Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for my month-long absence, but I have good news. My family's eagerly expecting a new addition, coming in August! I've never been more excited, and I've never been more exhausted. The first trimester really does take a lot out of you. But I'm finally getting my energy back, and hopefully I'll be able to finish what I've started. Wish me luck!
SPN
In the four years since Dean left Purgatory, nothing seemed to change. The woods were endless, bleak, and wild. Monsters lurked in every direction, and if they were hungry in life, they were starving in death. Thankfully, Dean managed to fall into his old groove with remarkable ease—like riding a bike. He handled every threat with expert efficiency, capturing, interrogating, and killing.
Unfortunately, they weren't having much luck. After all, the stone of heaven crashed into Purgatory countless centuries ago, and most of the monsters inhabiting the place were far too young to remember the fall. They told Dean to give up. Only one species could answer his questions—the Leviathans—and he'd be stupid to seek them out, especially since he killed Dick Roman.
There had to be another way. Sam was counting on Dean to save him! But Purgatory was enormous, and the stone of heaven could be anywhere. How were they ever going to find it?
SPN
Arthur Ketch felt no remorse for breaking Sam's knee. Neither did he take any pleasure from it. The lad wasn't worth the emotional investment—he was just a job, and Ketch was a professional. It would have been easier to simply kill the young asset, but they couldn't risk jeopardizing a potential relationship with the Yanks. The Winchesters were necessary for constructive negotiations—and certain other tasks. Lord Godwinson in particular had his eye on the brothers, but that was hardly Ketch's business.
The drive from the bunker to Jiaying's country estate took over three hours, and Ketch spent much of that time making phone calls, discussing the situation with his superiors, and plotting how best to proceed. Thanks to the soundproof headphones, he didn't have to worry about Sam eavesdropping—the lad's connection to Lucifer made him dangerous, and the less he knew of their plans, the better.
At least he wasn't sleeping. Ketch had yet to hear him activate the Somnus Inhibitor—the small device that Ketch planted in his temple. Good. As long as Sam was conscious, Ketch remained in control. For now, anyway.
When they finally reached their destination, they had to pass through a state-of-the-art security fence. Jiaying was nothing if not private. She came from a distinguished Chinese family that settled in London during the nineteenth century. The Men of Letters welcomed them, for they had ancient experience dealing with the supernatural, and their wisdom often proved invaluable. Over the years, the family flourished, gaining more and more favor, influence, and wealth. Astonishing wealth. Jiaying would never have to work a day in her life. As a young woman, she set out to "find herself," traveling all over the world before ending up in the middle of nowhere, America. Ketch couldn't begin to fathom what brought her to such a vulgar place, but he didn't give it much thought, because he didn't actually care. He only cared about the private airstrip in the middle of her property.
He pulled up to the tarmac and parked the SUV, gazing through the windshield at the Gulfstream G650—a long-range business jet—and five members of Jiaying's personal staff. A pilot, co-pilot, a stewardess, and two security guards—but there was no sign of Jiaying herself. Ketch didn't mind. He didn't fear many people, but something about Jiaying's family made him… uneasy.
Shrugging it off, he took note of the special "Air Access" wheelchair stationed in front of the stewardess. Designed to fit a corresponding frame in the cabin of the jet, it made travel more convenient for disabled passengers. As requested, this specific chair featured some modifications to better accommodate their asset—such as a five-point harness, two adjustable leg rests, and a pair of leather ankle cuffs. It never ceased to amaze Ketch what people could get their hands on when they were rich and well-connected.
Grabbing his briefcase, he climbed out of the driver's seat and motioned for assistance. As the security guards approached with the stewardess pushing the wheelchair, Ketch made his way around the SUV and opened the hatchback. Sam must have felt the vehicle move—between the blindfold and the headphones, he couldn't possibly sense Ketch's presence, and yet, he still recoiled, swinging his head around to face his escort.
After his initial protests at the start of their journey, the lad managed to calm down and apparently focused his energy on pain management. He was in bad shape, and a broken knee was no laughing matter. He couldn't hold back his frequent moans, but they weren't nearly as tortured as Ketch anticipated. Then again, what did he expect? The lad survived the cage! Of course he could cope with a few mild injuries.
The cold was another matter. It was shaping up to be a pleasant day, but that didn't stop Sam from shivering feverishly—no doubt a lingering malady from his nightmares. If Dean failed to obtain the stone of heaven, Ketch wasn't sure how long the Men of Letters would be able to protect Sam from the devil's influence. They could only do so much.
Interesting. All this trouble for one homeless hunter.
"My God!" the stewardess exclaimed when she reached the SUV and caught a glimpse of their new asset. "Is he fit for travel?" The two security guards exchanged looks. They obviously shared her concern, but Ketch wasn't fazed.
"Trust me, love. He's not an ordinary human. He'll be fine."
Setting the briefcase on the ground, he signaled the guards to help him drag Sam out of the vehicle. Naturally, the lad fought with all the strength he could muster, kicking his legs despite the pain, but he was outnumbered, and with his wrists cuffed behind his back, he was at their mercy. While one guard grabbed his ankles, Ketch and the other guard grabbed his arms, and on the count of three, they hauled him over to the wheelchair, ignoring his muffled complaints.
As soon as they wrestled him into his seat, they began securing the harness. It buckled in the front, with two straps for his shoulders, two straps for his waist, and one strap between his legs. Ketch fastened them all as tightly as possible, overlooking the lad's discomfort. Then, he adjusted the left leg rest to elevate Sam's broken knee while the guards fettered each ankle with a leather cuff.
Ketch smiled in satisfaction. "That's the ticket!" Retrieving his briefcase, he closed the hatchback, locked the SUV, and led the way over to the G650. It was time to board.
The jet's main entry door had been lowered to expose a built-in staircase, and a platform lift was present to raise the wheelchair. They made their ascent, filing into a luxurious cabin with all the amenities a man could want—oversized recliners, enormous windows, HD monitors, fancy tables, a fully-stocked bar, and more. Sam's "Air Access" wheelchair was anchored to its corresponding frame, while Ketch sank into the seat across from him.
Finally.
Kansas was nearly four-and-a-half thousand miles from England. The G650 could easily cover that distance without stopping to refuel. It would be a direct flight back home, and Ketch was eager to put this wretched country behind him.
SPN
Sam had been in some desperate situations before, but this had to be at the top of the list. With the straps pulled painfully tight over his body, his arms felt crushed behind his back, and he could barely breathe. His injuries were agonizing, and the cold was bone-deep. He still felt drenched from the shower in his nightmare, and he couldn't stop shivering.
But the worst part was the sensory deprivation. Between the blindfold and the headphones, his world had been reduced to a tiny, suffocating prison. Dark… silent… empty… He knew he wasn't alone, but with no way to communicate, to assess his situation, or observe his captors, he might as well be in isolation. He hated feeling so helpless—not to mention exposed. If Lucifer found him like this, he'd be screwed.
Suddenly, his chair began to vibrate, and he felt the unmistakable sensation of movement. He was in another vehicle… one that required a lift to enter…
He was in an airplane. The realization made his stomach drop. Of course, Ketch had mentioned an airplane when he first kidnapped Sam, but mentioning a plane was a far cry from actually boarding a plane. Everything was happening the way Ketch planned, and Sam couldn't stop it. He squirmed in agitation, which only made the straps pinch his shoulders.
The plane picked up speed, and Sam felt the intense push into his seat. His arms ached, but he couldn't move them, and while he knew from experience that take-offs were loud, he still couldn't hear a thing. The headphones were unbelievably effective, much to his dismay.
Moments later, the plane rose into the air. Sam tensed, biting down on his gag. He could only assume they were on their way to England, and the prospect sickened him. He didn't have his phone, or his wallet, or anything resembling a passport. Even if he managed to escape these bastards—and that was a mighty big if—how would he get back home?
Several minutes passed… The plane reached altitude and leveled off. Sam's stomach settled, but he continued shaking—the air in the cabin felt like ice.
Suddenly, a pair of hands descended on his leg, palpating his injury. Caught off guard, Sam gasped as pain flared out from his broken knee. He tried jerking away, but the cuff around his ankle restrained him. The hands proceeded with their relentless probing, firm and unsympathetic. Sam moaned, thinking back to his ordeal with Toni. At least the veterinarian was gentle when he extracted the bullet…
Eventually, the hands came to rest above and below his knee, stabilizing his leg, while someone else began threading some kind of material under his calf, then under his thigh. Two padded boards were positioned on either side of his leg, and the material was used to bind them in place.
They were splinting his injury. Sam might have been grateful, but after all those hours in the SUV, it was too little, too late. He didn't think for a moment that Ketch cared about his treatment, and the splint was probably for show more than anything else. Ketch wouldn't want to look negligent in front of his superiors.
By the time they finished their work, Sam was panting breathlessly. Much to his surprise, a heavy blanket was draped over his body. He felt another pair of hands—smaller, kinder—tucking it around him, so it wouldn't fall off. Then, they began fiddling with his gag. The tie came undone, and the handkerchief was pulled from his mouth.
Sam gasped, desperate for air.
A piece of plastic was held to his lips. A cup.
"No…" Sam turned his head. He might be thirsty, but he wasn't stupid. No way in hell would he drink an unknown substance from a psychotic kidnapper.
"Ketch?" he called out, disoriented when he couldn't hear his own voice. "Ketch, you don't have to do this! Let me go!" No response. The silence was deafening, and Sam was tempted to shout… but if he made too much noise, they would only put the gag back on… He tried again. "Are we on the same side or not? I just want to talk. Please!"
Someone grabbed his hair and roughly yanked his head back. He grunted as more hands pried his mouth open. The plastic cup was shoved to his lips, and warm water poured down his throat. It was all he could do not to cough.
When the water ran out, the handkerchief was jammed back in his mouth. Sam felt a rush of indignation, and he howled angrily, but couldn't stop his captors from fastening the tie around his lips.
Damn it…
His head was released, but one hand lingered to stroke his hair. The contact made Sam nauseous.
But then it was gone, and he was left to endure the flight in profound seclusion.
SPN
Ten years. She had been trapped in this nightmare for ten years.
It felt more like ten decades.
She never wanted this. On a good day, they called her the young she-wolf. On a bad day, they called her the little bitch. She despised them, but couldn't survive without them. She had no one else, and there was safety in numbers. At least, there had been safety in numbers. Until Fenris gazed at her with lust in his eyes, rather than contempt, and she knew she had to flee. She would not subject herself to the alpha's appetite.
Dressed in a gray-striped shirt that was much too large for her tiny frame, she scrambled barefoot through the wilderness. They knew her scent, and would soon be on her tail. She had to put as much distance between them as possible, or Fenris would destroy her.
The cold, bleak sun was in the middle of the sky when she finally came to a halt, panting for breath. She leaned against a tree, legs shaking, heart racing. It wasn't fair. She didn't belong here. She didn't ask for this. If she wasn't such a coward, she would have killed herself long ago.
The wind picked up, and she suddenly caught a whiff of something strange…
Exotic…
Delicious…
Disturbing…
She turned her head, and through the mist, she saw a face. Dark… Ruggedly handsome… Oddly familiar… She knew him from somewhere. But how? Who was he?
Two other men appeared behind him, one in a black suit, the other in a khaki trench coat, but she hardly noticed them. Her gaze was fixed on the human.
Human? Why was a human in Purgatory?
He took a small, tentative step towards her, holding out his hands. They were empty. Harmless. But she wasn't fooled. She could smell traces of blood. He was a killer. She should run…
But she couldn't bring herself to move.
His green eyes softened with pity, and when he spoke, his voice trembled with remorse. "Madison… Is that… Is that really you?"
SPN