AN: Thanks for all your kind words, everyone!


Chapter Two

Sam knows he's going to be exhausted later as a fresh surge of adrenaline pulses through him. He's already drained from the battle with Azazel, then the elation of celebrating and now this weird situation. The strange man, Edwin, has re-holstered his gun, which has left an indent in the forehead of the man kneeling on the floor. Bait…Sam shudders at the word. He can't think of a human being like that.

"Hey," he speaks as the young man pulls himself unsteadily to his feet. "I'm Sam."

The other man doesn't reply and Sam chews on his bottom lip as he considers this. It's not all that surprising, he supposes – if someone had just effectively bought him, he probably wouldn't want to talk to them either.

"I know you must be a bit shaken up, but…" Sam trails off as the boy simply starts walking away, following Edwin and Sam's father.

"Ok, well, maybe that was an understatement," Sam admits as he starts to keep pace with the still unnamed youth, who shoots him a glare in response.

Sure, Sam, make a joke out of it. It's only the guy's entire life you're dealing with!

Sam wants to kick himself but he settles for simply apologising.

"I'm sorry, I know this is serious."

He receives another stony glare in response and gets the sinking feel that he's just digging a deeper hole for himself. Well, how the hell is he supposed to know what to say in a situation like this?! His Dad has never been involved with anything like this, telling Sam it was unthinkable back in the old days…before 'Gate'. Sam thinks the old days must have been pretty sweet.

He settles for walking in somewhat uncomfortable silence, his green eyes flickering between Edwin, walking at the front of the group, and the man walking at Sam's side. The gap between the two is widening as the younger of the pair struggles to keep pace with Edwin's energetic strides.

Sam takes the time to really study the injured young man as he waits for him to catch up.

He's looking down as he picks his way across the ground, giving Sam a view of his spiky, dirty hair. He doesn't need to see the man's face again to recall those vivid blotches of bruising; it feels like they're stuck in his mind and he won't ever be able to forget them. The guy's dressed in a long-sleeved sweater that, clearly a couple of sizes too big, hangs off his thin frame, the sleeves dropping over his hands, creating an almost child-like air about him. He's limping, although trying badly to hide it. As Sam's attention drifts to the guy's legs, he starts to notice little details he hadn't had time to take in during the initial confrontation – the rips in the tattered denim jeans, the bloodstains crusted onto the ancient fabric and, most noticeably, the man's bare feet. The ground under Sam's feet is compact dirt littered with rubble and debris, he dreads thinking of what damage could be happening to the tender flesh on the soles of the man's feet. He thinks better than to speak of it, though, because it's not like there's anything he can do about it; shoes are expensive and Sam certainly doesn't have any pairs to spare. Despite this, for the rest of the walk he still feels guiltily aware of his feet nestled comfortably in his sturdy boots.

By the time they arrive at Edwin's 'office', exhaustion is beginning to set into the Winchesters. John longs for a minute alone with his son, to talk about this. The cowardly part of him, the part that is becoming increasingly more and more convinced that his suspicions are true, wants to just turn and walk straight back. He dealt with his grief a long time ago. He can't deal with the fact that he was wrong, that he gave up when his son was still alive. That his son had to endure a life as bait instead of a life with his father and brother.

You don't even know that it's him. Turn around, walk away and forget about him. You don't need to find out, you don't need to face this.

And then John turns to his youngest son and watches him glare daggers into Edwin. Sam Winchester is no coward and he's learned that off his father. So, encouraged by this, John signs on the dotted line and seals it with his blood. He listens to Edwin explain his new 'tool's' training and watches him bring the boy to his knees with crippling pain using only an incantation. And then, as Sam leads the boy outside, he turns to Edwin and calmly aims his gun right between the man's eyes.

"Is it him?" John asks quietly and his tone is deadly.

Edwin pauses for a moment, but to John it feels like a taunt, as though the man is purposefully drawing out his anticipation. Then his lips curl up into a smirk and he replies.

"It's him, John. You found him." Another pause and John tightens his finger on the trigger, "Shame you were twenty years too late."

John fires and doesn't stick around to watch the corpse topple to the floor.


Sam jumps at the sound of the gunshot and feels the man beside him do the same. He really wishes he had a name to call him by since he refuses to think of any person as 'bait'. If he doesn't find out soon, he's going to invent one.

"Alright, kids, let's go."

Sam is relieved to see his Dad walking alive and well from the shack that posed as Edwin's office. His tone implies no nonsense, but Sam can't help but ask as they set off towards home.

"You killed Edwin?"

"Guy had it coming." John shrugs in response and Sam laughs because it's pretty much the only thing he can do in response to that. Besides, he's far more interested in the way that the new addition to their group reacts to the news – his face finally showing something other than surly aggression. But it's not the joy or satisfaction Sam was expecting to see; it's a look of panic and alarm, which disappears as quickly as it arrived.

His Dad doesn't add anything else and Sam feels frustrated that he's seemingly the only one affected by this ridiculous silence. It seems like this new addition to the household has a lot more in common with John Winchester than his own son does.

"So…doesn't anyone have anything to say?" He asks with an exasperated, over-dramatic shrug. "After everything that just happened…"

"There's a lot that needs to be said, Sam," John replies flatly and Sam wants to throttle him.

"So say it! We have to deal with this! I mean we own someo-." he turns to their new 'acquisition'. "We 'own' you…" He softens his tone and adds air quotes, as if that makes what he's saying any less horrific. "We own you, and we don't even know your name…"

"You don't give names to bait," the man finally speaks. His voice sounds rough and raw with a hint of bitterness.

"You aren't bait, you're a person," Sam insists firmly, "so you need a name. Didn't you have one before…" Sam trails off, feeling like he's sinking into that self-made hole again.

To his surprise, the man replies. He's subconsciously rubbing his thumbs nervously across his crossed forearms as he talks. "I don't remember before."

Sam tries and fails to make eye contact. He's heard stories about this aspect of trafficking, people made to run across the plains between camps to lure out the demons. People chained and at the mercy of beasts so snipers can kill the monster while it feasts on human flesh. To know no other life than one of fear and danger? To spend your entire life knowing that no one cared for you, no one was going to look out for your welfare, no one to keep you safe? Sam suddenly feels overwhelmed with emotion and he moves to walk beside his father, suddenly grateful for all those times his father forced him to train, forced him to memorise chants and glyphs, for everything his father did to keep them safe.

"Well, no way are we calling you 'Bait'," John replies, and his tone leaves no option for argument. There's a pause and Sam watches as his father wrestles with some indecision in his mind, not something he's seen very often, before speaking again.

"How does 'Dean' sound?"


Thanks again to the awesomeness of my beta. Thanks for reading!