Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing with Kripke's toys
Timeline: Second Season somewhere between FPB and AHBL
Take a Seat
Tied to a chair. That was not the way Special Agent Victor Henriksen had pictured his days off. Actually, he hadn't pictured any free days in the near future.
"Take the rest of the week off," his boss had said. "Clear your head, get a fresh start on Monday." With these words he had virtually thrown Victor out of the office. That had been on Tuesday. Nobody expected him back before Monday, hell nobody even knew where he was. And today was Thursday and he was tied to a chair. Not good. So not good.
Viktor bit the inside of his cheeks, his only chance to punish himself for his own stupidity. Instead of staring at the walls in his apartment with his thoughts rotating around the Winchester case, he had decided to follow an anonymous tip. At least he would have the feeling of actually doing something. But the lead was not as cold as he had feared.
"Is that too tight?" Sam's face appeared in his right visual field. The bastard even managed to look at him sympathetically. Victor examined the bindings. They were tight, the boy knew what he was doing, but they didn't cut into his wrists. Not yet. Victor did not answer, his look locked on the older brother. Dean just grinned. Now he put away the weapon with which he had hold Victor at bay, while Sam had tied him expertly to the damn chair.
Pictures of St. Louis appeared before his eyes. Victor had not seen the crime scenes himself, but he had seen the pictures. Not pretty.
"That's your thing, isn't it Dean?" Victor tried to sound more confident than he felt. Sam was still uncomfortably close behind him, but Victor was focused on Dean. Dean was the monster here, he was the real threat. Sam was only the poor sucker who did what his brother told him. Over his head the brothers exchanged a look that Victor couldn't quite place.
Dean smiled at him in a supposed to be reassuring way. Victor straighten up in his bindings, sure that now the knives would come in action
"Nobody gets hurt," Dean declared, his hands raised, as if he wanted to say: No weapons, everything is fine, we're all friends here.
"Look," said Sam from the side. He moved over to Dean and the muscles in Victor's neck relaxed a bit. "We have a job to do and you kinda got in the way, unfortunately." He looked sincere as if he felt really sorry for this whole situation. Victor could imagine what kind of a job this was. Did Dean need his next fix? Serial killer were a lot like junkies, Victor knew. They need the kick in short terms. Victor bit his tongue and didn't say a word. Don't agitate the psycho. It was almost a miracle that Dean hadn't already worked him over with a knife.
"The most important question," Dean dragged the second chair over to sit face to face to Victor, "is if someone will come looking for you."
"One hour you're both in handcuffs on the way to the next high-security prison." Victor forced a smile on his lips. But Dean only cocked his head and looked at him for a long second.
"I don't think so."
He stood up abruptly and Sam followed him into the corner. They whispered, while Dean had an eye on Victor. He didn't understand a word, but this couldn't be good. It took just a minute, then they agreed on something.
Dean disappeared through the front door and Sam was looking for something in one of the duffle bags. Clothes were thrown carelessly on one bed. Whatever Sam was looking for, it was buried at the bottom of the bag. Apparently not often used. A knife came in sight. The blade nearly as long as Victor's forearm was covered in worn leather. Victor licked his dry lips, but Sam only frowned as if he had not expected the knife in his duffle.
The knife in his hand he went past Victor to another bag on the wall. He briefly caught a glimpse of metal, as Sam stuffed the weapon in. Mentally he was taking notes. Weapons bag on the wall beside the door. The other bags probably clothing and personal stuff. He had no idea if any of the weapons in the bag were loaded, but the knife would be a good start. If he could get his hands on it. And of course if he ignored the fact that his kidnappers had a loaded gun, which was now within Sam's reach on the table. Next to Victor's own gun, his badge, his cell phone and his keys. The key to his motel room was no longer there. Maybe Dean had taken it.
While Victor was distracted, Sam had found what he was looking for. A cell phone. Not exactly the latest model, but it looked not really used either. It would probably be dumped after just one call, so it couldn't be tracked down. The only question was who Sam was going to call.
"Stay away from my stuff," Victor shouted as Sam reached for his cell phone on the table. Sam didn't look up while he flipped through the menu. A smile indicated that he had found what he was searching for. Sam typed a number in his own cell phone, but then hesitated.
"Sorry, but I better gag you." Without further ado he stuffed a pair of socks into Victor's mouth. Victor protested halfheartedly against the gag, but besides throwing a dark glare at Sam, he couldn't really do anything about it.
"Just a minute." Sam apologized and pointed his index finger in Victor's direction as if they were in an fucking office.
"Yes, hello. Please connect me with Agent Henriksen."
Victor almost choked on the gag. For a moment he couldn't breathe. Black spots floating in his vision and he heard Sam's voice from far away. The boy had balls. Victor must gave him that.
"Thank you very much, I'll try again on Monday." With a triumphant smile he ended the call. At that moment the door opened.
Sam spun around, the phone hit the ground and he had both hands on the gun before the door was half open. Sam was quick. Quicker than Victor would ever be, he had to admit. One more thing to keep in mind.
"Dude", was all Dean said.
"He's on vacation and they expect him back on Monday," Sam informed his brother, while he put the gun back on the table. Apparently it was not worth mentioning that he had just threatened his big brother with a weapon. Interesting.
Dean put down a suitcase which Victor recognized as his own. Not good.
"He paid for one night." Dean threw two keys on the table. "I got his stuff and we'll get rid of the car later." He grinned but it didn't reach his eyes.
Sam nodded. Then he turned to Victor and eased the socks out of his mouth.
"Looks like you are on your own." His expression was hard to read. Under other circumstances it could have been compassion.
Victor swallowed a few times to get some moisture back into his mouth. It didn't really help.
"Looks that way," he admitted finally. His tongue still felt like a cotton cloth.
"Here, that helps." Sam brought a bottle of water to his lips. Victor hesitated but then he took a few gulps. The cool water ran down his throat, washed away the taste of the socks. He wondered if the water was drugged.
But how much worse could his situation become? He was tied to a fucking chair, held captive by two psychopaths of which at least one was known to like to torture. And they knew that nobody would come looking for him in the next few days. At this moment Victor gave a damn if the water was poisoned.