Storm Before the Calm

AN: Set after Season 11 finale. Any suggestions as to how this story should end are much appreciated!

Men of Letters, London Chapter

Basement, probably

London, England

2:34 am

He spits out blood onto the floor, looking at his capturer with nothing but poorly disguised disgust. A punch to his cheek nearly takes his breath away. Men of Letters may essentially be bookworms, but this nerdy dude can pack a major punch.

Sam groans but manages to glare at his attacker, "Dude, seriously. You need some better moves."

Sam shakes his head as if that'll help with the dizziness. He pulls at his restraints again, but it's useless. All four of his limbs are chained, his arms by chains on the ceiling and his legs by chains on the floor. He fights back a shiver, despite being half-naked, he doesn't want to give them the satisfaction.

"You will tell us everything," a foreign voice speaks, angrily, "you will."

Tell them what, Sam isn't sure. They won't say anything other than spit out vague sentences in-between punching him.

Toni, the woman who shot him in the gut, wasn't exaggerating. The Men of Letters, London Chapter were extremely, uh, concerned with Sam's behavior over the past several years. Dean's too, but, Dean, fortunately, or unfortunately, is dead.

"Whatever you say, pal," Sam says sarcastically, expecting another slap, punch, or whatever. He's not disappointed. This time, it's a mixture of punching and slapping.

He feels blood drip down his face, over his naked chest, and onto the floor. "I don't know what you're expecting from me," Sam snaps, "Dean's dead. I'm all that's left. So, if you're going to kill me…KILL ME."

"Killing you would be a mercy," the man speaks, but he's clearly aggravated that they aren't getting to him to break. He turns, going to talk to his supervisor at the end of the stairway across the room. Sam rolls his eyes, it's like they don't even know he spent nearly 200 years in Hell. Locked in a cage. With Lucifer himself. They weren't going to "break him" by simply chaining him up and punching him around a little.

But, honestly, it is getting a little boring. The physical pain is easily managed, the crushing grief weighing on his chest, not so much. He wants his brother. He wants to go home. But, honestly, more than anything, he just wants this to be done.

If they kill him here, in this creepy ass, molded basement in fucking England, he can meet up with Dean—wherever the hell he is—and tell him honestly that he didn't kill himself just because Dean died. He'll put up with Dean's mockery of getting ganked by a bunch of library nerds for eternity if they would just kill him already.

Men of Letters bunker, United States Chapter

Staircase, War Room

Lebanon, Kansas

8:34 pm

Dean can't stop staring. Which is weird, he knows he's being weird, but he can't stop. They're walking side by side down the steps and he really should be looking where he's going but he can't help it. His mother is freaking alive.

"Dean, you're staring a hole right into my face," Mary laughs, and then looks at him playfully-seriously, "Do I have something on my face? Or, God, my teeth?"

Dean blanches at being caught in the act, "What? No, no, course not. You look great for a woman brought back to life after 30-odd years."

Mary tilts her head and analyzes him, reminding him so much of Sam that Dean can't help but smile. He suddenly can't wait for Sam to see her. To meet her. To hug her. They reach the last step and Mary takes a look around. She lets out a whistle, turning to Dean.

"My boys have done good for themselves," She smiles, proudly, causing Dean to blush, before she frowns. She wrings her hands nervously, something he remembers her doing from when he was just a kid. No wonder she's nervous, she hasn't seen Sam since he was a baby. He puts an arm around her, kissing the top of her head.

"Let's go find my not-so-little brother, huh?"

Dean pulls away and calls out for his brother. That's when he sees the dried blood on the floor. His heart starts to beat fast in his chest as he pulls the gun out from the back of his pants.

"Dean, what's—"

"Shh," Dean says harshly, scanning the war room. His mother, a former hunter, takes the hint. He looks towards the steps by the library and his eyes widen. He walks towards it, reaching out to touch the sigil. His finger comes away clean, making him curl his fist in a ball. Whoever took his brother is long gone. He turns, looking at the dried blood that forms a line towards the door leading to the kitchen. He looks towards his mother, who is beyond worried. Dean swallows, "I think Sam's been taken."

"Oh, God," Mary's face pales, and she starts wringing her hands together again before pointing behind Dean, "Wait, but what's that? On the wall?"

Dean glances back at the sigil before looking back at his mom. He walks closer to her as he explains, "This may be a little…crazy," Mary shoots him a look, "I know, I know, but crazier than the stuff we normally hunt. This is a sigil… it keeps out angels."

Mary's eyes widen, then her eyebrows do the exact same thing that Sam's do when he's analyzing. It's freaky how much his mother and his brother are alike.

"Angels…" Mary says wistfully, shaking her head and putting her hands by her sides. She shakes herself as if psyching herself up. "The future is weird. Okay, so, now what?"

"Now…." Dean sighs, raking a hand through his short hair. His mind is in overdrive, wondering who the hell took his brother. "Now, we call an angel to help us find Sam."