Taken Chapter 3/10
Chapter three is here! Yay!
Warnings: Some strong images in this chapter. You've been warned.
Rating: R
Chapter Three
As Sam stalked up to the front door of the bar, he wondered when he'd thrown away his normal cautionary attitude in situations like this. It had probably slipped away the moment he'd woken up alone. The moment he realized that Dean was gone, that his brother had been taken from right beneath Sam's nose. Two feet. Two fucking feet had been separating their bed. Sam could have dashed across that space in milliseconds. He could have wrapped his arms around his brother's waist and made sure that they stuck together, that they didn't break up the team. Because that's what they were, a team. We made one hell of a team back there, had been Dean's words. And Sam had agreed. They had, the did, they always would. It was Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam. It wasn't Sam minus a Dean. He wondered if this was how his brother had felt when Sam had gone missing. When he'd been taken by those backwoods hicks and put in a cage. The memory still disturbed him. It would always disturb him. He only hoped that he would be able to mimic what had happened last time and find his brother relatively unscathed. Hell, he'd take the fucking fire poker this time if it meant they both could walk away from this.
Sam jogged up the stairs and opened the door. He ignored the unilluminated open sign in the window and let himself in, closing the door tightly behind him. The bar was less smokey and uncharacteristically quiet during the day. But it still had that bar smell to it. Years of smoke, spilled beer, sweat and blood and dirt soaked into the walls and the furniture. It just reminded him of Dean.
"We're not open yet," a voice called from behind the counter. Sam bent his head slightly and spotted the man standing with his back to him. He was putting up new bottles of whiskey, gin and rum onto the shelf behind him. Sam could tell it was the same bartender from last night. Perfect.
"I'm not here for a drink," Sam said lowly and started walking towards the bar.
The bartender turned around and eyed Sam before his face grew serious and he gave Sam a stern look. "Buddy, you got a lot of nerve..."
"I need your help," Sam cut him off and the man paused, frowning at him. "Those guys from last night, I think-"
The man sighed loudly to show Sam he didn't want to hear what he had to say. He leaned against the bar and glared at Sam. "It was a bar fight kid, get over it and move on."
"You don't understand..."
"Don't make me call the Sheriff."
Sam took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring in an almost unbridled annoyance. When he didn't move, the bartender reached for the phone behind him. Sam chewed his lip for a second before nodding. If that's the way this was going to go. He yanked the gun out of his belt and pointed it at the bartender. Dean was going to love hearing about this. His little brother, the criminal. "Please," he said, wincing when his voice shook. The bartender looked up and his eyes instantly fell on the gun. A small smirk came to his lips, but Sam was guessing it wasn't because he found this situation humorous. He slammed the phone down.
"You here to rob me?" he spat menacingly.
"No," Sam shook his head and the guy frowned. "I just need to know who those guys were and where I can find them, that's all."
"They're locals, they come in here all the time," the bartender said and before Sam could ask another question he went on. "Look, they're just big and stupid. Your friend probably rubbed them the wrong way, that's all. There's no need to make this personal."
Sam could have laughed at that statement. Oh buddy, this was as personal as it got. He took a deep breath and the bartender's eyes went back to the gun. Sam made sure that he held it as steady as possible, not wanting to spook this guy into getting that shotgun out. "I think they have my brother," Sam whispered and watched the bartender close his mouth at the statement. Something in the bartender's eyes made Sam go on. The guy was recognizing something. "He went missing last night and I think they had something to do with it."
"Kid, I can't..."
"He's all I have." Same broke. In more ways than one. His voice quavered, his eyes watered, and whatever force that had been holding him together thus far cracked all the way up the middle and was now threatening to split apart and let Sam fall to pieces. He had nothing left. There was nothing left inside of him he could use to convince this man that he wasn't just going after these guys out of revenge. Revenge was a secondary thing now. First and foremost, this was about Dean. This was about feeling like all of Sam's safety nets had suddenly vanished. If he fell now, it was all over, there was no one there to catch him. He needed Dean, more than he'd ever needed him. They were brothers. Brothers. There wasn't a closer bond for Sam. The word brother meant it all, meant everything. Brothers meant that no matter how much you pissed each other off, no matter how bad things got, or how much you disagreed, or how much you fought and needed to get away, there would always be a bond. Brothers didn't just stop being brothers. It was a lifetime gig. One that Sam wasn't ready to give up. He'd never be ready to give up.
The bartender sighed and looked away, his face contemplative for a moment. Then he looked back up at Sam with sad eyes. "What makes you think they took him?"
Sam hesitated only momentarily before answering. "Because I think they have something to do with the disappearances lately."
"How do you know about those?" the bartender asked, his eyes widening.
Sam lowered the gun finally, but held it down at his side instead of putting it back in his belt. "We were investigating them," he answered and not wanting to elaborate, he went on. "Please, anything you can tell me about them. I want to stop them. I want to get my brother back."
The bartender was quiet at first. But then he looked up and said, "Lyle and Keith Marx. They're brothers. They live on a farm a few miles up the road."
Sam nodded to the man. "Thank you," he whispered, sincerely. Then he headed to the door.
"Hey!" Sam turned around and eyed the man, half expecting to see a shotgun aimed at his head. But instead, the man just stood there, looking forlorn and torn. "Don't kill them." Sam didn't make a move to accept or decline the order. He'd never killed another human being before. He didn't know if this would make him start. He wanted to assure the man that he wasn't a killer, but apparently, that's not what the bartender was worried about. "They're not worth the bullets."
Sam answered with a half smile before he was out the door and heading towards the Marx's farm.
***
"I've already tried that door a thousand times."
Dean ignored the know-it-all comment and banged his shoulder into the wooden door a few more times. It didn't even budge. There had to be another layer of something harder on the other side. On the last attempt to bust the door open, Dean hit his shoulder just wrong and sucked in a breath before he merely leaned against the door with his eyes closed. He heard Alex shuffle his feet behind him and was glad the kid decided to keep his mouth shut. Though Alex had been wearing a Metallica shirt, Dean had found out quickly that the kid was more like Sam in every other way but taste in music. He had the whiney, broody teenager persona that Sam pulled off so well. Dean hated that he was so attached to the kid because of that.
"Are you sure this is the door they come in from?" Dean asked at last, turning around to look at Alex, who had taken a seat on a piece of machinery. He nodded. "Shit. There's no other way out?"
Alex shook his head. "No. There's one other door, but I can't get it open."
"Where is it?" Dean asked, pushing himself off the door and watching as Alex stood up and started walking. It was slow going as they tried not to trip over anything or bump their heads on any of the larger machines in the room. Dean tried to figure out what the machines were, but couldn't really tell in the darkness. Some sort of assembly line, processing thing. "You don't know what these machines are for, do you?" he chanced.
"I'm not sure but I think they might be used for car parts or something," Alex answered, holding his hand up and motioning for Dean to duck under part of the line. Dean did and looked back at the machines. Car parts? No, these weren't for cars. The rolling lines were too small, a car wouldn't fit on one.
Dean cleared his throat. "What makes you say that?" he asked.
Alex stopped and pointed up. Dean followed his finger and frowned. "There's hooks all along the top of them. I thought they used to hang car doors from hooks in the older assembly lines." Dean stared hard at the curved hooks. No, those definitely weren't for cars. The tips were pointed with a small serated latch on the edge. Damn. That couldn't be good. He jumped when Alex kept talking. "I mean, I don't really know much about cars, but in my History class we were watching a documentary on Henry Ford and we saw all the early assembly line footage and everything." Alex's voice was quavering and Dean wondered if he even knew what he was saying. "They probably finished the video and moved on to the next chapter. I read ahead in the book so I could be ready for class. I even outlined the first part of the chapter..."
Dean reached out then and put a hand on Alex's shoulder. Sure enough, the kid jumped and turned wide eyes towards Dean. "We'll get out of here," he said softly. Alex nodded, his breath shuddering as he drew it in. Dean gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. "Now where's this door?" Alex turned and started walking. Dean gave one last look at the ugly hooks before following him. "So, Alex," Dean started, hearing the kid's breathes start to hitch. Gotta keep him calm. "These two guys, they don't happen to be big, ugly, smelly, and the kind to start bar fights, are they?"
Alex turned to look at him. "Maybe," he said. "Why?"
"Figures," Dean muttered before smiling at Alex and then looking past him. "Is that the door?"
Alex turned around. "Yeah," he said and stood in front of it. "It's locked, just like the other one."
Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek and looked at the door. It was metal. It was also cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been. Alex sighed and sat down again. He was hugging himself tightly, still shivering. Dean was fighting back shivers of his own. The cold seemed to be radiating off of this door.
A sudden screeching sound from behind them made both Dean and Alex jump and spin around. Dean instinctively held and arm out in front of the kid. Both were quiet, listening for the sound to come back. Dean leaned towards Alex after a little bit. "Has that happened before?" he asked.
Alex shook his head. "No," he said, his voice small and terrified. "What was that?"
A few scenarios came to mind but Dean didn't voice them. "Nothing good," he said instead.
A click from behind them had them both jumping again. Alex yelped a little and took a step closer to Dean, who touched his arm without realizing he needed the contact to ensure himself the kid was still there. Dean looked at the handle to the door. It was turned. He bit his lip, knowing that when a door mysteriously unlocked itself, it was never for good reasons. God what he wouldn't give for a weapon of some kind.
"The door's unlocked," Alex stated outloud.
"Yeah I can see that."
"Well how'd it come unlocked?" Alex asked, his breath shuddering again.
"Hate to break it to you, kid," Dean said as he reached forward and grasped the handle. "But I think that third person our friends the hillbillies were talking about isn't actually a person."
"What?" Alex choked.
Dean didn't answer. Instead, he pulled on the handle. The door opened smoothely and a rush of cold air filtered out from behind it. There was a light on behind the door. Dean held back a groan as he saw the ice lining the wall immediately inside the doorframe. It confirmed what he first thought about the door. This was a freezer. And there weren't many factories that required freezers. Dean started putting the pieces together and the conclusion he came up with wasn't a very good one.
Pulling the door open all the way, he had to look away at the sudden light, but Dean heard Alex gasp and then cover his mouth, struggling to keep from crying out. Dean looked back and froze at what he saw behind the door. He swallowed the bile that had crept up the back of his throat.
"God," Alex gasped out. "Is...is that...are those...human?" he asked.
"Yeah," Dean nodded. Alex immediately turned and lost his lunch. Okay Sam, now would be a good time to show up and bust them out of here. Because, little brother, this was going to leave some serious mental scarring. God, Sammy, I've never needed you more.
Inside the freezer hung the bodies of the other five missing persons in multiple stages of dismemberment and mutilation. They were hanging from larger versions of the hooks on the machines. Some had started to be skinned, the muscles showing red and white and yellow. Just meat in a freezer, ready to be processed.
They were in a fucking slaughter house.
Go to Chapter Four
Warnings: Some strong images in this chapter. You've been warned.
Rating: R
Chapter Three
As Sam stalked up to the front door of the bar, he wondered when he'd thrown away his normal cautionary attitude in situations like this. It had probably slipped away the moment he'd woken up alone. The moment he realized that Dean was gone, that his brother had been taken from right beneath Sam's nose. Two feet. Two fucking feet had been separating their bed. Sam could have dashed across that space in milliseconds. He could have wrapped his arms around his brother's waist and made sure that they stuck together, that they didn't break up the team. Because that's what they were, a team. We made one hell of a team back there, had been Dean's words. And Sam had agreed. They had, the did, they always would. It was Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam. It wasn't Sam minus a Dean. He wondered if this was how his brother had felt when Sam had gone missing. When he'd been taken by those backwoods hicks and put in a cage. The memory still disturbed him. It would always disturb him. He only hoped that he would be able to mimic what had happened last time and find his brother relatively unscathed. Hell, he'd take the fucking fire poker this time if it meant they both could walk away from this.
Sam jogged up the stairs and opened the door. He ignored the unilluminated open sign in the window and let himself in, closing the door tightly behind him. The bar was less smokey and uncharacteristically quiet during the day. But it still had that bar smell to it. Years of smoke, spilled beer, sweat and blood and dirt soaked into the walls and the furniture. It just reminded him of Dean.
"We're not open yet," a voice called from behind the counter. Sam bent his head slightly and spotted the man standing with his back to him. He was putting up new bottles of whiskey, gin and rum onto the shelf behind him. Sam could tell it was the same bartender from last night. Perfect.
"I'm not here for a drink," Sam said lowly and started walking towards the bar.
The bartender turned around and eyed Sam before his face grew serious and he gave Sam a stern look. "Buddy, you got a lot of nerve..."
"I need your help," Sam cut him off and the man paused, frowning at him. "Those guys from last night, I think-"
The man sighed loudly to show Sam he didn't want to hear what he had to say. He leaned against the bar and glared at Sam. "It was a bar fight kid, get over it and move on."
"You don't understand..."
"Don't make me call the Sheriff."
Sam took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring in an almost unbridled annoyance. When he didn't move, the bartender reached for the phone behind him. Sam chewed his lip for a second before nodding. If that's the way this was going to go. He yanked the gun out of his belt and pointed it at the bartender. Dean was going to love hearing about this. His little brother, the criminal. "Please," he said, wincing when his voice shook. The bartender looked up and his eyes instantly fell on the gun. A small smirk came to his lips, but Sam was guessing it wasn't because he found this situation humorous. He slammed the phone down.
"You here to rob me?" he spat menacingly.
"No," Sam shook his head and the guy frowned. "I just need to know who those guys were and where I can find them, that's all."
"They're locals, they come in here all the time," the bartender said and before Sam could ask another question he went on. "Look, they're just big and stupid. Your friend probably rubbed them the wrong way, that's all. There's no need to make this personal."
Sam could have laughed at that statement. Oh buddy, this was as personal as it got. He took a deep breath and the bartender's eyes went back to the gun. Sam made sure that he held it as steady as possible, not wanting to spook this guy into getting that shotgun out. "I think they have my brother," Sam whispered and watched the bartender close his mouth at the statement. Something in the bartender's eyes made Sam go on. The guy was recognizing something. "He went missing last night and I think they had something to do with it."
"Kid, I can't..."
"He's all I have." Same broke. In more ways than one. His voice quavered, his eyes watered, and whatever force that had been holding him together thus far cracked all the way up the middle and was now threatening to split apart and let Sam fall to pieces. He had nothing left. There was nothing left inside of him he could use to convince this man that he wasn't just going after these guys out of revenge. Revenge was a secondary thing now. First and foremost, this was about Dean. This was about feeling like all of Sam's safety nets had suddenly vanished. If he fell now, it was all over, there was no one there to catch him. He needed Dean, more than he'd ever needed him. They were brothers. Brothers. There wasn't a closer bond for Sam. The word brother meant it all, meant everything. Brothers meant that no matter how much you pissed each other off, no matter how bad things got, or how much you disagreed, or how much you fought and needed to get away, there would always be a bond. Brothers didn't just stop being brothers. It was a lifetime gig. One that Sam wasn't ready to give up. He'd never be ready to give up.
The bartender sighed and looked away, his face contemplative for a moment. Then he looked back up at Sam with sad eyes. "What makes you think they took him?"
Sam hesitated only momentarily before answering. "Because I think they have something to do with the disappearances lately."
"How do you know about those?" the bartender asked, his eyes widening.
Sam lowered the gun finally, but held it down at his side instead of putting it back in his belt. "We were investigating them," he answered and not wanting to elaborate, he went on. "Please, anything you can tell me about them. I want to stop them. I want to get my brother back."
The bartender was quiet at first. But then he looked up and said, "Lyle and Keith Marx. They're brothers. They live on a farm a few miles up the road."
Sam nodded to the man. "Thank you," he whispered, sincerely. Then he headed to the door.
"Hey!" Sam turned around and eyed the man, half expecting to see a shotgun aimed at his head. But instead, the man just stood there, looking forlorn and torn. "Don't kill them." Sam didn't make a move to accept or decline the order. He'd never killed another human being before. He didn't know if this would make him start. He wanted to assure the man that he wasn't a killer, but apparently, that's not what the bartender was worried about. "They're not worth the bullets."
Sam answered with a half smile before he was out the door and heading towards the Marx's farm.
***
"I've already tried that door a thousand times."
Dean ignored the know-it-all comment and banged his shoulder into the wooden door a few more times. It didn't even budge. There had to be another layer of something harder on the other side. On the last attempt to bust the door open, Dean hit his shoulder just wrong and sucked in a breath before he merely leaned against the door with his eyes closed. He heard Alex shuffle his feet behind him and was glad the kid decided to keep his mouth shut. Though Alex had been wearing a Metallica shirt, Dean had found out quickly that the kid was more like Sam in every other way but taste in music. He had the whiney, broody teenager persona that Sam pulled off so well. Dean hated that he was so attached to the kid because of that.
"Are you sure this is the door they come in from?" Dean asked at last, turning around to look at Alex, who had taken a seat on a piece of machinery. He nodded. "Shit. There's no other way out?"
Alex shook his head. "No. There's one other door, but I can't get it open."
"Where is it?" Dean asked, pushing himself off the door and watching as Alex stood up and started walking. It was slow going as they tried not to trip over anything or bump their heads on any of the larger machines in the room. Dean tried to figure out what the machines were, but couldn't really tell in the darkness. Some sort of assembly line, processing thing. "You don't know what these machines are for, do you?" he chanced.
"I'm not sure but I think they might be used for car parts or something," Alex answered, holding his hand up and motioning for Dean to duck under part of the line. Dean did and looked back at the machines. Car parts? No, these weren't for cars. The rolling lines were too small, a car wouldn't fit on one.
Dean cleared his throat. "What makes you say that?" he asked.
Alex stopped and pointed up. Dean followed his finger and frowned. "There's hooks all along the top of them. I thought they used to hang car doors from hooks in the older assembly lines." Dean stared hard at the curved hooks. No, those definitely weren't for cars. The tips were pointed with a small serated latch on the edge. Damn. That couldn't be good. He jumped when Alex kept talking. "I mean, I don't really know much about cars, but in my History class we were watching a documentary on Henry Ford and we saw all the early assembly line footage and everything." Alex's voice was quavering and Dean wondered if he even knew what he was saying. "They probably finished the video and moved on to the next chapter. I read ahead in the book so I could be ready for class. I even outlined the first part of the chapter..."
Dean reached out then and put a hand on Alex's shoulder. Sure enough, the kid jumped and turned wide eyes towards Dean. "We'll get out of here," he said softly. Alex nodded, his breath shuddering as he drew it in. Dean gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. "Now where's this door?" Alex turned and started walking. Dean gave one last look at the ugly hooks before following him. "So, Alex," Dean started, hearing the kid's breathes start to hitch. Gotta keep him calm. "These two guys, they don't happen to be big, ugly, smelly, and the kind to start bar fights, are they?"
Alex turned to look at him. "Maybe," he said. "Why?"
"Figures," Dean muttered before smiling at Alex and then looking past him. "Is that the door?"
Alex turned around. "Yeah," he said and stood in front of it. "It's locked, just like the other one."
Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek and looked at the door. It was metal. It was also cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been. Alex sighed and sat down again. He was hugging himself tightly, still shivering. Dean was fighting back shivers of his own. The cold seemed to be radiating off of this door.
A sudden screeching sound from behind them made both Dean and Alex jump and spin around. Dean instinctively held and arm out in front of the kid. Both were quiet, listening for the sound to come back. Dean leaned towards Alex after a little bit. "Has that happened before?" he asked.
Alex shook his head. "No," he said, his voice small and terrified. "What was that?"
A few scenarios came to mind but Dean didn't voice them. "Nothing good," he said instead.
A click from behind them had them both jumping again. Alex yelped a little and took a step closer to Dean, who touched his arm without realizing he needed the contact to ensure himself the kid was still there. Dean looked at the handle to the door. It was turned. He bit his lip, knowing that when a door mysteriously unlocked itself, it was never for good reasons. God what he wouldn't give for a weapon of some kind.
"The door's unlocked," Alex stated outloud.
"Yeah I can see that."
"Well how'd it come unlocked?" Alex asked, his breath shuddering again.
"Hate to break it to you, kid," Dean said as he reached forward and grasped the handle. "But I think that third person our friends the hillbillies were talking about isn't actually a person."
"What?" Alex choked.
Dean didn't answer. Instead, he pulled on the handle. The door opened smoothely and a rush of cold air filtered out from behind it. There was a light on behind the door. Dean held back a groan as he saw the ice lining the wall immediately inside the doorframe. It confirmed what he first thought about the door. This was a freezer. And there weren't many factories that required freezers. Dean started putting the pieces together and the conclusion he came up with wasn't a very good one.
Pulling the door open all the way, he had to look away at the sudden light, but Dean heard Alex gasp and then cover his mouth, struggling to keep from crying out. Dean looked back and froze at what he saw behind the door. He swallowed the bile that had crept up the back of his throat.
"God," Alex gasped out. "Is...is that...are those...human?" he asked.
"Yeah," Dean nodded. Alex immediately turned and lost his lunch. Okay Sam, now would be a good time to show up and bust them out of here. Because, little brother, this was going to leave some serious mental scarring. God, Sammy, I've never needed you more.
Inside the freezer hung the bodies of the other five missing persons in multiple stages of dismemberment and mutilation. They were hanging from larger versions of the hooks on the machines. Some had started to be skinned, the muscles showing red and white and yellow. Just meat in a freezer, ready to be processed.
They were in a fucking slaughter house.
Go to Chapter Four