Chapter 3

Dean gritted his teeth as his wrists were zip tied to the armrests of the chair he was in. So much for the friendly gesture of removing the handcuffs. To his left, Sam was similarly restrained. Looked like there would be no more attempts at playing nice, not that Dean had any intention of cooperating with these sons-of-bitches until they released Ryn. Actually, even then, he wasn't feeling particularly amiable, given their treatment thus far.

A woman with blonde hair tucked in a tight bun and wearing a pantsuit walked in, her heels clacking starkly on the hard floor.

Dean arched an unimpressed brow at her. "This is your starting play? British Spice?"

The woman crossed her arms. "Lady Toni Bevell," she introduced herself, sounding just as haughty as her bearing indicated.

"Yeah, charmed." Dean snorted. What, was she going to torture them with tea and crumpets?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Lady Bevell made a gesture, and a moment later an assistant wheeled in a cart lined with surgical implements, syringes, and vials. Dean's stomach instinctively cringed, and he tested his bonds out of habit. They weren't gonna give, though.

"It's probably only fair to tell you that I was tortured in Hell for thirty years. So you folks are kinda out of your league."

Toni lifted a delicate brow. "Fascinating. Yet here you are. How did you get out?"

Dean clamped his mouth shut.

She pursed her lips in a pouting moue. "There's no reason to be like that. If you answer our questions, you can leave."

Dean slid a sidelong, skeptical look at Sam. "And Ryn?" he asked.

Toni looked to Mick.

"He means the Alpha phoenix," Davies supplied.

"I see," she said. "Well, we can't very well let a dangerous monster loose."

"She's not dangerous," Sam said sharply.

Dean canted his head to himself. Well, technically, she was, especially when pissed off. But she was on their side.

Toni moved to the tray of accoutrements and picked up a syringe. "Dean Winchester, how did you get out of Hell?"

He steeled his jaw. "Bite me."

She let out a weary sounding sigh and picked up a vial of blue liquid. Inserting the needle into the bottle, she pulled back the plunger to fill the reservoir.

"You're expecting torture like you experienced in Hell," Toni said conversationally. "But that gets…messy." She removed the needle and set the vial down before turning toward them. "This compound is an interesting combination of pharmaceuticals, resulting in a very effective substance that increases the pain receptors in the nerves so that even the smallest pin prick will feel like you're being stabbed."

Dean tensed as she moved closer. He could only hope she planned to use it on him and not Sam.

Sure enough, she veered toward Dean and leaned down to tap the vein in his arm. He fought not to cringe in anticipation.

Sam's muscles were straining as he squirmed in his restraints. "You don't have to do this," he pleaded.

Toni raised a questioning brow at Dean, who merely met her gaze coldly. Yes, they did. Because he wasn't giving them shit.

Toni angled the hypodermic needle down toward Dean's skin. This time he did flinch as she slid the needle into the crook of his elbow. She depressed the plunger, and he winced as burning liquid flushed into his vein.

Toni pulled the needle out and patted his cheek, then glanced at Sam. "Feel free to contribute anything during the interview."

Sam glared daggers at her between shooting worried looks to the side. For Dean's part, he was too distracted by his head starting to get fuzzy. His extremities began tingling, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to dispel the sensation.

Toni placed the syringe back on the cart and picked up a notebook and pen. She then turned and took a seat at the table, crossing her legs and giving Dean a saccharine smile. She nodded to someone behind, him, however, and a moment later one of the guards moved into Dean's peripheral vision. In his hand was a sewing needle.

Dean almost laughed, but then the guard poked his forearm, not even deep enough to draw blood, but it felt like a hot poker, and Dean threw his head back with a scream. He thought he heard Sam shouting his name, but it was muffled until the waves of agony gradually receded, and he was left panting.

His gaze flitted instinctively to his arm, but there was no sign of the mark that'd felt like he'd been skewered.

Toni uncapped her pen. "Now, shall we begin? How did you get out of Hell?"

Dean's cheeks puffed as he fought to catch his breath. He meant to lob a curse at her, but the words that stuttered out of his mouth were, "An angel."

He blinked furiously. What the hell?

"Dean?" Sam sputtered.

Toni scribbled something on her notepad. "An angel raised you from Hell?"

His mouth opened of its own accord, and he fought to clench his jaw, he did. "Y-yes," he gritted out.

Toni pursed her mouth thoughtfully. "Would that happen to be the same angel our intel says seems to reside with you in the bunker?"

"Yes." Dean sucked in a ragged gasp and shot his brother a horrified look. What was he doing? Sam looked just as freaked and confused.

"Oh, did I mention the drugs also work as a sort of truth serum?" Toni said cheerfully.

Dean's eyes widened. What?

"What is this angel's name?"

Dean mashed his lips together. No, no. He would not give her that.

Toni smirked in apparent amusement, and flicked her eyes over his shoulder. The guard moved in, jabbing the sewing needle into the flesh of his hand, and Dean couldn't hold back the guttural scream as it felt like he'd been impaled.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled.

"What is the angel's name?"

"Ca-Castiel," Dean panted, and squeezed his eyes shut in abject mortification, hot tears welling up.

"Your truth serum works, you don't have to torture him!" Sam was screaming.

"Resistance is to be expected," Toni replied uncaringly. "And as your brother pointed out, he withstood quite a lot in Hell. Pain whittles that resistance away. And we have so very much to go through. So…" She turned back to Dean with a sickening smile. "Why did this angel raise you from the Pit?"

Amy scooped a serving of kibble into Kit's food bowl and set it on the kitchen floor. The russet feline bounded over, but paused as she reached the dish and looked up at Amy, one ear quirked to the side in question. Usually Dean was in the kitchen making breakfast at this time. He didn't often throw Kit scraps, unless he was cooking ham, but his absence was palpable.

Not that there weren't days he wasn't here because he was off on a case, and only Amy or one other family member was left hanging around.

It was different this time, though. Because they weren't on a case. They were missing. And the bunker had never felt so quiet. So empty. Even Kit seemed to sense it. The cat's head dropped, subdued, and she slowly hunkered down to munch on her food.

Amy left the kitchen and made her way through the corridor, stopping at the entrance to the library. Her dad was sitting at one of the tables, head in his hands. Her cell was sitting on the table next to him, waiting for someone to call with an update, since his phone had been broken. He'd been there all night and had barely moved, partly a moored sentinel guarding against further invasion, partly a mired figure trapped by inaction and no leads. Amy had never seen him look so lost, so shut down, and she didn't know what to do to help. As each long hour had ticked by into days with no word from their friends, Amy felt a piece of herself set adrift as well. Their family had been torn apart, and she didn't know why.

She wished Gabriel wasn't missing. He'd know what to do, or at the very least would buck them up with bolstering words and lively pep talks. If he were here, they wouldn't be drowning in silence and slowly succumbing to despair.

Amy watched her dad for another moment before turning around and heading back to the kitchen. She turned on the coffee maker and got down two mugs: Castiel's "World's Best Dad" cup and one of the bunker's original china pieces for herself. Her gaze briefly flitted over the others in the cupboard—Dean's mechanic themed mug with its ring of brown stains from being used so much. Amy should get him another one. And then there were the ones they'd picked up in gift shops from various vacations that her mom and Sam rotated using. Amy's throat grew tight.

Kit butted up against her shin and weaved between her legs, distracting her. She closed the cupboard door and bent down to scratch the cat behind her ear.

The coffee machine finished percolating, and she straightened again to pour some fresh brew into the two cups. Then with those in hand, she made her way back out to the library, Kit trotting close behind.

Castiel didn't look up until she'd set the mug right next to him, and then he gave her a wan half smile as he wrapped his hands around it.

Amy slid into the seat perpendicular to him and sipped at her coffee.

A few moments later, her phone rang with Rowena's caller ID. Castiel reached for it and quickly answered.

"Rowena? Did you find them?"

Amy pressed her lips together as she listened to the witch's lilting voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm afraid not. Wherever they've been taken, it's heavily warded, even against me."

Castiel slumped forward and reached up one hand to rub his forehead. "Alright. Thank you for trying."

There was a pause. "You can call if you need anything else, and if I can do it long distance, I will. But if those British Men of Letters are here, then I'm getting out of the country. Tonight."

Castiel's mouth turned down. "Rowena, I'm sure if we work together—"

"Your optimism is endearing, tweetie pie," she cut him off. "But I've experienced their brand of torture before, and I'm not sticking around to risk another. I wish you luck."

The line clicked as she hung up.

Amy's throat tightened as she imagined her family being tortured while waiting for a rescue she couldn't provide. She roved her gaze over the greatest collection of lore there was. On this continent, at least. But it was useless to them in this situation. All of her studies and training, and none of it had prepared her for something like this. No monsters to hunt. No spells to counter. Just a…faceless, mundane enemy that seemed able to thwart their every effort more than any supernatural being ever could.

Silence descended like a shroud again, stealing their hope along with their voices.

Until Castiel finally spoke up again. "I've been thinking." He didn't lift his gaze from his coffee. "Maybe you should go to Heaven for a bit. Stay with Joshua." His voice dropped, almost as though talking to himself. "He should be able to keep you shielded from the others."

Amy stiffened. "Dad, don't send me away."

"I don't know what we're facing here," he said, lifting a pained filled gaze to hers. "And I don't want you to get hurt."

"I can help."

"I know, but—"

"And who will look after you?" she pressed. "You're always telling me that this family looks after each other, no matter what we're facing. That we have each other's backs and that's how we win. So let me do that."

Castiel's eyes wavered, and then his shoulders sagged in apparent defeat. "You're right." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "We are in this together."

She swallowed hard. As terrified as she was, she knew she needed to be a rock for her dad.

She just wished she could think of something else to do to help the rest of her family too.

"Uncle Sam?"

Sam blinked blearily, his vision dark and his eyes sore. He felt heavy, too, and lifting his head took too much effort.

"Uncle Sam?"

He managed to tip his head back, and squinted at the smudged shape standing several feet away. "Mmph. Amy?" He blinked a few more times, and gradually the darkness receded a bit, revealing his niece standing across the table from him, eyes pinched with worry.

"Where should I go?" she asked.

Sam frowned. "What?" He glanced down at himself. He was in a chair, sitting at a table, but the floor was murky, as was the air around him. Why was it so dark?

"The bunker's not safe," Amy said. "Where should I go?" Her voice took on a distorted quality, and the air seemed to wobble.

Sam tried to give himself a sharp shake. What was going on? Where were they? This couldn't be the bunker… He should get up, but his legs felt like gelatin and he couldn't get them to move.

"Uncle Sam," she pressed urgently.

"I- I don't know," he stammered, squinting against the fuzziness in his head. Was this a dream communication? "Where's Cas?"

She didn't answer. Her visage warped as she stepped forward and pushed a memo pad across the table toward him. "Just write down the address where I would go to wait for you and Uncle Dean."

Sam quirked a confused brow at her. Address? They didn't have an address. They'd never expected their secure home to be invaded like it had. So…where would Amy and Cas go? They'd come back to look for them, obviously. But when they didn't find anything?

"Please, Uncle Sam, I'm scared."

Her distraught voice tugged at his heart, but his gut was screaming at him. Something wasn't right here. Where was he? What was going on?

Amy's mirage bled away into that of a blond woman with austere features. Awareness slammed back into Sam so hard he jolted backward against the chair he was in. Harsh plastic edges bit into his wrists at the movement, and he whipped his gaze down to find that he was suddenly zip tied to the chair.

No, he'd already been like this… There were red welts around his wrists from prolonged restraint.

He jerked his gaze back up to Toni Bevell, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants. Chills rippled through his muscles, even as sweat streamed from his pores. His stomach roiled.

Sam shot a harried glance to the side and saw his brother also still strapped to a chair, chin slumped forward and blood dripping from his nose. The British Men of Letters had tortured him with drugs and needles, prying loose information with the help of a truth serum. Even so, it had been like pulling molars, and Dean had screamed just as much as he'd divulged. Which had been…oh god, a lot.

And then when his body had finally undergone too much and given out, they'd given Sam something… He couldn't remember what. Not the same drug, though, as he didn't recall being tortured with physical pain. He remembered…Dean asking about the Trials to close the Gates of Hell, and…and then Dean had the Mark again, and was pleading for Sam to tell him what the cure was. But Dean had already been cured years ago. Ryn had saved him.

But Charlie had kept looking for the Book of the Damned, and that had unleashed the Darkness that had almost devoured the world, and then Heaven had threatened to obliterate the state of Kansas because Ryn had gotten pregnant and…

Sam's heart seized. Amy.

Toni Bevell stood from her chair with a sigh. She pressed the intercom, and Mick's voice responded with a question.

"I think we've learned all we can from them."

Toni capped her pen and set it on the table before turning back to Sam. "The British Men of Letters are prepared to pass sentence."

He gaped at her in stupefaction. "What?"

Toni folded her hands behind her back. "For endangering the world countless times, harboring dangerous monsters, and failing to protect the people of America, we hereby sentence you to lifetime imprisonment. A transport will be prepared to take you back to London where you will serve out the entirety of your sentence."

Sam's head was still too muzzy to process what was happening. Sentence? Lifetime imprisonment?

The guards came forward and cut the zip ties around his wrists. Any thought of fighting back was doused, as his hands were too numb to move his fingers. He was hauled to his feet and his head swam so much he couldn't tell up from down. He barely kept his stomach contents in check as he and an unconscious Dean were dragged out of the conference room.