--Yep, sequel! Sam's turn! Once again, concocted from boredom!--
The Nightmare Before Midnight
"Sammy…Sammy, help me."
"This is my fault, it's all my fault."…
"Not that, please, not that!"…
"I can heal you…"
"I'll take it to the grave…" Alastair said.
"As will I." Said Uriel…
2 months later…
"D-Dean." The line went dead. That was all the message said.
"Sam? SAMMY?!" Dean screamed into the lifeless phone. He slammed it shut and chucked it across the room. "No, no, no, no!" He looked around, helpless.
Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!
Find him, gotta find him, gotta!
He dove onto the bed and grabbed his phone again, dialing Sam's number in a blur. It rang. He hung up.
If it was still on he could track it. He grabbed Sam's laptop, ignoring the twinge of pain he felt when he did.
A stupid phone call later with stupid lies told him where his little brother was.
In the middle of nowhere. Three hours away. Sam had already been out of his sight since last night. He fell asleep (IDIOT!) And when he woke up this morning Sam was still gone.
It was supposed to be his turn for the food run, but he talked Sam into going instead. And now…Now…
Now he had to go find his car.
He walked outside, turning toward the diner he was sure Sam would have gone to. If only he could walk faster. If only he could sprint down the road as fast as he could without anyone looking at him funny. Or calling the police. Or asking him stupid questions. So he walked as fast as he could without it being classified as a run and headed for the diner.
Once it was in sight it was so, so hard not to run. So very hard. He saw his Baby and darted toward her.
"Alright, Baby," He whispered. "Where'd Sammy go?" Sam had parked by the alley behind the diner. Ya know, those places where they dump the garbage?
He walked over to it, looking at the ground. He saw something shining on the ground. He bent down. His car keys. He pocketed them and continued down the alley. He saw something else. A small red puddle that had dried onto the pavement. Blood.
"Sammy." He whispered, fear filling him so fast it almost overwhelmed him. He went back to the Impala, started the engine and tore out of the parking lot. He'd memorized where Sam's phone was and he was headed there now, thirty miles above the speed limit. He didn't care. He dared a cop to pull him over. He'd leave them without a face.
He drove, and drove, and drove. And three hours later he reached his destination. He walked into the clearing that was surrounded by dense woods, flipping his phone open and calling Sam. He listened for a ring. Listened with all his might.
The only sound that was around him was birds and your average forest noises. But after the tenth ring and the thirtieth step, he heard a synthetic ringing. Sam's phone. He ran toward the noise, hoping that Sam would be with his phone.
His hopes were thrown into a dark abyss when he picked the phone up off the ground. He looked around.
"Sammy, where are you?" He asked to open air, his voice shaking. He was supposed to watch Sammy, take care of him, keep him safe. And now he was gone. He was scared. So very scared that someone had taken Sam and was going to hurt him. Or had already hurt him. Sam sounded so scared on the phone, and it made Dean want to scream.
He continued to walk, looking for something, anything that might take him to Sam.
That's when he saw the house. The dingy looking house that looked like it had been here since Laura Ingalls was a kid.
Hope jolted through him. He ran to it, drawing the gun from his waistband just in case. He gripped the doorknob and was unsurprised to feel it turn in his hand. The air was stale and thick with dust. It didn't look like anyone had been here for years. And he doubted that anyone was here.
Until he heard the screaming. He went numb, his body turned to ice and his face went white.
"No." He ran toward the source of the noise, trying to find a door that led to it. He ripped each one open one by one, finding no one. Then he found the door to the basement. He walked silently down them, closing his eyes at the sounds the person was making below.
A stair creaked. He stiffened. The cries died down a little and he heard someone running in the opposite direction. He descended the rest of the stairs in milliseconds. But by the time his feet touched the basement floor the person was gone, and the person who was screaming was still there.
"Sammy." Bile rose to the back of his throat against his will.
He was strapped down to a wooden table with the same kind of restraints they use in asylums, his breath came in quick gasps, his eyes stayed closed, and his naked body trembled almost violently.
Dean swallowed and went to him, undoing the straps around his wrists and ankles. His ankles were slashed. Dean swallowed again. He undid the strap across his chest, trying not to look at the cuts and bruises that decorated his body.
Sam was whimpering, and he pulled away when Dean touched his face. "Mmmn!" He shook his head, trying to get away from him. He struck out at Dean weakly. Dean held his wrists and pushed his arms down with extremely little effort. It scared him.
"Sammy, Sammy, it's alright!" He assured. "Look at me, Sammy. Look at me," The younger Winchester's eyes opened slowly. "It's me, Sammy. It's me."
"Uhn." Sam breathed, touching his brother's arm. Dean gathered him in his arms, hugging him tightly. Sam sobbed into his chest, clinging to him as tightly as he could.
"Shh…it's okay, Sammy. It's okay, shhh…"
"De…De…" Sam cried, his voice strangled. Dean lifted his chin.
"Why can't you talk, Sammy?" He asked. Sam lifted his arm. There were track marks from needles on in the crook of his arm. Dean shut his eyes and hugged Sam a little tighter.
"He drugged you?" Sam nodded feebly. "Do you know what he gave you?" Sam shook his head. Dean sighed. "Okay, okay, I'm gonna get you out of here, Sammy. I'm gonna get you home." He took off his jacket and draped it over him, giving his little brother at least some shred of dignity.
"C'mon, Sammy." He hoisted Sam up, supporting the majority of his weight.
"Uhn…" Sam moaned.
"I know, Sammy. Don't try and walk, okay?"
The walk to the Impala was excruciating for the both of them. Sam tried to help Dean as much as he could, but the cuts on his ankles made it almost impossible. Dean hated that Sam was hurt and he kept hurting him.
He opened the back door of the Impala, laying Sam down as easily as possible. He reached under the seat and pulled out the blanket they kept for emergencies. Emergencies like this one.
He covered Sam up, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He folded his jacket and put it under his head. He rubbed Sam's forehead, brushing his bangs out of his face.
Fever. He thought bitterly.
"It's gonna be awhile before we get there, Sammy," He said. Sam nodded feebly. "You're gonna be okay, alright? Just hang on for awhile. Just hang on," He took a deep breath. "I'm gonna be right up there, okay?" Sam nodded again, weaker than the first.
His world had been fuzzy for the past several hours. He'd been unable to think about anything else other than the pain and torture that had been inflicted on him. Dean touched his face again before he disappeared from sight. Sam hated the look on his face. He was pale, his eyes wide, filled with frustration, fear, sadness, and self loathing. Sam hated that look a lot.
The car started and started to move. Dean turned the heater on and pointed the vents toward the back seat. Sam listened to the deep rumble of the car, subconsciously wondering why there wasn't any music playing. But slowly, the dull purring made his eyes grow heavier and heavier, before he gave into the darkness.
The bright light overhead made it hard to see. He tried to lift his arm to cover his eyes but nothing happened. His arm rose about six inches before they wouldn't go any farther. His ankles were the same way. There was something across his chest, right where his sternum ended and his stomach began, holding him there.
Someone was next to him, looking down at him. He couldn't make them out, or anything else. He blinked, trying to clear away the thick fog in front of his eyes. His chest was tight, and it wasn't from the strap there.
The person touched his face. He jerked away. The person moved away. The light was so bright. He couldn't see. It made him squint.
The person was back, this time with scissors. Sam stared at them, terrified at what they might do. They started cutting his shirt off. The cold blades scraped against his skin. He tried to speak, tried to say anything, but all that came out was noise.
"Nnnn!" He moaned, trying to wriggle away from him. His shirt was removed. His breath quickened when the man removed his belt.
The blade slipped up the leg of his jeans, slicing through the denim with ease. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get away. He could barely move. He was trembling when the blade slid up his leg, cutting into his boxers.
"Mmm hmm hm!" He whimpered, shaking his head. The useless material slipped off of him, revealing him. He watched the man, waiting for him to do something else.
His ankles ached terribly from where he cut them, making him fall and easy to drag away. The duck tape he had clamped over his mouth had been ripped away.
Dean, Dean, help me. Please… Dean would notice that he was gone too long. Dean would come for him soon. Dean would save him. Dean would save him. Dean would save him…
The man touched his face again. He jerked away again. He could see just a little clearer now. He was less dizzy.
"Wh…what d-do you wa…want?" He asked. The man turned his back to him. "Wh-what d-do you wa- Uhn!" He watched the syringe go into his arm, emptying its contents into his bloodstream. He didn't know what it was. But he felt what it was doing seconds later. His vision swirled, his stomach turned, and it got really hard to breathe very quickly. The light went off. A door shut. He drifted away.
"MMM HMM HMMNN!" He moaned, arcing his back off of the hard table. The light swirled with the ceiling. The knife came back at him again. Tears slipped down his face, his hands and ankles were tense against the restraints. "UHH, AHHH!" He screamed. "DEE-EEAANN!"
Where was he? Why hadn't he saved him yet?
Help me, Dean, please, please, please…
"NNOOO!" He squirmed, desperate to get away from it. There was no escape. "UHNN! AAGH!"
But the knife didn't quit. It wouldn't. It couldn't.
And by the time it was done he was drenched in his own blood.
The light came on again, making stars dance before his eyes. He was blind for a moment, his tear swollen eyes only partially open. Something brushed against his stomach. He tried to move. Something pinched his arm, another dose of the drug he was giving him.
"Mmnnn…" He whimpered. He was touched again. He shook his head. "Hmmn!"
"Sammy," Sam opened his eyes, gasping. "Hey, it's okay, easy…" Dean soothed, easing Sam back down. They were still in the car, but the car had stopped. Sam looked out the window. They were at a deserted gas station. A water bottle was gently pushed to his lips. He drank, the liquid soothing his ravaged throat.
"Sammy, can I take you to the hospital?" Dean asked. He shook his head, closing his eyes. A tear slipped out from under one.
"Okay, okay, Sammy. I won't, I won't. Don't cry, okay?" Dean soothed. He hugged him again. Sam gripped him tightly. "Shh… We'll be there in ten minutes, okay?" Sam nodded. Dean held his trembling brother, smoothing his hair.
Sam started to shake harder. And harder. And harder until it was a downright seizure.
"Sam!" Dean held him tighter, constricting him to his chest so he couldn't hurt himself. Sam made no sound, which scared Dean, very much. It was over less than a minute later. Sam went limp in his arms, gasping between sobs. "God, Sam," Dean breathed. "I have to take you to a hospital, okay?" Sam looked up at him. God, Dean hated those puppy dog eyes at times like these. "I don't want to, Sammy, but I have to. Don't look at me like that," He lied Sam back down, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't know what that drug's gonna do to you. I have to take you to the hospital." Sam swallowed and nodded.
Dean shut the car door and sprinted to the driver's seat, throwing the car in drive.
Sam trembled underneath the blanket. He didn't want to go to the hospital. If he went to the hospital they would know…and Dean would know. He started to cry.
"It's okay, Sammy, we'll be there soon."