[Never Still] Part 4
Title: Never Still in Darkness (Part 4/5)
Rating: R
Genre: AU, horror, (dark) fantasy, sci-fi
Notes: Crossover with Supernatural. So, finally have it all sorted out, and this story will be ending in the next part. Quite a monster for a what I thought would be a one-shot... O_O I also have the idea/plan for a sequel, but I'll probably take a break in between to finish the WIP I kinda abandoned to do this. :/ Anyway, in this part, some good ol' fashioned Min!torture and a 2-man rescue mission. Enjoy~~! ^^
Word Count: 4,419
Summary: Changmin and Jaejoong are good hunters, and there aren't many things they can't kill one way or another. When they run into one of the rare exceptions to that rule, they're forced to seek help from an outside source. The Winchesters aren't sure how much help they'll be, but they're always up for an interesting challenge. And this case is nothing if not interesting.
Warnings: some scenes of torture, platonic!JaeMin
Previous: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Part 4
Feeling is the first sensation that returns to Max: metal wires seemingly in the form of a chain link fence digging into his back, the chill air over his mostly-bare body, a hammer in his skull, and heavy lethargy. He struggles to move, pull his arms and legs in, before he recognizes the depressingly familiar feel of leather restraints around his wrists and ankles.
Taste comes next, the thick staleness in his mouth telling him just how long he'd been unconscious. Hearing follows closely on taste's heels. This one he latches onto, straining his ears to get clues of where he is and who may be with him. He counts at least four distinct sets of footsteps, and the echoing sound tells him he's in a fairly large and mostly empty room.
He assumes by this point that he'll have his sight back as well, but he doesn't particularly care to open his eyes. Until he hears Sam's voice. "What the hell are you doing to him?" He sounds angry, frustrated, maybe a bit scared also though he's covering it well, and Max turns his head in the direction of Sam's voice before fighting his heavy eyelids apart.
Sam kneels on the floor between two of the rock-solid guards, his hands cuffed behind his back. He glares defiantly at someone behind Max. The expression softens, though, when he glances down and meets Max's gaze. He doesn't physically resist the hold on him, but judging by the bruises and scrapes on his face, that's a fairly recent development.
"Calm yourself, Mr. Winchester," replies a voice Max was both expecting and dreading to hear. Always calm, always in control, and all the more terrifying because of it. "We're just reminding 'Max' here who he really belongs to," Phillips adds.
The words only serve to reignite the fire in Sam's eyes. "He's a human being, jackass," he retorts. "He doesn't belong to anyone but himself."
"There was a time," the doctor replies, and Max can just hear the smug smirk in his voice, "not so long ago really, that even Changmin would have disagreed with you."
Phillips must give some kind of signal then, because Max can hear shuffling movement around him. Large hands, not Phillips's, grip Max's wrist on either side of the leather cuff holding him to the metal frame. He's angled in such a way, and Sam is in just the right position, that the older hunter has a clear view of whatever they're preparing to do. His eyes widen, panic warring with the anger now, but Max refuses to look away to see what they're doing.
There's a sharp point of pressure in the middle of the leather cuff, and Max struggles not to imagine all the possibilities of what that pressure could be. Then he hears the soft tap-tap-tap, metal on metal. A hammer on a nail. A sharp prick as the point of the nail breaks through the thin skin of his inner wrist. More tapping, a steady ache starting to radiate up his arm as the nail works its way deeper in. There's a short pause, and Max's rapid breaths fill the tense silence. One more solid hit. The nail drives all the way through Max's thin wrist, and he can't hold back the pained scream as his back arches off the rack.
Sam starts struggling again when Max screams. He knows, logically, that there's no escaping the two veritable statues that are holding him, but every instinct in him is yelling that he can't just let them do this to Max. It doesn't really matter what his instincts are telling him, though. All he can really do is watch as another guard holds down Max's second wrist, as Phillips positions another nail and lifts the hammer again. Watch as that hammer swings down, piercing this nail straight through in one blow.
Max's scream this time ends in a harsh, gasping sob. Tears run down his face as he fights to catch a breath, and Sam would give anything to save him from this. He'd known that Max hadn't had it easy at the Centre; the haunted shadows in the kid's eyes told him that much. He'd never imagined, though, never could have imagined, this level of systematic torture carried out on a child. And now all he can do is watch.
~*~~*~
Bobby pulls out all his maps of the area as soon as they get in the house, rolling them all out to see if they can figure out where those bastards might have taken Sam and Max. It's a futile gesture, he knows even as he makes it; they have no clues to work off of, no starting point to even begin to guess where this Phillips guy might be.
Dean stands at his elbow, and they pass ideas back and forth as they track lines and roads with their fingers, starting a list of possible sites to check out. Jae leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, simply watching them. Bobby would probably be goading him into helping them, but, really, there's not much the kid can do. He doesn't know the area well enough to give much input.
So intent on the maps and discussing plans, Dean just barely catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head to watch as Jae sucks in a breath, puts one hand to his head while using the other to brace himself on the wall, and clenches his eyes shut. "Jae?" he calls, but the younger man just shakes his head.
Dean trades a look with Bobby, who can only shrug at him. Without knowing what exactly is going on, there's not a whole lot they can offer. Then, seemingly as suddenly as it came on, the attack - or fit, or whatever it was - ends, and Jae sucks in a deep breath. "Shit," he hisses out on the exhale, "I forgot how much it sucks when he does that."
"I think I speak for all of us when I say: Huh?" Dean says in return.
Jae doesn't answer right away, using the hand that had been holding him against the wall to pull out a chair and sink shakily onto it. "Max," he offers as explanation once he settles. "Telepath, right? He can get into my head when he needs to. Usually it's just his voice, which isn't as intense, but other times, all he can manage are images, visions. Always way more intense."
"So that was him trying to communicate?" Bobby questions. "Would hate to see him actually attack someone..."
Snorting softly, Jae gives them a one-shouldered shrug. "It's not painful, not really. Just... strange. But that's not the point. The point is that now at least we've got some clues to go on. And that we need to hurry. If he doesn't have the control or awareness to send me words, he's not in good shape."
Jae fills them in on the hazy, scrambled pictures he managed to pick out of the mess Max had forced into his head: a large - mostly empty - room, random power tools scattered around and seemingly abandoned, swinging metal doors. He doesn't mention the vision of the stone-men dragging Sam out of the room. It gives them no new information, and he can't imagine it'll help Dean keep his head clear.
Luckily, the pieces he can give them seems to spark something in Bobby's brain, and the older hunter searches for a second before pointing out a spot on the map. "Here," he says, quick and decisive. "There's an old factory out there, not much else around for miles. They started work on it last year to get it up and running again, but then the company went under and walked away. It's been empty ever since."
Dean traces the route on the map with his eyes, committing the directions to memory. "I would say let's go in with guns blazing, but with no back up and no idea how many of those mobile brick walls are lumbering around, it might be better to keep things more Mission Impossible."
"You and Jae go," Bobby agrees. "Get the boys, and get out again. I'll hold down base camp here. Too damn old to go sneakin' around like that." And not even five minutes later, he's watching the Impala roar away from the house. Their plan is bare-bones, at best, but it's all they've got.
~*~~*~
Dean maneuvers through the hallways, taking out threats as he encounters them. It'd be nice to stop and interrogate some of them, get answers for where exactly Max and Sam are being kept. He knows, though, that not only do they not have the time, but it would likely cause too much noise and bring reinforcements running. So, instead, he simply drops every guard he comes across. Fewer to fight through on their way out.
He's just taken out one such obstacle, pausing to catch his breath in a long hallway with a few scattered doorways, when his phone buzzes against his thigh. He pulls it out and immediately connects the call when he sees Jae's name on the screen. "Yeah."
"I've got Sam," Jae says, and Dean feels something inside his chest unclench. "He's a bit banged up, mostly just some bruises and scrapes. Nothing serious. Anything on Min yet?"
Dean is on the verge of breaking the bad news, which is what no news is in this case, when he's stopped by a muffled scream from down the hall. "Think I got 'im," he tells Jae, not bothering to fill in details. "Get Sam out of here. We'll meet at the car." He barely waits to hear Jae's reply before ending the call and stashing it away again.
Moving cautiously down the long hall, Dean keeps one ear open for any noise behind him and listens with the other for any further sounds from Max. He tries every door along the way, but all of the rooms are empty. Until he gets to the set of double swinging doors at the very end. He peers in through the small, cloudy, plastic window, and the scene beyond simultaneously chills the blood in his veins and sends white-hot bolts of rage through him.
Max lies strapped down to what looks like a metal bed frame, extensions built onto each side for his arms so he's affixed to the rack crucifixion style. Leather belts circle his ankles and both arms just above his wrists, but other than those and his boxers, Max is completely bare. He has a length of plastic tubing clenched between his teeth then wrapped around and tied behind his head. Wires run from the underside of his right wrist to what looks like a power generator. More wires snake from the generator to an instrument in the doctor's hand, basically just bare wires with a rubber handle wrapped around them.
And before Dean can fully process the sight, the doctor touches the wires in his hand to Max's arm, just at the crook of his elbow. Convulsions rip through the thin body, back arching off the frame as another stifled scream streams out through the door.
Not hesitating a second longer, Dean explodes into the room, gun already out and firing into the doctor. He counts at least three solid hits before his gun clicks empty and the man hits the ground, but he hardly spares the body another glance.
He does cringe when he looks down to see Max covered in blood and other bits of the doctor that he'd really rather not think about. Then he looks into Max's eyes. Glassy and unfocused, they obviously take a moment to register Dean's presence. They clear, not completely but enough, and they're suddenly so full of fear and pain and desperation and relief and when the hell did Dean get so good at reading the kid?
Before he can contemplate that fact any further, though, the few remaining guards are on him. He manages to kick the middle one away and connect a solid punch with the one on his left before the guy on his right catches him with a solid hook to the jaw. He lets the hit spin him down into a crouch and uses the moment to draw his knife from the sheath in his boot.
He surges up again, blocking the guy's incoming kick with one arm and thrusting the knife forward with the other. He feels the blade sink into the man's chest, and he almost immediately pulls it free. Pivoting on one foot, he swings the knife around to catch a second guard across the throat. The third man is a few steps behind the second, and Dean switches his grip on the knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade embeds itself in the guy's ribcage.
He pauses for a second, just long enough to be sure none of them are getting up again, before taking quick strides over Max.
The kid's a mess, long bloody gashes sliced into his chest and thighs and dark bruises blossoming on his face. His right arm lays at an unnatural angle in the middle of his forearm. Dean doesn't remember it looking like that from his first view of Max, and he wonders if the convulsions while being shocked could have actually been strong enough to break the kid's arm.
Max's eyes are closed, his breathing steady, but his face is screwed up in obvious pain. Dean pulls the makeshift gag from Changmin's mouth first before moving over to the generator, flipping it off then pulling the wires from it for added security. "Max?" he questions as he moves to the kid's side. The younger man's eyes open, hazy but aware. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?" he continues as he loosens the restraints around Max's ankles.
Nodding, Max offers him the tiniest of half-smiles. When he finishes with the ankles and lets the belts drop to the floor, Dean moves up to the restraints around Max's wrists. Just as he reaches for the first one, though, Max tenses and starts to shake his head. "No... can't... nails..."
The words are disconnected, confused, and Dean isn't sure what Max is trying to tell him until he looks down at the restraints around Max's wrists again. A weight settles in his gut as he studies the metal pieces centered so perfectly over thin wrists. "Those... aren't rivets, are they?" he asks, already expecting the motion when Max shakes his head again. "Sonofabitch."
He crouches down to get a look at what, exactly, he's dealing with. The wires - and, seriously, why hadn't he questioned what those wires were connected to before now? - are wrapped around the bottom inch or so of the thick nails protruding from Changmin's thin wrist. A small but steady trickle of blood runs down the nail over the wires, dripping off the pointed tip to puddle on the floor underneath. Dean assumes the left wrist looks much the same.
He represses the urge to gag at the sight. If he had tried to pull the restraints off with those nails in, the damage would have been permanent and possibly lethal. Not wanting to jar Max's arms and cause any more pain than necessary, he pulls the wires off the nail as gently as possible. He still hears the quiet hiss when the nails shift with the motion, and he mutters a soft "sorry" as he moves around to check the other wrist. No wires this time, but it's in pretty much the same condition.
With the whole picture now clear in his mind, he addresses the real problem. They had obviously secured Max's wrists to the metal frame with the leather restraints first and then driven the nails through both the restraints and his wrists. Dean can't take off the leather straps without pulling the nails out first, but he can't risk taking out the nails and causing further damage and uncontrolled bleeding this far from the nearest hospital.
"Shit, fuck, dammit," he mutters, casting a quick gaze around for anything that could help him. Anything to give him an idea on what to do here, because he sure as hell can't see a solution right now.
Max's head rolls to the side so he can give Dean a resigned smile. "You can't get me off of here, can you?" he asks, voice weak and breathy.
"Shut up," Dean retorts with a reprimanding glare. "I'm gonna figure this out and get you outta here. You just gotta give me a second." He's determined, but he can still see the doubt in Max's eyes. "Listen to me, okay? Leaving you here is not an option. I will figure something out."
There's still a certain amount of skepticism in Max's gaze, but he nods his head and mutters a quiet "okay" anyway. Dean nods and resumes his search.
Just when he's about to give up, take the risk of just pulling the nails out and dealing with the consequences, he spots something back in a far corner of the room that starts the wheels in his head turning. He jogs over and scoops the object up, hoping beyond hope that the blowtorch is still functional.
He adjusts the necessary knobs before pulling the ignition switch, watching as a thin blue flame immediately springs to life. Smirking in relief, he moves past Max first to retrieve his knife - stopping just long enough to clean the blade on the dead guy's shirt - before heading back to the kid's side. "Got it. We'll have you outta here in no time, kid."
Max scowls at him, the expression weakened but comfortingly familiar, as Dean holds the flame to the blade of his knife. "'m not a kid," he protests, though Dean just grins at him as usual when he points out this fact. The words come slowly, though, his body lethargic and responding sluggishly to his commands. He knows the last thing he needs is to fall asleep, so he attempts to keep a conversation going. "So what's this genius escape plan you've got?" he manages to gasp out barely above a whisper.
Dean flashes him a worried look, obviously picking up the growing weakness in his voice, but doesn't comment on it. "We're gonna burn you out of here," he replies instead, holding up the knife and blowtorch to Max's eye level. Another few seconds should work, he thinks. "Don't wanna try to cut you out and risk that nail moving around, but I think if I get the blade hot enough, I should be able to use it to burn through the leather."
"Mm, 'kay. Sounds good," Max slurs out, eyes drifting shut even as he struggles to pry them open again. He manages, barely, but each successive blink takes more and more effort to come back from. He's just so tired, exhausted and pushed beyond his limits, and he trusts Dean to take care of him. He's not sure why; he's never really trusted anyone beyond Jae, but just like with Jae, he finds that trust comes so easily with the Winchester brothers.
Deciding that the metal is finally hot enough, Dean releases the trigger for the flame and holds the sharp edge of his knife to the leather. As strong as the restraints are, they're also relatively thin, and the red-hot blade in his hand has little trouble melting through. He turns on the flame to reheat the knife then repeats the process on the other side of Max's right wrist.
The bottom of the restraint falls away when he gets through, and he looks up at Max with a triumphant grin. The kid's eyes are closed, breathing thin but even at least. Dean's smile fades. "Max? You still with me, kid?" he asks.
"Yeah," Max groans out in reply without opening his eyes, and Dean lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Just... hurry. Tired."
Dean wishes he could reach out and reassure the kid, a touch to his shoulder or head or anything, but he can't seem to find a single spot that looks like it doesn't hurt like hell. "I know you are. One down and one to go, okay? Almost done," he tells Max instead as he moves around the frame to reach his other wrist.
Max nods then moans weakly when the movement sets the world behind his eyelids spinning. He swallows a few times, fighting down the nausea swirling in his stomach, and waits for the dizziness to pass. He takes a deep breath then attempts to continue the conversation. "Did'ja find Sam?" he manages to slur out.
"Jae's got him. We're gonna meet them at the car when I get you out of here," Dean tells him, and Max feels the tension fall away from the restraint on his left wrist just as it had a minute before on the right. He knows he's free now, but he just can't find the will - or strength - to move.
Dean flips the blowtorch off and tosses it aside then does the same with the knife a moment later. It's a cheap one, nothing fancy, and he doesn't want to waste the time it would take to wait for it to cool down. Standing from his crouched position, he contemplates Max for a long minute. The kid obviously won't be walking out under his own power, but Dean isn't quite sure how to carry him without hurting him further.
Finally, after running through all his options, he settles on the course that seems like it would hurt Max the least. He's sure there will still be some pain involved, but there's really just no way to avoid that at this point. Not with as injured as the kid is. "Alright, Max," he starts to keep from scaring the younger, "I'm gonna get you up now, okay?"
He only receives a tiny nod in reply, but he's just grateful to be getting a response at all. As carefully as possible, he lifts Max's left arm and drapes it across his chest then moves back around to his right side. Even more gently, he rests the broken arm over Max's body as well then takes off his jacket to drape it over Max. It's a testament to how far gone the kid is that he only receives a light moan. Then, slowly, he slides one arm under Max's knees and another under his shoulders before lifting him straight up off the rack.
Dean braces himself for the weight. Max is just as tall as he is, and he anticipates a similar weight. The kid really is mostly skin and bone, though, probably not much over 140 or so. The difference from what he'd been expecting makes the lift almost easy. Still awkward with as tall as Max is, especially since he's mostly leg, but at least he's not heavy as well.
Max lets out a low cry at the movement, head rolling to rest against Dean's shoulder. Dean fights off the protective instinct yelling at him to tighten his hold. As much as it would reassure him that Max is safe and secure, he knows it would also just cause more unnecessary pain.
Unfortunately, the position doesn't leave any of Dean's hands free, and he hopes with every fiber of his being that he took out enough of the guards on his way in. Carrying him like this, there's no way he could set Max down fast enough to reach a weapon if they run into any trouble.
Heading out into the hall, Dean retraces his steps quickly but carefully. Max has gone limp and silent in his arms, and he doesn't like the possible implications of that fact. He can't even risk the time it would take to stop and check the kid's pulse to reassure himself, so instead, he focuses on getting them both out of the building as quickly as possible.
Miraculously, the Winchester luck seems to be taking a holiday, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief when they finally emerge into the cool night outside. Max's head rolls on his shoulder as he makes his way to where they left the car, and he feels the small huff of air on the side of his neck as a soft moan reaches his ear. "I've gotcha, Max," he reassures. "Almost there."
The Impala finally appears in front of him, and he can make out the silhouettes of two figures inside. They must spot him at the same time; the back doors open almost simultaneously, and Sam and Jae rush toward him. "Min?" Jae calls as they get close. "Oh, God, Minnie..." He trails off into a stream of Korean, and though Dean can't understand a single word of it, he can make out the clear panicworryfear in the tone. He's sure it's how his voice sounds every time Sam's hurt and unconscious.
"Help me get him into the back," Dean orders, mostly to Sam since Jae seems too far lost in his distress. Something must filter through, though, because Jae climbs into the back seat then holds his arms out to accept Max's still body. "Don't let his arms move too much. At least one of them's broken." Jae nods his understanding, still muttering soft Korean into Max's ear.
Dean pauses for a moment, and Sam watches him carefully. "Is he... Do you think he'll..." his younger brother struggles to ask. He doesn't manage to get a full question out, but Dean has a feeling he knows what Sam means.
And Dean can only shake his head, not quite sure how to answer. "I don't know, Sammy. I just don't... We gotta go," he finally says shaking himself and moving around the car to the driver's seat as Sam climbs into the passenger side.
Jae hasn't stopped his quiet stream of Korean as he runs his fingers through Max's hair and over his face. Dean lets the strange words slide over his frayed nerves, the softly lilting language somehow comforting despite its unfamiliarity. He starts the car and peels away, speeding out of the warehouse complex as Sam grabs Dean's phone to search for the nearest hospital. He'll be okay, Dean tells himself as he glances in his rearview mirror at Max. He has to be.
Brother Printer
Rating: R
Genre: AU, horror, (dark) fantasy, sci-fi
Notes: Crossover with Supernatural. So, finally have it all sorted out, and this story will be ending in the next part. Quite a monster for a what I thought would be a one-shot... O_O I also have the idea/plan for a sequel, but I'll probably take a break in between to finish the WIP I kinda abandoned to do this. :/ Anyway, in this part, some good ol' fashioned Min!torture and a 2-man rescue mission. Enjoy~~! ^^
Word Count: 4,419
Summary: Changmin and Jaejoong are good hunters, and there aren't many things they can't kill one way or another. When they run into one of the rare exceptions to that rule, they're forced to seek help from an outside source. The Winchesters aren't sure how much help they'll be, but they're always up for an interesting challenge. And this case is nothing if not interesting.
Warnings: some scenes of torture, platonic!JaeMin
Previous: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Part 4
Feeling is the first sensation that returns to Max: metal wires seemingly in the form of a chain link fence digging into his back, the chill air over his mostly-bare body, a hammer in his skull, and heavy lethargy. He struggles to move, pull his arms and legs in, before he recognizes the depressingly familiar feel of leather restraints around his wrists and ankles.
Taste comes next, the thick staleness in his mouth telling him just how long he'd been unconscious. Hearing follows closely on taste's heels. This one he latches onto, straining his ears to get clues of where he is and who may be with him. He counts at least four distinct sets of footsteps, and the echoing sound tells him he's in a fairly large and mostly empty room.
He assumes by this point that he'll have his sight back as well, but he doesn't particularly care to open his eyes. Until he hears Sam's voice. "What the hell are you doing to him?" He sounds angry, frustrated, maybe a bit scared also though he's covering it well, and Max turns his head in the direction of Sam's voice before fighting his heavy eyelids apart.
Sam kneels on the floor between two of the rock-solid guards, his hands cuffed behind his back. He glares defiantly at someone behind Max. The expression softens, though, when he glances down and meets Max's gaze. He doesn't physically resist the hold on him, but judging by the bruises and scrapes on his face, that's a fairly recent development.
"Calm yourself, Mr. Winchester," replies a voice Max was both expecting and dreading to hear. Always calm, always in control, and all the more terrifying because of it. "We're just reminding 'Max' here who he really belongs to," Phillips adds.
The words only serve to reignite the fire in Sam's eyes. "He's a human being, jackass," he retorts. "He doesn't belong to anyone but himself."
"There was a time," the doctor replies, and Max can just hear the smug smirk in his voice, "not so long ago really, that even Changmin would have disagreed with you."
Phillips must give some kind of signal then, because Max can hear shuffling movement around him. Large hands, not Phillips's, grip Max's wrist on either side of the leather cuff holding him to the metal frame. He's angled in such a way, and Sam is in just the right position, that the older hunter has a clear view of whatever they're preparing to do. His eyes widen, panic warring with the anger now, but Max refuses to look away to see what they're doing.
There's a sharp point of pressure in the middle of the leather cuff, and Max struggles not to imagine all the possibilities of what that pressure could be. Then he hears the soft tap-tap-tap, metal on metal. A hammer on a nail. A sharp prick as the point of the nail breaks through the thin skin of his inner wrist. More tapping, a steady ache starting to radiate up his arm as the nail works its way deeper in. There's a short pause, and Max's rapid breaths fill the tense silence. One more solid hit. The nail drives all the way through Max's thin wrist, and he can't hold back the pained scream as his back arches off the rack.
Sam starts struggling again when Max screams. He knows, logically, that there's no escaping the two veritable statues that are holding him, but every instinct in him is yelling that he can't just let them do this to Max. It doesn't really matter what his instincts are telling him, though. All he can really do is watch as another guard holds down Max's second wrist, as Phillips positions another nail and lifts the hammer again. Watch as that hammer swings down, piercing this nail straight through in one blow.
Max's scream this time ends in a harsh, gasping sob. Tears run down his face as he fights to catch a breath, and Sam would give anything to save him from this. He'd known that Max hadn't had it easy at the Centre; the haunted shadows in the kid's eyes told him that much. He'd never imagined, though, never could have imagined, this level of systematic torture carried out on a child. And now all he can do is watch.
~*~~*~
Bobby pulls out all his maps of the area as soon as they get in the house, rolling them all out to see if they can figure out where those bastards might have taken Sam and Max. It's a futile gesture, he knows even as he makes it; they have no clues to work off of, no starting point to even begin to guess where this Phillips guy might be.
Dean stands at his elbow, and they pass ideas back and forth as they track lines and roads with their fingers, starting a list of possible sites to check out. Jae leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, simply watching them. Bobby would probably be goading him into helping them, but, really, there's not much the kid can do. He doesn't know the area well enough to give much input.
So intent on the maps and discussing plans, Dean just barely catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head to watch as Jae sucks in a breath, puts one hand to his head while using the other to brace himself on the wall, and clenches his eyes shut. "Jae?" he calls, but the younger man just shakes his head.
Dean trades a look with Bobby, who can only shrug at him. Without knowing what exactly is going on, there's not a whole lot they can offer. Then, seemingly as suddenly as it came on, the attack - or fit, or whatever it was - ends, and Jae sucks in a deep breath. "Shit," he hisses out on the exhale, "I forgot how much it sucks when he does that."
"I think I speak for all of us when I say: Huh?" Dean says in return.
Jae doesn't answer right away, using the hand that had been holding him against the wall to pull out a chair and sink shakily onto it. "Max," he offers as explanation once he settles. "Telepath, right? He can get into my head when he needs to. Usually it's just his voice, which isn't as intense, but other times, all he can manage are images, visions. Always way more intense."
"So that was him trying to communicate?" Bobby questions. "Would hate to see him actually attack someone..."
Snorting softly, Jae gives them a one-shouldered shrug. "It's not painful, not really. Just... strange. But that's not the point. The point is that now at least we've got some clues to go on. And that we need to hurry. If he doesn't have the control or awareness to send me words, he's not in good shape."
Jae fills them in on the hazy, scrambled pictures he managed to pick out of the mess Max had forced into his head: a large - mostly empty - room, random power tools scattered around and seemingly abandoned, swinging metal doors. He doesn't mention the vision of the stone-men dragging Sam out of the room. It gives them no new information, and he can't imagine it'll help Dean keep his head clear.
Luckily, the pieces he can give them seems to spark something in Bobby's brain, and the older hunter searches for a second before pointing out a spot on the map. "Here," he says, quick and decisive. "There's an old factory out there, not much else around for miles. They started work on it last year to get it up and running again, but then the company went under and walked away. It's been empty ever since."
Dean traces the route on the map with his eyes, committing the directions to memory. "I would say let's go in with guns blazing, but with no back up and no idea how many of those mobile brick walls are lumbering around, it might be better to keep things more Mission Impossible."
"You and Jae go," Bobby agrees. "Get the boys, and get out again. I'll hold down base camp here. Too damn old to go sneakin' around like that." And not even five minutes later, he's watching the Impala roar away from the house. Their plan is bare-bones, at best, but it's all they've got.
~*~~*~
Dean maneuvers through the hallways, taking out threats as he encounters them. It'd be nice to stop and interrogate some of them, get answers for where exactly Max and Sam are being kept. He knows, though, that not only do they not have the time, but it would likely cause too much noise and bring reinforcements running. So, instead, he simply drops every guard he comes across. Fewer to fight through on their way out.
He's just taken out one such obstacle, pausing to catch his breath in a long hallway with a few scattered doorways, when his phone buzzes against his thigh. He pulls it out and immediately connects the call when he sees Jae's name on the screen. "Yeah."
"I've got Sam," Jae says, and Dean feels something inside his chest unclench. "He's a bit banged up, mostly just some bruises and scrapes. Nothing serious. Anything on Min yet?"
Dean is on the verge of breaking the bad news, which is what no news is in this case, when he's stopped by a muffled scream from down the hall. "Think I got 'im," he tells Jae, not bothering to fill in details. "Get Sam out of here. We'll meet at the car." He barely waits to hear Jae's reply before ending the call and stashing it away again.
Moving cautiously down the long hall, Dean keeps one ear open for any noise behind him and listens with the other for any further sounds from Max. He tries every door along the way, but all of the rooms are empty. Until he gets to the set of double swinging doors at the very end. He peers in through the small, cloudy, plastic window, and the scene beyond simultaneously chills the blood in his veins and sends white-hot bolts of rage through him.
Max lies strapped down to what looks like a metal bed frame, extensions built onto each side for his arms so he's affixed to the rack crucifixion style. Leather belts circle his ankles and both arms just above his wrists, but other than those and his boxers, Max is completely bare. He has a length of plastic tubing clenched between his teeth then wrapped around and tied behind his head. Wires run from the underside of his right wrist to what looks like a power generator. More wires snake from the generator to an instrument in the doctor's hand, basically just bare wires with a rubber handle wrapped around them.
And before Dean can fully process the sight, the doctor touches the wires in his hand to Max's arm, just at the crook of his elbow. Convulsions rip through the thin body, back arching off the frame as another stifled scream streams out through the door.
Not hesitating a second longer, Dean explodes into the room, gun already out and firing into the doctor. He counts at least three solid hits before his gun clicks empty and the man hits the ground, but he hardly spares the body another glance.
He does cringe when he looks down to see Max covered in blood and other bits of the doctor that he'd really rather not think about. Then he looks into Max's eyes. Glassy and unfocused, they obviously take a moment to register Dean's presence. They clear, not completely but enough, and they're suddenly so full of fear and pain and desperation and relief and when the hell did Dean get so good at reading the kid?
Before he can contemplate that fact any further, though, the few remaining guards are on him. He manages to kick the middle one away and connect a solid punch with the one on his left before the guy on his right catches him with a solid hook to the jaw. He lets the hit spin him down into a crouch and uses the moment to draw his knife from the sheath in his boot.
He surges up again, blocking the guy's incoming kick with one arm and thrusting the knife forward with the other. He feels the blade sink into the man's chest, and he almost immediately pulls it free. Pivoting on one foot, he swings the knife around to catch a second guard across the throat. The third man is a few steps behind the second, and Dean switches his grip on the knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade embeds itself in the guy's ribcage.
He pauses for a second, just long enough to be sure none of them are getting up again, before taking quick strides over Max.
The kid's a mess, long bloody gashes sliced into his chest and thighs and dark bruises blossoming on his face. His right arm lays at an unnatural angle in the middle of his forearm. Dean doesn't remember it looking like that from his first view of Max, and he wonders if the convulsions while being shocked could have actually been strong enough to break the kid's arm.
Max's eyes are closed, his breathing steady, but his face is screwed up in obvious pain. Dean pulls the makeshift gag from Changmin's mouth first before moving over to the generator, flipping it off then pulling the wires from it for added security. "Max?" he questions as he moves to the kid's side. The younger man's eyes open, hazy but aware. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?" he continues as he loosens the restraints around Max's ankles.
Nodding, Max offers him the tiniest of half-smiles. When he finishes with the ankles and lets the belts drop to the floor, Dean moves up to the restraints around Max's wrists. Just as he reaches for the first one, though, Max tenses and starts to shake his head. "No... can't... nails..."
The words are disconnected, confused, and Dean isn't sure what Max is trying to tell him until he looks down at the restraints around Max's wrists again. A weight settles in his gut as he studies the metal pieces centered so perfectly over thin wrists. "Those... aren't rivets, are they?" he asks, already expecting the motion when Max shakes his head again. "Sonofabitch."
He crouches down to get a look at what, exactly, he's dealing with. The wires - and, seriously, why hadn't he questioned what those wires were connected to before now? - are wrapped around the bottom inch or so of the thick nails protruding from Changmin's thin wrist. A small but steady trickle of blood runs down the nail over the wires, dripping off the pointed tip to puddle on the floor underneath. Dean assumes the left wrist looks much the same.
He represses the urge to gag at the sight. If he had tried to pull the restraints off with those nails in, the damage would have been permanent and possibly lethal. Not wanting to jar Max's arms and cause any more pain than necessary, he pulls the wires off the nail as gently as possible. He still hears the quiet hiss when the nails shift with the motion, and he mutters a soft "sorry" as he moves around to check the other wrist. No wires this time, but it's in pretty much the same condition.
With the whole picture now clear in his mind, he addresses the real problem. They had obviously secured Max's wrists to the metal frame with the leather restraints first and then driven the nails through both the restraints and his wrists. Dean can't take off the leather straps without pulling the nails out first, but he can't risk taking out the nails and causing further damage and uncontrolled bleeding this far from the nearest hospital.
"Shit, fuck, dammit," he mutters, casting a quick gaze around for anything that could help him. Anything to give him an idea on what to do here, because he sure as hell can't see a solution right now.
Max's head rolls to the side so he can give Dean a resigned smile. "You can't get me off of here, can you?" he asks, voice weak and breathy.
"Shut up," Dean retorts with a reprimanding glare. "I'm gonna figure this out and get you outta here. You just gotta give me a second." He's determined, but he can still see the doubt in Max's eyes. "Listen to me, okay? Leaving you here is not an option. I will figure something out."
There's still a certain amount of skepticism in Max's gaze, but he nods his head and mutters a quiet "okay" anyway. Dean nods and resumes his search.
Just when he's about to give up, take the risk of just pulling the nails out and dealing with the consequences, he spots something back in a far corner of the room that starts the wheels in his head turning. He jogs over and scoops the object up, hoping beyond hope that the blowtorch is still functional.
He adjusts the necessary knobs before pulling the ignition switch, watching as a thin blue flame immediately springs to life. Smirking in relief, he moves past Max first to retrieve his knife - stopping just long enough to clean the blade on the dead guy's shirt - before heading back to the kid's side. "Got it. We'll have you outta here in no time, kid."
Max scowls at him, the expression weakened but comfortingly familiar, as Dean holds the flame to the blade of his knife. "'m not a kid," he protests, though Dean just grins at him as usual when he points out this fact. The words come slowly, though, his body lethargic and responding sluggishly to his commands. He knows the last thing he needs is to fall asleep, so he attempts to keep a conversation going. "So what's this genius escape plan you've got?" he manages to gasp out barely above a whisper.
Dean flashes him a worried look, obviously picking up the growing weakness in his voice, but doesn't comment on it. "We're gonna burn you out of here," he replies instead, holding up the knife and blowtorch to Max's eye level. Another few seconds should work, he thinks. "Don't wanna try to cut you out and risk that nail moving around, but I think if I get the blade hot enough, I should be able to use it to burn through the leather."
"Mm, 'kay. Sounds good," Max slurs out, eyes drifting shut even as he struggles to pry them open again. He manages, barely, but each successive blink takes more and more effort to come back from. He's just so tired, exhausted and pushed beyond his limits, and he trusts Dean to take care of him. He's not sure why; he's never really trusted anyone beyond Jae, but just like with Jae, he finds that trust comes so easily with the Winchester brothers.
Deciding that the metal is finally hot enough, Dean releases the trigger for the flame and holds the sharp edge of his knife to the leather. As strong as the restraints are, they're also relatively thin, and the red-hot blade in his hand has little trouble melting through. He turns on the flame to reheat the knife then repeats the process on the other side of Max's right wrist.
The bottom of the restraint falls away when he gets through, and he looks up at Max with a triumphant grin. The kid's eyes are closed, breathing thin but even at least. Dean's smile fades. "Max? You still with me, kid?" he asks.
"Yeah," Max groans out in reply without opening his eyes, and Dean lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Just... hurry. Tired."
Dean wishes he could reach out and reassure the kid, a touch to his shoulder or head or anything, but he can't seem to find a single spot that looks like it doesn't hurt like hell. "I know you are. One down and one to go, okay? Almost done," he tells Max instead as he moves around the frame to reach his other wrist.
Max nods then moans weakly when the movement sets the world behind his eyelids spinning. He swallows a few times, fighting down the nausea swirling in his stomach, and waits for the dizziness to pass. He takes a deep breath then attempts to continue the conversation. "Did'ja find Sam?" he manages to slur out.
"Jae's got him. We're gonna meet them at the car when I get you out of here," Dean tells him, and Max feels the tension fall away from the restraint on his left wrist just as it had a minute before on the right. He knows he's free now, but he just can't find the will - or strength - to move.
Dean flips the blowtorch off and tosses it aside then does the same with the knife a moment later. It's a cheap one, nothing fancy, and he doesn't want to waste the time it would take to wait for it to cool down. Standing from his crouched position, he contemplates Max for a long minute. The kid obviously won't be walking out under his own power, but Dean isn't quite sure how to carry him without hurting him further.
Finally, after running through all his options, he settles on the course that seems like it would hurt Max the least. He's sure there will still be some pain involved, but there's really just no way to avoid that at this point. Not with as injured as the kid is. "Alright, Max," he starts to keep from scaring the younger, "I'm gonna get you up now, okay?"
He only receives a tiny nod in reply, but he's just grateful to be getting a response at all. As carefully as possible, he lifts Max's left arm and drapes it across his chest then moves back around to his right side. Even more gently, he rests the broken arm over Max's body as well then takes off his jacket to drape it over Max. It's a testament to how far gone the kid is that he only receives a light moan. Then, slowly, he slides one arm under Max's knees and another under his shoulders before lifting him straight up off the rack.
Dean braces himself for the weight. Max is just as tall as he is, and he anticipates a similar weight. The kid really is mostly skin and bone, though, probably not much over 140 or so. The difference from what he'd been expecting makes the lift almost easy. Still awkward with as tall as Max is, especially since he's mostly leg, but at least he's not heavy as well.
Max lets out a low cry at the movement, head rolling to rest against Dean's shoulder. Dean fights off the protective instinct yelling at him to tighten his hold. As much as it would reassure him that Max is safe and secure, he knows it would also just cause more unnecessary pain.
Unfortunately, the position doesn't leave any of Dean's hands free, and he hopes with every fiber of his being that he took out enough of the guards on his way in. Carrying him like this, there's no way he could set Max down fast enough to reach a weapon if they run into any trouble.
Heading out into the hall, Dean retraces his steps quickly but carefully. Max has gone limp and silent in his arms, and he doesn't like the possible implications of that fact. He can't even risk the time it would take to stop and check the kid's pulse to reassure himself, so instead, he focuses on getting them both out of the building as quickly as possible.
Miraculously, the Winchester luck seems to be taking a holiday, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief when they finally emerge into the cool night outside. Max's head rolls on his shoulder as he makes his way to where they left the car, and he feels the small huff of air on the side of his neck as a soft moan reaches his ear. "I've gotcha, Max," he reassures. "Almost there."
The Impala finally appears in front of him, and he can make out the silhouettes of two figures inside. They must spot him at the same time; the back doors open almost simultaneously, and Sam and Jae rush toward him. "Min?" Jae calls as they get close. "Oh, God, Minnie..." He trails off into a stream of Korean, and though Dean can't understand a single word of it, he can make out the clear panicworryfear in the tone. He's sure it's how his voice sounds every time Sam's hurt and unconscious.
"Help me get him into the back," Dean orders, mostly to Sam since Jae seems too far lost in his distress. Something must filter through, though, because Jae climbs into the back seat then holds his arms out to accept Max's still body. "Don't let his arms move too much. At least one of them's broken." Jae nods his understanding, still muttering soft Korean into Max's ear.
Dean pauses for a moment, and Sam watches him carefully. "Is he... Do you think he'll..." his younger brother struggles to ask. He doesn't manage to get a full question out, but Dean has a feeling he knows what Sam means.
And Dean can only shake his head, not quite sure how to answer. "I don't know, Sammy. I just don't... We gotta go," he finally says shaking himself and moving around the car to the driver's seat as Sam climbs into the passenger side.
Jae hasn't stopped his quiet stream of Korean as he runs his fingers through Max's hair and over his face. Dean lets the strange words slide over his frayed nerves, the softly lilting language somehow comforting despite its unfamiliarity. He starts the car and peels away, speeding out of the warehouse complex as Sam grabs Dean's phone to search for the nearest hospital. He'll be okay, Dean tells himself as he glances in his rearview mirror at Max. He has to be.
Brother Printer