When Darkness Calls

Chapter Nine

Dean heard the light sound of footsteps, could feel the sting of Charlie's mocking glare on the back of his neck. Damn it, Sammy, you'd better be okay.

Once behind Dean, Charlie leaned in and whispered. "I got him, Dean. Got your precious Sammy."

"You're a liar," Dean sneered. Clenching his right hand into a tight fist, Dean fought against the sturdy ropes. His left hand, hung limp and useless over the arm of the chair. The tight binds cut into Dean's swollen wrist, his fingers tingling with pain.

"You think so?" Charlie's menacing laughter echoed through the darkened bunker. "I wouldn't count on it, if I were you." Circling around to stand in front of him, Charlie threw a shredded, blood-stained flannel shirt at Dean. An unsettling grin crossed the crazed man's features. "Does this look familiar?"

Dean stared at the mangled shirt belonging to his brother, stomach churning. Oh God, Sam, what did he do to you? He jerked forward in the chair, writhing against the restraints, a deep growl escaping his lips. "Where's my brother? What the hell did you do to him, you bastard?"

Charlie slammed his open hand down forcefully on Dean's broken one and squeezed tightly with all his strength. Dean winced, letting out a low ragged groan. His gut wrenched as he felt the bones grind together. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat.

Dean glared at Charlie, green eyes narrowing to mere slits, determined not let how badly his hand hurt. "Y-you sick son-uvabitch." The tremor in Dean's voice, belied the pain he was desperately trying to conceal.

Laughing, Charlie let go of Dean's hand. "You know, I could stay here all day trying to break you." He drew in a deep breath, and gestured toward where he'd just come from. "But, I have Sammy strung up around here somewhere bleedin' all over the place and I really need to see to him."

"I wanna see my brother."

"Oh, you will." Charlie turned, stalked to the table, and snatched a long metal poker off of it. "I promise." He walked back to Dean, stopping within inches of him. With the poker, he gestured around to various places on the ceiling. "I have this bunker wired for sound." A glint of pure evil danced in Charlie's dark eyes. "For now, I'm afraid you'll just have to settle for hearing every scream and every cry Sam makes as he begs you to help him."

Charlie slammed the tip of the poker down forcefully, piercing Dean's booted foot. Dean let out a low cry then clamped his mouth shut tight, shuddering as wave after wave of excruciating pain emanated outward from the wound.

Yanking the poker out of Dean's foot, Charlie smirked. "Did that hurt, Dean? Cause from where I'm standing, it really looked like it did."

Gotta keep him away from Sammy. If I can keep him here, maybe Sam can escape. Dean drew a staggering breath, and then forced a smile. "Naw, is that the best ya got?"

"Nice try, Dean, but Sammyboy is waiting for me. Wouldn't want your brother to freeze to death out there, what with him not wearin' a coat or even a shirt, for that matter."

Charlie strode away, calling back over his shoulder. "Hope you enjoy the show, the acoustics in here are simply fabulous. Every scream, echoing off the walls, for your listening pleasure."

"Get back here, you sonuvabitch!" Dean yanked on the ropes, muscles straining, sweat dripping down his face and the nape of his neck. "Whatever you're gonna do to him, do it to me instead. You hear me — do it to me instead!"