Now if I honestly owned Sam and Dean, I'd be Comfortably Numb!!
The response I got for the first chapter was overwhelming! Thanks so much for all who have reviewed (especially those that have come back for more from my first fic!) and also to those that are reading and enjoying the story as well.
A Special Thanks to my friend Charlene for offering me so much encouragement!
Rated T for foul language and torture. Of course, there is Hurt, Limp, and Abused!Sam, Over Protective (with a bit of hurt!) and Fired up Pissed!Dean, and lots of angst in this story.
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Sam's first act of consciousness was a small groan that was hardly heard. He was groggy from the effects of the drug that was given him, so coming back from the blank void he'd been in was easier said than done. There was a fuzziness in his mouth, making his first action to smack his lips once. And there was a pounding in his head that led him to believe he'd not been so successful with their last hunt.
"Dean…"
The lack of answer had him lifting his head, but just that small act had his vision blurring and his head throbbing with such intensity that he lowered it again to the floor.
"Oh God … Dean?"
Nothing greeted him but silence, making Sam again lift his head despite the pounding just behind his eyes. He had to blink to bring his vision into focus, and then his gaze began to slowly creep around the room.
Hospital? But then he looked down and shook his head. The only thing below him was blankets … no bed. Definitely not a hospital.
"Dean?"
His voice rose louder, a tinge of panic in his normally calm voice. Pressing his hands to the floor, he pushed up until he was on his hands and knees. The world threatened to fall off kilter again, and Sam closed his eyes until the white spots quit doing the tango.
Once he was able to see without feeling like he was going to keel over, he moved just like that until he was against the wall. Bracing a hand there, he began the slow and unsteady climb to his feet.
"Oh God. If this is your idea of a joke, Dean, I am so killing you."
His voice quivered as he closed his eyes, his world once again threatening to fall off its axis, but Sam was determined, he was, after all, a Winchester.
Once again regaining his equilibrium, Sam kept his hand on the wall for support as he made a slow path around the room. There were two doors within. Poking his head in the first he noted the bathroom.
"Great, if I need to throw up, I know just where to go."
Dean would have been proud at Sam's dripping sarcasm, though Sam didn't seem to notice his very Dean-like trait. He just wanted to find his brother so he could tell him that everything was going to be all right.
Making his way around the room, passed the one window that he only gave a small glance out, though it told him nothing of his whereabouts, he finally reached the door. Giving a small sigh of relief, his hand gripped the door and twisted, though it did nothing. It just sat there, useless.
Sam's brows furrowed, the confused look that tainted his features hard to mistake for anything else, and again he tried the knob. Slowly regaining control of his limbs, not to mention clearing his head of the fuzz it had been surrounded in, he slammed the palm of his hand against the barrier.
"DEAN!!"
Growing frustrated as panic crept in, his shoulder slammed against the door several times before he gave up and stalked across the room to the window. There was more than one way to escape a room, and the Winchesters knew just about all of them.
Sam's elation at his impending escape was thwarted when he gave the window a jerk upward … and it didn't budge. Several times he jerked on the frame, but each time it taunted him by not budging.
Slapping his hand on the wall, he glanced around the room for something, anything to break the glass with. It was empty except for ...
Sprinting back to where he'd woken, he grabbed a blanket and ran back to the window. Wrapping his hand, he slammed his fist into the glass, though all he managed to do was hurt his hand. In the process, it raised Sam's ire as well … his escape was not going to be thwarted.
There was only a very few ways to cage a Winchester … and this wasn't one of them.
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Dan Murdoch sat in his office, glancing over the papers that littered his desk. Accounts of hauntings, of subsequent grave desecration. That one excited the doctor more than anything. The fact that Dean Winchester had supposedly died did nothing to thwart his plans. And what sweet plans they were.
When he first heard of the sightings, the deaths, and the eyewitness accounts (because he too scoured the internet), Dan Murdoch had moved quickly back to where it all started. It was only fitting.
He glanced up as his most trusted employee came into the room. Allen was sharp, quick, and deadly. Not to mention loyal. If Dan had told him to kill his mother, he was certain that Allen would have done it.
"You wanted to know when he woke up."
"Ahhh … so the prodigal son awakens."
"He was yelling for his brother."
Dan chuckled, his hands clasping together as he looked downright giddy at that prospect. Rising up, he grinned to the only man that he truly trusted with the deviousness of his mad mind.
"Come on Allen, this is going to be … fun."
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Dean had driven down the road that led to the place where he and Sam had hunted, his eyes scanning the area for any signs that his brother might have passed by. Hell, at this point, anything at all would have sufficed.
His brows furrowed, his mind on his baby brother, Dean had done something he'd never done before … he failed to clean up after a hunt. The Sasquach lay back where they'd killed it. Maybe the locals would stuff it or something. If he hadn't been so distraught he might have cracked his sardonic grin.
He drove the empty road, his gaze continually drifting to the passenger seat … the empty passenger seat. Frowning, Dean tapped the steering wheel before reaching for his cell. Hell, it was worth a shot, right?
Pushing the button for Sam, it didn't even ring, instead switched over to voicemail immediately. Just the sound of Sam's voice, recorded or not, had Dean's foot pressing further onto the pedal.
Ending the call, he pressed another button and brought the phone to his ear, his eyes dark and clouded as it rang.
"Hey Bobby, it's me, Dean."
"No … no not really…
"It's um … it's Sam … "
"No he's not hurt, well, maybe, I um … I don't know where he is, Bobby."
Dean continued talking to their family friend, his voice nearly cracking as he explained everything. Bobby listened intently, writing things down as Dean spilled his gut in a way that didn't usually happen … at least not in this lifetime.
"I'm gonna get him back Bobby … if it's the last thing I do."
Bobby knew that tone; it was the same tone that John Winchester had used whenever he spoke of hunting the demon that killed Mary. It brought about so many emotions … but most of all it made him miss his friend.
"Yeah, call Joshua; call anyone you can think of."
"Yeah, okay Bobby … and thanks."
Dean hung up the phone and headed back to the motel, the one with a second bed to taunt him of the fact that he'd lost Sam.
"I swear Sammy, I'm gonna find you!"
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Just as Sam hit the glass again, his eyes on the grounds below for any signs of Dean … hell, any signs of life would have done at that moment; he heard the lock in the door, and then the handle turn. Spinning around, he kept his body between the three men at the door and the window.
On first glance, Sam quickly assessed the three that entered; his gaze sweeping over each before he centered his attention to the man in the middle, the one Sam concluded was the brains. The other two no doubtedly the brawn of whatever this was.
"Where's Dean?"
The man in the middle lifted his chin a notch, his glasses perched so that he appeared to be looking down at Sam, the notion nearly made the youngest Winchester scoff … he was too short to actually look down on him. There was a smile on his face that Sam recognized. It was the same smile that each of the Bender's had worn. It was a look of someone who did things far worse than any of the creatures he and Dean hunted.
"I wouldn't worry so much about him, Sam. I'd be more concerned about you."
"How do you know my name?"
"Oh I know a lot about your family … and about you. I've done my homework so to speak."
Dean might have been the one to go in guns blazing, but it was at that moment that Sam realized one thing … there would be no talking to this man. It appeared that his puppy dog eyes just ran out of fuel and there was no filling station for miles.
Sam took his gaze off the middle man, his eyes straying first right, then left. Each one of the henchmen was sized up, weighed, and measured, and in that one moment, Sam moved left. It wasn't a fast move, not even a threatening move, but it had the desired effect. They watched him, warily.
Another move was made, making it appear he was going for the door. In truth, he was, but Sam wasn't stupid enough to think he was going to get there without a fight, so he planned on taking care of that business first.
The man Sam had calculated as the weakest link moved as well, coming toward him with a nod from the brains. Another move was made by the Winchester, and the guard closed in. With a deftness that John Winchester would have been proud of, Sam dropped and swung his leg around to sweep the man's feet out from under him. As he fell, a hard fist hit his throat, making the man gasp for air. It was a dirty move, but one that Dean himself had shown him.
"If they can't breathe, Sammy, then they can't fight."
The second man's movements were heard before he was seen. Sam was a hunter, and the man, no matter how strong, did nothing to silence his steps. Spinning, Sam landed a hard fist on his jaw, sending his head spinning with impact. There was no recovery before Sam's fist made contact with the soft part of his stomach.
Groaning, the would-be guard doubled over and Sam made his move. Sprinting to the door, he burst out of it only to slam right into Allen. With a hard shove, he was sent stumbling back into the room, though he was hardly out of the fight.
Everyone has fight or flight instincts, though Sam usually tried words before brutality. Today, however, words failed and his survival instincts took over. Recovering quickly, he launched himself at Allen, his fists flying hard and fast at the man standing between his freedom.
With the other two down, at least for now, Sam concentrated on getting this one from his path. It was his fist mistake. Dan Murdoch held many in his employ, and had honestly expected Sam to be as adept as Dean. He was prepared for the fight that Dean's baby brother was putting up, so it was no wonder he simply watched, and smiled as two more guards rushed into the room, grabbing Sam's arms before he could swing on Allen again.
"So you want to play, eh boy?"
"Fuck you!"
They might have had the advantage, but Sam was not playing their game. He wasn't giving in to fear just because some idiot had the upper hand. He was John's son, Dean's brother, and he wasn't going to fall victim to some madman's game.
"No, fuck you."
Allen smiled a bloody smile (thanks to Sam's fist) and drew back his own fist. The impact was sharp and direct, making Sam yell on impact as blood sprayed from his nose.
Shaking his head to clear it, he glared at Allen, his defiance nearly tangible. It was something that pissed the man off. Another fist flew, this one hitting Sam in the gut, doubling him over enough so that the men holding him tightened their hold to keep him upright.
"I think we should play, don't you doc?"
Murdoch glanced to the two men finally rising to their feet, and grinned.
"I think they want to join the game as well."
In that moment it became apparent why the doctor so enjoyed Allen's company … Allen was as sadistic as he was. Grabbing Sam by his shirt, Allen easily tossed him into the wall as Sam tried recovering from the hard blows he had taken.
Hitting hard, he groaned, and then shoved off the wall to make a break for the door. There wasn't time to soothe his wounds, he sought freedom, and he had to find Dean. In Sam's mind, if he could find Dean, then all would be right again. That together they could face anything, and often did.
He made it three steps before a blow hit the side of his head, staggering him and making him see stars. Sam stumbled, but tried desperately to remain on his feet … to fall would be devastating.
Turning, he was ready to take on his attacker, and only met another blow that took the air from his lungs and sent Sam to his knees as he gasped for the breath that a well calculated fist had stolen from him.
All five men jumped into the fray as the youngest Winchester fell. Fists began flying, pummeling Sam. After struggling a moment, fighting back with a few punches as he kicked out in a vain attempt to get away, Sam simply curled in on himself, his arms coming up to try and protect his head.
"Oh you stupid bastard, you just had to play."
The boot that drove into his stomach had Sam rolling over, the bile that had quickly formed in his stomach threatening to come up. He didn't hear the command to stop, barely realized they had. All he knew was that whatever had been in his abused stomach was hitting the floor as waves of nausea cramped his gut so hard it felt like he was still being kicked.
"Uh … God … "
His head slumped forward, blood dribbled from his nose, passed his mouth to drool to the floor in a small pool under his head. He barely noticed being lifted by his armpits … barely noticed being dragged across the floor. He didn't even notice when he hit the blankets. All he knew was that he was alone and hurting.
"Dean……….."
And then he knew blackness.
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