Coercion
Coffeemaniac
Rated T for violence, language and suggestive situations. Possible trigger warning but probably nothing to worry about. No slash.
Reviews are welcome. Feed the writer.
Season 3: Dean is scheduled for hell. Sam's powers haven't developed.
Setting: Ranch Head, Wyoming (near the center of the Devil's Gate built by Samuel Colt)
Part 6
After two days of laying in wet, urine soaked bedding, Sam battled rage more than anything else. The mayor nor Ava answered when he called out to them. He hadn't seen a person since Duke deserted him. The smell churned his stomach. With a throat burning from thirst and an aching, empty belly, he shivered against the chill coming from the window facing his bed.
A curtain covered the view but he could hear the skitter of squirrels or chipmunks, and sometimes he heard birds calling. He imagined he could hear the wind too but that might have been his imagination. Bored, restless and uncomfortable he yanked against the restraints on his wrists almost continually. Sooner or later the buckle or the bed frame had to break.
He couldn't remember ever being this miserable. Pain nagged at him but not as much as the filth and the want and boredom. After doing math in his head for hours he tried creating anagrams but that didn't work as well. His brain gave him memories of better times or, sometimes when he slept, horrific nightmares. There didn't seem to be any in between.
He had started believing that they intended to leave him there to die, and he hated that it might happen. Fury at the injustice of it warred with despair. He was lonely and sad one moment and ready to murder anyone the next.
Frustrated, he jerked harder on the restraints. The bed rattled and nothing else. No hint of progress to give him hope. But, moving sent a wave of odor that made him recoil and curse.
His back hurt, his butt felt shredded and his shoulders were like heavy pieces of meat dragging against his body. He guessed he was probably getting bedsores from lying in one position, especially a wet, unsanitary one.
"Hey," he yelled. "Ava! Rivera! Come on. Anybody. " More quietly he said, "I'm going to die here."
Fury soared through him. How dare they leave him like this, laying in urine, starving…dying. Wildly yanking on his bound wrists, he flung himself against the bed over and over, desperate to break it. If he could smash the frame, he'd be free. Cursing loudly, he drew his legs up as close to his chest as possible then slammed them back down. The wretched bed creaked but didn't collapse. He repeated the action and still nothing rewarded him. He kept it up, changing angles, lifting his legs higher then lower, twisting and pulling but it just remained steadfastly permanent, refusing to give him hope.
Exhausted and panting, Sam screamed out in anguish. He screamed until his voice grew hoarse and scratchy, until his energy waned. Then silently, nothing but his breath to remember the tantrum, he closed his eyes. He felt his body slowing, knew he couldn't last forever. He ignored the hunger squeezing his stomach, pushed away thoughts of his aching, parched throat and let his mind drift.
Sleep might give him a little more time. Letting his body rest, closing down his brain would conserve his failing functions.
Deliberately shoving his frustration and anger into a solitary box, he started to slip into the only peace left, hoping that the damp chill and the horrific odor didn't interfere.
"Sam," the soft voice startled him and he flinched. He looked into the face of Ava Brennan who stood beside his bed with a broad smile.
"Oh, Sa-am," she singsonged. "Wake up or die."
Her voice sounded odd and her face seemed wrong. He blamed his exhaustion but something wasn't right about her.
"I'm awake." He pushed the words across his torn throat.
"I have to keep you alive because that moron sheriff ordered me to. He still thinks I answer to him. Boy, is he going to get a surprise."
"Ava, what are you…"
"For now though, for now you get to live, Sammy. But, that may not be true tomorrow."
Not willing examine her tone or her words too closely, Sam watched her while she ran light fingers over the leather restraint at his wrist. She reached into the pocket of her loose sweater and withdrew a syringe. Sam shifted away from her, pulling at both arms, fear pulsing through his abdomen.
"What is that?"
"A little fun. You remember the Devil's Breath, don't you? It made you all kinds of agreeable."
"Don't," Sam said.
She giggled. The sound was shrill and strange.
She sat on his arm, wiggling her jeans covered butt until she was comfortable while she immobilized him. Sam looked from the needle to Ava's face. The tip of her tongue rested between her lips. Her eyes were wide and bright.
"Don't," he said again but knew his objection fueled her.
She aimed the needle like a nurse, capturing his vein easily before depressing the plunger. Heat filled his skin and she wiggled against his hand again before standing up.
Drowsiness grabbed him first. His limbs collapsed heavily by his sides. Working at staying conscious, he focused on Ava as she moved around the bed. It confused him when she released the cuffs on his ankles. Dizzy but feeling vaguely relaxed he didn't move his arms when she unwrapped them.
She grabbed his hand roughly and yanked him, sending him crashing to the floor. He yelled out uselessly as he landed, his muscles had failed to follow orders and he hit the ground hard, just barely managing to keep from face planting.
"So whiny," she said. "Get off the floor and get in the shower. You stink worse than an outhouse in summer. There's a change of clothes in there."
She sauntered out of the room, leaving the door open.
Sam needed a few minutes to get his arms to work. The pain of waking muscles floated through his brain but the feeling was muted. He needed to get in the shower. When he could, he slowly pushed himself on to his knees then rose unsteadily. Weakness threatened him so he moved slowly, forcing his legs to push him forward as he managed to get through the doorway.
Ava walked from around the corner and stood at the end of the hall. Holding a hand gun, she spread her feet apart in a shooter's stance. Sam lurched backward, adrenaline surging through his veins when he looked into her face. Dense black eyes stared back at him.
"Demon," he said.
A moment later the brown shade returned and she smiled with her lips pressed together as she cocked her head.
"That's not nice," she said. "Shower is in the other direction."
"You're a demon," he said.
"I've been called worse. Get going before I tie you back to that piss soaked mattress."
Sam stared at her, his brain slogging through what he thought he had seen and what he was seeing now. Exhaustion fogged his thinking and now he questioned himself. Had he seen black eyes or was it a trick of lighting combined with his weakened condition?
He didn't know.
Shuffling slowly, he went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Turning the water on, he reveled in the feel of heat against his hands. With trembling limbs he peeled off his ruined clothes, nearly gagging at the stench then stood naked in the middle of the room. Not daring to look in the mirror, Sam stepped under the warm spray, unable to remember when anything felt that good.
He opened his mouth and drank, not caring that it was hot. When he started to feel sick he stopped drinking. He reached for the soap to thoroughly wash. The odor and grime sluiced off his body and down the drain, easing away some of the memory as well.
Intent on the relief of a simple shower, Sam cursed when the shower curtain opened. He recoiled towards the back wall, trying to escape the sudden cold and whoever dared barge into his privacy. Wiping the water from his eyes he glared at Ava who stood outside the porcelain enclosure.
She was naked, her breasts high and well formed, the rest of her trim. She smiled as she spread her arms out, brazenly posing for him.
"Do you need someone to wash your back?" She said, softly.
"Aren't you in mourning?" Sam said but his words sounded thick and weak.
"Hardly. I'm coming in."
"No, you're not." Or maybe she was, maybe he should let her in. She tilted her head from one side to the other, blatantly running her eyes over him. The brazenness of it pushed fury over the confusion.
"Get out," he said.
"Come on, Sam, you've been here for weeks. You must be feeling frisky by now. A little brush, that's all I'm saying."
He wanted to say something strong, tell her to get out or be clever and tell her that he doesn't screw kidnappers but his brain betrayed him. "Get out," he said, pushing through the fog.
"This body is pretty, isn't it? What are you, a prude?"
A new anger up as Sam thought about all the times over the last few weeks that she'd made his skin crawl just by touching him. Having her standing there, stealing away his rare moment of peace enraged him.
He grabbed her shoulders with both hands and shoved her. She stumbled backward a couple of steps then recovered. Pushing her felt wrong but he didn't know why. It wasn't that she was a woman or that they were both naked. It just felt like maybe he should he be doing what she wanted instead.
Ava darted forward, her face ugly and twisted. She hovered next to the edge, her mouth was a thin slit and her eyes were narrowed and hard. She slammed both hands into his chest driving him backward. He hit the wall violently, grunting at the impact and stunned by her strength.
"Bastard," she seethed. "Another dose and you'll give me anything I want."
Marco Rivera's voice sounded. It was muffled as it carried through the door.
"Where are you?" The mayor said.
"This isn't over," she said to Sam.
She ripped the shower curtain back into place, separating them. Sam leaned against the cool, tiled wall and worked at catching his breath. He noticed the water getting cold, reached out and turned off the faucet. He stayed still and silent until he heard the bathroom door open and close.
SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL
Bobby Singer said nothing when Dean punched the hotel door but Dean could feel his disapproval. He didn't care. Three days had passed since the botched escape and the death of Eddie Brennan. Duke Davis visited the hotel every day. He never talked about Sam. He just seemed to be enjoying the lull in monster visits. He talked about the weather and the unusual break from emergencies but not much else.
Bobby spent the Sheriff's visits in the back bedroom waiting for him to leave so he could climb out the bedroom window and follow him, always hoping that Duke was heading to check on Sam. But, so far, it hadn't happened.
That was the reason for Dean's fit of temper. He hated the not knowing and the waiting. After the first day, the headache and nausea from his concussion faded, and no new monsters reared up. It left him stuck in the hotel, bored and worried, with his anger growing.
"Three days, Bobby…and nothing. Anything could be happening to that kid and we're just sitting on our thumbs."
"Well, what do you want to do? You can't force the Sheriff to go there."
"You didn't see Sam at the meeting. He was a mess, and now...three more days...we can't sit around anymore."
"I'm still waiting for an idea. 'Cuz right now, seems like following the Sheriff is our best bet."
"Let's jump Duke when he comes to visit. You have guns so let's just stick a .45 in his back. I'll bet he takes us to Sam."
"Maybe," Bobby said. "Or maybe he refuses and he doesn't send the signal to Sam's kidnappers. Or maybe he takes us to the wrong place and just lets time run out."
"He won't if he wants to live."
"It's risky. He could be damn spiteful… or maybe just not believe we'd really kill him. By the time we call his bluff, Sam could be dead."
Bobby sat down on the couch and picked up a pad of hotel stationary.
"Then we have to force Duke to go there so you can follow him. I'll demand proof of life," Dean said.
Bobby shook his head. "Technology is not on your side. They can use a cell phone to send pictures."
"Something with today's newspaper," Dean's voice trailed off. He snatched the pad of paper from Bobby's hand. "I got a better idea."
Dean ripped off a piece of stationary. He wrote the day and date on it.
"A picture with this," he said. "Duke will have to go to Sam. There won't be any other way to get the picture."
Bobby smiled. "Now, you're thinking, boy."
Dean paced a few steps. Now, that they had a plan, he needed to Duke to arrive. There was no guarantee. The Sheriff might get busy on regular police work. Or worse, a monster might arrive which would sidetrack everything. Dean scratched his head, trying not to think of all the things that might go wrong. They had a decent plan. All they needed was a break to implement it.
Bobby straightened his hat and said, "I'm going to sneak out the back and find a place to watch for the Sheriff. I don't want to lose my chance."
"Don't get caught." Dean smiled when he said it but he was only half kidding.
Bobby scowled. "You just do your part," he said.
Dean fondly watched him go into the back room. Whatever else was happening, it was good to have him there.
SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, he wore his own clothes. Blue jeans, a gray t-shirt, clean socks and underwear. His hair was still damp and he shivered as he left the warm, foggy room. The cold helped focus him as he looked around for Ava and Marco.
More disoriented than before he used the wall to keep steady. He needed to rally if he was going to escape.
As he came around the corner to enter the living room, Sam bumped into the mayor who was coming from the other direction.
"Wrong way," Marco said. "Get back down the hall."
"I don't…" He was going to say that he didn't know what Marco wanted him to do. But, why did he care what either sibling wanted him to do?
Marco Rivera reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a syringe.
"No," Sam said and shoved forward but Marco pushed back, driving his hand against Sam's chest and pinning him. Black swirls clouded his eyes and mind. Sam grunted when the needle jammed into his chest. All he could hear was his own heartbeat. All he could feel was burning at the puncture.
Dizzy and disconnected from his brain, Sam tried to focus but everything around him looked fuzzy. His arms hung loose at his sides. He didn't know what to do next. Marco pushed him to move and Sam stumbled forward.
"What are you doing?" Ava said from someplace behind them. She sounded far away.
"I shot him up with that syringe from the kitchen," Marco said.
"I already did that. I bet he'll do anything now."
"I'll lock him back in the bedroom."
"No. Not in there," she said. "Put him in my room."
"Ava, Eddie's not even cold yet."
Something flared through Sam but he couldn't explain it. He knew he wanted to avoid Ava's room. He didn't want to be tied down again but it was more than that. He wanted to fight but his body wouldn't obey. His brain told him to listen for direction but something pushed against it.
"Wait," Sam said, stopping like a mule at the edge of a cliff. "Just wait." He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, to buy time or put off the inevitable.
"What?" Ava said.
"What do you want?" Sam said.
She took a step closer and leaned towards him. A slow smile split her lips. Feeling the heat of her jolted through Sam as if she'd struck him.
He rushed Marco, feeling like a drunken ragdoll. He threw all his weight into it. Marco slammed into Ava. They both tumbled and Sam took his chance. Fueled by adrenaline and desperation he ran full out for the back door.
"Go to the river," Ava yelled out. "Go to the river."
He heard the pelt of her steps behind him. "You need water, Sam. Get to the river."
Sam broke into the early evening woods behind the house. He drove deep into the trees hoping to keep ahead of them long enough to find a place to hide. Cold hit him hard as soon as he burst through the door. With no shoes and no jacket, the frigid air could kill him just as easily as being caught.
He needed to find the river.