It certainly wasn't the first time Sam had been kidnapped, and the room wasn't the worst he'd been held in, but no matter how many times it happened, being pulled by force from a motel room and shoved into some kind of dungeon was not Sammy's idea of a good time.
He was in a small cell, in what he assumed was an unfinished basement. The walls were bare cinderblock, like the walls of a sturdy school, and, just like a kid in a sturdy school, Sam was trapped. His hands were shackled over his head and his arms had fallen asleep hours ago. A rat scurried quickly over his foot.
Somewhere in the cavernous area Sam was being held in, a door opened, the click of the lock turning back echoing sickeningly off the thick walls. A figure, dressed in some sort of black, hooded robe, approached the cell and peered in.
"Good," he announced proudly, "you're awake. We've been waiting."
"Where am I?" Sam asked defiantly, narrowing his eyes at the hooded man.
"In my basement, of course," the man replied, taking a large keyring out of the fold of his cloak and unlocking the cell door, "we've taken you to free you."
"You're with the cult," Sam noted as the man approached.
"Oh, now, where are my manners? I've forgotten to introduce myself." The man pulled his hood down, revealing a bronzed face with strong features and piercing brown eyes, "My name's Jimmy, and you and I have a load in common, Sam."
"I'm nothing like you."
"Not now, maybe, but you will be. See, my father can help you control these abilities, like he did with the rest of us. I was so lost and confused, hearing voices in my head, until these kind people appeared and offered me the assistance I truly needed. I can read whoever or whatever I want to now, no problems. We just want to help you out, here, Sammy."
"It's Sam, and who said I wanted your help?"
Jimmy smiled, but the expression never touched his eyes. "You just don't know what you want. I'm sure we can help you figure it out, though."
"My brother will come looking for me. You'll never get away with this," Sam grinned.
"We'll keep him sidetracked. Now, you need some convincing. We may not be able to get to you like we can with other people, Sam, but we have our ways of getting you to join us." Still smiling, Jimmy left the cell, heading out of the basement to find his 'tools of persuasion.'
Dean was nervous, but it wasn't because he'd suddenly sprouted a pair of wings. Something close to worry kept gnawing at his stomach, and a little voice in the back of his head, growing ever more persistent, kept whispering for him to go to the park.
"All right," Dean nodded, finally working his way into his favorite leather jacket after five minutes of struggling, "I'll go to the park, but Sammy had better be there."
Even though he was new in town, and had no idea where the park was, the hunter trudged from his motel room and across the parking lot to the sidewalk. He considered taking the car, but finally decided against it. With the luck he was having that morning, he probably wouldn't be able to fit in behind the wheel.
The jacket increased the unfamiliar weight on Dean's back and he struggled to stay upright, attracting sniggers and pointing fingers from locals. At least the lump of the wings wasn't visible, the jacket had taken care of that nicely. Still, though, Dean was fuming as he approached the park and the small voice in his head finally quieted.
Standing in the middle of the lush, green park, Dean stared at his surroundings. There was a swing set to his right, and a slide and jungle gym sat beside it. A baseball diamond rested just beyond the playground, and a picnic area sat beyond that. As far as he could tell, the park was empty.
The hunter glanced upwards at the clear blue sky and rolled his eyes. "I'm here," he sighed, "what now?"
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream cut through the calm summer air as a large shadow passed over the playground. Dean looked up to see what appeared to be a disfigured woman with wings sailing overhead, a small child grasped tightly to her chest.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean muttered, "you want me to save the kid from the harpy?" He watched the mythical creature circle in the sky. "Up there?"
A strong breeze whipped through the park, threatening to pull the hunter's jacket from his shoulders. Above him, he harpy screeched and began to glide lazily away from the park.
"Take that as a 'yes,'" Dean groaned, starting to run after the bird-woman and finding it extremely difficult due to the added weight his back, "not sure how I'm supposed to catch her, though. Not like I can fly."
Another strong gust of wind blew over the land, actually knocking Dean backwards onto the grass. He landed painfully on his ass, grunting as something pulled at his shoulders. He gazed upward at the harpy, which seemed to watching him as she circled over the park once again.
The hunter picked himself slowly up off the ground, brushing fresh-cut grass off his rear and frowning at the small cluster of large, stunningly white feathers that littered the ground by his feet. "Duh, Dean," he muttered, throwing off his jacket and flexing the newly acquired muscles needed to move the large wings.
He wasn't sure it was going to work, actually figured that, the way thing had been going that morning, the wings wouldn't be able to support his weight, and he'd fall flat on his face as God again laughed at him. But he'd never know until he tried, and that little boy was in terrible trouble.
Sighing, Dean started to run, gathering speed as he flapped his wings once, twice, three times, slowly, testing them. His feet lifted momentarily off the ground as new muscles worked, completely and surprisingly under his control.
Mustering his courage and trying to forget he was terrified of flying, Dean jumped into the air, flapping his wings hard at the same time. He lifted off the ground, growing closer to the harpy, staggering a bit in the air as he eased himself into the new experience.
The harpy saw him gaining and pulled the little boy, who looked no older than seven, closer to her chest. The boy screamed for help, screamed for his mother, screamed bloody murder. Dean had almost caught them, was close enough to reach out and grab the monster's scaly leg, when the harpy gave up on her noisy meal. Screeching in despair, she dropped the shrieking child.
Without even stopping to think, Dean dove after the boy, folding his wings onto his back. He hurtled toward the ground, wind whistling past his ears as the ground grew closer and closer. Finally, he caught up with the boy, and, reaching out, grabbed him.
As soon as he had boy held tightly to his chest, Dean spread his wings, creating enough resistance to slow their descent. His feet touched the grass and he breathed a sigh of relief, setting the boy down.
"Hey," he sighed, "you all right?"
The little boy sat down, shaking uncontrollably. "It said it was gonna eat me," he whispered, "it said I would never see my mommy again."
Dean nodded, running a slightly unsteady hand through his short hair. "Yeah, well, you're all right now. So, what's your name?"
The boy looked up, his eyes wide as saucers, and gulped. "My mommy told me never to talk to strangers, and never to tell them my name."
Dean smiled warmly, turning on the kid-friendly charm he'd somehow acquired over the years. "It's OK to talk to me, though," he said softly, spreading his new wings out behind him and hoping the kid would believe him, "I'm an angel."
The boy seemed to brighten a bit. "I'm Tommy," he said slowly, "thanks."
"Don't mention it," Dean said, letting out a silent sigh of relief, "now, Tommy, where do you live?"
Tommy grinned, revealing two lost teeth, and happily gave his address. Dean nodded, taking the boy's hand and starting to walk off toward his jacket, planning on walking the boy home.
"Can't we fly?" Tommy begged, pulling on the hunter's hand, "it was fun!"
Dean grinned. "Let me grab my jacket, then we'll see."
Naturally, he caved, stretching his wings once more, this time with Tommy squealing and giggling and clinging tightly to his neck. Dean set him down in his backyard, waving good-bye as he struggled back into his jacket and walked back to the road.
He glanced back at the boy's house as he walked away, and caught a snippet of conversation. Tommy's mother wanted to know where he'd been. She'd been worried sick. Tom informed her that he'd been taken, but his guardian angel had saved him.
Dean turned back to the road, smiling, as the little whispery voice in the back of his head returned, this time with an address.