Chapter Three - Achluophobia
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor anything from the world of Supernatural. Kripke owns all.
A/N: a small bit of harsh language in this chapter
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Sam woke to a smothering blanket of absolute darkness pressing down on him. He had never known a black so absolute. He panicked, thrashing his arms out. They rebounded when they connected with an unyielding surface. Blood oozed from myriad abrasions. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was running upstairs . . . Dean! Sam shot upright and smacked his head. Vertigo struck while he tentatively reached up and touched a rough stone surface with one probing hand. Further exploration revealed he was in a stone chamber not much longer than his rather rangy frame and not high enough for him to sit up in. Wherever he was, Dean wasn't with him; that much he knew for certain. They had been attacked. Sam explored his skull with chilled fingers but could find only the damage he himself had just inflicted. Dean had been hit. Sam remembered his blood clotting his hair. So how had Sam been knocked out? No matter. Back to the problem at hand. Where was he? Sam twisted over onto his stomach. He inched forward until he was near the end wall. His fingers found a crevice all the way around the edge. This must be a way out. Sam scooted backwards until his feet pressed firmly against the other end and pushed at the block with all his strength. The block didn't budge. He kept pushing until his biceps and shoulders began to cramp, and he saw bright spots in front of his eyes. No success.
Sam crawled forward a bit. A sheen of sweat sucked the chill from the stone on which he lay into his bones. He shivered. Where was his jacket? Whatever had attacked him must have taken it when it put him in here. Wherever here was. Was Dean in another similar place? What was this place? Sam began to panic. How long could he survive in here? There was no ventilation so how much oxygen did he have left? The bodies in the photos Caleb had sent popped into his mind. All the bodies' wrists had shown severe bruising, leading Caleb to believe they had been restrained during their torture. He wasn't restrained; not like that anyway. Did this mean Dean was being tortured while Sam was imprisoned? Would he be next? Dean had always come to save him. But if Dean needed to be rescued himself, how would they get out of this? The darkness swallowed him again at the thought of his brother being tortured and Sam unable to do anything to save him.
After an indeterminate time, Sam wrestled his panic down and took three deep breaths. Time to live up to Dean's faith in his reasoning abilities. Sam pictured the LeBeau place in his mind as he had seen it when they arrived. The house itself was typical for its era. Sprawling, huge, and stately. The basement had seemed to have solid stone walls and the crawlspace had been floored in dirt. He didn't think it had small rooms like his prison. The upper floor would not have had a stone room either. There was a feeling of heaviness about where he lay. He thought he was at ground level or below. The chill exuding from the stone felt damp. Next. The carriage house where Dean had parked the Impala had been a wooden structure. No luck there. "Think, damnit" he told himself. What stone buildings could be found on bayou country estates? Sam felt queasy. A mausoleum? Shit! He was in a tomb! Without thinking, he jerked upwards and struck the back of his head on the ceiling. Now he had a matched set of lumps. Was he lying in someone's dust? "Idiot," he told himself. "You would have felt their bones before now." All right, time to. . .
Sam saw Dean. The blood had caked on the side of his head. His arms were spread-eagled away from his sides and were restrained by chains as he leaned against a wall. His breathing was shallow, and he kept wincing. Sam saw a shrouded figure advance towards his brother menacingly. Sam's sight went dark. What had he seen? It hadn't felt like one of his visions. For one thing, his head didn't hurt any more than it already did. Was it just his fear? Something told him that Dean, trapped and hurt, needed his help. Sam reached forward again and shoved with all his strength against the stone. His breath rasped in his throat as sobs of frustration ripped through his body. Only when his muscles cramped again and his strength poured out of him like water did he stop. He put his head down on his arms as the darkness he lay in was equaled by the darkness building inside his soul. Dean. He'd been able to push that cabinet out of the way at Max's. Why didn't that happen again? Why. . .
Sam saw Jessica. His forehead shrunk from where her drops of blood touched him. Splayed against the ceiling, her eyes were open. His name was on her lips, "Why, Sam, why?" He'd asked himself that countless times and could only wait for the inevitable continuation of his nightmare. Flames emerged from her body and raced across the ceiling. They reached towards him with their claws. He was powerless to help her, not caring about himself. "No! No! Jess!" His scream echoed in his ears. He was there. This couldn't be a dream. Had all his travels with Dean been the dream? The flames gathered him in. He could feel his skin scorching and blackening from the heat. The agony he felt was a shadow of the pain in his heart. This was right and proper. Mom and Jess had been engulfed on the pyre of his presence. It was fitting that he joined them. He screamed and the darkness took him in its embrace.