4 – Punchy Stabby

It turned out, on ice was not a colorful death metaphor. The next time Dean woke up, he was locked in a freezer. His hands were duct taped behind him, and this time they taped his ankles together too. He was shivering from the cold, his breath steaming out in white clouds before him, but on the plus side, the ice was doing wonders for his bruises and other injuries. At least he could freeze to death or suffocate in general comfort.

His head felt fuzzy, jammed full of cotton wool, and he had a very vague memory of the leader sticking a needle in his arm. They drugged him? Well, that was a nice freebie, but he wasn't completely sure why. Couldn't have been to give him a free trip, or numb his injuries. Probably simple sedation for transport. He thought he felt movement, and it suddenly occurred to him that, if it wasn't the drugs, he was in a freezer truck, being taken somewhere. So they didn't intend for him to die in here? Dean, strangely, was almost disappointed. He knew he would fall asleep and simply drift off, dying quietly and peacefully, like hunters never did.

But Dean shook that off. That was a cowardly thought. He had to stay alive to save Sammy, and kill all these fuckers. He could sleep peacefully when he was dead. And hey, maybe more than once if Jade was right. A whole two nights sleep.

Dean tried to stay awake, but the drugs and cold worked against him, and at some point he fell asleep. When he woke up, he thought he was in darkness, but no, he had a black hood over his head now, so he he couldn't see where the demons were carrying him. He was too relaxed, too high, to even struggle. He really had to ask what they shot him up with; it was good shit.

Dean knew he was outside, though, as he could hear traffic like a distant river; somewhere well off the main road. The demon's feet crunched on gravel, and he was aware of the sound of a door opening and closing. His Dad told him when you got robbed of one sense, you had to use your others to fill in all the details. He was probably still in California, judging by the temperature. But was he closer or farther away from where they were holding Sam? As soon as his mind latched on to that idea, it was harder to concentrate on everything else. He could remember Dad telling him to not let his emotions distract him, to focus, but Dean wanted to pretend it was the drugs that were doing this to him. He told himself it was. He knew it probably wasn't true.

He heard another door unlocking, but this time it was more elaborate. More than one lock. The door also made an unusual noise, which made him think of something metal and heavy. They wanted to make sure he didn't break out of this room.

This room had a smell in it, one he identified as human and fearful. There was also a metallic scent of blood, both old and fresh. "Haven't you bastards killed enough people?" A man's voice asked. Dean didn't recognize it.

Also, no one answered him. They just dumped Dean on what felt like a cot, and left the room, shutting the heavy metal door behind them. Dean heard footsteps, and was aware someone was standing close to him. "You okay?" That man again.

"Kinda," Dean responded. The drugs made him want to be honest, but maybe that was just because he was so relaxed.

The man pulled Dean's hood off, and he saw he was in a room slightly smaller than the motel room he'd been sharing with Sam. And the man looked down at him totally stunned. "Holy fuck! How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

The man stomped off towards the door. "You're throwing kids in the meat grinder now, you sick fucks? Let him out of here!" There was no response, and there was a thud that Dean took to mean the guy kicked the door.

The man wandered back, and Dean saw he was just an average looking guy in his early thirties, with shaggy brown hair and thin sideburns. His face was piebald with bruises, and a cut across his forehead was recent, and not completely healed. "Think you can help me with the tape?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Sit up."

Dean did, although he found it difficult, and leaned against the wall as the guy attempted to pull the tape off. This was a cell, wasn't it? It seemed a lot like a jail cell, just with a better class of door. "What's your name, kid?"

"Dean Winchester."

"Winchester? As in John Winchester?"

"He's my dad."

"Shit. That's probably why you're here. I'm Cliff Cooper. I'm a hunter who usually works out of Oakland."

Dean took in that information, and wasn't sure what to do with. He was so stoned. "So who's holding us captive and why?"

Cliff sighed. "A bunch of head case demons, call themselves the Church of the Black Sun."

"That explains the church setting. What do they worship exactly?"

"A demon lord called Taraka. I don't know if they're trying to bring him back or if he even exists. He's a new one on me."

Cliff got enough of the tape off that Dean was able to pull one hand free, and was now able to move his hands again. He didn't realize it immediately, probably due to the drugs, but that awkward position had really been hurting his shoulder. Dean started peeling the tape holding his ankles. "What does this church do?"

"As far as I could tell before they caught me? They indulge in a little light cannibalism and slaughter, and raise money by throwing hunters into pits with demons who pay for the privilege of killing them. And sell their meat. It's like a cockfighting ring that sells the losers to KFC."

"Fantastic." Maybe that explained the refrigerated truck. Kept the meat from spoiling. But would they eat him? Even the leader said he tasted terrible. Maybe they'd give him a day or two to get it out of his system before chowing down. Suddenly, a terrible dread took hold. "They have my brother. Are they gonna eat him?"

Cliff sighed, sitting on his cot. "How old is he?"

"Thirteen."

He grimaced. "He's probably too old, so they won't eat him right away."

"Too old?"

"Kids ten and under are considered delicacies."

Dean suddenly remembered that weird question about veal, and realized they were talking about Sam. Son of a bitch. Dean yelled towards the ceiling, since he had no demon to yell at, "You touch him and you die!"

Cliff raised an eyebrow at that. "You should probably worry about yourself, kid. No one survives the pit."

"Have you?"

"Only because they wanted me to. First they make you watch, then they tenderize you, then they finish you off. Apparently fear makes the meat taste better."

Dean wondered why this wasn't bothering him more. It had to be the drugs, right? "What's to stop us from jumping them when they come to get us?"

Cliff rolled his eyes. "Metal batons, cattle prods, choke collars, pepper spray."

"Cattle prods?" Dean wondered if he could get a hold of one. Demons wouldn't like it either.

"We've tried, kid. We've all tried. They have this down to a science. They may have been doing this for well over a year."

The drugs may have started wearing off, because Dean finally thought of a suitable question to ask. "How did you end up here?"

"I'd heard about a human meat distribution service that some demons were operating, and I investigated, even though I thought it was bullshit. But I found the church, and the church found me."

Did his dad ever write about a Church of the Black Sun? Dean didn't think so, but the name Taraka sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe his Dad had tangled with these weirdos before. He hadn't wiped them out, but he'd done enough damage to create a grudge. "Do you know how big it is?"

Cliff shrugged and shook his head at the same time. "Can't say. I know they've taken as their home base an old Catholic Church in Desert Bluffs, and I think the former monsignor is among their number."

"Possessed?"

"Got it in one."

"What about the leader? What's her deal?"

"Evangeline?"

Dean grimaced. "That's her name?"

Cliff shrugged. "It's what she calls herself. She's older than the others, stronger."

"Smugger."

"That too."

Yeah, the drugs were starting to level off. Dean could now feel his face aching. He thought his cheek looked slightly bigger on the right side. That demon probably had broken his cheekbone. At least he didn't need it for anything.

There was a noise at the door, locks being thrown, and Dean stood, getting ready to take a position to jump on whatever came through. Suddenly, Evangeline's voice seemed to filter through the wall. "Now Dean, don't make us mace you on your first day here."

He looked around for cameras, but didn't see any. That didn't mean they weren't observing them some other way. Cliff motioned for him to sit back down, and Dean did, with great reluctance.

The door swung open, and two hugely muscular men – friends of the musclehead? – came in, and along with what Dean took to be the cattle prods, they had one of those loops on a long pole that wildlife agents used to capture animals. Before Dean knew what was happening, it had dropped around his head and tightened around his throat.

Evangeline, who was behind the two men, grinned at him. "Time to come out and play, little doggie."

"No!" Cliff jumped to his feet. "He's just a kid! Take me."

She shook her head. "He's not a kid, he's an attack dog. You should watch, Cooper. You might pick up a move or two."

Dean was tugged to his feet by the noose around his neck, and he went along, glaring red hot death at the smiling Evangeline. Old demons were the hardest to kill, and had the most power, but there had to be some way he could take her down.

He was led down a narrow, dark corridor that smelled of blood and fear sweat, until they came to a large room alive with lights and noise. In the center of the room was a huge cage of chain link fence, a top to bottom cube, with a single door, and a mat laid out on the bottom. Around the twelve foot by twelve foot cage were benches, and most of them were full of demons, but there were other monsters here too. Dean wasn't overly surprised when they removed the noose from his neck and shoved him in the cage, locking the door as they left. Dean went up and gave it a kick, but it held. Of course it did. Cliff had said they were doing this for about a year, right? Dean wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he was pretty sure he was inside an old barn.

"So I don't get to watch first?" Dean shouted to Evangeline, whom he could clearly see working her way to the back row.

She was grinning, and only when she took her seat in the back, by the musclehead from the motel, did Dean see Sam was wedged between them, Evangeline putting a possessive arm around Sam's narrow shoulders. He looked genuinely terrified, but otherwise okay. "Hang on, Sammy," he shouted, fingers gripping the chain link. Sam met his eyes, and he still looked terrified, but it was different now. He was scared for Dean. "I'll get us out of here. It'll be okay."

Evangeline was still grinning evilly, but now she shook her head at his words, and he could see her mouth the words, "Ride that hope to hell, Dean."

Bitch. He was going to kill her if it was the last thing he ever did.

The cage door opened, but before he could bolt for it, a large man wedged himself inside. He was easily six foot five, almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle, and looked like the world's most buff trucker. But just looking at him, Dean knew he wasn't human. What was he? He didn't have black demon eyes, or at least not yet.

There was a sound of a bell, and in the blink of an eye, the trucker that had been in front of him was now behind him, and bodily picked him up and threw him high into the chain link on the opposite side of the cage.

The metal scraped skin, and when he impacted hard with the ground, he realized the mat had no cushioning properties whatsoever. Still, even as his head reeled, Dean tried to think. What creatures had super speed? Ghouls, right? Had to be a ghoul. You killed those with decapitation. Although Uncle Bobby had once told him if you destroyed enough of the brain, you didn't have to cut off the head. It was just hard to destroy all the brain necessary without sending the head flying. Shit.

Dean had almost no time to reflect on this, as he found himself thrown into the fence across the way, and sliding down the chain link had an effect not unlike a cheese grater. He was bleeding so much from ripped skin it actually made the journey a little easier this time. The monster audience was just about apoplectic with cheering now, a solid wave of noise crashing in on his ears at an almost disorienting volume. The ghoul kicked him hard in the midsection, going for a field goal, and the fence caught him and threw him back down as brutally as a tag team partner joining the fight. Dean spit out a mouthful of blood, and wondered if he had any chance at all. Dad would be so disappointed.

The ghoul grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back just about as far as he could before sinking his teeth into Dean's shoulder. He screamed as he felt the teeth pierce right through his skin and dig into muscle, but before he bit down completely, the ghoul suddenly disengaged, spitting out Dean's blood on the mat. "What the fuck is that taste?" he groused.

Nice to know the herbs were still working. Even though it hurt to move, Dean realized he had one chance to slow the ghoul down, and here it was. Still on his hands and knees on the bloody mat, Dean donkey kicked the ghoul with as much force as he could muster, concentrated solely on the monster's left leg. He hit it full force, and it bent the wrong way with an audible crack.

There were gasps from the crowd as the ghoul screeched and fell on his ass, his left leg bent back to front and very visibly broken. "Use super speed with one leg, you son of a bitch," Dean said, and kicked the ghoul in the face.

It didn't have a lot of strength in it, because Dean had used most of it in the initial kick, but at least it split the ghoul's lip. Dean was slipping in his own blood, and he wasn't sure where the worst injury was. The bite? It hurt his good shoulder, so now neither of his arms really wanted to do any work for him, His head hurt and it hurt to breathe, making him think he'd busted a rib or two, or at least cracked some. Being thrown around like a chew toy could do that to a person.

But in his head his Dad was screaming Get up get up get up. It was hard to win a fight if you were on the ground, so he had to get up and concentrate on ending it now, even though he had no idea how to do that. He could cripple the ghoul, sure, but kill it? He wasn't that strong.

Dean really just wanted to lie down, curl up in a ball, and lose consciousness. Sure, it'd get him killed, but was that really so bad? He couldn't think of a way out of this one. He didn't know how to save Sam from these fuckheads. He didn't know how to save himself either. If adult hunters couldn't do it, why did he think he had a shot?

But he remembered Sammy was watching, and he couldn't see him give up hope, 'cause then he'd know he was doomed. He had to keep fighting for Sam if nothing else. No matter that they were a lost cause. Sam couldn't know.

Dean crawled to the fence and used it to haul himself to his feet, and plan his next move. Finesse was not necessary, and not doable. He just had to jump on him and pound on his face until his knuckles touched the mat through his skull.

But even though the ghoul had one broken leg, he wasn't Human, and before Dean could launch himself off the fence, the ghoul was there, punching him in the face. By the time he got an arm up to block the ghoul had grabbed him and flung him across the cage. This time he impacted with the metal post by the door, and was pretty sure he felt a rib snap before he fell to the mat.

He landed on his hands and knees, spitting up blood. So much for the crippling the ghoul ploy.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, over the revived din of the crowd.

He looked up and saw why. The ghoul had brought a foreign object into the ring, a knife, and was now coming at him with it. Dean got his left arm up to block, and barely in time, as a millisecond later it plunged right through his forearm, scraping bone, and punching through to the other side of his arm.

It hurt, of course, it hurt like fuck, but between the pain he was already in and a final burst of adrenaline, Dean had a weird distance from it. He threw a punch that nailed the ghoul in the crotch, and rolled away. His plan was to get it from behind, but even the dick punch bought him no time, and the ghoul picked him up and lifted him over his head. Shit.

Dean had no choice. He yanked the knife out of his arm, and stabbed it right in the ghoul's head, screaming in a mixture of pain and rage.

The crowd screamed as one, and the ghoul staggered and dropped him hard to the mat. It rattled his bones and made dark splotches dance across his vision, but Dean knew he had an advantage now, and he had to use it. He got up to his knees, ignoring all the blood gushing from his arm, and lunged at the ghoul, who was still sitting on the mat, looking dazed, the knife sticking out of his skull like a unicorn horn. Dean was pretty sure he nailed him in his frontal lobe, which was a big fucking deal for humans. Maybe it was true for ghouls too.

Dean grabbed the knife and yanked it out, then stabbed it into the ghoul's head again and again, as if his life depended on it, because it did. It made a wet, thick sound, like puncturing a ripe pumpkin with a dull knife. The crowd was an angry mass of voices now, including a man shouting, "Stop the fight! Get him out of there!" He wasn't a hundred percent certain, but he thought he heard a woman laughing beneath the audience's general rage.

Something was jammed through the fence, and when it hit Dean he knew it was a cattle prod, because the pain that arced through his body was electric, and painful beyond the telling of it. He fell back on the mat, unable to control his body anymore, and would have screamed if he could have, but he couldn't. The pain seemed to explode through his brain like a lightning strike.

When it stopped, he could still feel it reverberating through his body like a feedback loop, and he couldn't move any of his limbs. People had opened the cage and pulled the ghoul out, and now angry demons were standing over him, holding out cattle prods like they were ready to hit him again if he so much as sneezed. He didn't.

The crowd was still booing, and Dean couldn't help but raise a middle finger at them as soon as he was able to move. It wasn't his fault the ghoul cheated and brought in a weapon.

One of the demons hit him in the stomach with a baton, one of the few places on his body that didn't hurt, and as Dean curled up in a ball on his side, he heard Evangeline say, "Don't damage him further. He isn't going anywhere."

No, he wasn't, and the bitch was enjoying every minute of it. But he remembered Sammy was still out there, and gave him a thumb's up to let him know he was okay, even though he wasn't.

In fact, the amount of blood pumping out of his left arm was impressive, and he wondered if the knife had gotten a vein. He was already feeling cold.

Well, Jade said his first death could be here. As deaths went, it might not be so bad. At least he died fighting, right? But Dad would be so disappointed in him. He didn't save Sam. He didn't do what he was supposed to do.

He drifted into unconsciousness, mentally apologizing to his Dad for failing him.