Where it Hurts, Supernatural, Wincest, Part Three
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Where It Hurts, Part Three(I'm thinking 5 parts total)
Characters/Pairing: Sam, John, Dean, implied Sam/Dean, implied Sam/Other
Rating: NC-17, for graphic violence and sex, rape
Table: #1
Prompt: 092 Trap
Word Count: 3359
Summary: Six months have passed since Sam's ordeal as the prisoner of Kendall Garrett. While John Winchester hunts for the bastard, Dean tries to hold Sam together while Sam slowly sinks under the pressure
Warnings: Very, very Dark Fic. This is a follow on to "The Good Son". The overall story will involve torture and rape. This is Part Three. I'm thinking this will be in 5 or 6 parts.
The first part can be found here
The second part can be found here
This is my eleventh ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
John Winchester pulled into the motel and killed the lights and motor, but didn’t move to get out of the truck. For six months he’d given up the hunt for the demon that took his wife, concentrating instead on the sick fuck that had so damaged his youngest son. Now that he was close, he hesitated briefly.
Garrett was no demon, no ghost. He was human, sick enough, but the urge to kill him sickened a part of him. He was a lot of things, but had never considered himself a murderer. He knew that if…when he caught up with Garrett that would change.
Slowly, John got out of the truck, pulling his duffle bag with him. He stared at the number 9 door where he knew his boys were and sighed. He hadn’t seen Sam since he was still covered in bruises. He hadn’t been able to look at him and not see the images from the video and the only thing he knew to do was to leave and hunt and find Garrett.
Shouldering his bag he moved to the door, knocking lightly. Dean opened the door and nodded, stepping aside to admit his father. John clapped a hand to his shoulder in greeting, his eyes sweeping the motel room. Sam was asleep, curled up on his side on one of the beds. John cringed as his eyes moved over his still form, suppressed the need to check and make sure he was still breathing.
Instead he turned to Dean, his eyes dark and dangerous, defensive. “What do you have?”
Dean sagged a little, and he gestured with his chin to the computer. “Not a lot. I ran a check on the phone number he called Sam from. It’s a house in the Northeast side of town. According to public records it’s owned by a Roberto Mendoza and it’s a rental property.”
“Any ties to Garrett?”
Dean shook his head. “None. The most current renter was a man named Justin Samuels. I think he’s the body they found downtown just before we hit town.”
John pulled a chair closer to the computer. “Anything else?”
Dean switched screens. “I think he’s taunting us. I found business records in the name of Garrett Kendall.”
John looked at his son incredulously. “He can’t be that stupid.”
“I don’t think its stupid. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.” Dean turned to face his father. “He knows a lot about us. From the little Sam has said, he used it to torment him. He knew who I was when I took the phone from Sam.”
“Dad?” Sam’s voice was filled with sleep as he half sat up, rubbing at his eyes.
John’s face softened and he smiled. “Hey Sam.”
“When did you get here?”
“Just.” John stood and crossed to the bed. “How are you doing?”
Sam nodded and shifted so he was on his back. “I’m…fine.”
John’s eyes tracked the bare skin exposed as the blankets shifted, marking the signs of his son’s torment. He tried to keep the memory out of his eyes, but he knew Sam saw it. The image of Sam being raped, his body bleeding and broken snapped into his mind and John had to close his eyes. He could almost feel Sam grow cold as he saw it in his face and John’s breath hitched.
Falling to his knees beside the bed, John closed a hand over one of Sam’s pulling it to his chest and holding it until Sam looked up. John met his eyes fiercely, his free hand moving to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “You need a haircut,” he said softly with a smile.
Sam smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know. Dean keeps saying the same thing.”
John nodded, glancing over his shoulder to where Dean was wisely staying out of the conversation. “I’ve missed you.” John said softly. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Sam shook his head. “No. I needed…time.”
“We’re going to get this guy Sam.”
Sam nodded, pulling his hand free. John let it go, though it hurt. “I’m going to grab a shower.” Sam said, pulling himself up and bringing the sheet with him.
When the bathroom door had shut, Dean crossed to his father’s side. “Don’t let that get to you Dad. Its not you, it’s the size of your hands.”
John looked down at his hands and up at his oldest son. “Mine are smaller and sometimes he still reacts that way sometimes. Yours are the same size as Garrett’s.”
John wiped his hands against his jeans, as if that thought offended him, that any part of him might resemble the man who had hurt Sam. “Where are these businesses?”
The tone in his voice had changed, and Dean switched from concerned brother to dutiful son accordingly, moving back to the computer. “Downtown. There’s an office building near the Grand hotel. He has an office there.”
Dean pulled up pictures of the building. “The first floor is all lobby, with a reception area here.” He swept his finger across the screen, then switched to a different picture. “There’s a coffee shop here, it’s got the most cover. And on this end there’s a newsstand. We should be able to set up a three way surveillance of the lobby to catch him.”
John glanced toward the bathroom even though the water was still running. “Is it wise taking Sam in there?”
Dean shook his head. “No. But do you want to leave him alone here? Either way it’s a trap.” He didn’t look at his father as he switched the screens back to the picture of the building. “I’d rather have him where I can see him.”
John nodded then turned to sit on the bed. He was tired. He hadn’t realized how much. “Tomorrow morning. We find him and track him to someplace more private.”
It was Dean’s turn to nod, closing the computer. “And then we kill him.”
“Painfully.”
Sam sat uncomfortably at a table in the coffee shop, a newspaper in his lap and a cup of mocha in his hand. He could see Dean, leaning against the wall to his right, across the lobby, half hidden behind a newspaper and a plant. To his left, his father was better hidden, kneeling at the shoe shine stand, carefully polishing some businessman’s shoes.
Sam was nestled close to the counter, his back to the wall, with the entrance to the courtyard to his left, so that he could see most of the lobby, but he felt more exposed there, almost as if there was a beacon declaring his presence. He scrunched his shoulders and slouched a little lower in the uncomfortable iron chair.
They had risen in silence that morning, gathering belongings and loading up their vehicles, as though preparing to run. His father hadn’t looked at him, and Sam could feel the hurt hanging off of him, could see the reflected memory of what Garrett had left for him to find in his face. It was little wonder he couldn’t look Sam in the eye.
Sam’s eyes slipped over the faces around them, men and women moving about their daily business, oblivious to the three men who watched and waited. He made eye contact with Dean, seeking reassurance. Dean’s smile was sly and it made Sam blush.
“Hello Sam.”
Sam’s face froze, his eyes locked on Dean’s. The voice was nearby, close, and somehow behind him. Sam’s breathing grew rapid and he tried to make the fear in his eyes reach Dean. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak a hand descended on his shoulder. “If you don’t want him to die, you won’t.”
Sam tried to turn, and fingers tightened on his shoulder. “Don’t turn around. Sit and be still.”
Garrett had to have come in from the courtyard behind the coffee shop, the only spot that Sam knew Dean couldn’t see from his position. He saw a question in Dean’s eyes and he exhaled slowly. He couldn’t panic. He swallowed. “What do you want?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted, Sam. I want you.”
“I don’t…I don’t belong to you.”
The fingers tightened again, and pain lanced through the shoulder, memory of the popping as it dislocated filling him. “Mine, Sam. Mine forever.”
Sam dared a glance toward his father, but he was bent over a foot, finishing his shine with a flourish. His eyes stole back to Dean. “I will kill him, Sam. Before he could take a single step toward you.”
Sam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Obviously you planned this little trap. What comes next?” His voice was harsh, anger creeping in from under his fear.
“Such insolence, Sam. I suggest you mind your tongue. You remember what punishment feels like.”
Sam paled a little but clenched his jaw as if he could bite off the terror bubbling inside of him. He could almost feel the lash, the bat, the riding crop. There were more, he’s sure, but they fade under the pain caused by those. He didn’t speak, only laid his hands in his lap as a sign of submission.
“That’s better. I’m going to give you a choice, Sam. In just a few minutes, I’m going to go. A few minutes later, a limo is going to pull up out front. You will go out and get into it. Inside will be a blindfold. You will put it on. You will willingly take the limo ride to where I will be waiting for you. You will willingly come to me, and kneel and offer yourself to me.”
“Where’s the choice?” Sam asked in a hushed breath, painfully aware that Dean was now staring at him. He wasn’t sure if his brother could see the hand on his shoulder, but he could see Sam was in distress. Any minute he was going to blow his cover and come over to Sam…and Sam had no doubt that Garrett would kill him.
“If you choose not to do as you are told, that limo will explode, with enough force to bring down this entire building, and maybe the two adjacent to it. Hundreds of people will die. The communications infrastructure in this town will go dark. Your brother will be on the front lines, dead in an instant.”
Sam swallowed. He dragged his eyes away from Dean’s. “That’s not much of a choice.”
The hand squeezed on his shoulder and then was gone. Sam waited a few seconds before turning around, not really expecting to find him there. His body was tight, his legs numb. He had to move. He had to find a way to move. His eyes moved up to Dean’s, and he nodded slowly. Let him know you’re all right, Sam, he said to himself, even as he pulled a pen out of his back pocket.
Folding his newspaper, Sam scribbled a note in its margins and casually, or what he hoped was casually, rose from the table, ambling toward the front doors to sweep the street for signs of the limo. He didn’t know how much time he had, and he knew he could never go to Dean with what he was thinking. Dean would forbid it.
His father though, he would understand. And, Sam got the impression that Garrett didn’t know the elder Winchester was there. Sam stepped up on the shoe shine stand, sitting down and putting his booted foot on the step. John didn’t miss a beat, making small talk as he set about working on the boot.
“He was here.” Sam said softly, his eyes tracking the room and looking for Dean. He had shifted his position so that he could see them. “He wants me to go to him, or he’ll bring down the building.”
John’s pause was miniscule, his eyes darting up to Sam’s. Sam swallowed his panic. “I wrote down everything he said. When the limo comes, I’m going. Be ready.” He didn’t need to add the rest, the pleading to follow. “He knows Dean. He’s threatened to kill him.” Sam put the newspaper on the seat next to him and pulled out a dollar from a pocket. As he rose, he put the money in his father’s hand, and John held to him for the briefest second, squeezing his hand before letting him go.
Sam was nearly back to the front doors of the building, the limo pulling up just as Garrett had said when he turned, looking for his brother. He wasn’t in his place, not the one he’d started in or the one he’d moved to. Sam turned around, looking desperately. He noticed his father was standing too, looking. The limo driver stepped out and opened the door.
Sam couldn’t move. He wanted to scream his brother’s name, wanted him to emerge from the bathroom door in the far corner or poke his head out from behind the potted palm. I will kill him, Sam
With a cry of emotion too deep to name, Sam pushed himself out the door and stumbled toward the limo, falling into its dark interior. The driver shut the door and Sam’s heart thumped against his chest. Dean couldn’t have just walked away.
Garrett had known their father was there all along. Had known that Sam would go to him. Had known that making John choose between his sons was the only way he’d get Sam away from them. His stomach churned. He’d chosen, he’d walked into the trap with his eyes wide open. Garrett had taken Dean. Garrett had Dean. And now he had Sam too, as the limo pulled out and the doors locked. One last look out the window and Sam saw his father, moving fast. Whether he’d be fast enough or not…
Dean’s first indication that something was wrong was the feeling that he was floating….no, not floating…hanging. His arms were stretched above his head, bound tightly, almost cutting off the circulation. His head lolled forward on a neck that didn’t seem capable of supporting it.
He clenched his jaw, and found a gag between his teeth. His eyes were covered.
Garrett.
Memory rushed back. Sam looking distressed, his eyes desperate, pleading. Sam breaking cover and crossing the lobby, obviously communicating with their father. Dean had moved to his secondary position, where he could see his father’s position more closely. The world had tipped out from under him, a hand over his mouth, and darkness.
Dean cussed into the gag and tested the limits of his bonds, not that he expected much. He remember what it had taken to get Sam free. Garrett knew what he was doing.
“I’m afraid these accommodations aren’t as…comfortable as the place in Palo Alto. Not that it matters for you.”
The voice was close by. Dean thrashed about, attempting to connect. Laughter filled the room and a hand grabbed Dean’s chin. “Stop. You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Dean yelled wordlessly in frustration and rage. “I told you to be nicer to me. Now you understand why.” The voice was near his ear. A hand was on his lower back. “You’ve seen what I do with those who aren’t my Sam. I shouldn’t need to remind you that you aren’t him.”
Dean stilled warily. The rage still pounded through him, but getting himself killed wasn’t going to help Sam. “This is your own fault, you know,” the voice said. “Your arrogance, your pride.” The hand slid up his back and Dean realized for the first time that he was naked, just like Sam. The implications had him pulling on the bindings that held his wrists again. “I knew you wouldn’t leave him at the motel alone. You’d want him where you could see him, where you could control him.”
The hand was on his shoulder now, joined by a second one, circling his neck. Thumbs pressed against his throat. “So arrogant, thought you could keep him from me, didn’t you? You and your daddy. But Sam is mine. Sam knows it now. He’s on his way here. He chose to get into the limo. He walked away from your father. He walked away from you, from the idea of you. He’s mine.”
Dean struggled against the pressure Garrett was applying to his throat, but he didn’t have any leverage and he could feel himself blacking out. In a final act of defiance, he kicked his leg out, connecting with something soft, but solid before the blackness took him under.
“Hello again Sam.”
Sam tore his head up from his hands. The small TV monitor in front of him flickered to life. “I can see that you haven’t followed your instructions. Perhaps I can give you some incentive. The shadowy image shifted, a bright light filled a room and the camera zoomed in on a figure hanging by its wrists. Sam could see bruises already forming on Dean’s throat.
“Now, your brother’s life is in your hands, Sam. Do as you are told. As long as you do, he lives.”
Sam’s fingers shook as he raised them to stroke the cold screen, touching Dean’s face. He chewed his lip. All his life Dean had done the impossible to keep him safe, to rescue him.
“Put the blindfold on Sam.”
Sam hesitated only a second, then lifted the black cloth on the seat beside him. His eyes never left Dean’s face as he raised the blindfold and placed it over his eyes, tying it once behind his head.
“When the car comes to a stop, you will be lifted out of the car and put in a wheelchair. You are to do nothing. You are not to speak or touch anything. You will be brought to your new room. You will not get out of the chair. You will not move.”
Sam nodded, pressing his lips together and breathing heavily through his nose. “That’s my good boy, Sam. We will be together soon. Very soon.”
John sat in his truck and gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He’d made the truck in good time, could still see the limo, and as he climbed in, determined to follow, he’d found a creamy white envelope taped to his steering wheel.
If you follow Sam, the limo will explode. If you hunt for the other son, I will kill him and leave his mutilated body in your motel bed. If you get out of the truck in the next hour, it will explode. You sit there and realize that you just sacrificed your two boys to the monster. Ask yourself what kind of father does that. If it helps, I will love Sam forever. You can take that with you. If Sam behaves, maybe I’ll give you the other one back. Then again, I’ve come to like the killing. Perhaps I’ll let Sam watch.
In the envelope with the letter were pictures, Sam has he’d been when Dean had found him; Dean, bound and gagged.
Twenty minutes had passed. He hadn’t moved. John didn’t know whether to trust the note or not, but he had learned enough about this bastard to know he liked causing pain and that this was his show, right from the beginning. He’d let his emotion walk them right into the trap. His desire to avenge Sam, to make it right had led his sons into Garrett’s sick, sadistic hands.
Fury burned through him as he twisted his hands around the steering wheel. He’d lost his only lead when the limo had disappeared from view. Sweat dripped off of him and he let his eyes drift to the newspaper Sam had left him. Sam’s sloppy notes filled the margin, his letters cramped with the fear and hurry. Sam had given himself up to save lives. He’d seen the horror in his eyes, he knew what awaited him, and yet he’d gotten up and walked out that door.
John’s stomach twisted as tears fell from his dark eyes. He had never seen that strength in Sam before. In some way, it offered him some hope.
Next Part Here
Title: Where It Hurts, Part Three(I'm thinking 5 parts total)
Characters/Pairing: Sam, John, Dean, implied Sam/Dean, implied Sam/Other
Rating: NC-17, for graphic violence and sex, rape
Table: #1
Prompt: 092 Trap
Word Count: 3359
Summary: Six months have passed since Sam's ordeal as the prisoner of Kendall Garrett. While John Winchester hunts for the bastard, Dean tries to hold Sam together while Sam slowly sinks under the pressure
Warnings: Very, very Dark Fic. This is a follow on to "The Good Son". The overall story will involve torture and rape. This is Part Three. I'm thinking this will be in 5 or 6 parts.
The first part can be found here
The second part can be found here
This is my eleventh ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
John Winchester pulled into the motel and killed the lights and motor, but didn’t move to get out of the truck. For six months he’d given up the hunt for the demon that took his wife, concentrating instead on the sick fuck that had so damaged his youngest son. Now that he was close, he hesitated briefly.
Garrett was no demon, no ghost. He was human, sick enough, but the urge to kill him sickened a part of him. He was a lot of things, but had never considered himself a murderer. He knew that if…when he caught up with Garrett that would change.
Slowly, John got out of the truck, pulling his duffle bag with him. He stared at the number 9 door where he knew his boys were and sighed. He hadn’t seen Sam since he was still covered in bruises. He hadn’t been able to look at him and not see the images from the video and the only thing he knew to do was to leave and hunt and find Garrett.
Shouldering his bag he moved to the door, knocking lightly. Dean opened the door and nodded, stepping aside to admit his father. John clapped a hand to his shoulder in greeting, his eyes sweeping the motel room. Sam was asleep, curled up on his side on one of the beds. John cringed as his eyes moved over his still form, suppressed the need to check and make sure he was still breathing.
Instead he turned to Dean, his eyes dark and dangerous, defensive. “What do you have?”
Dean sagged a little, and he gestured with his chin to the computer. “Not a lot. I ran a check on the phone number he called Sam from. It’s a house in the Northeast side of town. According to public records it’s owned by a Roberto Mendoza and it’s a rental property.”
“Any ties to Garrett?”
Dean shook his head. “None. The most current renter was a man named Justin Samuels. I think he’s the body they found downtown just before we hit town.”
John pulled a chair closer to the computer. “Anything else?”
Dean switched screens. “I think he’s taunting us. I found business records in the name of Garrett Kendall.”
John looked at his son incredulously. “He can’t be that stupid.”
“I don’t think its stupid. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.” Dean turned to face his father. “He knows a lot about us. From the little Sam has said, he used it to torment him. He knew who I was when I took the phone from Sam.”
“Dad?” Sam’s voice was filled with sleep as he half sat up, rubbing at his eyes.
John’s face softened and he smiled. “Hey Sam.”
“When did you get here?”
“Just.” John stood and crossed to the bed. “How are you doing?”
Sam nodded and shifted so he was on his back. “I’m…fine.”
John’s eyes tracked the bare skin exposed as the blankets shifted, marking the signs of his son’s torment. He tried to keep the memory out of his eyes, but he knew Sam saw it. The image of Sam being raped, his body bleeding and broken snapped into his mind and John had to close his eyes. He could almost feel Sam grow cold as he saw it in his face and John’s breath hitched.
Falling to his knees beside the bed, John closed a hand over one of Sam’s pulling it to his chest and holding it until Sam looked up. John met his eyes fiercely, his free hand moving to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “You need a haircut,” he said softly with a smile.
Sam smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know. Dean keeps saying the same thing.”
John nodded, glancing over his shoulder to where Dean was wisely staying out of the conversation. “I’ve missed you.” John said softly. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Sam shook his head. “No. I needed…time.”
“We’re going to get this guy Sam.”
Sam nodded, pulling his hand free. John let it go, though it hurt. “I’m going to grab a shower.” Sam said, pulling himself up and bringing the sheet with him.
When the bathroom door had shut, Dean crossed to his father’s side. “Don’t let that get to you Dad. Its not you, it’s the size of your hands.”
John looked down at his hands and up at his oldest son. “Mine are smaller and sometimes he still reacts that way sometimes. Yours are the same size as Garrett’s.”
John wiped his hands against his jeans, as if that thought offended him, that any part of him might resemble the man who had hurt Sam. “Where are these businesses?”
The tone in his voice had changed, and Dean switched from concerned brother to dutiful son accordingly, moving back to the computer. “Downtown. There’s an office building near the Grand hotel. He has an office there.”
Dean pulled up pictures of the building. “The first floor is all lobby, with a reception area here.” He swept his finger across the screen, then switched to a different picture. “There’s a coffee shop here, it’s got the most cover. And on this end there’s a newsstand. We should be able to set up a three way surveillance of the lobby to catch him.”
John glanced toward the bathroom even though the water was still running. “Is it wise taking Sam in there?”
Dean shook his head. “No. But do you want to leave him alone here? Either way it’s a trap.” He didn’t look at his father as he switched the screens back to the picture of the building. “I’d rather have him where I can see him.”
John nodded then turned to sit on the bed. He was tired. He hadn’t realized how much. “Tomorrow morning. We find him and track him to someplace more private.”
It was Dean’s turn to nod, closing the computer. “And then we kill him.”
“Painfully.”
Sam sat uncomfortably at a table in the coffee shop, a newspaper in his lap and a cup of mocha in his hand. He could see Dean, leaning against the wall to his right, across the lobby, half hidden behind a newspaper and a plant. To his left, his father was better hidden, kneeling at the shoe shine stand, carefully polishing some businessman’s shoes.
Sam was nestled close to the counter, his back to the wall, with the entrance to the courtyard to his left, so that he could see most of the lobby, but he felt more exposed there, almost as if there was a beacon declaring his presence. He scrunched his shoulders and slouched a little lower in the uncomfortable iron chair.
They had risen in silence that morning, gathering belongings and loading up their vehicles, as though preparing to run. His father hadn’t looked at him, and Sam could feel the hurt hanging off of him, could see the reflected memory of what Garrett had left for him to find in his face. It was little wonder he couldn’t look Sam in the eye.
Sam’s eyes slipped over the faces around them, men and women moving about their daily business, oblivious to the three men who watched and waited. He made eye contact with Dean, seeking reassurance. Dean’s smile was sly and it made Sam blush.
“Hello Sam.”
Sam’s face froze, his eyes locked on Dean’s. The voice was nearby, close, and somehow behind him. Sam’s breathing grew rapid and he tried to make the fear in his eyes reach Dean. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak a hand descended on his shoulder. “If you don’t want him to die, you won’t.”
Sam tried to turn, and fingers tightened on his shoulder. “Don’t turn around. Sit and be still.”
Garrett had to have come in from the courtyard behind the coffee shop, the only spot that Sam knew Dean couldn’t see from his position. He saw a question in Dean’s eyes and he exhaled slowly. He couldn’t panic. He swallowed. “What do you want?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted, Sam. I want you.”
“I don’t…I don’t belong to you.”
The fingers tightened again, and pain lanced through the shoulder, memory of the popping as it dislocated filling him. “Mine, Sam. Mine forever.”
Sam dared a glance toward his father, but he was bent over a foot, finishing his shine with a flourish. His eyes stole back to Dean. “I will kill him, Sam. Before he could take a single step toward you.”
Sam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Obviously you planned this little trap. What comes next?” His voice was harsh, anger creeping in from under his fear.
“Such insolence, Sam. I suggest you mind your tongue. You remember what punishment feels like.”
Sam paled a little but clenched his jaw as if he could bite off the terror bubbling inside of him. He could almost feel the lash, the bat, the riding crop. There were more, he’s sure, but they fade under the pain caused by those. He didn’t speak, only laid his hands in his lap as a sign of submission.
“That’s better. I’m going to give you a choice, Sam. In just a few minutes, I’m going to go. A few minutes later, a limo is going to pull up out front. You will go out and get into it. Inside will be a blindfold. You will put it on. You will willingly take the limo ride to where I will be waiting for you. You will willingly come to me, and kneel and offer yourself to me.”
“Where’s the choice?” Sam asked in a hushed breath, painfully aware that Dean was now staring at him. He wasn’t sure if his brother could see the hand on his shoulder, but he could see Sam was in distress. Any minute he was going to blow his cover and come over to Sam…and Sam had no doubt that Garrett would kill him.
“If you choose not to do as you are told, that limo will explode, with enough force to bring down this entire building, and maybe the two adjacent to it. Hundreds of people will die. The communications infrastructure in this town will go dark. Your brother will be on the front lines, dead in an instant.”
Sam swallowed. He dragged his eyes away from Dean’s. “That’s not much of a choice.”
The hand squeezed on his shoulder and then was gone. Sam waited a few seconds before turning around, not really expecting to find him there. His body was tight, his legs numb. He had to move. He had to find a way to move. His eyes moved up to Dean’s, and he nodded slowly. Let him know you’re all right, Sam, he said to himself, even as he pulled a pen out of his back pocket.
Folding his newspaper, Sam scribbled a note in its margins and casually, or what he hoped was casually, rose from the table, ambling toward the front doors to sweep the street for signs of the limo. He didn’t know how much time he had, and he knew he could never go to Dean with what he was thinking. Dean would forbid it.
His father though, he would understand. And, Sam got the impression that Garrett didn’t know the elder Winchester was there. Sam stepped up on the shoe shine stand, sitting down and putting his booted foot on the step. John didn’t miss a beat, making small talk as he set about working on the boot.
“He was here.” Sam said softly, his eyes tracking the room and looking for Dean. He had shifted his position so that he could see them. “He wants me to go to him, or he’ll bring down the building.”
John’s pause was miniscule, his eyes darting up to Sam’s. Sam swallowed his panic. “I wrote down everything he said. When the limo comes, I’m going. Be ready.” He didn’t need to add the rest, the pleading to follow. “He knows Dean. He’s threatened to kill him.” Sam put the newspaper on the seat next to him and pulled out a dollar from a pocket. As he rose, he put the money in his father’s hand, and John held to him for the briefest second, squeezing his hand before letting him go.
Sam was nearly back to the front doors of the building, the limo pulling up just as Garrett had said when he turned, looking for his brother. He wasn’t in his place, not the one he’d started in or the one he’d moved to. Sam turned around, looking desperately. He noticed his father was standing too, looking. The limo driver stepped out and opened the door.
Sam couldn’t move. He wanted to scream his brother’s name, wanted him to emerge from the bathroom door in the far corner or poke his head out from behind the potted palm. I will kill him, Sam
With a cry of emotion too deep to name, Sam pushed himself out the door and stumbled toward the limo, falling into its dark interior. The driver shut the door and Sam’s heart thumped against his chest. Dean couldn’t have just walked away.
Garrett had known their father was there all along. Had known that Sam would go to him. Had known that making John choose between his sons was the only way he’d get Sam away from them. His stomach churned. He’d chosen, he’d walked into the trap with his eyes wide open. Garrett had taken Dean. Garrett had Dean. And now he had Sam too, as the limo pulled out and the doors locked. One last look out the window and Sam saw his father, moving fast. Whether he’d be fast enough or not…
Dean’s first indication that something was wrong was the feeling that he was floating….no, not floating…hanging. His arms were stretched above his head, bound tightly, almost cutting off the circulation. His head lolled forward on a neck that didn’t seem capable of supporting it.
He clenched his jaw, and found a gag between his teeth. His eyes were covered.
Garrett.
Memory rushed back. Sam looking distressed, his eyes desperate, pleading. Sam breaking cover and crossing the lobby, obviously communicating with their father. Dean had moved to his secondary position, where he could see his father’s position more closely. The world had tipped out from under him, a hand over his mouth, and darkness.
Dean cussed into the gag and tested the limits of his bonds, not that he expected much. He remember what it had taken to get Sam free. Garrett knew what he was doing.
“I’m afraid these accommodations aren’t as…comfortable as the place in Palo Alto. Not that it matters for you.”
The voice was close by. Dean thrashed about, attempting to connect. Laughter filled the room and a hand grabbed Dean’s chin. “Stop. You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Dean yelled wordlessly in frustration and rage. “I told you to be nicer to me. Now you understand why.” The voice was near his ear. A hand was on his lower back. “You’ve seen what I do with those who aren’t my Sam. I shouldn’t need to remind you that you aren’t him.”
Dean stilled warily. The rage still pounded through him, but getting himself killed wasn’t going to help Sam. “This is your own fault, you know,” the voice said. “Your arrogance, your pride.” The hand slid up his back and Dean realized for the first time that he was naked, just like Sam. The implications had him pulling on the bindings that held his wrists again. “I knew you wouldn’t leave him at the motel alone. You’d want him where you could see him, where you could control him.”
The hand was on his shoulder now, joined by a second one, circling his neck. Thumbs pressed against his throat. “So arrogant, thought you could keep him from me, didn’t you? You and your daddy. But Sam is mine. Sam knows it now. He’s on his way here. He chose to get into the limo. He walked away from your father. He walked away from you, from the idea of you. He’s mine.”
Dean struggled against the pressure Garrett was applying to his throat, but he didn’t have any leverage and he could feel himself blacking out. In a final act of defiance, he kicked his leg out, connecting with something soft, but solid before the blackness took him under.
“Hello again Sam.”
Sam tore his head up from his hands. The small TV monitor in front of him flickered to life. “I can see that you haven’t followed your instructions. Perhaps I can give you some incentive. The shadowy image shifted, a bright light filled a room and the camera zoomed in on a figure hanging by its wrists. Sam could see bruises already forming on Dean’s throat.
“Now, your brother’s life is in your hands, Sam. Do as you are told. As long as you do, he lives.”
Sam’s fingers shook as he raised them to stroke the cold screen, touching Dean’s face. He chewed his lip. All his life Dean had done the impossible to keep him safe, to rescue him.
“Put the blindfold on Sam.”
Sam hesitated only a second, then lifted the black cloth on the seat beside him. His eyes never left Dean’s face as he raised the blindfold and placed it over his eyes, tying it once behind his head.
“When the car comes to a stop, you will be lifted out of the car and put in a wheelchair. You are to do nothing. You are not to speak or touch anything. You will be brought to your new room. You will not get out of the chair. You will not move.”
Sam nodded, pressing his lips together and breathing heavily through his nose. “That’s my good boy, Sam. We will be together soon. Very soon.”
John sat in his truck and gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He’d made the truck in good time, could still see the limo, and as he climbed in, determined to follow, he’d found a creamy white envelope taped to his steering wheel.
If you follow Sam, the limo will explode. If you hunt for the other son, I will kill him and leave his mutilated body in your motel bed. If you get out of the truck in the next hour, it will explode. You sit there and realize that you just sacrificed your two boys to the monster. Ask yourself what kind of father does that. If it helps, I will love Sam forever. You can take that with you. If Sam behaves, maybe I’ll give you the other one back. Then again, I’ve come to like the killing. Perhaps I’ll let Sam watch.
In the envelope with the letter were pictures, Sam has he’d been when Dean had found him; Dean, bound and gagged.
Twenty minutes had passed. He hadn’t moved. John didn’t know whether to trust the note or not, but he had learned enough about this bastard to know he liked causing pain and that this was his show, right from the beginning. He’d let his emotion walk them right into the trap. His desire to avenge Sam, to make it right had led his sons into Garrett’s sick, sadistic hands.
Fury burned through him as he twisted his hands around the steering wheel. He’d lost his only lead when the limo had disappeared from view. Sweat dripped off of him and he let his eyes drift to the newspaper Sam had left him. Sam’s sloppy notes filled the margin, his letters cramped with the fear and hurry. Sam had given himself up to save lives. He’d seen the horror in his eyes, he knew what awaited him, and yet he’d gotten up and walked out that door.
John’s stomach twisted as tears fell from his dark eyes. He had never seen that strength in Sam before. In some way, it offered him some hope.
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