Chapter 4

By the time Dean found the warehouse, Sam had barely been gone 24 hours. To Sam, though, it felt like an eternity.

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Sam, ankles and wrists bound tight, had drifted in and out of consciousness in the back seat of the red pickup on the drive to Odessa.

The two hunters up front hadn't taken any chances with the famous Sam Winchester: they hadn't tied him up with rope, they'd used handcuffs instead. They hadn't been messing around when they'd set upon him in the alley behind Johnny Blue's either, having no desire to get into a fight with the younger Winchester. Whatever drug they'd injected him with was still making everything foggy, and - in addition to being fuzzy - the world was also spinning in a most unsettling fashion.

As Sam kept his eyes firmly shut to keep the nausea at bay, he wondered faintly if Dean had gotten into town yet and how long it would take his brother to realise something was wrong.

Through the drug-induced fog, Sam struggled to hear the conversation going on in the front. He could only make out a few words at first, but as it turned out he didn't need many: 'Lilith', 'convent' and 'cage' pretty much gave the game away.

These two were the hunters that had visited Johnny Blue's yesterday, and they knew; they knew he had started the Apocalypse.

That realisation sent a shiver through Sam. These guys had tracked him down and set an ambush. Now he was tied up in the back seat of their car in the middle of the night, on his way to God-knows where... there were very few ways this scenario was likely to end, and Sam didn't much like the thought of any of them.

As they drove on, Sam's fog started to clear and he found it much easier to follow the conversation going on in the front seat. "Ray, the masking ritual is important. His brother hasn't been around lately, but if someone tries to find this kid we need to be hidden." The driver sounded stressed - he apparently thought someone might come looking for their captive. Sam could hear fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

"She did the ritual, Owen. We'll stay hidden." The guy in the passenger seat - apparently named Ray - sounded exasperated, like Owen had made that same point repeatedly. Sam immediately recognised this voice: Ray was the one with the strong Southern accent. The one who had held the revolver to his head in the alley.

"Look, it's not that I don't trust her..." Owen obviously didn't, though. Sam heard it in his voice.

"For the last time: she did the ritual!" Ray growled, patience wearing thin. "And it's not like anyone's gonna come lookin' for this boy anyway," he scoffed. Owen stayed silent, and the conversation in the front seat dried up.

Now that he was feeling a little more clear-headed, Sam risked opening his eyes to check out his predicament. He found it was still night-time, and he was trussed up on the cracked brown vinyl seat of an old pickup which felt like it was driving down a highway - the ride was straight and smooth, and it felt like they were travelling at highway speed.

Sam had no clue where they were, though. He didn't know how long he'd been out, which direction they were driving... he didn't even really know who had kidnapped him. The only thing he could see in the back with him was a pair of beaten-up old duffel bags on the floor behind the front seats.

In an effort to find out where he was, Sam craned his neck to look out the passenger side window. Big mistake: the scenery rushing past the window made the dizziness exponentially worse, and Sam screwed his eyes shut as waves of nausea rolled over him.

Okay - so no more looking out the window, then...

Even when he felt the car turn off the highway, Sam couldn't keep track of the turns they made. Between the drug-induced haze in his brain and the waves of nausea that accompanied the sudden changes of direction, he wished he was still unconscious.

Sam's world hadn't quite stopped spinning when Owen finally pulled off the road, but at least he could open his eyes without wanting to throw up. He looked out the window as the pickup rolled to a stop, and it took him a few seconds to realise they were now in the dimly lit carpark of a warehouse. He heard Ray jump out of the cab and open a roller door so Owen could drive the pickup inside, and Sam's heart sank as he heard the door rattle shut behind them. How the hell was anyone going to find him when they'd parked the car inside the warehouse...?

Owen got out and opened the back door, then reached in and grabbed Sam roughly by the arm. "Out you get, sunshine." Owen had a sinister little smile on his face as he manhandled Sam out of the back seat and dumped him unmercifully in a heap on the cold cement floor.

Sam landed hard on his left side, unable to break his fall with his hands cuffed behind his back, and all the air was driven out of his lungs in a rush by the unforgiving concrete. Lightning bolts of pain radiated from his ribs as he tried to breathe, but his diaphragm wouldn't cooperate - he couldn't get more than a few shallow gasps before Owen and Ray each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him up.

His head still foggy and now winded as well, Sam was dragged out of the empty warehouse space and into a smaller room. He knew he should be struggling and fighting to get free, but he just couldn't make his body move - his arms and legs felt like lead, and he was too securely bound. He was only just managing to get some air back in his lungs when Owen and Ray wordlessly dropped him to the floor in the centre of the room, knocking the air out of him all over again.

As he lay on the cold floor, struggling for breath with black spots dancing in front of his eyes, Sam distantly noticed as his hands were freed then immediately cuffed again - this time, in front of his body. While someone shut and locked the cuffs securely back around his wrists, Sam found he could take some shallow breaths and the black dots slowly started to disappear from his vision.

With its oxygen supply restored, Sam's brain began functioning again and he realised that Ray was tying rope around his wrists as well. Even through the lingering drug-induced haze, he recognised that was overkill.

Huh - I must be really dangerous if they need to tie me up with rope as well.

Any pleasure Sam was taking in being so dangerous evaporated as the rope tightened around his wrists and his cuffed hands were dragged up over his head. Before he knew what was happening, he was jerked to his feet as Ray pulled the rope tight over one of the steel beams in the ceiling, hanging Sam from it by his wrists. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Ray tied the rope off at a nearby steel pillar, making sure his captive was suspended high enough that his boots only just touched the floor.

"Gotta go get some toys now, but don't worry: we'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." Ray patted Sam on the cheek, a wicked little smile on his face. He left Sam hanging by his wrists and followed Owen out to the pickup.

Left alone and now able to breathe again, Sam took stock of his surroundings. The room appeared to have been a storage area of some kind: there was a beaten up old table pushed against the wall, plus a few old filing cabinets and metal shelves, and a couple of mismatched office chairs. The only light in the room was a dusty incandescent bulb hanging a couple of feet above his head, from the same steel beam Sam was suspended from. The windows were blacked out and securely covered with wire screens, and the floor was the same grey painted concrete as the warehouse outside.

Sam looked up at the colourful nylon climbing rope digging into his wrists, and it occurred to him that he'd have some awful bruises later - you know, if he had a later. He tried briefly to work his hands through the loops of rope, but Ray was apparently really good at tying knots because Sam soon realised he wasn't going anywhere. He was only succeeding in chafing his wrists raw, and even if he did manage to get free from the rope, there were still those handcuffs to contend with...

I hope you're quick on the uptake today, Dean, Sam thought. If he was going to get out of here, he'd need some help. Right now, he was going nowhere.

Owen and Ray didn't leave Sam alone for long. They came back with the duffel bags he'd seen on the floor in the back of Owen's pickup, and began unpacking the contents onto the table against the far wall.

Sam was wide awake now, almost all traces of the pharmaceutical fog having evaporated, and his mind was racing. He knew exactly what these 'toys' were for, although he couldn't see them - they sounded metallic and nasty, and Sam figured he could dismiss all but a couple of the possible scenarios he had imagined on the drive over. These guys definitely hadn't brought him here for a friendly chat.

Leaving Ray to finish unpacking, Owen came over to where Sam was hanging from the ceiling. "You know why you're here?" he asked, and Sam just looked back at him silently. Owen responded with a vicious right jab to the face, and Sam felt blood trickling down his chin - Owen had split his lip.

"You thought it was a secret, huh? That you let Lucifer out of his cage?" Owen punched Sam in the stomach this time, getting a groan out of the youngest Winchester and knocking him off his feet.

"I didn't mean to open the cage!" Sam gasped, the toes of his boots scrambling for purchase on the smooth concrete floor in an effort to stop himself swinging.

"Did you think nobody was ever gonna find out about that?" the grizzled older hunter demanded, getting right in Sam's face.

"How did you know?" Sam asked, between gasps; he'd been wracking his brain trying to work it out.

"Owen and me were good friends of Gordon Walker's." Ray informed Sam, coming over to join his buddy.

Oh, crap. Sam's heart sank as soon as he heard the name 'Gordon Walker'. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse...!

Ray had that evil smile of his on again as he continued. "See, we knew you opened that Devil's Gate in Wyoming a couple of years back. Kinda fuzzy on the details, though, and Gordon never did fill us in - we left you and that brother of yours alone because you seemed to get back on the straight and narrow. Back on our side, y'know?" Ray stood next to Owen, arms crossed, watching Sam intently.

"But then we exorcised this random garden-variety demon a few weeks back, and it tells us this mind-blowing story... including the part about how you were at that convent the night Lucifer came topside." Owen took over the narrative, wearing his own little evil smile.

Sam opened his mouth to try and explain, but Owen cut him off. "Don't worry, Sammy, we know demons lie." he assured Sam.

"We made very sure that this one was... motivated... to tell us the truth." Ray added, smiling, and Owen chuckled.

"Everything that hellspawn told us checked out, Sam. Everything from how Gordon died to your demon girlfriend to you springing Lucifer from his cage." The smile was gone from Ray's face now, and Sam watched as anger flared in his eyes.

"You started the Apocalypse, and you don't just get away with that!" Ray got right up close to Sam, hanging helplessly from the rafters, and grabbed him roughly by the jaw.

"We've lost friends to Lucifer's hordes, Sam. Good friends. You can't start the ball rolling on the Apocalypse and then walk away," Ray told him, quietly but intensely. Sam just looked back - he knew there was nothing he could say was going to placate this psychopath. Right now, Ray reminded him very much of Gordon Walker.

"Thing is, Sam, this here isn't just about revenge and punishment. We're not sure you're on our side anymore." Ray abruptly let Sam go and started pacing in front of him. "We think you're on Satan's side, and we want to know what you know."

These guys think I'm working for Lucifer. Sam grasped exactly what Ray was saying, and his eyes went wide.

These hunters wanted revenge for their lost friends, and to visit their particular brand of justice on the guy they saw as being responsible for that - honestly, Sam could understand that. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to do exactly this to Yellow Eyes. What worried him most was that these guys apparently thought he had some kind of inside information on Lucifer. He didn't, of course, but Sam seriously doubted they'd just take his word for it.

Sam watched over Ray's shoulder as Owen left the room and went back out into the warehouse, but he barely had time to wonder why - suddenly, completely out of the blue, Ray punched him. He saw stars as blood began to trickle from a fresh cut under his left eye, mixing with the still-sticky trail from his split lip. He was trying not to show it, so as not to give this bastard the satisfaction, but that hurt like hell - Ray was noticeably stronger than Owen.

"You know, honestly, I couldn't care less whether you know what Luci's doin' or not," Ray drawled, smiling cruelly. Sam's head slowly began to clear as his captor was talking, and the persistent pain in his cheekbone told him it was probably fractured. "What we're doing here... well, it's payback. If we learn something about the Devil while we're at it, that's just gravy." Ray stepped back a few feet, and his smile widened as he took in the sight before him.

"You know, I can hardly believe my eyes: the mighty Sam Winchester, bleeding and strung up from the rafters. I know a few people that are going to be jealous they weren't here - that they didn't see you break and start begging us to end you." Ray was still smiling as Owen walked back into the room.

He stopped just inside the door, and he wasn't alone - there was a slender young woman with him. She looked about Sam's age, had short black hair sprinkled liberally with purple streaks, and was dressed completely in black - black Levi's, black leather jacket over a black halter top, black biker boots and a black leather belt with two rows of silver studs along its length. She was actually quite pretty, in a Hell's Angels kind of way.

Sam didn't immediately recognise her for what she was. The penny only dropped when he saw tattoo-like marks appear all over her body, washing over her pale skin like a wave.

What the hell are they doing with a Djinn...?

Sam now knew what this thing was, but he still wasn't clear on what exactly Owen and Ray planned to do with it.

Ray went over to the Djinn, both he and Owen being careful not to touch it. "Remember what happens if you try anything funny: there's a silver knife just dripping in lamb's blood with your name on it. No poisoning this one - we're gonna put him out of his misery when we're good and ready." Ray warned the Djinn, which just glared at him.

As the Djinn turned its back on Ray and walked towards him, Sam wondered what leverage these two could possibly have over it to make it do their dirty work. And what the hell did Ray mean, 'poison'...?

The Djinn stopped a foot in front of Sam, its irises glowing electric purple as it stared at him. Sam almost thought it looked apologetic, but for the life of him he couldn't understand why.

"I bet you're wondering why we're about to set a Djinn on you, aren't you Sam?" Ray whispered, inches from Sam's left ear. "I know you know the lore: Djinn send you off to live in a lovely dream inside your head while they feed on your blood and slowly drain the life out of you. They make a few days seem like a lifetime," he continued, walking around behind the younger Winchester as he remembered Dean's description of his Djinn-induced illusion - the 'wish-verse' had been so vivid he almost hadn't been able to tell it wasn't real.

"What I'm sure you don't know is that Djinn grant wishes for their victims because people last longer when they're in a happy illusion. The Djinn can feed off them for days," Ray went on, as Sam's mind raced to put all the pieces together. Ray could almost hear the wheels turning, and he let Sam think it over for a few seconds - that was all the time he needed to work it out.

Oh. Suddenly, Sam understood why Ray and Owen had the Djinn. They can get in people's heads to create wishes, so they must also be able to create nightmares...

When they were planning this, Sam realised, his captors had evidently recognised that their 'toys' were probably going to kill him before he told them what they wanted to know. Obviously, they'd decided to try a Djinn first - if necessary, they could use his own mind to torture Sam for days. Much longer than he'd last if they started proceedings with the equipment in those duffel bags...

Ray saw realisation dawn on Sam's face, and he chuckled. "That's right, Sammy-boy. As much as we'd love to start slicing and tearing right away, we want to be sure you don't shuffle off the mortal coil before we've wrung out every last drop of information. We're gonna to start out nice and gentle-like." Ray was enjoying this. Sam could see it in his face.

"I don't have any information to give you!" Sam protested, his heart rate rising. This is bad... I don't have anything to tell them!

Again, Ray laughed. "We can't take your word for that and you know it." He patted Sam on the cheek, the evil little smile back on his face. Sam grimaced as Ray's rough, cold palm came into contact with his skin - he really didn't want this lunatic to touch him, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it while he was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists.

"Anyway, Sam, we want you to remember that you can stop this any time you like. You've just gotta tell us what you know." Ray gave the Djinn a nod and went back to join Owen, who was leaning on the wall by the door.

The Djinn stepped closer and held up its right hand to Sam's forehead, palm glowing the same purple as its eyes. "Stop - please. You don't have to do this!" Sam looked into the Djinn's eyes, pleading, but it just shook its head.

"Let me help you. We can both get out of here!" Sam tried reasoning with it, but the Djinn smiled sorrowfully.

"You can't help me," it whispered, and Sam's eyes widened as the purple glow in its palm intensified. He tried to pull away, but the Djinn shut its eyes and placed its hand on his skin, and it was too late.

Let the Limp!Sam begin...!

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