Putting one finger to his lips, the diluted salty water made him grimace. Natural condensation mixed with seawater oozing in from outside.
He could hear the men above, follow their movements from their shadows, but none of them came close enough to the barred ceiling for him to see them directly. So far there'd been no mention of Dean, and as far as Sam could tell none of them had used that satellite phone. They probably didn't have to. The phone no doubt served its purpose of keeping Sam compliant on the trip here. He suspected all along they never intended to make any calls and that the man remaining with Dean had been given a deadline.
Dean had to have extracted himself before that deadline passed. He had to.
Sam would kill them, every one of them. He wouldn't be fast. He would be merciless if Dean was dead. They'd be luckier if Dean still lived, because when Dean came hunting down Sam, he would deal with them quickly and a lot less painfully than Sam. If these men had taken Dean, Sam had no reason to stop the evil he was sure he carried inside from spreading and taking over. Or maybe it was giving into the boogeyman demon, using his fear of losing Dean to taint his thoughts and soul. Either way the result would be the same. The thing wasn't here, yet, but it would be and already it was trying to infiltrate his mind, Sam could feel its affects. The difference was, this time, Sam wasn't sure he'd even care.
His immediate problem was getting out. He couldn't get down the corridor, not without having his feet sheared off. It didn't matter; he had no means to pick the locks on the bars.
Sam understood they blamed him for Steve Wandell's death, especially Calgary. Hell, Sam blamed himself. Some part of him decided maybe he deserved this, to be locked away and at the mercy of a demon. Maybe these men could send this demon back to Hell or kill it or whatever. Maybe that would make up for Sam slicing open an innocent man's throat.
Meg, not you. Dean's voice intruded in his head.
Sinking to the small bench, not able to lean back because the walls were sharp jags of cold against his bare back, Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a minute and took a few deep breaths. Even down here the sounds of the hurricane winds and rising surf were a constant barrage against the old orphanage.
If Dean could believe in him so much, couldn't Sam believe it himself? Dean wasn't dead, Sam was sure he'd feel it if that happened. Dean wasn't dead, and Sam wasn't going to give up. He pushed away thoughts of murdering these men, that wouldn't be anymore right than what they were doing to him and Dean.
For now he had to concentrate on getting out and not leaving himself open to another attack by the boogeyman demon, it was only a matter of time before he'd have to face it, Sam was sure.
He didn't have long to wait. When the first tendrils of black slipped through the bars of his door, Sam guessed he'd only been in here a half hour at most. Sam ignored how the cold, wet stone walls bit his back, how his skin scraped raw and sliced open in tiny, painful cuts with every move. He tried unsuccessfully to suppress the shivers, reciting over and over in his head he'd been protected, loved. He and Dean both had been.
The black moved across the floor and surrounded him, despite how Sam tried curling in on himself to protect himself from it. He pressed his eyes shut and clamped his teeth together against the whimper it tried forcing from him with its first onslaught. This time it surrounded him, not caring if no one else was there to share Sam's pain or watch him suffer.
Sam opted for self-preservation and to fight. The black slithered over him making the muscles of his back and stomach clenched in painful waves, then it surrounded him. It wound through his hair and forced itself into his thoughts.
Dante had to shove one hand into his mouth to stop the surprised gasp. There was nothing that prepared him for what he saw. He'd seen possessions, lots of times, but this wasn't a possession. This, attack, he had no better word for it, was something entirely different.
None of Sam's captors were in the immediate area. None of the human ones. This thing Dante understood held Sam captive in a way no human possibly could. Curling in on himself, Dante watched Sam's eyes press shut, saw how pain dominated Sam's features. It was a black cloud, solid, not wispy and smoky like other demons. It circled Sam and settled over him.
Sam jerked and pressed more into himself. Dante heard how his breath was sucked in fast, saw how his chest heaved, his limbs twitched.
A quick check of the area to be sure he was still alone in that section of the building and Dante was hovering over the bars blocking the ceiling of Sam's cell.
Get him out. Get that kid out! It thundered through Dante's brain.
The bars to Sam's cell were locked, no key in sight. Yanking a set of lock picks from his pocket, Dante reached for the lock. He nearly swore out loud when he realized it wasn't the original padlock that kept the bars secure. Near one corner of the access door was a chain looping through the bars and pulled tight to a heavy hook driven into the stone wall an inch or so from the bars. From the looks of it, it'd been there a while. The chain was held in place with a combination lock.
Shit. Shit!
He rolled away from it and to the next one. That cell had no secondary chain and lock. The padlock was completely rusted over; no doubt the reason why at some point the other one had been replaced with the chain lock.
A solid kick with the heel of his boot, and Dante nearly followed his foot into empty air when the ceiling trap door swung away, clanging off the wall. Dropping lightly to the cell floor below, Dante pressed against the bars leading to the corridor.
"Sam." He hissed. There was movement in the room beside his, but no answer. Fumbling in another pocket, Dante pulled out a small bottle of Holy water, slipped it between the bars. He stretched as far as he could, tapping the bottle against the bars of Sam's cell. "Sam." He raised his voice as much as he dared. "C'mon, kid, get over here, take this. You can do it."
The rustling of material dragging over the floor started and stopped a second later. A strangled noise came from Sam, Dante heard him retreat back from the bars.
Huffing out his annoyance, he had to get the kid to move and take the bottle. It was the only amount of protection Dante could offer until he could get Sam out. To get Sam out he was going to have to get rid of some of those men. He was sure he didn't have much time, they'd come back to see what their captive was up to soon.
"Sammy!" He barked the word out from his gut, not a shout, but a sharp command.
Again there was the sound of movement across the wet stone floor. This time Dante was barely able to make out long bangs hanging down, swaying a bit. One trembling hand gripped the bars for a few seconds, then dropped away. "D-d-deen-n?"
Dante's heart was squeezed in his contracting chest. "He's on his way. I'm going to get you out, but I have to get rid of a few of our friends first, buy us some time." He tapped the bottle on the bars again. "Holy water."
Shaking fingers touched his as they wound around the bottle, and Jesus, Sam was cold. Not the type of cold from damp skin, nothing like what he should have been in here. It wasn't cold in the building, cool, but not cold. It was humid and warm outside. They were in a tropical hurricane. Cold, frosty, freezing cold shouldn't have been in the equation.
Grabbing Sam's fingers in a firm grip for a few seconds, "Hang in there, just a bit longer, I promise."
Sam pulled the bottle away from Dante's grip and between the bars. He heard another sharp intake of breath from Sam, heard the movement as he shoved away from the black spilling through the bars when Sam moved closer, then backed away. Dante closed his ears to the soft, pained hiss of breath from Sam followed by an even softer trembling moan.
One smooth, fluid jump and Dante was pulling himself from the cell to the room above. Just as he got one leg up and was pushing to stand, one of the unnamed men entered the room.