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Chapter 2

Sam realized quickly that Leah was serious. The look on her face told him that she wouldn't at all mind hurting him.

"You killed those people, didn't you? You did it to make it seem as if the story were true; to lure us here."

"And the Stanford boy's still got it," she smirked. "Yes, Sam, I simply took the existing lore and made it true. Of course I checked out the house first, in case there really was a ghost, but there's nothing here. I couldn't find the body, either, but neither has anyone else. I suppose it doesn't matter if she's not around anymore."

"But…but how could you?" Sam sputtered in horror. "Those people—they had had nothing to do with any hunt. They were innocent people!"

Leah leaned closer. "And sometimes innocent people have to die to keep the rest of the world safe. Maybe I'm a bit of a vigilante when it comes to the hunting profession, but that doesn't mean I don't care about the greater good—even if usually the only good I'm concerned for is my own."

Sam glared. "Then you're not a hunter. I'm not sure there is a word for you," he spat.

"Your brother seems to like his own term for me. I suppose from your perspective that would be the most accurate description."

He snorted. "You know, if you wouldn't assume that everyone else lies as often as people like you, then we could avoid all of this. I'm not a threat."

"Really? Maybe that's what you tell yourself now…and perhaps now you're not. But how do you know that will always be true? How do you know you'll never be a threat to anyone?"

Sam swallowed, stared at her angrily…but he had no answer.

"I thought so. Now, let me explain this again: I don't know how much you can really do, but I think it's more than you tell. Even if you think you don't control it, that doesn't mean you can't. We'll work on that. If you don't want to help me willingly…well, after a while I'm sure something will come up."

Her hands tightened on the clamps to squeeze them open.

"What do you want?" he asked quickly, stalling. "What do you think I could do for you even if I wanted to?"

"You have visions of the future, Sam," Leah reminded him, eyebrow raised. "What could I not do with that?" She smirked. "Like I said: The greater good is all well and good, but I'm all for self-preservation."

"Are you in trouble?"

She shrugged. "No more than anyone else with this job. But everyone wants something, and some people want everything. I'm not sure where I fall…but eventually, you're going to help me get there."

"But there's nothing I can do," he protested again. She snapped one of the clamps onto the chain just short of his wrist, but there was no immediate current. The circuit wasn't complete yet. "I don't control any of it, really."

Leah slowly circled in front of him, wagging the other clamp in her hand. "Maybe not, but you could get there. I won't have to do this if you agree to try."

"There's nothing to try!"

"With any luck, you'll see things differently soon." She was close enough now.

"Don't. I won't help you." It took effort to keep his voice steady, and for some reason all he could think about at that moment was how pissed Dean was going to be when he found out about this.

"We'll see."

"No, wait—!"

Sam shouted once, when the other clamp hit its mark. The pain was immediate, searing. Somehow he managed to jam his jaw shut before he yelled any more, and once that was done he couldn't unlock it. He couldn't move. He felt his body quivering inside, revolting against the current, but he could do nothing. He heard the inarticulate noises escaping his throat through his barely parted lips, but he didn't know how to stop them.

It took him a little longer to realize that he couldn't breathe, either.

The panic started there. Maybe she didn't plan to kill him now, but what if she didn't know? No, she had to know…but what if she misjudged? What if he died here on this table and left Dean to his own devices? He would kill Leah, and—and he couldn't think any further either. Not now. Not like this—

The pain stopped, and he heaved in a sharp breath that stung his throat and burned in his lungs. He didn't mind that pain; it seemed like an eternity since he'd taken his last breath.

"That was twenty seconds, Sam."

Had she read the question in his face? Was he giving that much away? He couldn't do that; he couldn't give her the satisfaction...

That was only twenty seconds?

"What?" he gasped, caught off guard. His chest still heaved, trying to catch up on air as if it had been out of it for much longer.

He didn't get an answer before the pain came again.

Dean was straining his ears from the moment Sam was out of his sight. He heard the footsteps stop above and ahead to the left, heard the faint muffled voices…and he heard the one shout. He didn't know what Leah was doing, but he knew his brother was in pain—and he knew he wanted to tear her apart for it.

After that, it was even worse not to hear anything; he didn't even know if Sam was all right.

He couldn't see his watch, but he didn't think it was more than half an hour before the door at the top of the stairs opened again. Sam came through first, under his own power. Maybe he leaned heavily on the rail all the way down, but he was standing. There didn't seem to be any visible signs of struggle…just that he was breathing hard and his skin and hair looked a little damp.

Leah came behind him, the gun in his back to prod him forward. Sam hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and she shoved him. He lost his balance and dropped to his hand and knees, and Leah's foot came back. Sam flinched.

"You kick him, you die," Dean growled. Sam seemed to be having a hard time coordinating his movements to get off the floor, and he hadn't said a word. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Leah raised an eyebrow at him, but she dropped her leg. "I think I should let him explain that." With that answer she reached down and snagged Sam up by his jacket and his hair.

"Hey!" Dean shouted.

Sam let out a surprised cry as one of his hands flew to his head, and it all startled him enough to bring him to his feet and allow Leah to push him the rest of the way to the empty chair. He didn't try to stop her when she tied him up again.

Dean would have liked to insult her a little more, but he realized that if he shut up, she would finish and leave. The sooner she left, the sooner he could find out if his brother was all right. He piped up immediately, the moment the door above was shut again behind her.

"Sammy? Sammy, you okay?"

Sam's head was hung limply over his chest, and he let out an uneven breath. "I'm fine, Dean. She didn't do any damage," he sighed.

"Oh yeah? Then what the hell do you call what's wrong with you?"

"After effects," he groaned.

"Of what?" Dean demanded. The uneasiness had already taken hold in his gut, telling him he knew the answer—knew it all too well.

Sam winced, as if he didn't want to answer. "Uhm…electricity."

He stared. "You're not serious."

His head came up and he coughed once. "Would I make a joke about something like that?"

"Then you mean it? She friggin' tried to fry you?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean swore loudly. "Last time I checked that can cause some damage, Sam."

He led his head drop against the back of the chair, and his eyes closed. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I don't think she gave me near enough voltage to cause any immediate harm."

"You think?"

Sam huffed weakly. "I'm fine, Dean. It was a car battery; it doesn't carry the kind of power that damaged your heart."

That sufficiently shut Dean up, for a moment. It was an uncomfortable subject. They didn't like to talk about what had happened last year, especially considering what it had taken for Dean to be healed. He would have stopped the conversation right there, if it weren't for the fact that he assumed Sam had mentioned it for the very purpose of making him stop his line of questioning.

"So…it can't, you know, like kill people, or anything." Sam hesitated, and that was enough to make him worry. "Sam?"

"No," he said quickly—a little too quickly. "Not without prolonged or repeated exposure, anyway…"

Oh.

Both of them were silent for a long moment, unwillingly contemplating the implications. It was Dean who spoke first, tentatively.

"So…you're saying if she keeps that up, we've got some time constriction on getting out of here?"

Sam grimaced and finally picked his head up. His eyes open and he straightened. "Probably. Yeah."

Dean huffed. "I don't believe this…" He paused for a moment. "But hey, you know we'll get out of here. How much time are we talking about, anyway?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess it depends on a lot of things." Like how often she tries it, how long, how high the voltage is…Dean winced even though he didn't say any of it. "We should have a few days before it becomes a problem, though."

"Oh it's already a problem," Dean scoffed. "And I sure as hell ain't lettin her do that to you for a few days. I'm about ready to claw her eyes out for doing it the once."

"Thanks for the sentiment," Sam smirked tiredly.

"What, you think that's funny? I'm gonna kill the bitch."

"So I gathered," his brother nodded.

"I mean it."

He sighed. "No, you don't."

Dean scowled. "Doesn't matter; she's got it comin' anyway. Seriously, who fries people anymore? Or uses knock-out darts!"

"Dude, get off the darts."

His eyebrows went up. "It's friggin cliché, man. Of course I'm gonna be all over it."

"Whatever, Dean." Sam leaned back as much as he could in the wooden chair and let his chin rest on his chest again—even though he'd already been sitting up before. That wasn't recovery; it was fatigue…and that wasn't a good sign. Not at, like, two in the afternoon.

"Sam?"

"What?" he asked, in his let-me-sleep voice. Sam never slept on the job. Or the capture on the job, or whatever. But…maybe if he let him rest, he would be fine later. Yeah. He just needed the rest, that was all. It made sense, after what Leah had apparently done to him. Didn't it?

Dean blinked a couple of times. "Uh…nothing."

A moment ago he'd been sure his brother would be fine. Now…he was already worried, and he hated it.

Sam wasn't sure how long he dozed, but by the time he was wide awake again he was already feeling guilty for it. He should have stayed awake, been helping Dean plan something. They had to get out of here.

He was about to apologize when Dean suddenly sat up straighter.

"Crap!"

"What?"

His voice dropped to a loud whisper, probably to keep Leah from possibly overhearing what he said next. "Bobby. We're supposed to meet him in Ohio later this week on that possible vampire thing on that college campus."

Sam stared at him. "Yeah…I know. Hopefully we'll be out of here by then."

"But if we're not, he'll come looking for us."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"Not if he's not expecting a random chick ambush and she catches him off guard, too. That's the last thing we need."

He sighed. "Could you try not to be such a pessimist?"

"Hey, I'm all for optimism. I'm just saying that it would better if we escaped sometime before Thursday."

It was sometime late Tuesday afternoon now. They were meeting Bobby in Cedarville, Ohio Thursday night.

"It would be nice if we escaped well before Thursday."

Dean shrugged. "I was just saying…" He fell silent for a moment. "Hey, isn't that Cedarville place like a church college or something?"

"It's Cedarville University, and yes, it's a Christian college."

"Ironic."

"A little."

They fell silent again.

"It's a good thing you do your research, though. Otherwise we would have missed that, and it's just too dang funny," Dean said eventually.

"Uh huh. You're welcome."

More silence.

"Damn, I hate being bored."

Sam couldn't help but laugh then, and both of them were still chuckling when the door opened overhead. Dean stopped immediately and glowered up the stairs. Sam just trailed off uncomfortably

Dean cursed under his breath. "Oh no she doesn't."

"Dean, don't do anything stupid. You need feet to run," he muttered.

"Thank you, House."

Leah clomped heavily down the stairs, a little less casually then the first time. The pistol came up immediately, aimed between Dean's eyes.

"Nothing's changed," Sam deadpanned.

"Damn straight."

"You, shut up," she snapped at Dean. "Or I'll cut you a new mouth."

"Ooo, scary. Like I haven't heard that one before. "

Leah looked like she would really rather silence his brother for good right then and there than deal with his mouth, so Sam jumped in as quickly as he could.

"Listen, if you're bringing me with you, just untie me and let's go."

Dean jerked around to stare at him. "Are you crazy?"

"Well, I'd rather not get you shot—not that you're not capable of making her do it all by yourself."

"Amen," Leah glared. She pulled out her knife again, circled around and cut Sam free. "Move."

"Sam…" Dean said tightly.

He glanced back, smiled a little. There would be no trying anything this time—not with the risk of getting himself or Dean killed. There would be no stopping anything this time, this once, at least—not until they had a plan. They had learned that earlier.

Sam wasn't looking forward to this at all, but he would be all right…and Dean needed to know that.

His brother swallowed and rolled his eyes a little, but protest he did not. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Leah seemed to gather that Dean hadn't been talking to her, and didn't say anything. She just prodded him in the back with the gun, and urged him up the stairs.

Dean heard it this time.

Not at first, but after a little while Sam shouted—more of a piercing, distressed moan than anything, but it was enough to clog his throat.

Then there were more.

However Leah was doing it, exactly, it was worse this time. It had to be, and it was worse for him because he couldn't picture exactly what she was doing. He didn't want to…and it was worse not knowing if he would even be better off knowing.

But he knew that after that he could hear Sam cry out every now and then, and that it hurt him just as much as if it were him up there.

It had been longer this time, when the sounds stopped. He didn't know how long, but it was too long.

Dean cursed the dampness in his eyes, cursed again when some of it escaped while he was trying to blink it away. Heavy, faltering footsteps came with the short staccato ones above, heading for the door at the top of the stairs. He frantically craned his head from one side to the other to wipe his face on his sleeves. He couldn't let Sam see that. He had to be the strong one. He had to—

Well he'd already failed at protecting his brother. His strength was all he had left.

Dean swore just as the door opened. Leah came through with Sam, this time. His head hung low, and he wasn't supporting himself. As if that weren't bad enough, she lost her grip on him. He slipped onto his back and slid heavily down the stairs.

"Sam!" The younger Winchester flipped over and landed in a heap on the concrete at the bottom, unmoving, and above them the door slammed and locked again.

"Sammy?"

For another agonizing moment there was no answer. Fear clamped a vice over his chest, and he couldn't breathe any more than he was sure or not that Sam was. No…

Then Sam moaned quietly and rolled onto his back. "Owww…"

"Sam, thank god. How long you gonna stay down there?"

"Until I can open my eyes without the room spinning," he answered seriously.

Dean blinked. "Right…" He sighed. "Hey, you okay?"

"I'll live," he answered softly. He groaned again and levered himself up against the last couple of steps. He leaned there, arms around his chest—which worried him right there—and his air didn't seem to be coming evenly enough for Dean's satisfaction. Slowly Sam pried his eyes open and squinted up at his brother. "So…did I miss anything?"

"Oh yeah; we had a wild, drunken party while you were gone."

Sam chuckled weakly, coughed once, but Dean took the laugh as a good sign—any good sign he could get. How could Sam be so much worse already? Or would this pass? He would be fine, right? Dean was trying to make himself believe it—until his brother's face abruptly crumpled in pain.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine, Dean," he gasped. As if to prove it he grabbed the stair rail and pulled himself first to his knees, and then all the way up to his feet. He glanced around then, as if just realizing something. "She didn't tie me up."

Because she underestimated you—probably didn't think you'd be doing much of anything after all that.

"Good. Take the chance and get over here and untie me. No rush though."

Sam nodded, but he stumbled over to Dean immediately anyway, supporting himself on one of the poles along the way. He dropped to his knees behind the chair and untied the ropes easily enough…but Dean could feel his brother's hands shaking.

He didn't say anything.

They both remembered the zip ties at the same moment. "They're around your arms; see—"

"Way ahead of you, Sammy." He pulled his arms up and wiggled his hands through the plastic loops. As soon as they were free he jumped to his feet. "Thank god!" He rolled his wrists out. "Yikes."

Sam crossed haltingly to the nearest wall and slid to the floor against it. His arms crossed over his chest again, as if holding something back. Dean swallowed quietly and stretched his legs before he went to his brother. "Hey, are you really okay?"

"Why should I answer that question honestly?" he smirked. "You never do."

"Okay, I'll admit the touché there."

Sam shrugged. "I'll be fine, Dean."

"You will be? As in you're not now?"

He grimaced, and his arms tightened subconsciously. "Not really." He must have seen where Dean was looking, because a moment later he purposefully pulled his arms away from his body and pulled in a careful breath. "It's nothing; I'm just…sore."

"Sore?" Dean echoed, unconvinced.

Sam hesitated uncomfortably. "It's not what you think, really—at least I don't think so. It's my lungs more than anything. It's just that when she….I can't breathe when it—I don't know. But I should be fine as soon as we get out of here and I can get some fresh air. Okay?"

Dean nodded slowly, warily. "So this electricity crap can mess with your lungs, too?"

"Yeah…It just didn't have time to do any damage to yours, you know?"

"I guess the massive heart attack kind of overrode that concern anyway, huh?" he answered sarcastically.

"Yeah."

He crossed his arms and snorted. "Great. Well, that's just fantastic…"

"Dean, if we can get out of here as soon as possible, we won't have anything to worry about. It probably takes a while for there to be any kind of lasting damage—"

"Yeah, probably. If. The problem is that we don't know, do we?"

Sam hesitated a moment. "What happened to being all for optimism?"

"Oh, I'm still for the optimism, 'cause I'm saying right now that you're gonna be fine. If you make me a liar, I'll kill you myself. Capiche?"

He laughed a little. "Okay, Dean. I'll be fine. But I told you that already."

"Good. I'm glad we agree." Dean nodded once at that and turned on his heel, stalking over to the other wall to feign searching for an alternate way out of the basement while he reigned in his fury. Maybe Sam would be fine, but that didn't make what Leah had done any more admissible. He'd heard it this time, and he didn't want it to happen again. He'd heard more than enough already.

The calm lasted for all of a moment or two before Dean kicked the wall.

"Ah! Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

"Dean?"

"What!" He spun around on one foot to find his brother watching him in amusement.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm…looking for a way outta here."

Sam just stared.

"And I'm just a little upset, because this whole thing is bullshit. There. You happy now?"

Sam laughed once. "There are no windows down here, Dean, and I don't think we're digging our way out through concrete."

He huffed. "Well we sure as hell have to do something. She's only dragged you up there twice and you already look like crap."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, it's not you and your mojo I don't trust; it's her and her sick kicks," he said quickly. He didn't want Sam to think he was worrying. If he thought so, he would just push himself harder. If what Leah was doing to him could really cause damage, that could make it worse.

But for right now, Sam was fine. Dean refused to believe anything different. After all, they'd just gotten here.

He glanced at his watch.

"Whoa, almost seven-thirty. What a day, huh?"

Sam let out a heavy breath in response.

"Anyway; time to get down to business." He clapped his hands to rub them together once or twice, and sprung up the stairs. He jiggled the handle, but the lock was firm, and he had nothing to pick it with. Leah had taken the gun, EMF meter, and everything from their pockets before they'd woken up the first time. So instead, he braced himself between the walls of the stairwell.

"Wait a minute."

Dean sighed and headed back down the stairs so he could see Sam. "What?"

His brother was pulling himself up on the wall. "Are you trying to kick that door in?" He got to his feet and swayed a little, still looked a little shaky, but it wasn't so bad anymore.

"Uhm, yeah."

"You'll rebound back and fall and break your neck; let me get up there and spot you," he scolded.

"Nah, I'll be fine."

"Dean."

If Sam hadn't managed to keep steady when he stepped away from the wall, Dean would have protested further. But without hard reason he had no excuse not to let him come, without letting him on to the whole worry thing…

"Fine. Come on."

"I don't think it'll do any good," Sam commented as he followed behind. "She's not stupid."

Dean shrugged at the top and braced himself again. "We'll find out in a second." Sam braced behind him, and he kicked at the door a few good times. "Come on, you…"

But nothing happened. He tried again, with his shoulder using his body weight, but that came to no avail, either.

"Son of a—"

"What?"

"There's gotta be something in front of the door."

"I told you she wasn't stupid."

Dean sighed. "Right. Well, only one more thing to do right now then."

Sam looked at him skeptically. "What is that?"

He smirked and hurried back down. "I'm gonna see if that's a half bathroom under the stairs. If it's not, it sure will be."

Soft lips brushed his forehead, and for a moment he was sure it was Jessica. You look like him, a soft voice murmured mournfully. You look so much like him…

But…she would have no reason to say that…and she was gone. That was when he realized that he must be—

Sam shivered and jerked awake. He sat up swiftly, realizing that he'd fallen asleep again, on the floor by the wall this time. He didn't know why he'd been shivering; it wasn't cold.

But his chest was aching dully from the sharp breath he'd taken in waking, reminding him why it hurt and where he was.

"Sam?"

Dean was on his feet at the opposite wall, though it wasn't clear why. Sam shook away the dizziness that came with waking disoriented, and climbed to his feet. The world kept spinning only for a few seconds this time, but it must have been enough to bother Dean. When his vision cleared, Sam could see his brother's set jaw from across the room.

"Yeah…hey."

"Something wrong?"

"No, just a dream, I guess." A glance at his watch told him it was past ten. "Good; I didn't sleep long."

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't matter." Which translated to: You needed the rest, so I let you have it. Dean was worrying about him, but there was no reason to let on that he knew it. That would only bother Dean.

Sam wondered over. "I don't guess anything interesting happen while I was out, did it?"

"Absolutely not—and I still hate being bored.

They heard the sliding and scraping first, as whatever-it-was was moved away from the door. Sam had been too semi-conscious, and Dean too concerned to hear it when it was put there hours before.

The brothers were on the floor, cross-legged, whispering strategy, and Sam's head was the first to pop up at the sound. Dean watched him carefully, and was taken aback by what he saw: Instead of the carefully controlled apprehension of last time…there was fear this time, on his face. Sam was afraid to go up there again.

And suddenly tearing Leah apart with his bare hands really didn't seem like such a bad idea.

He stood up quickly. "Come on, take it easy. She's just a chick; we can take her."

"She's a chick with a gun, Dean," Sam answered glumly. He stood slowly, but didn't follow his brother toward the stairs. He was the one to suggest the next course of action, but Dean wasn't happy about it. It wasn't much better than last time…

But he didn't want Sam to be hurt again, either.

There was no more time. The door opened, and her voice cut down the stairwell.

"You know the drill, Sam; come up here or Dean will need a new knee. And Dean, don't move until this door is closed, or Sam will get the same treatment."

Dean swore under his breath. "Sam, don't. We need more time."

Sam came as far as where his brother was standing and glanced at him miserably. "I don't have a choice."

"Well that's just—just stupid."

"I know," he answered quietly.

He started to mount the stairs, but Dean caught his arm. "Okay try, all right?"

Sam nodded once, and then he went up. Trapped standing at the bottom of a bottleneck with a gun aimed down at his head, Dean could do nothing but watch him go.

As soon as Sam and Leah were gone, he attacked the wall again.

Leah had Sam move the cabinet in front of the door for her, so she could keep the gun trained on him. He felt better once it was there; she couldn't get to Dean as quickly that way. That was what his idea was based on—the one Dean had reluctantly told him to go ahead and try.

He spun quickly, going for the gun. It might have worked if he hadn't still been weak. As it was he lost his balance, missed the weapon by mere millimeters, and heard it go off as she fired in reflex.

The bullet slammed into his lower leg, dropping him immediately. Sam heard himself scream, and then he heard Dean from downstairs, shouting his name. He would have replied, but Leah was close…maybe he could still accomplish this. She wouldn't expect him to come back at her now. If he could just get the gun—

Sam set his jaw and pushed himself back to his feet on his good leg, but she saw him coming too soon.

The last thing he saw was the butt of the gun swinging toward his head.