Work Text:
What awoke Sam at last was the dull pounding inside his head, as if his brain was a battering ram against the inside of his skull. He let out a quiet groan, shifting his head. There was something sticky on the back of his scalp, and blood trickling down his lip, making his mouth taste like iron. All he could hear was the steady drip of water echoing in the small, surrounding space.
Finally, he managed to open his eyes, only to be met with darkness.
"Where…" he coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. Even through the pounding in his head, he could tell that his voice was slurred. "Where am I…?"
Sam's ears rang slightly in the silence that met his words.
He tried to sit up and clutch his head, only for his body to refuse to move. He frowned slightly, pulling at his arms, only for them to yank harshly against the restraints that had his wrists shackled and pinned to the wall behind him. There also seemed to be another, thicker metal collar locked around his neck, keeping his head pinned in place. He couldn't move the upper half of his body more than a few inches.
Okay, stay calm… "Dean??"
His voice echoed against the walls, and he gritted his teeth, trying to remember what had happened and where the hell he was. He squinted as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. From what he could see, he seemed to be in a sewer system (again). At least, that was what he assumed, judging by the pipes surrounding him, the dripping water, and—well, the smell. And clearly he'd been captured. But by who? Or, more likely, what?
Then he remembered. The changeling. The one that had taken Dean's form and had planned to kill him. Except… The real Dean had rushed in just in time to stop him. But before he'd had the chance to see Dean shoot it, Sam had passed out.
… so, he had to assume Dean hadn't been able to yet, judging from the fact that he was now back in the sewers and shackled to a wall.
Footsteps sounded then, and Sam immediately jerked his head upwards to see… Dean, walking towards him with a wide, wolfish grin.
Not Dean, then.
"Look who's finally awake," the changeling cooed, using Dean's voice. He bent down, grinning at Sam with all of his teeth. Dean never smiled like that. "My baby brother."
"You're not my brother," Sam snapped, glaring at him. "Where am I."
The changeling tsked, reaching out to roughly tousle his hair. Sam grunted as a sharp pain flared from his scalp, but he was shackled too tightly to be able to jerk away. So instead he narrowed his eyes in what Dean called his "bitchy death glare". The changeling laughed, too cruel-sounding to be Dean. "Aw, don't be like that, Sammy. That's no way to look at your big brother."
It sounded so wrong, hearing his voice like that.
"You're not my big brother," Sam breathed once again, his voice venomous. "What the hell did you do to him?"
"What'd I do to him?" the changeling laughed, his hand fisting his hair and pulling painfully at the wound in his scalp. "Nothin'. Maybe beat him around a little. But he should be alive."
"Should be??"
The changeling smiled, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. "He'd be a pathetic excuse of a hunter if he wasn't."
Sam clenched his jaw as the changeling removed his hand from his head, then sat cross-legged in front of him, smirking in a way that should've only been for when Dean teased him. "As for your oh so insightful question, I'd say you have a lot better ones to ask. Like what I'm planning to do to you."
"Oh?" Sam asked, his voice biting. "And what happened to killing me and framing my brother for it? 'Suddenly lost your nerve?"
"Oh, no, not at all," the changeling chuckled, playing with the amulet that he had stolen from Dean's neck, and Sam wished he could rip it off the bastard's neck and strangle him with it. "Not at all. In fact, after that meddlesome son of a bitch burst in and tried to shoot me, I realized…"
The changeling's hand suddenly snapped out to grip his jaw, and Sam's eyes widened slightly, a choked noise of surprise escaping him as he tried in vain to pull away. But the fingernails only dug deeper into his skin as his grin grew even more crazed.
"Well, I realized that death is too good for you, Sammy boy."
He leaned closer, and Sam involuntarily held his breath as he felt warm, moist air brush against his ear.
"I realized… that it's time you faced some punishment for all the years you've hurt me. Because bad boys need to be punished." Dean's face smiled. "At least, that's what dad taught me."
Sam couldn't breathe as he finally pulled away, and the pain and anger in Dean's voice was so real that for a second he almost believed him. His chest heaved shallowly as he stared at the face of his brother, staring right back at him with a hatred that didn't belong on it.
"Dean—Dean would never—"
"I'd never what??" he asked mockingly, laughing as he reached into his pockets. "Aren't you high and mighty, choosing what I would or wouldn't do? Have you forgotten who's the elder here?"
He pulled out a roll of duct tape, grinning evilly at him. "But that's just like you, isn't it? Spoiled little Sammy, always getting what he wants, always being doted on, always getting away with everything."
Sam's eyes were glassy as he stared right back at him, breaths too fast as he clenched his shaking fists. "You're not my brother," was all Sam could manage for the last time, and his voice sounded more desperate than he wanted it to. Almost like a whine, pleading and small, just like the last time he had begged Dean to let him go.
But this time, his brother's voice laughed.
"Don't worry. I'll forgive you eventually," he said, as he slowly unrolled the tape. "You just gotta prove to me that you're sorry first."
Sam struggled feebly as the duct tape was smoothed over his mouth, then wrapped in layers over the lower half of his face. Sam glared weakly as the makeshift gag became tighter and tigher, biting into his skin, his breaths heavy through his nose as any words he attempted were now muffled by the endless layers of tape. He couldn't help jumping as more duct tape was applied over his open eyes, the adhesive pressing uncomfortably against his eyeballs, wrapping around his head in several more layers before finally finishing.
"There we go. Nice and quiet," Dean's voice chuckled. He smoothed the tape down a bit more over his lips, then his eyes, which were now stuck open. Once he was finished, he patted Sam's cheek roughly, causing him to flinch. Only Sam's nose and the top of his head were visible now, his hair drenched with sweat.
"I'll have to get you a proper gag eventually, but for now, this will do."
Sam let out a muffled whimper as he pulled desperately against his restraints, his entire body trembling with growing panic and claustrophobia. He felt the hand tightly grip his hair once again, causing him to let out an involuntary, muffled cry.
"Oh. And you wanna know how painful it is for me when I shift? When I gotta tear the flesh off my own bones, like a sick little catterpillar? You wanna know how it feels?"
Sam didn't respond. He couldn't. And he flinched as Dean's voice chuckled into his ear.
"Well, you will. Don't you worry. And don't worry about your little Becky either. We're far, far away from her. At least she won't have to hear you scream."
His laughter was low, as Sam's head was forcefully shoved against the wall behind him.
"Bitch."
Sam's eyes were fully tearing up now, the tape making it nearly impossible for the liquid to escape. His head slumped like a ragdoll's as much as the collar would allow once his hair was finally released, and the footsteps slowly faded away.
The implications of those last words were probably the most frightening of them all. Even more frightening somehow than the prospect of having his flesh torn off him. Because it meant that… that he was far away from Dean. Dean wouldn't be around to hear him scream.
Dean had no idea where he was.
He was going to be sick. Sam almost wished that it was actually Dean who wanted to punish him now.