PART ONE: You Don’t Know Me
“Who dares to enter my home uninvited!” the demon bellows.
Sam hesitates at the top of the stairs, assessing the situation.
The demon stands below, on the bunker floor, glaring up at him, and although Sam has the advantage of height in both his person and his position, he doesn’t doubt the demon’s ability to overpower him. He’s a little surprised the demon hasn’t already leaped up the stairs to the entryway landing, just to demonstrate his superior strength.
But the demon stays where he is. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, and Sam feels emboldened.
“My name is Sam Winchester. You have my father.”
The demon growls, low in his throat. The sound sends shivers up Sam’s spine.
“Your father was on my land, Sam Winchester. He will pay with his life. I have imprisoned him in my dungeon, where he will stay until his debt is paid.”
Sam takes a sharp breath.
“Take me instead,” he offers impulsively, struggling to control his fear. “Let him go. You can do anything you want with me, just let my father go!”
The demon’s lips curve up in a smirk, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth, conveying haughty disdain more than humor.
“I could take you both,” he muses. “You’ve both trespassed on my land. In my home. I could lock you both in my dungeon until you die.”
“Dad’s old,” Sam says, thinking quickly. “He won’t last long, locked up in a damp dungeon without food or water. I’m young and strong. I would make a much more satisfying prisoner.”
The demon tilts his head again, considering. His eyes sweep down over Sam’s body, taking in his youthful form.
“Very well,” he says, much to Sam’s surprise and relief. “I will allow your father to leave if you will stay in his place. Come. I will take you to him.”
Sam’s legs shake as he descends the stairs to the bunker floor, aware of the demon watching him. He can’t believe his luck. He knows better than to trust the demon; he fully expects the creature is lying, that he intends to keep them both, but he can’t help hoping. He keeps his eyes lowered to avoid the possibility of angering the demon or doing anything that might make him change his mind.
But when Sam reaches the bottom step, the demon only nods and turns, leading the way out of the entryway and into a long corridor.
The corridor twists and turns, and Sam soon loses his way until he’s no longer sure how to get back to the front door of the bunker. He follows the demon down several short flights of stairs until it seems they must be very deep underground.
Finally, the demon stops in front of a door.
“Your father is in here,” he says gruffly. “You have five minutes.”
Sam nods, but the demon has already turned away to open the door. He stands aside as Sam crosses the threshold, then pulls the door closed behind him.
“Sam?”
John Winchester stands near the far wall of the room, under the room’s only air vent. The room is empty except for a pallet on the floor on which a rough blanket lies, flung haphazardly as if covering something hastily when the sound of footsteps approached. A mysterious dim light glows from a corner of the room, illuminating the otherwise dark space.
Sam notes that his father’s belt is missing from around his waist and he understands instantly, huffing out an amused breath.
“Really, Dad? You were trying to break into the air vent?”
John’s jaw clenches.
“Whatever it takes, son, you know that,” John answers. “Not like that demon’s gonna release me out of the goodness of his heart.”
His face falls. “How did he get you, too? Don’t tell me you tried to break me out.”
Sam takes a deep breath. “Actually, I made a deal with him.”
John’s initial surprise turns to anguish as he understands Sam’s words.
“Oh no, Sam, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”
Sam nods grimly. “My life for yours. He agreed. Now, you need to go, Dad, before he changes his mind and keeps us both locked up in here forever.”
“No, Sam.” John shakes his head. “I can’t leave you here. That’s insane! I won’t go!”
“Dad, please,” Sam pleads. “You have to go. He’s letting you go. I’ll be fine. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“How can you know that?”
Sam purses his lips silently, waits for his dad to remember what a freak he is.
John frowns. “You can read its mind,” he states flatly.
Sam doesn’t bother to deny it, even though it’s not strictly true. He senses the demon’s curiosity, nothing more.
Sam’s psychic abilities have always been a bone of contention between father and son, something to be feared because they mark Sam as other than strictly human. Ever since his powers first manifested, when Sam was a small child, John struggled to hide his supernormal abilities, to keep them under wraps. Other hunters can never know, although many have suspected it over the years. Sam and his dad would be outcasts, or worse, hunted.
“Trust me, Dad. I’ll be fine. It’s better this way.”
John’s eyes widen as comprehension dawns. Sam’s not just saving his father. He’s not just sacrificing himself. He’s deliberately locking himself away, for both their sakes.
John can return to his life without the burden of a son whose very existence threatens both their lives.
Sam’s eyes drop. He watches John’s feet as his father steps closer, as he reaches up and clasps the back of Sam’s neck, grabbing hold of his bicep with his other hand.
“You will always be my son.”
Sam nods, struggling with his emotions. He senses his father’s love, but his relief, too. John didn’t plan this, but it’s an outcome he can live with, maybe even feel grateful for.
Sam Winchester, the hunter’s son who was born with supernatural power, might be better off living his life out among his own kind, and they both know it.
“Does it know?” John asks, voice low.
Sam shakes his head, pulls away to avoid collapsing into his father’s arms, begging him to stay, pleading with him not to leave Sam here.
“He thinks I’m human,” Sam says. “Normal.”
“That’s good,” John says. “No telling how it’ll react if it finds out what you really are.”
Sam nods, blinking back tears. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.
They’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The demon’s solid frame fills the doorway, his face in shadow.
“Time to go,” he says gruffly.
Father and son hug briefly, and Sam tries not to cling.
“Remember what I taught you,” John says as he pulls away.
Demons lie, Sam hears, as clearly as if John had said the words aloud.
Sam nods. He swallows thickly as he steps back, as John turns toward the demon. He doesn’t look back.
The demon throws a glance at Sam as he closes the door again, and Sam catches the dark look of triumph and satisfaction in the demon’s eyes.
This has turned out well for him.
//**//**//
Three days pass.
Food and drink magically appear at regular intervals. Empty cups and plates disappear. A pail of fresh water appears and disappears regularly, along with a bucket partially filled with sand, clearly intended for Sam to use as a toilet.
Sam does push-ups, sit-ups, and stretches. He runs in place. He sits and meditates, tells stories in his head to stave off boredom. He starts scratching the days on the wall with his belt buckle.
He doesn’t try to open the air vent, at least partly because he’s certain it would be futile to try to escape that way. Somehow, the demon would know.
On the fourth day, he senses an invisible presence. Sam starts talking to himself, partly to hear a voice, partly because he’s fairly sure the demon is in the room, watching him.
“You know, when my dad gets back home, the other hunters won’t believe him,” he says, imagining the demon listening, watching.
“There’s been a demon occupying this bunker as long as anyone can remember,” Sam goes on. “Other hunters have gone missing in the woods around it, and everybody assumes they ended up here, living their lives out in solitude. Or maybe the demon killed them. Either way, no one ever made it out alive, before my dad.”
Sam waits for a reply, imagining the demon taking in his words, thinking about them. After several minutes, he goes on.
“It must be lonely for you, living here with nobody to talk to. I mean, I guess you could manifest a friend or two for yourself, if you wanted. You’re obviously powerful enough to transport food and water in and out of this room, maybe even yourself.”
Sam lets that sink in for a moment before he goes on.
“I don’t even know your name,” he says finally, surprising himself. He must be losing his mind. He’s giving himself and his only advantage away, just by letting the demon know he can sense him.
When the demon suddenly appears in front of him, Sam gasps but holds his ground.
“Dean,” the demon says, narrowing his eyes. “My name is Dean.”
“Dean,” Sam repeats, almost putting out his hand. Just uttering the word makes the demon seem less imposing. “That’s a human name.”
Dean nods. “I used to be human.”
Sam’s eyebrows go up. “Really. What happened?”
Dean’s eyes narrow again. “You think I’m possessing some poor schmuck,” he accuses. “You think this meat-suit isn’t mine.”
“Is it?” Sam’s more than a little curious, despite his fear. It’s an attractive meat-suit.
“Would you believe me if I told you it is?” Dean counters, blinking so that his eyes turn completely black for a moment.
Demons lie, Sam recalls his father’s reminder.
“Maybe,” he says. “You haven’t exactly given me a reason to trust you.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean’s eyes widen almost comically. “I’ve been feeding you, haven’t I?”
Sam winces. “Maybe you’re just fattening me up before you start torturing me,” he suggests. “Or before you kill me.”
“Is that what you think?” Dean huffs out a breath.
Sam shrugs. “That’s what demons do,” he insists. “They lie, manipulate, corrupt, make deals to steal souls, possess, torture, and kill people.”
“Maybe I’m not like other demons,” Dean says with a smirk. “Maybe I like to make my own rules about what I do, what kind of demon I am.”
“Come on,” Sam scoffs. “You can’t change your basic nature. You are what you are.”
“Just like all humans are kind and generous?” Dean counters. “Just like none of you are killers? None of you get off on torturing monsters?”
Sam winces. “Not all hunters are killers,” he says, but it sounds lame even to his ears. He knows better.
Dean crosses his arms and plants his feet. His smirk grows.
“Your dad tried to exorcise me,” he sneers. “He seemed a little confused when it didn’t work.”
Sam frowns.
“Holy water doesn’t work on me, either,” Dean goes on. “Nor devil’s traps. I’m not an ordinary demon, Sam. You’ve never met a demon like me.”
Sam doesn’t admit that he’s never known a demon who could teleport through walls, or who could transport trays of food and buckets of water, either. Dean’s unusually powerful.
He also seems unusually interested in Sam.
“What did you do to those other hunters?” Sam asks. “Everybody assumes you killed them, or locked them up until they died.”
Dean scoffs. “People believe what they want to believe.”
“But did you?” Sam presses. “Kill them, I mean.”
He’s not entirely sure why it matters, but he’s got a nagging suspicion about Dean, and he wants to see what the demon will say if he persists.
“What do you think?” Dean puffs out his chest, lets his eyes flash black for a moment, but Sam’s not convinced.
“I think you’re very powerful,” he says honestly. “I think you could have transported them out of here. You could’ve just banished them, maybe taken their memories in the process so they couldn’t remember what happened to them or who they were.”
Dean’s eyebrows rise, and Sam gets the impression he’s impressed.
“You’re smarter than the average human,” Dean says. “Perceptive.”
“And you’re not the evil monster everybody thinks you are,” Sam says. “You’ve got everybody fooled.”
The next moment, Sam finds himself slammed against the wall, his feet dangling, Dean’s hand on his throat.
“Don’t underestimate me,” Dean snarls into his face, squeezing until Sam begins to lose consciousness.
The demon releases him just as suddenly as he grabbed him, and Sam sags to the floor, gasping. When he gets his breath back he looks up, hand on his bruised throat.
The room is empty.
//**//**//
The next three days pass much like the first three. Sam’s throat heals, but he doesn’t feel much like talking or attempting to communicate with the demon. Dude’s got a serious temper.
Food and water appear and disappear on schedule, as before. Sam passes the time by telling himself stories, reciting memorized lines of poetry and spells in his head, recalling everything he’s ever read about demons with his photographic memory.
He’s been here over a week now. He’s dirty and sweaty, his clothes clinging to him in uncomfortable places. He needs a shower and shave desperately.
“You could let me use a real bathroom once in a while,” he grumbles petulantly. “If you’re planning to keep me here forever, I mean.”
Dean appears in front of him, looking as cool, clean, and devilishly handsome as ever.
“Anything else, princess?”
Sam clears his throat. “A few books, maybe? To help pass the time. Access to a decent gym. Maybe some sunshine. I’m going to get jaundice in here.”
Dean huffs out an amused chuckle. “You’re so sure you’re just a prisoner here?”
“If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it already,” Sam responds, controlling his fear. “Same with torture.”
He might be bluffing, but he can sense Dean’s interest in him, his curiosity. Possibly attraction, but Sam’s not sure about that.
“Maybe I just haven’t had time,” Dean suggests, gaze darkening, and now Sam feels like he’s being flirted with. “Maybe I’m making plans for you and I’m just letting you stew while I figure them out.”
“If you let me stew much longer, I’m gonna get pretty ripe,” Sam says. “More ripe, anyway.”
“Maybe I like my victims well done,” Dean suggests with a lop-sided grin. His eyes sweep down over Sam’s body.
Now Sam’s sure he’s being flirted with.
“Come on.” Dean gestures toward the door. It opens, and Sam has a wild thought of trying to escape, of pushing past Dean and making a run for it. “I’ll show you the bathroom. Water pressure’s amazing. You’re gonna love it.”
Sam doesn’t hesitate, but he doesn’t run, either. He knows Dean’s powerful enough to stop him, but more than that, he’s curious to find out Dean’s plans for him. He walks ahead of the demon into the corridor, waits as Dean closes the dungeon door, and turns to lead him down the hall, in the opposite direction from the way they had come before.
He tries not to appreciate Dean’s backside and bowlegs, but it’s not easy. Dean might be a demon, but he’s also the most attractive man Sam’s ever seen. He wonders what happened to Dean to turn him into a monster. For the first time, Sam wonders if there might be a way to fix him.
“Here we are,” Dean announces abruptly after they’ve climbed a single flight of steps to another long corridor. Dean stops in front of an open doorway, and Sam can see that the room beyond is a communal bathroom, sinks lining one wall, shower heads opposite, a couple of stalls containing toilets on a third wall beside some urinals. As Sam enters, he finds shelves with folded towels of varying sizes on the wall next to the door, which also sports hooks for hanging clothing and a low bench for undressing. Shaving supplies and soap occupy another shelf.
The room is surprisingly clean and completely empty.
“Just leave your used towels and dirty clothes on the floor,” Dean instructs. “I’ll be back with some clean clothes for you in twenty minutes.”
Sam considers making a run for it again as soon as Dean leaves the room, but he knows he won’t. It’s not just the fear that Dean would recapture him, possibly punish him for trying to leave, although he can’t deny that’s part of it.
Sam’s curiosity about Dean just won’t let him leave. Not yet. He’s too interested in the mystery of a demon who started out human. He has much to learn about the kind of creature Dean is, and he can’t leave until he learns all he can.
Besides, just the idea of a warm shower and a shave stimulates all of his senses, including his psychic ones.
Sam’s not averse to the idea that Dean might pop in to watch him shower, maybe invisibly, which shouldn’t turn Sam on as much as it does, but whatever. However, as he undresses and turns on the shower, he doesn’t sense anyone else in the room. Once he’s under the steady, warm stream of cleansing water, he doesn’t even care. It feels incredibly good to get clean after more than a week in captivity. He luxuriates as he scrubs his skin and scalp, enjoying the feel of the water on his skin more than he can remember ever feeling.
When he turns off the water and reaches for a towel, he finds a neat stack of clean clothes on the bench. He dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist, and pulls shaving tools off the shelf. When he rubs his hand across the steamed-up glass of the mirror, his bearded face stares back at him, clean and flushed. He pulls a comb through his hair, then shaves with the old-fashioned straight-edge razor, only briefly imagining using it as a weapon.
Sam can sense that Dean isn’t afraid of Sam in any way, which means that being attacked by a hunter with a straight-edge razor isn’t exactly something Dean worries about. Dean’s either immortal and heals immediately when wounded, or he’s pretty confident in his ability to dodge any weapon turned against him.
And the truth is, now that escape is no longer Sam’s top goal, he finds his curiosity about Dean increasing by the minute.
He’s just slipped into the clean t-shirt and sweatpants provided when Dean reappears. Dean’s eyes sweep down over Sam’s body with an appreciative smirk before returning to his face, obviously approving of Sam’s clean-shaven visage.
“Nice,” he comments with a low chuckle.
Sam’s insides flip and he struggles not to blush.
“Come on.” Dean gestures for Sam to follow, and Sam does, bare feet slapping against the clean stone floor.
Part of him wants to follow Dean anywhere he cares to lead.
Just down the hall from the bathroom, Dean stops to push open a door. The room beyond contains a double bed, a chest of drawers, an old-fashioned wardrobe, and a small desk with a lamp. There’s also a sink just big enough for shaving and teeth-brushing.
“This is your room,” Dean announces. “There are fresh clothes in the drawers. I still need to dig up some shoes in your size. Your feet look gigantic.”
Sam nods. “Size twelve,” he reports absently.
Dean’s eyebrow goes up and he gives Sam another once-over with his bedroom eyes. “Right.”
Down two more flights of stairs and around another corner, Dean gestures to a door that opens to a large room filled with exercise equipment.
“Gym,” he announces unnecessarily.
After leading the way back up a flight of steps and down a short hallway to an open doorway. Dean gestures up the steep winding staircase beyond.
“Up there, biggest library you ever saw. Knock yourself out.”
Dean turns away, leading down the hall a little further until he comes to the last door.
“And this is the garden,” he says, pushing the door open.
Sam gets a glimpse of a short stone pathway leading between an arched entryway to a garden filled with flowers, herbs, and other good-smelling plants, all open to the night sky. Sam takes a deep breath of the clean, night air. After almost eight days of captivity, he’d forgotten what freedom smelled like. He’d not even known what time of day it was.
“Wow.”
Sam wonders briefly if there’s an escape route through the garden somehow, but he doubts it. He thinks he can see the far wall, off in the distance, shining white under a full moon. There seems to be plenty of lawn space for sunbathing. From here, the garden looks wildly overgrown, and Sam’s hands itch with the desire to bury them in the rich soil.
“Down that hallway and up a flight of stairs gets you to the dining room,” Dean tells Sam, leaving the garden door open. “Dinner’s in one hour. There should be shoes for you in your room.”
Sam stares. “Wait, you’re letting me have the run of the house?”
Dean’s smile is partly mocking, but it’s still damn sexy.
“The bunker’s sealed from the inside,” he says. “Nobody gets out unless I let them out. See you in an hour.”
Sam watches as Dean walks away, wondering why he bothers when he could easily teleport.
Dean knows he has a fine ass and likes Sam to see it. There’s just no other explanation.
Damn him.
Cocky bastard.
Fuck.
NEXT CHAPTER