Grayscale

II

Author's Note: You guys made my heart absolutely melt with such kind, kind words. Seriously, all the reviews, e-mails, PM's completely inspired me all over again. I meant to get this out sooner but I kept re-writing…and re-writing…and re-writing…and then I re-wrote it all! I figure I better post before I change the whole point of the story. Thanks for all the encouragement to continue, and also for your patience. I think I finally have this outlined the way I want it, so the parts should come quicker now. Let's hope Real Life permits!

Warnings: Bad language ahead. This is starting to get pretty dark…and it only gets darker after this. BUT, there will be a lighthearted ending at the end of this. And I'm still wary about my squeamish-factor…not sure if I have it, but I tried, lol. Poor Sammy's the guinea pig. Hope Dean'll forgive me…and you guys will, too. So, guess I should properly warn you about the end…it's kinda, well, possibly graphic, depending on personal taste. Anyway, enough from me…

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

Dean was in the line at a local gas station when his cell phone rang. He hastily shoved the snacks and drinks in one of his arms to use his other to dig in his back pocket and retrieve the ringing device. A thought trickled down the back of his mind. Something's not right…Shouldn't have left him…

"Hello?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah…who is this?" He asked.

"It's Ash. Listen, I think there's someone looking for you guys…"

Dean shuffled the food into a more secure position in his arms and placed the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder to free his hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"This guy came in…at first he was just picking up some intel on a hunt he was on…but then I heard the name 'Winchester' dropped a few times and really tuned in. He sounded real concerned about where you guys were. Ellen said she wasn't sure where you were going but you were leaving soon. But he kept asking a bunch of questions…Eventually, he and Ellen went to the back room to talk and I couldn't hear anymore…but shortly after, when he left, man, he booked out of here with some other guy, lookin' real serious. I don't know what's goin' on."

"This guy, he have a name?"

"Uh, yeah, um…it's on the tip of my tongue…just, uh, one sec…"

"Ash…"

"Right, um…ah, yeah. Walker. Gordon Walker."

"Shit…" Dean muttered, feeling his entire body go rigid as a wave of nausea claimed him. He immediately dropped the chips and bottled drinks he had and ran out, ignoring the clerks annoyed calls from behind the counter, ignoring the odd stares he got from the other customers.

Within minutes, or seconds—he wasn't sure how fast he moved because he couldn't feel himself move at all—Dean found his foot on the gas pedal of the impala, set on his way back to the motel.

"I'll call you later, Ash," Dean said quickly, then ended the call and speed-dialed Sam's number. It rang and rang… "Pick up…pick up, pick up…" Dean mumbled. But it only rang.

And he pushed down harder on the gas.

-:-

Dean knew something wasn't right before he even touched the door handle. He knew something happened, something bad, before he even entered the room to discover it empty. So almost more than the pang of fear, there was a deeply striking sense of guilt as he peered across the vacant room.

"Sam?" He called through gritted teeth, already knowing he wouldn't receive a response from the taunting shadows of the room where secrets hid.

Shouldn't have left him…

"Sam?" He called louder, running from one side of the room to the other. He checked the bathroom, even checked the little closet in the corner that only held a useless ironing board and a few unoccupied hangers. He had half a mind to look under the bed…

Shouldn't have left him…damn it!

His eyes scanned the room for some bit of evidence, some clue as to who might have taken him or how he was taken. He glanced to the floor, behind the door. One of his brother's knives lay neglected. Suddenly, he felt his stomach well up with a prickly, hot pain that boiled across his body and he perspired with insecurity and anger. The now sweaty palms of his hands met his temples and he applied pressure, wanting to pull his hair out, wanting to yell, to run…and deep down he wasn't worried at all about the repercussions of what he knew he'd do once he found out who was responsible for Sam missing.

Again.

Shouldn't have left him.

My fault.

Damn it…

Dean swallowed hard. There was only place left for him to go for answers, and it was the place he wanted nothing to do with at the moment. But circumstances gave him no choice. He couldn't breakdown because Sam was gone. Not yet. He needed to stay calm, functional. He needed to find Sam.

He needed to get to the Roadhouse and find out what the hell happened.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"This is the thrill of the hunt, Sammy."

Sam looked from Isaac to Gordon with curious fear.

"Hunting…what?" he asked.

Humor left Gordon's expression and his smile was quick to never exist. He stared at the young Winchester, enjoying the gleam of panic and confusion in Sam's eyes.

Sam quivered as Gordon leaned down and spoke the answer chillingly into his ear.

"You."

Sam coughed a little, trying his best to ignore the dizziness that plagued his mind and crippled his judgment. He was scared, but he put on his best, most determined expression to appear fearless, straightening his posture and almost laughing. Maybe he could be intimidating enough to foil this plot to scare him. Maybe. If it was just a scare tactic…

"You know," Sam started warily, quickly noticing the frightened warble in his voice and swallowing it. "Last time I checked, I didn't have any fangs."

Gordon stood up and took a small step back, as if mulling over the remark. Sam, feeling somewhat brave, continued.

"And what's with this guy?" he asked, flicking his chin up to Isaac. "I thought you were the go-it-alone type. Something have you scared?"

Showing his teeth in a grim smirk, Gordon stared at Sam. He could feel the intended, covered speech fall out from Sam's bated breath and it grated him. 'My brother's going to find you and kick your ass for this.'

Suddenly, Sam was wincing inward with a sharp pain as a heavy, unrestrained fist struck his face. His neck twisted painfully and his jaw tensed up, stiff and sore. He regretted the façade of macho fearlessness. It didn't work as well on him, and in fact, probably only made him seem weaker.

"I don't think I'm the one who should be scared right now," Gordon cracked venomously. "Especially when your big brother isn't here right now to keep your head attached to your body."

Ignoring the coppery taste of blood trickling down his dry lips, Sam pushed himself forward as much as he could, which wasn't very far given his constraints.

"He'll be here."

"Oh," Gordon snorted. "I'm counting on that."

Gordon then turned to the other man.

"Keep him occupied, Isaac."

And with that, he glanced once more to Sam and then headed out the door, slamming the door behind him. Isaac took a few steps around Sam.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked, nervous as Isaac had stopped circling him and now stood in front of him as if waiting for something. "I haven't done anything to you." He offered.

Isaac let out a gruff laugh.

"Don't even try and reason yourself out of this. Maybe you haven't done anything to me, but who knows how many innocent people will be hurt—killed—because of you. How many lives are already on your hands?"

"What? No…I think you've got it wrong," Sam replied ardently, using his voice to gain Isaac's attention as he focused his energy on loosening the ties that bound his hands and arms. "I don't kill people. My brother and I, we help as many people as we can."

"Help?" The other man repeated with a tinge of laughter in his voice still. He then leaned down, closer to Sam's face than personal space would normally permit. "I know what you are."

Sam gulped inadvertently, quietly working the ropes behind him, but kept his eyes on the threat.

"Look, I don't know what Gordon told you, but you can't trust him."

"No chance in hell I'd trust you over a renowned hunter. Gordon's taken down plenty of evil in this world, too many fangs and other despicable creatures, for me not to trust him."

Sam slunk a little in his chair, staring up at the other man curiously, worriedly. He'd seen the look too many times before, in his brother, in his father, in any other hunter he'd seen in action…that pained, disgusted expression as they stare upon the enemy.

"I'm not—"

Sam stopped mid-speech as his breath was stolen away from him a moment. Isaac had slammed his fist right in the pit of Sam's abdomen, some icy force of pain surged inside his gut and his entire body shuddered.

"I'm going to ask you a question. You're going to answer me. No games, no lies…no problems. Or else. Got it?"

Sam only nodded, still catching his breath from the off-guard attack.

"What exactly are the plans?"

"Need to be more specific," Sam said quietly, studying Isaac for some hint at what he was talking about.

"More specific, huh?" Isaac mused. He walked near the door, and on the ground there was about a two-foot long metal pole, a few inches thick at least. Isaac retrieved it and let it scrape against the cement floor until the itching echoes made the younger man cringe. He stopped in front of Sam and lifted the pole up holding it with both hands, watching Sam for the fearful reaction he so desired to see.

Sam sucked in a breath but didn't want to give Isaac the satisfaction of seeing him scared. Even though Sam was scared. Very scared. He just hoped for a moment or two to collect his thoughts, gauge the motives of the other man and Gordon, think of anything to say to get answers rather than give them.

But then without warning, Sam could only watch in idle horror as Isaac raised the pole and swung it blindingly fast across Sam's face. The harsh sound of metal and bone crashing together reverberated inside his skull, his jaw tingling with a sharp, throbbing ache. He could hardly even yell out in pain. The room spun madly around and around, and he could only look down at the floor to try and regain his mental balance.

"That was strike one. And I held back," Isaac sneered, and then calmly lowered his voice in a vacantly soothing tone. "Now, I'll ask again. What. Are. The. Plans?"

Sam swallowed the bile that had crept up the back of his throat. He took another slow, shaky inhale and hesitantly raised his head to look at the man.

"I don't know…what you're talking…about."

Isaac chewed on his cheek, trying to hide the wicked grin on his face.

"Strike two."

Sam shut his eyes as the swirl of metal flashed in the air, but this time the momentum was greater and the pain sprung from his upper shoulder. The world tipped over and he came crashing down on his side, chair and all. Most of the chair itself splintered and cracked from the fall, freeing his legs from the constraints. A dull, endless pain shot down the entire right side of his body, an ebb and flow of adrenaline coursing through him though he wasn't free to act on his fight or flight response.

He writhed on the ground, coughing out gasps and small cries, managing to slowly slide out of the broken chair backing that once helped hold him down. He arranged his body weakly on his back, staring up at Isaac who had a bitter look of contentment on his face.

He stepped over Sam, one leg on either side of him, and held the pole down on his chest applying the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to make him squirm.

"You know what happens after strike three, don't you?"

Sam was tired of seeing the enjoyment in Isaac's eyes, tired of being the victim, being treated like the enemy. He mustered whatever energy he had left, a ghost of a smile playing across his features.

"You're out," Sam said, his voice a dangerous but dying whisper.

And much to Isaac's surprise, Sam had freed himself from the ropes, both his hands grabbing a hold of his leg and twisting quickly. Isaac met the ground almost as fiercely as Sam had, the pole clattering a few feet away from them. He quickly scrambled back to his senses as Sam started crawling into a standing position.

Sam headed for the pole and Isaac seized him from behind, clenching his arms around his neck. Sam used his good shoulder to try and shrug him off, and when that didn't work he bit his lip as he forcefully used his right elbow and jabbed Isaac as hard as he could. It was enough of a jostle to get him to let go, and Sam, ignoring the pain as best he could, wrestled free completely. He grabbed the pole and swung it with what strength he had left across Isaac's head.

The elder hunter and pole both sank to the ground in a cold shattering of metal and muscle. Sam watched with hidden fear as Isaac stayed down on the ground, unmoving.

His entire body ached, his wrists raw, his vision slightly blurry. He let the chilling air around him in his lungs with raspy inhales and clung onto his shoulder. Glancing around the room once more, feeling paranoid someone would emerge from the shadows, he was fine enough to wait a few seconds before moving for the door when the coast was clear.

But something stopped him, something deep down in his stomach, something buried that was clawing at him from the inside out. He paused momentarily, rolled his eyes and took a nervous step to the man on the ground. He knelt down on one knee, used his less afflicted arm to reach down, felt for a pulse.

He sighed with something similar to relief before a quiet laughter rattled down in his chest.

"Damn conscience…" he mumbled to himself.

He then remembered that Isaac hadn't been alone in this endeavor. Gordon was still there, somewhere…

He quickly regained his stance and quietly approached the door, silently walked up the steep steps, and waited at the top of the stairs for signs of movement in the bold allies of shadows. When it seemed undisturbed by another's presence, only then did Sam dare to wander into the halls of the unknown.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The dwindling afternoon sun sunk below the edge of man's view as it covered the graveled landscape. Slowly, baleful clouds rose up and reached for the horizon, looming in the distance. The smell or rain cooled the air and colored the sky a light indigo, signifying the coming of a storm.

Whether the brewing storm was nature's inclination, or a manifestation of his petrified anger, Dean didn't care to match parallels while he marched up to the entrance of Harvelle's Roadhouse. He briskly ignored the "Closed" sign hung across the door, and much to his dismay found it still unlocked as he wasn't then able to kick it in.

The place was empty, deserted more likely, the typical clean-up chores left abandoned on the countertops and tables. It was almost as if they closed down early, quickly.

"Hello?" Dean's voice was demanding even to the silence.

Somewhere, off in a near distance, he heard something rustle. A woman's voice stretched out in the emptiness of the room.

"We're closed."

"I can see that," Dean sounded off.

Finally, the person he was looking for made an appearance through the back of the bar.

"Dean? I didn't know it was you…" she sounded surprised, truly. Or unnerved. "What can I get for you?" She was quick to compose herself and go straight to barmaid mode, ignoring the obvious tension in the air. Dean fiddled with a half empty glass on the counter and eyed her curiously.

"For one thing, you can get me an answer. Did, uh…Gordon pass through?"

"Well, yes he did. There's a vampire case he was working on. Wanted some last bit of information," she was fast to answer. "Thought you boys were heading out today?"

"We were," Dean said flatly, fighting his urge to snap. "Just had a few setbacks, you know? Now listen…I just want you to be honest, okay? I think you owe me that much."

"Sure, sweetie. What do you want to know?" Ellen was smart to keep her tone gentle and welcoming.

"What did you tell Gordon?"

"Gordon?"

"About Sam."

"Sam?"

"Yes, is there an echo in here?" Dean shot, agitated.

"I don't know what you're getting' at here," Ellen said as if she were offended. Her congenial tone was lost somewhere in a tough mask of an 'I don't have to answer to you' demeanor. She was about to turn away from him completely when the immediate sound of glass shattering against the wall grabbed her attention. She whisked around to face Dean and saw him shrug his shoulders back and straighten his leather jacket as his arm extended back to his side. The glass he twirled about was now lying in shards and pieces on the floor adjacent from him.

"Answer the damn question. Please."

Ellen placed both hands on her hips and shook her head.

"It started out about vampires, for what it's worth. One thing led to another, you boys came up…and anyway, Gordon…he just had questions. I had the answers. I only told him because he said he wanted to help. He said he could help. And he can, Dean, he—"

"Told him what?" Dean snapped and started biting his tongue so hard he was certain he tasted blood.

"About Sam's…abilities. About the demon."

Dean brought both hands to cover his face, breathed out harshly, and then slid his fingers roughly against his temples. He couldn't look Ellen in the eye.

"First off, it's none of his damn business. Secondly, why the hell would do something so blatantly stupid?"

"You and Gordon got off on the wrong foot. But Gordon, as much of a hard ass jerk as he can be, is a damn good hunter. He'll help out in any way he can, and you'll want his help."

"His help?" Dean threw his arms in the air. "He tried to kill my brother! Would have killed me, too. He doesn't want to help us with anything, he wants us dead!"

"You're being overdramatic, Dean. Honestly. He's gotten in fights with other hunters before and held no grudge against them later. This is all our war, we're all fighting for the same cause and he knows that. You may not like him, but he's good at what he does. Real good."

Dean could feel himself trembling with anger, betrayal, grief. Blood rushed against the walls of his veins, pounding ferociously throughout his body and throbbing with unsatisfied rage. After a few moments, a few long, deep breaths, he regained control of his emotions that were ready to break out. But his hard stare held all the intensity he needed while he glared at Ellen, numbly backing away before he did something he'd regret.

"You didn't tell Gordon because he could help. You told him because you're scared…Sam and his abilities, connections to the demon? Can't tell me it doesn't scare you," Dean breathed in and out rigidly, his voice so close to tearing it frightened him. He continued towards the door.

"Dean…"

"Just so you know, Ellen? Sam isn't the Winchester you should be so afraid of," he added. He then faced his back to her, hand on the door. "I am."

Ellen didn't have a chance to say anything before Dean walked out, his presence replaced with a gust of wind filling the room, chilling her skin almost as much as the sincerity and veiled threat in his voice had.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam, as stealthily as he could, ambled through the darkness. He was surprised there were no lights on, and what little visibility there was came from the gloomy, fading light outside the dirtied windows that were aligned high across the tops of the walls in the warehouse. There was a lot of clutter around him and he guessed it was some kind of machinery all covered in tattered sheets and plastic. Conveyer belts, however ancient they were, weaved throughout the factory much like an array of assembly lines would be ordered about.

He inspected the shadows, looking through the maze of machines and scattered tables and railings, trying to find the nearest exit. He stayed as near to the wall as possible, could hear the raised howl of the wind so close by. He alternated between coddling his shoulder and his stomach, as both were sore.

He was certain he'd find the exit, certain he'd make it out and maybe even certain he'd make it back to the motel before Dean could find him gone.

He was certain he was giving himself false hope, painful ideals to help get him through.

And somehow, when he felt the cold steel against his neck, when he was shoved against the wall and held against his will, he was certain this had to be a nightmare. Just a bad dream. He'd wake up and Dean would be there. He'd open his eyes and Dean would be there. He'd start breathing again and it wouldn't hurt because Dean would be there.

But when he opened his eyes, and lights flickered on, dim as they were, all he saw were the damning eyes of Gordon.

And Sam wasn't certain enough if he was strong enough not to cry.

"Going somewhere?" Gordon inquired plainly, digging the knife into the back of Sam's neck. He thrust Sam further against the wall. His stomach ached against the pressure.

"Stop…I haven't done anything…" Sam begged for understanding.

"And you won't do anything. I'll be sure of that," Gordon promised, edging the knife down the young hunter's back. "I just want to know how you live with yourself…knowing what you are."

"Like I told Isaac, whoever you think I am…"

"Not think. Know."

Sam struggled against the wall but Gordon was unrelenting.

"You, Sam…are one of the chosen ones. The Demon's."

Sam's heart raced inside of him, his pulse hammering deafeningly in his head.

"What…?" He could only ask.

"What's the matter? Didn't think I'd find out?"

Sam shut his eyes. He couldn't get away from this, from the truth of it all. It was more constricting and inescapable than any cage, any kidnapper, or any monster could ever hold him to. He felt Gordon slightly release him, withdraw the weapon from his back, but Sam was frozen and unable to move.

"Don't worry…we're not going to kill you just yet. Still need some answers…I did promise Ellen I'd help. And I plan on it, Sammy. Just like I help all the fangs get back to where they belong. The cold, dead earth."

Sam's mind was saying shut up, shut up, shut up, but still he knew there was some foundation of rationalism to this whole ordeal.

"But…" Gordon continued. "Don't go thinking you're invincible now. And if you're thinking about running away again…"

Gordon unexpectedly became silent. A chill of fear slithered down Sam's body and he was halfway tempted to turn and face his enemy. He slowly, apprehensively, started lifting himself off against the wall.

But there it was.

An explosion of pain, new and hot and scolding, erupting from the back of his ankle all the way up his leg, his body, up to his skull. A drilling scream ripped out of him, a tearful cry, wordlessly pleading for help, and he fell once more into the wall. He grappled to hang on to something, but instead only slipped farther down towards the floor, sinking into the dark pool of blood bristling out from under him.

He thrashed inwardly, a stinging sensation sliced behind his eyes, and it hurt so much he could barely breathe.

"Achilles' tendon. It's a real bitch to go without," Sam heard Gordon somewhere distant, somewhere behind the echoes of his own yelps and panting. And Gordon was laughing, laughing so far away, so far inside of him where all the pain was—everywhere. He dared to touch the wound, to do something to make the bleeding stop.

Blood…so much blood, his blood, covering the floor. And it hurt. Fuck, it hurt.

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…

The more he willed it to stop, the more extreme the pain was, burning inside his flesh.

Although countless thoughts and fears rushed to his head and out of his mouth in tremulous incoherency, there was one thing he heard clearly, some deep, inner prayer…his only hope.

Dean…Dean will save me…

Please, Dean…

Help.

I can't do this alone…

His only answer was Gordon laughing, laughing, laughing.

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

To be continued…

Of course, thoughts appreciated, helpful tips encouraged, suggestions, questions, etc…all welcome should you feel compelled to share your preserved entertainment or current dissatisfaction with the story thus far. And thanks to even all those who are just reading this, have added this to alerts and what not. I appreciate your silent support just as much. Also, if anyone would like to share whether they prefer longer or shorter chapters (or are indifferent) …I'm willing to listen.

Thanks for reading.

Silver Kitten