Chapter Text
He literally never saw it coming.
Coffee in the early morning had been a way to show his appreciation for Dean who had not only taken him back after the whole I’m-possessed-and-I-shot-you thing, but was working incredibly hard to pretend everything was normal. Like he wasn’t watching Sam when he thought Sam wasn’t looking, or that he suddenly wanted to go with Sam whenever there was somewhere to go.
They also weren’t talking about the fact that when it looked like Sam had truly gone evil with his powers, Dean had refused to pull the trigger.
But coffee before Dean woke up had sounded great, and it had only been right next door. How could that possibly have gone wrong? Two cups and a bag of pastries later, he’d been walking back across the parking lot when something had come down, hard, on the back of his head.
Then all Sam saw was black.
The first thing Dean looked for when he woke up was Sam. The motel room looked and sounded quiet, and Sam’s bed was empty. His jacket also wasn’t over the back of the chair.
Dean immediately sat upright. “Sam?” he called.
No response.
Curses poured out of mouth, but they were only there to cover the fear that shot through his body. This was an echo of a month ago, waking up to find Sam completely missing, searching everywhere and coming up empty. Little brother gone.
Dean realized he was already on his feet and forced himself to focus and breathe. This wasn’t Sam’s fault. Sam hadn’t left of his own accord last time, had spent over a week with a demon locked inside of him, keeping him prisoner, violating him. Sam wouldn’t leave on his own. He’d been so freaking careful to never leave without Dean, telling Dean every time he went out, all because he was terrified of it happening again.
…Okay, Sam was terrified of more than that but Dean hadn’t been able to talk about it. He’d sort of hoped that he could let it slide, if he ignored it that it would go away. They wouldn’t have to talk about Dean’s distrust, his paranoia, his inability to cut Sam down if Sam posed a threat. And he knew Sam knew, knew that he needed to really talk to Sam and say that he trusted Sam but not the world, that he was paranoid of things constantly trying to take and hurt his little brother, and that he’d never really been able to consider hurting Sam, let alone kill him.
He’d meant to, at least. He just hadn’t done it yet. And now Sam was missing, again.
He forced himself to look over the room again. Shoes and jacket gone, bag still where it was, toothbrush neatly put in line on the sink. The toothpaste was smoothed out again, Sam’s OCD that had raged out of control after Meg still rearing its head. Yeah, all right, he should’ve talked to Sam. He would, once he figured out where the hell Sam was.
Phone first. He grabbed the phone on the desk, or would have, if there hadn’t been a note on it in Sam’s handwriting. Coffee and breakfast next door, be right back. -S
Relief hit first. Guilt hit second. Sam was a grown man, he shouldn’t have had to leave a note for Dean to know he was coming back. Dean didn’t often leave notes for Sam.
Maybe he should. Maybe he needed to trust Sam more.
Or maybe he needed to have a way to keep Sam safe from demons.
Phone in pocket, he slid on his boots and hurried out the door. Columbus wasn’t exactly the world’s warmest climate, but for finding a little brother who’d gone next door to the café, he’d be fine. No sign of Sam outside, so Dean went to tie his boots before he went to the café. Last thing he needed was to show up looking as crazed and frantic as he felt. His heart rate felt a little wild and his fingers shook a little while he tied his shoes. He used to be better at the whole adrenaline thing.
Kneeling to tie his shoes put his near enough to the ground to spot the cups. Two coffee cups, splattered in the parking lot, a lone paper bag next to them. Dean froze.
An instant later he was up and running over to the scene. The cups still felt warm on the side, indicating they hadn’t been abandoned long. The paper bag held two very smooshed pastries inside: a bear claw and a croissant. His favorite and Sam’s.
Shit.
He gave up on decorum. “Sam?” he yelled across the parking lot. His heart was going a million miles an hour now, pounding hard enough in his chest to seriously ache. “Sam!”
No response. A few people walking in the early hour glanced at him oddly before continuing on. None of them were 6’4” and shaggy haired. Shit shit shit.
Frantically he scanned the parking lot. There were few vehicles in the place, with the Impala gleaming in the early morning sun. Otherwise, just a few clunkers, a sedan, a mini-van, and a motorcycle. Nobody walking to their car, nobody driving away.
Nobody making deep tire marks in the pale concrete.
Slowly Dean stepped over to the marks. Those hadn’t been there the night before; he’d have noticed those. And they were conveniently next to Sam’s dropped breakfast. Might not have been a demon, but Sam was still missing and most likely taken all the same.
Nobody was taking his little brother. Not again.
Dean’s eyes went up this time, scanning the area, before finding what he wanted: a security camera hanging by the office of the motel. Resolved, he headed towards the office.
When he could see again, the room was empty of people.
It wasn’t empty of other things: cardboard boxes went all the way up to the impressive ceiling. The metal beams above him and the metal walls around him spoke of a warehouse, even if the boxes hadn’t given it away. Sam blinked and tried to focus on the box in front of him, but his head ached something fierce, and he rubbed at it.
Or tried to. His hand stayed firmly behind him, and he finally registered the cold sensation wrapped around his wrists as handcuffs. His feet were similarly bound to the metal chair he was seated in. He pulled hard at his wrists and tried to wobble the chair. If he could get a leg up, he could pull the binding on a foot free, and then he could get the other foot free—
“About time you woke up.”
Sam went still and glanced up. Two men came into view, and they both looked familiar. Not in face so much as clothing: thick jacket, work pants and jeans, heavy-duty boots. Button-up shirts beneath the jackets to make for quick removal due to cleaning or need for a tourniquet.
Sam felt his heart sink. Hunters. These were hunters. “Where am I?” he asked. His voice didn’t echo as much as he thought it would with all the boxes around. “There a reason you kidnapped me?”
“Oh, don’t be coy, Winchester, it doesn’t suit you,” the one of the left snapped. He crossed his arms and glared at Sam beneath a mop of blonde hair. “You know damn well why we brought you here.”
They knew his name, they knew who he was. Sam settled back against the chair and tried to fidget with the handcuffs again. They felt heavier than he’d originally thought, though, and when he glanced down at his ankles, he was surprised to find that they weren’t ropes holding him, they were honest to god chains.
He glanced back up at them, only to find the one on the right nodding grimly under his bushy beard. “You thought we wouldn’t find out what you did to Steve? You think we wouldn’t hunt you down and treat you like the monster you are?”
Oh god. “I didn’t kill him,” Sam said, but the second hunter cut him off.
“We saw the footage – not the footage of you inside, since that got all scrubbed – but the footage of you going in and coming out, all bloody when you left. Steve’s left a mutilated mess and you just happened to go in and leave, getting all bloody, and you didn’t do it?”
“I didn’t,” Sam began, but the bearded hunter suddenly came forward and punched him, hard. His head flew back, cheek on fire, head ringing even more.
“Don’t lie to me, monster,” the hunter seethed. “You killed a damn good hunter for no goddamn reason, you sick bastard. I don’t put much stock in Gordon’s crap but I’m starting to think he was right about you.”
“Gordon should be lucky you didn’t kill him too,” the blonde hunter said. He shook his head. “You crossed a line. And we’re here to make sure it doesn’t get crossed again.”
“I was possessed,” Sam insisted, but both hunters just glared at him. “I was!”
The hunter with the beard spit at him, making him jerk away reflexively. “Yeah, sure you were.”
Sam forced his chin up. It was just him against two hunters, two pissed-off hunters that were angry for a good reason. Who knew if Dean would even find him. Who knew if Dean was even looking for him, after what had happened the last couple of times. “So why not just kill me?” he asked. It was a reasonable question. And one that would hopefully buy him a little time. The chains rattled as he shifted in his chair.
The first hunter turned away to a small table. The one with the beard jerked his head towards the guy. “Dave and me, we want answers. Real answers. How you went from a respected hunter to a killer. And who else you’re in with. Like that brother of yours.”
“Dean’s got nothing to do with this,” he said immediately. The first hunter, Dave, snickered.
“Told you that’d be his response, Al. Winchesters are loyal to each other. I feel bad for Dean, man. Stuck with a monster for a brother and still won’t cut him loose.”
“Bet he doesn’t know,” Al said, stroking his beard. “We’re doing him a favor. Unless he’s a part of it.”
Panic settled into Sam’s already frayed nerves and forced him to start breathing evenly, measured breaths that didn’t give away how fast his heartbeat was racing or how much his fingers trembled behind him. “He’s not part of anything. Leave Dean alone.”
“Then I guess you’d best start answering questions,” Al said, and Dave turned around. There was an electric cattle prod in one hand, and the largest bottle of holy water Sam’d ever seen in the other. Sam froze.
Al smirked, but it was ugly and it matched the rage in his eyes. “I don’t know what kind of monster you are, Sam Winchester, but you’re not hurting any other good hunters.”
“I was possessed,” Sam tried again, and Dave suddenly yanked his hair back with the cattle prod hand and poured the bottle over his face. The water didn’t seem to have an end and Sam choked, trying desperately to breathe through water. The onslaught didn’t seem to end, more and more water until his lungs heaved and his vision went dim.
Suddenly the water stopped and he found his head thrown forward. He choked and coughed up water and choked and coughed some more. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he retched and fought to breathe.
He heard a soft humming for a second before the cattle prod lightly tapped his leg. Even through his pants, the effect of water and electricity was immediate, and his entire body seized up while his vision whited out. For one blissful moment, there wasn’t pain or anything. Just nothing.
A second later and he crashed back into the chair, still exactly where he’d been chained before, body still twitching in the aftermath. Dave looked pleased with himself. Al merely raised an eyebrow. “Well, guess holy water doesn’t work on you,” he said calmly. “But I’ve seen other monsters not react, either. Let’s try again: what kind of monster are you?”
I’m not, he wanted to say, but deep inside, there was some part of him that couldn’t truly say that. Not really. Not after the visions and the other special kids and Meg’s trip around the country in his skin. He felt less human with every minute.
Al didn’t like his lack of response any more than he had the truth, because he nodded to Dave and the cattle prod shot forward again, this time right into his ribs.
Sam was pretty sure he screamed, but he wasn’t really sure, and then it struck him again and all he was sure of was pain.