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chapter 7
Sara tutted and glanced upwards towards the hole. Satisfied that the noise of the machines was loud enough to cover their conversation, she looked back to Dean. Dean followed her gaze upwards.
"Do not get any ideas about calling for help."
"Oh yeah, I am going to lie here like a good little victim."
"Your brother does not have trouble with it." Sara smiled. Dean growled at the mention of his brother. "I am going to enjoy killing you."
"You both tried that before and that did not work. The reputation of your family is so overated. Here you lie all weak and helpless. Powerless." Sara reached down to the metal protruding from Deans hip.
Dean tried to raise his arms, in resistance, but they were oddly sluggish. What the hell was wrong with him now? She grabbed the metal and twisted it viciously. Dean screamed
in agony. Sara smiled and played with Deans hair.
"About calling for help? Do not even try it. They will be dead before they turn on their radio." She grabbed a clump of Deans hair and lifted his head slightly. He grimaced. "Got it?"
Dean nodded. Inwardly his mind was whirling. He needed to get out of this situation. The only problem was that he did not know anyway to get rid of a demon other than exorcism.
And him and latin? Dean laughed suddenly. It escaped from his mouth involuntarily. He would be about as useful as- A guy with a pole sticking out of side, under a plane? An
internal voice supplied. Dean found it oddly funny. Dean could hear the demon talking to him again. He could not bring himself to listen to the bitch. He was getting weaker by the
second. He had no clue how his brother was. All he knew for certain was a demon bitches rant and his dads few words. His dad! Realisation flooded within him. His dad was
here. He could help him. How would he contact him though? Dean was distracted by Sara. She had another filled syringe in her hand. Dean shrunk away. She seemed delighted by
the protective movement.
"AH, are you scared little Winchester?"
Dean bristled at her patronising tone. He did not like to be talked down to. "Just sensible enough not to sit here and let you inject me with something. By the way, I am assuming that
you did not give me medicine a while ago."
Sara lowered the syringe. She shifted her weight and sat forward on her bum. "Actually it was. Dolly do-gooder had nothing interesting in her bag." She leaned a little closer. She
talked in a tone one would use when dicussing the weather. Dean said nothing. He watched her intently, urging her closer. "But you see the excellent thing about medicine is that too
much of a good thing can kill you. One minute morphine can be giving you a high, the next it can be sending you six feet under."
Dean sighed, hoping it sounded like defeatist. "That is how I am going to kill you Dean Winchester. " She leaned a fraction closer to Dean. She lifted the syringe. She paused a
second, choosing were to inject him next. It was like a macabre game. Deans eyes were on the radio tucked halfway down her jeans pocket. It was so close. Dean could see the
button to flick the radio on. Just a little closer. He urged.
"If I did not know any better, I would say that you were checking me out." He taunted obnoxiously.
"Such words.." she murmered, "You are well known for the trait."
Dean snorted, "It is only a small part of me bitch. Come closer and I will show you more."
"Your fighting skills? Already well reknowned. Brothers raised by their father as hunters at an early age." Sara fingered the neckace that was around Deans neck, "Brothers were a
dark past and an even darker future."
Deans interest was piqued by her seemingly offhand comment. He could not ask about it though as the radio was within his reach. He needed to act now. He could not be sure
when he would get his next chance. Dean threw his arm forward and quickly flicked the switch of the radio. He masked this movement as a lame attempt to throw her away from
him. She stumbled away but recovered quickly.
"Ah, there is some of the famed Winchester fight. I was beginning to wonder." Dean looked quickly at her jean pocket. It bulged slightly with the radio. Dean had no way of telling if
it had worked. He had no way of knowing if anybody would even hear them talking. He would just have to hope and pray that he would be heard and someone (hopefully dad)
would come and investigate. The plan had a lot of holes and possibilities for things to go wrong. Normally, he would trash a plan like that. Now, it was all he had. It needed to
work. His life depended on it.