For All I Know 2/4
Title: For All I know Chapter 2
Genre: Gen - H/C
Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC's
Length: 2/4
Summary: Sam and Dean get kidnapped and imprisoned, together...but apart.
Rating: R - for blood/gore/swearing. Beware people.
*
*
Sam braced himself.
They locked eyes - anticipating the others first move.
The tension sparked between them. The demon seemed to hesitate for a nano beat before launching himself at Sam, all teeth and rage. A rabid dog with it’s back against the wall and an audience to entertain. Dean swallowed back the fear that balled in his throat.
Sam successfully dodged the first few jabs and grabs but his attacker was reckless - a man truly possessed. A series of punches slammed into Sam’s ribs, already tender from his previous beating and he pulled himself into a protective crouch. A stealthy kick and the demon was brought down - Sam tried to flip him over onto his face, but cat-like reactions beat the young hunter too it and he was soon pummelling Sam’s head and neck with killer punches.
“Fulmer!” Dean screamed over the noise. He kicked at the fence in utter frustration but he couldn’t keep his eyes from the fight. Fulmer and Figgis remained, mesmerised. Fulmer’s mouth twisting into a baiting mantra under his breath, Figgis hugging himself like a child.
Sam completed a well aimed head slam into the demon’s face, and he fell back against the wire, a tangle of arms and legs, allowing Sam to stand up.
“Come on!” Fulmer roared at him suddenly, his eyes focussed on the demon shaking himself back to reality. “Kill him...kill him now!” Figgis sniggered into his hands, his eyes wide and expectant.
With an accompanying scream, the demon ran at Sam, forcing him back against a stack of wooden pallets one of which shattered into large splinters. And Sam was fighting, he really was, each swing connecting with bone crushing accuracy - the demon merely shaking off each one. Sam slammed a well aimed piece of wood into the demon’s neck, the shock of it throwing him back against the wire fence. Another few seconds to collect himself, Sam tried to stand up straight, holding his right side in pain.
How long could this last? Dean asked himself. Sam was exhausted and injured and no match for a well fed human, let alone a super charged demon. He licked his lips and strained against the wire for a better view.
“Sam..!”
Sam’s eyes flicked over towards his brother, the strain of the fight clearly showing in his reddened features. His chest heaving with the effort to suck in more stale air, he watched the demon pull himself up again.
“Sam! Dean shouted. Sam’s face clouded over, his eyes darting towards his brother in the next cage. Dean hesitated. If Sam pulled the demon, he’d only be doing what the Backhouse’s wanted. A puppet on a string, and for how long. But if he kept on trying to defend himself, he’d eventually fail, and they’d only be watching the tragic and violent death of Sam Winchester. Dean shook his head, not wanting to hear himself say it.
“Just do it,” he mouthed, the sound of Figgis’ sniggering in the back ground grating on his every nerve. With one nod, Sam pulled his shoulders back, his every fibre focussing onto the demon now standing before him.
He licked his lips and lifted his hand. The demon suddenly stilled at the sight, his stance relaxing for a moment before he let out a snigger from somewhere deep in his belly it seemed. Dean, Fulmer and Figgis stood in the new silence - in awe of the scene, each one of them willing something to happen.
“Gettin’ a tad rusty there, son,” the demon snarked. Reaching up he pulled the slice of wood from his neck, the blood running freely over his collar bone and down his chest.
Sam closed his eyes in concentration.
The demon’s face began to change. He bent forward and coughed.
Dean held his breath.
“You ain’t got it no more, have ya’,” The demon goaded Sam. He began circling him, looking for an angle, going in for the kill.
Still Sam continued, the strain beginning to show.
The demon suddenly halted. He coughed again, his tongue protruding in a grotesque gag reflex and slowly, very slowly, the black smoke began to trail from his mouth.
His eyes.
His ears.
Sam continued, his breathing increasing, the veins in his neck and face beginning to bulge.
Figgis clapped his hands.
The demon roared his defiance...then wailed. A mournful, pitiful sound of pain and utter suffering as the smoke became thicker, leaving the body faster and faster and spiralling up through the roof.
At last, the demon’s host fell boneless to the ground, the last remaining traces of smoke burning black into the cement. Then, Sam followed suit. His head fell back and he crashed into the wire fencing before slumping into an obscene heap of limbs.
Silence.
“Woo-hoo!” Fulmer screamed, fists pumping and his face open and shining with excitement. “He done it...he killed him good!” He clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “We got ourselves a real live demon killer here, Fig.”
Dean slid down the wire fence until his legs were bent underneath him. Frustration and dread in stereo.
Sam had been put into an impossible situation - and he’d been forced to dance to their tune . And now it would never stop. Too lazy to read Latin, they’d obviously stumbled onto the idea of harnessing the only known demon killer since the Archangel Michael.
Sam.
“You could have exorcised him yourself, you lazy bastard!” Dean growled. Figgis rattled the keys inside the cage lock. With effort he pulled Sam’s limp body over against the fence and strode in to pick up the man’s arms.
“Tell Sam, I’m loving the work he does,” Fulmer said, bending to help Figgis pull the man from the cage.
“He’s not dead, you know.” But Fulmer wasn’t listening. “Fulmer! Don’t hurt the guy, he’s still alive.”
“Yeah, sure.” Figgis grinned, the man’s head lolling back as the Backhouse’s dragged him roughly out of the room. The door began to close leaving Dean blinking against the darkness.
“Fulmer!!” Dean roared.
*
Two hours later.
*
Eyelids flickering.
Breathing light and steady.
Dean drew his head back from the fence and looked at Sam’s bruised face, the wire cruelly cutting into his cheek. If Dean had the use of his hands he could have gently pushed him back. But he didn’t.
It showed how weak Sam was. When he’d pulled Samhain, all he’d suffered was a killer head ache and a bloodied nose. And then there was stunt demon No3, at Jimmy’s house that had made him nearly faint.
Now he’d been out for a couple of hours and God only knows how he’d come out of it.
And who would be there to make sure he didn’t swallow his tongue when he decided to leave? Because he would. And soon.
“Sam.” Quietly.
“Hmm-mm,” he groaned. His eyes opened gently, his head pulling back from the wire. He met his brother’s gaze and opened his mouth to speak.
“Did I pull him?”
Dean suffered the memory once more, and nodded silently.
“Is...is he dead?”
“Not when they dragged him out.”
Sam’s face clouded over.
“They know he’s alive, don’t they?”
Dean rolled himself into a sitting position, a wave of nausea washing over him.
“Yes, I told them. Doesn’t mean they’ll listen.”
“What?”
“They’re idiots, Sam!” Dean said with irritation. “They’re lazy and ignorant and they’ve probably heard half the damn story and don’t even realise the host survives.”
Sam sat himself up. Hooded eyes. Suddenly defensive.
“You’re angry ‘cos I pulled him.”
Dean closed his eyes in frustration.
“No, I’m not...I’m just...” Dean pushed his head back against the fence. “I just can’t see how we’re gonna get out of this one. I mean, for all I know they’ve got them lined up outside for you.” He looked over at his brother. “They think it’s nothing to you, they don’t know what it takes out of you.”
“I can take it.”
“How do you know?” Dean snapped. “What rate did Ruby have you on at the end - one a day? One an hour? Tell me now Sam, so I can stop worrying about you.”
A flash of anger in Sam’s eyes, but he swallowed it back and looked away.
So did Dean.
On the edge and sliding. That’s how he felt.
The pain in his shoulders stabbed at him relentlessly, the strain on his neck contributing to an astounding head ache.
Both boys flinched at the sound of the key in the door. Dean drew in a tempered sigh.
The keys in Dean’s lock this time.
Sam wide eyed and silent.
Dean unmoving.
Sam wrinkled his nose at the foul reek from Figgis’ boots and clothes. Chicken shit and sweat. A winning combination. He strode into the cage and jammed an arm under Dean’s wrists, forcing him up off his knees and pushing him towards the door. A rough hand grasping at Dean’s hair, pulling his head back, ensuring compliance.
No time for last looks.
Sam opened his mouth to speak and wire-walked the length of the cell with them, but it all drained away once the room door was closed and the darkness surrounded him again.
*
An hour later.
*
The artificial light coursed into the room and Sam shielded his eyes. Dean was forced through the door and frog marched back into his side of the cell. Sam scanned every part of Deans face and neck. No injuries. A wet tee shirt. But he was walking. And uncomplaining, it seemed.
Figgis jammed a leg in front of Dean and viciously pushed him forward making him fall onto his chest with a grunt. From his belt, he pulled out a knife and cut straight through the plastic ties at Dean’s elbows. Dean’s arms shot forward and he groaned with the pain the sudden movement caused.
“Coulda done that before I needed to pee, you perverted fuck!”
Figgis merely smirked, his eyes flicking across to Sam before he turned and exited the cage.
The key’s clattered against the steel lock again, and his smell lingered in Sam’s nostrils. He was already at the adjoining fence crouching down, waiting for Figgis to shut the door before he spoke.
Darkness at last.
“What happened? He asked softly. “What did they do?”
Dean swallowed, his face squashed against the cool cement floor. His shoulder joints relaxed in their natural positions at last.
“They...fed me,” he mumbled.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Forced me to eat and drink.”
Sam blinked at the news.
“And they let you go to the bathroom?”
Dean turned his head away.
“I don’t wanna talk about that part.”
Sam shuddered at the vision. Dean gingerly lifted his arms and rolled himself onto his back, his wet tee shirt sticking to his chest.
“You see anything?”
It seemed an age before Dean answered.
“Chickens,” he spread his hand out above himself. “A short walk into another warehouse...full of chickens.”
“Who else was there?”
“Just Fulmer...with a gun, so no point in trying anything.”
Dean sat up and gently pushed himself up off the floor. He dug his hands into his jeans pockets - a new freedom he wasn’t capable of before.
“No tools, no weapons. Just...sawdust and chicken feed.” He stated plainly.
Sam scraped a hand through his hair, and turned his back to Dean. “Come on, there’s got to be something...something we can do.”
The silence remained for a beat.
“Well, there is one thing.” Softly said, leaning against the fence. Sam turned to look at him.
From his pocket, he produced his slim line lighter. He held it up like a trophy along with a flashy grin.
Sam squinted at it in the dim light. “Oh, yeah. Lets burn ourselves to death...that’ll stop ‘em.”
Dean’s smile vanished.
“I was thinking more a distraction - something to get them in here, in a hurry. “
“Uh-huh.”
“Then we jump ‘em...or they’ll let us out while they deal with it. This farm is their livelihood, they’re not gonna let it burn.” Dean waited.
Sam nodded.
“You’re right. It’s better than nothing. But, dude - it’s the Backhouse boys...”
Dean shrugged at the claim.
“Starting a fire would mean us having to rely on them finding it and letting us out. God only knows where they are at any given time of the day - we could be charred husks by the time they discover the smoke.”
“So, turn that on it’s head. The longer they don’t find out - the longer we’ve got to burn our way out of here. “
“We’re in separate cages. There’s only one of us getting out.” Sam shot back.
“Then whoever gets out can throttle their filthy necks and grab the keys to the other cage, come on, Sam, right now, I’m not seeing any alternatives to this. Are you? ”
Sam broke eye contact first. Submissive. His new place in the team.
A sudden feeling of dread washed over him as he heard the now familiar soft shuffle sound from outside the door. Then the metallic clunk of the key in the lock. The brothers made eye contact.
“It’s your turn,” Dean said quietly.
Sam’s eyes widened as the door opened. “Don’t do anything while I’m gone.”
“Sam...”
The door opened, but all Sam could see was the cogs turning in Dean’s mind.
“No, Dean.”
Figgis’ bulky frame ambled into the room, his eyes flicking between both brothers standing in their cages. Sam eyed him over. He imagined himself overpowering the fat little fucker and grabbing the keys. His veins throbbed with adrenalin at the mere thought of it. Then Fulmer appeared in the doorway - an AK47 slung over his shoulder and pointed at Sam.
Only when Fulmer nodded, did Figgis jam the keys into the cage lock and open the door.
Sam tried for eye contact with Dean, but he wasn’t returning it.
“I mean it,” he hissed, as he walked towards the door. Dean looked at Sam’s broad back disappearing before the door slammed shut.
*
*
TBC
So, um...anyone reading this ..?
Chapter 3