Okay, here's part 2! Haha, that's way quicker than usual. To all those who reviewed, thanks so much for the support! You guys are just great. And thanks to my silent readers as well – I know you're out there! But I'm just happy you're enjoying my story. Although…(hint, hint!)…if you liked it, drop me a quick line when you're finished reading! After all, reviews are a fanfic writer's only payment…I'll send you virtual chocolate if you send me feedback…not at all above bribing! Well, all that's left to say is thanks again, and hope that you enjoy.
By the way, this is a LONG chapter…the first one was setting up the story, and this is the continuation. To all those who feel there should be more, time restrictions are the only reason why I can't. Maybe later, however, I'll find the time to add a few more chapters. But that's sort of doubtful.
Sam was somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. It was like floating in some sort of dream state. He could hear outside conversation, but was unable to really register the meaning of the words – and unable, as well, to open his eyes or to move. The room felt like it was spinning, a strange sensation since his eyes were closed and he was seated completely stationary. What the hell had those jerks injected into him? Whatever it was, it was strong.
"Why isn't he waking up?"
"Give him time, give him time…he'll come to…"
"But I just want to get to it already! I'm itching to use these things…" Metallic clanging accompanied the words.
"You'll get your chance, Silva. Besides, the longer we wait, the better. It'll give his douche bag of a brother a chance to realize what's up. This whole thing goes to the pits if the guy doesn't get worried, I was expecting him to call earlier than this."
"Yeah, he's probably planning on staying out all night…he seemed the gigolo type, from what we saw of him." A hint of disdain and disgust laced each word.
"Well until he calls, all we've got is a kid tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth, passed out cold. Not much we can do with that." Though this man was obviously the boss and spoke with an air of authority, his disappointment was evident.
"Why don't we call Dean first, boss? Why are we waiting for him to call us? Let's just do it, now!"
"No! You know the plan Silva, don't let your eagerness get the better of you. Dean needs that fear, needs to already have the panic in his system before he gets on the phone, knowing that his precious little brother is missing…it'll make him more likely to give in to our demands."
"You're right Jasp."
"As usual," amended the other man.
"But we could still start torturing him earlier…"
"Before he's awake? What the hell kind of fun is that?"
"Guess it isn't," came the dejected response.
"Exactly. We just have to wait, an hour at most. Trust me, it'll be worth it."
Sam wasn't in any sort of state to register the malice and danger behind the conversation taking place directly in front of him. The words just flew in one ear and out the other, making themselves known and then instantly forgotten.
But then it got quieter. All talking had ceased, and the dizziness had gone from Sam's head. He could now sense certain things about the situation; he felt tape over his mouth, rough rope binding his arms and legs, the aching of the arm that had received the injection, and the chill of the room's atmosphere.
His memory was coming back, too. He recalled waking up to find men in his room, remembered being tackled, held down, and knocked out with a potent drug.
And now he was here. He needed to be awake, to open his eyes. Come on Sam, just do it…don't be weak, you need to save your ass…
Then he did. The lids were heavy and hard to rise, and he felt like he was just waking up after years of sleep, but his eyes were open nonetheless. And now, he kind of wished they weren't. The first thing he saw was an open chest of metal implements: scalpels of different sizes, large knives, medical scissors, and – the most horrifying of all – a hand-held dental drill.
Jesus Christ, what were these guys planning on doing? And why the hell had they chosen him? He moaned through the tape, struggling uselessly against his tightly bound extremities. No way was he moving out of this chair. He glanced quickly around the room, trying to assess the other facts of the situation. It was small, cold, and grey – constructed of cement. There were no windows, but instead a large fan behind an imposing metal grate on the opposite end of where he was situated, who's turning blades cast alternating shadows over the walls. It looked like an abandoned meat freezer.
How cliché, Sam thought sardonically. Typical torture chamber. These guys obviously weren't all that creative. Though Sam vaguely remembered hearing snippets of conversation earlier, his captors now seemed to have left the room. He was currently alone, but he doubted it would be for long.
And surprise surprise, he was right. Barely ten minutes later, according to the large black and white clock on the wall next to him, he heard footsteps outside the room, steadily approaching. With a start as well, Sam realized it was now already 7:30 am. He had been here all night. Where the hell was Dean?
Sam felt his heartbeat accelerate with fear, and he again tried desperately to release himself. Eyes widening, he stared at the door as it opened, terrified of the men behind it.
Four people entered, the embodiment of the four crouched shadows he had seen earlier in his motel room. Instead of the fear Sam expected to feel upon seeing them, he suddenly felt a surge of anger, and pulled spectacularly against his restraints; straining his muscles and leaning back his head with the effort.
"How cute," said one of the men, clearly amused. "He thinks he can get away." He walked in front of the other men, tilting his head to the side and sneering. His hair was short and dark, and he was uncommonly tall and well-built. Large muscles strained underneath a white t-shirt.
Sam just struggled further, not caring whether or not the effort was meaningless. He wanted to let them know he was a fighter, not one willing to sit and take punishment.
"Boss, boss! He-he's awake!" Sam was slightly taken aback by the eagerness of the words. The guy could barely contain himself.
"I see that, Silva," sighed the other man. "Anything else obvious you wished to point out?"
"No, Jasper…I just, I really want…" Despite himself, Sam was amused by the sheer excitement radiating off of the guy. He seemed to be barely 5'5", nearly unhealthily underweight, and in short, one of the least threatening individuals Sam could possibly imagine. But something wasn't right about him, as he could only be excited at the promise of torture. Sam sighed. That was more than a little creepy.
"I know what you 'really want', Silva. And I promise you'll get your chance. But first, I want to say a few things to our guest here."
Sam rolled his eyes, trying as hard as he could to hide his fear and seem indifferent.
"You seem slightly annoyed, Sam."
Sam replied with the only vocal response he could, under the circumstances, and grunted in assent.
Jasper had pulled up a chair, and had now taken a seat directly in front of Sam; straddling the seat with his arms crossed over the back. "But don't worry, after a bit of torture, we'll have you thinking our way."
There were laughs of amusement from the other men in the room.
"Or at least," Jasper added, "too terrified and in pain to dare show us attitude."
Sam stopped struggling, staring intently into Jasper's eyes. It was a technique he had honed over the years, a way of trying to find the humanity of a person and letting them see yours, in return. Eye-to-eye contact sometimes shone light on the situation, snapping the person into reality.
And other times, it didn't. He got nothing out of Jasper but a laugh. "Oh, the soul-searching stare! You used to getting things you want with those puppy-dog eyes of yours? 'Cause let me tell you right now, that's not going to work with me."
Sam was getting fed up, and now was a bit more than scared – trying to hold back tears of frustration and terror. "What do you want?" he wanted to scream.
It came out as a series of grunts, thanks to the duct tape.
"You wanna talk?" asked Jasper. "Well I don't see why not…alright, let's talk." With a grin, he reached over and viciously yanked the tape from Sam's skin, leaving the area surrounding his mouth red and inflamed.
Though it was painful, Sam refused to relent. Once he had moved his mouth around a bit, rejuvenating his muscles, he stared once again into Jasper's eyes and spoke.
"What do you want, you sonofabitch?" he said in the most spiteful way possible. He hoped his fear didn't come through.
Jasper sighed, leaning back on the chair. "I want what most people want, no different. A material thing that you have, very valuable. And I'm planning on going through your brother to get it."
"What, by calling and asking him?"
"No, by having him call us." Jasper then pulled what was unmistakably Sam's cell phone out of his pocket. See, when he calls he'll probably know you're missing. He'll be worried, freaking out. We'll let him know we have you…and voilá! He'll do whatever we want. He calls the cops, we kill you. Simple as that."
"So what's the point of the torture?" Sam asked, trying to gain the upper hand. "Dean'll give you anything you want anyway. Knowing you even have me here, with the threat of killing me if he doesn't meet the demands, will be enough."
"That might be true," said Jasper thoughtfully, "but torture makes things more fun."
Sam laughed. "My brother will kill you if you hurt me," he said confidently. You're much better off leaving me be. You'll get what you want, and you'll live. But if he gets here and sees what you've done…" Sam let the sentence trail.
"What, he'll take down all four of us? Yeah, okay. See, I'm thinking he'll just motor on out of here, get your ass as far away from us as possible and leave. What a pathetic attempt at saving yourself Sam, trying to make us believe that your brother will kill us all single-handedly. What a story, what a story."
"Actually, it's true. But believe what you want to believe. You'll die, but I guess that's your prerogative."
"Jasp…" it was one of the two guys in the back, no older than late teens; with blonde hair, blue eyes, and – currently – a shaky expression on his face. "What if he's right? Maybe we should just call Dean, give him our demands…end this thing quickly. I don't want to get hurt."
"Lenny, who knew you were such a pansy? This guy's full of crap. He's a scared kid putting on a tough face. Now unless this big brother was militarily trained and comes in armed and ready – which I seriously doubt, my friend – we're fine. I've done this before. Someone tied up like this'll make up the craziest stories to save their hide. You can't buy into it."
"Actually, we were both militarily-trained, and I can guarantee you that Dean will come in armed and ready, Jasper," said Sam matter-of-factly.
"And you expect me to believe that?" said Jasper, face now full of anger. He was no longer entertaining Sam's argument, but seemed to be taking it personally. "That you two are friggin' green berets or something? Some kind of fighting machines? Yeah, that's why you guys just drive around like vagabonds and live in motels. Bravo Sam, you just told the most ridiculous lie I've ever heard."
Sam was quiet. This strategy had not gotten him where he wanted at all. If possible, he had made things worse – now Jasper was more eager than ever to torture him.
Just then, the cell rang. Jasper stared at Sam, sneer crossing over his face. "Silva, get set up," he said quietly. Without a word, the shorter man ran to Sam's side, grabbing a knife from the chest and holding it in front of Sam's face; silver glinting in the slight light of the room. Sam gulped.
The phone rang twice, three times. On the third ring, Jasper finally picked it up, and Sam noticed he put it on speakerphone.
"Hello? Sam?" Sam felt a burst of hope at hearing Dean's voice.
"No, not Sam." Jasper's reply was blood-chillingly bitter.
"Well then who the hell is it? Get me my brother, right now!"
"I'm not going to tell you who I am…or rather, who we are. You should know, though, that we have your brother – and he's not having fun at the moment. Here, listen for yourself."
Sam's eyes widened in fear…no…no…Silva was drawing the knife back…in a second, Sam felt the white hot pain as it dug into his shoulder, warm blood trailing down his arm. Silva ripped the blade out viciously, twisting it slightly as he did so.
Despite himself, Sam screamed in pain. His arm was on fire, his vision was spinning, he just wanted the pain to stop…
"SAM! SAMMY! "You sonofabitch…you SONOFABITCH! I'm going to kill you, so help me God…let him go, right now, or you'll be wishing you were never born."
Sam wanted to call out, to talk to his brother, to tell him that he was okay – but Silva placed a cold hand over his mouth, forcing him to stay quiet.
"I don't think you have that kind of leverage, Dean-o," replied the other voice calmly. You see, we can kill Sam much faster than you can kill us. And we will, if you're not willing to make a little bargain." Jasper was smiling now, apparently convinced that his plan would be carried out without a hitch. And also unconcerned about what he assumed to be an empty threat on Dean's part for murder.
"What the hell kind of bargain? What do I possibly have that you want?"
Despite the agonizing pain he was in, Sam was listening intently – curious as well as to what Jasper wanted so badly from them.
"Your car," replied Jasper simply.
There was silence on the other end. Then laughing of disbelief. "Are you friggin' serious? You kidnap and torture my brother to get a car? If you don't have any money, try stealing one, you dumbass! Or earn your own money like a real goddamned man instead of resorting to kidnapping someone and holding them hostage. Jesus Christ, you are royally screwed up. You need some serious help, my friend."
Jasper was obviously taken aback, but composed himself. "That's a rare car, Dean. A jewel. I saw you in it, I want it. Now you can condemn my methods all you want, but the fact is that if you don't get here within the next hour, you can say goodbye to Sammy. Oh, and call the cops – your brother gets his throat slit."
Again, there was silence as Dean contemplated a response. "You're willing to kill my little brother to get some goddamned car? Where the hell is your humanity? It's your funeral, man. You get the Impala, no problem. But if you hurt Sam…I swear to God, there will be hell to pay."
Sam understood what Dean was doing. He was killing this jackass regardless, as he had already kidnapped and hurt Sam – and would be a threat in the future if he wasn't taken care of. Tell him that and he'd be prepared for attack, ready to retaliate when he arrived. He was playing the peace card, complying with the demand – and trying to save Sam from further torture in the process. Dean would give up the car in a second to save Sam's life, but the Impala was safe anyway. Dean would just take it back once he wiped everyone out.
Jasper, however, seemed unable to believe that Dean was a threat. "Sorry buddy, we can't promise not to hurt Sam. See, he'll be tortured for as long as it takes you to get here…hopefully that'll speed things up a bit. Not too scared of this 'hell to pay' business, to tell you the truth. I think you're some scared kid acting bigger than his britches. Well guess what, not buying it. Sammy here's in for a store of pain."
There was a hiss on the other end. Then Sam heard Dean's voice as he had never heard it before. "You're dead. You're all dead, each and every one of you." It was a statement of fact. And knowing Dean as Sam knew him, he meant it.
"Well, you and your brother sure are persistent, I give you that. But there's no way you're taking down all four of us, buddy. And if you try and bring friends, Sam's dead before you even come in. Cut the macho bullshit, will ya? Just come and give us the car. We'll give you Sam, although no promises he makes it through the torture. Quicker you get here, the less fun we have with him."
"Yeah, and where is 'here'?" barked Dean. "Got an address, you effing sonofabitch?"
"If you're as smart as your brother says you are and as you seem to think, you'll find us."
"Yeah, and if you want me to make it here in an hour, you'd better tell me, genius. Apparently Sam dies if I'm not there in an hour, right? And what are you left with then? A dead body and cops on your trail. Yeah, that's useful."
Jasper sighed. Dean obviously had a one-up. "Fine, you persistent bastard. We're at 203 Pine Grove road, 'bout forty-five minutes without traffic from your little motel there. You'd better get a move-on, Dean." Click.
Jasper hung up the phone, staring at Sam angrily. "You and your brother are really grating my nerves, Sammy boy. You know, I've been watching you for a couple of days now, ever since I saw that car drive on into town, and I never took you for stupid. Piss-poor maybe, white trash most definitely, but not stupid. Your non-compliance and death threats are starting to get mighty irritating."
"Yeah, and I'm not at all irritated that I'm being tortured by a bunch of rednecks just so they can get their hands on some car they can't afford otherwise. What a friggin' stupid reason to kidnap someone, guys. I've seen a lot of things in my life, hell I've even been kidnapped a few times, but this is a new low. I mean, did you ever consider just breaking into the car? That would probably have been a lot easier. Just an idea."
Sam didn't know where this confidence was coming from. He knew they were going to torture him, but he also knew Dean was on his way. And that gave him strength. His arm still bled heavily, pain radiating throughout his body, but Sam had had ample time over the course of his life to learn how to tolerate pain.
"Well mister high-and-mighty, there's something that you're missing in all this. It's not just the car, you idiot. See, we just like an excuse for torture. We have you all to ourselves now and can do whatever we want – and we get a prize when it's all said and done!" Jasper's eyes seemed to hold a fire, and they gleamed with eagerness.
Jesus Christ, people were crazy.
Dean cursed to himself as he ran out of the room, heart thudding in his chest. This was the friggin' second time Sam had been kidnapped by unstable humans. There was something inherently wrong with that, on so many different levels. Seriously, the car? "Give me your car or I'll kill your brother?" What did they expect him to say, "no"? Did they think he'd rather keep his car than save his brother? Screw humans. They were all goddamned insane.
Dean got in the car, panting heavily and trying not to think about the fact that Sam was being tortured at this very moment. If he stopped to consider it, no way would he be able to operate the car, let alone concentrate enough to follow directions. He had gone on Sam's laptop, typed in the address, and figured out that he needed to go south on the main road to reach the turnoff, then take a complicated series of left and rights once he got to the correct area; he needed to be on his game. The internet search had taken a full five minutes, thanks to the snail's pace of the computer. That was five minutes more that Sam was tortured with who knew what.
Feeling a hot tear blaze down his cheek despite his efforts to control his emotions, Dean raced out of the parking lot, hoping that his excessive speeding didn't get him pulled over.
I'm coming, Sammy. Just hold strong.
The stupidity of the situation was almost overriding Sam's fear of the promise of torture that lay before him. Four guys, just looking for an excuse to capture some random victim and torture him, had somehow found him and Dean by means of the Impala's appeal. Seriously, what was with their bad luck? Were they both born cursed or something? This was starting to get ridiculous. He spun his head slowly around, met with the eager eyes of his captors. They were all staring at him greedily, grins creeping onto their faces.
Oh great, looks like this'll go in rounds.
His guess proved correct. "Gentlemen, have you all decided your manner of torture?" asked Jasper. There were grunts and laughs of assent. "Well, let's get started then shall we? I think I'll go first…"
With that declaration, Jasper reached back and punched Sam full in the face. It was then that Sam realized the guy was wearing iron knuckles. He truly was a sadistic bastard.
Sam felt his skull jerk violently to the side, his skin splitting on the site of impact. Hot blood flowed down his face, now swelling from the force of the swing. He spit out a mouth full of blood, and was horrified to see a tooth come with it. But Sam didn't shout or cry; he just stared at Jasper with an indifferent expression. He'd had worse.
Jasper flexed his knuckles, looking back with a grin at the rest of the group. "Next?"
Wordlessly, Silva stepped forward, scalpel in hand. His smile was manic, face distorted into an expression of complete madness. Sam instantly tensed, preparing for the worst. And then it came. Silva pulled up Sam's shirt, exposing his stomach, and then pushed through the blade through his abdomen, hard and deep. He seemed to be carving something in the skin, but Sam was in too much agony to sense what it was. Black spots blurred his vision, and he thought he would pass out…please, just let me pass out…I don't want to feel anymore…
Silva looked as if he wanted to do more, but was cut off by a harsh word from Jasper. "Wait until it's your turn again," was the sharp demand. Silva bowed his head, taking his place at the back of the line.
Next came Lenny. It took all the strength Sam had to raise his head and stare the young man in the eye, a sign that he was not yet defeated. Looking slightly nervous – yet determined all the same to follow his boss' orders – Lenny lifted a silver mallet from the chest of implements, large and incredibly heavy. He pulled the weapon back over his head, and Sam knew what was going to happen before it did. He clenched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together so hard that it hurt. The mallet traveled through the air, gaining speed, and then landed on Sam's arm; breaking the bone and splitting his flesh.
Sam thought he screamed, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure if he was awake anymore, if he was alive anymore. But he must have been, because he could still feel the pain. Oh God, the pain. That's all there was, all Sam was aware of. He was now leaning back, eyes rolling behind his head.
"And Adrean? You set?"
Sam heard the banging of heavy boots stamping over the hard cement of the room as the last man approached the chair, then with horror heard the motor of a tiny electrical drill – the one he had spotted earlier.
No, no, no, no…
His mouth was roughly pried open, letting loose a dribble of blood down his chin from the previous injuries he had sustained, and the instrument was shoved into his mouth and onto his back molar. His head exploded with agony, the sound of the whirring drill amplifying in his head and drowning out his senses. Please just let me die…please…
But he didn't die. And the cycle just continued.
Dean was driving faster than he had ever driven in his life. He wasn't even looking at the gauge, but just staring intently ahead through the windshield. He thanked God for the lack of traffic and the utter isolation of the town; cops were fairly few and far between in this neck of the woods. They were in the middle of Nowheresville, Indiana, someplace with a crime rate of virtually zero.
Dean pressed down harder on the gas.
He kept looking down at the clock, to the point in which it became almost a nervous twitch. A half-hour had passed. Thirty-five minutes. Why the hell wasn't he there? It was supposedly forty-five minutes away, and he was going way over the speed limit…he should have seen the turn…
And there it was. The car squealed as Dean jerked the steering wheel violently to the right, and Dean cursed as he was forced to slow down and make the proper turn-offs through the neighborhood. Left, then a right one mile ahead; then another right, two more lefts…he was getting closer. 195. 197. 200. There it was – house 203.
A large shed stood beside the run-down building, and Dean knew that it must be where these assholes were keeping Sam. He stopped the car abruptly, threw open the door, and opened the trunk – grabbing two .45s, one for himself and one to throw to Sam, if needed, as well as a machete – more to instill fear than to kill – and a hunting knife, to cut Sam free. He sprinted through the front door, planning on bursting in instantly, no holds barred. He couldn't give these bastards a chance to prepare themselves.
He didn't announce his entrance, but simply kicked down the door – walking in what appeared to be an abandoned meat locker. Why the hell these guys would have a meat locker in their backyard, Dean had no clue. But he really didn't care.
Because right before him, not more than a fifteen feet away, sat Sam. Head leaning down towards his chest, panting heavily, and covered in blood. Dean raised both guns, a move reminiscent of Lara Croft – then, saying nothing, he fired.
The first shot hit Lenny in the shoulder, sending him toppling and rolling in agony. He then shot both of Silva's feet, stopping the man from further approaching Sam – and also sending him falling to the floor, allowing for the cement floor to knock him unconscious. Adrean hurled himself at Dean, but was stopped dead – literally – by a shot to the head.
Dean was now pointing both weapons directly at a very startled and terrified Jasper. Something about his appearance gave him away, because Dean knew immediately who he was.
"It's you," he sneered. "You're the goddamned effing ringleader of this whole sad charade. Well guess what, bucko – you messed with the wrong guys. What was your plan once I got here? Did you think I'd just give you the car and walk away?"
Jasper was silent, slowly backing against the wall.
"DID YOU?" Dean continued. "After what you did to my brother? I'm sorry to break it to you, but you're not getting the car. In fact, I think I'll just give you a bullet in the head – like your buddy here. I'd like to torture you a bit, throw you around, but I don't quite have the time for that – it seems that I really need to check on my brother, after what you did to him, you goddamned sonofabitch."
"Please…no…I'm sorry…should have…should have listened to Sam…"
"Sam is the smart one. I'm guessing you didn't make it past the third grade, bucko. What did he tell you, you asshole?"
"Said…said you'd kill me if you hurt him…you were trained…I should have known, never should have messed with you…all the others just come and beg me to stop, then leave…I didn't know…I'll pay for the hospital bill…"
"Yep, you should've listened – 'cause he was right. I'm not like all the others. You hurt him, you die. And I don't want your goddamned dirty money, take it with you to the grave. Hope torturing an innocent kid was worth it, you sadistic scumbag. Rot in hell." With those final words, Dean fired – the shot knocked back Jasper with force, forming a perfectly round hold in the center of his head.
"As for you two," Dean said, referring to the moaning and writhing forms of Silva (who seemed to have regained consciousness) and Lenny, "I think I'll leave you here for a while. And I suggest you think long and hard about your life, maybe get some therapy. But if I hear of any more out of you – believe me, I'll be scouring the newspaper – I'm going to hunt you down personally and kill the both of you. Is that clear?"
There was no response except for a slight whimpering. Dean just nodded in satisfaction, then ran over to Sam – lightly tapping the sides of his face. "Sammy? Sam? You okay?" He felt like he was going to vomit. His little brother was barely recognizable through all the blood covering his body, and Dean noticed that his t-shirt was stuck to the skin of his abdomen, bloody letters that spelled out the word "pain" seeping into the fabric. Oh God…please let him be okay, please let him be okay…
It felt like an eternity before Dean got his response – though it was probably only a couple of seconds. Sam's head lifted, eyes fluttering open. "D-d-ean... 'm…s-o-o-rry."
Dean let out a deep breath. "Jesus Christ Sammy, sorry for what?" he exclaimed. Although he already knew – Sam was referring to their last fight, the last words that could have been spoken between the two of them had things had gone differently.
"No, I'm sorry Sam. I shouldn't have left you alone all night, I should have come right back. God, this is all my fault."
"N-not y-ur f-f-ault…" Sam sputtered.
"Shh, shh…" cooed Dean, running his hand through Sam's hair. "Don't talk, just close your eyes and rest…it'll all be okay…"
Dean gently cut through the ropes binding Sam's arms and legs, then carefully lifted his brother into his arms in a fireman's hold. It was difficult with someone so big, yet it was necessary to minimize movement and to keep him stable.
He struggled to the car, carrying his brother in the same way he had carried him all those years ago from their burning house.
"It's okay Sam, I'm here. I'm here."
1 month later
"God, it's good to be free from that prison." Sam leaned back into the passenger seat of the Impala, breathing in the spring air and basking in the sun coming from the window.
"Dude, that prison saved your life. You should be grateful to Sylvester Ogdilone for paying the bill too, man. That place ain't cheap."
"I can't believe that people keep buying those insane names we come up with, dude," mused Sam.
"Yeah, well I came in there carrying you, half-conscious and bleeding all over the friggin' place. I don't think they cared much about our names, they just wanted you out of that waiting room." Dean smirked, glancing over at his brother. But Sam's face had now turned serious. He shifted in his seat so he was facing Dean's position, cast draped awkwardly over the median.
"About that, Dean. Thank you. You really came through…I didn't know if I'd ever see you again…I didn't want the last moment I had with you to be a fight, man. I'm sorry about that night." Sam had held this in during the hospital stay, knowing that they'd both had enough drama at the moment to bring in more. But he had to get this out.
"Dude, you shouldn't be sorry," said Dean softly. "I royally screwed up. I wasn't listening, I just stormed out and left…I never should have gone. I just wanted you to understand, Sam, wanted you to see that there's nothing about this deal that you can fix; and if there is. I don't want you to try. I can't lose you again, you're stronger than me."
"What makes you think I can live without you, Dean?" asked Sam angrily.
Dean stared into Sam's face, covered in bandages and residual cuts and bruises. He saw the hurt in Sam's eyes left from the emotional and physical torture, and he couldn't contemplate anything worse happening to him. It would crush him. "One of us is going to have to live without the other. We're not both making it through this, man. And you…you deserve to live more than I do. You're better. You'll make it through."
Sam felt tears well in his eyes, and remembered the nightmares he'd been having. About Jessica telling him he was evil, corrupted. "I'm not so sure I deserve anything," he said softly. "Don't you think something's wrong with me? That I'm different since you brought me back?" Sam's voice was quiet, unsure. The recent experience seemed to have weakened his resolve.
Dean stared hard into Sam's hazel eyes. And he saw…his brother. No hint of evil, no sign of corruption. It was the same Sammy he had always known, one that had lived through darker things but had still made it through.
"No," answered Dean. "I don't."
Alright, well I kinda hate the ending. But review! Please! A bunch of you have this on alerts and favorites that I haven't heard from yet…please…just push the little purple button… *puppy-dog eyes*