IT'S ALL IN THE CARDS

DISCLAIMER: The usual, not mine to own but I love to play ... no money passes hands for this story or any other I write. I wish but nope not yet. No Laundromat washers or dryers were harmed or destroyed in the writing of this story.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the combination of three story ideas, and thanks and LovinJackson for the wonderful input and ideas for this story.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Sam is 18 and Dean is 22 – 23 (set between new years day and Dean's birthday to begin with.) Before Sam goes to Stanford.

A big thanks for all of the wonderful reviews I have received for this story, please accept my apologies for not replying personally but between fighting off infections, working on my honour's thesis and trying to catch up with emails and updates time is not on my side! LOL

MysteryMadchen thanks so much for you wonderful review, and I promise that there will only be psychological torture and well a bit of whumpage but that's it for Sammy.

S—D

Then:

'Do not test me Samuel, you will regret it ... painfully regret it.'

'G-Get f-f-f-fucked.' Sam rasped before passing out, his limp body falling bonelessly to the mattress when the man let go. A loud crack sounded when he landed, his left foot already trapped under him, bore the brunt of his weight and the ankle snapped, bone and tendon.

The man stared down at the fallen teenager a cruel smile formed on the blank face, as he nudged Sam with his toe, convinced that his prisoner was unconscious and not faking he turned and called for the helpers standing just outside the door. It was time for the indoctrination of the boy formally known as Sam Winchester.

Now:

Sam opened his eyes and tried to remember exactly what happened after he had the drugged food. Some thing or person claimed to be his father, yeah right as if anyone but dad could be my father. The thought made him smile, albeit a tiny cold smile more like a smirk.

His thoughts strayed to his dad and Dean, wondering just how they were; did his dad even know he was missing? Damn it Dean, dad where are you guys? Terrified to speak aloud just in case someone was listening Sam kept his fears and hopes to himself

Slowly he let his awareness drift to his surroundings, he was no longer in the basement but instead he lay on a small cot, way too short for him in a even smaller room. More like a broom closet. His gaze roamed down his own body, his left ankle now encased in a plaster cast made him frown as he tried to remember exactly what happened, oh yeah the dude dropped me. He had a cuff on his right wrist with a short chain attached to on one end the other embedded into the wall by his waist, he was still dressed in the white baggy pants and tee making him realise just how cold he was. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper and he was so thirsty it made him feel sick.

Further inspection of his stark surroundings found a bottle of water sitting on the floor by the bed, stretching his left arm he could just reach it; thirstily he gulped at the drink until he felt his stomach start to repel it.

Violently he vomited, only just managing to lean over the bed before the vomit erupted from him. His body went into painful spasms as it tried to purge all of the water, drugs and food left in his system; his retching finally coming to an end when there was nothing left, he was sure that he had actually threw up his stomach as well.

Physically spent Sam slumped down on the mattress and drew his knees up to his chest; tiny tremors still wracked his thin frame as he fought to control his rebellious stomach.

'That is disgusting child.' A cold voice came at him, through the blurriness of his sick affected sight; Sam could just make out the features of his captor. 'What are you going to do?'

'Die.' Sam croaked, 'just let me die.'

'Sorry my son I cannot do that,' the man almost smiled, 'I will have someone clean this mess up, is there anything else you need?'

'Yeah my freedom.' Sam spat out some more bile watching with satisfaction as it hit the man's shoes.

'Very childish Samuel.'

'Bite me.' Sam pushed the words out, 'just let me die.'

'Here drink this.' The man produced another bottle of water, 'don't worry it is not ... doctored.'

Sam stared at him suspiciously but he desperately needed to get rid of the acrid taste in his mouth and so with a shaking hand took the bottle and sipped at the water.

A youngish looking man came in with a bowl and cloth and cleaned up the vomit without making a sound or acknowledgement of Sam at all. Once they were alone again, the man pulled a chair up and sat down next to the cot, his stare raked over the young man with a cold almost clinical look. 'You do not look well my son.'

'Geeze I dunno why.' Sam sniped channelling his inner Dean, feeling the strength of his brother flood through him. 'Why did you take me?'

'As I have said I am your father Samuel.'

'The name is Sam, Sam Winchester and my father is John Winchester.'

'He has been your ... substitute father until the time came for me to claim you as my own.'

'I don't understand what you're talking about.'

'Your father may have been there but I am your true father.'

'You possessed my dad?'

'That is one way to look at it.'

'Bull shit!'

'No fact.'

'Oh yeah and if I have a DNA test I'm sure that you're not gonna be named as my dad.'

'That is not relevant ... let me make this simple for you Samuel, ten years before you were born your mother made a deal, nine months before your birth I invoked the deal.'

'My dad is John Winchester and nothing you can say will change that.' Sam all but wept at the thought of being a half-demon. 'Who are you?'

'You can call me father.'

'Like hell, listen dickhead you've got the wrong kid.' Sam rolled over to face the wall effectively blocking out the demon.

'That is just plain rude Samuel.' Remaining remarkably calm in his growing anger the demon flicked his hand and Sam suddenly found himself facing the creature again. 'Samuel it is rude to turn your back on your elders.'

'So sue me.'

'Please do not push me Samuel, I can be fair but I can also be strict.'

'Ah have you ever met my dad? My real Dad?' Sam smirked, 'You got a lot to learn.'

'I see that I am going to have to do this the hard way.'

'The only way this is ever gonna happen is by carrying me outta here in a body bag or letting me go back to my family.'

The possessed man's face distorted as the demon possessing it flew into a blind rage, he expected Sam to be obstinate, even rude but this was beyond expectations. Sam suddenly found himself suspended in the air and pressed against the wall, the chain around his wrist taut to the point where he felt like his shoulder was going to pop at any time.

'I do not want to punish you Samuel but I will not stand for insubordination, not from my workers and not from my son.'

'I ... Am ... Not ... Your ... Son!' Sam ground out hissing when he felt his shoulder joint pop when the pressure increased on his wrist dragging it down even further. 'My ... Father ... Is ... John ... Winchester.'

'Okay if that is how you want to play it, I will punish you, I don't want to but you leave me no alternative and then I will leave you ... to think things through.'

'Go ... To ... Hell!' Sam spat out, when he felt the force holding him relax and he tumbled to the floor, landing on his already fractured and casted ankle. 'Argh!'

Just as he managed to catch his breath, Sam felt himself jerk upright like a puppet without strings, and then just as abruptly he found himself bending over the back of the chair, the chain no longer attached to the wall but wound around his wrists and the legs of the chair. 'What the?' A sharp kick to each ankle made him spread his legs, starting to hyperventilate Sam closed his eyes and held his breath praying that some one would rush in and save him. Then, in one more unexpected move Sam's tee shirt ripped down the back and fell down his arms, his panic meter rose once again, his hyperventilating escalating exponentially.

The first strike took him by surprise, a yelp escaped from his lips as he felt the bite of the leather belt, forcing him to expel his breath and gasp for another one. Each strike intensified in force, ripping into the welts already forming down his back, until blood ran freely. Refusing to scream or plead for them to stop, Sam bit his lower lip until his tooth pierced it, his mouth filled with coppery blood making him start to gag. A muffled cry preceded his collapse; bonelessly he slumped against the chair, unconsciousness claiming him as the last blow fell.

The man dropped the bloodied belt and stared down at the unconscious youth in front him, he almost felt remorse for the mess he caused of Sam's back, almost but he still sighed happily.

'Get in here and clean him up.' He yelled, 'I want him decent and dressed for dinner.'

S—D

Dean stared down at the spread of cards in front of him, familiar enough with the tarot he recognised most of them and what they meant but he still wanted to hear what Tess had to say. 'So Tess what do they tell you?'

'Your mother ...' Tess stopped and looked up at Dean, 'your mother had an encounter with a demon before she married your father.'

'What? No that's ... how would mom even? Nah not possible dad didn't even know about the supernatural until after mom died.'

'Dean ... your mother and her parents they were hunters.' Tess said softly, 'The cards, tell me your mother the matriarch of your family dealt with the devil or demon. Exactly ten years before Sam was born,' she pointed to the appropriate cards in turn, as she told him the story the cards told her. 'This devil or demon if you will, he is the one who has Sam.'

'Where?' Dean mumbled still reeling over the thought that his mom, his beautiful sainted mother was a hunter before she even married his dad.

'I can only see ...' she stared intently at the tower card, the image of a decrepit looking house floated into her awareness, a condemned sign hanging on the veranda post. Shivering she ran her hands along her arms trying to warm herself, 'it's so cold and dark where Sam ... no light ... no noise nothing.'

'Tess?' Dean watched as she seemingly slipped into a type of trance, unaware of Dean or where they were, even the cards blurred into non-existence. 'Tess what is it?'

'Pain, Sam's ankle I think it's broken, he's so lost, so hurt. He cries for Dean for dad, why don't they come for me? Sick feels so sick, put something in my drink or food, argh hurts my stomach. He's not my father, I want dad and Dean.' Tess wept openly as she connected with Sam, Dean could only sit, watch and listen as she spoke for Sam. he felt goosebumps form on his skin and the warmth in the room leeched away and a chill permeated through the air.

'You are not my father John Winchester is my father ... where's Dean? What ... no, no argh my shoulder what is he doing to me?' Tess' back straightened, her face paled as she started to flinch and struggle her breathes coming in short sharp gasps, the flinching became more violent as she felt each strike on Sam's back. But then, just as quickly as the trance descended over her, it went away and Tess collapsed unconscious, Dean only just catching her as she toppled forward.

'Tess? Dammit don't you pass out on me.' Dean yelled picking her up he carried her easily over to the sofa and laid her down, before running into the bathroom and bringing back a damp wash-cloth to place on her forehead. 'Come on Tess, wakey, wakey, you can't do this not now.'

Tess' brow wrinkled as she started to moan softly, her eyes moving rapidly under the thin lids, 'Tess? That's it come on come back to the land of the living.'

'Dean?' Tess blinked and tried to focus on the handsome face floating above her. 'What happened?'

'You fainted after going into some sort of trance.' Dean sat back and ran the palm of his hand across the back of his neck. 'You were ... channelling Sammy.'

'Sam?' Tess felt tears start to well up in her eyes, 'oh Dean, that poor boy, he argued back and asked for you, so the demon ... he, he pulled Sam's left shoulder out of its socket and then he tied him to a chair and beat him with a belt.'

'Oh God.' Dean stood up and started to pace, worry soon morphed into anger and then rage, spinning around he punched the wall, breaking through the fragile plaster and shredding the skin on his left knuckle.

'Dean ... please calm down.'

'Tell me more about the house you saw Tess, don't leave any detail out no matter how small or insignificant it seems.'

S—D

Exhausted, Sam sat on the edge of the cot and cradled his left arm to his chest, who ever it was who cleaned him up and tended his wounds, must have attempted to put his shoulder back in and failed. Now the joint was hot to the touch, swollen to the point where the skin appeared translucent and completely enflamed with an angry red. He could feel the pull of stitches across his back, aside from the burning pain from the welts and bruising the stitches itched and stung. The cast on his left ankle now sported a large crack from the top to nearly the base of it. All in all, he felt as bad as he looked, the only thing going in his favour was the fact that he was no longer chained to the wall and he wore a shirt again, although his left arm was snug under the cloth.

'Get in this.' A blank-faced man stood in the doorway with a wheelchair in front of him.

'No.' Sam snapped, 'just leave me alone.'

'Either get in or I will put you in it, your choice.' The man threatened with a casual shrug of his shoulders, 'no matter to me.'

Sighing heavily Sam pulled himself up and hobbled to the chair, he sat down thankfully knowing that if he had to move anymore he probably would face-plant the floor. He sat straight and away from the backing of the wheelchair, unable to bear anything touching his battered back.

The man pushed the chair down a short hallway without uttering another word, turning a corner he opened another door and then pushed Sam down another hallway to a dining room.

'Welcome Samuel.' The demon smiled and waited for Sam to be pushed up to the table before he sat down, 'thank you Max.'

'Yeah thanks Max.' Sam sniped sarcastically.

'Samuel.' The demon warned him, 'behave yourself at the dinner table.'

'What?' Sam blinked at his captor in disbelief. 'You beat the crap out of me, break my ankle, dislocate my shoulder, drug me, kidnap me and now you expect me to behave at the dinner table?'

'Enough Samuel I do not want to hear another sound from you for the rest of the meal.'

'My ... Name ... Is ... Sam!' The eighteen year old sniped insolently, 'and ... I ... am ... not ... your ... son!'

'Enough!' the demon roared and struck Sam across the face, 'I will not have you disrespect me.'

'Then let me go.' Sam snapped holding his stinging cheek with his free hand, 'then you won't have to worry bout it anymore.'

'Max!' the demon bellowed and waited impatiently for the man to appear.

'Yes Sir?'

'Take Samuel back to the basement, he will not be eating dinner this evening and does not deserve to stay in his bedroom.'

'Yes Sir.' Max inclined his head before going to the back of Sam's wheelchair and released the brakes.

'This is your fault Samuel perhaps a night of hunger will change your attitude.'

'Yeah right, as if you haven't already starved me.' Sam scoffed glaring at the man, 'and you expect me to call you father.'

Max pushed the chair out of the room before Sam could continue his tirade of sarcasm, 'you shouldna done that kid.'

'Oh so you do speak.'

'Ya only gonna get yerself hurt more if ya keep it up.'

'So Max, why do you care?'

'Me? I don't for you I just don't want it to come back on me.'

'What's the demon's name?'

'Dunno, don't care.'

'Well what do you call him?'

'Sir or Mister Pitts.'

'Mister Pitts?'

'Yeah that's his name.'

'The meat-suit?' Sam asked curiously, this was becoming even more bizarre by the minute.

Max opened the door to the basement, locked the brakes of the wheelchair and then lifted Sam up and carried him down the stairs dropping him unceremoniously onto the mattress, 'sorry kid, I like ya spunk but yer can't disrespect yer father like that.'

'He is not my father.' Sam looked up at Max, 'please Max, please let me go.'

'Sorry kid but I value my life.' Max looked down at Sam, shook his head and went back to the stairs, 'do yerself a favour kid, hold yer tongue it'll go better for ya.' He said before he left, leaving Sam alone in the dark once again.

S—D

Hours later, although he couldn't be certain Sam finally gave in to his exhaustion and pain and fell asleep. Although his nightmares started almost straight away, as he tried to curl up and sleep once again; a clicking sound startled Sam and then voices filtered through the darkness. Such familiar voices it broke his heart and his hot tears finally scorched their way down his face.

'What about Sam dad?'

'He's no longer a part of this family, we're going Dean.'

'No, not without Sam.'

'Dean, he chose his real father over us, it was his choice and no one else's now we're going.'

'Dad?'

'I know son, I know but it's what Sam wants.'

The voices droned on, into the rest of the night, looping so the same words repeated and blurred together, Sam wept only and called for his brother and father, begging them not to go it was all lies.

'All lies, please daddy come and get me, Dean, Dean where are you? Daddy?'

TBC

S-D

***Author's Note:

In reference to the tarot cards, I am a reader and have been for over twenty years, when I read them I see, a story come together from the cards and then can relate that to the person whose reading it is. I can also channel spirits and angels at times. I don't have visions; I get impressions and feelings and often get what I call verbal diarrhoea when I get what people think of as premonitions.