Okay so Thomas is written to be intentionally cruel psychologically to Sam; he was never involved in the physical torture that Toni did during Broken other than to 'set' Sam up for it. Thomas isn't a traditionally violent character and he knows that the best way to get to Sam is through mind games. Therefore, I'm aware that some of the stuff I'm having him do to Sam seems over the top but it is designed to wear our poor boy down mentally. Believe me, writing some of this stuff is hard (this chapter does contain one of the hardest scenes I've ever written: you have been warned).

But I hope you're all enjoying it!

oOo

"I hope you're doing fine out there without me

'cause I'm not doing so good without you."

- Here By Me, 3 Doors Down

oOo

Mason City, Iowa

Dusk was falling over the long low building of the sheriff's department, soaking it in a thinning greyish light as the sun sunk lower. There were few officers inside, most having gone home or sent out on duty, leaving a gentle hush over the main bullpen.

Dean, Jody and Castiel were holed up in a small side office, crammed onto three swivel chairs in front of a wall of monitors. Each screen displayed a different road, live traffic breezing along, flashing past the cameras as people went about their routines. Sometimes Dean wondered if people truly realised how monitored they actually were. And yet, somehow, finding one person, one car, was like looking for a damned needle in a haystack.

"Okay so this is the road the motel is on," Jody explained, pulling up the footage she'd uncovered before calling Dean. "This was around 10.47 – just after you got attacked. Is that the car you saw?" A black BMW X5 pulled out onto the road, driving perfectly normally as it swung out of the car park.

"Yeah. Can you zoom in on the driver's window?" he asked, peering at the screen. Jody clicked a few buttons and highlighted the side of the car, bringing it up. It was grainy and distorted, the window tinted with the driver's face turned away. Dean huffed. He couldn't confirm or deny if it was the guy he'd seen. The windows at the back were black so it was impossible to see if Sam was in the car or not. Jody let the footage continue. The three of them watched as the car rolled out of the parking lot and drove away from the camera.

"At least we have the licence plate" Dean remarked, noting the number on the back of the car.

"I already ran it; plates are registered to a 2011 Buick Lucerne. He knew what he was doing" Jody replied, her tone frustrated.

"Great" Dean groaned, running a hand over his face.

"We were able to track its journey through the town though" Cas pointed out. Jody nodded and increased the speed of the footage. Luckily, there were few cars pottering around at that time of night so following the BMW's progress had been relatively easy. They stalked its progress through the streets until it hit the junction off of the US-18 and merged onto the I-35 south.

"How far could you track it down the I-35?" Dean asked.

"Not far. The bastard got off a few junctions down onto roads that don't have cameras. My guess? If he did get back on, he would've swapped the plates. I can't track that – there's no guarantee that any of the black BMWs goin' down the I-35 are the right one. It's too common."

"It's a start. We know their direction at least" Dean murmured, fighting the disappointment that mingled with his frustration. They were piecing the information together but it just wasn't fast enough. They needed something solid; something that would lead them definitively in the right direction. Something they could track Sam with.

Realisation jolted through him.

"Son of a bitch" he exclaimed, yanking out his phone. Cas and Jody looked at him curiously. He glanced up. "I put Sam's GPS on when he got back. We should be able to follow that." The hunter could have kicked himself; seems the taser fried more brain cells than he'd thought. Pulling up the locator on his own phone, Dean frowned. NO SIGNAL flashed up at him.

"If his phone is off – which it most likely is – you can't pinpoint its GPS" Cas remarked, peering at the screen.

"Unless we try and get the phone company to give us its last known position" Jody suggested. Dean gave her a brief half smile.

"Jody, I ever tell you you're a genius?"

She winked at him as he searched for the number of their service provider. Holding the phone up to his ear, Dean tried desperately to subdue the hope that was bubbling in his chest. He couldn't keep pinning his hope on things that didn't amount to anything. The line clicked on and a forced jovial voice greeted him.

"Hi, my brother has lost his phone and the battery's gone dead. I was hopin' you could tell me the last place you got the GPS signal from." Dean explained, keeping his tone persuasive and smooth. "Yeah, sure – 785-389-1106. Thanks." Dean mimed a pen at Jody, who promptly grabbed him a notepad. He scribbled down the coordinates as the woman reeled them off. "Thanks" he murmured as he hung up and brought up the map app on his phone. Inputting the coordinates, he waited impatiently for it to load. His eyes lit up and he turned the screen to show Jody, smiling triumphantly. She peered at the screen.

"That looks like a rest stop" she remarked.

"On the I-35 south, just outside of Elkhart – a couple of hours away," Dean confirmed, grabbing his jacket. "We need to go. Now."

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

"Good morning, Sam. Time to start a new day." Thomas' voice washed over Sam as the blindfold was lifted from his eyes. Sam blinked several times, adjusting to the weak light after hours of total darkness. He was surprised that he'd managed to sleep at all but, between the black silence and emotional trauma, his body had given out and he'd fallen into the first dreamless sleep for over a week. It left the hunter feeling energised, ready.

Thomas could go to hell before Sam gave into his bullshit.

So when the blindfold lifted, he stared up at Thomas levelly, filled with a confidence that he couldn't really explain – or justify. He had no plan of how he could escape and he didn't know what to expect from Thomas, but he would not give in. He would fight.

He would fight until Dean found him.

Oh dear. Thomas recognised that look. He resisted the urge to sigh; he hadn't wanted a fight on his hands this morning. He would give Sam the benefit of the doubt though – perhaps he was wrong. Although, when it came to Sam, Thomas rarely was.

Wordlessly he set about discreetly relieving Sam's needs – an act that Sam had had to suffer through on numerous occasions in England, particularly when he'd been stuck in the bed after his failed escape attempt. It didn't make it any less humiliating and it simply made him loathe Thomas more.

Once finished, Thomas reached up and undid Sam's gag, putting both parts on the small table beside the bed. He watched Sam flex his jaw but the hunter said nothing. No apology, no thank you: nothing. Thomas' disapproval rose.

"Right then. Breakfast. You must be hungry; I'm sorry you didn't get anything yesterday but I had assumed you were probably too upset to eat" Thomas remarked, keeping his tone cheerful despite the wariness that crept through him. Sam turned hard grey eyes to the bowl of porridge that Thomas had uncovered. His gaze moved up to meet Thomas'.

"I don't want anything from you" he snarled, eyes hard as steel. The cuffs clanked against the metal frame of the bed as he shifted position.

Thomas' eyebrow rose into a look of disapproval.

"Refusing to eat is not one of your available options, Sam. Think carefully about what you're doing."

"Go to hell" Sam growled, turning his face away.

Thomas sighed as he walked over to the shelf opposite; it was lucky that he was at least moderately prepared for this scenario. "Why must you insist on this pointless defiance? It's not like it gets you anywhere."

"Because anything is better than giving you what you want."

"Oh, Sam," Thomas smiled as he walked over, standing at the head of the bed, arms clasped behind his back. "I doubt that." His hands whipped around, using Sam's coming retort as his opportunity to shove the spout of a plastic funnel between his teeth, pressing his tongue down. Sam bucked, wrenching his head to the side but Thomas kept a firm grip on the funnel and his chin, holding it in place, forcing his teeth to clamp around it. "I wish you weren't making me do this, Sam. But you're not going to learn until you experience the consequences of your defiance."

Sam's eyes widened and he fought desperately as Thomas picked up the bowl of porridge and slowly began tipping it into the wide end of the funnel. The lukewarm substance slid into his mouth and went straight to the back of his throat. He coughed and gagged, writhing but he couldn't shift Thomas' hand. His throat swallowed involuntarily, choking down the revolting lumpy mixture. His eyes watered as it just kept coming.

Thomas put the bowl to one side when it was empty, holding the funnel for a few moments longer until Sam finished choking it down.

"Now, when I tell you you're going to do something, maybe you will" Thomas chided softly as he pulled the funnel from Sam's mouth. Sam wrenched his head away instantly, coughing violently. He barely registered the loud ripping sound that was followed by a snicking noise. He looked up and saw Thomas lean down, a strip of silver in between his hands.

"No, stop!" Sam moaned as the duct tape was pressed firmly over his mouth, Thomas smoothing it down with his thumbs. Grabbing the blindfold, he once again covered Sam's eyes before picking up the breakfast things and leaving.

Sam heard him go, frustration filling him. He was getting sick of being gagged all the time. He knew exactly what Thomas was doing; it was simple psychology – making him associate being able to see and talk with his presence, thus making him dependent on the Man of Letters. At least it was only tape this time rather than the damned cloth. Tape he could deal with. Working his jaw, he slowly pulled at it, getting the adhesive damp, loosening it slowly.

It took a while, but Sam finally felt it come loose. Turning his head to the side, he scraped it against his upraised arm, pulling the whole thing off. He sighed in relief, breathing easy for the first time in what felt like days. He licked his dry lips, wishing Thomas had given him water. No – he wished he had water. He didn't want anything from Thomas. He couldn't let those thoughts start slipping in; if he did, he would crack.

"You're not okay, Sam. They're only trying to help."

Sam froze, heart pounding. Dean's voice rang clear, almost like he was right there.

"Dean?" he called softly, apprehensively. No answer. He stopped breathing, listening hard.

"I'm no good for you, Sam. You know that."

Dean's voice was clear despite how quiet it was. Sam shifted uncomfortably; it didn't sound like a recording; plus where would Thomas have got it from? What the hell?

oOo

Anna watched as Thomas clicked a few icons on the computer, his clever fingers making several adjustments to the sound bars that were flicking themselves up and down the screen.

"Is this what you were working on last night?" she asked, peering closely at the laptop.

"It is. I've taken the recordings I made from the motel room and cut Dean's sentences up. I can make him say whatever I want him to. I cleaned it up, got rid of the background noise and now I'm projecting it into the cellar."

"So Sam thinks he can hear his brother."

"Exactly. Couple it with the fact that he admitted he can't tell what's real and what isn't, it should slowly begin to unsettle him, make him doubt himself."

"Honestly, Thomas, you impress me more and more each day" Anna praised as she watched the small window, her eyes lighting up maliciously as she drank in Sam's agitation.

"I hadn't wanted to start this quite so soon, but he's not giving me much choice" Thomas sighed as he selected another clip.

"It would seem that tape isn't very effective on him."

"So it seems."

oOo

"I can't trust you."

"Stop it" Sam seethed, jerking on his wrists, his arms tense, hands balled into fists. Alone in the darkness, it was too much. Dean wasn't there. He wasn't saying it. Yet…how could Sam be sure?

It wasn't Dean! His brother protected him; he didn't join forces with crazy Brits.

He needed to see. He needed to know if he was alone.

Sam wriggled, but couldn't lift himself higher up the bed than he already was – his legs were straight and held firm by the metal shackles. He shuffled over to his right, craning his neck up and trying to turn his fingers down. It was awkward and painful – his wrists were already bruised from trying to do this the night before but now he needed to get the damned blindfold off.

"C'mon" he grumbled, stretching himself further. His fingers brushed the soft cloth and a few strands of hair that were falling down the side of his face. The leather cuff dug into his wrist as he pulled hard, the metal frame groaning under the pressure. He snagged a finger into the edge of the bandana and pulled, ripping the whole thing off.

Relief filled him as he blinked, surprised to find the lights on. Typical that Thomas would blind him but not keep the whole room dark; that would be too easy. Anger flared in him at Thomas' choices. How he wished he could wrap his hands around Thomas' throat! Sam looked around, absorbing the cellar properly for the first time. He didn't feel safe studying it with Thomas around.

It was a small room, around eight feet by twelve – a typical size for a storm cellar. The walls were whitewashed concrete with no decoration. The stairs at the end lead up to what he assumed was a slanted door. It was a practical room and nothing more – typical of any storm cellar in the country. It didn't help him to discover where he was; tornadoes were a risk in all the states, although they were predominantly found in the south.

Next to the doorway, high up in the corner, Sam saw a small black box that was nearly concealed in the shadows. Its surface reflected the light when Sam squinted at it. Son of a bitch.

He was being watched.

Thomas knew what he was doing, leaving Sam unable to know when he was be watched and when he wasn't. That wasn't going to help him escape. He suspected it wouldn't be long before Thomas appeared; he wasn't going to like that Sam had taken back some of his control.

On the adjacent wall, there was a long shelf that ran halfway along the wall but it was too high for Sam to see what was on it. He didn't really want to know; Thomas seemed to stash all of his…accessories up there.

The thought made Sam nauseous.

The only other furnishings were the small wooden chair that Thomas sat on beside him, the cabinet next to the shelf containing clothes and the small table that was near the head of his bed. He couldn't see anything that would emit a sound. Since getting the blindfold off, the voice had stopped.

Craning his neck, he looked up at his wrists, turning them gently. The cuffs were new and well made, the padlocks small but secure. He flopped his head back on the pillow, sighing heavily. He wasn't going to get out of them without help.

Something tickled against his neck. Looking down, he caught a glimpse of something silver on his chest. It was a small necklace, the pendant no bigger than a nickel. His eyebrows knitted together as he studied its design. It looked Enochian – curved edges wound together into an intricate pattern within the confines of the outer circle. It wasn't a sigil Sam recognised. Why would Thomas put it on him? It wasn't for Sam's benefit that was for certain. The sooner he could get it off, the better.

Unsurprised, Sam heard the door rattle open, sunlight pouring in briefly before the door was shut and footsteps rained down. Thomas appeared, a look of exasperation on his face. Sam just glared up at him.

"Get off on watching, do you?" Sam snarled, giving the camera a pointed look. Thomas studied him carefully.

"It serves the same purpose as the one in your accommodation in London; it's there to protect you."

"Funny. You keep going on about all this 'protection' and yet somehow I don't exactly feel the benefit," Sam retorted sarcastically. He nodded down to the necklace. "That supposed to protect me too?"

"You're going to keep being a nuisance all day, aren't you?" Thomas remarked, ignoring Sam's questions. Unruly wards don't get answers.

"If wanting to get the hell away from here counts as that, then yeah. I'm not gonna give into you, Thomas. You can lock me down, shove things down my throat and play recordings of my brother all you like, but it won't change that."

Thomas looked down at him sharply, his expression one of seemingly genuine surprise.

"Recordings of your brother? What on earth are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb, Thomas. I don't know how you got Dean's voice, but it's not gonna work."

"Sam, I assure you – there's only the camera in here. Why would I want you to hear your brother? That's not going to help you to move on, is it? It would be counterproductive on my part," Thomas explained, watching Sam's frown falter, confusion flickering in his eyes. He knew Thomas' logic made sense. Thomas lifted a hand and pressed it against Sam's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel fine" Sam snapped, pulling away from the unwanted contact. "I'd feel better if you'd leave me the hell alone."

Thomas said nothing; he was not going to rise to Sam's goading. Instead, he produced his keys and unlocked the padlock from one of the cuffs attached to the frame at the top of the bed. Sam watched him suspiciously.

"What're you doing?"

Again, silence. It was almost more unnerving that Thomas' calm monologues. Sam tensed as the cuff was undone, preparing to yank his arm down, but the Englishman was expecting it. As soon as the cuff was freed from the bedframe, Thomas tugged it with both hands, using his superior leverage to pull Sam's arm up further, through the gap in the bedframe. He knelt down and reattached the cuff to the frame below the mattress, removing all slack from the chain between the leather cuffs so that Sam's arm was pulled uncomfortably against the mattress.

"Stop!" Sam shouted as Thomas moved onto his other wrist. The same thing happened again, leaving Sam's arms stretched up above his head and then down towards the floor. He jerked his arms but they were completely immobilised.

"I tried to make you more comfortable with the tape, Sam. Seems my niceties are unappreciated. I can't have you taking it off so we'll just need to use more traditional methods to silence you" Thomas explained as he tied a large knot in the centre of a bandana. Sam glared up at him, thrashing his head as the cloth descended.

"No! Donmmmph!" Sam's shout was cut off as Thomas forced the knot between his teeth and jerked it tight, tying it securely at the back of Sam's head. He groaned into the gag, hating the uncomfortable pull at the corners of his mouth and the way it compressed his tongue. Yet writhing did nothing and couldn't prevent Thomas from pulling the blindfold back down over his eyes. He whimpered softly as Thomas pulled it tight and then rechecked his gag.

"There. I think that'll do you for now."

Sam growled unintelligibly, wanting nothing more than to rip into Thomas. He heard a soft spraying sound and instantly recognised the waft of Dean's cologne. Not again. The smell that he'd associated with laughter and the strength of his big brother was slowly being twisted, bastardised into something nauseating. Since he couldn't breathe through his mouth, Sam was forced to inhale the full force of it through his nose, unable to escape it. He could almost feel his memories, his emotions being overwritten, slipping away out of reach, replaced by his helpless frustration. Thomas only sprayed it after restraining the Winchester, leaving him to associate the comfort of home with his captivity. Writhing and pulling, he could barely move, let alone put any distance between his face and the scent.

A whimper of despair caught in his throat as the sound of the door closing echoed through the cellar.

oOo

I-35 S, Outskirts of Elkhart, Iowa

Sticking to anything that was even remotely close to the speed limit was near enough torture for Dean. While the signal for Sam's phone's last location was only two hours away, Dean just couldn't get there fast enough. What if they were actually lucky? What if Sam still had his phone? Maybe his abductor had taken it off him. Either way, it would lead them to his baby brother. That was the only thing Dean could cling onto. He had to believe that there was a light at the end of this lead.

Only when Jody had called Castiel, for the third time (from her own truck behind the Impala), stating that if Dean didn't slow down, she would relegate him to the back seat of her truck while Cas drove the Impala, did Dean ease off. Not a lot, but enough to set his teeth on edge. She knew they were in a hurry, but she also knew that getting there in one piece was equally as important. They couldn't help Sam if something happened to them.

"There." Castiel pointed to a small slip road that split off from the I-35. Dean nodded and pulled off, easing up as he took the bend smoothly even though his heart began to hammer.

This wasn't right.

The slip road continued to curve before opening up to reveal a long parking lot that was half full. People bustled from their vehicles, stretching and chatting with their travel buddies, heading towards the single storey service station building. The building was surrounded on two sides by long, slanted lawns which had picnic benches dotted along at precise intervals. Behind the main building a long line of trucks were parked in neat rows.

Dean pulled into a free space, the grumble of the Impala drowning out the sound of Jody's truck as she pulled up alongside him. He cut the engine, finding the sudden silence oppressive. Getting out of the car, he heard Cas doing the same.

"This doesn't look good" Dean murmured as Jody walked around to stand by him. She patted him arm comfortingly.

"We don't know that yet. Look, I'll go ask if anyone saw a guy fittin' the description you gave me earlier; you and Cas see if you can find the car" Jody instructed, keeping her tone firm and calm. She was in full parent mode: exuding the strength that Dean needed.

"I'll go this way" Cas offered, veering off to the left. Dean headed right, his hands driven deep into his jacket pockets. His hands were balled into fists, mostly to stop the tremors that were riding up and down his arms. Whether they were from fear or anticipation, Dean couldn't tell; he was yo-yoing between the two emotions constantly.

He walked slowly, checking each and every car, knowing that he didn't need to since he knew the make he was looking for, but he couldn't help it. They could've swapped vehicles and stayed parked up – particularly if Sam's captor needed to rest up. The hunter paid particular attention to any car with tinted windows, casually walking near them and giving each a sideways glance to peer through the windows.

All were normal. None had Sam in them.

Dean continued, getting further from the building. If they had stopped here, regardless of the time of day, it was unlikely that Sam's abductor would park near the building; the risk of someone looking in was too great, as was Sam trying to attract attention. The likelihood was that Sam was awake; Cas had tried to reach out to him again but got nothing. It was fine; Sam would sleep sometime and they would get through to him then. And there was no way in hell that Sam wouldn't try to get attention if he could.

As he came towards the edge of the parking lot, the number of cars began to thin, leaving large gaps in the spaces. Dean didn't stop though; he didn't know why but he just couldn't bring himself to turn back. He had to be thorough; if he missed anything, he would kick himself for the rest of time.

He came to the end, next to a line of scrub bushes and turned back, sighing. His gaze slid to his right, stopping involuntarily. He frowned. Walking across the asphalt, he kept his eyes fixed on a small black lump that looked out of place against the curb, next to the grass. Bending down, the Winchester picked up the shattered, mangled corpse of a smart phone. The screen was completely smashed, crisscrossed with bright white cracks. It was completely ruined, almost like it had been run over by something heavy.

Dean felt the lump in his throat start to choke him.

Even though it was destroyed, he knew it was Sam's. It couldn't be anyone else's. Clutching the twisted hunk of metal and glass, Dean fought to contain himself. They had nothing.

Sam was gone.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Thomas carefully removed the cloth that covered a small silver tray. Sam eyed it suspiciously but said nothing. The Man of Letters had come in a while ago, trying to engage Sam in conversation yet again, but the hunter was having none of it. He'd spent all morning getting increasingly more uncomfortable and frustrated. He was not about to pander to Thomas' ridiculous whims. The rumble of his stomach was the only way he could tell it was getting to be near early afternoon.

"Okay, Sam, so I thought I'd walk you through a few processes, make sure that you're completely clear on the details," Thomas declared as he sat down on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably close to Sam's torso. The hunter tried to shift to the side but couldn't move. Thomas pulled the wooden chair that the tray balanced on a bit closer, picking up the first item. "Have you seen one of these before?"

It was small and plastic, only about an inch and a half wide and another inch high. It had a circular opening in its centre, roughly an inch wide and an inch deep. On either side of the circle were two plastic rings that had a nylon strap attached to both, creating a loop between the two sides. Sam frowned; he'd seen them in hospitals.

"This is a bite block. It fits into your mouth, between your front teeth and will make sure you can't close your mouth. The straps will go around the back of your head and will be fixed in place so that you can't push it out" Thomas explained, pointing to each part as he described it. Sam's heart thumped. The Man of Letters put it down and picked up a wide leather strap. "Obviously nothing special about this one – you can see what it is. I'll attach this to another set of straps on the mattress and affix this here," Thomas motioned across his own forehead, "which will stop you from moving your head."

Still Sam said nothing, but he could feel the fear prickling heat across his skin. Next, Thomas selected a coil of clear plastic. It shone in the light overhead, reflecting it as Thomas unwound it. It was obviously malleable, but still quite rigid. It wasn't particularly wide but it was at least two feet long.

Sam's breathing picked up.

"Now, once you're immobilised and the bite block is in place, I'll be able to insert this through the hole here," Thomas remarked as he demonstrated, pushing the tube through the circular opening in the bite block. Sam's breath hitched in his throat. "It's not a pleasant experience, I'm afraid. It has to go straight down your oesophagus, past your gag reflex – don't worry, you won't actually vomit at this stage – and then down into your stomach. You'll need to stay absolutely still or there's a chance that the tube could rupture something internally and we certainly don't want that. You'll still be able to breathe but you'll cough a lot and your throat will be quite sore afterwards. But it will do the job."

Sam wanted to throw up. He couldn't believe how calmly, how scientifically, Thomas was describing what was, by all accounts, torture. Toni may have done some heinous things to him, but she'd never explained them in detail before doing them. Thomas rewound the tube and put it on the tray, picking up a clear bottle that was filled with a revolting orangey gunk.

"Since we don't need to worry about your chewing anything or flavours, I'll just create a mix of foods rich in nutrients and all the things you need. It'll be processed before I come down so that it's smooth enough to go down the tube without fuss."

Sam paled.

"Of course, you can avoid making me do any of this if you choose to do as your told and eat what I give you. Which would you like?"

All his defiance, every profanity, every threat died in Sam's throat, silenced by the medical equipment arranged so neatly on the tray. He'd woken up enough times in a hospital with similar tubes rammed down his throat to give him enough inkling about what being force fed would feel like. Thomas would do it too. He wasn't just doing this for show; breakfast was enough to show Sam that.

"I'll eat" he whispered, hating the fear colouring his tone. Thomas smiled brightly.

"Excellent! Well done, Sam; your first good decision of the day!"

Turning his head so that he was facing straight up, Sam couldn't stop the tear that crept unbidden from the corner of his eye. He needed out of this hell.

He needed Dean.

oOo

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