Alright guys, remember when I said I got this idea from SAW? Well here is where that little plot bunny truly comes full circle. For those of you who are fans of the movie (and I'm not one of them - haha) I hope I do this justice. For the rest of you, hopefully it's not too dark. And for every single one of you - thanks so much for reading and reviewing. You have no idea what kind of a payment it is to receive such great comments - that is the only payment fanfiction authors get, and I can't thank you enough for what you offer.
All-encompassing nausea becomes the dominant feeling as Dean watches an unconscious Sam being dragged into the room by two women. He orders himself not to throw up, memories of the last time that happened just hours earlier making him remember what a terrifying feeling that is, and studies the women pulling his motionless baby brother across the floor. The first of the two has the same, unmistakable blank gaze in her eyes that the doctor zombon has, and Dean knows without a doubt that this is one of the missing nurses. But the other woman is so clearly animated, the scowl on her face so obvious, that he begins to wonder if this has been his captor all along.
That doesn't make any sense, though, because he thought for sure the person behind the voice was a man. And more than that, he had been certain that when he found out who had done this to him, he would come face to face with a mirror image of his own circumstances; an unmoving, unfeeling man trapped, strapped, in a wheelchair, ventilator hosing running to a trach in his throat. So what did this clearly vindictive, mobile woman have to do with his situation? And what is she doing with Sam?
A tear springs to his eye as Dean fights to break free of the invisible bonds that hold him captive within his own body while he watches his baby brother being dragged under the armpits across the painted concrete floor, knees dragging soundlessly behind. One look at him, and Dean knows little brother didn't fare well in the accident. He's bandaged up, hospital issue, and Dean knows for certain it didn't come from their captors. Despite the fact that Dean himself has been cared for in what seems to be a medical environment, he also knows that they've only done the bare minimum to keep him alive. The torture was never meant to end in death.
Sam's knee is wrapped in a black brace, and his arm is in a tan Ace wrap. Bruises mar his little brother's face, at least what little face Dean can see through the mop of brown hair that falls in his eyes as Sam's head hangs limply at his chest. For a minute, Dean wonders if they've done the same thing to Sammy as they did to him; fill him with so many drugs that he can't move, can't breathe. But somehow Dean knows Sam is merely unconscious right now, yet he's not sure if that's any more comforting.
"–m!" Dean opens his mouth to scream, frustrated when once again he's remembered the structured airflow that provides him an opportunity to speak. The ventilator has been in the process of taking a breath as Dean calls out, and the air only appears in time to sound out a squeaky 'm.' What the hell have you done to my brother?! Inside he screams and shouts and punches things and stomps his feet. But on the outside his body is still just as dead and innocuous as ever.
Trying again, Dean waits impatiently for the feel of the air moving against his windpipe, and he cries out. "Sammy! What have you bitches–" he's cut off again, and frustration overcomes him. He can't even get out a full sentence. Damn it! What good are threats and demands without the force to back them up? "–done to him?"
The brunette, the animated one, looks up and leers at Dean as they finish dragging Sam across the room and dump him in a heap on the floor. "He's just resting, Dean. Don't you worry your pretty little head. He'll be awake soon." She wrenches Sam's wrists behind him, attaching them with handcuffs to a hot water pipe at the base of the wall, still fifteen feet from where Dean sits.
He'd thought he felt helpless before, but this goes beyond all feelings of helplessness he's ever experienced in the past. This is torture, pure and simple, and for Sam he's not above telling his captor that. If it will make the guy happy, give him what he wants so that Dean can finally get on with his life, can finally be released from this invisible prison he's been bound to, and get over to Sam. "You've done it you bastard!" He screams, or at least as much as he can scream with a limited supply of air and a tube shoved into his throat. Another breath of life giving air, and then, "You've got me. You showed–" Breath. "–me what it's like!" Breath. God, how he hates this. "Now show yourself! I ne–" Breath. "–need to get to Sam!"
As if on cue, Sam starts to stir in his new position of captivity, grimacing against the pain in his head. He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. And then finally manages to focus on his surroundings. Lori Ann is the first thing he sees, her cold eyes staring fiercely at him, and Sam backpedals, feet scrambling for purchase on the slick floor. Wincing, Sam's breath begins to speed up. "What the hell?"
"Surprise!" The girl steps to the side, arm arcing away in a grand gesture to display Dean properly.
Sam's eyes widen at the sight of his brother, unsure what to make of the image of his larger than life big brother so still and unmoving, strapped into the monstrous wheelchair. He knows something is wrong even before he sees the tubing protruding from Dean's throat and hears the whoosh of the ventilator that's all too familiar for his liking. He's heard the sound so many times in his short life, and it sends chills down his spine as fear of the unknown encompasses him. His brother should be writhing around, trying to free himself from the restraints that hold him into the chair, but instead he's barely blinking, and certainly not breathing. And Sam notices that the restraints aren't even all that restraining - Dean could easily break free of them if he tried. One across his chest, one on his forehead, one against his ankles, but nothing restraining his hands. They just sit there, immobile, in his lap. He's not even trying.
"Dean?" Fear and confusion vie for dominance in his eyes as Sam begs an explanation from his brother in that one word.
"Sammy, are you–" the ventilator cuts him off and Dean's face scrunches in frustration as he has to wait to force out the last word. "–okay?" His heart sinks when he sees Sam's fear escalate into terror at hearing his older brother struggle to speak and he wants so much to cross the room and pull the younger man into his arms, to tell him that everything is going to be okay. But he's still not sure of that answer himself, because he's been free of the IV now for close to an hour and still there's nothing. No sensation. No movement. No fight against the ventilator as his lungs regain control of themselves. His only hope right now is to know that Sammy is alright. It's the only thing that he can see as an upside to this nightmare.
"Dean, what's wrong with you?" Sam cries out frantically, in lieu of an answer to his brother's question. He pulls desperately at the restraints around his wrists, seemingly oblivious to the torture that move is placing on his injured wrist and ribs. "What the hell did they do to you?"
It becomes a fight of obstinance as Dean returns an answer to Sam's question with yet another non-answer. Both are too worried about knowing the other is okay to worry about himself, and it seems as though neither one will be answering the other's question without first getting an answer of his own. "Sammy, please–" another breath. "Just tell me you're–" breath. "–not hurt."
Another voice intrudes on the silence, combined with a soft mechanical whir and that same sucking whoosh Dean has come to know over the past couple of days, and he knows he's finally about to come face to face with the voice that has tormented him time and time again since his capture. It's hard to believe it's only been two days. It feels like a lifetime.
"How about I answer that for you, boys."
Dean sees Sam look over to the left, Dean's right, and he rolls his eyes in the same direction, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who's figured out a way to torment the great Dean Winchester. He doesn't know what he's been expecting all this time, doesn't exactly know what he thought the guy might look like. He guesses he'd expected powerful, maybe dolled up in some kind of metal suit contraption like the terminator. He'd expected muscle and brawn and cracking knuckles. What he hadn't expected was exactly what befell his eyes as he stared on in stupefied confusion at the shriveled twerp of a man in front of him.
The thirty something young man guiding the wheelchair through a straw in his mouth sports spastic limbs that are clearly atrophied underneath the loose fitting pants and shirt he wears. Like Dean, he is attached to a ventilator by means of a trach tube, and his legs and chest are strapped tightly into the chair, although his head is free to move around. Apparently he has more neck control than Dean currently possesses.
He comes closer, planting himself directly between the boys, and Lori Ann immediately rushes to his side. He first looks at Dean, glaring at him as he speaks. "You wanted to know who was doing this to you. I'm here. Ringing any bells?"
Dean stares hard, looking the man up and down as he waits for any sort of recognition to flash through his mind. But there's nothing there; just a big black hole that refuses to offer any sort of help. He'd remember some high tech, monster of a wheelchair. He's certain of it. 'No,' he says, and ends up mouthing the word because he's misjudged the flow of air yet again.
The man laughs. "It's not as easy as it look's is it?" he taunts to Dean's inability to control his voice. "So you really don't remember me. How about you, Sam? Does my face ring any bells?"
Placing his lips back around the straw, the man turns his wheelchair so he's facing Sam. But Sam has already had the chance to study him, taken plenty of time to rack his brain for any form of recognition, and he too has come up with nothing. "I'm sorry," Sam expresses, genuine emotion seeping through because he can sense just how much the man wants to be remembered, and even though he hates the situation, he knows how much it must hurt to be forgotten.
Sneering, the man returns to his original position so he can see both brothers. "Of course you don't remember me. You only remember the faces of those you save. You don't remember your victims."
Dean's mind reels. Victim? This man is his victim? How can that be? He's human!
"I wanted you to know what it's like to be me. You need to know what your actions can cause. You're so quick to react, you never stop to think about the repercussions of your actions. You never stop to think about the victims."
"I don't understand." Dean speaks up, pitifully. "What did we do to-" breath. "–you? It's not what–" breath "–we do. We save–" breath. "–people." It hasn't escaped Dean's notice that his captor has somehow managed to manipulate his own ventilator so that he doesn't have that noticeable gap in his speaking, and it's just one more reason for him to hate the man. And then Dean stops himself, realizing that he's hating a crippled man because he can talk better than he, himself, can, and he wonders just how many levels of wrong that really is.
"Yeah, well sometimes you don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should start asking people if they want to be saved before you jump in all righteous and sanctimonial with your Latin words and your holy water. I had it good. I had things under control. I had my life back!" The man is shrieking by the time he's done, face red, and if he could have, there's no doubt his body would be quivering. But it, too, remains locked in a shell of itself. Now, Dean knows what that feels like.
Sam's eyes are wide and his expression is that of horror as he whispers out, "did we...do that to you?"
The man laughs, vicious, hollow, but the brother's don't get the joke. "Did you what? Put me in this chair? Cut off my air supply? Leave me an empty shell of what I once was?"
Both Winchester's flinch at the nakedness of the comments, but it's Sam who replies. "We didn't...we couldn't have..."
"Not the first time. No. That one was reserved for a man named Wendell Dresden."
A flash of recognition sparks in Sam's mind. That name is familiar. Looking over at Dean, Sam knows his brother remembers the name too. It's the name of the third victim. The name that had brought them out to the same town six months earlier, because the man had died under such suspicious circumstances; ripped to shreds in his jail cell. But he still doesn't know what that has to do with the shriveled up man in front of him. So he does the only thing he can do - they both do - they listen.
"The first time was two years ago, when Mr. Dresden found his wife screwing around with his best friend and he decided to go drown his sorrows in a fifth of JD before hopping back into his car to confront them. I was on my way to the church, it was my wedding day, you see, and my light turned green. I went. But so did he - or rather, he just never stopped. Slammed into the side of my car so hard the damn thing flipped three times. Broke my neck in two places."
Behind him, Lori Ann places her hands against his shoulders, making it clear that it was she who was to marry the man that day. She lifts one hand and runs it through his hair, stroking it as she assures him it's okay. She slips in a name, Adam, and immediately both brother's are filtering through their memories, trying to pick out an Adam that fits this face. But they've met so many Adams in their time. He might as well be John Doe, for all the good a name does.
And confusion is more evident than ever now. If they didn't cause the man's injury, why is he punishing them. Patience was never Dean's strong suit, and after two days of this torture, two days of being fed half answers and roundabout truths, he wants to know everything.
"So what's that got–" Another fucking breath. "–to do with us?" Dean demands angrily. "You still don't get it, do you? Not even that college boy brother of yours - that is what
you call him, isn't it?" He's asking Dean, but looks at Sam. Sam shakes his head.
Clearly disappointed in them, Adam tuts and shakes his own head. "I was in a coma for three months; my family, my friends, they all just about gave up on me. And when I woke up, I was like this. Trapped in my own body. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to care for myself. Fated to let others care for me as though I was some priceless piece of china that might break at any second. It's not a fun feeling, is it, Dean?" he sneers, moving his wheelchair until he's face to face with the man he's held captive for two days, tormenting him with the same routine that he's had to endure for two whole years.
Their eyes lock and Dean tries to get his head to move enough to nod. It remains still, but he answers anyway, hushed. "No. It's not."
"You could barely deal with it for two days. Try living it like I have."
Dean pushes harder, still desperate for answers he's not getting. If he's so bitter, why not punish the man who did this to him? Why not punish Wendell Dresden? And then it hits him, like a smack to the gut, and Dean's eyes widen in recognition. But how? Why? "You...you killed–" God damn lungs! "–Wendell. But how?"
Looking over to Sam, Dean knows he's still confused. Still trying to conjure up an explanation. But it wasn't Sam who had gone face to face with the man. Sam had been in a corner, spouting out the exorcism ritual while Dean had fought off the possessed man who had killed Wendell Dresden and five others before the hunter's came to town. The man who, six months ago had been standing and fighting and moving! Yet now sits in front of him, strapped into a wheelchair with no control over his own body. Truth be told, Dean knows how it's possible, but he's never heard of a Demon purposely taking control of a crippled body. It just doesn't seem logical - there would be too many questions to answer, it would be too obvious that something wasn't right.
"I wasn't trying to conjure a demon," Adam offers as means of explanation. "I was just...bored. There I was, with nothing but my mind to occupy me, and I come across some ancient Latin texts on conjuring demons. I thought it was all a joke, some big prank. But I needed to be working on my breathing and my speaking and I figured, what the hell. It could be fun. So I started reading the texts out loud."
Sam flinches and looks over at Dean. They both know what the guy is going to say next, or at least know the reader's digest version of his tale. But they stay quiet, waiting to hear it from Adam. It's the only way to understand this whole thing.
"You can imagine my surprise when the next thing I know there's this thing. This...this sort of holographic black cloud like person standing in front of me. We talk for a while, don't ask me why. I mean, it was nuts, right? Except it doesn't try to hurt me, and the next thing I know we've struck up a deal. He can use my body for his work, and I can use his powers for mine. He sort of pours into me, through my mouth, and the next thing I know I'm back to the old me again. I've got my mobility back. My lungs work again. The muscle atrophy is totally gone. We've agreed, I can use my body during the day and he can use it at night. I mean, I really didn't need to sleep anymore, so it was the perfect trade off, you know?"
Adam is searching for confirmation, some sort of agreement or acceptance from his captives. Seems he's been reading far too much into Stockholm syndrome. But if he thinks Sam and Dean are suddenly going to start relating to him, that they'll start feeling sorry for him and understanding why he's done what he's done, then he hasn't done near enough research on the brothers Winchester.
Dean glares at his captor, feeling totally enraged at what he's heard so far and at what he knows he's about to hear. The guy made a choice, a fucking choice to deal with the demon. If he could move, he knows his entire body would be trembling at this revelation. From the corner of his eye, he sees his pointer finger on his right hand start to shake with the effort and issues a silent sigh of gratitude. But he can't let this guy know he's finally starting to get his motion back and he slaps on his well honed poker face and stops the movement in his finger as he returns his attention to the story.
"I hadn't really figured out what the plan was. Thought maybe the shadow, the demon, just wanted to go out and have some fun, you know? Have a few rounds at the bar, play some poker, crack a few harmless jokes. But after the first two people, I realized there was more to this than I thought, and I figured I could get in on the deal. So the next night we went after Wendell. It was so easy - I had this stealth that I'd never experienced before. And the power!" Adams eyes glow eerily as he recounts his experience with the demon in his body, and the brother's shudder. It's not supposed to be fun. But to him, it was.
"The thing is, I had accepted its presence. I'd allowed it in. But then you two screw up do-gooders appear, thinking you know what's right, and you expel the damn thing right back out of me. I wanted it in there! He gave me my life back. And you took it from me! And when I tried to get it back, none of them would have me. They said I was damaged goods - touched by a hunter. Touched by a Winchester."
Sam flinches, eyes wide in disbelief, and he whispers a question. "You were really okay with it killing innocent people? With it using your body to do that work?"
Adam nods fiercely in affirmation. "It was a trade off I was willing to accept. Either way, something else had control of my body. But at least this way I had control during the days. You don't know what it's like to be locked inside a body that won't move. You don't know the pain of seeing someone you love have to clean you up and dress you and lift you into and out of bed every damn day. Your brother does, now. He knows what it's like to feel so helpless. Ask him if he would have done the same thing."
They both look to Dean, wondering, waiting. Sam's eyes hold fear, as though he thinks Adam knows something about his brother that he doesn't. He wonders if he's totally misjudged Dean - would he? Would he strike a deal with a demon, just to regain movement? To get his life back? Dean locks eyes with Sam, holds them steady for a minute as he bores deep into his little brother's soul and finally speaks.
"We kill evil. We don't become it." It's firm. Matter of fact. Honest.
Sam let's out a low sigh. Thank God. But that's not the end of things, he realizes, as Adam lets out a loud, wicked cackle and moves his chair so that he's face to face with Dean once again.
"Is that so?" Adam taunts. "You're saying you would honestly accept this as your fate if it meant saving someone else? You would trade your own life for theirs?"
"In a heartbeat."
Adam lets out a low cackle, and there's no doubt he would be rubbing his hands together wickedly if he could. "The irony of that statement, Dean, is that I thought the same thing of myself...that is, until I was actually faced with the decision. So we'll see just how noble you really are. The decision is yours."
Dean feels something pull at the back of his neck and hears a clicking sound. It feels as though it's actually pulling through the skin and his hand jerks spastically before he can stop it. He settles the rebel limb quickly, hoping he hasn't accidentally given away his remote advantage. He knows it's not much, but it's all they have right now and he can't afford to lose it. Dean tries to turn his eyes, his head, to see what's going on, but he's still unable to do much more than lock eyes with Sam and look to him for an explanation.
"What the...Lori Ann?" Sam asks, eyes widening and then narrowing when he sees what his reaction is doing to his brother. In the dim light of the room and the way Dean is positioned Sam can barely make out exactly what has been done, but he knows Lori Ann has pulled a thin rope from the ceiling above and it's now crossing the air overhead at an angle, linked to something at Dean's neck. From the look of pain marring his brother's feature's, Sam figures it's actually attached to something on Dean's neck.
But with barely the time to think about that, Sam feels himself being pulled up to his feet roughly by one of the nurse zombons as another slips something around his neck and tightens it. In the same motion his hands are released from the hot water pipe by the zombon doctor and then recuffed behind his back, hanging by themself, but useless against the rope around his throat. A fleeting thought causes him to question why he didn't fight back, but knows the element of surprise combined with his foggy mind that three beatings to the head in as many days will cause, has rendered him slow and inadequate.
Dean's eyes widen in horror as he watches his baby brother get strung up before his very eyes. In an instant, he's fighting with the limited movement in his hand, willing the motion to flow through his arm and the rest of his body. He needs his mobility back; Sammy's life is on the line. But no matter how he plays it, no matter how much he fights, he can't get more movement than some lethargic jerks in the five fingers of his right hand.
He tries threats instead, unsure how well that will go over, but running out of options. "You let him go or–" breath "I swear I'll kill you–" breath "both." he spits out. His eyes produce the promise that his body denies him, and for a minute he's certain that his warning has been heeded as he watches Adam and Lori Ann exchange nervous glances. But the moment is fleeting, and soon they're back to working on whatever great plan they've come up with to teach the Winchester brother's a lesson.
For the time being, Dean can see that Sam is fine. The noose is firm and taut around his neck, but doesn't pull any more than it has too. Sam is breathing without difficulty. Dean isn't comforted, but he's at least grateful for the time it's allowed him to prepare. To think. To plan. Adam has other ideas for this time.
The man Dean had previously come to think of solely as 'the voice' steers his wheelchair forward, squaring himself with Dean so that their knees touch and their eyes meet. "You have a choice, Dean. I'm giving you that much, because it was given to me at one time. When I first brought you here I had the good doctor position a small wire into your neck and around your spinal column. Right now, it's harmless - everything you have experienced these last couple of days has been the result of drugs. Drugs that, from what I've seen of your right hand, are slowly receding from your system."
Dean flinches as he sees Adam cast his dull gaze to the hand that he's worked so hard to keep still once the movement returned. He looks down too, silently screaming traitor at the limb despite his previous unending desire to regain anything. He just wishes it hadn't given away his advantage.
And then he pauses mid-thought, because all of a sudden the man's earlier words are sinking in and he suddenly finds his brain screaming. Nonononononono! Fuck! Something has been wrapped around his spinal cord. Something that could do some serious damage if used the way it's clearly intended.
He doesn't have to wait long to find out what Adam intends to do. Now that this guy is talking, he's a veritable fountain of information. Except, suddenly Dean doesn't want to know anymore. He liked it better when he was left in the dark. It's cozier there. Safer. But that isn't Adam's intention anymore and he quickly proceeds with his plans.
"I've attached the wire I told you about to a rope that runs overhead into a pulley system. I'd tell you to look, but I don't think you've regained that much neck control yet."
Across the room, Dean sees Sam's frightened face as he looks up, spotting the pulley and letting the gears in his geek brain start to turn. But Adam's not done yet, and something tells Dean that he really needs to focus on everything this guy tells him. So he tears his gaze away from little brother and listens, scowl set firm on his face.
"Now on the other side of the room, we have your precious baby brother," Adam mocks. "And he is attached to another rope, only his is wrapped around the outside of his neck. You seeing where this is going yet?"
Dean glares hard, but doesn't say anything. He can't allow this guy to have any form of leverage on him right now, and there's no telling what he might say if he talks.
"What? All of a sudden you don't have anything to say? Isn't this a change." Adam doesn't dwell on his taunting right now, though; he's far too eager to get on with his master plan. "Both ropes are rigged to a reverse pulley system, Dean. In a minute, Lori Ann will flip a switch that will start tightening the rope around dear Sam's neck, slowly strangling him. You, Dean Winchester, will have the opportunity to save him. But it comes at a cost. Because the only way you can save him is for you to press that little joystick on your wheelchair forward, but as you do that it's going to pull on the wire embedded in your spinal column. Eventually, that wire will slice clean through your spine, rendering you completely paralyzed from the neck down; unable to move, unable to breathe. Sam will be alive, but you...your body will be dead."
He finishes, a smile to rival the devil's on his face, as Lori Ann steps forward and roughly plants Dean's slightly mobile hand around the joystick before crossing the room to flip the switch. There's a whir of sound as gears begin to turn and the rope around Sam's neck tightens a notch.
"The choice is yours Dean..." Adam reminds him.
And the game begins.