Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Warnings: Vague sort-of sexual content. Violence. Drugs. Also, don't expect perfect accuracy. I try my best to do research on what I include, but a lot of it is definitely not my field.
Sam noticed the man's leer first, smug like he already won some grand prize. With every step he took forwards, Sam pressed himself farther into the corner of his bed, torn between wanting to get away and not wanting to appear weak before his predator.
When healthy, Sam would have had a fighting chance against the man. He was well-built with the 'tough-guy' presence that he witnessed time and again at bars when Dean would hustle pool. It was the same presence Dean carried around. But he was just one man, and Sam might be small, but he spent his life with his dad and brother teaching him to fight monsters.
As it were, Sam felt the strain on the lattice patterned cuts marring his back with each movement. The cuts that were just finally starting to heal.
His breathing sped up and he could hear his own heartbeat roar, louder than the beat of the music from the dance floor above, in his ears when the man invaded his personal space. When he was so close that Sam smelled the alcohol warm on his breath.
The man laughed at Sam's struggles, like it was all a game to him. Sam realized that the people allowed down into the hidden hallway were probably regular customers if they knew about its existence in the first place, paying more than once for a few hours with a slave. The struggle was just part of their game. Part of their fun.
Sam couldn't even make a sound throughout. He couldn't call for help, not that there was anyone who would hear it. Not that there was anyone who would help him.
Sam saw the man's eyes widen in fear above him before he realized what happened. The feel of hands on his bare skin snapped the same section of his mind, the one that went haywire in the factory.
The man scrambled away with flames licking at his skin, rushing out of the door and leaving Sam on the bed surrounded in fire.
He watched them dance around him, but he didn't bother to escape from their heat. If they wanted him, they could have him.
But the world seemed unwilling to let him burn away. Screeching fire alarms started to go off and sprinklers rained water down on him and his room.
He closed his eyes and let the freezing water soak him until it left him shivering.
When the sprinklers and alarms stopped, Sam's room was reduced to a soggy, scorched mess. He wanted the fire back. He needed it back.
If no one else would save him, at least he still had those flames. At least he still had confirmation that he was the cause of them. Somehow, he started two fires solely with his mind. And that gave him a sense of comfort. It was something that was a part of him. Something that was always meant to be a part of him. He felt it. It started unintentionally, sure, but it was only a matter of time until he figured out how to use it intentionally.
And he had nothing else to occupy his time during the day in that room.
He looked over and saw Liu standing against the door frame, but not making any move to enter Sam's room.
He crossed his arms and stared. Looking for something, but Sam didn't know what.
Sam knew only a handful of things with certainty at that moment. He was exhausted. He could create fire with his mind.
And he would watch Liu burn.
14710 kept glancing over his shoulder, even after Caleb let him in and shut the door behind him. He avoided looking at the task master, tied up and left in the corner due to the sudden interruption. While Dean thought the slave might be around his height if he stood up straight, it was too difficult to tell with him hunched in on himself.
Dean couldn't stop himself from staring at the numbers on 14710's arm. His dad told him that Sam's number was '18166', but now he wondered if it was marked on his skin in ink too.
And that was the last thing the kid would need, a reminder of the hell he went through.
"You helped Sam?" John prompted.
"That's his name?" 14710 asked. He cleared his throat quickly, like he was embarrassed, and continued. "Yeah. The building was going down in flames, and he was struggling just to stand. There was no way he could have gotten out on his own."
"Why not?"
14710 shook his head. "Kid had been whipped two days before that. Then, a piece from one of the machines fell and caught him on the leg."
Dean felt his stomach twist itself into knots. Sam was whipped and he wasn't there. Sam had been hurting, and Dean wasn't there for him.
A stranger was there instead. A stranger instead of his big brother. His own flesh and blood.
The person who should've been there for him a month ago.
"Why was he whipped?" Caleb asked the question that neither Dean nor John could bring themselves to ask.
14710 smiled, but it was bitter and cold. "Because he saved another kid," he said. "Problem was that he ruined a lot of finished product doing it, and to them, that's worth more than the life of one slave."
Dean shook his head. He imagined that being trafficked wouldn't be fun for Sam, he knew that from the beginning. But the more he learned about Sam's time as a slave (which still wasn't over, he reminded himself), the more he wished for the return of his ignorance.
He never handled seeing Sam in pain well, but hearing about the pain Sam endured without him was worse. Dean almost felt every lash inflicted upon Sam on his own back, and he didn't even know how many times Sam was struck with a whip. Ten? Twenty? One hundred?
The air in the room was suddenly too thick and too difficult to breath. He forced himself to regain some semblance of control and take over his breathing. Slow it, before he hyperventilated.
He drove the heels of his hands into his eyes until it hurt, hoping that this would all be just remnants of a bad dream once he woke up. Maybe it was all just the result of a hunt gone wrong that left him with a head injury and brain damage.
Because waking up and being told he had brain damage would be better than this.
No one talked, and 14710 took that as his signal to keep going. "They loaded us onto trucks again. No use in keeping a bunch of slaves at a nonoperational factory, you know? Everyone had a soft spot by then for 18166."
"Sam," Dean interrupted. "It's Sam."
"Sam," 14710 corrected. "They let him lean on them throughout the trip. Tried to comfort him however they could, even if they didn't have much to work with. I don't know if he noticed any of it. He was, uh, he was really out of it."
Leave it to Sam to have a bunch of slaves concerned about his well-being.
Leave it to Sam to find a way to still save others when he needed saving.
"And then?" John asked.
Dean swore he saw a glint of pride in his father's eyes, hidden within the sorrow and rage.
"We arrived here. I helped take Sam up to Davies' office, but I never saw him after that."
"Take us to Davies' office," Dean demanded.
"Yeah, of course," he said. "But, well, do you think you could help me get out of this place after? This isn't a life. Not really."
"We'll take you to the airport. Buy you a plane ticket. Buy you a taxi ride. Whatever you want, man. Just help me find my little brother," Dean said. "Please."
14710 nodded, looked like he was going to say something, but shook his head against it. He only said, "Yeah. I can do that."
He led the way, and John hauled the task master along with them, keeping his hand clasped firmly over the man's mouth to keep him from alerting anyone.
The task masters were real slackers at night, Dean realized. They didn't notice 14710 leave, and they didn't even notice the group of them moving through the factory.
The office wasn't anything special. There were probably thousands that looked just like it in Hong Kong and across America in standard office buildings that did standard work.
Only this office had bloodstains on the floor across from the desk. Not big, but big enough to notice.
Dean had a bad feeling that it was Sam's blood that stained the otherwise polished and sparkling tiles.
They locked themselves in and prepared to spend the rest of the night hoping that Davies would show up in the morning.
Liu had to move Sam into a new room, his old one too damaged to be repaired in a timely manner.
But Liu still wanted to get his investment back from Sam, and then some with the damages he was causing.
Within hours, a design of flames had been drawn on the door to his new room. He heard them do it, but didn't get to see it until a task master came in to give him his next meal.
He didn't particularly feel like eating after his experience with a client, even if it didn't end the way he was sure most encounters did in that hidden hallway, and most of it went untouched. Especially the little red tablet that sat innocuously in the corner of the tray.
He didn't know what they were trying to give him, but he wasn't going to take it. Not willingly.
And those weren't acceptable options. He could tell by the look on the task master's face when he came with the intention of collecting Sam's tray, but found it still full instead.
Jerry and Rich emphasized the 'force' part of force-feeding, but this task master went about it in a different manner. One that Sam couldn't discern as better or worse.
He turned the shock collar on with the little remote stored in a locked drawer in the room until Sam couldn't regain control over his own body. Then, he pushed the pill from the corner of the tray between Sam's lips along with a mouthful of tea. He massaged Sam's throat until he reflexively swallowed.
It left a sweet aftertaste. Chocolate-y. It reeked of chocolate too, but that was one thing that Sam sure it wasn't.
The task master left without bothering to get any of the food into Sam, and he found that the most concerning part.
What the hell was that pill if getting Sam to take it was more important than getting him to eat?
Dean stood close to 14710. It wasn't due to a lack of trust, but out of curiosity. They kept it dark in Davies' office, but the light of the city flooded in through the windows and gave Dean's glimpses of 14710's state. Gave him glimpses of old injuries.
And Dean didn't like what he saw. He didn't like the knowledge this stranger gave him about Sam having been whipped. He didn't like that this stranger had to drag Sam out of a burning building because Dean hadn't been there for his little brother.
He especially didn't like the other markings of man-made wounds on 14710.
He really, really didn't want to know how many similar marks were on Sam now.
"You're his brother, then?" 14710 asked.
There wasn't much for any of them to do in the office. John was quietly interrogating the task master, who seemed more or less willing to cooperate in hopes that he'd live at the end of it, and Caleb watched the door.
Dean and 14710 were the odd ones out.
"Yeah." He left out the part of how he was a pretty awful brother to Sam lately. Unintentional or not, he couldn't forgive that.
"I think you would've been proud of how he handled himself. I've been trapped like this for years, but I've never seen someone like him. He gave up his own meal and faced punishment for it. Just so that a little girl wouldn't have to go hungry over an accident."
Dean was proud. He was proud just hearing about Sam giving himself up just for someone else, and it was exactly like Sam to do such a thing.
"Thanks," Dean said. "For telling me that."
As much as he didn't want to hear about Sam being punished at all, he was glad that his brother didn't seem to have changed much through all of this. Not at heart. Sam might be broken when they found him, but not irreparable. Not if 14710's words were true.
"You, uh, got a name?" Dean asked. He couldn't keep referring to the kid as a string of numbers in his mind.
Though he wished he kept his mouth shut with the way that 14710's face paled, then became overshadowed with confusion.
"I don't know," 14710 said. "It's been so long since I haven't been '14710'. I can't remember what came before that."
14710 put his hands on either side of his head and rocked slightly back and forth. "I can't remember," he repeated in whispers. "I can't remember."
Dean place his hand on the kid's shoulder, unsure of what else he could really do. "It's okay," he said. "You can choose what you want to be called instead, huh? Choose what name you want to start your new life with. A fresh, complete start that way. Your own terms. You call that shots. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
14710 shook his head. He stopped his rocking, but left his hands on his head. "It doesn't."
Dean suppressed his sigh and let his hand stay rested on 14710's shoulder. He had no idea if it was comforting, but it wasn't hurting him.
Was this how Sam would be when they found him? Would he be better? Worse?
Would he remember his own goddamn name?
Dean had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Sam couldn't stop moving. He had no idea what that pill forced down his throat had been, but he knew that it was responsible for the way his heart felt like it was trying to pump itself out of his chest. No matter how much he scratched at it, it wouldn't go away.
Was there blood under his fingernails?
The cuts on his back and leg were thoroughly numb. He bent and twisted and felt no pain from them, though he thought it should have hurt. He should have felt something other than nauseated and like he was about to crawl out of his own skin.
Electronic music thumped in the main area of the club above him, and he wondered how long it would be until a client was sent down to him. He wondered if one would be sent down at all, after what happened to the previous one.
He was way too warm and fire roared in his head, begging to break out.
Against the inkling of logic lingering in the back of his mind, he felt that he could destroy the entire club at that moment. Burn it down like he did the factory.
Was the beat of the music too slow? Or was it too fast? He shook his head. It didn't matter. Not really. It just sounded weird. Off.
What the hell did they give him?
Dean couldn't begin to explain how fucked up his luck had to be that, when he wanted to find Sam, he found nothing. But when it came to people he wanted to kill, he seemed able to find them in abundance.
Davies was currently at the top on that list, strapped down to his own office chair. His security was piss poor anyway, but at the same time, Dean imagined that not only did he not spend all of his time in Hong Kong, he probably never expected that three grown men, one of his own slaves, and one of his task masters (unwillingly) would be camping out in his office and ready to subdue him.
Last time, saying '18166' brought fear into their current interrogation target. This time, Davies filled with anger instead.
"Glad to be rid of the bastard," he said.
"Why'd you get rid of him?" John asked. All routine, despite the importance of it all. Despite the fact that this was about his own son.
Or perhaps, he was routine because of that fact. Keep the emotions at bay for now. Take care of business.
Dean couldn't have done it.
"Doesn't matter to you," Davies said.
Dean figured out quickly that 14710 had a certain squeamishness to him. He couldn't watch John's interrogation methods without looking like every piece of food he'd eaten in the last year was about to make a reappearance.
They didn't have their normal arsenal with them, but John made do with what he did have and dislocated the joints in Davies' fingers one at a time. He always made sure that some cloth kept Davies' screams muffled before he caused any pain.
They could do without suspicion or concerned task masters interrupting.
It was bad enough that each pop of a joint being misplaced sent 14710 into a new bout of trying not to throw up.
Dean's hand on his shoulder wasn't as comforting this time around, and he was at a loss as to what could possibly help this stranger. This stranger who experienced a hell similar to what Sam was still going through.
He couldn't exactly take 14710 out of the room to spare him the torture scene happening right in front of his eyes. Where could they possibly go in a factory filled with slaves and their task masters, who Dean guessed were a little more alert during the day, if only to look for anyone they could punish?
And to make it worse, John wasn't making much progress with Davies. Dean didn't know if Davies really had no idea what happened to Sam after he let go of his, God, ownership of him, or if Davies was just a stubborn bastard who wanted to keep them guessing even if it left him dead by the end of it.
Some men wanted to watch the world burn, and Davies was probably one of them.
He did his best to distract 14710, but it never seemed like enough. Most things he did never seemed like enough anymore, and having to pull out techniques he used to comfort Sam made it worse. It only emphasized Sam's absence, which left Dean feeling like he had bags of ice for organs.
Davies panted in the chair. If he stayed still enough, the pain from the joints in his hands would be tolerable. But he made little fidgety motions that jostled them.
"Look, that's enough," Davies said. "I can't tell you where the kid is exactly, but I can get you in contact with someone who can. Liu and I call each other often enough. Part of business."
John nodded and picked up the phone from Davies' desk, putting it up to his ear. "You're going to talk to him and find where he took my son. Try and tip him off about us, and I promise that I will make you into as little of a man as you are at heart."
Davies nodded his understanding and recited a phone number for John to punch in.
"Hey, Liu," Davies said. "You know, I was thinking that we could work something out with the kid. Now that I've calmed down and all."
Davies was good at hiding the pain in his voice, at least. Dean could tell it was still there, but he doubted that it would be audible over the phone.
"I just feel like I haven't gotten my money's worth from him," Davies said.
There was a pause, Davies kept glancing over at John while he stayed on the phone.
"Is he? Well, I guess that's a shame, huh?" Davies said. "Maybe we can work out something better next time."
He looked over and nodded at John, who put the phone back in its cradle.
"Liu took him to a club in Chengdu," Davies said. "He isn't even in Hong Kong anymore."
Dean felt his heart go into his throat, and thought he might cough it up in his shock. "Excuse me?"
John ignored him. "How long does it take to get there?"
"Driving would take over a day. And that's if you drove straight through."
"If we flew?"
Davies shook his head. "Two or three hours, maybe? I don't know. I don't go to Chengdu often, all of my business is in Hong Kong and America. Liu likes his spread out across Asia."
John nodded, and Davies sighed with relief. "So, I can go?" he asked.
John looked at him, then pulled a knife from a sheath hidden in his boot. "You hurt my son," John said. "I can't forgive that."
It was quick, just a slit of the throat. Too quick, for Dean's tastes, but they were still on a timeline.
"What about the task master?" Dean asked. "What do we do with him?"
John slit his throat, too. The task master said he tried quitting, and he could have with Davies gone. But John killed him instead, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if that was the right thing to do. Davies deserved death, of course. But did the task master?
The first time looked hard enough for 14710 to witness and not throw up, but the second time left him retching in the corner.
"We better get going," John said.
Dean ushered 14710 along with him, and 14710 directed all of them through the back sections of the factory since it was similar to the previous one was at. They went through the places that were rarely used.
Dean couldn't help but think of the task master's comment about his little sister. That he was doing all of it for her. Dean could respect that, he would do whatever he had to in order to protect Sam.
He just wished he could get the thought out of his head that they took away a little girl's big brother.
Sam rubbed at his eyes, but his vision never cleared. It wasn't this bad at first, but it seemed to be getting progressively worse. When someone walked through the door, they were just a blur. And was that another blur following them in?
He still hasn't figured out how to control the fire begging inside of him. Begging to help him burn the world.
He was pacing, and the two blurs tried to get him back to the bed. But then one is running from the room and Sam thought that he might have gouged out an eye. He felt it in his hand, felt it give way to his thumb digging in.
The other blur managed to cuff Sam's hands behind his back in his surprise at the sudden commotion.
He felt blood on his hand and he was alone to wait again.
The next set of blurs had an easier time with his hands behind his back, but Sam learned one thing about his power. Regardless of whether or not he could control it, it still kicked in when things went too far. Especially when whatever pill they gave him had the flames licking at the inside of his skull in anticipation of being released.
When hands got just a little too hands-y, they were pulled back with a feral scream and Sam felt the heat radiate from them. He smelled the burning flesh.
He was pretty sure that was a fire extinguisher that the one blur held, but everyone was gone too quickly and he was alone again.
It felt like a long time passed before his vision started to clear. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He swore that every cell in his body still vibrated from whatever they gave him.
He turned his head at the sound of his door opening again, wondering if he still had the energy to fight off another client.
But it was just Liu and one of the task masters standing there.
"We can't do this," Liu said. "The extra charge isn't worth the amount I'll have to pay for medical bills."
"How is he doing it?"
"Davies' task masters thought he was some sort of spirit," Liu said, his voice mocking. "I don't think he's a spirit, but I don't think he's human either. Burn some incense. Keep him sedated. If we can't stop the problem, we should be able to keep it contained."
They left Sam alone with his thoughts.
Not human?
They ended up stopping at a clinic to get the collar removed from 14710. The doctor had to saw it off after they couldn't find any normal locks, just a strange automatic one. Dean never saw anything like it before, and 14710 confirmed that Sam was collared, too.
Then it was back on the ferry and to the airport.
Dean looked at his own ticket in his hands, not excited about getting on yet another plane. Not excited about having to wait a couple more hours yet again, despite it still being the faster route to Sam than driving.
But he would do what he had to.
14710 took his ticket from John and thanked him.
"So, New York?" Dean asked.
"Guess so," 14710. "Right now, I'd just like to get back to my home country. I can decide what's next after. Maybe get my GED."
"Never got to graduate?" Dean asked.
14710 shrugged. "Never got to attend. I was just in middle school when… Well, it doesn't matter now."
He left in a bit of a hurry after that with a rushed goodbye and good luck, and Dean realized that he never got to ask what name 14710 planned on using.
Kid never even got to go to high school. Sam might have been a sophomore, but if they didn't get him back, he wouldn't get the chance to graduate either.
"We'll be in Chengdu before you know it," John said, taking the seat next to him.
Dean shrugged. "I heard some of what Davies said," he said. "We get in Chengdu, and then what? What if Liu moves him again? Davies said he has clubs throughout Asia, what's to stop him from sending Sam to one of the other ones?"
"One thing at a time," Caleb said. "He's in Chengdu, we find him. He isn't in Chengdu, we still find him. And that's that."
Dean ran his hands through his hair.
"I hate this."
John and Caleb kept silent at that, but Dean knew they hated it, too. Always feeling so close, only to end up feeling farther away than ever.
Can you hold on just a little longer, Sammy? I promise, it's just a few more hours.
Author's Note: They're so close now! Dean says a few more hours, but do things always go according to plan for them? Only about 3 chapters left, and then the sequel (which will likely be quite long). I hope that all of you are still enjoying the ride.
Thank you to everyone who follows, favorites, reads, and reviews. I know some of the content might not be something everyone is comfortable with, but I'll be keeping it vague and do my best with warnings.
I'm kind of a review junkie, so if you could take a moment to help me get my fix, I'd appreciate it!