"No, really, Dean, it's not a big deal. I've ridden by myself up and down the trails hundreds of times. You and Sam fly back down, I'll be fine. Don't be silly." Concha moved around the small barn, collecting things Sam presumed she planned to take with her on the ride back to the stables.
"How will you get all three horses down?" Dean asked, shooting Sam a look.
Sam knew the look, it was the help me out or you'll suffer later look. Sam sat on one of the partitions between stalls, feet dangling, heels bouncing softly off the wood. He grinned happily at Dean and mouthed the words 'car trunk' when Concha wasn't looking.
"I'll lead them, not that hard. I've done that a lot before too."
The opportunities here were far too much for Sam to resist. Concha was talking to them, but not looking at them, not focused on them. Sam added his own facial commentaries to the conversation his brother and she were having, just to piss Dean off even more. Sam stuck his tongue out this time, watching Dean practically squirm trying to get out of getting into a two-seater plane.
Dean wandered over, leaned next to Sam, draping one arm over Sam's knee, "well, Sammy here would probably be scared in the plane without me." Grinning in a way that made Sam suck in his breath and become instantly wary. Before Sam could move so much as a muscle, Dean's hand shot down, hooked around the ball of Sam's foot and jerked up.
Sam's reply of "would not!" garbled as he tumbled backwards off the partition into the empty stall, landing in a heap on straw and stuff he didn't want to think about.
Concha stopped talking, leaned over the partition to gaze down at Sam.
"Geezzzz Sam, I told you not to sit up there, you'd get hurt." Dean darted into the stall, reaching down to grab Sam's arm. A distinct squish noise came from his foot landing solidly in a large pile of manure. "Aww…sonofabitch!"
Brushing Dean's hand away Sam climbed to his feet, laughing, whispering in Dean's ear as he walked by, "and deserved that."
Shaking straw out of his shirt, then hair, Sam straightened and faced Concha. "Flying is ok, but really, we wouldn't feel right letting you go down by yourself. Besides Dean is worried he might miss being able to shoot more tartums or something." Sam shot his brother an 'owe me big time' look, smiling innocently. He reached for Dean's elbow as his brother hopped on one foot out of the stall, mumbling all sorts of unkind things about horse shit and pain-in-the-ass little brothers in general. The glare Dean turned on him caused his hand to retract and be stuffed into his pocket.
"Whatever you want, I won't mind the company."
A few hours later Sam was back on the horse. He'd been prepared to ride BJ, the buckskin in his vision, but Dean's retaliation for earlier seemed to end with the toss into the stall. He'd not even been given the choice; Dean had simply taken the horse's reins from Concha. Some days, Sam reminded himself, his brother really was a great guy. He discovered going down mountain was easier than going up mountain. By the time they stopped for the night he was sore, but not in the same stiff, incapacitating way he'd been on the way here.
He and Dean headed into the woods collecting firewood. Walking around loosened muscles and eased the kinks. Besides it made Dean happy to have a look at his surroundings, lay a ring of salt, generally check things out. Sam just trailed behind, carrying the wood. When they'd finished, they stacked the wood for a fire, Dean extracted from his jacket pocket a book of matches.
They both turned their attention to Concha when she burst out laughing. "That's a joke, right?"
"Huh?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at her.
"The matches."
"No, gonna light this. Did you bring starter logs again?"
"Oh, please, do you really think I actually use starter logs, or even carry matches, lighters?" Laying one arm across Dean's chest she forced him back a step or two. Her other hand flicked out, a small, slender flame leapt away and the pile of wood was instantly ablaze.
When Sam flinched involuntarily Dean's elbow pressed against his side for a few seconds.
Concha looked from one to the other. "Well, at least I amused myself." She patted Dean's shoulder, "you'll get used to it."
"Doubt that." Dean mumbled, glancing back at Sam.
The night was blissfully quiet and uneventful, the Sashquash apparently taking the night off. It was late in the evening when they arrived back at the stables. There were loft rooms in the building the Impala was still stored in. Dropping their gear in one then headed to the car, met Concha there and drove to the nearby town for some dinner. Concha pointed out a few things along the way. The stores they could collect their supplies in were already closed for the night. They'd have to work on that project tomorrow. Dante and Bobby would be along the next afternoon.
The next morning Sam woke to an empty room. Showering quickly he packed up what was left of their gear and headed outside in search of his brother. Dean was, predictably, with his car. The trunk hood was up, Dean bent over, Sam could see his arms moving. Wandering around to stand beside his brother he unceremoniously dumped the duffle bags he carried into the open trunk.
"Dude." Dean sputtered.
"What?"
"I just got things rearranged and you just toss shit in there with no regard to where it should go."
Glancing down, actually looking at the trunk this time, Sam saw a distinct empty spot, or had been empty till he'd dumped stuff there. He looked over at Dean, raised his eyebrows, shrugged a bit and questioned with his eyes.
Dean grinned, clapped him on the shoulder, moving him away to close the trunk. "Never know when you'll need extra space."
Sam's eyes narrowed before huffing a snort through his nose. He spun on his heels, stalked around the car, slammed himself into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind him. Dean's laugher grew louder as he opened the driver's side door, and lumbered into the car. The car's engine turned over, and Dean pulled around to the other side of the building, honking a few times. Concha appeared, all bubbly and bright, sliding into the back behind Dean. Sam barely listened to their conversation on the drive to town. When he heard Dean tell Concha Sam wasn't pleased with how he'd rearranged the trunk Sam stopped listening.
The town was White Water City, Wyoming….population two-thousand-eight. It was typical small town. Parts restored to look as they had a hundred-fifty years ago. Sam was thoroughly amazed they had shops with the supplies the four of them would need. But then he figured with the legends, American Indian as well as from the original settlers, abound in the area it made sense. After breakfast the three of them set out on foot, down the street the half dozen buildings to their first stop. Sam ignored Dean, who wandered aimlessly around the store as he and Concha gathered the 'supplies' on their list. Twice he caught Concha's eyes first on him, only to slip to his brother. She smiled, Sam knew she found them amusing. When her cell phone chimed he moved away from her, giving her some privacy. This took him closer to Dean. He immediately got Dean's toe jammed against calf.
"I saw that waitress back in the café checking you out."
"Shut up." Sam felt his cheeks flush a bit. Dean just sniggered and nudged his side. When Sam finally looked at him, he just couldn't help himself, he grinned.
"How much more of this crap do we need?" Dean's forefinger looped around bags of 'charms' hanging on a display, pulling one out slightly, then letting it drop back to place. "I can't believe some people really think this fake-ass shit works."
Sam shrugged, "there's something behind all of it, just not accurate I suppose."
"Hmm." Whatever else Dean was going to say he stopped as a man stopped close by them, glanced around the store, but not at any of the items in the store, then stepped away, and out the door. Sam exchanged a look with his brother. Dean shrugged, eyes still following the man's progress down the street until he was out of view of the front window. "Probably looking for someone. You probably scared him."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Dean, do me a favor?" Concha reappeared.
"Sure. What?"
"Can you go pick up Dante and Bobby? I guess Dante's car battery died. We'll meet you…" taking his arm she led him to the store front window, pointing to the corner, "there, that bar. Worlds absolute BEST onion rings!"
"Ok, sure." Dean took a few steps before stopping, looking back over his shoulder at Sam.
Smiling, Sam nodded. "It's a small town, everyone knows everyone."
"Be careful." Dean reached out and poked his brother's arm.
"Will do." Sam scrunched his nose, "and I'll even try not to get high on this incense."
That got him a smile from Dean, who then waved at Concha and headed to his car.
Sam and Concha finished their mission. Next was the library. They walked along the street, Sam taking as much of the pleasant little town as he could. They stopped at a corner, waiting for a few cars to pass. Twisting side to side a bit to crack his back he caught a glimpse of the man from the store in another window. Stepping away from the curb, only half listening to Concha he glanced back briefly.
Yep, being followed.
And good glory, Starbucks is everywhere!
Grabbing Concha's elbow with his free hand he abruptly steered (more like shoved) her inside. To her surprised expression he shrugged, and gave her a small, almost embarrassed smile. "I really need a caffeine fix."
"Coulda just said something."
"I just did. What you want?"
Concha eyed him curiously, but said nothing. They ordered coffee and took a seat at one of the high, round tables peppering the place. Sam glanced around, trying to be as casual as possible. The man was now planted at one of the outdoor tables. He scooted the stool over a bit, so he was between the window and table. Touching her arm, he leaned in and whispered, "you know that guy outside? The one with the red hat?"
Not moving anything but her eyes, Concha took a look, shook her head the slightest bit. "No."
"I think he's following us."
"Lean a bit to the left, I can see him without looking like I'm looking that way."
Sam obliged. In the next instant his nostrils were literally assaulted by the smell of perfume strong enough to over power the coffee aromas.
"Concha, ohmygoshhowareyou? It's been ages girl, wherehaveyoubeen? And who is this handsome guy with you?"
Concha was barely able to get out the, "hi Kelly," before the new arrival flung both arms around Concha, hugging her, flinging her side to side. "This is Sam, he's an anthro student."
Kelly poked Concha's side, nodding knowingly, "taking on students now?"
Nodding Sam said, "hi."
"Something like that." Concha mumbled. "Kelly and I went to high school together."
Sam wouldn't have guessed they were friends. Where Concha was settled, calm this woman was a fireball. Short cropped, greenish hair, nose ring with matching eyebrow ring, and Sam saw a hint of tongue piercings too, her voice squeaked and she bounced as she talked. She wore a name tag, and uniform, she worked here.
"Hey, Kel, you know that guy out there at table three?"
One quick glance by Kelly, then jubilant shake of the head. "Nope. Why?"
"No reason, just curious. Thought he looked familiar and I couldn't place him." Concha nonchalantly sipped her coffee.
"Probably one of those crazy hunters which have converged on us."
Sam's eyes met Concha's and locked for a few seconds. "Hunters?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, big game, creepy as all get out, every one of them."
"Why are they here?" Concha asked.
"Oh girl, you haven't heard?!"
Concha just shook her head.
"Well," Kelly leaned forward, "word has it there's a cougar on the prowl. Killed a few campers a week, no ten days or so ago, and got into the Wilson's barn and went after their new foal, that was sad. Then a few days ago got into one of those cabins higher on the ridge, the ones the tourists like so much, an entire family, ripped them up. Shelly gave me some crime scene shots," Kelly was gone before either of them could speak, scooting around the counter, to the back room. She returned with 8x10 glossies, slapping them down on the table. "Council put out the word, open bounty. Better keep your horses stabled."
"Oh dear lord those are nasty!" Concha said. "Kelly, you know as well as I do, cougars don't do this, and they don't go into cabins after people."
But that didn't stop either her or Sam from looking. Three children, one a baby in a crib, two toddlers, and their parents, slashed, faces beyond recognition. Obviously something had fed on them.
"The hash marks are too small for grizzlies, no one has a better explanation. Shelly couldn't really do a match, the bodies were too mangled."
"Who is Shelly?"
"Oh, sorry. My twin sister, she's the county coroner."
"Think I could ask her a few questions, for my dissertation?" Sam asked.
"Oh, she loves when people are interested in what she does. Don't be shy about telling her to clam up, she tends to go on a bit much. Go left down this street, then another left at the first intersection and it's the second building on the right." Kelly's head snapped around when she heard her name from the counter. "Opppss, better get back to work."
"Thanks, nice meeting you."
"Hey you too, don't be a stranger in here." Kelly waved at them as she headed back to work.
"Mystery guy is gone."
"Good. Keep an eye out for him. I'm going to go talk to Shelly, see what she knows. You round up the rest of our stuff."
"Sam, maybe we shouldn't split up if we were followed."
"We need that stuff, don't want to be caught off guard again. Dean and Dante still don't know all the details and we need time to explain and show them."
Concha nodded, somewhat reluctantly Sam thought. She totally surprised him by reaching out and curling her fingers around his wrist. "When we do this, and I have to hold that thing, I don't know if I can."
"Hey," Sam said softly, patting her hand with his, "it's not like you'll be alone, I won't leave and neither will they. We'll be fine."
"You really believe that?"
Sam tilted his head, gave her a smile, tapped the table top, and said, "I'll meet you at the bar in an hour." He left the coffee shop, stepping out into the bright autumn sunlight.
Both hands stuffed in his pockets, he glanced around, wary of everyone. No one seemed to take the slightest interest in him, and by the time he'd reached the intersection he'd relaxed some. The town would be crawling with hunters and not the big game kind either. Great. Dean worried he'd go off alone to protect his older brother from a demon attack. Sam seriously considered chaining himself to the man. Being alone held no appeal at all, it never had, and he suspected it never would. His days of running away were done, life was much safer with he and Dean together. He scanned the streets, hoping to see the Impala that maybe Dean had returned already. But no such luck. He planned on talking to this Shelly woman, and getting back to meet with his brother just as soon as he could.
The minute Sam stepped into the building, the coroner's office the hair along the back of his neck rose. He felt a tingling along his spine, and gooseflesh rippled to life along his arms. He shivered involuntarily. The place just seemed wrong, off, and Sam suspected it had nothing to do with it being a morgue. He shook off the feeling, which merely bounced back to slam him between the eyes when he reached the door to the coroner's autopsy suit. It was partially ajar, he heard movement inside.
Pushing the door open wider he stepped through. And stopped. His stomach lurched, every thing in him screamed run! The sight fixated him. His palms became immediately sweaty, heart hammering, breathing short.
There was blood, everywhere. Across the floor, the tables, the counters, splattered on the walls. The movement he'd heard was whom he presumed was Shelly, or at least what was left of Shelly in a chair, one arm dangling over the side, swinging back and forth.
"Shit. Crap!" Pulling out his cell phone, flipping it open to call Dean, spinning on heels some movement to his left caused him to look up in time to see the butt end of a rifle coming at him. He tried to duck, but wasn't quite fast enough. A sharp thud, his head snapped back, Sam had some stray thought about his neck going to hurt later before blackness closed in.
OOOOOOOOOO
Dean dropped Bobby off at the stables, he'd wanted to return some phone messages, check emails. Then he turned the Impala onto the road to town.
"Can I ask you something?" Dean glanced at Dante, in the seat next to him.
"Sure. Ask away."
"How do you deal with the other hunters?" Dean shook his head slowly. "Sam's only had this a few years. Word got out. It was bound to happen, no matter what we did to keep it secret. Guess I was just stupid to think it wouldn't. Sam's to damn honest sometimes. Some of them, they just see him as some kind of freak, monster. A few have taken a crack at getting him. We've been lucky so far."
"Oh I doubt luck had so much to do with it. Probably more like skill."
Dean smiled, grateful for the compliment. "How do you keep her safe?"
"Concha's a bit different. She does have the advantage of controlling when and where she uses her abilities. Luckily too, unless she chooses to make it obvious she's the one…doing things…no one can tell by looking at her. I think your job is a bit more difficult, never knowing when one of those visions will strike. Sam's visions are pretty obvious. He's a nice kid."
Nodding, smile widening, Dean glanced over at Dante, "yeah, he is. Thanks."
"Anyway, what do you think we have a house way up there for? My parents' house was in White Water, but sold that a few years ago. Hey, anytime you and Sam need to go up there, go, in the barn, under inside the door to the first stall there is a set of keys."
Dean didn't quite know what to say, Dante's offer truly touched him. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."
"There are some real dickheads out there."
"Gotta agree with that." Dean paused for a few more minutes. "We try to stay clear of other hunters, as much as we can. Some days it works better than others."
When they arrived at the bar Dean was surprised by how crowded it was, but it was lunchtime and Concha had told him how good the food was, so he figured it wasn't that out of the ordinary. Until Dante made some off hand comment about where did all these people come from? Dean took a better look around, men, these were mostly men, yet the place was very obviously family oriented. Most of them didn't look like guys out on lunch break, they were rougher, as crowded as it was the conversations, what few he heard were spoken in hushed tones. A hard, hot acorn started forming in the pit of Dean's stomach. He tried convincing himself he was being paranoid. Neither Sam, nor Concha was there, and that's what bothered him. Or at least that's what he tried desperately to convince himself. In fact the place was eerily quiet for the number of customers. Dante's head jerked to a booth along the back, Dean lead the way, winding through the few standing around. The hot thing in his stomach ratcheted up a few notches when he could swear there were curious stares, and a few not so curious stares from some of the patrons.
Get a grip Winchester.
Relief washed over him in tidal waves when he saw Concha waiting at the front door, probably giving her eyes a chance to adjust. The relief was replaced by sheer dread as she spotted them, returning Dante's wave, and wound her way to their table. Sam was no where to be seen. As she approached Dean felt slightly better, she didn't look distressed, was even smiling a bit.
"Onion rings on the way." Dante said before she could say anything. Concha slid into the booth next to him. "Quite the crowd.'
"Hmmm….have you seen this?" She produced a flyer.
"Where's Sam?" Dean could barely get the words out in a normal fashion, his throat was dry and tight, all sorts of warning alarms clanged in his head.
"Oh, he should be here any minute."
Dante looked up from the flyer, "you've got to be kidding? Mountain lions don't do this." He handed the paper across the table to Dean.
"I wish I were, and I went and checked my emails, I've got somewhere around twenty requests for information. So every yodamoke with a gun who thinks he or she can hunt big game is going to be crawling around, not to mention the hunters who know this isn't a cougar."
The hot acorn in Dean's stomach grew to the approximate size of a grapefruit. His mouth dried up completely.
"We ran into Kelly at the coffee shop and she told us Shelly has photos of some of the victims. Sam wanted to see them, so he went over there."
"Uh, Conch, do you think Sam is actually old enough to be left alone with Shelly?"
Concha scrunched her face, "ooh." Ducking her head down a bit she put two fingers across her lips, "I forgot about that. Dante, she's at work, she wouldn't at work…"
"Wouldn't what?" Dean asked, though pretty sure of the answer.
Dante just looked at her, raising both eyebrows. The tension in Dean's shoulders slid away just the smallest amount.
"I forgot about that." Waving one hand dismissively at the men, Concha laughed a bit, "he's a big grown up boy, he'll be fine. You both are just…." Her words faded away as her gaze tracked a man from the door, making his way to the bar. "On second thought maybe we should go meet him." She tapped Dean's arm, chin motioning in the direction of the man, "you know that guy? The one in the red hat?"
Dean casually turned, as if to look for a waitress. He scanned the room, then slipped around to face Dante and Concha again. "No." He shook his head. "Why? I saw him earlier, before I left."
"That's how we ended up in the coffee shop and talking to Kelly, she's Shelly's twin sister, I went to school with them. Anyway Sam thought that guy was following us, so we ducked in there. He sat outside at one of the tables for a bit, then left." Shrugging a bit. "It's a small town, people are bound to see each other a lot."
Dean flipped open his cell phone, and ground his teeth when all he heard was Sam's voice mail. "Where is the coroner's?" Hopefully all that he would do is catch Sam in an embarrassing position.
"We'll show you." Dante nudged Concha out of the booth. They stopped by Dean's car on the way, dropping off Concha's bags and picking up guns.
Dean slammed to a halt two steps inside the door to the autopsy room. Somewhere behind him he heard Concha's gasp issued almost simultaneously as Dante's cursing. One swift glance around the room and Dean had taken it all in. Bile threatened, burning his stomach and throat. One body, only ONE body. Not Sam's. Dean could only feel grateful. Concha had moved farther into the room when she slipped on something, yelping, recovering her balance before either Dean or Dante had the chance to grab her arm.
Stooping down, she picked up what caused her to skate a foot or two, 'oh my God." Concha held out one hand in Dean's direction, it took him a minute to process her stricken expression.
She held Sam's cell phone.
OOOOOOOOOOO
There was a definite difference between waking up and regaining consciousness. Sam could list them off, not that he wanted to just then. There was even a bigger difference between coming too in a warm, soft bed with your brother hanging around to give you a hard time, water and aspirin and coming too…Sam had to take a minute to take stock of things. First he tried moving his head for a look around, feeling the pull on the skin of his face. The sensation seemed to wake up a few more. Like how his arms were bound behind him, he was bent so his knees were close to his chest, his ankles bound painfully together, he was on his side, shoulder he laid on aching…..all wrapped up….in duct tape.
Sam hated duct tape. As a matter of fact he decided he hated duct tape more than, well, a lot of things. If he lived, he was going to track down the sick bastard who invented duct tape and he might just forget his rule about killing innocents, after torturing him of course. With the duct tape. And then, after he'd finished with the duct tape he'd use the cardboard the evil stuff was rolled around. Then he'd get serious. Maybe use a knife, or duct tape! Duct tape, Sam decided was demonic.
Light filtered through small cracks above him brought more nastiness to his predicament. It wasn't dark in there, wherever there was, more of a murky gray. An attempt at lifting himself off the floor earned him a whacked head before he'd barely moved a few inches. Realization he was in something small, smaller than him made him choke and gag on whatever was rising up his throat. He fought it back down, taking big, huffing breaths through his nose. The only thought he had was a coffin, someone had put him in a coffin and buried him. The urge to shout, scream, through the damn duct tape almost over took him. His chest heaved and his eyes blurred, he couldn't make noise and draw unwanted attention.
As distraction he traced the thin rays of light, moving his head. His coffin shifted ever so slightly beneath him. Maybe not a coffin? The floor he laid on was hard, covered by a thin layer of what felt and smelled like old, moldy carpeting. A few more deep breaths and he could pick out the scents of oil, gas, something he didn't want to identify. Above him the light came through in a rectangle pattern. Then it came to him. He was in a car. The trunk of a car.
Perfect.
Sam almost wished it was a coffin he'd been trapped in, at least then Dean would have some sympathy for him. This he would never live down, Dean would never ever let this one go. Dean. Dean would be looking for him by now, or would he? Sam had no idea how much time passed, only that it was daylight outside. No, Sam decided with complete faith and conviction, when he didn't appear at the bar in the hour he'd promised Concha, at an hour and one minute Dean would be looking for him. The thought offered him only a small comfort, since he had no idea how far he'd gone, or where Dean would even begin to search. Dean would find him nonetheless. Dean always did. When it concerned Sam, Dean was some sort of steroid enhanced bloodhound.
Muscles cramped, feeling silly and scared and claustrophobic all at once Sam wished Dean would put a move on and find him…..now.
OOOOOOOOOO
"How many times did you see that guy?" It was a real effort for Dean not to shout.
"I only saw him once, when Sam pointed him out. But in a town this size you can pass someone three times every hour and it doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, well he's as good a place to start as any." Dean brushed past them, heading back out to the street.
Dante grabbed Dean's shoulder, "you can't go busting in there starting a fight."
Dean whirled on him. "I can't let him get away either! He's the only lead there is."
"Granted, but let's be cool. There's three of us, trailing him won't be too difficult. He'll either lead us to Sam, if he's responsible, or we'll catch him alone and beat it out of him."
Dean really did like that man. On the street they stopped for a minute while Dante placed a call to the sheriff's office reporting yet another attack. The honking of a car horn made Dean start, then turn his head, looking over his shoulder. The man wearing the red hat drove by, slowed down, tipped his hat at Dean and nodded. Smiling broadly the guy sped up, hung a right and drove out of town.
"Oh, he did NOT just do that!" Dean barked.
Concha reached behind her, grabbing Dante's shirt sleeve to pull him along, then sprinted after Dean. They reached the Impala a few steps behind Dean, but he'd already gotten in and had the engine turned over.
"Where's that road go?" Dean hung the same right, then pressed his foot down against the gas pedal, the car surged faster along the road.
"Eventually to a mine. There's only one turn off between there and us, and it leads to a camp ground." Dante said. "If we lose him, he's only got one way back, other than off-roading it."
Yeah, small favors and all.
Dean stopped at the one junction of roads. There was a sign, happily announcing they were at Sunshine Lake Camp Grounds.
"I've got an idea." Concha was out of the car before either of the men could even turn to look at her. She leaned in Dean's window. "You two go check out the campground. With that car he'll have to stick to the roads, only go cross country on foot. I'll stay here, keep watch, in case he comes back down."
"You can't—"
"Yes," Dante cut Dean off, "yes, she can. She can put up barriers, no one will get close enough to her." Dante lightly slapped Dean's bicep, "trust us on this. Go."
Dean spent a few seconds looking from brother to sister. Then nodded, put the car in gear and zoomed into the campground.
OOOOOOOO
The tiny wisps of light were fading, growing thin. Then they winked out completely. Sam was left alone in the dark. The dark and the cold. Shivering violently, trying yet again to squirm around, get his weight off his shoulder, find a warmer position. But warm wouldn't quell all his shivers, only some. He'd heard the voices, caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Bait. He was bait. Bait for the thing, or things, attacking and mauling entire families. No cougar did it, the man who'd left him in a trunk knew. They would come for an easy meal. One young man bound and gagged in a trunk. How many hours ago had that been? Sam had no idea. Fresh tears dripped, he couldn't even wipe them away. At least his captor with the cruel, raspy voice hadn't seen him, after stuffing him in the trunk the man never opened it, never checked. Once there'd been a loud thud, something hitting the side of the car. Sam wanted to cringe away, but could barely move.
Then silence. Now dark.
He was alone.
He'd been trying to remember the man he'd seen in town, but nothing came. He had no idea who he was, or how he knew Sam. Well, when he really thought about it, he knew how the guy knew Sam. Hunters they'd never even known existed seemed to all of a sudden know Dean and Sam. Worse yet seemed to have known a lot about them for a long time. He and Dean always kept to themselves, away from the hunting community in general. Now, now even more so, now when it was becoming less a secret, Sam's ability, now Sam was something they hunted. They did so for a variety of reasons he'd learned over the months. Some, not many, really thought he was some kind of threat. Mostly it was less supernaturally inclined reasons. For some reason neither he nor Dean could fathom Dean had become the man to beat. Hunters, younger ones especially, wishing to make a reputation wanted to best Dean Winchester, one of the acknowledged best. A good many of them went after Sam for the simple reason they were afraid of Dean. The same hunters who respected Dean also feared him. It was commonly known, Dean didn't make threats, he made lethal promises. Sam it seemed didn't inspire the same fear.
Yeah, cause Dean was so interested in THAT title.
The fastest way to Dean, to make him slip up, make a mistake, or so it was thought was through Sam. Kill two birds with one stone. Some had an axe to grind with Dean, one or two with Sam. Little did these people realize the fastest way to bring wrath as they'd never experienced down on themselves was to irk Dean through Sam. Dean didn't make mistakes, and he didn't take kindly to anyone threatening Sam. He sure wouldn't take kindly to Sam being used as monster bait.
Sam's attention jerked to the trunk door above him. Something was up there, scratching the metal, sniffing along the narrow cracks where the lines of light had come from. He wanted to shout, scream, but the tape over his mouth was a blessing just then, keeping him mostly quiet. The blood from his pounding heart rushed in his ears, beads of sweat blossomed along his back, making him shiver even more. Bile rose and then dripped back down his throat as he pushed as far away from the noise as he could, which in reality wasn't more than an inch or two. Maybe Dean wouldn't get there in time, maybe this would be the day.
Or maybe not.
Something screeched, then gun fire, the sound of Dean's voice….Sam clung to that sound. The trunk door was flung away, bright light flooded…..when had it gotten so bright?... Dean's form right there, reaching out to pull him free. "Aww geez, Sammy, you're such a pain, get out of there." Two smaller forms behind Dean….turn around…God turn around!!!! Sam's mind screamed, but his mouth was securely shut with the tape, he couldn't even wave an arm or knock Dean clear. The forms descended on his brother, ripping him to pieces before Sam, who was powerless to help…..Deaaaaann!!!!
Sam jerked awake with a velocity he'd never experienced, enough to cause his whole body to raise off the trunk floor the few inches it could and slam down with painful and startling clarity. Pain jarred straight through him. He panted and huffed against the tape stuck to his raw lips. Every inch of him strained against what bound him, everything blurred for a minute more from the liquid in his eyes.
He was back to the cold, dark, alone. No Dean. No Dean intestines strewn before him, no Dean chest ripped open so Sam could see his still beating heart, then watch it stop. No Dean. And for once Sam was immeasurably happy for that. Sam was left alone once more, locked in a truck, unable to move more than a fraction of an inch, now shuddering from cold. His stomach roiled and bucked from hunger, if he vomited he would surely die of asphyxiation. His mouth was so dry he couldn't tell if his tongue stuck to the inside of his cheeks or not.
Cold, dark, alone…..so alone….terrified.
OOOOOOOOOO
As soon as Dean swung the Impala onto the main road Concha was there, before he'd even stopped completely.
"Any luck?"
Dean shook his head, "no, you?"
"Not a soul, living or otherwise went by." Concha slipped into the back seat.
"That bastard is going to pay." Dean snarled, gunning the engine so hard the car fishtailed a few yards before straightening.
The mine was old, one of the original reasons people had settled here in the first place. Now it attracted mainly those who wanted to spend a week or two pretending they lived in the days of the old west, panning for silver. Or those who wanted to see a bit of history up close, touch some glorious past that probably wasn't really so glorious. This time of the year no one was around. Almost no one. Off the road, tucked under a tree was a car. The same car they'd seen earlier in town. Dean pulled up behind it. Concha was out before the men, crept up to the car, and knife in hand, slashed the tires. Dean and Dante collected pistols and extra rounds from Dean's trunk, Concha took her rifle.
The three of them stalked silently through the outer part of the mine. Far to the back, near the main shaft entrance they saw a fire, could hear a voice and the distinctive click of a walkie-talkie. "Yeah, he's there, locked up good and tight, won't be getting out. They'll smell him, and when they move in, we can."
Dean's stomach twisted viciously. He, this man, and his buddies were using Sam as bait for who knew what. The next words he heard sent his brain reeling.
"No way he'll get loose and out of the trunk." A short laugh, "hell I used three rolls of duct tape on him."
Heart clenching, Dean hated himself. He'd done nothing but tease his brother for the past few days over locking him in the Impala's trunk. Goddamn them! He jerked around when he felt Dante's hand on his arm. He'd almost forgotten they were there, and was at once so very grateful they were. Red, hot anger was all Dean could see through, and that would do neither him nor his brother any good.
"Conch," Dante nodded to some boxes and general junk on a scaffolding a few feet above the man. A few boxes and tools took flight, landing all around the man.
"What the fu----" The guy jumped away. "I'll get back to you." Rising slowly, shotgun in hand the man turned a slow, methodical circle.
Dante and Dean separated, each coming at him from opposite directions. The man, large, full salt and pepper beard, one ear lobe cut off and generally scruffy in appearance turned, raising his shotgun until it was just inches from Dean's chest.
"Where is my brother?" Dean growled. "What did you do with Sam?"
"You're brother is a threat, and I've made sure he can die doing some good."
"The man asked you a question." Dante stepped up behind the hunter, pistol placed firmly to the back of the guy's head. "You should answer."
"We can see who's faster." The man didn't lower his aim at Dean.
"I am." Dante's voice was low, dangerous.
Concha sat near the fire, keeping quiet. Dean caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes. He all of a sudden realized how they worked. The next instant had Dean flinching involuntarily as the guy squeezed the trigger. Looking down at his chest, then one hand flying there, Dean's breath caught. Nothing. The gun hadn't discharged. In one fluid motion Dean grabbed the end of the shotgun, flung it from the man's grasp and landed a solid punch to the man's face. Decking him. Actually first the guy somersaulted backwards, then was decked. Reaching down Dean grabbed the guy's collar, hauling him up, and punching him again, sending him back to the ground.
"Now, I'm gonna ask you again, nicely. Where's my brother, asshole?!"
The guy scrambled back, straight into Dante's legs. Dante holstered his pistol, reached down, pulled the guy up and off the ground. Dean had to actually remember not to laugh when the man's feet left the ground. "Ya know, Dean, I'm getting tired of this." Letting go with one hand, Dante drove his fist into the man's middle, sending him flying again. This time to land in a heap at Concha's feet.
Leaning her elbow on her knee, she rested her chin in her palm and looked down. "Just tell them, is one somewhat, sort of, almost psychic kid really worth this?" Tipping her head toward Dante, "he learned torture techniques in Iraq, from the best." Then nodding at Dean, "and him you just plain pissed off. Dude, really, is it worth this?"
Coughing, rasping, spitting blood the man rolled partially on his side, struggling to get up. When both Dante and Dean shifted weight to one foot, preparing to kick, the guy held up one hand, trying to crawl away. "Stop. Camp grounds. About a mile behind the office, there is a side road, it dead ends, we pushed the car into the woods there."
Dante's eyes met his. "Go on, Conch and I can take care of the rest of the dickheads."
Dean's feet barely touched the ground as he ran to his car.