Taken Chapter 4/10
Well here's chapter four. It's a bit longer than the last one since chapter three was a bit short. Sorry about that! This chapter's rated R, for blood and violence. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Four
"Don't ever do that again."
"Do what?"
"Go missing like that."
It should have gone both ways. It should have been a universal rule by now. Missing Winchesters were becoming more and more frequent. Maybe this was some sort of deep down Freudian bullshit making them want to be more like their father. Sam could almost picture his subconscious right now, that little five year old boy with the runny nose and bright eyes, just screaming, "I want to be like Daddy so let's go missing!" Oh boy, they could make a game out of it. Which Winchester can go missing the most? John was probably in the lead. Sam wondered how many he had. Let's see, most recently there was his romp with the psycho Bender family, and then there was that time when he was six and wanted to hide from his family, oh, did going away to college count?
Or maybe Sam just wanted to find a way to blame John Winchester for this mess. Maybe he wanted to be able to think of his Dad and just be angry with him for not protecting his sons the way he should. For not coming with them after Chicago, for not telling Dean to shut the fuck up, they're a family so they stick together. Maybe he just wanted to stop blaming himself. Stop thinking about how the hell he could have slept through his own brother's kidnapping. How he should have been able to see this coming. He'd let down his guard, slipped back into the role of sheltered little brother, reverted back into the thirteen year old who thought Dean rivaled God and could do and handle anything this world threw at him. He'd forgotten his brother was capable of leaving, of failing, of hurting, of dying. He'd forgotten that sometimes even Dean needed to be protected, to be saved.
Sam pulled the Impala to a quiet stop behind a shed on the Marx farm and hoped that if anyone was home, or came home, that they wouldn't noticed it. He wished there was a place he could park it that was a bit more inconspicuous, but the farm was right off the main road and there wasn't really anything but open fields and a few scattered birch trees. The land was flat and anywhere Sam parked, he was going to be spotted. He thought about parking it a few miles up the road and walking back, but if Dean was in there, and even the slightest bit hurt, it would be a good idea to have the car close at hand. Sam wondered why his brother even owned a car like this one. Why not some car that didn't scream "look at me" to everyone it passed by. This was a pretty flashy car for someone who lived so secretively. Not that Dean ever chose his cars for practicality.
The farmhouse looked quiet. There were no lights on and there wasn't a car in the driveway. Sam waited for a second, watching the windows to see if anyone would peak out at the sound of the Impala's engine. But after a few moments when there was no movement, Sam decided that the house was empty. Or else those two bumbling idiots from the bar weren't exactly bumbling and weren't exactly idiots. Sam checked his gun one more time and felt the pocketknife he'd slipped into his pocket after he'd met with the bartender. He thought briefly back to his time spent in the creepy automatic locking cage and wondered if he should bother bringing his lock pick set. Nah, he'd just shoot the lock out if it was necessary.
Getting out of the car, he closed the door quietly and then snuck up onto the back porch. There were two rocking chairs facing out towards the barn and the cornfield. They looked old and worn. He wondered if these two guys were really farmers or if that was just an act they pulled to cover up their serial killer sides. Sam cringed at the word "killer." He didn't know they were killers for sure. Just because the bodies were never found, that didn't make them killers. They could just be lonely and have everyone locked in a room somewhere. Right?
The porch creaked under Sam's feet and he froze, eyes shifting between all of the visible windows. When he didn't see anyone or anything looking back at him, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves and them pulled open the screen door. To his luck, the backdoor was unlocked and it opened with only minimal squeaking. The inside of the house actually looked nice. Not anything like the last psycho family's house they'd been to. There were decorations made out of cloth and lace and clay instead of skin and hair and teeth. It looked lived in, but also tidy. Sam would have never guessed this house belonged to Lyle and Keith, the two idiots.
The downstairs of the house didn't help Sam at all. There were pictures of both Lyle and Keith on the walls, but other than that, there was nothing that would point to these guys being serial killers, or kidnappers. The upstairs was the same way. Nothing out of the ordinary. No secret room stashing body parts or video tapes or Polaroids. Just an average house. Sam sighed and leaned against the window. God, what if he'd been wrong? What if these guys weren't the ones who took Dean and all those other people? Sam's heart sank at the thought and a lump formed in his throat. He bit back tears that were threatening to come to his eyes. No, he wouldn't give up hope. He was going to find Dean. He had to find Dean.
Leaning his head against the window, Sam looked outside at the Impala. He pictured Dean sitting on the hood, looking up at him and giving him one of those classic Dean Winchester looks. He could just imagine his brother complaining for Sam to hurry up, that he was bored and needed a cheeseburger. A nice big, fat one with bacon and barbeque sauce. And an extra order of fries, with lots of pepper. Sam smiled to himself as he heard Dean's voice inside his head, drooling over the prospect of some greasy food. If he found Dean, he would buy him as many greasy cheeseburgers as he wanted.
Shrugging away from the window, Sam headed back downstairs, intent on going to check out the barn as a last resort. If there was nothing in the barn, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Looking outside one more time to make sure no one had pulled up while he was upstairs, Sam headed out the back and down the steps. He got two steps away from the house before his eyes caught something he hadn't seen when he first showed up. There were a pair of cellar doors off to the side. There was a chain holding them shut. Someone wanted to keep people out of the cellar. So, naturally, Sam wanted to get in.
Jogging to the car, he opened the trunk and found the ax his brother kept there. Sam had always teased him about it. Because honestly, when would they ever need an ax? Besides right now, of course. He walked back to the cellar doors and lined up the weapon, ready for a swing. Three hits later, the chain fell away and Sam threw the ax to the side. He pulled open the cellar doors and paused for just a second, listening for any movement. There wasn't any and he headed down, closing the doors behind him.
It was pitch black in the cellar and Sam had to wait at the base of the stairs as he dug into his pockets, looking for his lighter. Bringing it out, he flicked on the flame and saw a string dangling from the center of the room. Tugging it on, the cellar was suddenly light up brightly and Sam had to shield his eyes for a moment before they adjusted. When they did, Sam's stomach dropped at what he saw.
He'd found himself suddenly caught up in some extreme deja vu. And he didn't like where it was taking him. On the other side of the room there was a table that was littered with candles and incense and medallions and an assortment of other items. There were pictures taped to the wall above the table and crosses were hung upside down in every corner of the room. In the center, right in front of Sam, there was a large symbol painted onto the floor in what Sam assumed was blood. It only took him a second to realize what he was looking at. A black altar. Just like the one SueAnn LeGrange had been using to control the reaper that had healed Dean. Only, judging by the crosses and the symbol on the floor, this one wasn't controlling a reaper. This one was controlling something far more powerful.
"Shit," Sam whispered as he carefully stepped around the symbol and headed over to the altar. He took a closer look at the pictures hanging on the wall. He recognized Piotr Locklyn and a couple of the other missing persons. There wasn't one of Dean, but Sam didn't think it was necessary, because as he looked down at the altar, he saw a familiar looking pendant laying in a small silver dish right in the middle. He practically growled as he fished it out and closed his fist around it. Dean never took this off. Never.
Sam took a deep breath to calm the rage building inside of him and stepped back, ready to kick the altar over. But he paused as he heard the sound of a car pulling up. His eyes widened and he ran towards the cellar door, quietly going up the steps and then pausing, one hand on the door. He listened as a car door opened and closed. It sounded close and he prayed that whoever it was wouldn't see the Impala. But his heart skipped a beat as he realized he'd left the ax and the broken chain right outside the cellar door. Stupid, stupid, he berated himself.
"What the hell?" Came the deep voice from outside and Sam knew that whoever was out there had just found his ax. He turned around and looked for a place to hide. Spotting a table at the far edge of the room, he dashed to the center and flicked the light off. Then he felt his way through the dark over to the table and got down, hoping it would be enough to hide him.
A few seconds later, the cellar doors opened and the lights clicked on. Sam tensed and quietly prayed that he'd get lucky just one more time.
***
Dean slammed the freezer door shut. He put his forehead against it for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to get the images of the skinless, dismembered bodies out of his head. It was probably an impossible task. He'd be thinking about those bodies until he was dead or had Alzheimers. And even then they'd probably find a way to haunt him. Spooks and monsters he could handle. It was the dead things that always got to him.
"Shouldn't we see if...if anyone's still alive?" Alex's voice was shaking and small. Dean rolled his head to eye the teenager. He looked terrified and Dean didn't blame him. Anyone in their right mind would be terrified. Dean was probably the closest to terrified he came these days. He'd been scared shitless a couple of times, most recently when he'd watched his little brother and father being torn away from him by Daevas, but that was a different type of fear. It wasn't often Dean felt fear for himself. And if he did, he usually didn't acknowledge it.
Deciding that it was probably time to take some action, Dean pushed himself away from the freezer and turned to look at the machinery that filled the room. "I'm gonna worry about us still being alive for right now," he said, ignoring the way his own voice shook a bit. He blamed it on the cold. "How long has it been since they fed you?" he asked, walking over to one of the machines. He found some strong structures and started to climb it, towards the hooks. Alex watched with confusion from below.
"I don't know," he answered and Dean grunted, partly from the climb and partly in irritation. "A while."
"Well we're gonna be ready when they come back," he muttered and wrapped a hand around one of the hooks on top of the machine. He yanked on it and hissed when it didn't budge. "Come on," he grit out and pulled again. There was a slight shift and one more yank pulled it from its spot. Dean gave a triumphant sigh and jumped down. "Hold this," he handed it to Alex, who held the hook in his palms like it was precious china. Dean headed to the assembly line and squatted down, looking beneath it. He grinned and gave a quiet, "Here we go," as he found the chain beneath the line, like a bigger version of a bicycle chain.
Alex watched Dean tear the chain off, using brute strength and a few choice swear words, to do so. He licked his lips and said, "How do you know how to do all this stuff?" he asked.
Dean turned his head slightly to look at him, but then continued working on the chain. "Boy Scouts," he answered as the chain came loose, causing him to fall backwards. He pushed himself up and brushed off as he took the hook from Alex.
"Boy Scouts?" Alex asked. "You learned all this in Boy Scouts?"
Dean glanced up at him with a small grin. "Yeah, what do you think they teach you? Basket making?"
That earned a small chuckle from Alex and Dean's smile grew wider. Good to hear the kid laugh. Dean managed to attach the hook onto one end of the chain. He wrapped the other end tightly in his fist and nodded to Alex. "All right, so when they get here, I'm gonna hide down here, you stand right there." He pointed with his chin as he gave the instructions. "You make them come to you. I'll jump them, we'll get out of here, and you'll be watching Regis before you know it."
"Regis?" Alex scoffed and Dean grinned. "I'll be watching CSI."
Dean squatted down on the floor and got into his hiding spot. "Las Vegas or Miami?" he continued the small talk.
"New York," Alex crossed his arms over his chest.
"You're a sick kid, Alex," Dean joked and Alex rolled his eye. He looked as if he were about to retort, but there was a sudden click near the door. Dean's eyes widened. He couldn't believe their timing. Alex looked suddenly terrified again and Dean held a finger to his lips and Alex nodded as he looked away, watching the door as it unlatched and opened. Dean tried to stay as still and quiet as possible, listening to the door and watching Alex try to keep it together. The kid was shaking horribly.
Dean could hear the footsteps, but he frowned as he realized there was only one pair. Hadn't Alex said there were two of them? Plus a third? What if this was the third? Dean gripped the chain in his hand tighter. Well he'd just have to deal with that, now wouldn't he? Either way he was going to kill this bastard and get himself and Alex out of here. Find Sam, let the authorities know about the bodies, and then they were getting the hell out of this state.
"Chow time, boy," the deep voice said. Dean held his breath. He recognized that voice. Though, the last time he'd heard it, there'd been a fist in his eye. So it was the guys from the bar. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe it was time to stop hustling. A day job couldn't hurt, could it? Not worse than this.
"I'm not hungry," Alex said and Dean gave the kid props for sounding so strong. He was liking this kid more and more. A lot smarter than some of the teenagers they came across.
There was a pause. "I didn't ask if you was hungry."
"I'm not going to eat your stupid food!" Alex yelled and stood defiantly for a moment with his fists clenched. "So you can kiss my ass!" he added for good measure. Dean's eyebrows rose at that. He couldn't help but think, you go, girl.
"Boy, I will skin you alive!" the guy shouted and Dean watched Alex's face pale and eyes go wide as they both realized that the guy probably really meant it. Alex took a few steps back and Dean's heart jumped to his throat as he thought the kid would run, but Alex bumped into one of the assembly lines and stopped, his eyes following the guy as he made his way towards him. "You'll learn to keep that mouth of yours shut!" he yelled and Dean heard him coming closer. He braced himself and as soon as he saw the guy's feet come into view, he pushed himself into action.
Things happened pretty fast after that. Dean thought he had the upper hand for a moment as he lashed out at the guy with the barbed hook. He managed to slice the man in the upper arm, but just like before, he realized that this guy was fast. Faster than he should have been. Dean barely had time to turn around and counter his own momentum when he felt a hand clamp around the back of his neck and shove him forward. His forehead hit the assembly line and for a second, he saw stars. It was a second too many as he felt the guy grab the chain in his hand and yank, effectively crushing Dean's hand. He wasn't sure if it was broken, but he didn't have time to think about it as the chain found its way around his neck.
Dean hadn't been expecting to lose control so quickly. He'd landed, what, one blow? One lousy blow. And now the chain was wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air, strangling him? That wasn't very Dean Winchester like. That wasn't Winchester like at all. Especially not since this guy was just an ordinary guy. Sure, he may be demented and twisted, but he was still just a guy. A guy who was pulling the chain tighter and crushing Dean's windpipe, making dots dance in front of his eyes and ears ring and eyes buldge and blood vessels pop.
He tried to reach back and fight. Tried to wrap his fingers in the guy's hair and tug, but he couldn't reach, he couldn't fight, couldn't breathe. He was losing. Losing in a big way. Oh, dammit. Sorry, Sammy, I tried.
Suddenly, Dean heard screaming. Not the kind out of fear, but the kind when someone's getting ready to kick some ass. He was surprised when he realized it was Alex doing the screaming. He felt something collide into them and the chain around his neck loosened. He fell to his knees, unable to stand on his own and tried to suck in air. His throat was slowly opening again and he wondered if there was any damage done. Sure as hell felt like it. But he gasped and gasped and gasped until the air was coming in semi-smoothely. He could hear Alex and the guy scuffling behind him. He could almost hear his father's voice telling him to suck it up and get back in there.
Dean was about to do just that when he heard the sound of someone getting punched, very harshly, and then he heard Alex grunt and cry out. He put a hand to his throat, ignoring the way the skin was sore to the touch, and turned. But when he met Alex's eye, it wasn't what he expected. Alex was staring at him with such fear that it took Dean a moment to realize the fear wasn't directed towards Alex, it was directed towards him. And Dean found out why a second later when there was a sharp, blinding pain in his shoulder. He couldn't help but cry out and the action made his throat burn anew.
There was a tug that nearly sent Dean into unconsciousness, but he managed to shake it away and he looked down at his shoulder, eyes widening as he saw the barbed tip of the hook sticking out of his skin. The hook had gone in near his collar bone on his left shoulder and had twisted so it cam out beneath the bone, effectively hooking into his shoulder in one of the most painful ways Dean had ever experienced. He grit his teeth and sucked in air through his raw throat in an attempt to stay conscious and keep his stomach settled, though neither were really cooperating.
Another tug on the chain had Dean crying out again and he fell backward, forcing his legs to push himself as the chain was pulled. He held onto it with his hands and swore raspy curses as he was half dragged across the floor. When it finally stopped, Dean grit out a few more curses for good measure and listened through the pounding in his ears as the chain was latched to one of the legs of the assembly line. He stayed laying on his back for a moment, willing the pain to go away. He had to close his eyes for a moment when the darkness at the corners of his vision became to much. No, no he would not lose consciousness now. Not if there was a possiblity he'd wake up missing his skin or a body part or two. No fucking way.
A strong kick the side had Dean cursing again and he forced his eyes open to look at the guy standing over him with a grin. Dean just glared at him and would have made some witty retort if his dinner from the previous night weren't creeping it's way back up. The guy just chuckled and turned around. Dean put a hand to the wound on his shoulder and bit his lip so hard that it bled when he accidentally jarred the hook sticking out. Ah hell. Dean's hand came away wet and sticky. He was bleeding pretty bad. "Son of a bitch," he managed to rasp out as he looked at his hand.
"Eat," the man's voice came and Dean couldn't hear Alex's reply, but heard the kid shuffle across the floor and assumed he was finally obeying. A cell phone rang and it made Dean's vision blur for some reason. He closed his eyes and tried to make the room stop spinning. His shoulder was on fire. The sort of pain that could only be described as white hot. Prickling up and down his arm, pinching nerves, lighting his whole body on fire with fever. "Yeah?" the guy answered his phone. After a moment, he said something more that Dean lost among the blood pounding in his ears. Then he heard the guy loud and clear and whatever questions Dean had as to where his little brother was suddenly answered themselves. "Gotta go, boys. Trouble at home."
Fuck, Sammy.
Go to Chapter Five
Chapter Four
"Don't ever do that again."
"Do what?"
"Go missing like that."
It should have gone both ways. It should have been a universal rule by now. Missing Winchesters were becoming more and more frequent. Maybe this was some sort of deep down Freudian bullshit making them want to be more like their father. Sam could almost picture his subconscious right now, that little five year old boy with the runny nose and bright eyes, just screaming, "I want to be like Daddy so let's go missing!" Oh boy, they could make a game out of it. Which Winchester can go missing the most? John was probably in the lead. Sam wondered how many he had. Let's see, most recently there was his romp with the psycho Bender family, and then there was that time when he was six and wanted to hide from his family, oh, did going away to college count?
Or maybe Sam just wanted to find a way to blame John Winchester for this mess. Maybe he wanted to be able to think of his Dad and just be angry with him for not protecting his sons the way he should. For not coming with them after Chicago, for not telling Dean to shut the fuck up, they're a family so they stick together. Maybe he just wanted to stop blaming himself. Stop thinking about how the hell he could have slept through his own brother's kidnapping. How he should have been able to see this coming. He'd let down his guard, slipped back into the role of sheltered little brother, reverted back into the thirteen year old who thought Dean rivaled God and could do and handle anything this world threw at him. He'd forgotten his brother was capable of leaving, of failing, of hurting, of dying. He'd forgotten that sometimes even Dean needed to be protected, to be saved.
Sam pulled the Impala to a quiet stop behind a shed on the Marx farm and hoped that if anyone was home, or came home, that they wouldn't noticed it. He wished there was a place he could park it that was a bit more inconspicuous, but the farm was right off the main road and there wasn't really anything but open fields and a few scattered birch trees. The land was flat and anywhere Sam parked, he was going to be spotted. He thought about parking it a few miles up the road and walking back, but if Dean was in there, and even the slightest bit hurt, it would be a good idea to have the car close at hand. Sam wondered why his brother even owned a car like this one. Why not some car that didn't scream "look at me" to everyone it passed by. This was a pretty flashy car for someone who lived so secretively. Not that Dean ever chose his cars for practicality.
The farmhouse looked quiet. There were no lights on and there wasn't a car in the driveway. Sam waited for a second, watching the windows to see if anyone would peak out at the sound of the Impala's engine. But after a few moments when there was no movement, Sam decided that the house was empty. Or else those two bumbling idiots from the bar weren't exactly bumbling and weren't exactly idiots. Sam checked his gun one more time and felt the pocketknife he'd slipped into his pocket after he'd met with the bartender. He thought briefly back to his time spent in the creepy automatic locking cage and wondered if he should bother bringing his lock pick set. Nah, he'd just shoot the lock out if it was necessary.
Getting out of the car, he closed the door quietly and then snuck up onto the back porch. There were two rocking chairs facing out towards the barn and the cornfield. They looked old and worn. He wondered if these two guys were really farmers or if that was just an act they pulled to cover up their serial killer sides. Sam cringed at the word "killer." He didn't know they were killers for sure. Just because the bodies were never found, that didn't make them killers. They could just be lonely and have everyone locked in a room somewhere. Right?
The porch creaked under Sam's feet and he froze, eyes shifting between all of the visible windows. When he didn't see anyone or anything looking back at him, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves and them pulled open the screen door. To his luck, the backdoor was unlocked and it opened with only minimal squeaking. The inside of the house actually looked nice. Not anything like the last psycho family's house they'd been to. There were decorations made out of cloth and lace and clay instead of skin and hair and teeth. It looked lived in, but also tidy. Sam would have never guessed this house belonged to Lyle and Keith, the two idiots.
The downstairs of the house didn't help Sam at all. There were pictures of both Lyle and Keith on the walls, but other than that, there was nothing that would point to these guys being serial killers, or kidnappers. The upstairs was the same way. Nothing out of the ordinary. No secret room stashing body parts or video tapes or Polaroids. Just an average house. Sam sighed and leaned against the window. God, what if he'd been wrong? What if these guys weren't the ones who took Dean and all those other people? Sam's heart sank at the thought and a lump formed in his throat. He bit back tears that were threatening to come to his eyes. No, he wouldn't give up hope. He was going to find Dean. He had to find Dean.
Leaning his head against the window, Sam looked outside at the Impala. He pictured Dean sitting on the hood, looking up at him and giving him one of those classic Dean Winchester looks. He could just imagine his brother complaining for Sam to hurry up, that he was bored and needed a cheeseburger. A nice big, fat one with bacon and barbeque sauce. And an extra order of fries, with lots of pepper. Sam smiled to himself as he heard Dean's voice inside his head, drooling over the prospect of some greasy food. If he found Dean, he would buy him as many greasy cheeseburgers as he wanted.
Shrugging away from the window, Sam headed back downstairs, intent on going to check out the barn as a last resort. If there was nothing in the barn, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Looking outside one more time to make sure no one had pulled up while he was upstairs, Sam headed out the back and down the steps. He got two steps away from the house before his eyes caught something he hadn't seen when he first showed up. There were a pair of cellar doors off to the side. There was a chain holding them shut. Someone wanted to keep people out of the cellar. So, naturally, Sam wanted to get in.
Jogging to the car, he opened the trunk and found the ax his brother kept there. Sam had always teased him about it. Because honestly, when would they ever need an ax? Besides right now, of course. He walked back to the cellar doors and lined up the weapon, ready for a swing. Three hits later, the chain fell away and Sam threw the ax to the side. He pulled open the cellar doors and paused for just a second, listening for any movement. There wasn't any and he headed down, closing the doors behind him.
It was pitch black in the cellar and Sam had to wait at the base of the stairs as he dug into his pockets, looking for his lighter. Bringing it out, he flicked on the flame and saw a string dangling from the center of the room. Tugging it on, the cellar was suddenly light up brightly and Sam had to shield his eyes for a moment before they adjusted. When they did, Sam's stomach dropped at what he saw.
He'd found himself suddenly caught up in some extreme deja vu. And he didn't like where it was taking him. On the other side of the room there was a table that was littered with candles and incense and medallions and an assortment of other items. There were pictures taped to the wall above the table and crosses were hung upside down in every corner of the room. In the center, right in front of Sam, there was a large symbol painted onto the floor in what Sam assumed was blood. It only took him a second to realize what he was looking at. A black altar. Just like the one SueAnn LeGrange had been using to control the reaper that had healed Dean. Only, judging by the crosses and the symbol on the floor, this one wasn't controlling a reaper. This one was controlling something far more powerful.
"Shit," Sam whispered as he carefully stepped around the symbol and headed over to the altar. He took a closer look at the pictures hanging on the wall. He recognized Piotr Locklyn and a couple of the other missing persons. There wasn't one of Dean, but Sam didn't think it was necessary, because as he looked down at the altar, he saw a familiar looking pendant laying in a small silver dish right in the middle. He practically growled as he fished it out and closed his fist around it. Dean never took this off. Never.
Sam took a deep breath to calm the rage building inside of him and stepped back, ready to kick the altar over. But he paused as he heard the sound of a car pulling up. His eyes widened and he ran towards the cellar door, quietly going up the steps and then pausing, one hand on the door. He listened as a car door opened and closed. It sounded close and he prayed that whoever it was wouldn't see the Impala. But his heart skipped a beat as he realized he'd left the ax and the broken chain right outside the cellar door. Stupid, stupid, he berated himself.
"What the hell?" Came the deep voice from outside and Sam knew that whoever was out there had just found his ax. He turned around and looked for a place to hide. Spotting a table at the far edge of the room, he dashed to the center and flicked the light off. Then he felt his way through the dark over to the table and got down, hoping it would be enough to hide him.
A few seconds later, the cellar doors opened and the lights clicked on. Sam tensed and quietly prayed that he'd get lucky just one more time.
***
Dean slammed the freezer door shut. He put his forehead against it for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to get the images of the skinless, dismembered bodies out of his head. It was probably an impossible task. He'd be thinking about those bodies until he was dead or had Alzheimers. And even then they'd probably find a way to haunt him. Spooks and monsters he could handle. It was the dead things that always got to him.
"Shouldn't we see if...if anyone's still alive?" Alex's voice was shaking and small. Dean rolled his head to eye the teenager. He looked terrified and Dean didn't blame him. Anyone in their right mind would be terrified. Dean was probably the closest to terrified he came these days. He'd been scared shitless a couple of times, most recently when he'd watched his little brother and father being torn away from him by Daevas, but that was a different type of fear. It wasn't often Dean felt fear for himself. And if he did, he usually didn't acknowledge it.
Deciding that it was probably time to take some action, Dean pushed himself away from the freezer and turned to look at the machinery that filled the room. "I'm gonna worry about us still being alive for right now," he said, ignoring the way his own voice shook a bit. He blamed it on the cold. "How long has it been since they fed you?" he asked, walking over to one of the machines. He found some strong structures and started to climb it, towards the hooks. Alex watched with confusion from below.
"I don't know," he answered and Dean grunted, partly from the climb and partly in irritation. "A while."
"Well we're gonna be ready when they come back," he muttered and wrapped a hand around one of the hooks on top of the machine. He yanked on it and hissed when it didn't budge. "Come on," he grit out and pulled again. There was a slight shift and one more yank pulled it from its spot. Dean gave a triumphant sigh and jumped down. "Hold this," he handed it to Alex, who held the hook in his palms like it was precious china. Dean headed to the assembly line and squatted down, looking beneath it. He grinned and gave a quiet, "Here we go," as he found the chain beneath the line, like a bigger version of a bicycle chain.
Alex watched Dean tear the chain off, using brute strength and a few choice swear words, to do so. He licked his lips and said, "How do you know how to do all this stuff?" he asked.
Dean turned his head slightly to look at him, but then continued working on the chain. "Boy Scouts," he answered as the chain came loose, causing him to fall backwards. He pushed himself up and brushed off as he took the hook from Alex.
"Boy Scouts?" Alex asked. "You learned all this in Boy Scouts?"
Dean glanced up at him with a small grin. "Yeah, what do you think they teach you? Basket making?"
That earned a small chuckle from Alex and Dean's smile grew wider. Good to hear the kid laugh. Dean managed to attach the hook onto one end of the chain. He wrapped the other end tightly in his fist and nodded to Alex. "All right, so when they get here, I'm gonna hide down here, you stand right there." He pointed with his chin as he gave the instructions. "You make them come to you. I'll jump them, we'll get out of here, and you'll be watching Regis before you know it."
"Regis?" Alex scoffed and Dean grinned. "I'll be watching CSI."
Dean squatted down on the floor and got into his hiding spot. "Las Vegas or Miami?" he continued the small talk.
"New York," Alex crossed his arms over his chest.
"You're a sick kid, Alex," Dean joked and Alex rolled his eye. He looked as if he were about to retort, but there was a sudden click near the door. Dean's eyes widened. He couldn't believe their timing. Alex looked suddenly terrified again and Dean held a finger to his lips and Alex nodded as he looked away, watching the door as it unlatched and opened. Dean tried to stay as still and quiet as possible, listening to the door and watching Alex try to keep it together. The kid was shaking horribly.
Dean could hear the footsteps, but he frowned as he realized there was only one pair. Hadn't Alex said there were two of them? Plus a third? What if this was the third? Dean gripped the chain in his hand tighter. Well he'd just have to deal with that, now wouldn't he? Either way he was going to kill this bastard and get himself and Alex out of here. Find Sam, let the authorities know about the bodies, and then they were getting the hell out of this state.
"Chow time, boy," the deep voice said. Dean held his breath. He recognized that voice. Though, the last time he'd heard it, there'd been a fist in his eye. So it was the guys from the bar. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe it was time to stop hustling. A day job couldn't hurt, could it? Not worse than this.
"I'm not hungry," Alex said and Dean gave the kid props for sounding so strong. He was liking this kid more and more. A lot smarter than some of the teenagers they came across.
There was a pause. "I didn't ask if you was hungry."
"I'm not going to eat your stupid food!" Alex yelled and stood defiantly for a moment with his fists clenched. "So you can kiss my ass!" he added for good measure. Dean's eyebrows rose at that. He couldn't help but think, you go, girl.
"Boy, I will skin you alive!" the guy shouted and Dean watched Alex's face pale and eyes go wide as they both realized that the guy probably really meant it. Alex took a few steps back and Dean's heart jumped to his throat as he thought the kid would run, but Alex bumped into one of the assembly lines and stopped, his eyes following the guy as he made his way towards him. "You'll learn to keep that mouth of yours shut!" he yelled and Dean heard him coming closer. He braced himself and as soon as he saw the guy's feet come into view, he pushed himself into action.
Things happened pretty fast after that. Dean thought he had the upper hand for a moment as he lashed out at the guy with the barbed hook. He managed to slice the man in the upper arm, but just like before, he realized that this guy was fast. Faster than he should have been. Dean barely had time to turn around and counter his own momentum when he felt a hand clamp around the back of his neck and shove him forward. His forehead hit the assembly line and for a second, he saw stars. It was a second too many as he felt the guy grab the chain in his hand and yank, effectively crushing Dean's hand. He wasn't sure if it was broken, but he didn't have time to think about it as the chain found its way around his neck.
Dean hadn't been expecting to lose control so quickly. He'd landed, what, one blow? One lousy blow. And now the chain was wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air, strangling him? That wasn't very Dean Winchester like. That wasn't Winchester like at all. Especially not since this guy was just an ordinary guy. Sure, he may be demented and twisted, but he was still just a guy. A guy who was pulling the chain tighter and crushing Dean's windpipe, making dots dance in front of his eyes and ears ring and eyes buldge and blood vessels pop.
He tried to reach back and fight. Tried to wrap his fingers in the guy's hair and tug, but he couldn't reach, he couldn't fight, couldn't breathe. He was losing. Losing in a big way. Oh, dammit. Sorry, Sammy, I tried.
Suddenly, Dean heard screaming. Not the kind out of fear, but the kind when someone's getting ready to kick some ass. He was surprised when he realized it was Alex doing the screaming. He felt something collide into them and the chain around his neck loosened. He fell to his knees, unable to stand on his own and tried to suck in air. His throat was slowly opening again and he wondered if there was any damage done. Sure as hell felt like it. But he gasped and gasped and gasped until the air was coming in semi-smoothely. He could hear Alex and the guy scuffling behind him. He could almost hear his father's voice telling him to suck it up and get back in there.
Dean was about to do just that when he heard the sound of someone getting punched, very harshly, and then he heard Alex grunt and cry out. He put a hand to his throat, ignoring the way the skin was sore to the touch, and turned. But when he met Alex's eye, it wasn't what he expected. Alex was staring at him with such fear that it took Dean a moment to realize the fear wasn't directed towards Alex, it was directed towards him. And Dean found out why a second later when there was a sharp, blinding pain in his shoulder. He couldn't help but cry out and the action made his throat burn anew.
There was a tug that nearly sent Dean into unconsciousness, but he managed to shake it away and he looked down at his shoulder, eyes widening as he saw the barbed tip of the hook sticking out of his skin. The hook had gone in near his collar bone on his left shoulder and had twisted so it cam out beneath the bone, effectively hooking into his shoulder in one of the most painful ways Dean had ever experienced. He grit his teeth and sucked in air through his raw throat in an attempt to stay conscious and keep his stomach settled, though neither were really cooperating.
Another tug on the chain had Dean crying out again and he fell backward, forcing his legs to push himself as the chain was pulled. He held onto it with his hands and swore raspy curses as he was half dragged across the floor. When it finally stopped, Dean grit out a few more curses for good measure and listened through the pounding in his ears as the chain was latched to one of the legs of the assembly line. He stayed laying on his back for a moment, willing the pain to go away. He had to close his eyes for a moment when the darkness at the corners of his vision became to much. No, no he would not lose consciousness now. Not if there was a possiblity he'd wake up missing his skin or a body part or two. No fucking way.
A strong kick the side had Dean cursing again and he forced his eyes open to look at the guy standing over him with a grin. Dean just glared at him and would have made some witty retort if his dinner from the previous night weren't creeping it's way back up. The guy just chuckled and turned around. Dean put a hand to the wound on his shoulder and bit his lip so hard that it bled when he accidentally jarred the hook sticking out. Ah hell. Dean's hand came away wet and sticky. He was bleeding pretty bad. "Son of a bitch," he managed to rasp out as he looked at his hand.
"Eat," the man's voice came and Dean couldn't hear Alex's reply, but heard the kid shuffle across the floor and assumed he was finally obeying. A cell phone rang and it made Dean's vision blur for some reason. He closed his eyes and tried to make the room stop spinning. His shoulder was on fire. The sort of pain that could only be described as white hot. Prickling up and down his arm, pinching nerves, lighting his whole body on fire with fever. "Yeah?" the guy answered his phone. After a moment, he said something more that Dean lost among the blood pounding in his ears. Then he heard the guy loud and clear and whatever questions Dean had as to where his little brother was suddenly answered themselves. "Gotta go, boys. Trouble at home."
Fuck, Sammy.
Go to Chapter Five