Chapter Text
May 2nd, 2007, New Harmony, Indiana
“Freaking demons!” Dean yells in frustration, yanking roughly on Sam’s jacket as he practically dragged him along behind Dean, both brothers in a dead sprint through the twisting, winding, narrow alleyways of the seedy underside of the tiny, seemingly innocent small town that was supposed to be the grounds of a nasty poltergeist. Although, as Sam has been consistently reminded practically daily since he officially joined his family’s “extermination” business almost two years ago, what something was supposed to be was rarely ever what it actually ended up being. And yet, they always still seem to be caught off guard. You would think they had learned by now, he muses slightly hysterically as he forces his stride to match his brother’s. Although taller than Dean, Dean was better trained, and more experienced, and had spent years of his life developing his speed, dexterity and endurance for moments exactly like this- fleeing for their lives through the darkness of pre-dawn, and because of that Sam struggles to keep up with him, even with adrenaline coursing through every vein in his body.
Turning right, then left twice, then right again, they find themselves at a T cross section, their only options right or left or straight through a massive brick wall. Sam glances nervously over his shoulder, scanning the dark shadows behind him and listening intently past both his and Dean’s ragged breathes for any signs of their pursuer. So far, none, but the way his hair is standing on end, and goosebumps cover his entire body, he doubts they are out of the woods yet. Dean, meanwhile, looks both ways quickly, clearing trying to decide the best course of action.
“Which way?” Sam asks nervously.
“Give me a second.” Dean growls, running a hand through his hair in frustration, while clutching the other one tightly around his flask, currently filled with holy water, their only weapon against the monster stalking them through New Harmony. Everything else Dean and Sam were carrying, including gris-gris bags designed to expel and banish the supposed poltergeist, won’t do jack against demons, at least according to Dean and Dad.
“Maybe… maybe we should split up.” Sam suggests. Dean flashes angry, anxious eyes towards him. “Each take a direction, try to lose it that way.”
“No. Hell no Sammy.” Dean snarls. “We don’t know that there is only one out there. And I am sure as hell not leaving you alone with a demon on the loose. Don’t you remember a damn thing from last year?” Sam flinches at the harsh reminder of his previous birthday. To this day, he still suffers horrible nightmares about what the Yellow-Eyed Demon made him say, made him do, while it was possessing him. The terrifying truths about what happened to their mother, what was supposed to happen to him… Sam clenches his fists, swallowing down the terror that rises in him at Dean’s remark, though not quick enough for Dean to miss it. He sighs impatiently, though his eyes soften, and when he speaks, his voice is filled with wordless apologies. “All I mean is, these bastards are crafty, and dangerous. I won’t leave you alone when they could be trying to get us to do exactly that. And I won’t let any of them possess you again.”
“Isn’t that what our tattoos are for?” Sam asks, trying to make a joke out of it, to lighten the mood and also show his brother his casual, but cruel remark is forgiven. At the same time, he scratches at his chest, the tattoo of a protective anti-demon symbol Bobby had shown them itching slightly. Even after a year, having the tattoo still feels odd, still itches, like a constant reminder of just how drastically his life has changed. Automatically, Dean slaps at his hand, making him stop. Despite having the exact same tattoo as Sam, Dean never seems to find his bothering him at all. Though, that makes sense to Sam. Dean is a natural at the hunting life, he was born to do it. His tattoo is just another, natural part of the life he has grown up into.
“Leave that alone.” Dean chides. “Yeah, they are supposed to keep the baddies out, but I don’t really feel like testing the theory until we have to. Unless you are looking to start some kind of demon-possessing birthday tradition or something.”
“Funny, Dean.” Sam snaps slightly. One remark is one thing, but bringing it up twice… Dean shakes his head, grimacing apologetically again.
“Sorry. Come on, we need to keep moving… get back to Dad.” Dean says, and he turns to the path leading to the left. Sam nods, following him and they both start to run again. He knows Dean isn’t trying to hurt him, that the memories of his last birthday torment Dean just as much as they do Sam, but anxiety, worry and stress make Dean flippant, and rash, and the best defense he has is his snark and sharp, cruel wit. For family, or foe, whoever he is able to shed even a piece of the weight on his shoulders onto. Sam knows that, and he understands. He gets it, he really does, but he also isn’t going to just roll over all the time and take it. Not with this. Not with what happened at Cold Oak. Sam shakes his head, struggling to shove the memories of that awful place out of his mind, as he follows his brother’s lead through the alleyway, both brothers trying desperately to get back to the motel their father had rented.
Their dad was with them at the Johnson residence, but after the ambush, they had all separated, Dean dragging Sam out of the house one way, while their dad took off in another, splitting the demon’s attention in the same way Sam had just suggested doing again. Unfortunately, for them, they were the ones the demon chose to pursue, and, not having time to get into the Impala, start it, and drive away, they had been forced instead to sprint towards town, trying to find the darkest, most complicated layout they could to try and lose their tail. But, fortunately, Dad and Dean had a plan for something like this happening. In cases where they got split up, they would rendezvous back at the motel, and whoever got their first would get it ready for whatever monster or creature was chasing them. In this case, it meant their father was preparing the room with Devil’s Traps, drawing lines of salt across any entrances, getting buckets of holy water on standby and researching exorcisms to use. All they had to do was get back to him. But as they run through the night, Sam can’t help but remember what lead to their current predicament.
After Sam’s possession exactly one year ago, he had stepped up his involvement in the family business. Training in sparring with his brother, and in marksmanship with his father, in between every hunt they took, Sam pushed himself to develop the same hunting skills as his family, so that he wouldn’t ever be as caught unprepared as he was in Cold Oak. And, as Sam grew stronger and faster and better at fighting, shooting, and researching, as he never stopped or slowed down his learning about lore and the supernatural, he started going on more and more hunts with his family. Not just as their researcher, but joining them in the field, for interviews, walking the crime scenes, and, eventually, for the battles themselves. After a year of active hunting, he has helped his family take down vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, ghosts, Chupacabra, even a manticore. Plus half a dozen other kinds of monsters he had never expected to exist. Tonight was supposed to be his first poltergeist though. Bobby, Dad and Dean had all told him they were similar to ghosts, but were spawned from dark, negative energy, rather than a violent, or sudden death. Like ghosts, salt and iron would repel them, but since they don’t come from humans, there are no bones to burn. Instead, you need to use a couple of gris-gris bags, filled with protective, healing herbs and other, natural, ingredients to destroy the force, in a cleansing ritual of whatever space the poltergeist is inhabiting.
In this case, it was the Johnson family home, a dwelling for a small family of four who had been being tormented by flickering lights, cold spots, flying objects, smashing doors and even a few brutal tosses of the family themselves, into walls and down stairs. The family had gone to their local church to ask for an exorcism of the house, and the pastor, recognizing the signs, called Bobby, an old friend, and since the Winchesters had been staying with him, they all headed out together, thinking this was the perfect opportunity for Sam to get more experience. Except, on the way, another hunter called Bobby, needing help with a wendigo up in Minnesota. Leaving the Winchesters to deal with the poltergeist, Bobby promised to meet up with them afterwards back in South Dakota. Although, right now, Sam isn’t sure if he is disappointed Bobby isn’t here to help, or relieved that he is far away. The general consensus among the hunters, as far as Sam can tell, is that demons are some of the most powerful, dangerous creatures out there, and are not to be messed with lightly.
Which is why, when the Winchesters arrived at the Johnson place, to find the front door smashed open, and they had rushed in, ready to act, it had frozen all of them to see the family, a mother, a father and two young, teenage boys, dead, their bodies draped carelessly across the floor, and a young blonde woman, probably about Sam’s own age, standing there with an odd, silver knife in her hand, dripping blood onto the floor. Given the four slit throats, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots on where it came from. The knife had a wooden handle, but the wood itself looked ancient, and the ridged silver blade was carved with some kind of runes, or symbols, or something, though it had been too small, and too far away for Sam to see properly. What he did see clearly though, was the blonde woman’s green eyes turn a nightmarish black as a wicked grin split her lips.
“Hello boys.” The demon had greeted them, before raising her hand, and the three of them had all gone crashing through the door they had just run in through. Sam’s mind had blanked, panic threatening to overwhelm him, but Dean and their father had held themselves together, and, given the changed circumstances- the dead family, the not a poltergeist- had quickly acted, with their father taking off one way and Dean dragging Sam back to his feet and pulling him the other way, with no small amount of swearing as he did so. Now, sweat-soaked, heart racing, and lungs burning almost as badly as the muscles in his legs, Sam’s brain is finally starting to reboot itself, and he reaches out a hand, grabbing onto Dean’s arm and pulling slightly, slowing down. Dean glances back, furrowing his brows, but he slows down as well, his eyes flicking anxiously around them.
“What?” Dean demands.
“There… there was no poltergeist.” Sam says. Dean’s eyebrows raise.
“What?” He asks impatiently.
“There was no poltergeist.” Sam repeats insistently.
“You just figuring that out now?” Dean asks incredulously.
“No. I mean, yes, but… Dean. What I mean is… demons are telekinetic, right? They can move stuff with their mind, their presence makes power sources go crazy, the temperature fluctuates…”
“Yeah, Sam, so what? Is this really important right now?” Dean is practically vibrating, his entire body tense and ready, coiled like a spring as he scans again for any sign of approaching danger.
“Yes, Dean it is.” Sam insists. “Think about it for a minute. We have been dealing with demon stuff all year, right? The thing at the police station in Des Moin, the demon cult in Waco, that possession in Salt Lake City. Every time, we knew it was demons going in, and you and dad were able to put a stop to what was going on. Whatever it was they were there doing.”
“Yeah, because you figured out the omens. What does that have to do with anything?” Dean asks sharply.
“Dean, I found out they were demons, because we were looking at omens for demons. Cattle deaths, electrical storms, it all pointed that way.” Sam says, determined to make his brother see what he finally figured out himself. “This time… all the omens were pointing towards a poltergeist. Everything that the family told the priest who told Bobby lead to that conclusion. Like someone wanted us here, but was hiding their power set behind a different, similar creature.” Dean frowns, some of his nervous energy dissipating as he studies Sam, soaking up his words.
“You are saying… what? That demon was setting a trap for us?” Dean asks seriously.
“Think about it Dean… we have been stopping demonic plans for a year, and every time we knew exactly what we were walking into… but tonight, that woman was waiting for us. Like she knew we would be there. And, the priest is the only one in this town, right? Who just so happens to know Bobby? What are the odds of that?” Sam argues softly.
“Okay, say you are right. Demon plays with this family, manipulates them into thinking it’s a haunting, they go to their pastor who calls in Bobby, specifically. Who then sends us. We come, expecting a poltergeist, and instead get her…” Dean frowns thoughtfully, and Sam can see he is starting to come to the same question he himself has reached. “But if this is a trap, why not spring it when we were at the house? Why just knock us around a bit?” Sam frowns, looking around the darkened space they have stopped in. Heavy brick walls surround them, cracked, aged concrete under their feet.
“Maybe that wasn’t the trap.” Sam mutters softly, his wide, scared eyes turning back towards his older brother. “Maybe that was just to knock us off our game, leave us on the wrong foot, so instead of immediately fighting, we run, to regroup and strategize.” A horrible thought dawns on Sam, although, if he is honest with himself, he has been thinking it for a while, just unwilling to admit it to admit it to himself. What if she didn’t want us all together, but wanted us to split up?” Dean’s eyes widen at that.
“We need to get back to Dad.” Dean says urgently.
“Oh don’t worry Dean.” Sam whips around as a woman steps out of the shadows behind him, grinning darkly. The same blonde woman from the Johnson’s house. Dean immediately shoves past Sam, raising his flask of holy water defensively as he stands protectively in front of Sam. “Daddy Winchester will come to us.” Her eyes, oddly bright in the night’s darkness, gleam with amusement as she watches Dean try to block Sam from her sightline.
“Sam, run.” Dean orders, as Sam feels a horrific spike of DeJa’Vu. Memories of Cold Oak, of the moments right before he was possessed, flash unwanted across his mind, though he struggles through them, forcing his body to turn as he tries to obey his brother’s order, but the moment he is facing the opposite direction of the demon, the way they had been running originally, a breath of hot air washes over his face, followed by a low, deep growl from an invisible source. Terror paralyzes Sam, rooting him to the spot as a single word crosses his mind. Hellhound. Invisible, vicious monsters, this one clearly at least as tall as Sam himself, that rip and tear their victims to shreds before dragging their souls down to Hell.
“Yeah… I wouldn’t try that Sammy.” The woman calls gleefully. “Juliet isn’t mine, just loaned from a good friend, who hasn’t let her feed in a while. Try to take off, and she might get the impression that you are a meal.”
“Who are you?” Dean snarls. “And what the hell do you want?”
“The name is Ruby.” The demon answers with a smirk. “And my mistress would like a word with you boys.” As she speaks, Sam looks through the invisible hound to see a black SUV pulling up at the end of the alleyway, a deep sense of foreboding echoing through his entire being.
“Dean.” Sam whispers softly, reaching a hand back to grab his brother’s shirt, both to get his attention, and to ground himself despite his rising panic. In response, Sam feels Dean squeeze his wrist reassuringly, as he hears the shuffling of Dean turning his head quickly, no doubt picking up on the waiting car.
“Before we go, I am going to need you to drop that holy water there, Dean.” Ruby says pleasantly. “We wouldn’t want things to get nasty, now would we?”
“We aren’t going anywhere with you.” Dean growls. Ruby raises her eyebrows.
“Really? You would rather see how long it takes for Juliet to turn your brother into mincemeat?” She asks sadistically. A low snarl rolls over Sam’s face, putrid breath following the noise, and Sam takes have a step back, his back pressing into Dean’s as he feels something sniffing at his neck, hot breath brushing against his skin. Again, Sam feels Dean squeeze his wrist, trying to comfort him, and Sam tries desperately to focus on his brother’s grip, and not what he is fairly confident is the hellhounds muzzle right next to his throat. “Those are your two choices, boys. Personally, I think it would be a shame to damage that beautiful packaging, but who am I to interfere with free will?”
“How are we supposed to go anywhere, with your pet blocking the way?” Sam growls, pleased his voice is coming out rough, and dangerous, and not the terrified shriek he half expected.
“Sam…” Dean mutters, his voice a low warning.
“You seeing any other choices here, Dean?” Sam mutters back. He glances over his shoulder, to see the demon draw out that odd knife of hers, still stained red with blood, and he can only imagine she is responding to the no doubt murderous expression on his big brother’s face. He hears Dean grunt and swear in at least three languages before shifting and he glances over to see Dean’s hands raised as he crouches, and places his flask of holy water on the ground.
“Good boy, Dean. Now kick it, gently, over.” Ruby orders, as the hellhound huffs in Sam’s face. If he didn’t know better, he would swear the hound is disappointed. Dean stands slowly, and kicks the flask towards her feet. Ruby laughs softly, and then something metal clinks softly, though Sam doesn’t dare look back any more. He can practically feel the hellhound in front of him, and he swears he feels the hint of teeth grazing against his neck, and shoulder, a millisecond away from biting, tearing at him. He fights back the whimper trying to escape his throat, not wanting to panic Dean anymore than he is no doubt feeling, especially when that hint of a feeling grows into an absolutely certainty of teeth pressed against his flesh, though still not actually biting down. “Put those on, behind your back. And, since you can’t see, I should let you know that Juliet is at Sammy’s throat. One wrong move, Dean, and Sammy is dog chow.”
“You evil b-” Dean starts to say, but the hellhound growls and Dean falls silent.
“Dean.” Sam warns him, his voice pleading. “Please.” Dean squeezes Sam’s wrist once more, before Sam feels him shifting and moving around, no doubt obeying the demon’s order to restrain himself.
“Great. Now, do your brother a favor and walk over to that car over there. My friend, a lovely gentleman named Crowley, is waiting, and will help you get into it.” Ruby sneers arrogantly.
“I’m not leaving my brother.” Dean snarls defiantly.
“Oh don’t worry, Sammy will be right behind you.” Ruby promises. “But you Winchesters have a knack for slipping out of tight spaces when you work together. I think it best if we keep you two separate for a little while.” Sam shifts as much as he dares, with the hellhound’s teeth holding him hostage and he moves his hand, reaching into his back pocket as subtly as he can, before pressing his hand against Dean’s. To Ruby, it will look like a scared brother trying to hold onto his older one, but Sam knows Dean will feel the paper clip he is slipping into his palm. Judging by the metal clink, Ruby has him restrained in handcuffs, not zip ties or rope, which means Dean will need to pick the lock, especially if the demon plans on separating them. Dean takes the paperclip, before swearing again and turning, edging past Sam and the hellhound holding him still. Sam glances towards Dean, knowing the terror he is feeling is written all over his expression when Dean shoots him a cocky, reassuring grin that almost, but not quite, reaches his dark, furious eyes.
“Bet your re-thinking that dream of having a pet dog now, aren’t you Sammy?” Dean jokes.
“Jerk.” Sam shoots back, his voice trembling slightly.
“Bitch.” Dean replies, his voice extraordinarily gentle on the familiar, reassuring nickname. It’s his way of offering Sam comfort, support, and Sam is nothing but grateful. He flashes a tiny smile at his brother and Dean winks back, before striding down the alley. Sam watches his brother worriedly, knowing that, despite the arrogant swagger, and the way Dean cockily holds his head up, his brother is as scared as he is, only in Dean’s case it will come out in violent rage, and Sam is anxious that Dean will do or say something to get himself hurt, or worse, without Sam there to stop him, or help him if he needs it. Sam watches as one of the car door opens, and a squat, portly man exits the passenger seat, dressed in all black from what Sam can tell, including a long black coat. He opens the rear passenger door for Dean, who glances back. Sam grimaces and gives his brother a nod. Dean returns it before disappearing into the car. The man, Crowley, Sam would guess, closes the door again, and gets into his own seat, the car driving off a moment later. Suddenly, soft hands are gripping Sam’s arms and he flinches violently. The hellhound growls warningly and Sam immediately stills himself again as he hears Ruby chuckle behind him.
“Easy, Big Boy. Just little old me.” She purrs in his ear. “Do me a favor and put those pretty hands behind your back for me.” Sam grits his teeth, but obeys, knowing he is in no position to resist her. He feels the cool metal bracelets of another set of cuffs close tightly around his wrists, and a brief spark of panic hits him. Maybe he shouldn’t have given his paperclip to Dean. But he shoves it down right away. He can’t escape anyways, not until he finds out where Dean has been taken. As soon as his wrists are secured, the hellhound, thankfully, releases Sam, the feeling of teeth against his vulnerable skin vanishing, along with the horrible, sulfuric breath. Another set of headlights appears, as another SUV appears exactly where Dean’s had been. “You are a smart boy, I am sure you can figure out what I want you to do now, Sammy. Don’t worry, Juliet is gone now.” Grimacing, trying to school his face into a mask of stoic calm, Sam starts walking towards the waiting car, his heart still racing a mile a minute as he wonders just what he and Dean have gotten themselves into.
Grudgingly, he has to admit the demon had had a smart plan. Catch all three of them off guard. Separate them. Take out the bigger threat, the team of two hunters, by holding one hostage to force the other one to comply. Although, to be fair, using a hellhound is basically cheating, Sam thinks petulantly as he approaches the SUV, pausing so that Ruby can open the back door for him. He awkwardly climbs in, grimacing as he bangs his head on the roof, and tries to bend his long legs into the cramped space. A young, brunette woman is in the driver’s seat, her grey eyes flashing black in the rearview mirror as she grins at Sam telling him she is yet another demon. To his annoyance, Ruby doesn’t take the empty passenger seat, but climbs right into the back with him, running the edge of her knife along Sam’s face and jaw when she sees his scowl.
“I see we get the cute Winchester.” The driver smirks, as Ruby shuts the door and she pulls away, steering their car northbound. “Easy with the knife, Ruby. Our mistress wants them intact.” Ruby rolls her eyes.
“I won’t hurt him.” She purrs.
“Not yet.” The driver drawls, a knowing, teasing look in her eyes that sends a chill down Sam’s back. Ruby seems to sense the growing tension in Sam, the tense way he holds himself, and she pulls the knife away from his skin, laughing softly.
“Sam, I believe you have already met our friend here, although you might not recognize her current host.” Ruby says sweetly. “I believe you called her Meg.” Sam’s eyes widen as the memories come back to him. Salvation, the Daeva’s, hunting a high-ranking demon that they have since learned was Yellow-Eyes, though they never actually crossed paths with him. They had captured Meg, or rather the demon using Meg Masters as a meatsuit, and exorcised her with the help of Bobby, before rushing off to save their father, who had been possessed by one of Yellow-Eyes’ loyal followers, and had barely escaped with their lives. The escape was complicated when Meg, back from Hell, ran a semi-truck into the Impala that very nearly killed them all. If Sam, who had been driving, had been going even slightly faster slower when the truck hit them, Dean very probably would have been killed, but the speeding Sam had been doing had allowed him to put the car just slightly ahead of the truck, enough to avoid the worst, possible collision.
“Hiya Sammy.” Meg winks at him in the rearview mirror, as Sam shifts uncomfortable, fighting down the rage and fear his memories of her are bringing to the surface. She almost got him killed, but worse, she almost killed his family. Multiple times. And, like a freaking cockroach, here she is again, driving him god knows where, with his brother somewhere else entirely. The only thing he can hope for, at the moment, is that their father escaped. He’ll realize soon that something has gone wrong, and come for them. He and Dean just have to hold on for that. Ignoring the demons, Sam turns towards the window, hoping to get a glimpse of where they might be taking him, but before he can get his bearings, something soft, like silk, and completely opaque slips over his eyes, blinding him completely, as a soft chuckle sounds way too close to his ear again.
“Almost forgot this.” Ruby whispers, her lips brushing against his skin. “Can’t have you working too hard on trying to escape our wonderful company, now can we?” Sam tries to move away from her, as much as he can in the limited space, and thankfully she seems to get the hint, tying off his blindfold before he hears her slide away across the seat. “Get comfy Sam, it’s a bit of a ride.” A bit of a ride, it turns out, is an understatement. Sam tries his best to count how long they are in the car, knowing if he can figure out a radius they are taking him from where they were in New Harmony, he can work out potential locations from the maps of the city he had studied on their way there, making notes of motels, hospitals, diners, anything that his family might end up needing while they were in town. But, after the third hour, Sam loses count.
Not that it matters at this point, since they have clearly left the town behind, and he has no idea where they could be bringing him at this point. What he does know is that they have been driving long enough for sunlight to start shining through the car windows, lighting up the edges around his blindfold. He shifts restlessly, his arms and shoulders growing sore, almost painful, from the length of time they have spent bound behind his back, but it isn’t until after the sixth hour that he feels the car start to slow down, and make one final turn, before coming a complete stop. The engine is turned off and Sam hears two car doors open and close, before his door is opened. Someone’s hands, either Ruby’s or Meg’s, he isn’t sure whose, grab his arm and pull him from the car. Sam stumbles, his legs sore and numb from being crammed into such little space for so long, and he barely has time to regain his footing before he is being pushed forwards.
He listens carefully, noticing how their footsteps seem to slap against the ground. Cement, then. Or asphalt. He is pulled to a stop, before a door is scrapped open across the ground. Metal, sliding, if Sam had to guess. Dean would know for sure, but part of Sam’s training has been to identify things- locations, noises, differences in materials- using his other senses besides sight, for exactly this kind of situation, and Sam had taken to it pretty quickly. Sam doesn’t have much more time to think about it, however, as he is pushed into whatever building they have brought him to. He tries to figure out the size of the building, based off of their echoing footsteps, but all he can think is big. Again, he knows his father or Dean would be able to tell almost the exact dimensions, just by listening, but Sam isn’t quite there yet.
“Sam!” Sam’s snapped from his thoughts as his brother’s voice, simultaneously worried and relieved, reaches his ears.
“Dean.” Sam replies, letting his voice convey to Dean that he is alright, or, at least, unhurt. If he saw them walk in, at the very least Dean isn’t blindfolded, but that doesn’t mean Dean won’t be scanning him, looking for any signs of injury or assault. Hopefully Sam can reassure him before Dean decides to do something stupid.
“You okay?” Dean calls, though from the way relief wins out over worry, Sam can tell he can see Sam isn’t any worse off than he was in that alley.
“Peachy.” Sam replies sarcastically. “You?”
“Well, now that we got some ladies in the room, much better.” Dean replies, smarmy, and Sam just knows he is giving Ruby and Meg a wide grin and overly-flirtatious wink. “Who’s the brunette?”
“Why Dean, I’m hurt that you don’t remember me.” Meg pouts.
“Sorry sweetheart, must not have made much of an impression.” Dean drawls arrogantly.
“Dean.” Sam cuts in warningly. “It’s Meg.”
“Meg? The Meg?” Dean asks sharply, the teasing, taunting quality gone from his voice, replaced by a steady anger.
“The one and only, Deano.” Meg crows happily. Sam feels hands shove him forwards and he stumbles, barely catching himself before he faceplants. “Come on Sammy, we don’t have all day.”
“Leave him alone!” Dean grows protectively.
“You aren’t really in a position to be giving orders here Dean.” Ruby says, and even blindfolded, Sam can see the smug smirk tugging at her lips. Confidence and arrogance seems to come as easily to her as it does to Dean, and under any other situation, Sam might find it amusing. Now, it is infuriating. And, not that he would admit it, terrifying. Sam feels himself being steered forward again, tripping a few times over his own feet before he is jerked to a stop again. “Now Sammy, I am going to uncuff your hands for a moment. You might be tempted to try being a hero, but if you do anything except what I tell you to do, Meg is going to disembowel your brother right in front of you. Having both of you would be nice, but we can do what we have to with only one if we need to. Understand me?” Sam nods once, tersely. As much as Sam may be tempted to take a swing on either Ruby or Meg, he knows it is a colossally stupid idea. They are demons, even one of them could kill him in half a second flat if they wanted. And there are at least two in the room. Possibly more, if the ones who brought Dean here are still in the room. Not to mention he is blinded, he has no salt, iron, or holy water, he doesn’t know any exorcisms, at least off the top of his head yet, and Dean is being held hostage, with at least one threat against him, possible weapons being held on him as well. There is nothing in this world that could make Sam put his brother at risk knowingly, regardless of temptation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you Sammy.” Ruby croons. Sam feels a flash of irritation at the way she is playing with him, like he is some puppet. Even worse, at the moment, he feels like one, because what else can he do except what they want? So, swallowing back what he really wants to say, he gives the demon what she wants.
“Yes.” He says coldly.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Ruby corrects him, voice still teasing, but with an undercurrent of threat there that had Sam’s skin crawling. Dean, of course, swore and called her a bunch of names, but Sam could tell her focus was entirely on him, which means that, wherever in the room Dean is, he is too securely tied up to do anything to her at the moment.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sam echoes her, clenching his fists tightly.
“Good boy.” Ruby whispers and he really wishes she would stop putting her lips near his ear like that, stop pressing her body against his, and keep her hands to himself. But, as uncomfortable as he is, he tries his best to hide it. Give the demons even the slightest hint of weakness, and they will exploit it as much as they kind, like digging fingers into a bullet wound. So he forces his face to remain neutral, even as his body tenses and strains, fighting back his urge to run, to fight. A soft clicking sound hits his ears as his hands are finally, mercifully, uncuffed, the strain of the position rippling through his arms and shoulders which he reflexively rolls and stretches. Ruby gives him a few seconds, before she is guiding him forward again, moving him into the position she wants him to be in before putting her hands on his shoulders. “Sit.” She orders, mockingly, twistedly playful.
“He’s not a freaking dog.” Dean says furiously.
“Is he always so reactive?” Ruby asks, laughing.
“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet.” Meg says smugly.
“Oh you have no idea ladies.” Dean says darkly, every word a threat. Sam also notes with relief that his voice is much closer, coming from just to the left of him, maybe a few feet away at most.
“Scary.” Ruby mocks. “Sam, I gave you an order. If I need to ask again, Meg and your brother’s insides are going to get very familiar.” Slowly, hesitatingly, Sam sits, reaching out his hands blindly until he finds the chair behind him. Sitting, he finds it is a metal chair, and, when he adjusts it slightly, he notices it has been bolted to the ground. No breaking it, no moving it. Fantastic. “Hands behind your back.” Fighting back a groan at the uncomfortableness he already feels, and the even deeper soreness that is no doubt headed his way, he obeys, crossing his wrists behind the back of his chair. The handcuffs he had become annoyingly familiar with over the past few hours click back into place one by one, and Sam just knows that Ruby wove them through the back of the chair, binding Sam directly to it, rather than just cuffing his hands back.
“He’s so obedient.” Meg says mockingly.
“He’s a quick leaner.” Ruby says smugly.
“Quicker than this one, that’s for sure.” A new voice sounds. Male, this time, but just as vicious, cold, and cruel as the female ones, with a lilted British accent.
“What can I say?” Dean sasses back. “Sammy had the hotter teachers.”
“Well, I would study up Deano.” Meg says cheerfully. “Because you both have the same teacher now, and let me tell you, she has a zero tolerance policy for insolence.”
“Oh, well, then she’ll love me.” Dean replies drily.
“Dean.” Sam cautions him anxiously. It’s bad enough they are in this mess, the last thing Sam needs is Dean making things worse, especially when Sam still can’t see to try and judge how their captors might be feeling, or reacting. But before Dean can retort, the sound of sliding metal reaches their ears, and the sound of… little feet? Skipping? Reaches Sam’s ears. He frowns, utterly confused. That can’t be right, can it?
“What the hell?” Dean mutters next to him, sounding as baffled as Sam, but with a dawning sort of horrified undercurrent to his voice.
“Hi Sam! Hi Dean!” A squealing, joyful young voice yells excitedly, and Sam’s heart drops into his stomach. It’s the voice of a little girl. “Oh, I am so happy you two could join us! We are going to have so much fun!”