Grayscale

III

Author's Note: There have been many misfortunes lately with this site properly functioning, but even though it wouldn't let me upload the chapter when I wanted to, it did give me time to re-write some parts. And God, I've been trying to upload this for ages it seems.

If I haven't gotten a personal thank you to you yet, you will get one soon. I didn't think bogging the site's system down any further would help as it is still slowly sending past due alerts.. But truly, thank you all so very much. You're making this whole writing thing worth the late nights, constant revisions, and general will to better my skills with each update. (Though, I won't put it past myself for a typo here and there) And thanks for the response to my question about chapter length; this is for you guys. And I am so sorry for the wait, even though for once it's not entirely my fault...heh heh.

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

Sam squinted through the sharp pain, moving himself against the wall, further from Gordon. His hands shook as he grappled to apply pressure to the new wound.

He thought he might be muttering curses and damning the day he ever met Gordon, but he wasn't for sure of anything but the pain.

"Here," Gordon said; his momentary bout of laughter fading. He tore a sheet that covered one of the machines, some kind of wood cutting tool, and tossed it over to Sam. "Wouldn't want you bleeding to death…too easy a way to die, for you."

Sam shuddered when the balled up sheet hit him in the chest and landed carefully into his lap. He waited for the unwelcome tears to clear from his vision, sniffled and tried to clam his breaths before picked it up. He rolled it out to its full length and began wrapping it around his ankle, above and over the heel of his foot. The slower he wrapped, the more it stung, so he went as quickly as he could and winced all the way through tying it off at the end.

He hazarded a glance upwards towards Gordon, who only looked down at him as if he were some pathetic, weak specimen.

"If you think I'm so…threatening…shouldn't you…be afraid of me?" Sam dared to ask. Any strength in his body was diminishing fast.

"Oh, no. See, we've been keeping an eye on you…and you haven't used any potential powers of yours to even help yourself one bit. Whatever abilities you're supposed to have…you haven't had the chance to learn how to tap into them yet. And I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Gordon finished with a dangerous grin.

"But…I'm not…"

"Shh," The older man hushed. "I really don't give a damn about your opinion on this. All I want to know…is what the Demon told you."

Sam shut his eyes tightly, leaning far into the wall, careless that the back of his head slammed back into it pretty harshly. Coldness began creeping throughout his body, chilling his bones and making his muscles feel tired, frozen, and stiff.

"All I know is…he has plans. I…I don't know what they are."

"Don't bullshit me. I hate bullshit," Gordon leaned down so he was eye level to Sam. Sam shrunk backwards, though he couldn't go much further into the wall. "You had…nightmares, was it? Soon turned into premonitions, right? So you want to tell me that Demon hasn't appeared in any of them? Hasn't whispered things to you in the darkness of the night? Hasn't…put thoughts into that mind of yours, of revenge, of murder, of death?"

Sam shivered, wrapped his arms around himself, ignoring the blood on them. He was beginning to feel smaller and smaller as Gordon stood back up.

"No," Not exactly. "He hasn't…I…I don't know. But…whatever is going to happen…I won't let it."

"If there's one thing about this hunting life you should know…it's that Demons lie. So you can deny this all you want. But you ain't foolin' me."

Something moved in the shadows catching both Gordon and Sam's attention. Slowly, the figure emerged into the light.

Sam felt almost stupid for having even the slightest audacity to believe it was Dean.

"Isaac…happy you could join us."

The other man seemed to ignore Gordon, marched straight over to Sam.

"You're dead," he said acerbically. Sam tried raising his hands above him to block Isaac's, but the other man grabbed a hold of the top of his hair, pulling him forward and shoving him on the ground a few good feet away from the wall. Sam was able to catch himself with his hands, but the force of the throw mingling with his aching muscles and bruised shoulder didn't give him much time before his face landed on the hard floor.

Sam attempted, pitifully, to lift himself up, but something hit his back and he convulsed with pain. His screaming mind was somehow able to register that it was the heel of Isaac's boot introducing itself roughly to the base of his spin.

He tried to take in oxygen, to slow the flooding cries he wanted to shout out from nearing his lips, but there was another sickening stomp and something pulled and stung and he just couldn't get enough air.

And there was another one, this time the entire base of the boot, this time higher towards the center of his back. Hot pain was smoldering in his stomach, his chest, as his back was kicked into the floor. Again and again. He reached his arms out, wanting to crawl away from the pain, to pull himself free from the agony. And maybe he would have budged a little if it weren't for him forgetting his left foot was now rendered useless.

Another scream tore out of him, but this time it was his own fault, and he tried to curl into himself as the kicking, the fiery pressure, finally yielded.

"You're pathetic," Isaac scoffed, catching his own breath as he shook with anger. He then directed his words to Gordon, practically smiling. "And I thought you said this would be difficult. Isn't that why you asked for my help, because you thought he was so dangerous?"

"Didn't know exactly what I was up against…couldn't be too careful. Demonic ties aren't so easy to predict."

Sam quietly lifted his face a little above the ground and spit something out. His saliva was reddened with blood, trickling from his lips to the cold ground. Every breath felt like it was cutting his chest and only seemed to fill his lungs with ice. He didn't even try to move his body. But he couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of hope, of fearlessness, as a forth party could be heard making racket, across the long warehouse, in another section closed off.

Gordon and Isaac shared a look.

"I'll take care of it," Gordon said, suspicious and certain. He then went towards the light switch, shutting them off completely. Blackness returned in its entirety save for the filtered rays of moonlight that illuminated the cloudy sky above.

Sam wanted to think it was Dean. But Dean wouldn't make a noise. Dean wouldn't pronounce his entrance so recklessly, even if he was looking for Sam. But maybe it was someone else, someone who could help him.

A door was opened, just a splinter of light for a second and then it was shut.

Again, his hair was pulled, forcing his head up and revealing his neck to the open darkness. Something sharp edged its way across his throat.

"Say one word," Isaac whispered. "And I'll slit your throat. Don't think I won't."

Sam kept quiet, still. And Isaac kept the knife securely in place.

Muffled voices were heard at a near distance. Sam tried to listen, taking in bits and pieces. Some other guy…

"…this place has been abandoned for some time…" and "…shouldn't be here…"

Maybe a cop?

And then Gordon's rough voice, smoothed out with lies.

"…got a permit…" then later "…fix this place up, after we clean up the mess…"

Sam swallowed and felt the blade dig into his skin a little more.

There was more talking, more lies, and then there was shouting.

"…put your hands behind your head…!"

"…don't make me do this…!"

More shouts, echoing blindly into the dark. The sounds of scuffling, a struggle.

Then silence. A thick blanket of soundlessness, covering up the mess.

A few lights turned on.

A cell phone rang and Sam was released, the knife pulled away. Isaac answered it quickly.

"…Did you kill him?" He asked without much attachment to the question.

Sam could hear the smug answer from the loud receiver. "Said I'd take care of it, didn't I? You handle Sam…I need to…clean this up."

The phone snapped shut and Sam flinched.

"Well, mate," Isaac started with a hint of malice in his voice. "Looks like it's just you and me again."

-:-:-:-:-:-

Nighttime was fast approaching. The sun was halfway set and storm clouds were gathering still, taking over the sky with a bursting tyranny. Dean hadn't realized he was swerving on the road, or how fast he'd been going, until a hefty semi-truck was nearly drove into a ditch by him. The blaring of the horn snapped him back to awareness; he got into his lane and steadied himself on the road.

"Goddamnitfuckitall," Dean muttered hastily to no one while he tried collecting his nerves. He carelessly waved a 'my mistake, it's been a very bad day, leave me the hell alone' hand to the semi driver, who earnestly returned the gesture with one familiar finger.

The hunter gritted his teeth, and despite the near collision, once again neared the triple digits on the speedometer.

He was on his way to town called Wakefield where a rash of beheadings had spread within the last week, according to a tip from Ash whom Dean called back a few minutes after his chat with Ellen. The town itself was surprisingly close in vicinity, not even an hour away. Gordon had to be there, somewhere, since the latest victim was killed just the other night. And Sam had to be there.

And Sam had better be alive when he got there.

His phone went off ringing again, startling him. He veered to the side of the road as he struggled to answer it—a hope rising inside him that it might be Sam—and pieces of his heart crashed into the pit of his stomach when someone else's voice was on the other end.

"Dean, that you?"

"Yeah, Bobby…" Dean sighed, disheartened.

"Hey, been trying to call you all day. Phone lines had been down and my damn cell phone battery died. I had to tell you I heard the strangest thing today from a fellow hunter. Some guy gloating about one of the infamous Winchester kids being…connected to a demon?"

Dean slammed down against the brakes, they screeched and sparked and the engine rattled to a halt. He leapt out of the car, pacing back and forth, fuming and unable to speak.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, uh…who…who said that?"

"Guy named Isaac Miller, fairly decent hunter…usually sticks to werewolves as his main expertise. He came earlier this morning. Started rambling…didn't know to take him seriously or not. Even for someone who should know better about myths and fiction, he spins a lot of wild ideas from nothin'. But what's going on, Dean? Is Sam okay?"

Dean withdrew the phone away from his ear, bit his lips and stared off into the distance.

"…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?"

"—…Walker. Gordon Walker."

It wasn't just Gordon. There was someone else in the picture. And who knew how many others, now? He fought to keep his heart inside his chest and his head from exploding, and moved the phone back.

"Sam? Is he okay?" Bobby persisted.

"I…I don't know." Dean answered. The words were sharp as they fell from his lips and he glowered as they broke in the air around him like small explosions of a bitter truth. There was rustling on the other end of the line, as if Bobby moved the phone closer.

"What is it? He hurt?" Sincere concern.

"Someone took him." Completely stoic, his mind reeling.

"Took him? Do you know who, where?"

"No, I mean, I think so…I don't know how many are involved," Dean gulped down fear. "I just…I shouldn't have left him."

"Don't blame yourself. That won't get him back." Dean gripped the phone tighter as Bobby spoke. "Now, I don't know what's going on exactly…but if what Isaac said was true…"

"No! Fuck Isaac, fuck anyone who thinks they know a damn thing about my family!" Dean shouted into the vast openness, slamming his fist on the roof of the impala.

"Dean, just calm down. I'll help you, okay?"

"Calm down?" Dean barked. "Oh, I'm calm," he added flippantly. "My brother was snatched by a bunch of bloodthirsty psychopaths who think they're 'helping', too. When I find them, Bobby…I won't need any help. What I'll need is an alibi for where I was when two guys were found with every appendage on their body torn off."

There was silence on the other end, but Dean didn't care. He was furious. The bulk of his anger wasn't just from the fact hunters were hunting his brother, but because he failed to protect Sam when he perhaps needed him the most. He was mad at himself, mad at the world, and mad because—'It's never gonna be over'—and 'Time of death, 10:41 AM'—and 'Doesn't seem like your brother's much like us. I'm not saying he's wrong. Just different.'

Bobby let out quick exhale.

"All right Dean. Just tell me where you're headed. I'll meet you there. I'll help."

Help…that was a laugh. Seems like everyone wanted to help him, but they only made things worse, even if it was with good intentions. And trust…he wanted to trust Bobby, had always been able to trust Bobby…but if Bobby knew about Sam…there was immediate skepticism there now and trust was not broken but severely bent. Dean wasn't going to allow anymore possible threats chase after Sam, unlikely and naive as it was to think that Bobby would betray them. It wasn't the friend in Bobby Dean didn't trust. It was the hunter.

"Sorry, Bobby. I'll get him back on my own. Just don't believe everything you hear…especially from someone who spins a lot of wild ideas from nothing."

And Dean disconnected the call.

He got back into the car, dismissed the whole conversation, and revved the engine up. He returned his focus to the road ahead, not much farther to go now, and hoped to steer clear from semi trucks and ditches.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"So, I'm going to do you a favor," Isaac started. "You seem to think you're so innocent and harmless…then you can prove that by saving a whole lot of people. You can save us a whole lot of time. Tell us who the other chosen children are. Tell me what's going to happen."

If Sam wasn't so burning cold, so sore, he might think he'd roll his eyes and gag the next time he was asked what the plans were. He'd lash out because he truly didn't know, but he just lacked the energy.

"If you tell me every thing you know," The other man went on. "I'll make this a bit easier for you. All you have to do is tell me, so the others can be stopped. Because whatever those plans are…it means trouble for the good of this world. Now, as an alleged good guy, you wouldn't want something like to happen, would you?"

"…No…"

"So then, let's have it."

"If I knew," Sam said with lethargic annoyance. "I'd have told you already."

Isaac chuckled.

"It's funny you think this is a game. You think if you keep quiet, you, the others, the Demon…win. Maybe you don't understand well enough."

Sam slowly lifted his head off the ground, raised it just in time to see Isaac's leg swinging towards him. He didn't even have a chance to brace himself as the steel-toed boot made a swift impact with his rib cage. Sam was winded before a sound could escape him. The jabbing sensation in his side and abdomen was throbbing throughout his entire body.

But it wasn't just once. Isaac kicked again. And again. On the forth time, Sam heard something crack, felt something tear like bone into flesh. His synapses fired rapidly between pain here and pain there, so quickly, so heatedly, that eventually it faded to a smoldering numbness.

"Do you remember?" Isaac huffed tiredly, but he wasn't without endurance as he raised his foot again and thrust it into the side of Sam's body. "I mean, turning to the Darkness…must start from some deep rooted need for revenge," Another kick and Sam whimpered while trying to control the burning inside his throat as he swallowed down what he was sure had been the remaining contents of his stomach. "Then, it grows into an insatiable rage…a taste for blood, for death. And soon enough you wouldn't be able to stop killing, because that's who you were born to be. A killer."

The pain in his side, his ribs, seemed to be expanding, and he couldn't take another kick, couldn't take anymore pain. He tried as best he could to raise himself higher, to move away from Isaac's reach, to lift an arm to block him. But Isaac was too quick, too precise, and Sam couldn't get away.

The next kick was something of untamed energy, intensified to one specific point and aimed directly for Sam's sternum. The motion flipped him onto his back where he crossed his arms over his chest. And this time, he could not suppress the urge to vomit, leaning his head on its side. It was something milky with traces of crimson, and he tasted salt as tears had squeezed out from his tightly shut eyes.

Isaac didn't allow Sam time to catch his breath before grabbing his shirt and pulling him up with one hand. Sam struggled to keep up with the momentum, and before he knew it Isaac had him nearly standing on both feet. But the instant his left foot contacted the ground, another shooting pain cross-fired up his body, stripping the numbness away to a constant, crippling pulsation. Sam went to yell out, but his scream came out stringy and hoarse, broken. And he was thrust against the wall, something in his back snapping, his shoulders buckling together.

He fought to keep his balance, even against the wall, but it seemed Isaac wasn't letting him go anywhere anyways. His natural instinct was to fight to get the other man off him, and he tried…but the weakness in his beaten body didn't provide much aid. In fact, his meek attempts at breaking free only made Isaac laugh.

"I'm not…I'm not a killer…" Sam forced out, placing his hands over Isaac's strong arms, making a pitiful try at prying them away.

"You don't sound so sure about that. Something tells me you could kill me right now if you had the chance."

"You think I'm something I'm not…I…I don't want to kill you. I want you to believe me," Sam reasoned, but there was no sympathy from Isaac.

"You're a clever one, aren't you? Trying to weasel your way free with words and lies. Trying to make me feel sorry for you? Even for Demon spawn you're still pitiful. Clever. But pitiful. It's not working on me."

"Please, don't—"

Rough hands found their way around Sam's neck, cutting off air quickly and stopping words shortly as they escaped in one rushed exhale. Sam felt himself slide upwards, his back still against the wall, Isaac's hands around his neck raising him up. Sam would have kicked to find his way back to the ground, to something with foundation, but he'd been dizzy for a long while and couldn't differentiate solidity from air. All he knew was that he couldn't breathe.

"I'm just gonna put you out of your misery now. Should have known we wouldn't any answers from you," Isaac said, his voice as jagged as sandpaper. Sam made one small flinch, tried to get air in his lungs but could only manage a choking inhale. He gripped Isaac's wrists.

"You know, Sam? It's a shame…you had a family once. Seems like it's true, those we love are the ones we hurt the most…and look what you've done to them," Isaac continued to berate him. Sam hated the conceivable truth behind the words. Everything that's happened has been his fault, ultimately…and they're the ones who have paid the price.

Mom, Dad, Jessica…Dean…oh, God, Dean…

"If it weren't for you…maybe your mother would still be here. She died in the fire, right? The one the Demon started, all because of you?"

Sam heard himself screaming inside his head.

And shadows crept in from the edges of his sight, surrounding him in cold, lacking sensation, no will to move. He could feel his pulse anxiously thumping in his body. He could feel every cell inside him attacking the surface, looking for air, looking for movement. He felt the flow of blood slowing down to a desolate trudge within his veins. Everything was slowing down. He was slipping into darkness. He had to shut his eyes because it required too much energy to keep them open.

He tried escaping Isaac's voice, but just could not.

"But you don't need to worry about hurting anyone else. There's no one left to hurt, now. Your brother isn't here. He doesn't care, and why would he- for someone like you?" Isaac asked. Sam slipped farther. Losing grip. "No, I don't think Dean will save you now." And Sam was falling away, and right before the world disappeared into a suffocating madness, just has his body wretched and contorted in one last attempt to live…

"Think again, asshole."

It had to be Dean.

No one else had that voice that sent shivers but made you feel warm. No one else had that consistency to his words, where so few could pose so much threat. No one else had that perfect timing, if not teetering somewhere between too late and where the hell have you been?

No one but Dean. And so Sam clung onto the waning victory in the fight for his life but for one solitary purpose—and that was for no one but his brother.

And Sam couldn't see in his darkness, couldn't open his eyes, but he could tell the hands released him and he'd fallen to the ground, on his side, limp and immobile except for how coughs shook his body. He could tell the blood was flowing faster, trying to catch up to his swirling thoughts. He took solace in the rush of air that he sucked in, relishing in the sweet sensation of life.

When finally he opened his eyes, caught his breath and regained enough mental stamina to entertain coherency, he saw his brother there.

Dean had launched himself onto Isaac, pulled him to the ground with the force of the tackle, and now he had his knees on either side of the new victim. One, two, three, four, five times he struck his fist to the side of Isaac's head. Back and forth, jaw breaking, neck nearly unhinged.

And Sam watched in relieved horror and astonishment as Dean went at him so viciously. It seemed so deserved on the surface, but still Sam couldn't help but think…Isaac was a hunter. He only thought he was doing the right thing…if only he had listened.

Dean paused for a moment, staring at the mesh of torn skin and blood on Isaac's face. Isaac groaned, looking for a way out but finding none.

Something caught Dean's attention then, just a couple feet away from where they were. It was a pool of blood, dark red and freshly staining the cement. Part of it spread out, could be traced towards the wall where Sam lay. And when Dean saw the blood, he got a taste for it himself, glaring back at Isaac whom Sam was fairly certain had let out what could have been a cry if it weren't for another fist flying into his already broken jaw.

"Son of a bitch! What the hell did you do to him?" Dean growled out. He then stood up, removed the gun he had in the waistband of his jeans and aimed it towards Isaac. "I ought to kill you right now."

Isaac gurgled, placing his hands in the air above him defensively, terrified. Dean held no remorse as he cocked the gun and tightened his grip on the trigger. But then in the corner of his eye, he saw Sam, watching his every move. He blinked back tears, wondering what was going to happen, afraid of the consequences if Dean pulled the trigger.

Dean knew how concerned Sam was, he could feel it surrounding him. That pain in the ass…

The older Winchester lowered his weapon slowly. He decided he wouldn't kill him, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Using the handle of the gun, he swiped it hard across Isaac's head, knocking him out instantly. And then he ran over to Sam.

"Sammy?" he breathed out, landing hard on his knees beside his brother but not caring. Sam smiled for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Wasn't sure…if you'd make it…in time."

Now Dean smiled, but only briefly before he could really assess the damage inflicted upon his brother. He saw all the blood, the bruises forming. He saw how Sam could barely move. It made him sick, really.

"God, what have they done to you…"

Sam grimaced when Dean placed his hand lightly on his shoulder but he did not pull away from the comfort it provided, even through the pain. He welcomed it.

"Can we just get out of here?" Sam's voice was small, low, pleading. Dean refocused himself on the entire situation.

"Yeah, here, can you walk?" Dean said, offering his hands out for Sam to grab. But Sam just shook his head.

"Can't very well…he cut…the tendon," Sam mumbled out, the sudden memory striking him vividly.

"Achilles'? Sam…I'm going to kill him."

Sam's eyes widened, causing Dean to tense up and turn around. As he did, he locked eyes with Gordon, with the barrel of a .45 pointed directly at him.

"Oh, are you?"

Dean warily stood up, moving himself directly in front of Sam and not taking his eyes off Gordon.

"You disgusting prick. I should—"

"I'm not the one with a gun pointed at my head right now. So if I were you, I'd be careful of what I say."

Dean clenched his fists together, taking a hesitant step forward and only stopping himself when he realized he couldn't leave Sam to fend for himself, not anymore. He strengthened his stance in front of Sam.

"Drop your gun, slide it over here."

Dean obeyed but not without attitude as he dropped the gun and kicked it harder than necessary, watching with small triumph as it flew by Gordon's feet somewhere into the shadows. The other man said nothing, and though his eyes followed the discarded weapon for a moment, he was quick to turn his attention back to the Winchesters.

"I think it's time we had another chat, don't you?" Gordon asked, smiling at Dean.

"Alright, fine. Let me get Sam out of here, to a hospital. Safe. Then you and I can talk about this."

"Your brother isn't going anywhere. And neither are you."

"He isn't who you want. Let him go."

Gordon shook the gun in his hands, flaunting his power and laughing dryly.

"See this? Means I give the orders around here. Now, put these on," Gordon instructed, pulling out a set of handcuffs and tossing them to Dean.

Dean caught them and shot Gordon a look.

"Sorry, I'm allergic to sadistic kink," he said smoothly. Gordon smiled snidely and then lowered the gun in Sam's direction. Dean froze, a distinguishable wave of fear passing over his features. "Okay, okay…just…ease up with that thing," he finished, then slid one cuff around his wrist and closed it briskly. He moved to his other hand when Gordon stopped him.

"Behind your back."

Dean inwardly rolled his eyes, moved his arms behind his back and maneuvered the handcuffs along with him. They clicked shut, Gordon taking pleasure in every notch that tightened.

"Happy?" Dean asked blandly. Gordon kept his gun steady but walked towards him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him away from Sam.

"Almost."

He shoved Dean down backwards into one of the conveyer belts. Dean landed hard against the long machine, felt something twist in his back, and he slumped over on the ground, no hands available to help prop him up.

Once he caught his breath, Gordon sat him up straight on the ground and grabbed the handcuffs and pulled them back. He heard another click, metal fastening with metal and chains interlocking. Gordon locked another set of handcuffs around one of the steel beams that supported the conveyer belt, leaving Dean doubly detained.

"That's better."

Dean muttered something nearly inaudible and Gordon knelt beside him.

"You know, Dean? I had it all figured out. I knew all these things I was going to do to you, to get back to you, for leaving me tied up like that. For stopping me from doing my job. I had my revenge planned out, and oh, it was sweet," Gordon said. He appeared to be swept away in thought, smiling at his own, twisted ideas. But then he returned to a more stoic nature and stared piercingly into Dean. "But, I've been paying attention to the details. I've heard how others have spoken about you, your family. I've seen myself how fiercely defensive you are for them."

"What's your point?" Dean snapped, rattling the cuffs behind him uselessly.

"I was going to make you beg for your life, once I found you. But the along the way I discovered a little known truth about Sammy boy over there, and I had a change of plans. It didn't take long for me to accept the fact that you—Dean Winchester—would never surrender yourself in a fight, especially for what you believe in. And that's when it hit me," Gordon kept his voice low, as if revealing a secret. He watched as Gordon lifted the gun and slowly turned away from him, predatorily walking towards Sam.

"Gordon," Dean started, a warning threat behind his voice. But the other hunter continued, stalking towards the younger Winchester. With each step Gordon took, Dean's heart sped up, faster and faster, and he thought it might explode.

Gordon spoke again and his words spun around Dean and tightened like a noose. "I can't make you beg for your life, but I can make you beg for his."

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

To be continued…

Things are getting pretty deep now, huh? Still a bit deeper to go, I'm afraid. Anyways, I'm very curious about this chapter. I hope it was interesting for you. Thanks so much to everyone for their feedback and support. Also, to address a few things people have asked me—(possible, very small, slight mention of a spoiler below)

Yes, I have become aware that there is a future episode involving Gordon coming after Sam- I think. I am excited beyond words for it (!), however, I feel it important to state that I have given up spoilers (been spoiler free since…2.05, lol). Therefore, I know nothing of what's to come with Gordon's character on the show, and anything that happens in this story is a result of my own ponderings and ideas gathered from nothing other than speculation.

Also, the whole "Achilles" deal was something I wanted to do before I even remembered it happened to Jared's character in House of Wax. Poor guy. But I figure, what the heck. I'll do it again.