Thanks for all the reviews and it was really fun to see who you were all speculating over!

oOo

"This will all be over soon

Pour salt into the open wound."

- Breath, Breaking Benjamin

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

"I don't trust him."

"Dean…" Jody sighed, pursing her lips when Dean's hardened emerald gaze bore into her own.

"Yeah, I know. He was with you and I get it, Jody, I do. And I do trust you," Dean explained, shoving the coffee pot back onto its holder before turning to face the sheriff. "But somethin' just ain't right. Who else could've known what happened? It's just too…convenient."

"Honey, I know you need to tear into someone, but that someone isn't Ketch. Not today anyway," Jody replied, her hand resting on his arm as he passed her a steaming mug with the other. She stared up at him, seeing beyond the stony exterior and the anger that creased the corners of his mouth to the hurt and the fear that tainted the back of his eyes. Years with her boys had taught her to see beyond the display of emotion both of them usually exhibited; their true feelings were always cloaked by a wall that few could scale. "Maybe later, once you know that Sam is okay, once we know that you are okay."

"I'm fine," he retorted gruffly, his eyes sliding away. But he wasn't and it was painful to watch him holding himself together. They'd listened in horrified silence as he'd recounted what had happened, how Sam had suffered, how their mystery captor had seemingly let the younger Winchester escape. Through it all, the only thing he didn't tell them was how he'd suffered. Jody hadn't expected him to; it would be later, in alcohol and violence, that he'd skim across the depths of his own feelings, but, even then, he wouldn't truly acknowledge them.

That wouldn't even happen until long after Sam was safe.

"Yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that," Jody chided not unkindly. "Eventually we're gonna have to deal with what happened to both of you and whether Ketch had any kind of involvement and findin' where the other guy has run off to, but first we need to get our heads around what he was doing to Sam."

Dean slumped down onto the metal bench, not wanting to go out to the library where he knew Ketch was lurking. Cas appeared in the door as he grabbed a strip of beef jerky from an open packet that lay on the table. After being starved for days, he was constantly hungry. He bit into the tough meat and chewed slowly, the bite of chilli lingering across his tongue as the lime smoothed over it.

"Like I said, he talked a lot about conditionin', makin' Sam repeat things that Thomas had done," Dean's brow crinkled as he thought back. "He'd say stuff like 'does that sound like help?' or 'you wanted this'. Sometimes he was just provokin' Sam, but others…it was almost like he was actin' like some sorta shrink. I'm tellin' you, Jody, it was weird."

"You're not going to like it Dean, but it does sound like he was trying to help," Cas offered, unfazed when Dean stopped chewing, a threatening scowl burning straight at him.

"Yeah because puttin' Sam through all the shit he's gone through before is a real big help!"

"I'm not condoning what happened, Dean, far from it, but look at the evidence. Sam was taken, held against his will – again – before the actions were compared to his time with both Thomas and Toni. He's then allowed to escape. In a perverse way, it has potentially helped more than we ever could."

"How the fuck can you say that?!" Dean growled, anger rolling off him in waves as he stood, fists clenched

"Dean, go easy on him; Cas doesn't mean it how you think," Jody intervened, patting his chest as she stood between the two men. "There have been known cases where victims of programming have been put through similar experiences to what they were originally subjected to in order to 'break' the conditioning that's been done to them. Sam's been a complete mess for months and Cas is kinda right: I don't know what we could've done that would've brought him round." She held up a hand when Dean made to interrupt. "I am NOT sayin' that I agree with it – not in the slightest – but it's happened and we've got to deal with what happens next. If we're lucky, maybe it has done some kind of good."

The hunter hated it, but he remained silent, his jaw clenching so hard that his teeth ached. He wasn't going to agree with them. Putting Sam through hell was never going to be a good thing and watching it first-hand had been more than he could stand. He wanted nothing more than to find a bottle of whiskey and drown himself in it, but he couldn't. They needed to find Sam.

Dean needed to make things okay.

"What do you want to do next?" Jody prompted gently, watching Dean carefully as the anger dissipated behind a screen that he drew down like a shutter in his eyes.

"Honestly? I have no idea," he murmured, his tone exhausted but she knew it wasn't for a lack of sleep. They were all tired of chasing and getting nowhere. "Cas can track him, but I don't know what goin' after Sam would get us at the moment. He didn't even know I was there with him."

"So maybe we don't follow him for a few days," Jody offered, flicking a worried glance up at Castiel who met her gaze for gaze without Dean seeing. "Cas can monitor him. This has to end sometime though. Think, Dean, did anything happen that could give you even a clue as to where Sam would go next?"

He was silent for so long that she almost thought he wasn't going to answer, but she was patient, staring at green eyes that flickered and searched the floor as he thought back.

"Hell, I dunno. The guy said somethin' about findin' someone Sam could trust – someone Lucifer wouldn't think of – but I can't even guess at who that could be. Maybe that got through to him. Maybe he'll try to find them. If he was actin' like normal, he would, but I just don't know anymore."

And that was what killed Dean inside every time he thought it. He no longer felt like he knew his brother. The walls pressed in around him and suddenly it was all too closed in, too much. Lurching to his feet, Dean stalked out, heading to the garage.

oOo

Coleridge, Nebraska

The sun shone balefully down on the deserted main street, glinting off the windows in bright flashes but the temperature failed to rise more than a few degrees despite the glare. Autumn was creeping its way in, the warmth of summer waning. The locals milled about idly, coats wrapped around torsos, arms crossed against the sharp bite of wind that swept through in bursts.

The GMC Sierra bounced and jolted as it slowed, pulling into an empty parking in the shade next to the Rodeo Bar and Grill. The engine was cut and the driver's door swung open, a tall, lean man with blonde hair jumping out. He waved as a local hollered his name, a broad smile flashing white teeth as he headed into the bar, not bothering to lock his truck.

Sam lay in the bed, hidden beneath the black tarpaulin that covered the back of the pick-up. It was dim, but enough light soaked in through the edges to allow him to see. The Winchester lay on his back, listening hard, catching his breath.

After a freezing night in the barn, he'd snuck out at dawn, heading for the trucks near the farmhouse. He'd been trying to hotwire one, with trembling fingers that were too numb to work properly, when voices had rung out and he'd panicked, slipping straight out of the cab and crouching beside the car. There had been nowhere to go; not without being seen so he'd hauled himself into the bed of the GMC and pulled the tarpaulin over it, planning to hide until the voices had gone. What he hadn't counted on was one of the voices heading his way and starting the truck. Before he could even think about scrambling out of it, it was bouncing across the dirt track and roaring out onto the road. All he could do was wedge himself sideways and hold on. Luckily, the bed had been empty, but it had been a far from comfortable ride.

You can't stay here. Move.

The hunter's voice cajoled him, the tone urgent and forceful. It was right; he had no idea when the owner would be back and he couldn't risk being found inside. Reaching out a hand, Sam unhooked the edge of the tarpaulin and peeked his head up carefully, keeping low. Looking around, he couldn't see anyone except for a woman walking a dog in the distance on the other side of the road, her phone pressed to her ear.

Now or never.

Gripping the edge of the truck, Sam pulled himself up and out, landing in a crouch, nearly stumbling over, before he took off at a run, heading for the nearest side street beside the bar. Dumpsters lined one side and grass grew along the side of the other building, dust kicking up beneath his feet. He skidded to a stop at the end of the dumpsters and crouched down again, his back against the wall, chest heaving. Blood roared in his ears and he struggled to get his breath back, spots floating around in his vision. He was too high-strung and running on empty; he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything. There had been nothing in the barn and he had nothing on him to pay for anything – not that he had the nerve to try and go into a store.

Sam smacked his head back in frustration, barely registering the pain when his head connected with the brick wall. He couldn't keep living like this – terrified of towns, of people, constantly on the run. It wasn't living.

Get to her. You'll get your answers.

He hoped. God, Sam had never hoped for anything more. Exhaling slowly, he pulled himself back together as much as he could and looked further down the street. A line of battered cars stood off to one side, all vacant and out of sight of the other streets. Pushing himself up, Sam jogged over to them, looking for any cameras mounted on the walls, any other pedestrians. He tried the handle of the first car, then the second and the third. All were locked, but the fourth – a beaten 1987 Camaro with more rust than paint – gave under his touch. Sliding in, Sam shoved a bunch of fast food wrappers off the driver's seat onto the passenger one, his eyes alighting on a stray foil packet that was too perfectly formed to be empty. Grabbing it, Sam actually laughed in delight at the chocolate bar's weight in his hand. Ripping it open, the Winchester shoved it into his mouth, tearing off a huge bite and groaning in ecstasy, his stomach growling its approval. He savoured it for a few starving moments, snapping off another bite before balancing it in his lap and reaching under the steering column for the wires he needed. It took a few goes, but, finally, the engine sparked to life, snarling in the silent street. Shoving the rest of the bar in his mouth, Sam jerked the gear shift into drive and put his foot down.

If he pushed hard enough, he could make it before dark.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

Dean threw the grubby sponge back in the bucket of equally filthy water, some of the remaining bubbles slopping out onto the floor. He bent down and swiped up the hose, compressing the trigger to unleash a stream of water onto the Impala. He felt less boxed in in the confines of the bunker's garage than the rest of it. Anywhere that Ketch wasn't, if he was honest with himself. It wasn't rational and he had no evidence to go on, but Dean had always trusted his gut. And, currently, his gut was telling him to beat the living hell out of the Englishman until he admitted what he'd done.

The water blasted over the windshield.

If he'd been able to, Dean would've gone for a drive, left to clear his head. Vent his frustration in a bottle and some girl who wouldn't care if it was only for one night. But he couldn't. He needed to stay, to wait. For what, he wasn't sure, but that was the other thing his gut was telling him. Something had to change soon and something was going to. Getting drunk today, tonight, was the worst thing he could do but he just didn't know why. Instead, he saw to Baby, took care of his beloved car because it was the only thing he could take care of.

The hunter wasn't sure he could ever express how much he hated playing the waiting game. It felt like it was all he'd done ever since Sam had been taken all those months ago. Even when he'd got his brother back, it hadn't been right.

Maybe it never would be.

Dean shoved that thought down angrily, his lip curling into a snarl. Things would get better; Sam would be home one day and then they would be out hunting. Saving others again. That was all he wanted and he would make it happen or die trying.

For now though, he had to muster patience from somewhere because his instincts were in overdrive and that was something he trusted.

Change was coming and he was waiting for it.

oOo

Lawrence, Kansas

The road was quiet and dark, glowing lights seeping out into the black beyond, elongating the shadows that crept across the trimmed front lawns. Most of the road's curtains were closing and the neighbourhood had fallen into a comfortable silence save for the pattering of the rain that had started to fall. A few cars were parked along either side of the street, all dark and empty save one.

Sam stared up at the house, trying to pull his nerves together again. He'd been sat outside for two hours, unable to muster the courage to go in. Having driven off twice and come back, he knew he needed to do it. So far, nothing had attacked him, no one had said anything to him. The figure in the house he was watching had bustled around, going about her business, paying him no heed.

Grow a pair for God's sake or leave. Do something!

The hunter barked at him and Sam knew the voice was right. He needed to make some sort of move. His fraying nerves wanted him to reach for the ignition, fire up the car and go, but, deep down, he knew that was never going to get him anywhere. He needed to face his fears, not run from them.

He'd escaped once. He needed to keep fighting.

Grasping the door handle, Sam pushed it open, raining splattering down onto his bare arm as the torrents grew heavier. The door banged shut behind him and he was running before he even realised it. His feet splashed through a puddle as he moved across the grass verge and stopped on the porch, sheltered from the rain which dripped from the bangs of his hair. Warmth radiated from the house while the rain cooled the air behind him. It wasn't just a physical heat: there was a promise of safety just beyond the door. It was feeling that was almost foreign.

Raising his hand, Sam paused, held his breath, and knocked quietly.

A shadow fell through the curtain on the other side of the glass door before the lock turned and it was pulled open cautiously, revealing Missouri Moseley's kind, yet concerned expression.

"Sam Winchester, I was startin' to think you weren't gonna knock at all. Come in, before you catch your death," she chided softly, her voice warm southern honey as she stood back and held the door open wide for him. Hesitating, Sam faltered. She smiled at him sadly. "It's alright, take your time, honey." Breathing out slowly, Sam took a step forward into the warmth of her home.

Inside it was just how he remembered; dark wood panelling lined the walls with an impressive staircase leading upstairs and the rain battering against the round window in the hall. The same bench that he's sat on with Dean as they'd waited for Missouri to finish with a client was still stood opposite the door, a blanket draped over one end. The warm aroma of jambalaya wafted around him, making him acutely aware of his hunger once more. The door clicked shut quietly behind him and Sam flinched, closing his eyes as he fought the urge to turn and bolt.

"C'mon, we can't be hangin' around in the hall all night," Missouri remarked, bustling past him, ignoring his reaction. Opening his eyes, Sam followed her, trailing behind her to the living room. He ducked under the beaded curtain that hung to one side, watching Missouri as she took a seat in the armchair opposite the sofa. It had been years since he'd set eyes on the psychic and she hadn't changed much. Grey had begun to thread its way into the edges of her hair in faint wisps and there were new laughter lines crinkling at the edges of her eyes. She gazed at him, her mouth downturned, but a look of knowing passed through her eyes as he sat on the sofa opposite.

"I'm so sorry, honey." She didn't even need to explain herself; of course she knew what had happened. He wasn't even sure why he doubted that she would.

"You're the only person I could think of that he wouldn't," Sam murmured quietly, rubbing his hands together, his thumb gliding over his left palm. Missouri nodded sagely but said nothing, letting the silence stretch comfortably. There was no rush, no attempt to push and, for that, Sam was grateful. As the minutes passed his nerves settled and a calmness that he hadn't felt in a long time slowly took hold. Lifting his eyes, he scrutinised Missouri carefully. "You knew I was outside."

Missouri's lips quirked. "I'd be a terrible psychic if I didn't."

"Why didn't you come out?"

"Because you didn't need me to. This is about you, Sam, and what you need. Tell me what that is, honey," Missouri replied kindly, her tone turning more serious. Sam opened his mouth, but the air was sucked from his lungs, the question on the tip of his tongue. He closed his mouth again, fighting to breathe.

He didn't know what answer he wanted.

"Sam, you're safe here. I think you know that, deep down. But you gotta ask," the psychic pushed gently, her hands clasped together tightly in front of her. Sam's thumb dug deeper into his palm as he exhaled a shaky breath, eyes downcast.

"You once told me that people don't come here for the truth; they come here for good news," he whispered.

"Not today; not with you," she murmured back, her gaze fixed on his downturned head, staying on him as he lifted pained eyes to meet her. Her heart broke as she watched him struggle, knowing what he wanted, but he had to be able to say it. Without that step, none of this would count. She got up, walking around the small coffee table, taking a seat next to Sam, turning her body towards him. Tears welled, making the dark grey depths that spoke of the unspeakable horrors he'd faced swim in a pit of despair.

"Is this real?" Sam's voice cracked as the tears slid from the corners of his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. "Was I lied to?" Missouri reached out a tentative hand, cupping his cheek, wiping his tears with her thumb.

"Yes, Sam. You were," she nodded, her voice low and gentle. It was like damn exploded within him, unstoppable and violent. Sam's wail transformed into a high keening as Missouri pulled him into her arms, cradling his head in the crook of her neck. "I'm so sorry." She rocked him, stroking his hair as his world fell apart yet again.

She hoped to God he would be able to put himself back together one last time.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The evening was waning but still Dean hadn't touched a single one of the beer bottles that Jody had picked up from the store. He'd eaten because she's hovered until he had, but he was restless, edgy. He'd cleaned every car and motorcycle in the bunker's garage and tinkered with Baby's engine, watching the clock constantly as it moved painfully slowly, second by second. Energy hummed like static in his skin, keeping him wired. He couldn't have slept if he'd tried.

AC/DC thrummed around the armoury, playing from Dean's smaller set of speakers. His gun lay on the table in pieces, spread out on a square of green cloth, a small bottle of oil on his left next to a variety of brushes and cleaners as he worked over the weapon. It was the fifth gun he'd cleaned and the hunter had already decided that forging bullets was next on his to do list. The others had left him to it; most likely glad that he wasn't throttling Ketch. He just needed to keep his hands busy.

He'd just swapped oil cans when he felt his phone buzz against his leg, its ringtone emanating from his pocket. Putting the gun piece down, he snagged his phone out of his jeans and frowned at the screen, not recognising the number.

"Who is this?" he barked, his heart beginning to beat faster, the static intensifying in him.

"Dean? It's Missouri."

"The psychic?" he asked, incredulous, his frown dropping.

"No, the stripper," she retorted and Dean could almost hear her eyes roll. "Boy, who else is it gonna be?!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, chastised before the frowned returned. "Why're you callin'?"

"You need to get your butt down here. It's Sam."

Gun forgotten, Dean was up and running.

oOo

I have been so excited about writing Missouri: she's a favourite of mine and I'd planned to get her in right from the beginning. The fact that they then announced her coming back for 13 has made me so happy!

Don't worry, we're not out of the woods yet; answers don't come that easy ;)

Please review!