The Dead Bodies Mean "I Love You" Part III
Masterpost | Part I | Part II
The house is dark when Tamara and Isaac come home. Isaac surprised her with a fancy night out and, slightly tipsy, they laugh their way inside.
“I love you,” Tamara declares, melting in her husband’s arms.
“I love you,” Isaac replies, gently kissing her.
“Well ain’t that sweet.”
Tamara and Isaac both turn, holding onto each other and pulling their guns out. The front room is dark, no light coming down the stairs, none in the kitchen. The couple look at each other and give a slow nod. Isaac makes his way upstairs and Tamara walks through the kitchen.
The house is dark and her eyes haven’t adjusted. Damn that wine for going straight to her head! Tamara shakes her head, hoping it’ll sober her up. It doesn’t work. Still, she walks through the house, gun raised, looking for any sign of movement.
“You really should have gone with your husband,” a voice whispers behind her ear.
She’s turning around when a hand grabs her wrist, twisting it. She shouts and drops the gun. The man in front of her kicks the gun away and takes both her hands in his, trapping them. Tamara’s eyes are starting to adjust and she can see the shadow of a face.
She still recognizes it. Everyone knows this face. Tamara gasps and stops struggling.
“You... you...” she manages, “You’re...”
“Go on,” he grins, the glint of his teeth shining in the darkness. “Say it.”
“Dean Winchester.”
Tamara didn’t expect him to be so handsome, much less have such a charming voice. Suddenly she understands why there’s rarely a break-in at these murders. If Sam is half as charming as his brother, then they could easily slip under the radar. Make the victims feel safe, feel secure.
“Good job,” Dean’s smile grows. “You’re a good cop. You know your stuff.”
“So does my husband,” Tamara says triumphantly.
Isaac comes from the shadows of the dining room and points his gun at the back of Dean’s neck, pulling back the hammer ominously. Dean lets go of Tamara’s hands and slowly lifts his in the air. His eyes glance around the darkened kitchen.
“I take it all back,” Dean says. “You guys suck if you forgot that.”
“Forgot what?” Tamara asks.
“That,” Dean motions with his head.
Tamara turns around and has enough time to see a fist fly. It hits her with enough force to send her flying. Her husband is shouting her name and she picks herself up, wiping the blood away. The tallest man she’s ever seen is standing with a gun in each hand. He gives Dean a look and Dean smiles back.
“Sam!” she groans. How could she forget Sam Winchester? Never one without the other.
“Shut up!” Sam shouts. He turns to Isaac, “Put your gun down.”
“I don’t think so,” Isaac tightens his grip. “Put yours down or I shoot your brother in the head.”
“I’m a quicker draw.”
“You’re willing to risk his life on that?”
“I’m not too worried.”
Dean dives to the side, rolling on the floor and picking up Tamara’s gun, aiming at her. Sam shoots. Tamara screams.
The shot hits Isaac in the shoulder, causing him to drop his gun, but not outright killing him. Seeing a faint but hopeful chance, Tamara rolls to her left, barreling into Sam’s legs, knocking the man right over. She jumps on his chest and starts pounding away at his face. There’s a sharp pain in her side as Dean kicks her, but she’s not getting off Sam.
Faintly, she can hear Isaac and Dean fighting. She hears the sound of glass shattering and furniture breaking. Tamara is too focused on Sam to care. Sam manages to grab her wrists and throw her to the side. She rolls and is on her feet in an instant.
Sam’s two guns are underneath the island. She looks at them, then glances at Sam. He noticed them too. It’s a mad dash. Tamara runs, slides, and manages to get her hand around one. Sam is standing above her and smashes his foot on her hand.
The bones break and she screams. Undaunted, she brings her other hand around to grab the other gun. Her broken hand is in agony but she turns and gets a shot off. It barely grazes his hip, but it’s enough to push Sam back. It’s enough for Dean to go into a frenzy.
Dean screams, loud and long. Tamara thinks it’s Sam’s name but it sounds like the shout of a wounded animal. He jumps on top of Tamara and closes his hands around her throat. Isaac is limping towards Sam, fists held high.
Her vision is blacking out. Spots are flashing in her head and Dean’s got a manic grin on his face. He squeezes tighter, a low chuckle escaping his lips. She’s gasping, kicking her legs, arms pulling on his hands, leaving angry welts. He doesn’t stop.
Tamara’s eyes roll into the back of her head and she passes out.
---
Dean’s mouth is watering just thinking about it. Tamara shot Sam. It’s only a flesh wound, a mere graze, but she shot him and that deserves punishment.
The happy couple are tied together, back to back in their kitchen chairs. Tamara’s broken hand is turning purple and swelling fast. Isaac has a fractured knee and Sam broke his nose, the blood still dripping.
“They’re all yours,” Sam leans down to rest his chin on Dean’s shoulder, hands on his hips. “You can do whatever you want with them.”
“Whatever I want?” Dean repeats, fingers twitching. Sam’s breath is hot over Dean’s cheek as his brother laughs.
“Whatever you want,” Sam whispers. “I’ll keep lookout.”
He leaves, dragging his hand across Dean’s waist. Dean allows himself a small smile and cracks his neck. Tamara and Isaac are both unconscious, giving Dean plenty of time to muse on what he is going to do with them.
Tamara is going to get the worse of it. He knows that much. No one hurts Sam without getting fierce retribution. Isaac, on the other hand. Dean’s not sure what to do with the man. Torturing Tamara would probably hurt him enough. Dean has never seen a couple so in love, so devoted to each other. A pair who would die for each other in an instant, just to protect the other.
Enlightened, Dean picks up the bucket of water and pours it over their heads.
---
Sam loves watching his brother work. Dean was intuitive in a way that left other interrogators, other serial killers, in the dust. He did more than just break a person physically, he knew how to break them emotionally. Dean’s always been able to read people, he’s always had a talent for knowing which buttons to push to get people riled up.
This might be his best work yet.
If it were him, Sam would have started with Tamara. Breaking her fingers, cutting her ear off, maybe a toe or two. Anything to extract revenge. Anyone else would probably have done the same. Maybe beat her to a bloody pulp or shoot her until no one could identify her. Tie her to a bed and burn it to the ground. Lock her in a car and push it into the lake.
Not Dean.
He starts with Isaac. Dean snaps those fingers, breaks an arm or two, and carves into that skin. The entire time Tamara is screaming, shouting, pleading for Dean to stop. To hurt her, leave her husband alone.
“This ring,” Dean lifts Isaac’s left hand. “You got it for him, didn’t you, Tamara?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Do you want it back?”
Without waiting for a response he lifts his knife and cuts the whole finger off. Isaac screams and screams, blood running down his hand. Dean drops the severed finger into Tamara’s lap, the golden ring glinting in the dim light. She shouts and begs, pulling on her bindings, throwing all kinds of curses at Dean.
“Now you listen to me,” Dean grabs her face, effectively silencing her. “You shot my brother, you bitch. Now you have to pay.”
She pulls her face from his hand, “Leave Isaac alone! I shot your brother, hurt me!”
“Aren’t I?” Dean grins, lifting his knife. “Now, Tamara, how do you want him? Filleted? Roasted? Or maybe bled out and smoked. Would you like that?”
“Just leave him alone!” Tamara screams, shaking her chair.
“Then how about my favorite,” Dean smirks. “Quartered.”
Sam laughs and tosses a machete to Dean. Dean rarely gets to dismember his victims, mostly because they never have enough time - the screams would carry and the job would only be half done. This is Dean’s moment, his chance to shine and do whatever makes him happy.
“The best way to do this,” Dean mentions casually, tying a gag around Tamara’s mouth and Isaac’s, “is to start from the bottom and work your way up.”
Not even Tamara’s screams can cover the sound of Dean’s machete cutting through flesh and bone. The soft thunk and splat as the body parts hit the floor. Sam grins eagerly and scoops up the pieces, dropping them one by one in front of Tamara, the blood slicking his hands.
“You sick bastards!” Tamara screams once they pull the gag off. “I’ll kill you. I swear to God I will rip your heart out!”
Dean places the tip of his machete onto Tamara’s chest, blood dripping from the blade.
“Don’t think I wouldn’t do the same,” he growls.
“You wouldn’t dare,” her voice is low.
“No, maybe not,” Dean muses, pulling out a small knife. “But Sam would.”
This is something Sam has been wanting to do for a very long time. Ever since he was little he loved history. Considering the way they grew up, it only made sense that eventually Sam started looking into historical torture and murder.
The Aztecs are his favorite. The way they sacrificed humans to their gods by pulling the heart out, while the victim was still alive. It’s something Sam has always wanted to do. Tamara’s eyes grow wide as she watches Sam take the small knife to her chest.
As far as Sam is concerned, there is no better feeling than holding a beating heart in your hand.
Part IV