Dean's breath came in ragged gasps that sent fire shooting through his torn abdomen. His fighting had gained him nothing more than exhaustion and more blood loss, two things he could scarcely afford. It took real effort to lift his head and look to the corner where she sat, huddled between two stalagmites. Lisa.
She was every bit as beautiful as when he'd last walked away from her, leaving her in a hospital with injuries he had caused and no memories of him or his problems. She was supposed to be safe. Not for the first time his mind raced to Ben, her son, his son for the briefest of moments. He tried to see into the darkness again. Was Ben here too? Would he have to endure losing them both, again? He knew it was his own selfishness that had brought her here. He had gone to her in one of his darkest moments and dragged her into his worthless existence. Somehow, he knew he had to get her away, or at least keep her safe.
Her eyes were wide with fear over the gag in her mouth. She saw him looking her direction and tried to pull herself deeper into the shadows of the columns she sat between. Her fear cut him deeper than any knife. "Lisa?" He managed to croak out, throat dry and sore. "It's gonna be okay." She shook her head frantically and turned away from him.
The click of shoes on stone filled the cavern and Dean jerked his head back to the shadows. The world spun for a second before he was able to focus on the man emerging there. He was tall, almost as tall as Sam, and lean. Dean took in his unusual clothing, a white three piece suit with wingtip shoes, polished until they shown in the torchlight, topped by a white fedora with a crimson band the color of freshly spilled blood. His tie matched the hat band and a gold watch chain led from his vest button to a gold pocket watch held loosely in his right hand. His left hand was tucked into his pants pocket. He walked with a casual grace, his eyes focused on the watch shining in his hand.
"What the hell are you supposed to be, Al Capone?" Dean's voice was rough, but he managed to force a bit of sarcasm into his tone.
The man looked up from his watch and glanced at Lisa before turning to Dean and flashing solid white eyes. Dean flinched away from the gaze. He'd only come across two demons with white eyes, and neither were creatures he wanted to face again. The white-eyed demon smiled slightly, a cold smile that held no warmth, and tucked the watch into the pocket of his vest. He moved forward and produced a set of chains from nowhere, crouching down and securing Dean's ankles to the floor so he was pulled tightly in both directions. The demon nodded to himself. He straightened, turning away from Dean and moving to Lisa. She tried to get away from him, but she had backed herself into a corner that there was no escaping from. The demon looked at Dean over his shoulder and the cold smile played over his face again as he reached down and grabbed a fistful of Lisa's hair.
"Leave her alone!" Dean cried, thrashing against his bonds. "If you hurt her I will kill you!"
The demon dragged Lisa by the hair until she was on her knees in front of Dean, facing him. Tears poured down her face and she trembled, muffled sobs pushing through the gag. He pulled her head up roughly and bent to whisper something in her ear. His words made Lisa freeze, fresh panic painted all over her face.
Tears of frustration stung Dean's eyes and he reluctantly switched tactics. "Please," he begged, "just let her go. She's got nothing to do with this!"
The demon looked up at Dean and a knife appeared in his hand. "Dean Winchester." His voice was calm and his tone even, that cold smile returned. "You don't know me Dean, but I know you. It's funny," he gestured to Lisa with the knife, one fist still tangled in her hair, "she doesn't know you either." He placed the knife against her cheek and pressed until a small drop of crimson beaded up on the tip. Lisa whimpered and tried to pull away. Dean tried to throw himself forward, but only managed to swing a little. "You know her though, don't you Dean?"
Confusion flitted across Lisa's face, breaking though the pain and fear for a brief moment, and she looked into Dean's eyes. He felt a tear slide down his cheek and a growl build low in his throat. "I'm going to kill you." His voice was low and filled with every ounce of malice he could pour into it as he stared into the demon's eyes.
The demon shrugged and pulled his knife across Lisa's cheek, cleaving the flesh and eliciting a scream from behind her gag. His white eyes looked up at Dean with no emotion. "I'm going to kill her. Slow."
The black Impala roared through the night, Sam clutching the wheel with white knuckles. He'd been on the road for hours, never letting up, refusing to stop, going as fast as he dared. The days were starting to catch up with him and he knew he would have to pull over soon. He glanced at his phone, 9 hours until he reached his destination. He cranked the radio and rolled down the window, shaking himself. "Just a few more hours," he mumbled, "then I'll stop for an hour and sleep."
A semi horn honked loud and long, Sam jerked awake and saw headlights in front of him. "Shit!" Sam cried. He jerked the wheel to the right and skidded onto the shoulder of the road, sending gravel and dirt flying. Slamming on the brakes, he brought the Impala to a stop and rubbed sleep-filled eyes. Adrenaline pumped through his shaking body and he breathed heavily, trying in vain to calm himself.
Once he'd gotten himself back under control, Sam pulled back onto the highway and started off again. Another hour passed before he saw the motel. He pulled the Impala into the driveway and stopped at the office. The place looked run down, but the glass windows were clean and the office looked tidy. It would do. He shut off the engine and went inside. The girl behind the counter couldn't have been more than 18. She was cute and friendly and checked him in with a smile.
His room was right next to the office, so he left the Impala where it was parked and retrieved his duffel from the trunk. It was like so many rooms he had stayed in before, though this one was tidier than most. He tossed his duffel on the closest bed and stripped as he headed for the shower. He hadn't bothered since before the hunt and he was getting to the point where he couldn't stand his own stink. As he passed a mirror, he noticed the bloody bandage on his side. How long had it been since he changed that? He couldn't remember. With an angry sigh he went back to his duffel to pull out the first aid kit.
A breath hissed through his teeth as Sam pulled the bandage away. The wound was infected, angry red lines radiated out from his stitch-work. He examined himself in the mirror. The skin was warm to the touch, but not hot, and the wound didn't seem to be full of puss. He dug out the antibiotics from the kit and popped one into his mouth, then headed to the shower.
Sam let the hot water flow over his body as his mind wandered. The last few days had taken their toll on him, but he could only imagine the tortures his brother was going through. The name Crowley had texted him floated to the forefront of his thoughts, Malleaphar. "I should have looked him up." Sam growled to himself, punching the shower wall for good measure. He hadn't bothered to take the time while at the bunker. The message had spurred him to action, grabbing supplies for the journey and jumping into the Impala without a thought for what he was rushing into. Now that he had a moment to think, it seemed like a really stupid decision. He was headed to coordinates Crowley had given him, without a single moment of research or caution.
Sam turned off the water and climbed from the shower, wincing as his movements pulled at the wound on his side. He toweled off and reached for the knob on the bathroom door, planning to replace the bandage and get a few hours rest, but froze when he heard movement in the room beyond. Thinking quickly, he turned on the sink faucet before silently and slowly opening the door.
The intruder had their back to Sam, riffling through his duffel and tossing the contents on the floor. He tucked the towel securely around his waist and lunged forward, tackling the intruder and tumbling them both to the floor in a flurry of tangled limbs. The stitches in his side ripped open and he cried out in pain, fighting harder against his opponent. In moments, he had the intruder pinned and found himself straddling the young girl from the office, naked. "What are you?" He snapped.
"Whatever you want sugar." She smiled up at him and rubbed a leg against his thigh. Her eyes were solid black.