Chapter 5
Sam was surprised by how real the Djinn's illusion felt, and also that he was aware that's what it was.
I can't stop this if I don't know it's not real. I guess if they want me to give them any information, I have to know I'm being tortured first...
Sam looked around him, almost admiring the Djinn's handiwork. It had created what looked like an old barn, with a pile of ancient-looking farm machinery in the corner, a few stable stalls in the back and loose straw scattered over the wooden floor. From where he stood in the middle of the building - in clean jeans, comfortable boots and his favourite flannel shirt - he could see moonlight filtering in through the high windows and smell the pale green hay bales stacked up by the stables. It was warm and dry and a million miles away from the warehouse where Sam knew he actually was.
I can see how Dean thought his wish-verse was real. If the Djinn didn't want me to know this was all in my head, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Before he could start wondering why the Djinn had created this little slice of relative paradise when it was supposed to be torturing him, Sam saw movement near the stables. He was actually reaching for the knife he usually kept hidden in his jeans when a figure came into view - it was a young woman; slim, with long blonde hair and wearing a simple white dress. It took Sam a few seconds to comprehend what he saw in front of him.
Oh my God. Jess.
When he saw her, Sam's brain just forgot that this whole situation wasn't real. His response to seeing Jess came from a place beyond his rational, conscious mind, and the Djinn didn't remind him she was an illusion. The sooner I can get this boy to break, the sooner those other hunters will let my sister go. Remind him later, when he might be ready to do something about it.
Jess smiled at Sam as she walked towards him. She looked every bit as angelic as Sam remembered, treading lightly on the straw as she glided closer. He started walking to meet her, smiling widely, his eyes never leaving her face. He'd dreamed about this for years now: Jess, alive, right here in front of him.
Sam was within a few steps of her when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, clasping her hands to her stomach. Sam stopped too, unsure what was happening.
Jess' smile disappeared, and her mouth formed a little 'O' of surprise as she looked down at her midsection. Sam's heart sank as he saw the red stain seeping out from under Jess' hands, staining the pure white dress an ugly scarlet.
Sam was frozen to the spot, watching the love of his life bleeding to death in front of him. Please, no - not again! Don't make me watch this again!
Jess looked up at Sam, her big blue eyes pleading with him to help her. He couldn't move - he could only watch as the red stain got ever bigger and Jess dropped to her knees in the straw. She looked down again and took one hand away from her body, sticky with blood that dripped onto the floor in front of her.
Through the torn, blood-soaked fabric, Sam saw the long, jagged wound that marred the pale skin of Jess' abdomen. His breath caught in his throat and tears stung his eyes as Jess' shoulders dropped and she slowly replaced the hand on her stomach.
She looked up at Sam from under her lashes, confusion filling her eyes. 'Why aren't you helping me?' they asked, silently; she didn't have to say a word. Her eyes said it all.
Sam wanted more than anything to run to Jess. He knew there was nothing he could do - there was never anything he could do - but she needed him, and Sam didn't want to let her die alone. Not again. But no matter how hard he tried, Sam couldn't move - it was like he was paralysed. He couldn't even call out to her.
Jess' eyes were bright with tears, and they now stared accusingly at Sam. 'What's wrong with you? Help me!' they screamed, and Sam felt tears of his own rolling down his cheeks. She was dying, right here in front of him
(again)
and he couldn't do a damn thing about it
(again)
Jess was deathly pale now, and the straw on the floor around her was stained red with blood. Too much blood, Sam knew; there was nothing he was going to be able to do, even if he could get to her. That didn't stop him trying with every fibre of his being, though.
As Jess' eyes lost their focus and she slid down onto the floor, Sam could swear he actually felt his heart tear in two. Tears ran freely down his face as Jess' eyes fluttered shut and her bloodied hands fell away from her stomach, dropping lifelessly to the red straw beneath her.
Sam wanted to scream. He'd let it happen again. Jess had died right in front of him, almost within reach, and he hadn't saved her.
He dropped to his knees beside Jess' body, movement restored only after she was beyond help. Sam closed his eyes for a second, wondering briefly what he'd done to deserve this. Something nagged at him in the back of his mind - something important, something about why he was here in this Godforsaken barn kneeling in a pool of his girlfriend's blood, but he just couldn't put his finger on it...
When Sam opened his eyes, the building seemed different. It had been a comfortable old barn, but to Sam it now felt like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre - the place made his skin crawl. He looked around as he dried his cheeks with his sleeve, and noticed things he hadn't seen before: dirty tools with sharp-looking blades hanging on the wall to his left, big black spiders spinning webs all over the rusty old machinery in the corner and, furthermore, that there were no doors in this barn. Just four very solid looking walls. Sam also had the feeling that there was nothing and no-one around for miles.
"Well hello, Sam," a familiar voice said suddenly, from behind his right shoulder. Sam whirled around, and gasped when he found himself face-to-face with Alastair.
No. This isn't possible. I killed him.
Sam knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd ended Alastair after the demon had very nearly murdered Dean in Cheyenne. He knew - and yet, here the bastard was, standing right in front if him. And, to make matters worse, that Goddamn full-body paralysis was back and he couldn't move a muscle to even exorcise the evil sonofabitch that had tortured his brother for 30 years in Hell. Not to mention what Dean had been doing to himself ever since Cas had pulled him back upstairs... and now, when he was just two feet away, Sam had no choice but to stand there and watch Alastair smile at him.
Sam felt the rage burning in the pit of his stomach as Alastair walked right up to him and put his hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder. "It's been a long time, Sam. Haven't seen you since Cheyenne - I bet you're surprised to see me," the demon said in that high, nasal voice; he was so close Sam could smell the faint scent of sulphur on his paediatrician meatsuit's breath. "I have something to show you. Something I've wanted to do for a while now." Alastair gripped Sam's shoulder and turned him a little to the right.
Sam didn't think he'd ever get the image of Jess laying still and pale on the floor out of his head, but the object in front of him now was almost enough to take his mind off her. He'd never actually seen it before, but he immediately knew exactly what it was.
Sitting in front of Sam, about 7 feet away, was a crucifix-shaped table. It was height-adjustable, like a dentist's chair, but Sam had never seen a dentist's chair adorned with thick, brown leather straps like the ones on this monstrosity. From what little Ruby had wanted to tell him about her time under his razor, this was Alastair's favourite way to keep his victims restrained while he worked on them - Sam could see rust-coloured smears of blood scattered over the table. Just the thought of how they got there made his blood run cold.
"Don't worry, Sam, it's not for you," Alastair assured him, chuckling softly. He watched over Sam's shoulder as two anonymous demons dragged a limp, blindfolded victim to Alastair's torture table. Sam recognised this person instantly.
"Dean!" Sam shouted, discovering he had his voice back. He still couldn't move a muscle, but evidently Alastair wanted some conversation with his torture this evening, because he'd let Sam speak.
Alastair smiled as he watched Sam watch Dean. The eldest Winchester was only semi-conscious - Sam could see a nasty cut on his hairline, as if he'd been hit with something, and he wasn't fighting as the demons strapped him down tight to the table. Sam was horribly sure there was no way Dean was going to be able to slip out of the thick leather straps or break the heavy buckles.
Alastair didn't have to tell Sam what was happening here. He'd worked it all out for himself - Alastair was going to put on a show for him. He was going to illustrate for Dean's little brother what his 30 years on the rack in Hell had been like, first-hand. What Dean had signed up for in order to save his life. In Sam's head, this is what had happened to Dean because of him.
And that was the whole point. Despite what Dean said, Sam knew damn well that he was the reason Dean had gone to Hell. He knew that whatever had happened to his big brother down there was on him, but Dean had never described it. He'd never told Sam a single word about what it had been like, because he understood that he felt like Dean's deal was his fault - and Dean had been determined not to give him anything more to torment himself with. Now, Alastair was about to give Sam all the nightmarish detail he could muster.
Sam's heart was pounding as Alastair walked over to a large stainless steel tray, sitting on top of a couple of bales of hay. The hay, which had looked a healthy pale green when Jess had walked past it by the stables, was now a stale brown.
As Alastair arranged his metallic-sounding instruments on the tray, his back to Sam, one of the demons slapped Dean hard across the cheek. The sound echoed in the big, empty barn, and Dean started to struggle against his bonds as he regained consciousness.
Sam watched as Dean slowly came around, barely noticing the demons tying him securely to one of the barn's wooden support pillars with multicoloured climbing rope. His attention was focused on Dean as he came to and realised he was tied down. Sam saw every muscle in his brother's body tense as Dean tried to break free, then the short, sharp breaths that bordered on hyperventilation when he realised he couldn't get loose.
"Dean! Are you all right?" Sam called, frantically, and Dean suddenly became very still.
"Sammy?" Dean called back, warily - he sounded surprised that his brother was here.
"Yeah, Dean, it's me. Are you okay?" Sam repeated, watching Dean's breathing slow a little. Knowing he wasn't alone apparently made Dean feel a tiny bit better.
"Define 'okay'." Dean replied, trying again to work his hands through the leather restraints, and Sam almost smiled - he was okay enough to make jokes, apparently. "Where the hell are we, Sam? What's going on?" Dean asked, more seriously this time - he'd stopped struggling altogether, having realised he was just too well restrained.
When Sam opened his mouth to reply, Alastair was there to shove a gag into it. Sam wanted to struggle, and he shouted at Alastair to leave him and his brother alone, but Alastair just smiled and tied off the gag behind Sam's head as easily as if the youngest Winchester was a statue. Which he might as well have been - no matter how much he tried, Sam couldn't move an inch until Alastair was done gagging him and the paralysis disappeared. Sam understood then why the demons had tied him to the pillar; Alastair wanted Sam to be able to help Dean, but to know that he couldn't.
Dean heard his brother's muffled cries as he struggled briefly against the ropes, but he couldn't understand anything Sam was saying, or see what was going on. "Sam? Sam?" Dean shouted as he started struggling again, understanding that his brother was in some kind of trouble. Alastair let Sam keep shouting and Dean keep struggling - both Winchester boys were working themselves into a panic all on their own, and that was fine with him.
Alastair walked slowly over to Dean, and stood close to his right side. Sam saw Dean go very still as he sensed the presence next to him, and searched for any clue to identify it. Sam stopped yelling, and just watched as Alastair leaned down close to his brother's ear. Even blindfolded, Dean was able to sense the movement and tried to get his head as far away as possible from the presence next to him.
Alastair waited a good ten seconds before he said a word, and Dean was unable to do anything but wait. He understood on a very primal level that whatever was standing next to him was bad news - he even had the good sense not to make a smart-ass comment of some kind that would only serve to piss it off. He stayed uncharacteristically still and quiet.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Dean Winchester." Alastair's nasal voice broke the silence, and he watched with evil satisfaction as Dean's whole body tensed. He knew immediately who was standing next to him, and as much as he wanted to stay cool, Dean couldn't help the film of sweat that broke out across his forehead or the rise in his heart rate. And Alastair noticed them, just as Dean knew he would. He smiled, and stood back up straight.
"I'm so glad to see you again, Dean. We had such fun together in Hell." Alastair pulled Dean's blindfold off, and he immediately scanned the barn. He saw Sam, gagged and tied to the pillar but apparently unhurt, and then his eyes fell on Alastair standing by his stainless steel tray.
Dean recognised that tray. He'd seen it every day for 40 years while he was downstairs in Hell, and even now the sight of it made it hard to breathe.
Sam watched as Alastair selected something sharp from his collection of instruments and went slowly back over to the table. Dean glimpsed the tool in Alastair's hand as he approached, and Sam saw a stray tear run from the corner of Dean's eye as he looked sadly over at his little brother. He knew exactly what was coming and as much as he didn't want Alastair to touch him, Dean wished more than anything that Sam wasn't here to see it. Dean didn't say it out loud, but his eyes got the message across: I'm sorry you have to see this, Sammy.
Sam hadn't noticed, but there were tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked back at Dean. He held his older brother's gaze as Alastair used the razor-sharp scalpel in his hand to slice open Dean's t-shirt.
"I should probably tell you, Dean, that this really isn't about you." Alastair said conversationally, as he cut open the legs of Dean's faded, torn jeans from waistband to ankle. Dean kept his eyes on Sam, trying to stay calm.
"Well that's just hurtful." Dean wanted to sound unfazed, but the underlying terror shone through. This situation was right up there on Dean's List of Worst Nightmares, and they all knew it.
"Oh, don't worry, I'll enjoy carving into you immensely," Alastair chuckled as he yanked the ruined clothes out from under Dean's body and tossed them onto the floor, "but you see, what I really want is for young Sammy to tell me what Lucifer is up to."
Sam saw confusion clouding Dean's eyes as his older brother looked over at him, and he wanted to scream at Alastair - and Dean - that he had no idea what Lucifer's plans were, that he didn't have anything to tell, but the gag in his mouth made anything he wanted to say utterly incomprehensible. Alastair was well aware of this fact - he wanted some time with Dean before Sam could break and put a stop to it.
Dean stared at Sam, the hurt and confusion showing in his eyes. He thinks it's possible. He thinks I could be working with Lucifer, Sam realised.
The knowledge that his big brother really thought he was capable of that actually physically hurt - for the second time that night, Sam felt his heart break. Dean thought he might be in league with Satan, and Sam couldn't tell him otherwise. Alastair had made sure of that, and the way the demon was smirking at Sam made him think that Alastair knew he had nothing to confess. Sam was sure now that he simply wanted to torture Dean, and his little brother in the bargain, just for the hell of it.
Dean looked away from Sam, eyes focused on the rafters and brimming with tears. Alastair grinned evilly as he touched the cold tip of the scalpel to Dean's skin, a couple of inches below the point of his sternum and a little to the right. The demon didn't want to cut into the connective tissue that formed the midline of Dean's six-pack; he wanted the well-defined muscles that ran along either side. After all, that fibrous connective tissue doesn't contain any nerves, and where's the fun in that?
Alastair watched Dean try to pull back, tensing every muscle and holding his breath, but kept the blade pressed against the unblemished, well-tanned skin as the eldest Winchester's chest contracted in as far as he could make it go. Dean felt the blade break the first few layers of skin, and he understood exactly what Alastair was doing - he held his breath for as long as he could, until his lungs burned and black dots danced in front of his eyes.
Just as Dean thought he might get lucky and pass out, his body betrayed him - it needed oxygen, now, and no matter how hard he tried Dean couldn't stop his chest expanding outward, pushing the scalpel blade through his skin and deep into the top of his abdominal muscles. He felt every millimetre as his own body pushed the blade in all the way to the handle, but Dean managed to stay quiet, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut.
"No! Stop - leave him alone!" Sam screamed, but his protests were muffled by the gag and Alastair paid him no attention at all. Just the sight of bright red blood welling up around the handle of the scalpel made Sam want to cry - he was stunned that Dean hadn't even whimpered.
Alastair dragged the blade out of Dean's flesh slowly, smiling as a thin scarlet rivulet wound its way across his ribcage and dripped slowly onto the straw below. He put the scalpel back to Dean's skin, high up on the left side of his ribcage this time, and slowly cut deep along each ridge of the serratus muscles.
Sam winced as he heard the blade scrape bone each time Alastair dragged it from under Dean's arm, around and across under his pectoral muscle, but Dean didn't make a sound. His eyes were still shut and his teeth were still clenched, but a sheen of sweat now also covered Dean's entire body, mingling with the blood that ran from the wounds on the side of his chest. It looked to Sam like a lion had attacked his brother and dragged its claws across his ribs.
"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" Alastair asked, absorbed in watching the mixture of blood and sweat dripping onto the floor. Dean opened his eyes and stared back at the demon defiantly, but Alastair kept right on smiling as he signalled his demon lackeys, waiting somewhere in the wings. They soon appeared in Sam's peripheral vision with a small propane tank and what looked like a huge circular gas burner, bringing a crate of wooden-handled iron tools with them.
"I know, the whole propane thing is just a little bit domestic. If I had my way, we'd all be downstairs in Hell with my lovely furnace, but I have to make do with what I can get my hands on," Alastair lamented, as he took the crate of wrought iron implements and set it next to the hay bales supporting his tray.
Sam could now get a good look at what the crate contained: for the most part, it looked like a collection of fireplace pokers of various shapes and sizes, but some were far too sharp and pointy to ever be mistaken for fireplace tools. Sam got chills as he watched the demons setting up the giant burner on a tripod, with its concentric rings of gas jets and a foot-high blue flame, and imagined those iron tools heated to a cherry red...
"Well," Alastair said, walking around to the other side of the table, "while we wait for the burner, let's make this nice and symmetrical." Without further ado, he set about cutting a matching set of wounds into Dean's right side, pressing harder and marking the bone of Dean's ribs as he sliced.
The sound made Sam's skin crawl, and he resumed his muffled, desperate pleas for Alastair to stop - again, the demon completely ignored him. He was busy making sure that this time, his victim wouldn't stay silent - Dean couldn't stop the low, agonised groan that escaped from the back of his throat with every cut, and it just made Alastair smile wider.
"Now that's more like it!" he chuckled, tousling Dean's hair before he went back to the tray and put the scalpel down. It clinked on the stainless steel, and Sam saw Dean relax a little. He expected his big brother to look over and let him know he was okay, but Dean didn't even try to make eye contact. He just laid still, trying to control his breathing, and stared up at the roof. That on its own made Sam want to cry.
"I'm sure you appreciate that I can't have you bleeding to death there, Dean." Alastair came back over to Dean's left side, with a wooden bowl in his leather-gloved hands. Sam saw Dean wince, as if he knew what was in the bowl. "I see you remember." Alastair smiled as he reached into the bowl and brought out a handful of granular salt.
Sam didn't understand at first. Why would a demon carry around a bowl of poison? he wondered, watching as Dean took a deep breath and steeled himself for whatever was coming. What the hell is Alastair doing?
Sam's question was answered shortly thereafter, when Alastair ground the handful of salt deep into the wounds on the left of Dean's chest. Dean bucked and writhed and tried to pull away, groaning through clenched teeth as the salt stung his raw flesh. Sam gasped in shock - he hadn't expected Alastair to do that, and it obviously hurt like hell.
"As I'm sure you remember, Dean, salt is an effective way to stop people bleeding out on my table before I'm finished with them. And I don't plan to be finished with you for a long time yet." Alastair informed his victim, smiling the whole time. Dean closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip and breathing heavily - he was well aware that Alastair was going to drag this out as long as possible. He hadn't expected anything less.
While Sam watched the white salt pressed to his brother's ribs slowly turn pink, Alastair leaned down close to Dean's left ear and whispered something. Sam couldn't hear a word he said, but he heard Dean's response.
"Go to hell!" he growled, but Alastair just laughed.
"Have it your way." The demon smiled as he stood up and walked around to the other side of the table, and Sam watched him pick up another handful of salt while Dean deliberately looked away. Alastair pushed the salt deep into Dean's remaining wounds, but he still refused to scream.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
While Sam was living his worst nightmares in the Djinn's wish-verse, things were pretty calm in the warehouse. Owen and Ray had looked on silently as the Djinn touched Sam's forehead for a few seconds, standing back against the wall and just watching.
As soon as the Djinn had touched Sam's skin, he'd fallen into unconsciousness. Within seconds, the Djinn had known everything; it saw Sam's hopes, dreams, desires - and also every fear and nightmare he'd ever had.
There was plenty to work with to accomplish what those two hunters wanted it to do, and probably without resorting to physically torturing Sam. So, it had sown the seeds and stepped back to watch the results. What a life this boy has led, it thought, watching Sam's face light up as he saw Jess.
The minutes it took her to die in the wish-verse were only seconds in the warehouse, and the long hours Alastair took with Dean passed before dawn. The Djinn couldn't escape the images of what was going on in Sam's head, but it looked away when the horror of his nightmare started to show on his face. The pain of seeing his girlfriend dying in front of him again, and then what that demon was doing to his brother, was etched on his features. The Djinn honestly didn't enjoy that - causing pain brought it no joy.
However, the two hunters watching proceedings seemed quite pleased. The Djinn saw their pleasure grow at the same rate as the Sam's pain - while he had tears streaming down his face, they were grinning like madmen. The first time Sam screamed, the older hunter actually laughed and the Djinn found itself wanting to cut the boy loose and let him at the two cruel older men. But it couldn't.
They have my sister. I have to finish this.
The Djinn sighed, and cringed as Sam screamed again - it had rarely heard anguish like that. As soon as it discovered the kind of relationship the boy had with his brother, the Djinn had known: it might be able to use this bottomless pit of raw emotion to actually break this poor boy. Maybe then the hunters would kill him quickly, instead of dragging it out...
Sorry this chapter took so long to materialise - work got in the way. :( And I spent a lot of time I could have been writing actually watching the show ;) The Hellatus marathon is on: all six seasons in four months, right from the pilot... *heaven*
The other half of this chapter is coming very shortly :) (it's already partly written, I promise)
While I've been writing this, I've referred to it as my 'Limp!Sam'... how odd that the first cut was actually into Dean!
Anyway - you know the drill: read and review! Tell me how I'm doing! Remember, reviews are addictive... please, help me get my fix! ;)