Chapter Three

He had to admit, it wasn't quite as bad as he thought it would be. There was no banjo music, no twisted and dirty boy with bad teeth and a filthy wife beater, just these two assholes, currently beating the tar out of him.

Dean's hands were tied behind his back, the same rope also holding his ankles together, a fact he was thankful for given the movie currently haunting his mind. He was on his side, Phil no longer needing Mike to hold him down. After the third blow to his head he had been so dazed that tying him up had no doubt been an easy task.

He'd tried to struggle once awareness allowed him to come part of the way back into the fold, only Phil kept the blows coming, to his ribs, his belly, Mike bringing his boot down on his left knee. He wasn't broken, not yet, but Dean Winchester was bruised to hell and he knew it. The men stopped their onslaught to share cigarettes and watch as Dean tried to control his breathing, tried to remember what it was Sam had taught him in order to calm himself down, in through the nose out through the mouth? Or was it the other way round?

Sam.

Where the hell was he? He was safe, that much Dean knew, if he wasn't tied up and being beaten then he was safe.

"Wonder if your partner has been bit yet?"

Maybe not so safe.

"Wonder if he's come across a rattler or scorpion by now?"

"I prefer Quiet Riot to Ratt and Scorpions."

Phil looked quizzically at Dean, still lying on his side, covered in dirt and sweat.

"Are you sassing me boy?"

"Yes, yes sir I am what are you gonna do about it? Beat me some more? Go ahead."

Phil sauntered forward and knelt in front of Dean, the headlights from his car casting a menacing shadow across the ground, enveloping Dean in it's embrace. Leaning forward Phil blew smoke into his face, smirking as Dean tried to catch his breath again.

"You're gonna die boy, you and your partner are gonna die, save any other town having to deal with you and will save those tax payers from having to pay for you."

"So that's what all this is about, saving the poor tax payers some money? I take it back, you're a good man after all."

"Sarcastic son of a bitch ain't ya?"

"Quick on the uptake there Phillip."

"You won't be laughing when Mike comes back with that other guy kicking and screaming and bleeding all over the place."

Dean felt the breath catch in his throat as he stared into the recess of Phil's eyes.

"That's right boy, Mike is gonna go and get him, bring him back and then you're gonna watch him die. How'd ya like them apples?"

"Er Phil?" Mike walked warily forward, motioning back as Phil turned to him, yet Phil didn't follow, only raised his eyes for him to carry on.

"I er, it's dark out there Phil, and I've only got me a flashlight."

Dean smirked and cocked an eyebrow in Mike's direction.

"That ain't right Phillip, you can't let him go into that desert all by himself, tell you what, give me the gun you got there and I'll make sure I don't run away while you two go searching for Sam."

Phil smiled down at Dean, he licked his lips slowly and without turning back to Mike said "You go get him, you bring him back, if you don't find him you keep on walking."

"Phil?"

"NOW MIKE!"

"Yessir."

Mike grabbed his flashlight, looked out in to the vastness of the desert and took one tentative step forward. He looked back at Phil still crouched over Dean, the boy was bloody and shaking, but more from anger than pain Mike suspected. As he stepped from the dirt road and into the desert he kept thinking how they'd picked the wrong boys to play with tonight; that Dean, he had revenge in his eyes. Part of Mike secretly hoped the boy would get free. Phil was starting to take the game to a whole new level, one which Mike wasn't sure he wanted to reach. The last men had been beaten to hell and left out in the desert for fate and nature to play with as they saw fit. He heard later that they'd made it to Foxbrow, a town five miles east, walked down the main street looking like death warmed over, but alive, and forever silent about their ordeal. But this, this was going to be murder.

Sam walked forward, hands outstretched, wary of the shifts in the ground. The desert noises surrounding him becoming deafening, the silence in-between causing his ears to ring with pain, before dropping to the ground to catch his breath. Bringing his hand to his head he felt the huge goose egg that had formed, from the corner of the raised skin a gash deep enough to have caked half his face in blood.

He was in trouble, and he was alone.

Sam focused his mind, listing all the symptoms of concussion, he must have really hit his head hard when he'd fallen, how far had he run? He couldn't be sure, but he knew his eyes had still been stinging and his vision poor before he'd hit the ground at full speed. Then nothing. There were no sounds to follow back to the road, on their way into the town they'd only passed one car in the five hours it had taken to get to the hell hole. Five hours, they'd only been driving for one hour on the way out of town, there was no one to help.

On their own again. Even though for the past year they'd been alone, the thought, the knowledge, the hope of their father had been enough to cushion them, he'd be there, he'd make it alright, even when Dean had been dying after the electrocution Sam had held the belief that everything would turn out ok, because their father had been out there, somewhere. The hurt of being ignored was cushioned by the fact he'd come back to them. How easily slights were forgotten when those you loved came back, embraced you, held you in their heart and gave you a skip in your step. Even in the hospital after the possession, even as Dean had admitted to being hunted by a reaper, Sam knew somehow, just somehow, having Dad there would make it alright, he'd said as much. Even when he'd disappeared from the hospital, as angry as Sam had been he still knew, somewhere in his heart, Dad would make it ok. It's what Dads do. Sam laughed sadly, no, it was what Deans do. They make it all alright, they make it better, yet that role had been passed down to him. Now it was Dean who needed help, who needed to know he'd be ok no matter what, and it was Sam's job to provide that for him, no matter what the cost.

He stood slowly again, a gentle resolve building its way through his veins and into his heart. He had to help Dean, that was his role now. As he moved to step forward a wind rushed past him, warming him through to the bone, and a light followed. Slowly he raised his head to meet a figure in white that blocked his path, illuminated by a glow from her dress, blonde hair flowing about her as if caught under water. Her hair was aflame with ethereal light, skin almost transparent in a beauty only retained by the ascended.

Jess.

Sam's breath caught as his eyes began to fill with tears. As they fell across his face the figure reached forward, her smile seeming to intensify the light around her.

"Sam."

"Jess?"

"Sam it's ok."

"Jessica?"

"Shhh baby, it's all ok, you need to turn around."

"What? Jess!?"

She stepped slowly forward, the cold of the desert receding as Jess moved into Sam's air, the warmth of her body instantly remembered, badly missed, making his heart ache as he reached out to touch her, only for his fingers to pass through, causing her figure to shimmer. She laughed gently, sadly, and shook her head.

"Not yet baby. Sam, you need to turn around."

Sam blinked to clear the tears from his eyes and reopened them to the nothingness of the black desert, no Jessica.

Had it been a dream? He looked around frantically but saw nothing, nothing at all, yet the air was still warm, still gathered around him in a protective embrace. The tears now fell freely as he fell once more to his knees.

"Jess."

Sam gazed skyward, the stars seemed to twinkle almost as if Jessica was dancing for him.

Turn around.

She'd said to turn around.

Wiping his eyes Sam took a deep breath, the warmth slowly fading as the desert cold took over. Looking behind him he stared into the distance, there was nothing, nothing but desert.

Everywhere.

Black desert.

Then a glint of light, for only a second.

Sam wiped his eyes again, this time using the corner of his shirt to fully clear his vision. He stared in the direction he was sure he'd seen the light. Stared into the darkness, the blackness, the nothingness. As he was about to turn away the light caught his eye again, almost as if one of the stars from above had fallen and was bouncing across the sand and dirt.

No mistaking the sight now, there was definitely a light, moving toward him, in the direction Jessica had pointed.

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