Authors note: Firstly, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Secondly, I have lived with the bones of this story in my head for a really, really long time (long before I thought to apply it to 3 Sam Winchester), so rest assured I know exactly where its headed and how it ends. Love you all #SPNfamily !
The hard truth
They were pushed to the floor of the black cab, with the fold-out seats closed behind them. Bill, Archie and the nameless clone sat comfortably above them, legs outstretched, forcing Sam and Lara to scrunch up. The door locks clicked shut as the cab moved off, and Bill threw a pair of metal handcuffs at Sam telling him to cuff his right wrist to Lara's right wrist. Small mercies, at least Sam could put them on without them biting tightly. Being told to wear the semi-expected cuffs didn't freak him out; he still had one hand free and knew he could get out of them fairly easily. Lara, on the other hand, looked like she might throw up. Her cheeks were tinged a pale shade of green and were damp with cold sweat. With the hard floor vibrating beneath him, his long legs bent up uncomfortably, and the potential threat of vomit filling the cab, Sam really hoped this wasn't going to be a long journey.
"Can you open the window a bit?" Sam looked up at Bill's hard face. "Come on man, I think Lara could use some air." Bill took in Lara's obvious nausea and opened his window a few inches.
"Hey, its ok." Sam soothed. "Just breathe, c'mon." Lara's eyes were wide. Light brown with flecks of green, Sam gazed into them as he spent the next few minutes whispering softly to her, trying to talk her down from shock. Their captors left him to it, not interfering in Sam's ministrations; the men were on high alert throughout the journey, their attention on the streets around them.
From his low vantage point, Sam had no idea where they were headed. He sat stiffly as the taxi wove through the London streets. As Lara was on his left-hand side, his shackled right arm was pulled tightly across his own body, wrapping his overcoat against him. The heating vents pumped out hot air; even with the window open his back was soon soaked with sweat. Lara curled her knees up to her chest, hugging them as if she was cold, face and long messy hair buried against her legs.
Sam gnawed the inside of his lip, contemplating how best to take the three men down (four if you included the taxi driver) if the right circumstances presented themselves. He could probably beat them in a fair fight, or even a dirty fight, given the opportunity. However, whether he could do it without Lara ending up as collateral damage was another story. There was no wedding ring on her finger, no indentation to indicate she had ever worn one. That didn't mean she didn't have a significant other. She'd never mentioned a family. That didn't mean she didn't have kids, or a mother and a father and friends who loved her. He didn't know any of the people in her life, yet the weight all of those counting on him to keep her safe was substantial enough to keep him toeing the line. And that, of course, was why they brought her with.
He passed the time wondering how long it would be before someone noticed they were missing. He couldn't guess at Lara's personal circumstances, but obviously work colleagues would notice they weren't in today. How long would it take for Freddie, his line manager, to speak to HR? How early before HR rang him to find out why he hadn't called in? Tomorrow was Friday, would they leave it until after the weekend? He was still new at the bank, still early on in his probation. They might just assume he had quit without telling them. The way he had set his new life up, he could disappear without a trace, and no one would know he was missing. He thought it was just what he had wanted…but now? maybe not so much.
After around twenty uncomfortable, sweaty, minutes, and just as his right arm and both legs had gone to sleep, the cab slowed and Sam saw a tall concrete housing block looming above them.
The men began to shift around, and Bill pulled out his cell phone. The cab stopped directly outside the main entrance to the tower block and Archie opened the cab door, mercifully letting in cold air. Lara finally looked up, lines of tension etched into a grimace. He understood exactly what was going through her mind, because those thoughts were his too.
"Lara, I swear I won't let anything happen to you." He knew it sounded pathetic, but as he gripped hold of her arm he meant it, absolutely. Then shit…memories of promises he had made in the past, the faces of people that he had let down, that had died because of him and the life he had led, surfaced. Sure, he had done good things along the way, but the list of the dead affected him deeply, and it was crazy long. It started with Jess; impossibly young and so long ago. Ended with Charlie...god, poor Charlie. His mom…well, he just wasn't going there – it was too mentally damaging. His fingers trembled. He looked down, saw the not particularly faded scars on the back of his hand that Little Fucker had left him with just a couple of months ago. Saw how tightly he was clinging onto Lara's arm, not the other way around.
She saw it too.
"Oh, so you can promise that can you?" The desperate note in her voice wasn't quite scorn. Close enough, though.
"I don't even know you, you're just some bloke I met at a bus stop! You say pretty words, and you act like I should trust you even though I've only known you for three minutes, but as far as I'm concerned this is all BECAUSE of you."
Visibly distressed, she pulled herself away from Sam as far as the handcuffs would allow. "This sure as shit aint anything to do with me! I'm just a normal person who goes to work, comes home and doesn't trouble anyone. An unpaid parking ticket is probably the worst thing I've ever done. But you? You act like this all this…" she angrily gestured around her "…is normal, like getting abducted is just an everyday thing! You keep telling me that everything's gonna be ok, that you'll look after me. Why? How? Who the hell are you?"
She was frightened and angry, lashing out. Sam understood that, but the truth of her words squirmed around inside Sam's belly like a diseased parasite. She was absolutely right. If he hadn't struck up a friendship with her, hadn't tried to pretend he was an ordinary vanilla civilian, Lara would be living her normal, safe day instead of being handcuffed to a stranger, rightly terrified that she was about to get raped and murdered.
He looked away from her, guilt eating him alive. By intent or not, Sam had officially taken this woman's life and flushed it down the toilet. What the hell had ever made him think he could escape who, or what, he was? He'd never managed to do it back home, why should London be any different?
He was cursed. He would always be cursed. Shit like this was always going to happen to him – but it was his attempt at playing 'Mr Normal' by chatting up a pretty woman at a bus stop that had directly contributed to her abduction. Well in that case, fuck being a civilian. It was now up to the real Sam Winchester, the definitely 'Mr NOT Normal', to get her out of this.
Anyone who knew Sam, knew him well, would have noticed the subtle shift in his expression. The jaw clenching slightly, the green and amber eyes faintly narrowing. And it would have acted as a warning. But Bill confidently interrupted his introspection, leaning down towards them like the cat that got the cream. "If you two wanna continue your bust-up, you can carry it on inside for all I care, better than watching the telly. But for now, till we get up there, BEHAVE YOURSELVES." It was an order that left no question it was to be obeyed. "If you'd like to follow me….."
Sam's quiet demeanour as he climbed out of the taxi was mistaken for obedient compliance. He forced himself to ignore the shooting pins and needles that rushed through his numb arm and legs. To ignore Lara as she stumbled and trembled as they entered the building. Instead he was taking note of exactly where they were, whilst showing no signs of doing so. A signboard forty yards away, covered in graffiti and air rifle pellet holes showed they were on a housing project named Greenfield. Surely a joke, considering there wasn't a single field around; everything in sight was concrete. The name of the building, its outline once embedded into the external render but long since removed, looked like the word Marchant.
Knowing where he was would make all the difference. First, he was going to find out what the hell these assholes wanted him for. Then, if he somehow couldn't find a way out of this on his own, he would get the angel warding off of his stomach. And hope against hope that Castiel had his ears on.
Payback for ripping Sam Winchester out of his numb, quiet life was going to be a bitch.
Flashback time
The litre bottle of water he had drunk in the car hadn't been enough to abate his dehydration, so Sam turned his head up to the shower, letting as much water flow into his mouth, as around him. It didn't matter that it was warm…it was wet, clean and copious. For the first time in weeks, Sam felt like an actual, living human being as he stepped out of the tiny cubicle, wrapping the towel around his waist. He squeezed the worst of the wetness out of his long hair, then let it drip dry, enjoying the feeling of fresh water against his shoulders. After being matted with dried blood and ick for so long, it had taken some hard scrubbing and several mini-bars of soap before his hair, and body, finally felt sanitary.
He found another towel hanging against a rail, and dabbed at his torso attempting to avoid any of the open wounds, especially the larger one at his waist. He was bleeding from so many re-opened scratches and gashes that the towel stained pink within seconds. He gave up the pointless job and just wrapped it around his shoulders like a blanket.
His brother was already back in the room, opening cartons and making space by clearing the old ones onto the floor with a sweep of his arm. Sam frowned, Dean still hadn't wrapped up the cut to his tricep. As messed up as Sam was, it was perfectly obvious that Dean wasn't acting like himself. Hadn't been this entire time. Something huge had happened whilst he had been gone, but Sam didn't have the emotional strength yet to fully face it.
"Hey Dean, let me take a look at that arm?"
"It's fine Sammy, I'm fine. Let's eat first, then I'll patch you up, take a shower and sort myself out while you sleep eh?" Dean's larger-than-life smile was fake, and the look behind his eyes was desperate. Sam copied the grin automatically, the way he always had done ever since they were kids and he didn't want to rock the boat with his older brother.
"Sure, ok dude. Sounds like a plan."
After so long without anything hot or even good to eat, the extra-large tub of soup was like liquid morphine. Sam could feel the warmth enveloping his shrunken stomach. The noodles were strands of heaven and the large pieces of chicken were soft and tasty.
"Told you Sammy, didn't I?" Dean proudly nodded and grinned, like he had donned the chef's hat and coat and made it fresh himself. "Finish that, then you can chow down on some Chow Mein." He smirked at his little play on words. "We need to build you back up, get you good and strong again." Dean sucked at a cold beer and picked at some prawn crackers as he watched his brother eat.
Sam managed three-quarters of the bowl before his eyes started closing. "Dean, sorry man the food's great but I'm wiped. I gotta get some sleep now, before I fall down. Save the rest for me for later?"
Dean heard the slur in Sam's voice, knew there was no point in forcing Sam to eat any more. "Yeah, yeah." Dean rummaged under his bed and pulled out Sam's duffel. "Just get your PJ's on for now and I'll take a look at all your boo-boo's and ouchies later."
Head swimming with fatigue, Sam had no witty retort. Instead, he dragged on whatever boxers and t-shirt were nearest the top of the bag. He had meant to lay out the towel out over the sheets to catch any blood stains, but the soporific effects of a hot shower, comfort food and the relief of knowing his big brother was safe and alive overtook him too hard and fast. He was asleep before he could even pull the cool sheets over him.
