Warnings: Language and fairly graphic torture.
"And I will find a way to hunt you down
I'll go to every niche and corner of this town.
I won't stop until the bleeding all has run out."
-A Skylit Drive, 'Those Cannons Could Sink a Ship'
Chapter 2
Dean hears them before he sees them. The ominous shouts from outside the warehouse make his skin tingle with a combination of terror and unadulterated rage. In the near distance, he can hear a tailgate slam followed by some struggling, which is no doubt due to Sam. The combined shouts and yells make it sound like a witch hunt in progress. God, how many people were Sam up against? What were the odds? Four to one? Five? More?
"Try to remember that they can not see us, this is just a mirage," Castiel says as if he knows what Dean is thinking, like he can see the building need for bloodshed in the hunter's eyes.
The door to the warehouse slams open and bounces of the wall with a sharp bang, making a ghost of a flinch pass over Dean's face. Two people walk in first, one of them with the hanging rope in hand and the other with what's probably a jug of holy water. The one with the rope Dean recognizes immediately and he feels a wash of betrayal cloak him. Dean remembers him helping Bobby out a few times, even helping his dad every once in a while back in the day. His name is Tim and he used to be a good man, a good hunter. The one with the holy water doesn't register in Dean's memory but he seems to be a partner with Tim, a friend.
Sam is next. Dean's heart does a strange jump in his chest, like it gets excited to see Sam alive and then remembers that soon, Sam's going to die. It's painful and Dean swears that his soul shatters just a little bit more. Dean sweeps an assessing glance over Sam to take a damage inventory. As far as he can tell, Sam is more or less unhurt. There's a bruise on his temple which means that he was probably unconscious for a while, and his hands are tied behind his back. This means that all the damage, the real damage happened at the factory.
Whoever is behind his brother reaches out and pushes, making Sam stumble into the room. Dean growls at the mistreatment but Sam isn't hurt, just visibly annoyed.
Two more hunters follow in after Sammy, both of which Dean doesn't recognize, but that's ok, because he has all he needs. Tim is going to lead him to the others.
"Mick! Go get the rest of the stuff!" Tim shouts as he points out the door to the truck parked right outside the entrance.
Mick nods once and leaves, but returns in no time flat with a metal fold-up chair and lead pipe in hand.
Dean's stomach drops as he stares at the lead pipe, suddenly horrified because now he knows where all of Sam's bruises and broken bones came from.
They unfold the chair and slam Sam into it, which only makes Sam glare harder. Tim snatches the pipe out of Mick's hand and stalks up to Sam. Dean itches to move forward, his instincts screaming at him to step in between his brother and the attacker.
Tim lifts the pipe gently and rests it against Sam's cheek. Sam flinches, expecting to get hit, but all Tim does is leave it there.
"We told you we'd be back, Sammy Boy," Tim says evenly, barely disguised disgust in his voice.
"I told you I'd be here," Sam replies stiffly, glaring with all his might, "And it's Sam."
Dean pauses and looks back and forth between Sam and Tim. Back? Here? Sam had a run in with them before this?
Tim smiles as a small chuckle escapes him before he gently pats Sam's face with the pipe, "Your dad was stubborn too, reckless. I hear your brother is the same way."
"Don't talk about my family," Sam growls, his face tight with growing anger as he twists his bound wrists, trying to loosen the hold.
"Talk about who? Dean?" Tim taunts, "Those demons told me all about Dean: his little trip downstairs, his not so subtle relationship with Jim, Jack and Jose, and oh yeah, his not so loving feelings for you."
"You don't know anything about my brother."
Sam sounds calm but Dean can hear the fury and hurt in the tight words.
"I know your brother left your miserable, apocalypse starting ass. I know he's not coming to save you this time," Tim replies as he kneels down to Sam's level.
Sam doesn't grace that with a reply but Dean can see the acceptance in his brother's expression like he knows that everything Tim's saying to him is true.
"No, come on, Sammy, don't believe this crap," Dean says after he swallows down the overwhelming guilt that's threatening to consume him, because he really hadn't come to save Sam this time. He had failed his baby brother in the worst way possible. Again.
"To tell you the truth, I don't know why Dean hasn't done this himself. Your brother is a good hunter, knows that evil things need killin'," Tim continues and this time, Sam actually flinches.
"Dean doesn't kill humans," Sam replies fiercely, "He's better than you'll ever be."
Dean's eyes burn with more tears and he wants nothing more than to beat Tim and his buddies into a pulp, and then initiate the biggest chick flick hug ever with his brother. But he forces himself to stay still, to try to keep it together, as he watches the events unfold.
"But you're not human, are you Sam? Not any more. Sucking down demon blood, using your freak powers, starting the apocalypse...that doesn't really sound like something a human would do."
Sam grits his teeth but his eyes shine with self-loathing, "I didn't know. I was trying…"
Sam gets cut off as Tim lands a right hook into Sam's face, snapping his head to the side. It's by no means the hardest punch Sam's ever taken but it makes blood swell on his lower lip.
"Trying doesn't really cut it when it's the end of the world," Tim says, "Or when my best friend has to pay for it with his blood instead of yours."
Sam spits a little bit of blood from his mouth and shifts in the chair, a new, barely visible fear settling over his face.
"Don't," Sam mutters, his eyes wide, "Don't make me."
"What? Demon blood? Oh no, Sammy, the time for that has passed," Tim replies as he stands and backs away from Sam, "Too little, too late and all that."
Dean really, really doesn't like the sounds of this conversation. And he really doesn't like the way Tim is stepping back, falling into a nearly undetectable fighting position. Sam must see it too because Dean can see him mentally preparing himself for the hit.
Tim strikes hard, swinging his whole upper body as his arm follows through with the pipe, connecting with Sam's face. Dean visibly starts and winces as the pipe hits Sam, his stomach doing a sickening flip. An almost inaudible crack sounds as the pipe hits and Sam yells out with pain, his head snapping violently to the side. Dean can see Sam's jaw clenched tightly as he struggles not to make another sound, his chest heaving as he attempts to breathe through the pain. At this point, Dean's not sure if it's Sam's jaw or cheekbone that's broken.
"That son of a bitch," Dean growls as he takes a few threatening steps towards Tim.
Castiel lands a hand on Dean's arm, "We aren't really here, Dean. You might disrupt the image."
Dean stops but glares murderously, almost inhumanly, at Tim.
Tim nods once to Mick, who's holding the jug of holy water. Mick twists the top off the jug before grabbing a handful of Sam's hair, pulling his head back roughly.
"No," Dean whispers, knowing what's coming.
Mick dumps the water on Sam's face. Sam tries to twist his face away but Mick's hand in his hair keeps him firmly in place. Dean watches helplessly as Sam sputters as water floods his airways.
"Nothing's happening," says one of the nameless hunters from behind Tim.
"No shit, jackass!" Tim snaps in frustration, effectively shutting up the other man.
Mick's water finally runs out and he releases Sam. Sam leans forward, desperately coughing up the remaining water from his throat. He lifts his head and stares up at Tim wearily, as if he's trying to figure out what their next move will be.
Tim draws a wicked silver knife from a holster in his jeans. Sam clenches his jaw, trying not to show fear.
"You fight them, Sammy," Dean mutters as his fists twitch, his whole body shaking with the effort to stay where he is, "Fight, goddamnit."
"I think some justice is in order, don't you?" Tim asks, flipping the knife a little bit, letting it catch the light in the room, "The world, Sam, that's who's going to pay for your bloodletting, the whole. damn. world."
Sam's still trying to breathe through the pain in his face but Tim's taunting may be doing more damage. Dean can see it in Sammy's face - this was the moment where Sam realized he wasn't going to walk away from this. Dean wonders if he even wanted to.
Tim leans in closer, his hands resting on the sides of the chair as his face comes within inches of Sam's, "And my best friend, he paid for your vampirism too."
Sam flinches but Dean is unsure if it's because Tim just called him a vampire or if it's because he was just blamed for a man's death.
Tim pushes away from Sam only to bring his leg up and kick Sam dead in the chest. The chair rocks back and crashes to the floor, pinning Sam.
Tim looks down at Sam with an expression of satisfaction and triumph that Dean knows well. It's the same expression that crosses his face right after he takes out some evil son of a bitch and saves the day. He's absolutely not ok with that look being directed towards Sam, as if Sam is that evil son of a bitch.
Tim sinks down next to Sam and Dean has to move to the other side of the room to see what's happening, even though he already has a pretty good idea of what's coming next.
Sam's still not recovered from the last hit. After the combined kick and fall, he's still gasping for air, even though it must be agony with his shattered cheek. He's paying little attention to Tim crouching down next to him.
Tim is tapping Sam's sternum with the blade, "Feel free to scream, no one's gonna hear you out here but us."
Dean wants to fast forward through this. He wants to tell Cas to take them back because damn it, he doesn't know if he can watch this anymore. But he can't, he doesn't deserve to, because he knows that this is his fault. If he had let Sam come back hunting with him, he'd have known something was wrong; he'd have known that Sam was in trouble.
Tim makes the first cut and he doesn't hold back, pushing the blade through layers of skin and into the muscle. Sam manages to get through the first slice without much sound but before he can prepare himself for the next, Tim swiftly presses the blade into his skin again. The second cut forces a strained grunt from Sam's chest that soon morphs into a short, rough scream.
This goes beyond the point of testing for evil, this is torture. The realization is devastating. Everything he tried to protect Sam from, everything that he ever wanted to prevent from happening, happened anyways. Sam died once and Dean swore that as long as he was around, it'd never happen again. Dean promised himself that he was going to keep Sam protected from the hunting community because he knew that if anyone found out what his kid brother could do, they'd be after him. More recently he promised himself that Sam wouldn't ever know what it felt like to be tortured, because Dean was never going to let him get into a situation like that. But as Sam finally gets too weak to hold back a full-blown scream, Dean is harshly reminded that he failed at that too.
Tim finally lets up and stands, staring at his handiwork with cold eyes. Blood is flowing freely from Sam's wounds, pooling under his torso as it runs down his ribs and stomach. His chest is heaving from the pain, his skin paler than usual and shimmering with sweat.
Dean swallows as he slowly kneels down behind Sam so that Sam's head is almost resting against his bent knees.
"Dean…" Castiel says softly, a warning, to not touch anything.
Dean nods but doesn't look up, he just concentrates on Sam. Sam's eyes are open and Dean can see the pain clearly etched into the blue-green orbs. He wants nothing more than to reach out, to try to soothe a little bit of Sam's hurt, but he can't.
"We never should've separated. I was wrong, ok, Sammy? I was wrong about everything, just…hang on," Dean says, his voice low and meant for only Sam.
He's not sure why he's saying it because he knows Sam can't hear him, and he knows how this ends. But he's been soothing Sam for as long as he can remember and the urge is as natural as breathing.
"Please just hold on."
Dean hears a thump and an unmistakable shake of salt, and his blood runs cold. How could he have forgotten about the salt? He looks up and finds himself staring up at Tim, who's holding a can of Morton Salt with a sadistic grin. Sam notices around the same time and lets out a long breath through his nose, trying to prepare himself for the next assault.
"Just checkin' your story about being human, Sam. You don't mind, do ya?" Tim asks as he flips the metal tab up on the top of the salt canister and then tips it over.
The salt hits Sam's bloody torso with a soft hiss, like faint rain, and Sam let's out a hoarse shout. All the muscles in his body tense up tightly as he bucks and tries to pull away from the pain. Sam's arms are still tied behind him and he's still in that damn chair, so all he really manages to do is scrape the chair against the cement underneath him. Soon but not nearly soon enough, the pain edges off enough to where Sam can stop squirming and just grit his teeth against the horrible sting. A few tears have leaked from his eyes and Dean finds himself reaching out to brush them away, only to retract his hand after he remembers that he can't touch.
"Do you want to leave?" Castiel asks from behind him
Dean shakes his head, knowing that he couldn't leave even if he wanted to.
"Dean," a soft voice mutters.
Dean starts and looks at Sam with wide eyes, wondering if he imagined Sam saying his name or if somehow Sam can actually see him.
"Sammy?" Dean rasps hopefully as he searches Sam's face for an indicator that Sam had heard him.
"We talked about this already, Sammy Boy. Dean's not comin' this time," Tim says from above him as he leans down and hoists the chair, and with it Sam, up off the floor.
That's when Dean understands that Sam didn't know he was there…Sam just wanted him to be. After he gets past that painful realization, Dean stands up so that he's more level with Sam and the hunters holding him captive.
Sam lets out a pained groan as pressure is put on his cuts and the salt is ground deeper into the lacerations. Sam's a little bit distracted so he doesn't see what's coming next but Dean sure as hell can. Tim once again has the pipe in hand, approaching Sam like a predator would its prey. In that moment, Dean wants nothing more than to rip Tim apart, to utilize the skills he learned in hell and put them to good use.
Dean remembers the bruises on Sam's chest and stomach, and he can't believe that he didn't notice that they were absent from his brother's torso when Tim was cutting him up. That means that the bastard beat Sam after he had sliced his chest all to hell.
"I swear if it's the last damn thing I do, I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch," Dean growls with conviction, even though Tim can't hear him.
He can only watch one hit before it gets to be too much. He'd do anything for Sam, die for him, but he can't watch him hurt like this anymore. When Tim swings for a second time, Dean turns his head, trying desperately to divert his attention from the sounds of Sam getting beaten. But nothing he does can keep him from jumping every time he hears metal connecting with flesh, and nothing can keep him from wincing every time Sam sharply cries out. When silence finally falls over the warehouse, Dean's hesitant to look. With how quiet it is, he can't help but wonder if Sam had actually died from the beating and not from the strangulation. But when he finally gathers his nerves and looks again, he can still see Sammy's chest moving with oxygen. It looks labored and Dean knows he's in extreme pain, but he's still alive.
"Tim, man, we've worked him over enough, let's just get it done and get out of here," Mick says as Tim stares at Sam, pipe still in hand.
For a second, it looks like Tim is going to protest but he nods and tosses the pipe, "Throw the rope up."
Castiel stands next to Dean, "You don't have to watch this."
"I can't leave him," Dean replies softly, his voice catching as someone tosses the rope over the beam.
"Dean, this isn't real."
Dean doesn't answer. He doesn't even know what he'd say. How can he explain that leaving now, even though this is just a videotape of the past, would feel like betraying Sam all over again? Like abandoning him? Sam was conscious for every moment of this and Dean's not going to leave him alone for a second time, even if staying is ripping him apart inside.
One of the hunters drags the chair that Sam's slumped in across the cement floor. The metal feet against the concrete makes a terrible screeching sound.
Sam seems to come around a little more from the movement, or maybe it's his stubborn survival instinct that's kicking in to tell him that something's very wrong. Tim grabs Sam's face harshly, forcing eye contact, "You're going to burn, boy, and it's no more than you deserve."
Dean can remember in vivid detail what it felt like when Sam died the first time. The loneliness, the pain, the defeat, the guilt, it was all so crippling that he was ready to stay in that little room with Sam until he either wasted away, or couldn't take it anymore and put a bullet through his head. At least that time, he had the comfort of not knowing exactly what is in hell and he had the comfort of knowing there was no way Sam was there. This time he knows what's in hell and he's pretty sure that Sam's there. And he's ready to walk through hell to get Sam out if he has to, because his brother isn't staying there. No way.
When they put the noose around Sam's neck, he looks panicked for all of thirty seconds before he settles into a disturbing peace, an acceptance that Dean never wanted to see on his defiant brother's face.
"Why'd you stop fighting, Sammy?" Dean whispers sadly, even though he already knows the answer. Sam stopped fighting because he had nothing left to fight for, because everything he used to fight for, doesn't exist anymore.
Dean swallows, a feeling of fearpanicnonono washes over him like a tidal wave as someone pulls the rope, just enough to tighten around Sam's neck and make him sit straighter.
This is it, Dean knows it. The panic that has encased him is so intense that he's having trouble breathing, and his heart must be near cardiac arrest. The rope pulls tight enough to force Sam to his feet and he gasps breathlessly.
Dean finds himself involuntarily shouting, "No!" as the rope is pulled tighter, pulling Sam closer and closer to the ceiling and farther away from Dean. He's not sure how long it takes because Sam hasn't moved very much throughout the whole ordeal, but Dean can literally feel it when the life leaves his brother's body. It feels like someone reached in and ripped something out of his body, something that was always meant to be there.
"Tie it off," Tim orders.
"Is someone going to call his brother?" Someone asks, immediately peeking Dean's attention.
Tim snorts, "Are you kidding? Dean basically left the freak for dead, he wouldn't give a shit. On second thought maybe we should, he might buy us a drink."
Dean's hands clench so hard his knuckles crack and his nails cut into his skin, "They're all dead."
"Dean…"
"Take us back," Dean orders roughly.
Castiel looks hesitant but he puts his hand on Dean's shoulder and takes them back to the present, the sounds of Sam's killers echoing behind them.