AN: Thanks for all the reviews and support and ideas, predictions, thoughts, feelings and everything you've written to me. It's really appreciated. Please continue to do so. Your feedback only helps with my thought process which might result in quicker updates if I have all my thoughts together. So thank you all.

Warning: This could get dark. Most likely will. I wrote this back in chapter one, but it's good to always keep that in mind.

Chapter Three: Do Unto Others...

It took only mere seconds for the sedatives to set in and force Sam completely still, nothing but his upper chest moving up and down slowly. The man had a loose grip on him and had dropped him recklessly onto his back. Sam didn't make a sound. In his pocket, the man thumbed over the piece of paper at a quick pace as he tapped his foot simultaneously. Then he stopped and tapped the side of his head where the blood ran freely. It burned to the touch. He winced.

The man glared down at Sam and he felt this anger shoot up from his feet through his whole body. Anger that popped out of no where but full fledged with a reason. He looked down at his hand, the blood staining the tips of his fingers. The man growled. With his bloody hand supporting himself, he leaned over Sam; and with his clean hand he backhanded Sam, deepening the bruise that was already forming. The slap had left two thin scratches on the kid's cheek. And even though Sam's mouth opened reflexively from the pressure of the hand and the velocity it was going at, he didn't wake. Not even a little.

Walking leisurely, the man went into the top drawer of the beaten desk and got out the black bandana again. He whipped it a few times, shaking his head in the direction of Sam. "I tried to be nice…" he says, his lips pursed out just a little. He approached Sam's restful form again. He lifted Sam's head with one hand and slipped the bandana around his mouth with the other. With his thumb, he pushed downward just under Sam's mouth to part his lips and allow the bandana to go deep enough to keep his tongue from moving. Once it felt it was good enough, he tied the bandana at the back of his head.

"Duct tape, duct tape…" he mumbled to no one. Again he tapped his head and it resulted in the same thing: pain, stinging, blood. He growled a deep bellowing growl as the man went back to the desk. Rummaging through the top drawer again, he didn't find what he was looking for, so he moved on to the third since he kept the second padlocked. Finally he found the duct tape and he twirled it around his index finger a few times. "Gotta keep your ass quiet, right Sammy? Never know who's listening."

He rested his knees on the edge of the bed and he lifted Sam and rested the boy's back on his knees. The man unraveled the duct tape and wrapped it once - twice - three times around Sam's head, covering his mouth. The man grinned as he lifted himself up and watch Sam's body fall back onto the mattress.

Just as he turned around, the man spotted the Polaroid camera on the small end-table by the foot of the mattress Sam was on. It was like a light clicked on inside of the man's head. He snapped his fingers and tossed the tape somewhere near the desk.

"Wouldn't want daddy to worry would we?" he asks sickeningly. With the camera in hand, he hovers over Sam, trying to find just the right angle. He knew John- well he knew of him - and if he was anything like the legend people talked him up to be, he'd be able to find his son with the slightest of clues. So sending a picture had to be pure tactical. He'd need Sam in it, of course, but not too much of the room. No telling what might give the Great Almighty Winchester a clue, right?

The man pressed the button and the old-time camera flashed twice. It brightened Sam's face. He noticed how the sudden bright light illuminated Sam's face and the bruising that were on it, giving it a deepened purple color. The man laughed. John's gonna love that, right?

"Alive and unharmed," the man repeated in a stone like voice as he recalled the father's demands. A second passed and the man broke out in smile. He shrugged just as the picture slid out of the camera's exit and into his over-eager hand. "… at least he's alive, Johnny. For now."

~WTPDF, Ch. 3~

The flashing light was the first thing that broke into Sam's dreamless sanctuary, and had to admit it was pretty damn peaceful. It was a flicker, barely a spark, but it registered in his mind. It had traveled through the blindfold somehow, past his closed eye lids, too and connected with something deep inside of him, for it was he noticed first. But maybe it wasn't the flash at all? Maybe it was the sound he was hearing? It was a fluttering sound. Sam wasn't sure where it was coming from. For a couple of moments it was pitch black again and dead silent, but then there it was again - and again. Sam stirred. Or, at least he thought he moved. He felt like he didn't have full control of his body. Like he was somewhere else, trying to will his brain to work properly. Or maybe a different person altogether trying to mentally will himself to sit up or move an arm or something.

The flash again.

Sam moved. He thought he moved. His body, that is. His mind was taking longer to getting back to working properly. Little by little, he was able to focus a little more on waking up fully. He breathed in deeply, but his mouth was restricted. His eyes were too. So he settled for taking in the mucky air in through his nose. He could feel his tight chest expanding greatly. It stung. It felt like he'd been choking. His throat hurt, too. But he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. Not yet. Sam took in another breath. Each time it hurt a little less. Actually, it felt good. He tried to move his feet or even his hands, but he couldn't tell if it was working. He still felt disconnected from the rest of his body. He was beginning to get worried, but he couldn't even bring himself to panic. All his emotion- just like his energy, was drained. But then he mind clicked and he remembered: kidnapped. Blindfolded. Handcuffed. Gagged - for the second time. Kept here by psycho.

More rapidly now, the flashes flicked. Was someone taking pictures of him?

Slowly- bit by bit, Sam became in more control of his body. He could feel that he was lying on something... It was sort of soft, but was uncomfortable. The smell that roamed around him was near nauseating. It was rank. It was like mold, sour milk, poor pluming, and bad body order all at the same time. It was sickening. His head felt heavy. Like it weighed a ton and a half. His neck was stiff and sore. How long was he in that position? He groaned, but it didn't come out at a groan. It was more of a weak sigh.

There was a tapping in the distance, but it could have been footsteps. Then there was a strong hand on Sam's shoulder that rolled him unwillingly and unexpectedly onto his back.

"You're awake?" the voice said with a kind of anger and a hint of surprise in it. Sam wondered how long he'd been out, when the gag was put back in his mouth, and if the man had talked to his father again. But he couldn't let himself dwell on the things he didn't know. He needed to focus. The man cleared his throat and Sam felt the hand grip him hard enough to make him wince.

Sam nodded the best he could with his neck and shoulders as stiff and sore as they were.

A moment later Sam was being lifted again into a sitting position. For the first time the blindfold came off. Sam almost immediately shut his eyes again, the bright light like fire to him. He hadn't seen light in... well who knows how long. Sam dropped his shoulder and tried to look back at the man but he kept them straight. He felt him lean too close. Sam tilted his head away slightly not liking how close he was.

"Now I'm gonna take this off your mouth okay but if you cause any trouble I'll be forced to shut up up again. Clear?"

Sam didn't answer. But the man took it was a 'yes' as he began to take the tape off his mouth. The last part was hardest, Sam could feel the pull getting stronger as the sticky side had began to set onto his lips. The man wasn't gentle, not that Sam had expected him to be. He ripped the tape off his mouth is one quick motion taking a layer of skin with it. His mouth watered and his lip lip dripped small drops of blood. Sam didn't cry out though. It took all he had to stay silent. His chest sank in and his cheeks puffed up, however. The man smirked. Sam was a tough kid, he'd give him that. And no matter what last name he had, who his father and brother was, or how well he'd been trained, he was still a kid. And kids could be broken. The man knew that.

He eyed Sam slowly, blinking every once in a while. Sam broke the eye contact, feeling uncomfortable with the way he's being looked at. The man cleared his throat, licking his lips.

Finding his voice, Sam tried , "Who the hell are you?"

The man's eyebrows arched. He pointed to himself. "Me? Well...let's just say I'm the only person who can possibly tell your family where you are. I'm like the winning lottery ticket."

Sam swallowed.

"You name... what's your name?"

The man had long greasy hair that passed his shoulders. Dean always told Sam his hair was too long, wait till he caught sight of this bastard. He was actually much bigger than Sam had pictured him. The man's shoulders were broad and everything about him was just - big. But his face and his tone of voice sometimes put him younger than Sam at heart, but other times his voice would get so powerful and so deep that made Sam think he'd be a great drill master or something. Especially when he was angry with Sam or taunting his Dad... it was like this man was living through two personalities. Honestly, he probably was. And if he was, it wouldn't surprise Sam at all. His mood swings were worse than a pregnant woman.

"You can call me Paul."

"Paul, where are we?" Sam asked, trying to stay as calm as he possibly could. His eyes darted around the room trying to look for something significant that might give Sam a clue was to where he was, if he'd been taken far, or anything. But from his quick glance he got nothing. Nothing but dirty walls that surrounded an even dirtier floor that was under broken furniture and the horrendously smelling mattress Sam was on.

Paul laughed. He shook his head. "Can't say. It wouldn't be fun if I told you."

Sam was confused. "Fun? What woul-"

"The game. The game wouldn't be fun."

Sam was quiet. For a moment he had actually forgot. This thing was all a game to him. Yeah, this man was sick.

Paul got up and went over to the video camera and pressed a button. Sam squinted, slightly shocked and slightly confused. How did he not notice it there immediately after the blindfold was taken off? Almost instantly, a red light flashed right in Sam's face. He looked away. Paul smiled as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He looked back at Sam again. He looked at him in a way that made Sam's skin crawl. Taking in a short breath, Sam did all he could not to flinch.

"You know," Paul started, he had his voice deep. He was upset. "I'm not a big fan of your father's."

Just like that, a light went off in Sam's head. His father. He's gotta be looking for him by now. Some way, some how he's going to find him.

"My dad's gonna find you...," Sam says with nothing but hate and fearlessness in his eyes. Sam challenged the man with his eyes. Sure he was still handcuffed and shackled, but he couldn't let that make him look weak.

Paul smiled a little. "You better hope he finds me. See, if he finds me, he finds you."

Sam swallowed hard.

"You better make sure you've got a damn good hiding place. My dad and my brother will hunt you down like the animal you are-"

Like a cheetah, the man jumped up. A hard backhand came across Sam's face, stinging his mouth and his cheek. He looked away as tears filled his eyes. As quickly as he could, he blinked them away. He was not going to cry.

"I'm not an animal. Do you understand me? I'm not," Paul barks at Sam. His voice was hardened as well as his eyes. He breathed heavily as he looked over at Sam angrily.

Sam breathed heavy, too. "My dad will hunt you down," he repeats, fearlessly. He didn't care what it was going to cost him. He didn't care how many times Paul would hit him, Sam wasn't going down without a fight. Even if his side of the fight was restricted to verbal. His father did always tell him he had a smart mouth.

Paul face softened and he rubbed the side of his face like he'd taken the hit instead of Sam.

"How do you even know he cares enough to came look for you? I seen you were upset earlier before I found you. I bet you it had something to do with him..."

Sam looked away. He thought back to when he had left school. Was he upset about something? Sam couldn't remember. Nothing in his memory was clear right now.

Paul reached out and touched Sam's face, just under his eye. Sam flinched, jerking away.

"Don't fucking touch me-"

Paul pulled his hand back but he kept his glare on Sam.

"They'll kill you if you hurt me."

The man sucked his teeth.

"Hurt you?"

He cupped the side of Sam's face and shook his head. "I won't hurt you unless I have to, Sammy. See all of that?" He thumbed over Sam's bruising on his cheek, then his bottom lip. "All of this is your fault."

Sam shrugged off his hand and tried to keep him at least arm length away, his eyes widening at the man's unknown intensions.

"Get your filthy hands off me."

Paul looked at him, clearly upset from being rejected like that.

"You know what?" Paul said deeply, standing. His hand swere clenched into fists at his sides. Sam swallowed hard. "You just keep giving me reasons to do this. You're gonna regret that. You're gonna regret disrespecting me..."