Well, it's already looking pretty bad for Sam and Cas here and it's only going to get worse from here. Thanks to everyone who has followed, faved, and read so far! I hope you continue to enjoy!
Chapter Two
Captives
Sam woke with a gasp, forcing himself into a sitting position, finding a slick, padded bench underneath of him. He glanced around sharply at his surroundings, having no idea where he was, but it looked like a cell of some kind.
He swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden panic that rose up inside of him at the thought of the facility he and Dean had been kept in for two months. But this wasn't the same place, it was white, sterile, and small, with a door that had an automated lock on it which meant he wasn't going to be picking it even if he could find something to do so. He stood on shaky legs, his head protesting the sudden uprightness, and went over to the door just in case.
It was then he realized he was barefoot, and in unfamiliar clothes. While he was unconscious, someone had dressed him in blue scrub pants and a plain white t-shirt. Not only did the idea of someone changing his clothes without his consent make his skin crawl, but it also meant they would have found and confiscated all his weapons.
Sam tried to piece the memories of what had happened together in his pounding head. He remembered going into town with Cas. They'd been about to pick up a pizza when Ketch had popped up. He'd shot Cas with some kind of angel-paralyzing bullet and then more of the Men of Letters had come to take them both captive.
Sam stupidly looked around the room as if Cas might materialize there, but the angel obviously wasn't in the cell with him. He swallowed hard. This was a very bad situation they had gotten into. Cas had gotten a taste of what the Men of Letters wanted to do with him the last time they had been captured, and now Sam knew they weren't going to make things easy on either of them after what had happened. Sam could tell that Ketch was the kind of man who held a grudge and liked petty revenge, and he certainly wasn't afraid to be cruel.
Anger flared through Sam then and he slammed his fist against the door. "Hey! Let me out of here!" he shouted, determined to keep up the pounding until someone came to stop him.
It happened sooner than expected. Sam heard footsteps outside the door, and suddenly the red light above the handle turned green, and the door swung open. Sam was met by Ketch and a guard who held something that looked like a cattle prod. No chance to rush them, then, unless he wanted a taste of that. Sam decided to save such obvious recklessness for another day. He stepped back, though he held his ground as Ketch and the guard came into the room and closed the door behind them.
"Do you need something, Winchester?" Ketch had the gall to ask. He was once again dressed in his typical immaculate suit; tie perfectly straight, with a matching pocket-handkerchief to complete the ensemble. Sam glowered at him,
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "And where's Cas?"
Ketch sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "It's going to be like that again, is it? Fine, the angel is currently having the bullet removed from its shoulder after which it will be interred, like you."
Sam felt a surge of anger at Ketch calling Cas an 'it' again, but he knew rising to the bait now wasn't going to do him or Cas any good. "What do you want with us?"
"What we've wanted from the beginning," Ketch told him with a small shrug as if it had been obvious. "Your aid in this fight against all things Supernatural. I know that you can be a very good asset if applied correctly, Sam, and your pet angel, well, it will be used in the way we always intended. For scientific research."
"Cas isn't a lab rat!" Sam snarled, fists clenching at his sides. "You can't do this!"
"Oh we can, and we will, and there's nothing you can do to stop us," Ketch said with a smarmy smirk on his face that was too much for Sam. The hunter lunged forward and slammed his fist into Ketch's jaw. The Englishman stepped back with a grunt, but before Sam could continue his beating, the guard lunged forward and shoved the cattle prod into Sam's stomach, sending a shock through his body. He collapsed hard with a grunt as the guard kept the current going for several long seconds before he pulled the prod back.
When Sam could see straight again, he looked up to see Ketch dabbing blood from the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief. "You'll never learn, will you, Winchester? Or, maybe you will, eventually. I have high hopes for the treatment our people have for you."
Sam felt fear wash over him as he scraped himself off the floor, body trembling from the leftover shock. "Screw you," he forced out.
Ketch just smiled, the same smile that had gotten him punched. "See you bright and early, Sam." And then he and the guard left, the door locking firmly behind them.
Sam crawled over to the small cold bunk again, climbing onto it and curling onto his side as he fought the shockwaves still messing with his muscles. Whatever the Men of Letters had planned for him and Cas, Sam knew it wasn't going to be good.
On the other hand, he also knew that Dean would have realized something was wrong by now, and he was probably going to know exactly who had taken them.
Sam had faith in his brother to find them, and he had faith in himself and Cas that no matter what the British dicks did to them, they wouldn't break.
He just really hoped they wouldn't have to die before that happened.
Castiel came to with a cry of pain, feeling as if a red hot iron was being driven into his shoulder. He tried to jerk away from the source of it, but heard shouting and cursing and felt hands holding him down. Hands and cold chains around his wrists and ankles.
He blinked his eyes open through the haze of agony, and had to close them again as he was blinded by a light seemingly pointed directly at his face.
"Got it," someone said before a metal clink was heard. "Get a couple stitches in the wound and then tape it up."
Castiel felt several people standing around him, gloved hands prodding his burning shoulder as more pain flared up.
"Stop," he ground out.
He was ignored though, all through the fiery stabs in his shoulder, and then the clinical scrubbing of the area before he felt something pressed to the wound and taped there. It was only then that the blinding light was pushed to one side and he blinked his eyes open again, glancing blearily at his surroundings.
Several people in lab coats stood around the metal table he was chained to. Castiel did not like this at all, remembering vaguely what had happened. Seeing Ketch's bike, he and Sam being jumped. Ketch shooting him with the sigiled bullet so that he was unable to move. Unable to help defend Sam. If he had been able to move, they probably would have been able to put up a fight together, at least take some of the men down, but now it was too late. They'd been captured again, and he could only imagine all the terrible things the Men of Letters had planned for them now.
"That's all for now, Ketch wants it contained for the night," a voice said off to one side, and Castiel looked over, seeing a blond man that looked vaguely familiar. He thought it might be the same man who had tortured him when they'd been captured before, but he was still a bit fuzzy.
Suddenly, he felt hands undoing his restraints. Castiel had a surge of hope that he might be able to get away, but as he looked up, there was a man holding a gun pointed toward him.
"Don't try anything, angel, or I'll put more of those bullets into you and we'll start the whole process over again."
Castiel decided grudgingly that fighting was probably not the best option—even if he had had the strength to take on all these armed people at once without his angel blade. Besides, he wanted to know what had happened to Sam. His manacles were unlocked and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet, swaying so that he had to grab the table to stay upright.
A woman pushed a stack of clothes into his arms. "Put these on," she said curtly.
Castiel stared stupidly at the outfit, glancing between it and the black slacks he was still wearing.
"Hurry up," the woman snapped.
Castiel complied, though indignantly. He didn't necessarily feel a human's embarrassment at undressing in front of these people, but there was an indignity in it that he didn't like at all. However, he feared that any insubordination on his part might have bad repercussions for Sam, and without knowing the situation well enough, he thought it best to comply.
For the moment.
He pulled off the trousers and replaced them with the soft blue drawstring pants and the white shirt that he struggled to get into with his injured shoulder. No one moved to help him though, simply looking even more impatient as he finally maneuvered his injured arm into the sleeve hole and pulled the shirt down his torso. The outfit felt too thin and cold, and he had the vague feeling of being too vulnerable in it. He subconsciously hugged his arms over his chest.
A man, who Castiel took to be a guard, strode over as soon as he'd finished dressing and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him out of the room they were in that looked to be some sort of medical surgery room, and down a long white hall, until they stopped at a closed door. The guard punched a code into the keypad and then shoved Castiel inside, slamming the door behind him without ceremony.
Castiel looked around at the small room. There was a sink and toilet in one corner, a shelf over top of that held a stack of more shirts and pants like he was wearing. A small cot that had nothing but a thin leather-like plastic cushion on it that looked like the kind they had in hospitals was against the other wall. There was nothing else in the room, and Castiel tried testing the door to no avail. He shoved and battered at it until his wound sang with pain again, and finally had to give up, clutching his arm across his chest and sinking down onto the cot with a wince.
At least there was no binding sigils in the cell and they hadn't bound his grace any other way either, so his wound would heal quickly, probably by the morning if he got rest. Of course, rest was out of the question. He needed to know where Sam was and what they were doing with him. He recalled Ketch's threats about forcing demon blood into him and felt sick to his stomach. Sam didn't deserve that, and Castiel hated the fact that no matter what happened, he would be powerless to stop it, especially if he didn't even know where Sam was being kept.
He was startled by footsteps outside the door and then the sound of the automatic lock opening. He got to his feet as Ketch pushed his way into the room, standing there with his hands behind his back and a satisfied smile on his face. Castiel's fists clenched at his sides, making sure his hatred showed.
"Come to gloat?" he demanded.
Ketch smirked with a small shrug. "Something like that."
Castiel wasn't quick enough to catch the punch Ketch threw at him. It connected with his jaw with a sharp crack, throwing Castiel to his knees where he caught himself against the cot, jarring his wound. Blood dribbled from his mouth and he looked around incredulously to see Ketch admiring a pair of brass knuckles with sigils carved into them like the ones Dean had stolen from Toni Bevel's sadistic companion after she'd attacked them on the road.
"They do pack a punch, don't they?" Ketch said in a satisfied tone. "That was for the blow you gave me last time. I lost two teeth."
"Good," Castiel ground out, pulling himself to his feet. "I wish you had choked on them." He then spat a gob of blood onto the toe of Ketch's polished leather shoe.
The Englishman's face went blank with rage and he swung again, pounding a brass-knuckled fist into Castiel's stomach and then his solar plexus, finishing off with a blow to the lower back as the angel doubled over that put Castiel on his hands and knees again, biting back a cry.
Ketch stared down at him dispassionately, as he took his handkerchief out and wiped the blood from the brass knuckles before he tucked them back into his pocket. "If you think you'll get out of here so easy this time, you're wrong. We've learned to take the proper precautions. You and Sam Winchester will not be slipping through our fingers this time."
Castiel grunted as he pulled himself to his feet again, his body singing with pain but he managed to stay upright. "When Dean finds out…"
"Oh, Dean won't be able to do anything," Ketch said with satisfaction that came from surety. Castiel felt slight unease wash over him. "We're not even at the same facility. We're not that stupid."
Castiel glared at him as he stood his ground, not letting Ketch see that his words had bothered him. Castiel knew that it wouldn't matter to Dean anyway. It might take him a bit longer to find them, but he still would. "I suppose you think that means you've won," he said blandly.
Ketch offered a humorless chuckle. "Oh no, not yet. Not until I have you broken and begging at my feet."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while. I'm not in the habit of begging," Castiel told him firmly.
Ketch took two steps forward and had Castiel against the wall, his hand clamped tightly around the angel's wounded shoulder. Castiel clenched his jaw to keep from making a noise. He didn't want to give this bastard the satisfaction.
"Maybe not yet, but you will, that I promise. I have my ways of breaking things like you, halo, and you'll know every one of them by the time I'm through with you." He clenched his hand tighter, his thumb digging into the bullet hole.
Instead of wincing, Castiel steeled himself and gave a defiant smile, like Dean would have. "You think you can break me? You think you can scare me with your petty threats? I'm an angel, you ass; beings far greater and more powerful than you have tried and failed. What makes you think you can do it, human?"
Ketch's thumb dug deeper, and this time Castiel was unable to keep the cringe from his face as he felt blood start to drip down his chest and soak into the clean white shirt.
"Oh, everyone has their breaking point, angel. And something tells me it's not going to be so hard to find yours." He leaned close, only inches from Castiel's face, forcing the angel to hold his ground and keep himself from flinching. "You talk big, but I know you. I have seen your weaknesses, your human faults." Castiel tried not to shudder at the suggestive inflection he put on the word. "I know the things, the ideals, the people you hold most dear, and that is how I will break you."
He shoved Castiel hard against the wall before finally releasing his shoulder, then strode swiftly out the door of the cell, shutting it firmly behind him.
Castiel staggered the couple steps to the bed, and slumped down onto it, clutching his wounded shoulder. Blood was seeping through his bandage and shirt, but he didn't bother looking at it, since he didn't have anything to fix it with. He just hoped that it would start to heal by morning.
Not that it probably mattered much. He knew only more pain and torture was coming, and the only thing he could do was make sure he proved Ketch wrong.
He wouldn't break. No matter what.
Castiel slumped down on the cot and curled into himself on the uncomfortable surface. He wondered where Sam was and what was being done to him.
Dean only barely stopped himself from pacing the whole time he was waiting at the bunker for Mom to get there. Instead, he put his twisted ankle up on the table and started searching through all the traffic camera footage of the town, trying to see exactly where and when Sam and Cas had been taken.
He was just weeding through the last several hours' worth of footage from the camera closest to the pizza place, when he heard the front door creak open. He got up, gun in hand just in case, and went out into the war room.
"Dean?"
Dean breathed a sigh of relief, putting his gun back into his waistband. "Mom."
Mom hurried down the stairs toward him, a worried look on her face as she looked him up and down, taking in the bruises. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, that's from the job we finished earlier," Dean assured her. "Sam and Cas were just on a supply run when I guess they got jumped." He headed toward the library and Mom followed him, pulling her bag from her shoulder and setting it down on the tabletop.
"What happened?" she asked.
Dean slumped back into his chair, resuming his searching of the video footage. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
"How do you know it was the Brits?" she asked.
"Would it be anyone else?" he asked blandly. "Besides, no one else would get the drop on Sam and Cas like that. Those douchbags have stuff that neutralizes angels and all sorts of supernatural creatures. I figure they probably took Cas out, or threatened to, so Sam wouldn't put up a fight." He felt sick just saying it, but it was the reality of the situation. "There was some blood at the scene," he added grimly.
Mom sighed and sat down next to him, glancing at the screen. "Have you seen where they've gone?"
Dean shrugged. "The only thing I got was this black SUV pulling onto the road around the time I figure they were taken. Since SUVs with blacked out windows and untraceable plates aren't exactly common here in Lebanon, I can't imagine who else it would be."
"Well, we know where the Men of Letters' base is," Mom said. "That's where they'd be taken, right?"
Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I guess, but they've got to expect we're coming. As much as I hate to admit it, Ketch and Mick are not idiots. Well, Ketch isn't anyway. He's likely planned this whole thing out to get back at us for pulling one over on them last time."
"Then we'll go in knowing what to expect," Mom said firmly. "There didn't seem to be that many people there last time and most of them were researchers. If we head over there, and watch them for a bit, maybe we can wait until their soldiers go off on a hunt or something, Ketch too."
Dean's fist clenched at just the mention of that bastard's name. "I want Ketch there. I want to shoot him between the eyes."
Mom didn't argue with him. Dean took a few more minutes to look through the traffic feeds, seeing the SUV leaving the town limits. After that there was nothing more to see. That last proof he had of what had happened to Sam and Cas.
He closed the laptop and stood up. "Well, we're just wasting time here. Let's head on over to the Brits' compound and scope it out."
Mom nodded in agreement and Dean went to pack a bag.
This time, the Brits weren't going to know what hit them.
