SPN

(Texas … Sunday, September 26, 2004)

They were almost home, passing just north of Tyler, Texas with an hour and a half left to go. Jacob wasn't in much of a hurry—the drive from California to Louisiana was typically under thirty hours, non-stop, but since the young Winchester's abduction, it had already been thirty-six. What could he say? Something about the boy was fun—Rhett felt it too—and they weren't eager for their road trip to end.

Unfortunately, since Earl and Freddie lost the girlfriend, playtime was over. Sam remained trussed up in the cargo hold, and he wasn't going anywhere, but until they had him safe and sound at the Styne's Shreveport estate, they couldn't be too careful. Monroe made it clear, if anything happened to their prized legacy, the punishment would be severe—and he wasn't known for his leniency.

It was a shame, though. As Rhett pointed out back in the gas station, Sam had potential. The Men of Letters might be a dull and self-righteous group of pricks, but the Stynes always had a healthy respect for their many talents, and if they weren't basically extinct, they could have raised the boy as one of their most formidable operatives. In fact, if Sam had only been born seventy years earlier, he might have saved them from destruction. He was that promising. Jacob could sense it. What a waste…

No. Not a waste, but a sacrifice. Sam would make one hell of a sacrifice. That's why they needed legacies in particular—no one else would do. Ordinary people were too common, and extraordinary people—like full-fledged Men of Letters—were too seasoned. Legacies were perfect. Fresh. Spotless. Worthy. And out of the three Winchesters, Sam was by far the best. After all, John was old and Dean was vulgar. They would still suffice, but Sam… He was everything a legacy should be, and that made him the most valuable.

The morning sun was starting to shine directly in Jacob's eyes and he was in the process of adjusting the visor when his phone began to ring. Sighing, he pulled it from his pocket and held it up. Eldon. Good. He would never admit it, but his brother's assignment to recover Doc Benton had made him nervous. Despite everything, the Yankee was a proven alchemist, immortal and hostile, and Eldon could be reckless at times. If he ran into trouble, there wasn't much Jacob could do from the other side of the country.

"Eldon," he said after accepting the call. "I trust everything's gone according to plan?"

"Jacob…" His brother spoke haltingly with barely suppressed anger. "You kill them for me. You understand?" There was no mistaking Eldon's tone, and Jacob felt his stomach clench. Damn. They had been trained for this, but that certainly didn't make it a pleasant experience.

"You idiot," he growled softly, conscious of his captive in the cargo hold. Sam had been mostly quiet since his outburst after the gas station, but every now and then he groaned in discomfort, either unable or unwilling to fall back asleep. The less he heard of this conversation, the better—or else it might lift his spirits. "What happened?"

Eldon started to reply, but something on his end cut him off, and as Jacob took the next exit, spotting a place to pull over, John Winchester came on the line. "Jacob Styne… From what I've been told about your family, boy, I have to say… I'm not impressed."

Cocky bastard. Jacob set his jaw and veered into a vacant parking lot while Mason glanced at him anxiously, sensing his displeasure. "Well played, sir. Very well played." He turned off the ignition and jumped out of the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. "Now what can I do for you?"

"Nothing, if I'm to believe your little brother," John replied. "He claims it would be a waste of time trying to negotiate with you. Apparently, your family's so vast that his life's expendable. He dies, and five more pop up. Must be nice. I hope that means you won't hold it against me when I kill him."

"On the contrary," Jacob said, imagining the feel of his knife slicing through the old man's belly. "We don't tolerate weakness in our household, so go ahead and put him out of his misery. It'll be a kindness compared to the punishment he'll receive for his defeat. Let me tell you something, our daddy doesn't respond well to stupidity." The words felt heavy on his tongue, but he had to save face. Eldon…

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," John feigned regret. "I would've happily traded his freedom for Sam's. But if that's the way it's gonna be, mark my words, I'm not going to stop slaughtering your relatives until I have my son back. You hear me? You've declared war on the wrong family, and it will cost you dearly."

"Is that so?" Jacob scoffed. "You don't know the first thing about waging war on the Stynes. You should have stuck to our little agreement, Mr. Winchester."

"Oh, you mean the one where I kill Doc Benton and you let Sam go? How stupid do you think I am? Forget it. In fact, he and I happened to reach an understanding, cause it turns out he hates your family as much as I do—and I'm sure you know what they say about the enemy of my enemy. So we agreed, one day I'll have to hunt him down, but for now, if he helps me rescue Sam, I'll not only help him reunite with Elizabeth, I'll let 'em both get away… Give 'em a running start… It could take me years to catch up… You know how that goes, don't you?"

"You must think you're so clever," Jacob whispered, tightening his free hand into a fist. "You should know your little boy will suffer for it."

"Nice try," John quickly replied, though anyone could hear the concern beneath his defiance. "But you're not gonna hurt him. You mentioned needing us 'alive and healthy' for whatever you have planned, and as long as Dean and I are still free, you're not gonna sacrifice your only leverage. You need him to reel us in."

Jacob managed to laugh. "Oh, Mr. Winchester… Who said anything about hurting him? Sammy's not that hard to figure out. He's soft. Compassionate. I can think of a dozen ways to break him without harming a hair on his pretty head, and mark my words, he'll never be the same again."

"Try it," John dared—it was his turn to save face. Jacob had to give him credit for his discipline. He might even be a match for Monroe. "You'll find that Sam's quite resilient. He'll be fine… which is more than I can say for Eldon. I don't have to kill him, Jacob. I'm still willing to trade. But that's up to you."

"Sorry," Jacob said. The offer was tempting, but how the hell would he explain it to his father? Monroe's wrath frightened him on a level that Eldon's death would never reach. "I suppose that's the difference between us, sir. Your family's small; your boys are irreplaceable. My family's immense, and we've got to serve the common good. That means holding onto Sammy, no matter what. And catching you."

Closing his eyes, Jacob terminated the call—no point dragging it out—and held back his fury. He warned Eldon not to underestimate the Winchesters—he warned him this could happen! Damn it! They were so close, too… so close to performing the famed ritual. It wasn't right. Why couldn't Eldon wait a week to get himself killed? Just a week? Was that too much to ask?

It wasn't just Eldon, either. Eli… Colton… Roy… They were probably dead as well. Four down… Six, once Monroe learned of Earl and Freddie's mistake. They were starting to drop like flies. John was right about one thing; this meant war. Better get home quickly; the sooner they delivered Sam, the sooner they could cope with their disgrace.

SPN

(Beacon Valley, New Hampshire … Sunday, September 26, 2004)

John cursed under his breath, staring at his phone in frustration. Naturally, a part of him expected Jacob's response—if these guys really were more devious than Bela, as she claimed, then they weren't going to let something as trivial as family stop them from completing a job. Still, it would have simplified things.

Turning, he glanced back at his three immediate responsibilities—the son he had to protect, the alchemist he had to manipulate, and the prisoner he had to kill. Eldon was a bruised and bloody mess slumped over on his knees—the handcuffs fastening his wrists behind a pole were all that kept his face from the ground. For someone in such a precarious position, nothing seemed to daunt him. He took his interrogation in stride, answering all their questions with sarcasm and ridicule, whether or not they trounced him for it, and after hours of abuse, he only surrendered a few names. Jacob's. Monroe's. Hardly pay dirt.

It was still early on a Sunday morning, and according to the hours sign posted on the lumber mill's front door, they shouldn't have to worry about hard-working employees showing up till after church let out. They had plenty of time. On the other hand, given the crime scene at Finch's Bed and Breakfast, it might be prudent to skip town as soon as possible—just in case Beacon Valley's local police were well-trained and thorough. The last thing they needed was a manhunt.

"We're going to have to do this the hard way," John told Dean, who couldn't hide his vexation. Trading Eldon for Sam was their best strategy, and so far, their alternatives were rather bleak. It would take a miracle to fight the Stynes head-on, even if they called in a dozen favors. Of course, with adequate preparation, they might be able to pull something off, but Sammy couldn't wait forever—especially not if Jacob carried out his threat. The bastard.

Eldon was laughing. "They never listen, do they?" He had to realize the end was near, and he was milking his monologues for all they were worth, regardless of the repercussions—each taunt came with a swift kick from Benton. "Give it up, Winchester. You don't stand a chance in hell."

"Oh, if I had a penny," John retorted, feeding a magazine into his M1911. They still didn't know why the Stynes needed legacies, or what legacies even were, or how Elizabeth had come back from the dead, but Eldon clearly wasn't going to spill anything else. Having already learned everything they could from him, it was time to get this show on the road.

"Be mindful of the eyes," Benton suggested almost as an afterthought. "I could use some fresh ones… and you've got to admit, it would serve him right."

John smiled grimly, aimed his gun and squeezed the trigger.

SPN

Author's Note: Ooh, that was oddly satisfying...

Next Chapter: The Stynes aren't the only bad guys with an unhealthy interest in Sam... Please review!