A/N Yesterday (Nov 9) was my birthday. As a present to myself I decided I want some shameless Dean whumpage so here you have it. It's impromptu and unbetaed so sorry if it's terrible, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyway. I'm going to try and keep this one short and sweet, like three or four chapters tops but we'll see what happens.
New chapters for "Lean on Me", "Man Comes Around" and "Little Boy Lost" should be up soon for those of you who are following any of those stories. Sorry for the tardiness but circumstance and real life has had me somewhat out of commission for the last few months. I want to thank everyone who has given me a review and again I'm sorry for not being diligent about replying. I hope to change that. I'm also sorry for my severe lack of activity on this site in general, I am so behind on the drabble challenges it's not even funny. Lack of reliable internet access and a craptastic real life keeps getting in the way.
Disclaimer: "Supernatural" and all the characters you recognize do not belong to me which I think is unfair considering it's my birthday and all. I asked for Sam and Dean and all I got this year was a card and a ten dollar bill. How unfair is that? Anyway I make no profit from this so please don't sue me.
Without further ado, enjoy!
For a while he drifted in blissful oblivion, a vast sea of nothingness. No light. No dark. No pain…
Suddenly there was pain, and lots of it. It hit him with force and he let out a gasp, suddenly conscious after being out for who knew how long. The agony in his shoulders, head and side blurred his vision for a few moments, white spots dancing in his vision and he groaned, letting his eyes slide shut for a second. Just a second because instincts were telling him he needed to be alert, needed to be on the lookout. When he blinked his eyes open again, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn't in the same place he was before he was knocked out, but that wasn't surprising considering everything else.
He couldn't remember much about what happened. The last thing he remembered he was at a convenience store on a simple food run. How he ended up where he was now he had no idea. All he knew was that he hurt everywhere his mouth was gagged, his wrists were bound and tied high above him, his arms pulled to their limits, the tips of his toes barely brushing against the cold hard floor. It was then he realized that his boots and socks were missing and so was his shirt, his captors stripping him of everything but his jeans. He was oddly grateful that his captors allowed him that small shred of dignity, though it pissed him off all the same. Even his amulet was missing.
The room he was in was cold and dark and it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was only the faint light of the moon peering through the dusty window above him and the dim light under the cracks of a door at the top of some stairs.
So I'm in a basement, he surmised, strung up like a slab of meat. But how…who…? What about Sam?
Suddenly panic swept over him, his fuzzy memory betraying him. Had Sam gone with him on the food run? Thankfully the memory rushed back quickly and the panic was short lived. No, no Sam wasn't there, Sam was safe. Sam was back at the motel doped up on painkillers for his broken hand. He sighed in relief at the realization that Sam was, as far as he knew, safe. But he was alone and vulnerable, on painkillers that were bound to keep him out until at least morning. What if his abductors went after Sam too?
Sammy, you'd better be safe.
He dug through his recent memories, still drawing a blank on what happened to him, and searched past going to the convenience store and back to when he left the motel room. He had made sure that there was a line of salt along the doors and windows and he had drawn protection sigils in strategic places in the motel room with invisible marker. So if his abductors were supernatural in nature—and for the sake of his pride he hoped they were, Dean Winchester just was not going to be taken down by mere humans…at least, not again (fucking Benders)—then Sam should be OK. But if they were human, Sam would be completely vulnerable.
OK Dean, time to get out of here… he thought, looking up in the dim light at his bonds. His wrists were tightly bound by rope and he twisted his hands trying to tug at them in hopes of loosening his bindings. Unfortunately he couldn't get enough leverage, if he just had something to stand on, or if he was just a little bit taller, or closer to the floor so that he wasn't barely standing on his toes then maybe he could work with the rope and get himself free. But he was dangling, he could hardly even touch the floor, his arms were stretch to their limits and he winced at the strain his dead weight put on his shoulders and wrists. Seemed escape was easier said than done.
He stopped struggling at the sound of someone at the top of the stairs and he stared at the weak light that seeped through the cracks of the door, drawing a faint outline of light. He could see shadows move into the light, heard more voices but he couldn't quite catch what they were saying.
The door opened and he drew a quick breath, wincing at the sudden intrusion of light. A woman and three men entered the basement, the woman flicking on the lights. "Ah," she said, "Dean, glad you can finally join us."
He growled through the gag, glaring daggers in their direction.
"Down boy," she tsked, "I'm not going to hurt you…much."
She placed her hand on his cheek and tapped it twice, "Now if you promise not to scream, I'll take the gag off… actually, scream all you want Dean, no one's going to hear you anyway and to be honest…?" she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, almost seductively, "I kinda like it."
Dean rolled his eyes. If she thought Dean was a screamer, she had another thing coming.
"You're handsomer than I remember," she said, softly slowly running her hands down his bare chest, drawing an invisible line with her long red-painted fingernail. He shuddered involuntarily at her touch. Even though her nail didn't break the skin, it left a stinging, burning sensation along its path.
She eyed him up and down with wide almond shaped eyes, licking her lips in thought, a coy grin crossing her porcelain features. She was beautiful. Too beautiful. Unnaturally beautiful. Long ebony hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck, stray locks framing her flawless porcelain face, large blue eyes and a tall slender body, with the kind of curves that would have any man's head turn. Or woman's for that matter. There was something exotic and unreal about her beauty in such a way that would've made Dean suspicious even if he weren't tied up by his wrists to a basement ceiling.
Decisively she removed the gag.
"Who the fuck are you lady and what do you want?" he demanded.
She cocked her head to the side and pouted, looking almost hurt. "You don't remember me?"
"Should I?" he asked, unable to place her in his memory.
She lifted an eyebrow, and placed both hand upon his cheeks and kissed him. He flinched away, but she held him firmly, her kiss tasted both sweet and rotten and left a foul taste in his mouth. It also left him feeling a little dizzy and cold, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that her touch affected him. There was something familiar about the sensation her kiss left behind, but he couldn't place it and it was irritating to not remember.
"You think that's going to help me remember? Sorry sweetheart. Met a lot of women in my time, some good kissers, great kissers out there. There was this one chick who did this interesting thing, with her tongue that I didn't even know was possible…" he closed his eyes as if savoring the memory, "but yours was just to mediocre to be memorable."
She raised her hand as though to slap him and this time he didn't flinch, he just gave her a cool smirk and if his arms weren't stretched above his head he might've shrugged. She didn't hit him though, she paused mid strike and then lowered her hand and chuckled, "That the best you could to? I remember you were a cocky bastard but word of advice? I've got all the cards. Best not to piss me off."
"So who are you then and what the fuck do you want?" he reiterated, there was less bite to his tone this time, but there was danger in his eyes.
"I guess to be fair," she continued, as though he hadn't spoken, "I don't look the same way now as I did then." She brushed her hair aside and Dean rolled his eyes at her obvious vanity.
"Ouch. You know lady, if I were you I'd sue my plastic surgeon over that obviously botched job."
This time she did strike him. She was stronger than she looked, but Dean wasn't surprised since she obviously wasn't completely human. The force of the blow had him swinging, twisting and tugging painfully at his arms, chafing his wrists. He wasn't certain, but he might've felt something snap out of place, or might've pulled a muscle in his shoulder and he grunted in pain, but bit back any other verbal sign that it hurt.
"I told you, Dean, best not to piss me off."
"Right. Gotcha, do not goad the bitch," he nodded decisively as though he was some kid being trained for his first job.
She grinned, and flicked her eyes to the three men behind her, who so far hadn't done anything but stand behind her awaiting orders, Dean figured. They were well dressed in casual suits, one of them was tall enough to rival Sam in height and had twice Sam's girth, and it was all muscle, the other one was smaller but not by much—he was still big enough to dwarf Dean in size. The third one, despite his average height looked like a midget in comparison, but Dean had no doubt in his mind that he was stronger than he looked.
"So who are those guys? Hired goons?"
"Your worst nightmare if you don't shut up and do as I say," her face remained cool and calm, but it was clear she was losing patience with his snark. Well whatever, he didn't care. He rolled his eyes. She grasped his chin, her touch sending an involuntary shiver down his spine, making him lightheaded. There was power in her touch, an energy that left its invisible mark and Dean suspected she was holding back on that power.
"You have something I want," she stated.
"And what's that?"
She didn't answer, but stepped away, tucked some stray locks behind her ear, "Where's your father?"
Dean blanched at that statement and choked out an incredulous, "What?"
She eyed him curiously, "He killed my sister. I've been trying to find him, but that bastard is an elusive devil, isn't he? That's why you're bait."
"Lady, I'm guessing you didn't get the memo," Dean tried to put bite into his words, but the thought of his father twisted at his heart and the pang of guilt and sadness that washed over him every time he thought of his dad—which happened way too often—overwhelmed him. "He's dead."
"You're lying," she hissed, her cheeks flushing, her control quickly starting to slip away.
"Why the fuck would I lie about that?" Dean retorted angrily, rage boiling in his blood, his own fragile control that he barely managed to maintain since Dad's death also ebbing away.
"To protect him," she hissed, nodding to the men behind her. "I know you, Dean. Daddy might be calling the shots but you've got his back, nearly got you killed too. I remember how willing you were to put yourself in the line of fire to protect him…"
"My father was one of the best hunters out there, I know he wouldn't fall for whatever stupid trap you have laid out for him. He's dead. I have no reason to lie about that."
She motioned to the men behind her, snapping her fingers and pointing at Dean. The largest of the men pulled out a tazer from the inside of his coat pocket and pressed it to Dean's chest. He bit his lip and tried not to make a sound at the pain from the electrical circuit that shot through his body. His muscles tensed and strained in agony and when it was over he was left winded and out of breath, spots flashed across his vision and he blinked, letting out an involuntary groan.
"Really? That's it?" he gasped, grinning slightly at his captors, "That's the best you can do?" Whatever voltage they used, it was nothing compared to the 100,000 volts that he was subjected to when he killed the rawhead.
"I've told them to hold back for now, but I assure you there's more where that came from, much worse than a little electroshock therapy. I'll ask you again. Where is your father?"
He coughed once and then chuckled shaking his head.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
"Are you dense? I'm telling you lady, if you want revenge on my father for him killing your sister, who must've been a real bitch…" she slapped him again, hard across the face. He grunted as his head snapped back upon impact. The blow had him dangling again, putting more strain on his already pulled muscles in his arms and shoulders. He stretched out his toes trying to brush them against the cold concrete floor to keep from swinging too much. He spit out blood from where he bit the inside of his cheek, rotated his jaw and grinned bitterly, "You want to avenge your sister? You're a little late."
She laughed humorously, "Revenge? I don't want revenge, though that'll be nice."
"Then what do you want?"
"None of your business, now where is he?"
"Dead!" Dean snapped, "He's dead all right? He died a few weeks ago."
Her eyes flared with rage, "Stop lying to me!"
"I'm not lying!"
"John Winchester cannot be dead! He can't so stop lying to me!"
"What the fuck do you care anyway? Shouldn't you be happy that the guy who killed your sister is dead?" Dean snapped, exasperated because she was so sure that he was lying, or perhaps in some sort of bizarre denial. The entire exchange was wearing him out, because for one he was telling the truth, and two the truth hurt more than his physical injuries. Dad's dead. Because of me. How many times are you going to make me say it? Get it through your thick skull you fucking bitch!
"I need him," she huffed, more to herself than anything, "Damn it! Dean just tell me where he is!"
"I told you he's dead! We spread his ashes in a field just outside of Jefferson, OK?"
"We?" her temper tantrum suddenly stilled, "Who's we?"
She doesn't know about Sam… Dean realized, hope surging in his chest at the thought that Sam was safe, and once the painkillers for his hand wore off and he woke up, discovered he was missing and then found out where she was keeping him, he could easily sneak up on the bitch and her posse since they won't know he's coming. Whenever he met her last, and he still had no idea who she was and how she knew him, it must've been while Sam was at Stanford, "No one. Just one of Dad's hunting buddies. Can't even remember the guy's name. Trevor? Travis? Terry?"
She narrowed her eyes frowning, clearly still not believing him, "Boys?" she addressed the men behind her, "See if you can get some real answers out of him."
"I'm not lying!" Dean hissed, At least not about Dad. "What? Do I need to provide you with a fucking death certificate? I'm not lying."
"We'll see about that," she huffed. The two larger men moved out of Dean's line of sight before on of them suddenly moved back in front of him, this time he held a bat and he swung it into Dean's stomach. The blow knocked the wind out of him, forcing his body to fold slightly and swing back, right into another bat that got him in the kidneys. His body twisted sideways and this time he knew that something snapped out of place when he felt and heard his right shoulder pop. He tried to bite back the cry that wanted to escape at the fiery agony from the brief attack but failed as an agonized gasp erupted from his throat.
As Dean dangled from his arms, stifling back another moan, unable to move as he tried to recover from the two harsh blows she placed her hand on his cheek that was still aching from the force of her hits. He shuddered, gasping for air as he tried to catch his breath. "You going to tell the truth now?"
"Fuck you bitch, I already told you the truth, what do I have to do to convince you?"
She met his eyes and glared furiously. He returned the glare, thoroughly pissed off at her. She nodded to her bodyguards and then spinning on her heels she stormed up the stairs, "Call me when he's finally ready to co-operate. Use whatever means necessary." With that she left the basement and slammed the door behind her.
"This is going to be fun," the smallest of the bunch grinned. He pulled out a long slender knife and ran his finger down the blade, his eyes suddenly flashed black for a second before returning to their normal color.
Oh well fuck, Dean thought bitterly, Guess this means I'm screwed.
A/N Review? Please? It would be the bestest birthday present a girl can ask for (aside from Sam and Dean gift-wrapped at my doorstep of course. If anyone can oblige please send them my way:P)