Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchesters, or Bobby, or anything else you might recognise.
Day Three
Sam's frustration is palpable now. Bobby's been trying to get him to calm down for over an hour now. Yesterday's investigations proved fruitless. Sam knew they would be and it takes all his willpower not to say 'I told you so'.
Bobby's sitting at the rickety table, going through Dad's journal. He said he's looking for something Sam might have missed but Sam knows full well there's nothing in there he hasn't been over a thousand times already. He knows Dean so well. He knows John well enough. He knows there are no clues to his brother's whereabouts in that book.
Whatever this mess Dean's gotten himself into, he's managed it all by himself. Part of Sam is hoping he's just got caught by an irate father or husband. But he knows in his heart that's not the case. Dean's been in that situation enough times to know how to avoid it and, if he can't, how to extricate himself. The fact that this is the third day with no word from his brother tells Sam it's not a problem of the female variety that's keeping Dean away.
Then Bobby sighs and slams the book shut, just like Sam knew he would. He stands and scrubs his hand through what's left of his hair. Sam watches him from his perch on the edge of Dean's bed. He doesn't realise he's absently twisting his fingers in one of Dean's discarded shirts until Bobby raises a pointed eyebrow at him. He stills his motion but holds on to the shirt. It's as if it's his last link with his older brother and he's damned if he's going to let go of that.
Bobby hoists himself out of the chair and casts his eye over Sam. Sam needs to sleep but Bobby knows that's not going to happen for a while so the next best thing he can think of is sustenance. The fridge is empty, they finished the last of the beers the previous evening and the can of soda sitting on the windowsill is lukewarm. He grunts at Sam, indicating he's going to get ice and lets himself out of the room quietly.
Sam watches him go with hollow eyes and his fingers start their journey twining around the fabric of Dean's shirt again.
*****
Dean's been awake for a while now. The rats are gone but they've left their mark. Dean's ankles and shins are throbbing painfully and although he thinks the bleeding has stopped there's bound to be a whole shed load of infection setting in round about now. He can already feel the heat on his face and he's sure he doesn't normally sleep this much in tricky situations.
There's a dull ache in the crook of his elbow again and he knows he wasn't bitten there. He has a sinking feeling that someone is injecting him with something but its too dark in here to tell and he's still got his hands tightly bound behind him.
He realises he needs the bathroom and somewhere in the back of his mind he's amazed he's managed to hold out this long. He shuffles around a little, trying to gain some purchase with his feet against the ground but the floor is wet and his feet simply slide at every attempt. He resists the impulse to bang his head against the ground but it does little to help the pressure on his bladder.
He knows this game, he thinks. It's all about humiliation. He can't move, can't see, doesn't know where he is, where Sammy is and now he's going to do something he hasn't done since he was three years old and overexcited. Knowing there's nothing he can do about it, he grits his teeth and lets go.
*****
Bobby bursts through the door as if he has the devil on his tail. Sam drops the shirt and is on his feet, gun out and aimed, before he realises it's just Bobby and nobody is with him. He stares at the older man in amazement, wondering when he last saw such energy.
Bobby face is virtually glowing and he's moving towards Sam so fast the Winchester boy takes a step backwards, hitting the edge of the bed he was just sitting on. Bobby grasps his shoulders and the smile that cracks across his face is a confusing sight for Sam. When he went out for ice, which is notably lacking, Bobby was a sombre as a judge. Now he looks like a four year on a trip to Disneyland.
"The desk clerk saw something," he tells Sam, and that's all Sam needs to hear. He's throwing his jacket on, stowing knives and guns into place about his person and grabbing the keys to the Impala. Bobby watches him with a mixture of amusement and sadness. Sam hasn't even stopped to hear what it was the clerk saw. He doesn't care. It's a lead and it's more than he's had to go on for days now.
Bobby throws a hand out to halt Sam's frenzied activity and catches hold of his arm, gently. Sam glares at him and for a second Bobby knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of the younger Winchester's wrath. He holds his hand up in mock surrender while he quickly recounts what he's learnt.
The clerk did see something, just not very much. She was bored, heard a commotion in the parking lot and saw a blue truck tearing down the road. It's not a lot to go on but Sam's been reduced to clutching at straws.
He's going to drive up and down every damned avenue, street, lane, alleyway and back road and he's going to tear the doors off every blue truck he sees between here and there.
*****
Dean knows he's dehydrated and he knows if he doesn't get something to drink soon getting out is going to be pretty academic. He's been able to hear something dripping for some time now but he's too weak to even raise his head. Rule of three. That's the only thing going through his mind now. Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. He's on day three and there's been no sign of anyone or anything other than the rats.
A sudden sharp pain erupts in his back as a booted foot connects solidly with his kidneys. He didn't realise he was so far out of it. He can't hold back the cry as another foot, possibly the same one, makes contact with his bound wrists and he's not sure, but he thinks he heard a bone crack.
Then there's light and his eyes feel as though they're trying to crawl back into his brain. His eyelids slam down of their own volition, shutting out the light and the pain it brings. It sends shockwaves through his head and he knows the headache isn't the concussion alone any more.
There are hands on his body now and he struggles valiantly to get away but he knows from the outset it's going to be a losing battle. He's not eaten for three days and his muscles are already wasting away. He should open his eyes, he really should. Get a look at whoever is manhandling him into a standing position, dragging him to another corner of this hovel.
Another set of hands now is spinning him around, yanking his bound hands up and back till he has no option but to bend at the waist. Then there's a knife slicing through his bonds, catching his skin mercilessly, drawing blood. He thinks his arms are still attached to his body but he can't feel anything below his elbows.
But he doesn't really have much time to worry about that as his feet are kicked from under him, none too gently, and he crashes to floor, face first. There's no time to get his hands in front of him before impact and he wonders, as he feels the warmth of blood pouring down his chin, whether his nose is actually broken this time.
He's spun on to his back and he finally, finally manages to prise his eyes open. Just a squint but better than nothing. It doesn't help. There's a light shining directly into his eyes and everything beyond is just a hazy silhouette. He does work out there are at least two other people down here with him. Two very large people, and not for the first time he really wishes Sam was here with him.
They don't say a word, even when Dean grunts at them and kicks out weakly with one foot. He gets a brief moment of satisfaction when the foot connects with something but it's short lived as his feet are pulled away and down, secured firmly to what Dean can only assume are a couple of iron rings fastened to the floor. He can't bite back the cry of pain when his arms are subjected to the same treatment. His ribs are screaming at him and all he wants is to give in to the darkness hovering round the edge of his sight.
He closes his eyes and the torrent of water on his face is an icy shock. He automatically opens his mouth to allow the sudden intake of breath his body seems to be demanding. It has the added bonus of giving him some much needed liquid and in the back of his mind he thinks that at least he won't die of thirst just yet. He'd never welcomed water so much in his life.
If only he'd known.
*****
Bobby's getting ready to hit something, anything. Sam is beginning to wear on his nerves and if he's not careful he's going to find himself on the receiving end of Bobby's fist.
Bobby knows how hard this is on the boy, but they've driven round this hellhole of a town for the last three hours and they've only seen three blue trucks. One belongs to the local schoolmistress, one to the hardware store and the last is so dilapidated Bobby would be surprised if it had moved from it's spot on the garage forecourt in the last twenty years.
Sam's all for knocking down doors and cracking heads to get answers but as Bobby points out to him, repeatedly, these people don't know anything. Why would they? He's beginning to think whoever, or whatever, took Dean has been on their tail for some time now. It wasn't a random attack. Dean's assailants knew what they were up against. How else would Dean have been taken so easily.
Bobby loves these boys like they were his own. Sam is falling apart in front of his eyes and there's nothing he can do about it. He could give him a manly hug but he doesn't think Sam would be receptive to that at the moment. He's on a real short fuse right now and Bobby's not going to be the one to set off that explosion.
But then, just as he's about to suggest they return to the motel, not a suggestion Sam is going to take well, he spots something. Something that sends his heart plummeting to his feet and turns his stomach in ways it wasn't designed to turn. He looks across at Sam and thanks God that he's not seen it yet.
It's lying under the wheel of the truck on the garage forecourt, catching the dying sun, glinting teasingly. Bobby wonders how he's going to get to it before Sam cottons on to it. He needs to be 100% sure before he raises Sam's hopes any more than he already has.
But he needn't have worried. Sam is so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't ever register Bobby's movement. Bobby can't decide whether that should worry him or not and decides he's got enough worries at the moment. He's across the forecourt and back again before Sam snaps out of whatever trance he's in, turning the object over and over in his hand. Sam looks up at him and raises his eyebrows, gaze on Bobby's find. He recognises it instantly.
It's Dean's pendant.
*****
Dean wishes they had just talked to him. The silence is starting to get to him. He's never really needed people around him per se. Just Sammy. And Dad. But this complete lack of communication is unnerving and he'd give anything for just a few spoken words.
They've left him fastened, spread eagled on the floor, completely helpless. At least before he had a small range of movement. Now there's nothing. He's held so tightly he can't even move a centimetre. He feels more vulnerable than he's ever felt before and he doesn't like it.
The darkness is back again but he can just make out a sliver of light under a door from his new position. It gives him some sense of time but that's about it. He stares at it continually. It gives him something to focus on other than the hopelessness of his situation.
He stiffens when he sees shadows passing by the door. He reflects that watching it might not have been such a good idea. He hears the floorboards above him creaking and pipes groaning in the distance.
Then a drop of water landing in the centre of his chest startles him. It's icy cold. Another follows. Then another. For want of anything better to do, Dean counts. He gets to ten and the next drop falls. It's another direct hit on his chest. By the time the sixth drop falls he's starting to wriggle, trying to shift so the water falls on another part of his body. But it's useless and by the time drop number 20 hits, Dean is wet and cold.
And it's starting to hurt.