Sam's shoulder muscles locked tight, as details and scenarios filtered through his mind. The UPS driver was sitting in his van, likely on the phone to the police, and hadn't noticed a thing. The men from the taxi were furtive, had timed their appearance when no other people were passing. This whole incident, including the presumably staged distraction crash by the Land Rover, was highly professional.
The question was, were they human, monster or something else? The only thing he knew for sure was that these men could have gunned them down when their backs were turned, but didn't. This wasn't a hit dressed up as a drive-by – they wanted something from him.
Or from Lara.
Just because the fate of the world had literally revolved around him before (more than once, in fact), Sam wasn't arrogant enough to assume that this was definitely about him. He knew nothing about Lara – for all he knew this could be the result of an angry ex-husband, or even an actual husband's actions. Or something else entirely.
A big bald guy in his mid-fifties, wearing blue jeans and a bulky dark jacket quietly motioned for them to get into the black taxi. Sam gripped Lara behind him, and stayed where he was, silent and stubborn.
"Don't play games with me." The man's voice was hard, his accent a lot rougher than Lara's. "Get in the cab." If Sam had to guess, he would say the guy was former army, gone to seed slightly around the middle, but still all aggression and muscle.
"No." Sam stood straighter as he felt Lara's hand clutch his more tightly. He squeezed her hand back in a silent trust me gesture. "We're leaving." He pushed Lara back slightly and slowly took a step back himself.
The other two men, one skinny with a craggy smokers face, the other with a similar build and look to Baldie (except a good foot shorter) stared at Sam almost without blinking. The lead man briefly glanced up and down the street.
"So you're a gambler then? I'll make a note of that. Better to know these things now, rather than later."
"I'm not going anywhere with you. You need to know that." Sam wasn't going to let himself get taken by anyone. Not ever again. Absolute determination was written all over his body language.
Eyes slightly narrower than they were before, Baldie gritted his teeth as a noisy group of foreign backpackers emerged from the station behind them. "Mr Winchester, Ms Whitmore, I haven't got all day. Get your arses in the cab please, chop-fucking-chop."
There was an audible intake of breath from behind him, at the mention of Lara's name. Sam squeezed her hand and quietly, urgently, asked her "Do you know him? Do you know what he wants?"
Lara whispered back, hot breath in his ear. Her voice was high pitched and fast. "Don't know what's going on Sam what's happening?"
He retreated further, gently pushing Lara with him. "Look, we're NOT going with you. Just get back into your cab and leave. I'm guessing you don't want to cause a scene, but believe me, in about ten seconds time that's exactly what you're gonna get if you don't leave us the hell alone."
This guy was obviously used to people being intimidated from the get-go, and Sam saw a change in guy's attitude at his refusal to back down. He had clearly hoped waving a big scary gun in Sam and Lara's faces would be enough to get the job done easy-peasy.
Baldie hissed theatrically, changing tactic. "Go on then high roller. Put your money where your mouth is, and start kicking-off then." He nudged the guy next to him with his elbow. "I wanna see this. Five extra points if he uses jazz hands as he squeals for someone to call the Old Bill..."
Sam's eyes furrowed in confusion. Was he really happy to call Sam's bluff when the cops were surely only minutes away, and there were plenty of witnesses around?
Baldie read Sam's face. "Sunshine, keeping this hush-hush is the preferred option. But it aint the only option."
Still managing to keep his weapon discrete, he turned the nose of the handgun towards the tourists who had wandered further on up the street. "Let's double or nothing. Make a drama and I'll speed up Brexit by emptying my entire clip into that bunch of foreigners." He ignored Sam's grimace. "You see that brunette with the purple bag? She looks like my sister-in-law. Don't she Archie?" Baldie jerked a head at his shorter doppelganger.
"Yeh, she looks like my missus." Archie agreed.
"I fucking hate my sister-in-law."
"We all fucking hate her Bill." Archie spat.
"So, the lookalike-bitch goes down first. I'll send a condolence note to her family, and someone at the funeral can read it out. I'll put something like 'your dearest favourite person died choking up blood 'cause Sam Winchester backed the wrong horse'." He paused for effect. "However…if you just get in the fucking cab I can guaran-fucking-tee you that no one will get hurt today. Including you." Bill sarcastically drew a little cross shape over his heart.
Frustration coursed through Sam's body, biting like caustic acid. He absolutely did not want to get in that cab; the further down the rabbit hole they travelled, the harder it would be to escape. The prospect of re-living a horrendous situation like the one a few months ago, and even worse – this time having Lara in that situation with him, set his blood on fire.
But equally, he had to do the right thing by the group of innocent tourists who weren't even aware that their lives were being bargained with. Sam WAS a gambler. He had betted and wagered with the best of them his entire life. And in his heart, he knew he wasn't going to call this Bill's bluff and have a woman die because of him.
Sam let go of Lara's hot, sweaty hand and turned to face her. He almost put his fingers up to her hair, wanting feeling its softness, wanting to brush a stray lock behind one of her ears. Instead he rested them on her arm, taking in her shocked stare and rapid breathing. "I am so…Lara…I…" He couldn't even choke out a proper apology to her, he was so furious. He briefly looked up at the heavens, knowing they were absolutely no fucking help at all, then turned to face the man whose throat he wanted to rip out.
"Who are you Bill?" Sam asked.
"Need to fucking know, mate." Was the curt reply.
"What are you?"
Bill looked at him, puzzled.
"Never mind" said Sam. "If I agree to go with you, Lara stays behind." He had to at least try.
"No deal. Sorry sunshine but Love's Young Dream comes too."
Lara stepped up alongside Sam before he could stop her. She looked so confused, and panic was thick in her voice. "Hang on…wait…do I get a say in any of this?"
"Course you do luv" said Bill. "You say, 'I'm gonna get in the taxi now cause I don't want some poor mare's death on my conscience'. Right?"
Bill might have been a psycho but Lara wasn't. She didn't resist as Sam took hold of her clammy palm again. With the decision made, time slowed down for a heartbeat. A cold breeze picked up, rifled through his hair. Leaves rustled noisily against the pavement.
Bill held the door open for them as they got into the cab.
Flashback to six weeks previously
With the smell of fresh air in his nose, and the warm summer sun on his face, Sam took a moment of peace before falling into Dean's rental car.
It had taken nearly fifteen minutes of Sam stumbling over his own legs, not to mention the bloodied bodies of his former captors, for Dean to drag him away from his cell and up through the posh boutique hotel above. Sam was freaked to think that people might have been sleeping, eating, even making love above him whilst he was trapped and tortured in the subterranean hell below. They hadn't come across any hotel guests during their exit, and no other cars were parked in the lot, so maybe the British Men of Letters had rented the entire hotel during his captivity. It would have cost them a fortune. Or maybe they owned it in the first place? Probably made better sense – after all it did have an all-purpose torture chamber built into the foundations.
Whatever. He was just happy to be out of their clutches. He felt no remorse at their brutal passing; in his shattered, fevered state, his main regret was that he hadn't had the chance to exact his revenge personally. And, that he never got to find out what Little Fucker was and then stomp it to bits. His right foot ached at the thought of crumbling the fucking thing under his boot.
Dean had the air-conditioning on full, but Sam cracked open a window enjoying the warm breeze against his forehead. Dean didn't argue like he would normally have – Sam knew he stank like re-heated sewage. He closed his eyes, not yet wanting to have the conversation with Dean about how the hell he survived the whole God and Amara shit show, and what the whole mom illusion-thing was about. Before that, he needed food, sleep, a ridiculously hot shower and some good painkillers. Possibly even antibiotics. Not necessarily in that order, but all of them as soon as possible.
As the cathartic sound of tyres on tarmac rumbled on, he slumped against the passenger door of the rented Nissan Juke, trying to hide hot tears that took him by surprise. His emotions were all messed up – and probably would be for quite a while. Dean, however, had the intense focus of a lion chasing down a kill as he drove on the wrong side of the road, driving stick, only speaking to refer to the inbuilt sat-nav as 'a crappy piece of shit'. Falling into their old habit, Sam dozed weakly letting Dean do his silent brooding thing, until they finally pulled up outside a B&B in an area named Hammersmith.
Sam's muscles had stiffened up badly during the two-hour ride, and embarrassingly Dean had to help him out of the car and walk him into the B&B like he was a frail old man. There was a small bunch of down and out looking men in the lobby and Sam, with his filthy clothes and unkempt hair fit right in. One of guys nodded a 'hey' at Dean, did a double take at the state of his arm, then turned back to whatever paperwork he was attacking. The hotel had the vibe of a homeless hostel rather than a tourist place. Everything, including the carpet, walls and elevator button was slightly sticky and had a grimy sheen to it. Dean pulled a room key from his jeans pocket and fiddled with it as they waited for the grumbling lift to descend.
"Nice digs," said Sam. "You been here long?"
"Couple weeks. We..." Dean stopped his sentence short and stabbed at the elevator button a couple more times. Sam left it alone; Dean was radiating a quiet anger that Sam recognised, but was just too tired to deal with.
Up four floors, and third door on the right, Dean seemed hesitant to turn the key in the lock. His jaw clenched before making the decision to open it. Sam stumbled in behind his brother in time to see Dean slam shut an interconnecting door to the next room. Sam leant heavily against the short hallway wall, studying Dean's masklike face.
"Damn lock is busted. I keep asking for it to be fixed, but no one's ever got the time." He went over to an unmade bed and picked up a large towel. "First things first, let's get you into the shower while I go grab some takeout. My nose can't take it anymore – you smell like an abattoir died and got buried at a manure farm." Dean stepped around him and opened the bathroom door. "It's pretty basic in here but nothing we aint used to, eh Sammy?"
Hearing Dean call him Sammy, something he had truly believed would never happen again, brought a fresh round of tears. It seemed to catch out Dean too, and he grabbed Sam into a fierce hug that lasted a good minute. "I am just so damn relieved to find you." was Dean's explanation, even though none was needed.
Dean went over to a window saying he needed to air out the room, but in reality to take a second to compose himself. Sam buried his face into the towel until he was sure he had regained his emotions, then began slowly stripping off his blood and filth encrusted clothes. The same clothes that he had been wearing since his abduction. Some of the t-shirt material had actually become embedded inside the scabbed up wounds on his back, and they ripped open as he pulled it off. Dean was over in a flash assessing the slashes that covered his back, torso, arms and thighs. "Who the fuck did this to you Sammy? Let me know so that I can kill them all over again…"
"Wasn't a person. Was a tribble."
"A what..?"
"Never mind Dean. I'm ok. I just…I need a shower then you can patch me up if you have to. Go get us some food, please. I think I might literally be starving to death here…"
Dean, already concerned at Sam's skinny frame, was up like a shot. "Give it 15 minutes Sam, and you will be eating some of the best chicken noodle soup ever. I'm not even kidding. The Chinese on the corner looks like a total dive but the food is amazing…"
"Your arm is cut to shit Dean, at least wrap it up properly before you go..." Dean was out of the hotel room before Sam even finished his sentence.
The room was tiny. Two single beds, a small desk under the even smaller open window and a musty wardrobe riddled with holes made up the entire room. Empty beer bottles and cartons of takeout covered the surface of the desk. Sam took a two-step detour on the way to the small bathroom and tried to open the interconnecting door. It was locked tight. A lock-picking kit was definitely somewhere to be found in this room, but his pathetically feeble hands were shaking too much right now to even consider it.
So with the mystery to be returned to at a later date, Sam headed on towards what was probably the most needed shower of his life.
