Chapter Text
Searing pain burned down his throat and he whimpered quietly as he burrowed deeper under the covers, hoping to keep hold of the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness for just a little while longer. Maybe water would help… except that getting up to get some would pretty much guarantee his full return to consciousness. He licked his lips and swallowed again, intensifying the searing misery firing through his abused neck muscles. He let out a dull moan.
Strangulation sucked.
He ghosted his fingertips over his abused throat, stirring up a dull burn in the tender skin. He’d only been back in the game, what, a couple months now? Somehow he’d forgotten the love affair the supernatural seemed to have with his neck; by his count the number of times a creepy crawly had tried to constrict his breathing had exceeded five before he’d even hit eighteen. When he’d left for Stanford, he’d thought the last time was behind him.
Yeah.
He ran a tongue around the inside of his desert-dry mouth and grimaced. It tasted like something had died in there. Without thinking, he cleared his throat, spiking the slicing pain through his bruised muscles. Helplessly, he jerked his hands up to clutch at his throat, as if that would somehow help. The urge to cough bubbled up then, adding to his misery as he breathed deeply in and out through his nose, trying to fight it off.
Where the hell was Dean? He needed some water… no… fuck that. What he needed were some goddamned pain-killers.
Fuck it. He slowly started to sit up, and that was when the rest of his body loudly reminded him that he’d been thrown into a bookshelf and buried in the resulting avalanche before his brother’s double had beaten the holy everlasting shit out of him.
Unable to hold in a loud groan and a louder, “Fuck!” he forced himself all the way up to sitting. Where the God-dammed hell was Dean? He pressed his fingers against his eyes and attempted to focus his thoughts.
He could remember the fight, albeit fuzzily. The shifter’s hands had been around his neck… the world had been fading out. Dean’s loud shout had echoed through the room, sending a wave of relief through Sam…and then… and then…
There was nothing.
Peering into his dim surrounds, he could just make out the familiar outlines of a random motel room. He didn’t think he’d ever been in this particular room before, though…
What…
Okay. Okay, the hunt was over. It had to be. Dean must have somehow killed the creature, or Sam wouldn’t be here; he’d be dead. Right?
But where the hell was here?
Moving like an old man, Sam turned on the beaded lamp next to his bed and then painfully stood up, turning to look carefully around the room. All of their bags, his and Dean’s, seemed to be thrown carelessly in the corner... which meant Dean had be around here somewhere. The bathroom was dark so… Dean must’ve just gone out for something. He glanced at the table, but there was nothing. Nice of his brother to leave a damn note…
Wait. Maybe Dean was just out in the car...
Sam managed to take all of two steps towards the door before it started slowly swinging open. His heart jumped into his throat and every aching muscle was suddenly on alert as he cast around for something to defend himself with.
Dean’s face swam into view, finally registering to his tired brain. Fuck. He would have laughed out loud at himself if he didn’t think it would hurt – he was obviously still carrying around some serious post-hunt jitters. He was entitled; nearly dying could do that to a guy.
Balancing two sacks of food and a paper holder with a couple of large cups of McDonald’s coffee, Dean looked a bit relieved when he saw Sam standing there in the middle of the room like an idiot. He kicked the door closed behind himself, abandoning any effort to be quiet. “Hiya, Sammy!” he said cheerfully, setting the food down on the small table. “Welcome back to the land of the living!”
“It’s Sam,” he grated irritably, stumbling backwards so he could sink down onto the bed. “Just tell me you ordered me an extra side of pain-killers while you were out getting yourself that crappy food,” he croaked. God, his voice sounded like shit.
“Nope, just good old-fashioned greasy beef on a bun, just the way I know you like it. Man-up, dude,” Dean muttered dismissively. “Since when can’t you handle a little beating?”
Sam shot his brother a dirty look, flipping him a slow bird before collapsing backwards onto the scratchy bedspread.
Paper rustling preceded a long (bordering on obscene) groan of pleasure from his brother, followed by loud, obnoxious chewing.
“Seriously?” Sam groused from the bed, “You can’t be bothered to pull out the med-kit before you start stuffing your face?”
“Nothin’ like a Big Mac first thing in the mornin’,” Dean moaned happily. “You want one?” The last was said around a too-big mouthful of food.
Sam was too tired to come up with anything more creative than flipping his brother off again. When that produced no response, he sat up unhappily.
He didn’t need Dean to baby him, he didn’t, but Sam was used to Dean being at least a little more attentive than this after a bad hunt. Half-hoping Dean would tell him to just sit back down, Sam stood up slowly and crossed the room to their bags. Dean didn’t even look up from the burger he was still disgustingly cramming into his mouth.
Sam kinda hoped he choked on it.
It took a couple minutes of digging before he finally spotted a battered bottle of Naproxen. He snatched it up, sighing in happy anticipation as he quickly poured four into his hand.
The room was starting to spin a little bit, and he had to brace a hand against the wall to steady himself. By the time he was all the way vertical again, Dean had pulled the laptop open and was eating a second drippy burger over the keyboard.
What the… Jerk.
Sam hobbled over to the table and irritably swiped their primary source of information away from his brother. He tossed it gently onto the bed as he moved into the bathroom; his throat was not up to taking the pills dry.
“Hey!” Dean complained loudly, his mouth once again over-full with food. “I was gonna find us a new hunt!”
“Finish your food first!” Sam meant to yell, but it scraped out softly instead. Fuck that hurt. He slammed the pills back with some water, which was more painful to swallow than he’d hoped, and then moved back to his bed.
He pulled the computer towards himself. The top window was a porn site. Seriously? With a grumpy sigh of discontent that he deeply hoped Dean heard, he clicked the browser closed as fast as possible and prayed that the out-dated virus protection would continue to hold up. Dean was going to destroy the laptop if Sam didn’t find a way to stop him.
Dean was chewing with his mouth open by that point, and if Sam hadn’t been sure that Dean was purposely trying to bait him before, he certainly was then. He wasn’t sure why Dean was so bored, though – they’d only just finished the damn hunt, which… hunt. Right. “So what happened?” Sam asked, shutting the lid with a sharp snap.
“What happened when?” Dean responded, not bothering to swallow first.
“Dude, gross! With the shifter? What happened? I thought it was going to kill me for sure, and then I heard you calling out, and then… nothing. How’d you kill it? And, shit, where’s Becky?” he added belatedly. “I think the shifter must’ve had her – it was wearing her skin before it turned into you.”
Sam should have thought about Becky as soon as he’d woken up. A painful lump of guilt sank to the bottom of his stomach. The shifter had definitely knocked him off his game. He was just so ready to believe that his brother had taken care of everything when he’d woken up in a motel room. Shit, she could be seriously injured. He needed to…
“Yeah, about the hunt…” Dean said slowly, jerking Sam from his spiraling thoughts. He put the burger down, his face grim. “I was hoping to wait a little longer to break this to you, but… Becky didn’t make it, Sam.”
Sam blinked at his brother’s serious face, the words circling around his brain dizzily, not making any sense. Because. No. Not… Dean’d just said… “What? How?” Sam yelled belatedly, alarm sending him to his feet. No. No…
“I found her body in the thing’s lair. That’s when I realized that I needed to get to you ASAP,” Dean said softly.
“No,” Sam whispered. This couldn’t be happening. It was way too soon to lose another Stanford friend. Not after Jess… His legs gave out and he dropped back down to the bed like a stone.
“That thing was strangling you when I got there. Shot it three times in the chest but you were already passed out, so I got us the hell out of there and brought you here. We’re about three towns over. Should be safe enough for a few days.” Dean moved over next to Sam and sat down, then reached over and pulled Sam into his arms unasked.
Sam sank into the offered comfort gratefully. His eyes were burning; the sense of loss and helpless rage were making his head throb. Not again… not again…
Dean responded by pulling Sam even tighter against his chest .
Fuck, Zack.
The thought made him jerk in the tight circle of his brother’s arms. He needed to go tell Zack in person. He tried to pull away but Dean wouldn’t let him go. “Dean,” he muttered brokenly, “Please, I have to…”
Dean was stroking over Sam’s back, oblivious to Sam’s distress, his expression distant, his hands moving in slow circles almost… possessively. Sam froze, his heartbeat suddenly painful. No, no, no…
He didn’t have any weapons on him, wasn’t wearing anything more than his boxers and an old t-shirt. Shit. Every instinct fighting him, he forced himself to relax into the hold, tried to ignore the creeping sensation of disgust that trailed behind every pass of ‘Dean’s’ hands across his back.
Apprehension continued to climb as he searched desperately for a plan, his mind spinning on nothing. Where the hell was Dean? This wasn’t… Dean’s hands were making his skin crawl; he couldn’t submit anymore. “Dude, personal space?” he finally muttered. It was almost impossible to keep the relief off of his features when ‘Dean’ finally pulled back, and Sam could only hope that the shifter didn’t catch on. “Gonna go splash some water on my face,” he added softly.
The shifter didn’t stop him from getting up this time, and as soon as he made it to the bathroom he looked around anxiously, hoping some of the bags were in there; he was pretty sure there was a knife in the shaving kit. He wished he dared lock the door behind him. The bathroom was bare except for the aging, grimy-gray towels folded on the back of the toilet.
Okay… okay… he just needed to find a reason to get into the bags near the door. Bending forward, he flicked the water on and filled his cupped hands before rubbing them over his face. The water was frigid, but at least it helped clear his head a little.
Grabbing blindly for the topmost towel, he stood up and mopped at his face... and almost jumped out of his skin when he lowered the towel to discover Dean standing right behind him. Solid arms wrapped around him once more, and warm hands rested possessively on Sam’s chest. His brain shut down, unsure whether to try to continue the façade or confront the bastard.
“What’s a’matter, Sammy?” Dean growled threateningly.
Fuck that. Sam broke the hold, whirled around and pushed Dean back against the wall hard enough to cause a loud thump. “Where is he?” Sam demanded harshly, loud enough that his words echoed in the small utilitarian room.
“Where’s who?” Dean replied, looking honestly confused. Except, no, no, Sam was sure it was an act.
Sam released the creature and surged around it, hoping to make it through the doorway, but it tackled him to the ground as he darted past. Something sharp bit into his neck, and Sam reared back, throwing the creature off. “Where’s my… where’s my brother, you sick fuck?” he yelled as he stumbled backwards toward the bags.
“Sam, dude, you gotta calm down,” Dean said soothingly, as if Sam was some wild animal that needed to be pacified. Sam watched his brother sit up slowly, calmly. He could see something clenched in Dean’s left hand.
Not taking his eyes off of the creature, he touched his neck where it still stung from whatever the thing had done to him. He looked at his finger and saw a small streak of blood across the tip. Crap, it had… injected him with something? There was no time. He turned and fumbled one of the bags open, scrambling through it until he came up with a knife. A gun would’ve been better, but he didn’t have time to be choosy.
Sam turned around to find that the thing wearing his brother’s face hadn’t moved from where it sat on the floor. It was still sprawled out, looking at Sam innocently with its elbows propped up behind it. It had a big, shit-eating grin on its face.
Not Dean. It was as good as dead.
Sam took a step forward.
His vision blurred, causing the room to swim in and out of focus for a moment. He stumbled to a stop.
Shaking it off, he growled, “What’d you do to me?”
The creature smirked at him. “Insurance,” it replied, still infuriatingly composed. “You should put that knife down before you hurt yourself.” The room lurched again, and Sam staggered another step forward like a drunken sailor. “Oh,” it added, “and I’d calm down if I were you. The more your blood is pumping through your veins, the faster my cocktail will work.”
The room was spinning, but Sam launched himself at his brother’s look-alike anyway, fury leaving him no other choice. Faster than Sam could process, it rolled out of his way and straddled his back, pinning him to the ground. The knife was out of his hand and tossed to the other side of the room before he even realized he should have been keeping track of it. He felt sluggish, pliant. He fought against the pull of the drug, knowing he needed to get the upper hand before it was too late, but the creature didn’t even seem to notice Sam’s attempts. Fucker was strong.
“Stop fighting me,” Dean commanded irritably.
The front of Sam’s head felt like it was filled with cotton, the back with iron, and his vision was still swimming in and out of focus, getting worse by the moment, making the room feel like one of those carnival fun houses.
Dean was trying to pull him up, and Sam gratefully accepted, staggering to his feet. No… Not Dean…
He was led into the bathroom and pushed gently to the floor. He looked on dumbly as Dean wrapped his hands around the exposed pipe and tightly handcuffed his wrists together. Too tight; it hurt. He opened his mouth to ask Dean to loosen the metal cuffs, “Dean…” There was something he wanted to say, something he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know what it was. His head was pounding, so he leaned against the porcelain next to him and let the coolness soothe his aching head.
The bathroom light must’ve been broken at some point; it was more headache-inducing strobe than helpful brightness. Snatches of conversation, doors opening and closing, road noise, things being moved around him, it all faded in and out of his awareness.
Time passed as Sam let his thoughts float, listlessly trying to make sense of the world around him.
Gradually, the irritation around his wrists and the pain in his back from his awkward position on the floor started to come more to the forefront of his thoughts. Vaguely, he knew Dean was the one that had left him here, but he couldn’t piece together a reason why.
“Dean?” he called out softly. He must’ve swallowed glass at some point, because the quiet word grated through the soft tissues of his throat.
He was so thirsty.
He started to get to his feet, but was caught by his wrists trapped around the drainpipe of the sink. He fell back down with a loud, boneless thud.
Dean’s cool hand on his forehead sharpened his awareness once more. “Water?” he whispered.
Dean’s hand stroked soothingly through his hair, a tender caress that somehow left Sam feeling nauseous. A bottle was pressed to Sam’s lips. Water slipped into his mouth, and he latched on to the soft plastic, swallowing greedily, gulping it down as if he’d never get any more ever again.
He tried to grab for the container of precious liquid when Dean pulled it away, he wasn’t finished, needed more, but his hands seemed to be caught on something and all he accomplished was sending shooting flares of pain through his abraded flesh. He whimpered, unable to comprehend the cause of his discomfort.
“Shhh…” Dean soothed. “I’m gonna release you now, okay?”
“Okay,” Sam whispered. The water had helped; the pain wasn’t quite as bad as it had been, but still, he was thirsty. He needed more. Why wouldn’t Dean give him more? “Dean?”
“It’s really important that you do what I say, or Dean could die. Do you understand that, Sammy?” Dean asked.
The handcuffs snapped open.
The unfocused panic that had been hovering just below his muddled lethargy reared its head, leaving Sam gasping for breath. “You could die?” Sam asked, staring into Dean’s eyes, begging silently for help. His gaze slipped away. What… Sam looked around for a threat. The walls of the bathroom slid in and out of focus.
“Yes,” Dean replied darkly, pulling Sam to his feet and leading him into the glaring light outside. His eyes burned and he flinched back, crowding into his brother’s close embrace. “But if you do what I say without question, it’ll be okay.”
“Oh,” Sam slurred out groggily, still trying to make sense of the words. “Okay…”
“Now,” Dean said, pushing Sam forward. His hand went to the top of Sam’s head and pushed him back and down, folding him into the back seat of the Impala. “Lie down and get some sleep.”
Unable to come up with a reason not to, Sam shifted around for a comfortable position, and did as he was told.
~o0O0o~
Something wet splattered against Dean’s head again, jerking him abruptly back to consciousness. He was shivering, sharp spasms rocking through his body hard enough to make his bones ache. Brushing at the sharp bits of stone and small debris that covered his side where he’d managed to curl up awkwardly on the ground only flared the pain in his abraded skin, so he didn’t bother. It’s not like he’d be able to get himself clean with his filthy hands anyway.
A harsh cough tore its way out of his throat, past his split and bleeding lips. What he wouldn’t give for some fucking ChapStick.
His eyes were still closed. That was mostly deliberate on his part; he didn’t want to open them, because as long as they stayed closed, he could hold out some hope that his situation had improved. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help his heart being in his throat as he slowly forced his grit-encrusted lids open. Despite his lack of surprise, he almost sobbed when not a speck of light broke the endless stretch of darkness.
Water splashed down on him again, and he lifted his head, letting the putrid liquid drip into his mouth. His stomach twisted, demanding food. Water was the only thing on the menu, though. He kept his mouth open, laughing at himself as the image of a baby bird waiting to be fed filled his head. Yeah, he was about as helpless.
It seemed like it didn’t take as long this time to fill his mouth with as much of the filthy water as he could stand. Still long enough that he was forced to take a long drag of air in through his nose. The nauseating stench burned its way down his throat and filled his stomach, effectively killing his hunger. He gagged, spewing all of the water he’d managed to gather down his chest and across the floor. At least the water had been cool against his raw throat.
A particularly convulsive shiver racked his body, sending him into another fruitless search for something on the ground big enough to use as a tool. There was still nothing. His wrist was still held tightly to the wall, was still sending jagged, nauseating waves of pain through his body every time he moved, was still clearly fucking broken. And Dean was still just as fucked as he had been before he fell asleep.
Except… was there more water on the ground than there had been before? He lifted his heel and banged it down, sending water up into the air with a splash. He laughed out loud, and even he had to admit he sounded a little manic. He leaned forward, and a series of staccato drips danced along the back of his neck. He jerked, the cold almost felt like a hot poker along his skin. Fuck.
He scooted another centimeter along the wall, ignoring the pain, despite knowing there was no escape from the dripping water that never seemed to need a damn break. Hell, he was never going to be able to stand being in a motel room with a drippy faucet again. Sam was probably going to tease him mercilessly about it, but, fuck, a man deserved to be a little neurotic after something like this… right?
“Sammy?!” The word spilled, unplanned, from his lips. Which, well, it had been planned. Of course it had. He needed to keep calling out for help, right? Just in case…
The pipes around him gave a long, plaintive moan, echoing his misery. At least... he hoped the noise was caused by pipes. Any creature that could make a sound like that was not something he wanted to meet when he was naked and filthy and chained to the wall in the dark. Fear shivered across his back, leaving him with a sense of cold even deeper than before. Fuck. Why did the thing have to leave him naked? Not like he was ashamed of his body or anything. Shit, not like anyone could see him anyway, but… it left him feeling pretty exposed.
Vulnerable.
Okay, he needed to stop being such a girl.
“Sammy?!” he shouted once again, his vocal cords protesting the continued abuse. There hadn’t been so much as a hint of human presence for however long he’d been down in this hell-hole. The cry echoed around and slowly faded away without any reply. Which, well, yeah, again with the not surprising.
Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
He imagined the endless patter against his skin was leaving behind a trail of grooves, wearing him away until he dissolved under the constant barrage.
Drip… Drip…
Drip… Drip…
Hell, either the water was falling faster, or he was starting to really go insane down here.
“Sammy?!”
Suddenly he was frantically clawing at the band of metal encasing his wrist, trying to pry his fingers under the restraint, as if that would change anything. There still wasn’t even a millimeter of give. It was tight enough to dig into his skin. He couldn’t feel his hand anymore, but even so, dislocating his thumb to try to pull out of the cuff wasn’t going to do anything but add to his misery. He had to be losing weight… maybe if he lost enough… He laughed a little hysterically. If he was down here that long, he’d be dead.
He couldn’t feel his hand… meant it was probably tight enough to be affecting his circulation… which meant he could lose it if he wasn’t found soon.
The thought was enough to circle panic around his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t… “Sammy?!” he screamed again, flinching back from the echoing noise.
Fuck, he had to get out of here. That thing still had his brother. He turned back to the restraint and started clawing at it desperately, fear overwhelming reason long enough to leave him banging his fist against the wall, sucking in breaths fast and furious in an attempt to stave off tears that wouldn’t do anyone a damn bit of good.
“Sammy…” he whispered, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thud, letting the exhaustion wear him down enough that he could curl back in on himself and wait for rescue.
~o0O0o~
Awareness filtered back in slowly. Sam was pretty sure it had been the roar of a fast moving truck that had pulled him from his sleep, but he hadn’t heard any traffic since then, which meant they were probably in some middle of nowhere motel on the side of a road somewhere. His head was pounding out a deep staccato against the inside of his skull. He peeled his sleep-crusted eyes open and peered into the gloom of the room, trying to focus on something, but it only worsened the banging in his head and he quickly shut them again.
Fuck me. I don’t even remember the awesome evening we must’ve… but, no, that was wrong anyway. This didn’t really feel like a hangover headache. Not really. More spike-like and stronger than anything he’d ever had in the past. If this was the usual result of over-imbibing, he was pretty sure he’d never touch a drop of alcohol again as long as he lived.
The sound of a keyboard clicking finally filtered through his brain, and he muttered a groggy, “Dean?” into the room.
His muscles filled with sudden, inexplicable tension as he waited for a response. He was desperate to hear his brother’s voice, and simultaneously, inexplicably, terrified of the same.
The laptop clicked shut with a decisive snap. “It’s about time you woke up, Sammy!” Dean’s too-loud voice boomed out, intensifying the throbbing in Sam’s head. “Get your lazy butt out of bed already. I need coffee. And grease. And salt.”
Something soft hit Sam in the face, blocking what little light there was in the room. He reached up and pulled the cloth away, holding the thing up and peering at it as it swam blearily into focus. After a few moments he was finally able to make out… Dean’s dirty underwear, wadded up in his hand. He tossed it away in disgust. “Dude, seriously?” he moaned in complaint.
Dean’s soft chuckle was his only response, and then suddenly the blankets were jerked down his body, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, almost completely exposed in the somewhat chilly room. Apparently, he hadn’t even managed to pull a t-shirt on the night before.
“You know what?” Sam grated, “Last week, when I accused you of being five? I think I was aiming too high…” His throat was thrashed, worse than what it would be if this was just a hang-over. He struggled to sit up, trying to think past the turbulence in his brain. He raised a shaking hand up to his throat and pressed into the skin, causing a deep ache to flare violently at his touch.
Dean’s hands, curling around his throat, pressing in to kill. No… Not Dean…
Not Dean…
Fuck.
He slipped off the bed and immediately into a defensive crouch, almost falling on his ass as his muscles sluggishly tried to decide if they were going to cooperate with him.
Dean snorted at him. “Throw some clothes on and meet me out in the car. There’s a chicken fried steak at the diner with my name on it.” Dean… not Dean turned and headed towards the door like everything was normal, like Sam wasn’t crouching on the floor in his underwear glaring daggers at a creature that looked just like his brother.
Sam’s hand shot out as it walked by in a move that should have landed Dean on his ass, except that Sam still wasn’t as coordinated as he should be, and Dean just stopped and looked down at him, unaffected.
“I’d remove your hand, if I were you,” it said calmly.
Sam let go and slowly rose unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s Dean?” Sam growled.
The thing’s lips twitched up slightly. It turned towards Sam slowly, then moved into Sam’s personal space to stand way too close, and looked coolly into Sam’s eyes. “I’m right here, Sam,” he drawled.
Sam launched himself against it, shoving it forward until its back hit the wall with a thud, his one hand tangled in the creature’s shirt, the other arm pressing hard against the thing’s throat. Fury leaked from him in every harshly panted breath. “Where is he?” Sam yelled, the pain in his head bowing under the force of his rage. He let go of the shirt, pulled its head forward slightly and then slammed it roughly back against the wall.
“If you really want to know, you’d better take your hands off of me…” The threat was clear, but Sam stood frozen, unable to let his anger go enough to allow his muscles to unlock.
“Now!” the creature snarled.
Sam’s grip sprang open, and he slowly, deliberately, forced himself to take a small step back. “Where is he?” Sam growled out lowly.
It smiled, and fear crawled down Sam’s back in a thick ooze, leaving him nauseous. It clearly thought it had the upper hand.
It was probably right.
Sam let it push past him and watched as it moved over to the laptop, pulled up a website, and then motioned for Sam to come over.
Not without some small trepidation, Sam did as it wanted, and peered at the screen. It was some sort of heat sensitive image, and right in the center was the glowing outline of a person, huddled in on itself, but still, clearly a person. A person with a wrist awkwardly pinned against the wall. A person who was naked and visibly shivering. A person who looked a hell of a lot like his brother.
Sam turned toward the creature murderously, “What the hell did you do to him?” he demanded.
“Sam?” His brother’s voice sounded hopefully from the small laptop speakers, jerking Sam’s attention back to the screen. Dean could hear him?
“Dean!” Sam yelled, “Where are you?”
Dean seemed to startle at Sam’s voice, and he looked around blindly, reaching out a hand to wave awkwardly in front of him.
“Dean!” Sam braced his hands on either side of the laptop and leaned in close, hoping the… infrared? Thermographic? It didn’t matter. He leaned in even closer, hoping he could make out enough details to find some clue. “Dean, where are you?”
“I don’t know,” Dean replied, his voice strained, desperate sounding. “It’s dark…”
A fist abruptly crashed into the side of Sam’s face, catching Sam off guard and knocking him to the ground. He scrambled up, managed to snatch the computer from the creature’s grasp, but it had already closed the browser, ending whatever brief connection he’d had with Dean.
Sam tossed the laptop back on the table and drew back his arm, preparing for a punch, but the creature started laughing lowly, stilling Sam’s motion.
“What do you want?” Sam demanded. He lowered his shaking hand, desperate to think past the pain in his head. Violence might give him satisfaction, but it wouldn’t give him Dean.
The creature reached out and stroked a hand down the side of Sam’s face, making him take an uncomfortable step back. “You don’t appreciate him,” it said softly.
“Yeah?” Sam replied wearily. “You said that before. You’re wrong.”
“Really? Well, I don’t think so, and neither, incidentally, does Dean, but… just for fun, I’m going to give you a chance to prove it.”
Fear trickled down his spine like needles. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The creature smiled Dean’s smile, and it felt like a gut punch. “You were out a long time thanks to those drugs I gave you. Plenty long enough for me to secure your brother where he’ll never be found. Don’t worry, I left him water. Plenty of water,” it paused, laughing lowly to itself at some private joke before continuing cheerfully, “but, you know, no food, so I figure he’s got, maybe, a couple of weeks, tops, before he starves to death. Crappy way to go, I know, but I did what I had to do, you know?”
Sam’s stomach sickened, and he took another step back, needing some distance. It followed him, forcing him back until his legs hit the bed and he sat down heavily. Keeping its gaze locked on Sam’s it slowly leaned down and put its hands on his shoulders with a tight grip. Dean’s pendent still hung from the thing’s neck, swinging in small, mesmerizing circles.
Sam forced his gaze away from the familiar talisman to meet the thing’s eyes. “You’re insane,” Sam whispered.
“Maybe,” it snapped back angrily, not releasing Sam’s shoulders, its face way too close. “So here’s the offer I have for you. I’m going to step into his life, do the things he does, and little brother is going to prove how much he cares. If you manage to convince me in time that he’s right to put so much faith in you, I’ll tell you where he is and you can go rescue him, happy tears all around if you make it in time. But. If you don’t convince me…” it paused, looking at Sam speculatively… hungrily…
Sam had to swallow the sudden surge of terror the unnerving look stirred up so he could keep breathing.
“Well,” it continued with a slight upturn of its lips, “then I become the hunter that I am, and you become my next prey. Dean’s dead whether I succeed in that or not.” Dean’s usual teasing expression dropped back over the thing’s features. “So, what’d you say, Sammy? Do we play for Dean’s life, or do I take you out right now?”
Sam’s eyes wandered to the laptop, wondering if he could bring the website back up, somehow use it to find Dean’s location. The spike that was still trying to pulverize his brain was making him nauseous.
The creature gave a quiet laugh. “You may think you’re good at computers, but you aren’t as good as the poor schmuck I copied in order to set up Dean’s little hide-away. I left your brother naked as a jaybird – there’s nothing on him to track. And think about it, Sam. I’ve been around for a long time. I have dozens of lairs all across the country, and they aren’t all in the sewers. You don’t even have a clue where to start looking without my help.”
Sam closed his eyes and tried to think past the panic. “How do I know you’ll tell me where he is even if I play your stupid game?” he muttered, trying to stall for time.
“You don’t. No guarantees there, Sammy, but it’s the only hope you’ve got, and I can promise you that if you don’t play, your brother’s as good as dead.”
He needed backup, but there was no one – not unless Dad wasn’t really missing, if he was actually getting his voicemail... Sam needed to get free from the creature long enough to leave a message. He could play the creature’s game as long as he knew someone was working the other side of the case.
“Tick tock, Sam…” the creature breathed threateningly.
Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Yeah, okay. I’ll play,” he scowled.
“Good!” the creature responded cheerfully. All sense of otherness drained away, and it was just Dean standing in front of him once more.
“Let’s go get food. I’m starved,” it said, moving to the door.
Sam watched it walk out, and it was only few moments later that he managed to make himself get up, throw on some clothes, and follow.