Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to Fiery Charizard and Sammysmissingshoe. Enjoy!
SPN
Sam's breath caught in his throat. Not again! Unable to move, he sat shivering on the floor, staring at the stranger's gun, scared, confused, and severely hurt. Would this man—Arthur Ketch—kill him? If he didn't 'cooperate,' would he actually squeeze the trigger, and send him straight into the eternal empty? Lucifer wouldn't be able to haunt him there. If Billie kept her promise, he would finally have some lasting peace.
But Sam didn't want to die. Not really. Not when he had his mom back, and his… and his… and his friends. They deserved a future together, and Lucifer had no right interfering with their lives. Neither did the Men of Letters, for that matter.
Clambering to her knees, Mary shuffled to Sam's side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. She glared up at Ketch with fury in her eyes. "Mick Davies said we could trust you."
"And you can," he calmly replied, freakishly cordial for a man holding them at gunpoint. "I assure you, we have your best interests at heart, and I certainly don't want to contribute to the lad's suffering." He took in Sam's appearance—his bandages, and his chattering teeth. "But like it or not, you've been compromised, and I have explicit instructions to bring you in. For your own safety, you understand. We can't afford to lose you to Lucifer."
"You won't," Sam argued.
Ketch sighed. "Really? I find that hard to believe. See, I took the liberty of scanning your mind, lad, and I know for a fact you were on the brink of surrender. If I hadn't been here to wake you, you'd be Lucifer's ride by now. All to save your mother." His glance drifted from Sam to Mary, to a glass jar on the study table, and back to Mary. "African Dream Root? Very clever, but foolish. You're no match for the devil, and now he knows you're the key to Sam's consent. You need our protection, and you can't deny it."
Mary scowled. "Did it ever occur to you we'd be more receptive if you didn't threaten us?"
He rolled his eyes. "Hardly. Lady Bevell crossed a line. We acknowledge that, and I wish I could change it, but what's past is past. Of course, I would prefer to earn your trust, but we don't have the time for such luxuries. One way or another, Sam's coming with me." He waved the gun, motioning for Sam to get up.
"NO!" Mary sprang to her feet, standing between Ketch and her son—directly in the line of fire. Sam's heart fluttered, and he anxiously grabbed the edge of the table, struggling to pull himself upright. "The bunker's safe," his mom maintained. "Impenetrable. As long as we keep him awake, Lucifer can't touch him here. There's no reason for you to take him. And I won't let you."
Ketch frowned, considering his options. Meanwhile, Sam trudged to Mary's side, reluctant to let her shield him. He tried to slip in front of her, but she whipped her arm out to block him.
After a lengthy pause, Ketch shook his head. "My sincere apologies. But I have my orders, and I won't question them." With that, he lowered the gun and squeezed the trigger, shooting Mary in the leg. She yelped, crashing to the floor. Sam's heart jumped to his throat, and he glanced down at her in wide-eyed horror. Ketch took the opportunity to charge forward, tackling Sam to the ground. His weight was crushing, and pain flared through Sam's body.
"NO! STOP!" Sam squirmed, trying to shove Ketch off, but the bastard leaned back and punched him in the face. The blow shook him to the core, making his head spin. He groaned, dazed and suddenly nauseous. Mary tried to launch herself at Ketch, but he kicked her, knocking her back. Then, he rolled Sam onto his stomach.
Grunting, Sam countered by pushing up off his hands, twisting, and elbowing Ketch in the face. The man flew backwards, landing on the ground. Sam quickly scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain. He had to fight this! He wouldn't be kidnapped. Not again! Grabbing a chair from the study table, he turned and swung it at Ketch with all the strength he could muster, but he wasn't fast enough. Ketch saw it coming and quickly rolled out of the way. The chair hit the floor, fracturing into pieces.
A moment later, Ketch was on his feet. He lunged at Sam, smacking his gun across the side of his head, which sent him careening into the table. It knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled back to the floor.
"SAM!" Mary cried.
Ketch reached down to seize the broken chair leg. Brandishing it like a bat, he struck Sam hard in the knee, right beneath the bullet wound. The pain was blinding, and Sam howled. Ketch struck him again, in the same place, and Sam felt something crack.
Time seemed to stop as white-hot agony rippled through his body.
Mary screamed.
Ketch turned and struck her hard in the face. She hit the ground, and didn't move. Sam could smell the blood flowing from her leg.
No…
"Stop…"
Ketch glanced at him, and his face softened. "It didn't have to be this way, but like I said, I don't take 'no' for an answer." He grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair and dragged him away from the table. Sam struggled, squirming miserably, but his strength was gone, and Ketch easily rolled him onto his stomach. "For what it's worth, we're on your side." He grappled with Sam's arms, wrenching them behind his back. "After all, you and Dean are still legacies, which makes you part of our extended family."
Dean…? Why did that name sound familiar?
"And family sticks together." Ketch snapped a pair of handcuffs around Sam's wrists. "One day, you'll see. And you'll be grateful. I guarantee it."
Dean… Sam tried to put a face to the name, but he couldn't… and for some reason, the difficulty upset him. Dean? Who was Dean? He struggled to breathe, heart pounding in cold terror. He couldn't remember. Oh, God. Why couldn't he remember?
"Dean?"
"He can't help you," Ketch replied, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. Sam gasped, and the bastard promptly stuffed his mouth with a large handkerchief. "He's, shall we say, out of range? But don't fret, lad. We don't want to torture you. Not this time. We want to protect you. I promise." A moment later, he pulled off his red tie and hooked it around Sam's mouth, securing it snugly in place. "All set. I just need a jiffy to check on your mum. We certainly don't want her to bleed out. Then, we'll lock up and be on our way. How's that sound?"
Sam groaned, shaking his head, but with his broken knee, he didn't really have a choice. Ketch climbed off him and went about his business, while Sam languished on the floor, crippled and freezing. But the worse part was… he had an aching hole inside him.
Dean.
The name meantsomething… something important…
But whatever it meant was gone now, and he didn't know why. Who was Dean?
Sam could feel his heart breaking. Tears were brimming in his eyes. He had to remember. He had to!
But his memories were lost, and he didn't know if they would ever return.
SPN
Twenty minutes later, Ketch emerged from the kitchen, where he went to wash his hands. Sam tried not to look at him, focusing instead on his mother's unconscious body. Ketch had dragged her across the room, so she wasn't left in a pool of her own blood, and he bandaged her leg with merciful care. Sam wanted to crawl his way to her side, but his attempts were short-lived. His knee wouldn't cooperate.
Presently, Ketch crouched over him and grabbed his hair, yanking his head up off the floor and jerking it around so they were face-to-face. Sam winced as pain flared through his scalp, while Ketch smiled with false benevolence. "I don't need to tell you how large you are, lad. I should be able to lift you, but not if you start squirming, so be advised—if you make this difficult, I will turn around and kill your mum." Sam's heart stopped. "Just because I patched her up doesn't mean I won't shoot her in the head. Please, lad. Don't tempt me."
"Mmppffff-ppff-mmm!"
Ketch chuckled, dropping Sam's hair and hauling him to his feet—which really sucked. Sam couldn't put weight on his broken leg, so he had to use his burned foot, and he couldn't hold back a muffled sob.
"It's okay, lad! I've got you. You're going to be okay." Ketch bent down, wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, and pushed up, hoisting him over his shoulder. Sam's stomach flopped, and it was all he could do not to resist. He whimpered, clenching his eyes shut as Ketch began the journey from the library through the war room and up the stairs. Each step jostled Sam's knee, sending shock waves through his whole body.
They crossed the threshold into the dark, early-morning gloom. A large SUV with tinted windows—much like Toni's—sat waiting on the side of the road. Ketch pulled the key fob from his pocket and pressed a button to open the hatchback. History was quickly repeating itself, and Sam struggled to breathe. The rear seats had been removed to maximize space for large cargo, making it clear that Ketch had planned this from the very beginning.
"In we go…" The bastard eased Sam onto his back, inside the vehicle, and straightened out his leg as much as possible. "Try not to move that. I'm inclined to splint it for you, but not just yet. A lesson must be learned here. You're one of ours now, and you will abide by our laws." Sam shuddered, dreading the certainty in Ketch's tone. "If you lie still and behave yourself, I'll splint it on the plane." Plane!? "But if you try my patience, I'll break your other leg. Understand?"
Sam's only response was an angry glare. Ketch laughed. "I do enjoy a challenge. But keep in mind, I'm not Lady Bevell. I'm not delicate, and I have nothing to prove. I want to help you, lad, but if you cross me, you won't like the consequences. I'm not trying to scare you; I'm simply stating a fact. Now then, let's do something to keep you awake. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I don't want you dozing off."
He left Sam in the cargo hold and circled around to the front passenger seat. Sam grunted, twisting onto his right side and wrestling with his handcuffs, but that only made his knee protest. A moment later, Ketch returned with a leather briefcase. He set it on the floor next to Sam, popped it open, and brandished a small device that looked suspiciously like a round thumbtack. Then, he snagged a fistful of Sam's hair and yanked his head into his arms.
"Mmmph!"
"This might sting a bit…" He jammed the device straight into Sam's temple, making him jerk in agony. Tears filled his eyes, and he desperately tried to roll away, but Ketch held on, making some final adjustments. "There! This will monitor your brain patterns, and if you start dozing, it will react accordingly.
Sam bristled, glaring up at Ketch in cold fury. The man sighed. "Take heart, lad. You're perfectly safe. And when everything's said and done, you could very well be Lord Godwinson's new protégé! He's had his eye on you for quite some time, and believe you me, that's quite an honor. I can assure you, no one regrets Lady Bevell's transgression more than he does, and he fully intends to make it up to you." He playfully ruffled Sam's hair. "Just you wait."
Sam growled, shaking his head.
"Calm down, lad! I realize you're agitated, but you're not doing yourself any favors by getting all worked up like this." He promptly reached for the briefcase and pulled out a solid black sleeping mask. "Perhaps this situation calls for a time out. You could certainly use some peace and quiet…" He wrestled the sleeping mask over Sam's face, covering his eyes. Sam recoiled as darkness fell over him, but he didn't have the strength to resist.
"Almost done…" Ketch proceeded to fit some kind of band over Sam's head. He couldn't see what it was, but the moment he felt the pads clamping over his ears, he understood. Headphones.
Sam's heart stopped as utter silence descended on him with cruel finality. He moaned, but the headphones blocked out the noise. When Ketch slammed the hatchback shut, he felt the SUV shake, but heard nothing.
Crap!
He couldn't see! Couldn't hear! Panic set it and he writhed desperately, ignoring the pain as he strained against his encumbrances… but the more he struggled, the more they seemed to smother him. He was at their mercy, and the realization made him bellow through his gag—not that he could hear himself.
The minutes seemed to pass into hours, and nothing changed. Eventually, Sam gave out, sagging in defeat while his leg throbbed miserably. God, he was in so much trouble… Some time later, when the SUV finally began to move—stealing him away from his beloved home—he could do little more than whimper in despair.
SPN
Mary groaned, struggling to wake up. Her head was pounding, and her leg must have been on fire—it hurt so bad! But thankfully, she didn't smell burnt flesh. No. Just blood.
Blood?
Her chest tightened, and her eyes fluttered open. She found herself on the floor of the library, and something was definitely wrong. The bunker's main lights were off, while the red emergency lights were on, casting an eerie glow throughout the room. Everything was silent, and the air was still. No movement. She could feel the weight of isolation bearing down on her like a dense, heavy fog.
What the hell happened? Where was…? Where was…?
"Sam!?"
She sat up too quickly, and the blood rushed to her brain. She grimaced, sick to her stomach, and nearly retched. Damn. That smug bastard did this! She saw his face in her mind—suave, dark, and violent. He shot her in the leg, and God knows what he did to Sam.
Ketch… Arthur Ketch… British Men of Letters…
Oh, he would pay for this.
Catching her breath, Mary glanced down at her leg. Her jeans had been cut to expose the injury, which someone bandaged with expert care. Good. One less thing to worry about.
"Sammy… I'm coming…"
She had to call Dean. He would help.
But when she fished the phone from her pocket, it wouldn't work. The screen was blank, and no matter which buttons she pressed, it wouldn't activate. Damn. She tossed it aside and glanced around the library. If she could just find a land line… Maybe in the war room. She reached for the study table and climbed to her feet—the pain was brutal, but she pushed through it. After all, she wasn't just a pissed-off Campbell. She was a pissed-off mother. A Winchester. And she would move heaven and earth to get her son back!
If only it were that easy. When she staggered into the war room, she found the equipment disabled, and when she ventured up the stairs, she found the door locked. She couldn't get out, and she couldn't call for assistance. It didn't take long to realize she was trapped—a prisoner. The red emergency lights must be indicating a lock-down. Ketch didn't want her to follow him—and he didn't want her to run into the devil. That son of a bitch!
Furious, Mary slipped back onto the ground, giving her leg some much-needed rest. How the hell was she going to get out of here? And more importantly… how would she ever tell Dean?
SPN
Author's Note: I figure Toni called Ketch a psychopath for a reason, right? :-)
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