Part 1 of a 2 parter!
Enjoy, review and have a great day
It all happened so fast, Dean barely had a chance to crack open his eyes.
He had become too relaxed. He'd been holed up in a shitty motel, with a shitty flu-bug, with shitty peeling, lavender wallpaper that made him want to tear his eyes out with a shitty fork.
Dean had been bedbound for three days, sleeping for twenty hours a day, waking to take the meds his brother coaxed him into taking, and to quickly throw them back up again.
Things had been on the up, though. He'd managed to stay awake all afternoon, sip his cup-noodle, and comment ceaselessly on Jerry Springer re-runs showing on the grainy TV.
He'd also watched his kid brother slowly descend into the same sickness he'd been experiencing the previous 72 hours.
Sam had started the day making notes in a tome of some Shakespeare play, sipping tea that made Dean's nose twitch. He'd finished the day curled up in a ball on his bed, arms encircled around himself, shivering.
By dinner time, Dean was hobbling around the motel room, every move he made threatening to cause further dramatic vomiting, but the demands of being an awesome big brother keeping him on his feet.
He woke Sam, who peered up at him through glazed eyes and salty bangs, forced some Tylenol down his throat and tucked him back in, allowing his hand to linger on the kid's head as he heard a faint "Thanks, Dean," from the depths of the bed.
His patient resting, Dean felt the call of his own pillow, managing to stay awake long enough to put up the 'do not disturb' sign, latch the door and check the salt lines before he sank into his own comforter.
It was dark out when it all went to Hell.
Dean slept deeply, wrapped up in a dream, when he heard a sharp, close bang.
It took him several seconds to come to, his foggy brain and body still exhausted from his active afternoon.
Too many seconds.
His reactions were slow, hazy. He hadn't even sat up in his bed when the door of their room flew open, the flood of streetlight dazzling Dean's weary eyes.
Two masked men entered the room, one holding a pistol, the shorter of the two training a rifle straight at Dean.
"What the –" Dean croaked, automatically reaching beneath his pillow.
"Hands up!" The tall guy demanded; the barrel of the pistol pointed between Dean's bleary eyes.
Dean could feel sweat pouring from his face, a combination of adrenalin and his body still fighting the virus.
He kept his hands down on the bed, itching to reach for the weapon concealed beneath his pillow.
The taller guy removed the safety from the gun. "I said, get your fucking hands in the air, kid."
Dean sensed movement in the bed next to him, and silently begged Sam to not move a God damn inch.
The guy with the rifle followed his gaze, and quickly aimed his own weapon at the burrito-shape of his sleeping brother.
Dean immediately raised his hands in response, the question of resistance now completely removed his brother had been threatened. "Don't," he said quickly, locking eyes with the rifle-bearer.
Dean cursed inwardly as he heard Sam rousing, woken by his brother's terse tone. "Dad?" He heard the mumble across the gap between their beds. Dean tried desperately to fight the instinct to move closer to the kid.
"You're okay, Sammy, "he said automatically, still staring at the asshole training a hunting rifle on the lumpy figure.
Sam lifted his head above the parapet of his bedding. Dean tore his eyes away from the threat, his heart sinking as he saw Sam had deteriorated while he slept; he was pale, clammy and shaking as he pushed himself up.
"Dean? What -" he said weakly, peering through drenched, sweaty bangs at the two figures in front of them.
"Enough of this shit," the tall guy spat, drawing Dean's attention forward. Keeping his pistol aimed squarely at Dean's head, he reached into his pocket and threw a set of silver handcuffs onto the bed. "Cuff yourself to the headboard."
Dean hesitated.
The tall guy noticed, and smoothly changed his aim towards Sam.
"Alright, alright," Dean said, his voice grating as rage fought reason. "Just… Just leave him out of it, okay?" He scrambled for the cuffs, not taking his eyes off the unknown figures in their room.
The pistol-wielder watched as Dean shakily closed one cuff around the iron post of the headboard, the other loosely around his right wrist. "Tighten that up," he demanded, shaking the gun impatiently.
Dean swallowed as he clicked the cuff, head turning to his brother.
Before he could say anything, the short guy filled the silence. "Get him to the car," he demanded, jutting his chin at Sam, the taller of the two letting his rifle drop a couple of inches.
Dean's blood ran cold.
"But –" the tall guy looked confused, gaze twitching between the two brothers, "He said to bring the smaller one."
"And?"
"Well… This one is smaller," the tall one used the rifle to gesticulate at Dean, who was too enraged to be insulted at the comment.
"He meant the younger one," Little Guy said through gritted teeth, "He means that one. Now get him up and get him outside."
Sam looked frantically towards his brother. Dean could see unabashed terror in his moon-wide eyes, the defiant 17-year-old reduced to his childhood self in the distinct shadow of fear.
"Don't fucking touch him," Dean growled, lunging at the handcuffs like a guard dog on a chain.
The tall guy hesitated again, an arm outstretched towards Sam, the gesture almost making Dean bare his teeth.
"Get on with it," the short guy barked, keeping his gun level at Sam's head, increasingly aware it was the only thing stopping Dean from ripping the bedframe apart.
As the taller man inched forward, something snapped in Sam. He screeched, a cornered cat, and swiped wildly at the encroaching arm. "Get away," he said breathily, fighting the mist of fever. "Don't do that!"
"Get the fuck on with it, Riley," short-ass grumbled.
Riley lunged forward, arms encircling Sam's wild limbs, rifle rattling dangerously close to the kid's head.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled out, pulling furiously at the restraint of the cuffs, wrist strained. He suddenly scrabbled beneath the pillow with his free hand, searching for his Glock –
Which, in his depths of brain-fogging flu, he had somehow forgotten to place in it's usual spot.
"Dean!"
His heart sunk as he saw Riley had his kid brother's arms twisted painfully behind his back, Sam barely able to stand from the exertion and the sickness. The shorter guy trailed the pistol back towards Sam and grabbed a handful of the boy's hair. "Tell your dad she wants the money in 24 hours," he spat at Dean, "Or he can say goodbye to the kid."
"Dean," Sam called out, voice cracking.
Dean could only watch, uselessly, as his brother was removed from the motel room into the night. He snarled and screamed out, rolling off the bed and tried to drag it towards the door by the cuff around his wrist.
He heard a car start and screech out of the lot.
And Sam was gone.
"Bobby, you gotta give me something," Dean growled into the payphone receiver, "Who does dad owe money to?"
Bobby Singer scoffed at the other end of the line. "Where do I start, son? I mean, he owes me a couple grand for fixing that car of his alone…"
Dean crushed the phone in his hand, rubbing his eyes with the other.
It had been twelve hours since Sammy had been taken.
He'd screamed and howled for an hour before someone had come along to his aid, furious at the disruption of the noise.
After picking the lock of the cuffs, Dean had scoured the room, the parking lot, the street for any clue as to who had taken Sam, had phoned every contact they had for John's whereabouts, if anyone had a clue what the hell was going on –
"Bobby," Dean continued through gritted teeth, "I'm losing it here."
Bobby sighed. "I know, I'm really trying to think. They were definitely human, nothing supernatural, about them?"
"Definitely human," Dean mumbled, scanning the parking lot again, "We had all the protection down, we had salt down, a Devil's trap… Just hammered down the door and –"
"Did you get a good listen of the engine? Any idea of the car, did you see it as it left the lot?"
"I was chained to the damn bed," Dean clenched his fist, wincing at the pain at his wrist, "Didn't really get a good look."
Bobby seemed to be only half listening. "If they wanted money that quick, it's a little odd they didn't give you a drop point for the cash… Your dad must have been in pretty deep with them. You sure he didn't mention any loans he'd taken out? Didn't suddenly have a big payday, or, I don't know… Mystery cash that showed up?"
Dean shook his head and screwed his eyes shut. "Bobby, I told you –"
"I'm just running through it all in my head…"
Dean looked up as one of the room doors slammed shut. It was the room next door to their own, and two boys walked quickly to the trunk of their red Corolla.
Dean kept his eyes on them as Bobby rambled down the phone. They were definitely brothers, both with bright red hair and freckles. The younger of the two, who must have been ten, stared unabashedly back across at Dean.
Dean watched as the elder brother hurriedly threw their bags in the back of the car, rifling through the contents of one of them.
The younger brother continued to stare knowingly across the lot.
"He said to bring the smaller one…"
"Bobby," Dean cut across the voice on the phone, "I'll call you back." He kept his eyes locked with the kid, brain pounding as he tried to piece it all together.
He slammed the phone down and the elder brother snapped his head around. He stared at Dean, and grabbed the kid by the shoulder, pushing him towards the passenger door of the Corolla.
"Hey," Dean called across the lot. "Hey!"
The brothers jumped into the car as Dean started across to them, turning to a sprint as the car reversed out of the space and spun its wheels as it raced out of the lot.
"I just want to talk –" Dean yelled, touching the back window of the car as it took off at speed up the street.
He watched helplessly as the car disappeared, feeling even more hopeless than he had before, his heart pounding.
He had 11 hours to find Sammy.
Night had fallen, and Dean paced endlessly in the motel room, wearing a path into the stained carpet.
Despite frantic phone calls, several hours on the street with an old, crumpled photo of his brother, and a call to the police – who were still yet to drop into the motel – he was not an inch closer to finding his brother as he had been 24 hours previously.
24 hours.
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand, seeing the minutes tick down to the final hour of the timeframe Dean had been given.
He shook his head again, still trying to wrap his head around the demands of the two assholes that had taken his brother… The two kids in the room next door… 'Bring the little one...'
Maybe if he didn't still feel like the flu was beating his ass, he could think straight... Or he could have run faster after the car...
"It doesn't make any fucking sense," he growled to himself, kicking the leg of the bed.
And he was running out of time.
He thumbed the Glock in his pocket, cursing himself again for not having it under his pillow last night, wondering if it was worth going to threaten the receptionist again for any information on their neighbours in the Corolla-
When he heard a car racing down the street towards the motel lot.
He looked up, watching as the headlights got brighter and closer.
Dean raced out of the room, throwing the door open –
To see his kid brother, still in his pyjamas, thrown out of the moving car onto the street in front of the motel.
"Sam?" He said breathlessly, frozen in his path. "Sam!"