Chapter 29 - A Hanging Feeling

She was watching him; watching his every move, lurking in the shadows with delight. The only source of light was from the small pinpricks that pushed their way through the boards covering the sky light in the middle of the room, giving the room a dungeon feel. Because that's what it basically was; a dungeon. She slid down the wall, sitting tenderly on the cold stone floor, her eyes willing him to wake up. The drug in his coffee had only been minor, and she knew by now it had to have worn off, and it was sheer exhaustion that kept him from opening his eyes. But she still sat patiently, her knees drawn to her chest, watching…and waiting.

Dean moaned, his eyes slowly creaking open, only too be greeted by the dense darkness of the room, and a smell so foul it could only be the rotting flesh of a corpse. He attempted to sit up, to rub his pounding head, but he found his body was still sluggish from the drug, and it didn't help that he was trussed up like a pig ready to cook; his hands and feet tightly lashed together with lengths of rope. The floor he lay on was hard, cold, and damp, sending a slight chill through his body, and as his eyes cleared and he lifted his head to look around, he spotted a figure sitting in the shadows, watching him with glinting eyes. He attempted to call out to them, and it was then that he realised that a piece of thick cloth had been viciously jammed in between his teeth, and tied tightly at the back of his neck, gagging him effectively.

Knowing she had been spotted, Jane gave a sly smile, using the wall as a support as she stood up and moved over to her prisoner, towering over him forebodingly.

'Welcome back Dean,' she said cheerily, and kicked him hard in the gut. He moaned in pain, and curled up as best he could into a ball. 'How are you feeling?'

Dean just gave her a death glare as she laughed at his helplessness.

'What's wrong Dean? Cat got your tongue?'

Dean, using whatever strength he had left, angrily lashed out, clipping the edge of Jane's shin and tripping her over. She immediately scrambled onto her knees, sending an ugly punch to Dean's face, the full force of the blow landing on Dean's already broken nose. He moaned into the thick cloth, as blood began to trickle from his nose once again.

'Well that little stunt got you far,' commented Jane sarcastically. 'I thought you were smart enough to realise your not going anywhere. You've checked your bonds…you know that they're inescapable.'

She grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and yanked his head back, making him look up into her spiteful eyes.

'I bet you're wondering about your brother…and what I possibly could've done to him…aren't you?'

At the mention of his brother, his life, Dean's whole body tensed angrily, his eye's narrowing and sending daggers her way. She just laughed and threw his head back down, heaving herself onto her feet. She headed towards the door, and as her hand rested on the handle, she paused, snapping her fingers as if remembering something.

'Oh how could I forget!' she exclaimed slyly. 'Remember those Antibiotics I gave Sam? Oh well, it was really a type of poison, spreading through him slowly, shutting him down. He had one or two days max when I gave it to him…and since then you spent nearly half a day watching him trying to get better, and now you've slept another half a day away…I'd give him 25 hours, max.'

With a smirk she was out the door, locking it behind her with a heavy bolt. Dean began struggling as the words slowly sank in, desperate to get to his baby brother. That bitch! He continued struggling for a few minutes, before he sank back exhausted and breathless. He hated this; everything was too hard. So hard, he began to think that dying would be better for Sam; at least the pain and agony of all their troubles would drift away.

Jane strolled down the stone corridor casually; her hands sitting relaxed in her pockets, with not a worry in the world. She came to a stop in front of a heavily locked door, and she glanced through the peephole, satisfied with the sight of a still sleeping Sam. By the way he seemed to be tossing and turning in agony, she figured that her assumption was correct; he didn't have much longer. She chuckled, and continued down the hallway.

This was the truth; Sam was dying, and not much could be done about it. But the fitful sleep wasn't from the poison seeping through his body and shutting down his system; he was simply having a nightmare.

Images flashed harshly before his eyes, coming and going in less than a second, but it was still long enough for him to see each image clearly, and they taunted him wickedly.

There was blood everywhere. A knife protruded from an unmoving body's chest, sinking deep into the flesh. A face was visible, a thin trickle of blood running from their mouth, their eyes open and lifeless. Dean. And beside him, lying in agony on the ground, Sam saw himself, taking his life's last breath, and as he went to sleep for the final time, his hand rested comfortingly in Dean's.

Sam awoke faster than ever before, shooting upright so quick he nearly lost his balance, gasping with such vigor that it was like he hadn't taken a breath for hours. He shivered, instantly cold, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His whole body shook from the cold, from the nervousness, and from what he knew would happen next. Pain still shot through his body; what from, he didn't know. But it was slowly and surely killing him.

Dean had almost fallen asleep, but was jolted quickly and nastily back to his senses as his door was unlocked and Aaron strode in, followed by two of his merry men, Jacob and Marc. The thin smile of joy on his captor's face was enough to convince Dean that he was up to something, and somehow he knew he'd get hurt in the process. Marc and Jacob moved forward eagerly, picking Dean up and putting him over Marc's shoulder, fireman style. Marc barely broke a sweat from the excess weight.

'He must be on steroids,' snorted Dean internally.

Wordlessly they paraded down the hall, and passed Sam's door. Dean picked up on the fact it was heavily bolted immediately; Sam was in there, and he knew it. He struggled hard against Marc's grip, frantic to get to his brother.

'Well ain't that cute,' sneered Aaron. 'Funny how brother's can sense each other.'

They came to a stop outside the next door, Dean still protesting against his currant position, his eye's only set on Sam's door. It was dragged from his sight as they entered the room, shoving Dean up face first against the wall and letting him stand there as they prepared. Dean wobbled unsteadily on his bound feet, feeling slight relief as Jacob came and gripped his arm to support him. The ropes on his hands were sliced away, but Jacob's firm grip kept him from going anywhere. He was turned around, his hands forced high above his head, making his body taught, and chained in place.

He watched uneasily as Jacob and Marc put Brass Knuckles over their fingers, flexing them threateningly. A knife was produced and his shirt cut away, revealing the cuts he had gained throughout this experience. They seemed pleased at some of the scars they had caused. Jacob and Marc began to pummel his already battered body, turning his chest black and blue, causing it to bleed in various places. Some of their well-placed blows were aimed at his face, busting his lip, blackening his eye.

Satisfied with the beaten, bloodied, groggy man in front of them, they released his hands, watching in amusement as he collapsed to the ground, his tattered body willing to take no more. The coldness of the floor was soothing, and he barely noticed as the bonds around his feet were cut loose, his gag removed, and his shoes and socks removed. They gripped under his arms, hauling him back to his feet, and dragged him over to a nearby chair.

Jacob quickly blindfolded him, while Aaron slipped out the door to go get his special guest. Marc dragged another chair over and stood on it, hauling Dean up with him. He re-bound his arms behind him, and grabbed the rope that dangled from the roof, turning the end into a noose and slipping it over Dean's head. It was then Aaron returned, leading an extremely reluctant, sick looking Sam with him.

'Welcome to hell,' he said cheerfully.

'Dea-' Sam began to say, but Aaron clamped his hand over his mouth.

'Remember our deal,' he hissed. 'Not a word until we're gone.'

Dean had alerted to his senses more since the noose was tightened around his neck.

'What are you doing,' he whispered hoarsely.

'Having some fun,' was Aaron's cocky reply.

He watched as Marc pulled the other end of the rope, until Dean was standing flat on his toes, his heels slightly in the air. Jacob moved the chair so Dean stood on the very edge, teetering slightly, and as Marc tied the rope off. He jumped down, satisfied with his work, and dragged the chair to Aaron, who shoved Sam into it and bound him to it tightly.

'Enjoy the show,' he mocked in Sam's ear.

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Another one down, two more to go. I've written the rest it just needs typing...it'll be up in 2 or 3 days :)

review, as always

Nikki