A nice long chapter for you today – I really got into this one!

Enjoy!

oOo

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

A rivulet of diluted red trickled down his thigh, dripping steadily onto the floor. His ruined slacks were crumpled in a bloodied pile at his feet as his fingers worked deftly, sinking the hooked needle into his thigh in a slow, repetitive motion. Damned hunter. James groaned as he started on the penultimate stitch that would seal the bullet wound in his leg. A bloodied pair of forceps and the bullet lay on the table next to him, his phone, which buzzed and lit up, next to them. Picking it up and balancing it between his shoulder and ear, James answered it as he continued his work.

"What's your update?" Toni asked, her tone as brittle as ever. James winced as he fed the needle through.

"I had a minor setback."

"What kind of setback?"

"It would seem Dean isn't quite as ignorant as I thought. He's actually got pretty good instincts. If he wasn't a damned hunter, I'd be impressed. Don't worry – I won't underestimate him next time" James explained, exhaling slowly as he pulled the final stitch through.

"I know he's just a hunter but you should know better, James" Toni chided, her voice softening ever so slightly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Wounded pride more than anything. I'll get it done. I'm just going to have to be a bit more imaginative than I expected. I'm going to lay low for a day or so; I put the tracker on his car so I can keep tabs on him but he's going to be more alert for the next few days at least. Has the council said anything more?"

"No. I'll update you if they do."

"Did you do as they said and tell Sam about Dean?"

Toni's laugh echoed down the phone. "Of course not! Why would I do that?"

oOo

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Castiel slowed and turned into the overgrown driveway, the faded and cracked sign now even more derelict than it used to be. The empty carcasses of countless vehicles were still piled up high in the yard, forgotten and forlorn. The ruins of the house still stood flaking and dead, a black shell surrounded by an eerie loneliness that perpetuated the whole area. It saddened the angel; he knew how many happy memories the Winchesters had had here. In a strange way, it seemed logical that Dean would come back to Bobby Singer's house; he had always felt safe here. Some days Bobby's loss was more keenly felt than others.

The Winchester sat on the hood of the Impala, gazing up at Bobby's house. His gaze turned as Cas' car rolled to a stop but his expression remained solemn. Cas got out of his rental and walked over, relieved to see that Dean was alright. Physically, anyway.

"What happened?" he asked, halting in front of Dean, his hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat.

"The son of a bitch came after me. He was right there and I lost him" Dean growled, pushing himself off of the car. Anger rolled off him in waves.

"You weren't prepared; I wouldn't say you 'lost' him. It does mean that you're clearly seen as a threat to whoever it is. What did he look like?"

Dean shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "He was dressed like an old guy. Deep southern accent, hunched over – I nearly didn't think anything of him. He seemed total harmless."

"What changed your mind?" Cas pushed.

"His eyes. God, they were dead. Flat, y'know? He seemed totally open and then when I looked in his eyes, I got this shiver. Good thing I listened to my gut."

"It's interesting that they've waited until now to approach you" Cas speculated, his gaze moving around the auto yard.

"Well that's what got me thinkin'; why would they? The only thing I can think of is that whoever it is must've figured I was dead. And then I thought…" Dean's voice broke, catching in his throat, "Sam must've thought I was dead too. Shit, Cas, what if Sammy's lived the last few months thinkin' I was dead?"

Castiel said nothing; nothing he could say would comfort the hunter. Dean knew what it was like to think Sam was dead, knew it and knew how it felt. It'd broken him. When Jake had stabbed him, when Lucifer took him. He'd spent that year with Lisa living in a daze, numb and unable to function as he had when he had Sam by his side. He'd be a shell, a mere shadow of his hunting self. Getting back, being beside his brother again, was the only thing that drove Dean to continue to fight in Purgatory. He struggled to blink back the tears that were welling, unbidden, unwanted, in his eyes. "You know how smart Sam is; he should've been able to escape these bastards by now. Cas, what if he's given up?" he whispered.

"Then we find him. Even if he has given up, Dean; we haven't. We won't. We're clearly making them nervous or they wouldn't be coming after you. We need to use that to our advantage. They're going to start making mistakes and we're going to use them to get Sam back." Cas' voice was hard and sure, soothing the panic that was welling inside Dean. He was right. They were starting to get somewhere.

"Did you make the list like I asked?"

Cas nodded, drawing it out of his pocket and handing it over. "I would suggest that we go back to the bunker and match what I could think of to the records. There could be something there. Hopefully Garth will call when we're there."

oOo

Kensington, London

Thomas unlocked the door to Sam's cell, another tray of food balanced in his hands. Sam had missed dinner the previous day (not that Thomas thought he was going to eat it) having still been unconscious after Toni's latest onslaught. The door slid open easily and he stepped inside. Setting the tray down carefully on the table, Thomas moved towards Sam. The hunter lay on the cot, above the covers, facing the wall. As he got closer, he saw that the shirt he'd dressed Sam in yesterday was drenched in sweat. A light trembling vibrated through the Winchester's body, his legs curled up into a foetal position, his arms bent in front of him.

"Sam?" Thomas called gently, leaning over his charge. No response. He lightly pushed the soaked chestnut strands out of the way of Sam's face, revealing eyes that were tightly closed, his expression contorted in one of pain. His breathing was ragged and shallow. "Sam, can you hear me?" Thomas called again, louder this time. What on earth was going on? Still Sam didn't respond.

With broad hands, Thomas gripped Sam's shoulder and smoothly rolled him onto his back. A moan escaped Sam's lips but still he wasn't roused. Thomas' eyes scanned up and down his body, frowning when he noticed a red splotching on the front of his white shirt. Rolling it up gently, he revealed the bandages he'd applied to Sam's burns yesterday. One, the longest, was bloodied all the way through. He peeled away the medical tape that held the soft bandage in place, cursing when he saw what was underneath. The burn, which had blistered yesterday, had burst, oozing blood and plasma, redness expanding around the whole area. It was severely inflamed and the skin around it was burning to the touch. The shock of his treatment yesterday combined with his starvation had left his body weak. Infection was rife and storming through him. "Shit" Thomas ran out, racing back up the stairs.

He reappeared moments later, Toni stalking in behind him. She looked down at Sam, her expression contorted into one of annoyance.

"He would go and get ill, wouldn't he? I want him weak not dead" she huffed.

"I really think it's best if we treat him upstairs, Madam. He's going to need round the clock care until I can get his fever to break and I would rather be able to do that where I can have everything within reach rather than having to rush upstairs every five minutes" Thomas explained. Toni waved her hand flippantly and turned away.

"Do what you need to do, Thomas. Just make sure he lives and doesn't get loose." She stalked out, leaving Thomas to clean up her mess.

oOo

Everything was on fire. His eyes burned beneath his eyelids, a sharp scratching tore at the back of his throat whenever he swallowed and every move was pure agony. Sam's clothes felt like sandpaper against his skin, the slightest movement drawing moans unbidden from his throat.

"Dean…" he whimpered when he felt his bed jostle, sending a rod of pain straight up his spine.

"Shush, it's alright, Sam. We're nearly there" a voice murmured to him. He couldn't tell who it was. Was it Dean? Cas? Had they come to stop this? Why did he hurt so much? Sam cracked his eyes open, blearily looking up, instantly wishing he hadn't. He was moving, unidentifiable colours and shapes moving too quickly above his head. Heat was burning him from the inside yet he couldn't stop shivering, body convulsing uncontrollably. Was he doing the Trials again? Maybe he hadn't finished them…no, he didn't. Maybe this was the last stage. He couldn't remember.

He stopped moving and a face loomed over him. Sam squinted up, trying to focus. He tried to lift a hand, to reach out to his brother, but Dean was holding him down, holding his wrists painfully.

"Let me go. Dean you're hurting me" he sobbed, his eyes watering against the painful ache in the back of his eye sockets.

Thomas looked down at the Winchester, his expression solemn. He'd moved the hunter onto a gurney and wheeled him to one of the guest bedrooms; it was simply decorated and had his medical equipment already set up. Thomas had been looking after various members of the Men of Letters for most of his life, his medical training making him invaluable when it came to caring for those who fell under Toni's care.

Sam looked up at him through bloodshot eyes, his gaze unfocused and roaming. He pulled weakly at the soft medical cuffs that were wrapped loosely around his wrists, clearly thinking that Thomas was physically touching him. Thomas lowered the metal grab rail on the left side of the bed, giving himself better access to the hunter's left arm. Picking up an alcoholic wipe from the table beside the bed, he gently turned Sam's hand so that it was faced palm down and cleaned it, holding it still when he squirmed. Still grasping his hand, Thomas put the wipe to one side and picked up the cannula that he'd unwrapped earlier. Sam gasped when the needle slid into the vein in the back of his hand, Thomas making soft shushing sounds, trying to soothe him. He fastened the cannula in place with surgical tape, before hooking the IV bag he'd readied up to it. When he released the Winchester's hand, Sam tugged it, the cannula coming dangerously close to the medical cuff.

"No, Sam. Don't pull it out" Thomas chided, his tone remaining soft, sympathetic. He held Sam's hand, unbuckling the cuff with the other so that he could tighten it. The last thing he wanted was for the cannula to be disturbed.

The thing was, Thomas did feel sorry for the hunter; it wasn't an act. He'd seen what Sam had been through, seen it and admired him. The man had clearly had one hell of a life to withstand Toni's ministrations. Lesser men had broken a long time before Sam. Thomas didn't know what Sam had done – it wasn't his place to ask questions – but a large part of him wished that the hunter would just give in to Toni. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to happen. So he did what he could, making sure that Sam at least had some semblance of care. Unhooking the grab rail, Thomas raised it again before turning to go and get clean towels.

It was going to be a long day.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The taco was half in Dean's mouth when his phone vibrated across the table. Typical. Every time he had his mouth full, someone wanted him. Putting the half-devoured taco down, he grabbed his phone, checking the caller ID.

"'Bout time, Garth!" he grumbled through his mouthful, chewing furiously.

"Well a good mornin' to you too sunshine!" Garth laughed, his deep southern drawl colouring his laugh. "Although judging by whatever you're chewin' it's more like lunchtime."

Dean swallowed. "It is lunch time, Garth." Silence echoed down the phone.

"Huh. Well'd you lookit that. So 'tis. 'splains why Bessie's roast smells so good."

Rolling his eyes, Dean switched the phone to his other ear. "Any chance you got that number?"

"'Course I did, hombre. Why else'd I be callin'? You gotta pen?" Dean swore that he could hear Garth's smile down the phone. Did he ever get mad? Dean scribbled down the number that Garth recited. "Okay, so Harold is still alive'n'kickin' down in some back end of beyond place in England. If you check the time zones, you'll probably catch him. Think they're usually ahead of us."

"Garth, you're amazing. Thanks, man" Dean replied, hope billowing inside him.

"No problem. Keep me posted."

"Will do" Dean assured him as he hung up. Grabbing his laptop, he looked up the time difference between Lebanon and England. Six hours put it at around seven in the evening there.

He dialled the number and held his breath.

oOo

Kensington, London

The abrupt ring of the landline phone pierced through the quiet of the living room where Toni was sat on the sofa, cup of tea in one hand, newspaper in the other. Putting the paper down, she reached over the arm of the chair and picked up the handset, bringing it to her ear.

"Yes?"

"Toni, it's Jonathan" Markham's smooth voice replied. Toni sat up straight, an unconscious movement, putting her tea cup back on its saucer.

"Good evening, sir; I wasn't expecting to hear from you today."

"Not to worry – I just wanted to let you know that I'm sending Jake your way. Now that we know Dean is alive and well, I wanted another opinion on how Sam is progressing so that we can be assured that he'll consider joining us. I know you've submitted your reports, but the other board members felt it was important for an impartial view. I know you've done a lot of work with Sam. It's nothing for you to worry about. He'll be there by eight."

"Of c-course, sir. That's not a problem. We'll be expecting him" Toni answered, ending the call. She stared down at the phone, her mouth open, arm frozen. "Shit!" she shrieked, reanimated as she threw the handset across the room, smashing it against the wall. She was on her feet and racing up the stairs in an instant. Bursting into the guest room where Sam had been moved to, she found Thomas stood at his bedside, dabbing at the Winchester's forehead with a cold compress. He looked up in surprise.

"Is everything alright, madam?"

Toni stalked across the room, staring down at Sam. His eyes were closed and his breathing was still shallow, his skin clammy and pale, a stark contrast to the dark beard gracing his cheeks.

"How is he?" she demanded.

"It's hard to say. I'm trying to battle the fever at the moment. I'm hoping it will break in the next few hours" he explained, frowning as he watched her stare at the hunter.

"Has he woken?"

"He's been in and out of consciousness. He was hallucinating earlier but that seems to have subsided." Her eyes were roaming up and down, assessing Sam, calculating. Her eyes stopped on his face, her mouth downturned. She motioned to Sam's face and then her own.

"He needs cleaning up. Now."

"If I may, madam; now is hardly the time to be worrying about cutting Sam's beard." Thomas replied, knowing he was treading on thin ice. Toni turned furious eyes on him.

"Jake Jenkins is coming. I cannot have him seen like that. Sort it. Now. And sedate him. I don't want him waking up during this visit."

"Madam, if I sedate him, it could kill him" Thomas protested. Toni narrowed her eyes.

"If you don't sedate him, Thomas, I will kill you. Am I clear?"

Thomas bowed his head, regret blooming inside him. He knew better than to argue. "Yes, madam."

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

Each ring of the phone seemed to last a lifetime. Dean hated doing long distance calls. Hated them even more when they were to people that he didn't know. With each extended ring, he could feel his heart thumping harder in his chest. C'mon. Pick up.

He waited.

The line clicked on.

"Aye up?" the voice was thick with a strange accent Dean hadn't come across before. It threw him; the guy didn't sound posh at all.

"Err…hi? Harold Knight?" Dean asked, hesitantly.

"Depends. Who's askin'?" the man replied, his tone suspicious.

"Dean. Dean Winchester. I'm a friend of Garth's."

"Oh aye! He'd said you'd call. Who'd a thought that little bugger was still goin'. I'd have thought he'd have popped 'is clogs years ago" Harold laughed. Dean was completely taken aback. What the hell was he on about? "I always figured he'd get hisself killed. Glad he ain't. But that's beside t'point. What can I do for yer, Dean?"

"I'm lookin' for my brother, Sam. He got taken just over three months ago and I haven't been able to find him. I've tried every connection I got and still got practically nothin'. The only two things I do know is that Sam was taken by a woman with a British accent and that the blood trail I've been tryin' to follow is blocked on the computer by a virus comin' from England."

"Ah bad job, mate. Not surprised yer flummoxed," Harold remarked, his jovial tone disappearing. "British accent y'say? Posh, like?"

"Yeah. Not like yours. Not that I'm sayin' that you're not posh" Dean babbled, feeling his cheeks heat the more he stuck his foot in his mouth. Harold laughed.

"Y'alreet, mate; I ain't posh – Yorkshire born'n'bred. Bugger me, never bin called posh in all me life. If she's a posh lass, she'll be from somewhere down south. Chuffy lot them southerners. What was that last bit you were on about?"

"The virus?"

"Aye."

Dean explained the blood, how they'd tried to get it tested and the virus in the system it'd caused. Harold listening throughout, occasionally asking the occasional clarifying question. He clicked his tongue when Dean was finished. "Bugger me, that sounds like a reet fancy-ass system. Never heard of anythin' like it."

"You've never heard any kind of rumours? Anything that could do something like that?" Dean pressed, feeling the hope that had once sprung forth, starting to wither inside him. Harold blew out a breath.

"Been huntin' a long time over 'ere, lad and there's nowt like that in the huntin' circuit. But there have bin some chuntering – mutterings – 'bout some secret society."

"What kind of secret society?"

"Summat like a group of addled lads who couldn't stick t'huntin' like rest o'us. Too good fer it. Some say they just spend all their time readin' and learnin'. Load of ol' tosh if yer ask me. Never met one, never met anyone who has. But iffen they are real, I'd bet they'd have summat to do wi' it. Sorry, that ain't much help."

All the while Harold was talking, Dean stopped breathing, his eyes widening. He blinked as if from a trance when he stopped.

"Harold, you've been more help than you think" Dean replied, excitedly.

"Oh aye? Well that's alreet then. Y'need owt else, you give us a bell, aye?"

"Definitely, thanks!" Dean assured him, hanging up. "CAS!" he shouted, running out of the library, looking for the angel, phone still in hand.

He knew who they were.

Men of Letters.

oOo

Kensington, London

Thomas finished wiping the last of the water from Sam's face with a soft towel. The hunter was once again clean shaven, the hollows in his cheeks now even more evident. He'd cleaned him up as best as he could, sedating him with the weakest drug he could in order to appease Toni. She had been flitting in and out of the room, dressing it with tomes and notebooks, pens, everything she could think of. They had removed the cuffs from around Sam's wrists, laying his arms out over the thin sheet that covered him. He was still sweating and pale but Toni was satisfied.

A sharp ring echoed through the house. Toni shot Thomas a look.

"Not a word. Do you understand?" He nodded as she disappeared. Taking the bowl he'd used to shave Sam's beard of, he put it in the adjoining bathroom before going back to Sam's side, turning the cold compress on his forehead, hoping that he was through the worst of the fever. Voices sounded downstairs, followed by the thumping of footsteps.

"…It's not an ideal time to see him, I'm afraid" Toni's voice grew louder as it got closer.

"Needs must, Toni; you know that. Jonathan wanted me to see him and so I must" a mild tone replied, not unkindly. Toni opened the door, showing Jake Jenkins in. He had the same soft blonde features as his great uncle, Peter, one of the founding members of the American chapter. His face was open and honest, but carried a severity around the edges of his eyes. He was not a man to be made a fool of. He frowned as he entered, his eyes instantly landing on Sam's prone form. "What happened?"

"As I said – not an ideal time Jake. Unfortunately, Thomas has been forced to sedate Sam. He's been riding out a fever for the last twenty-four hours. It's been touch and go at several points. I'm sorry that you won't be able to speak to him but I can show you what we've been working on" Toni explained, gesturing towards the desk beneath the window. Jake ignored her and stepped towards the bed.

"He looks terrible. What caused the fever?" he asked. Toni's gaze flickered to Thomas' quickly, a warning hidden in them. She would deal with it, not him. She smiled briefly at Jake.

"Sam has been pushing himself too hard lately; he's been exhausted. We've done so much work on classifications that he wanted a change. He insisted on trying out some of the arcane spells we have. I did try to tell him that he wasn't ready but he insisted. Sam is still rather stubborn. He was attempting a fire spell two days ago and it backfired – literally. He got several rather nasty burns so Thomas treated them and we thought he was fine. When I called for him for dinner last night, he didn't come down. Thomas and I found him in bed; one of the burns had got infected. But it's alright; Thomas assures me that he thinks Sam's fever is nearly broken. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, madam." Thomas replied quietly.

"You're quite certain?" Jake asked, his tone hesitant. Toni snaked her arm through his and smiled at him brightly.

"Of course. Thomas is giving him the best care. He'll be back to his studies in no time. Hopefully with a bit more caution when it comes to magic though," she laughed, pulling Jake away. "Now, why don't I get Anna to make us some tea and I'll explain everything Sam has been focusing on?"

Thomas watched the pair go, shaking his head slowly. Wringing out another cloth, he replaced the warm one from Sam's forehead.

If only they knew.

oOo

I had so much fun writing this!

I apologise profusely to anyone from Yorkshire who I may have insulted with my attempt to write in the Yorkshire dialect!

Please review!