None Goes His Way Alone
By Coffeemaniac
Not Slash
A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.
A/N: I have not stopped to thank those who are reviewing, following and making this story a favorite. It's your interest and attention that makes this fun.
"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)
The Villains
Michael Battle had paid and dismissed three of his associates once the Winchesters were secured.
Battle's partners, Eric and Scott Balin, remained on the job.
He met the Balin brothers a few years earlier while the three of them worked for an American security company providing protection for contractors in Afghanistan. Eric and Scott had just resigned from the Army and were looking for new challenges. Battle found them to be intelligent and efficient and willing to skirt legalities and company policy if the payoff was better.
Over time he learned they had been raised by an abusive father who may or may not have murdered their mother. They escaped their violent home when Eric turned eighteen. Eric purchased a fake birth certificate and social security number for sixteen year old Scott and the two of them joined the Army where they served for four years.
The three of them worked together for a while before Battle quit and returned to the states. He started his own business renting himself out to wealthy people with difficult problems. Six months later, when the Balin brothers came looking for work, he was happy to hire them.
The Winchesters and Jacob Moore were just another job in a long line of jobs.
Battle used the research provided by Moore to start out and employed his own contacts to pad his knowledge of Sam and Dean. He well knew that research and patience had always been the keys to his success.
After reading the histories of the Winchester brothers with their nomadic, motherless childhood he extrapolated that they would be completely loyal to each other. Even if Battle could have found their father, he doubted either one would break just at seeing him suffer. But, to protect the other, Sam and Dean would do anything. Battle was sure of it.
He could have just taken Sam and probably gotten some answers. But, depending on the boy's stubbornness that would take time and might not produce truthful results. By using Dean, Battle reduced the time factor and was essentially guaranteed honesty. Because if Sam didn't tell the truth or held back details, Battle would inject Dean again and by showing his potential for brutality from the beginning, he didn't need to convince them with words. They already knew he wouldn't hesitate. By having Eric and Scott assist with each injury and injection, he cemented reality that there was no ally for them to manipulate, no weak-willed traitor waiting to rescue them.
As he took a long drink from a bottle of water, Battle leaned forward in the padded desk chair and watched Sam try to defeat his prison. Color monitors displayed almost every inch of the small cell and he marveled at the young man's tenacity.
He found it interesting that Sam focused on searching for escape while the monitor in the cell continued to display Dean's suffering. In Battle's experience, loved ones tended to be horrified but mesmerized by the sight of torture. Sam stopped periodically to stare at the screen but he was clearly consumed with the hope of rescuing his brother.
As for Dean, the drug had plunged him into a nightmare struggle against his own body. His lips bled from where he had bitten them. His voice barely squeaked and yet he continued trying to force the screams out. Not that he was consciously aware of it but humans were conditioned for survival. When in great distress, crying out was automatic, a way to summon help, as natural as breathing. Given the intensity of the drug on his raw nerve endings, Dean was simply unable to stop his body's need to vent.
Battle flipped the switch on the control panel that triggered the monitor in Sam's cell to darken and withdraw back into the ceiling. He watched Sam curse and kick at the wall before sinking to the floor in despair. Battle took his cell phone out and sent a text to Eric.
'return to command central.'
A few minutes later, Eric returned and Battle told him to keep an eye on both brothers, but Dean in particular.
"If he starts to deteriorate, call me," Battle said.
In all likelihood, if Dean had a weak heart or an aneurism waiting to burst, he would not have survived the first injection. But, Battle didn't want him to die and there was no point in being careless.
Once Eric replaced him, Battle sought the outdoors. The night was warm and he wanted to stretch his legs. He climbed the stairs of the basement which opened up into a small kitchen. The appliances were high dollar but worn down from dust and disuse.
Battle walked outside to embrace the nice weather. He stood on the wide porch and smiled as he breathed in the fresh air. Taking a single cigar from inside his jacket, he bit the end off and inhaled the rich tobacco scent before lighting it. He sighed contentedly as the mild flavor slid down his throat. There was nothing like the taste and smell of well-crafted cigar.
He watched as Scott Balin pulled the van into the driveway of the house. He and Eric had worked a solo job just prior to this one and needed to see their client to finalize details. Battle didn't know or want to know anything about it. The Balin's were welcome to take other jobs as long as the jobs didn't interfere with their commitment to Battle. If they made a mistake and were caught doing something illegal, it was understood that Battle wouldn't help them.
"How're our guests?" Scott asked as he started up the front steps.
"We're an hour from the party," Battle responded.
They both understood they were talking about Sam Winchester's upcoming interrogation but it was always best to use code words when there was any danger of being overheard.
"I'll head down and finish up the decorations."
Battle nodded with a smile. He liked Scott and knew he was dependable.
Battle took another long pull from the cigar then snuffed out the tip and replaced it in his pocket. He walked back in the house.
The Truth
Sam wished they'd let him see Dean again. And he hoped they wouldn't. He needed to see him and know that he was still alive. But, watching him suffer was almost more than Sam could face.
He knew his brother. He saw the fight in him; saw the anger in every line of his body. But, that didn't replace the horror.
Out of frustration, Sam threw himself at the metal door again. His knew his shoulder and arm had to be mottled with bruises by now but the pain of that was nothing, not even worth considering. He slammed into the door again and called out.
The bastard who spoke to him said they'd wait 48 hours. It had to be well past that now.
Sick with thirst and hunger, he let his anger push him to keep trying to get attention. They couldn't ignore him forever, could they?
Sam crouched as a wave of nausea and anxiety passed through his gut. He bent over, closing his eyes. "He'll be okay," he whispered to himself. "He'll be okay."
He took a few breaths to calm down and used the wall for support to push himself back to his feet. He heard the clank of metal near the door and straightened up.
The stranger entered first. He smiled and Sam braced himself. Next came his henchmen supporting a wilted Dean between them. Sam rushed forward but the stranger pushed him back. Then he tried again but the stranger shoved him harder the second time and he stumbled, nearly falling backward.
"Stay there," the stranger said. "Your brother is fine."
Dean hung limply between the henchmen. He moved his head back and forth so Sam knew he was conscious but he wasn't holding his own weight and his breath came in gasps. He still wasn't wearing a shirt and the white bandages covering his wounds looked too bright.
"What do you want?" Sam demanded. "If you just want to know about Jess, we could have done this hours ago, days ago."
"I do want to know about Jessica but I find that everyone needs a bit of persuasion to really get to the truth."
Sam shook his head. "You don't…you don't understand. You're not going to believe the truth."
"Well, Sam, I suggest you try me. Because if I have to ask again, your brother will pay the price."
"No. Just…don't. Can you, at least, give him some water, let him sit down."
"He'll get everything he needs as soon as you tell me what happened the night Jessica Moore died."
"Okay, fine, okay." Frustrated and angry he blurted, "She was murdered. All right? She was murdered."
"By whom?" the stranger asked.
Sam hesitated then decided to go with the truth. "I don't know."
"Sam," the stranger said, sounding disappointed.
"No, really, I don't know. Whatever killed her, killed my mother. That's all I know."
"That's interesting," the stranger said. "Your mother did die in a fire."
The two men holding Dean hiked him up in their arms. Dean gasped.
Sam took a step but the stranger held his hand up. "I'm sorry. Dean dislocated his shoulder during the last treatment. I'm afraid he's in quite a bit of pain standing there like that."
Fury flooded him. "You son of a bitch."
"Start from the beginning," the stranger said. "Where were you the weekend that Jessica died?"
Sam couldn't think about anything but Dean and it took a moment to focus. With effort, he said,
"Jericho. I was in Jericho, California looking for our father."
"For how long?"
"The weekend. A couple of days. And then Dean brought me back. He dropped me off in front of our apartment."
"The apartment you shared with Jessica?"
"Yes, yes. I went inside and I called out for her but she didn't answer. So I went in the bedroom and I found the room on fire. So, I…I tried to get to Jess but I couldn't."
The stranger shook his head. "You're holding back details. Is that because you killed her, Sam?"
Sam stopped. The question hollowed out his insides. "What?"
"You murdered her."
"I would never have hurt her."
"What kind of knife did you use, Sam? It had to be something pretty sharp."
"She died in the fire."
"No. The coroner says there were slash marks on her ribs. Knife marks. What did you use to kill her?'
Sam looked between Dean and the stranger. "Check my history and you'll see that my mother died in a fire. Just like Jess. The details are the same. It was the same killer."
"You know what, Sam? I want to believe you. But, a killer who stalks you every twenty years? It's hard to accept. And if it was just a fire then why would the coroner lie? Why would he put a notation about marks on her ribs if there weren't any? Should I believe you over the coroner?"
"I don't know what the coroner saw. I just know that it was the same killer both times."
"You're still holding back. Maybe you need another day to think about this. I can't guarantee that Dean's heart will survive another treatment but we can find out."
Sam didn't know what to say. The stranger would never believe the truth but what else was there? Going against a lifetime of training, he said, "It was a demon. After it killed my mother my dad kept us traveling all over because we were looking for it."
"A demon. Like a bad person, you mean?"
"No. Like from hell. Like the devil's minions. A demon murdered Jessica. I don't know why it's after us but it probably slashed my mother too before she died. Find the report on her murder. It has to be in there."
The stranger sighed. "I'm surprised, Sam. I thought your brother meant more to you than this."
Sam shook his head. "No. No. Just look it up. Google it. Whatever. Check my history. Check my dad's history. I'm telling you the truth."
The stranger waved at his henchmen. The taller one turned Dean around then yelled out in surprise when Dean head-butted him. Dean threw himself backward and knocked the other man off balance. Sam took advantage of the distraction and rushed the stranger. Without the use of his arms he plowed into him with all his weight and sent them both tumbling to the ground.
Sam lost track of Dean's progress when the stranger shoved him onto his back trapping his arms beneath him. Sam bucked and kicked earning a couple of good grunts from the stranger but nothing moved the larger man. Instead the stranger pulled back and punched Sam in the jaw. Adrenaline still pumping, Sam scissored his legs around him and tried to twist but the other man slammed his palm into Sam's shoulder, flattening him, then shoved a knee into his groin. Sam's breath whooshed out of his body as his abdomen and legs flared in agony. Bile tickled his throat but he choked it back as he rolled on to his side and curled up.
"Leave them," the stranger's voice ordered.
Through eyes blurred with pained tears, Sam watched the three captors walk out the door and slam it behind them. He squirmed around, pushing back the pain and trying to find Dean. Thankfully, his brother was lying close by.
Sam pushed himself on to his knees and awkwardly crawled across the floor.
"Dean," he whispered, his voice rough with pain and thirst.
Dean made a soft noise. Sam wanted to touch him, to shift him, to check him but with his arms bound, the best he could do was look. He stayed on his knees and bent over Dean's back. His brother was lying on his left side, his right arm hanging limply across his chest. His eyes were blinking but his mouth was set in a thin line with blood seeping from his lips. He didn't look battered but the bandages were tinged pink.
Sam stiffened with a surge of fury. He shook his head forcing himself to breathe so he could speak in a normal tone. He didn't want to convey his anger and frustration to his brother. Quietly, he said,
"Dean, come on, man, say something."
Dean opened his mouth and made a weird noise, almost like when puberty made his voice squeak. He made a face, cleared his throat and tried again. He closed his eyes with a grimace but the sound didn't improve.
"Okay, okay, don't talk anymore. Your vocal chords are probably swollen. Just nod. Can you do that?"
Dean made a slight motion with his head.
"Where are you hurt?"
Dean gave him a brief but meaningful glare.
Sam chuckled at himself for the stupid question and at Dean for his surly response.
"I know your shoulder is dislocated. I can't fix it, man, not with my arms tied. Can you roll over, maybe try to sit up?"
Dean closed his eyes. Sam was ready to accept that neither of his requests was going to be possible. But, then stubbornness won out and Dean pushed himself on to his back. He groaned when his shoulder hit the ground then lay still just breathing.
"That's good. Just take your time. It's okay. You're okay," Sam comforted.
Sam leaned back, giving his brother some space. He cursed the stranger for leaving his hands tied for so long. He wanted to put Dean's arm back. It was the only thing he could do to help but that was denied him.
Dean just scowled and mouthed a profanity before using his good arm to push himself to sitting. He leaned heavily against Sam for balance while he shoved backward to find the wall. He hissed when his bare back hit the cold metal and lurched into Sam almost knocking them both over.
"Damn," Dean rasped.
"Just rest for now. I don't know when they're coming back."
"What's going on?" The words sounded like they scraped across gravel before finding air.
"Jacob Moore hired them, I think. The big guy, the one in charge, keeps asking how Jess died."
"He doesn't believe." There was no sound behind the words but Sam could read his meaning.
"It's a hard sell."
Dean closed his eyes, putting more weight against Sam. Sam just steadied himself, ignoring the pressure on his knees and the strain on his arms. If this was all he could do then he would do it.
"Got some water," Dean rasped. "You?"
Sam shook his head.
"You okay?" Dean's voice sounded worse the more he used it.
"I'm good. Just don't know what we're going to do. I gotta get us out of here."
Dean pushed away from Sam. Stubbornly he forced his uninjured arm through the space between Sam's arm and side. Understanding what he wanted, Sam pulled both of them up. He groaned at the pull on his muscles but then they stood unsteadily facing each other. Dean withdrew with a pained sigh.
Sam knew that his brother wanted to present a strong front. But, he also knew when the stranger and his friends returned, they'd be decimated. Their kidnappers were armed, trained and determined. They weren't handicapped by two days of torture, a dislocated shoulder and bound hands. They weren't suffering from thirst and hunger.
He needed a plan that would save Dean even if he had to sacrifice himself. Sam had to find out their end game. Had Jacob Moore ordered his execution if Sam said that he killed Jessica? Would he have Dean murdered as well? Whatever else he convinced the stranger of, Sam had to convince him that Dean was innocent.
The sound of the lock turning sent adrenaline coursing through Sam's body. When the three men entered, one of the henchmen was brandishing a handgun. He stayed near the door aiming at Dean.
The second henchmen, the taller of the two, walked up to Dean with a smile.
"You gonna kiss me?" Dean asked with a squeak from his damaged voice.
The man punched him in the stomach sending Dean to his knees. Sam bolted towards him only to have the stranger shove him back. Sam stumbled and fell, surprised when his vision shifted out of focus. He stayed on one knee breathing through it. The stranger yanked him back up and pulled him close so they were practically nose to nose.
"Tell me about Jessica Moore," the stranger said.
"What happens if I do?"
The stranger shoved him backward and Sam almost fell again. He figured the lack of food and water was messing with him.
"I told you what happened to her," Sam said. "I could say anything now and it won't be the truth. But, let my brother go and I'll tell you what you want to hear."
"What do I want to hear?"
"That I killed her. You decided before you even started this so fine, I'll say it. Put me on camera, whatever. But, first, you have to let my brother leave. I won't do anything until he's safe."
"I don't know how I gave you the impression that any of this is up to you but just to be clear, if you continue pushing me then I will give your brother another injection. He's been in agony for the last two days after a couple of minor wounds combined with the contents of the syringe. Imagine how he'll do with a dislocated shoulder."
"Look, I told you the truth. My mother died when I was six months old. She was in my nursery and a demon came into the house and killed her. It did the same thing to Jess. I don't know how to convince you. I can show you the lore on the internet. I can find my mother's autopsy, the police report, whatever you want."
The stranger frowned. He rubbed his chin and looked at his companions. The one with the gun shrugged. The one above Dean shook his head.
"Well, it's two to one that you might be telling the truth. Or, at least, what you believe is the truth. Obviously, no one believes that Satan is after you or the women in your life. So, here's the problem, Sam, even if you don't remember killing Jessica, you most likely did, and she deserves justice whether you're crazy or not."
Sam threw his head back with a groan. He walked towards the stranger then back away from him again. He only took a couple of steps in either direction while he fought his frustration.
"God, I didn't kill her. I would give anything to have her back. Anything."
The stranger shrugged. "I believe you, Sam. Just as much as I did before. I'm going to contact my client and then we can decide what to do next."
"i didn't kill her," Sam said, desperate now, knowing that the next time the stranger came in it would be to kill them. If Jacob Moore went to all this trouble then there was no way he'd let them go.
"All right," the stranger said.
"Please… my brother is not part of this."
"Shut up, Sam," Dean growled from where he was still kneeling on the ground. The "up" sounded like a needle dragged across vinyl.
"For what it's worth," the stranger said. "I think Dean is innocent."
The three men left the small metal room and the door crashed closed behind them. Sam forcibly pushed back the panic starting to pump through him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to be suddenly imbued with super-human strength and bust them out of there.
Sam had failed to save them. He didn't know what to do now.