Characters: Dean, Sam, Missouri, Bobby
Spoilers: None that I can think of yet
Wordcount: 1294 (this chapter)
Summary: What should have been a routine job goes wrong, and Sam and Dean's lives may never be the same again.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Sam literally paces the room as he listens to the ringing at the other end of the line. Not fifteen minutes ago, he had called everyone he know, just to ask whether Dean had called them. With every no, he felt the panic rising a little higher. Every number he dialled, he told himself would be the one - the person who just got off the phone with him two minutes ago and knew exactly where he was. Until he reached the end of the list. Now he was trying again. It was pointless, he knew. Every single person had promised, most of them confused as to why Sam was so upset, that they would call if they heard anything, but this way it at least felt as though he was doing something constructive.
When Bobby answers, Sam increases the speed of his pacing, “Bobby, I've called everyone, looked everywhere, no one knows anything. I'm sorry to keep calling, it's just, I don't know what else to do. He's just gone.”
Bobby sighs, “Okay, Sam? You have to calm down. Where are you?”
Sam looks quickly around the room for something showing the motel's address and reads it out to Bobby.
“I'll be there as soon as I can, might be a while though, you just keep looking for now.”
“Oh,” That takes him by surprise. He hadn't expected Bobby to make the trip, “No, Bobby, you don't have to. Just keep an eye out. If he shows up, let me know.”
“Sam, Dean's not gonna skip out on you in the middle of the night just to pay me a visit, and you know it. Besides, unless you've been exaggerating he's in no condition to even try it right now. Dean's a lot of things, but he's not an idiot. The only reason he'd do something like this is if he's in some kind of trouble.
Sam wonders over to the table and sits down heavily in one of the two chairs, facing the window. Outside, he can see the Impala waiting in the parking lot. Under normal circumstances he'd be able to tell whether this was a deliberate abandonment because Dean would never voluntarily go anywhere without his beloved car. “He is in trouble, Bobby. He's scared and he's not thinking straight. Anything could happen to him right now.”
He hears Bobby sigh again, “He's not gonna come here Sam. I already gave you my best suggestion, and from the sounds of it, it didn't work. If he has gone off on his own, it'll be to find the answer someplace else. Or something's taken him. I'll stay put if that's really what you want, but I don't think you'd have called if you didn't want my help.
Sam opens his mouth to answer and finds himself agreeing, “Okay, if it's not too much trouble.”
“You keep trying to find him, I'll be there as soon as I can.”
He doesn't know how long how long he's been there, but it feels like hours. His wrists are raw from struggling against the ropes holding him in place. The room is completely silent, either he is being left alone or his captor is quietly watching him from the darkness. But then, it probably isn't really dark, is it? For all he knows, there could be bright lights shining on his face right now. That would explain the heat. The room is stifling, his clothes are soaked with sweat, his hung over body screams at him to provide water and his head is pounding every bit as badly as it did before Missouri had helped him.
He speaks, and his voice comes out as a croak. His tongue, practically stuck to the roof of his mouth, is sluggish to respond and the word he forms is almost incomprehensible, even to himself.
He coughs, clearing his throat, and then licks his lips before trying again, “Hey! This has gone on long enough.” It's pointless, he knows that, and he knows that showing any sign of weakness only lets his captor know that he is getting to him. But it is really, really getting to him. At this point, Dean would literally kill for a glass of water.
Just as that thought enters his head, he feels the shock of a splash of icy cold water on his face. A large amount, like a bucketful has been thrown straight over his head. He gasps in surprise as he is soaked through to the skin, it's not pleasant, but once he gets over the shock, he actually feels a little better,
“I was wondering how long you would last. To be honest, I'm a little disappointed.”
Dean splutters as he expels excess water from his mouth and nose, and blinks furiously, wishing that his hands were free to wipe it out of his eyes. “Yeah, well. You haven't caught me on my best day. Talking of, how'd you catch me?”
Dean listens to his captor's heavy footsteps travelling in a circle around his chair, before the reply, “You were very drunk. Someone like you should really be more careful.”
“You drugged me,”
It wasn't a question, it was an assumption, a statement of fact. He couldn't see anything, the bar was noisy, Sam could have gone to the bathroom or just been distracted. There would have been any number of opportunities to slip something in his drink. And he thought he's gotten a lot drunker that he should have for what he's actually had.
The man laughs, “No, that was all you. You should watch how much you drink. Oh, but you can't really watch much of anything right now, can you? Can't even watch your brother's back.”
“Sammy? Did you...” cold dread stirs in the pit of his stomach, “What did you do to him? If you've hurt him, I swear to God I'll kill you.”
The threat hangs in the air for a moment, thought Dean knows that he probably doesn't look all that scary right now. If anything, the lack of a response only sends his imagination running wild, if this guy could get in their room in the middle of the night and take him away without him even noticing, he could easily have taken Sam too, or worse...
“Relax, he's fine. For now.”
“What the hell do you want?”
As Dean speaks, the man walks around him again, circling his prey, then comes to a stop directly in front of him. Dean feels the punch before it hits, the movement of air on his face as the speed of the moving hand pushes it out of the way. Knuckles meet nose in a flash of agony, and he feels blood dripping down his face.
“I want my money. It's nothing personal. I'm being paid to make you suffer.”
The blood pouring from his nose runs over his top lip and into his mouth. The metallic taste of it makes him split, and with his hands still tied in place, he twists his neck and tilts his head to wipe his mouth on the shoulder of his shirt. Even so far from where he had been hit, the contact still causes another wave of pain. Nausea and dizziness strike simultaneously, working with his hangover to make his stomach lurch dangerously. He hears himself groan in pain and feels his body flop forwards as far as he can manage, panting. “Whoever hired you, tell him it's not worth the money. I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to find him too.”
The man tuts in irritation, “What does it take to knock you out?”
Something hard and heavy makes contact with the back of Deans head, and the world goes even blacker still.