Hello! Told you I'd get this chapter up quickly (though the reviews really did make a difference—you're all fantastic). Two quick things:
One…[PLEASE READ THIS] this chapter actually comes as a two-for-one deal. I was reading through the story and realized that I had forgotten to post a previous chapter that I'd written. Ummm…yeah. Apparently it's possible. Don't ask how. So I posted it at the end of original Chapter 9, so if you go there I have directions on the page on how to find the missing portion, and chapter 10 might make more sense.
And Two…I am pleasantly surprised at how much you appear to like Brandon. I wasn't originally sure if he was going to live through the fic, but since several of you have been pleading for his life his chances of dying are getting quite slim. See? Reviewing does make a difference! Anyway, I'll be quiet now. Enjoy.
Sam tugged Brandon's shoulder, maneuvering him over toward the other corner of the room. He clutched his pistol, wishing his other arm wasn't useless so that he could handle a rifle.
"Tell you what," Nick's voice boomed, "If you come out now I'll make it quick. One bullet to the brain. You won't even feel it when I feed your bits to my little friends in there."
"Closet," Sam whispered, shoving him back again. "Hide."
Brandon felt along the wall until he found a doorknob. He opened it and slid inside, closing the door behind him and putting Dean down gently in the corner.
The darkness pounded in from all sides, chocking him with the terrible notion that he was going to die. He was going to die crouched in the closet of an attic packed with cages, and Nick was going to slice, dice, and serve up his corpse at an all-night diner where the customers were at the same rate of decomposition as the food. Chris would never even know what happened.
The last thought terrified him more than anything, and he fumbled to get out his phone. The small screen lit up just enough of the closet for him to make out Dean's frightening translucent eyes. He deflected his gaze back down to the screen and saw that he had missed twelve calls.
Twelve calls?
"The hell…?" he breathed, staring at his brother's name on the caller ID. "Why would he—"
The main door slammed open with a clang of metal and wood. Brandon jerked involuntarily and his phone slipped out of his hands and into the liquid puddled at his ankles. He ignored it and clutched his rifle tightly in shaking hands.
Out in the main room, Sam kept his lanky frame hidden down amidst a row of cages. Each breath he took came out in a white puff in the cold attic air as he kept as still as possible, waiting.
Nick swaggered inside, splashing filth all over the front cages and their occupants. "Hello darlings," he sneered, an M-16 held loosely over one shoulder, "Daddy's home."
Two zombies crept inside after Nick and stood rigidly in front of him. Sam looked between the two dead men, sizing them up. It was like Rocky Balboa and Morpheus had stepped out of a movie frame and into the attic. He scowled.
"This children's game of hide-and-seek is a load of bullshit and you know it," Nick said, smirking, "You're nothing but a rat, whoever you are, and I'm going to stomp you out of your pitiful existence." He flicked a hand out nonchalantly and looked between his guards, "Get 'em."
The two men leapt forward and thundered toward Sam. Cover blown, Sam stood and aimed for Nick, but the men blocked his path. Swearing, he altered his aim and pulled the trigger.
Morpheus fell backward, a bullet redecorating his brain. Sam swung his gun a few feet to the right, but before he could take the second shot Rocky pounced, throwing him back against a cage. The gun flew from his fingers and splashed into the slop on the floor a few meters away. Rocky grabbed Sam's throat, dug his fingernails into soft flesh, and lunged down, ready to tear off his face.
Sam's last inch of restraint snapped. Eyes aflame, he pulled a long dagger out of his belt and jabbed his attacker twice in the arm in quick succession. When the guy pulled back and swatted at Sam as though he were a pesky insect, Sam plunged the blade deep into his chest and pulled down hard, slicing through his insides like butter with a crunching snap. Blood splattered into Sam's eyes, and he found that only a small part of him cared. He kicked out, lips clenched to avoid accidently swallowing any of the tainted blood, and swung with all his strength.
Rocky's head dropped off like a melon. The body collapsed a moment later, splashing to rest on the floor where it was quickly assaulted by various occupants of nearby cages.
Sam stared. He breathed in gasps, head spinning from fatigue even as the adrenaline raged inside him. It spiked higher when he realized that Nick was clapping.
The older man strode forward, beaming. "Brilliant, Winchester," he crowed, clapping his hands together mockingly, "Brilliant. What a tantalizing show; best I've seen in years! And you're alive. How…pleasant for you."
"Told you," Sam murmured, drops of blood splashed across his face and dripping down his torso, "I'm tough to kill."
"Obviously," Nick said, chuckling. He stopped walking when he was a cage away from Sam and casually shifted his gun to the other shoulder, "You look…well. I'm impressed."
Sam's expression didn't change. He gripped his knife so tightly that the handle was in danger of snapping off. "I'm going to cut you limb from limb."
"No you're not." Nick said, grin widening, "Don't treat this like a game, Sam. You may have managed to scrounge together a flush, but I still hold the most important card."
"And what's that?" Sam asked flatly.
Nick paused, gloating. "Dean."
Sam's previously controlled face hardened into a mask of rage. "You bastard," he hissed, "Don't you ever touch him again."
"But I don't have to. That's the beauty of it," Nick said, practically bouncing with glee on the balls of his feet, "Dean? Be a good little boy and come on out."
Sam stared incredulously. "What?"
"Sssshh," Nick said, holding a finger to his lips, "Listen for the little rats hidden in the little walls."
Sam's mouth went dry.
"No—Dean, no, what are you—don't—"
The closet door creaked open and Dean lurched out unsteadily, eyes rolling in Nick's direction.
Sam nearly choked. "Dean…what are you doing?"
Brandon stepped out and grabbed for the elder Winchester, catching him by the elbow. "Don't," he hissed, trying to drag him back into the closet. "Dean, no."
"You!" Nick exclaimed, genuinely surprised. He paused for a moment as they struggled, eyes trained Brandon, and then shook his head and delivered his second command. "Hit him."
Without blinking, Dean slammed his fist into the side of Brandon's head. Brandon dropped, gasping. Dean didn't spare him a glance, just kept limping toward the center of the room. Toward Nick.
"What the hell did you do to him?" Sam demanded, voice rising as he darted over to his brother's side.
"What I've done to the rest of these people," Nick said, gesturing around at all the cages, "Honestly, you need to keep up, Sam. Life moves fast. Yours is nearly over."
Sam reached Dean and planted himself in front of him. He put one hand on his good shoulder and the other on his chest. "Dean, stop," he pleaded.
Dean focused on Sam's face when he spoke. Even though his eyes were white and clouded, Sam saw his brother in there, screaming soundlessly.
Furious, Sam pushed back against his brother's body as it moved unbidden toward the bastard responsible for everything. "Damn it," Sam snarled. He half turned toward Nick. "Leave him alone!"
"You know, Sam," Nick said nastily, "It would be so much easier on poor Dean if you would just let him die. He wouldn't have to know anything about monstrosities I plan on ordering him to carry out, and he certainly wouldn't feel any pain in that hunk of road-kill he calls a shoulder. He'd just be a mindless drone like the others. Look at them, Sam—don't they look happy?"
"Not happening," Sam snarled, pushing hard against Dean as his brother continued to amble forward. He could feel Dean shaking, fighting against it, and he tightened his grip on his shoulder. "Dean, it's okay. I won't let him force you to do anything. He's not getting you."
"I've already got Dean," Nick said dismissively, leaning against a cage. "You're the one that's threatening my operation, and right now I want you six feet under. I want your body burned beyond any hope of recognition. I want your corpse tossed into the ocean and left to float, bloated and rotten, across white sanded tourist beaches. I want you dead, freak."
"Get in line," Sam grunted distractedly, mind elsewhere. They needed to get out now, but Brandon was down and all of Sam's energy was focused on preventing Dean from reaching Nick. If only he could get to a gun…
Dean flinched, and Sam realized one of his fingernails was digging into a gash in his side. He shifted his grip. "Sorry," he breathed, his face inches from Dean's as they struggled, "I'm sorry."
"I've figured out how to kill you, Sam," Nick said quietly.
Sam anchored his feet against one of the cages, ignoring the fingernails that raked at him through the bars. "Good for you," he shot back.
"I'm glad you approve," Nick said, and snapped his fingers playfully. "Stop moving, Dean."
Dean stopped his charge mid-step and slumped over, exhausted, into Sam's grip. Caught off-guard by the sudden lack of resistance, Sam nearly fell on his brother, but at the last second he managed to keep his hold on Dean and stayed on his feet. He was left feeling sick and dizzy, and it took all his energy just to keep his balance. He struggled to pull air into his lungs.
Dean's eyes swiveled in Sam's direction as he tightened his fingers in Sam's jacket. He mumbled something, but the syllables didn't string into words.
"Dean," Sam said, shaking his head helplessly, "I can't…you're not making sense."
Dean frowned at him.
"Hey Winchester," Nick called over, grinning at their hopeless exchange, "I have one more thing that I want you to do…and then you can go back in your cage."
Dean tensed and pulled Sam closer. He cleared his throat and mumbled something else, slower this time, but again the words were complete nonsense. Sam realized with dismay that Dean didn't even sound like himself anymore, and he was instantly beyond furious, torn between staying where he was to protect Dean and charging over the cages to bash the brains out of the man responsible for caging his brother like an animal and severing his ability to communicate with him. Sam couldn't stand it; he had never wanted to talk to Dean as badly as he did in that moment.
Nick stepped closer to them, gleefully soaking in Sam's confliction and anger. "Don't worry, Sam. You put up a good fight. I'll look after Dean when you're gone," he said. He turned to the second Winchester, who was clinging to his younger brother as though Sam was the only thing keeping him sane. "Hey Dean..." he said, smirking, "Kill your little brother for me."
Dun dun duuuun…Review! Thanks. :)