Trigger Warning: graphic descriptions of cannon-level violence involving the little halo...
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
PART 2: THY ROD AND THY STAFF
Dean paced through the bunker war room with an ax, furious with desperation. It had been almost an hour since Castiel disappeared and they were sitting ducks. Every possible exit was sealed by magic. Mary sat researching dispelling rituals in case it didn't break down on its own. He threw the ax down on the ground and collapsed in the chair across from his mother.
"I can't even break the glass!" he growled in frustration. Mary didn't respond. In fact, it looked like she hadn't even heard him. His voice gentled, "Mom, you okay?"
"I may have found something," she answered, distracted.
"What is it?" Dean asked, eager to do something. Anything was better than bouncing an ax off thin glass.
"It's a spell to break binding magics, but it will break all magic—not just whatever is keeping us in here. All the warding from before and the new stuff Gabriel's been adding will be gone. It could potentially break any enchantments on objects you have stored in the bunker. But it should get us out." She knew the decision would not be made lightly. Dean could tell from the skepticism written all over her face.
"Shit. That's not a good option," he buried his head in his hands, trying not to feel like everything was spinning in chaos, "We haven't found half the shit kept in this place. Who knows if some enchanted potion bottle explodes and sets off a chain reaction?" He shuddered, imagining them being dissolved in acid or shrunk to the size of insects or something equally awful.
The sound of a sob made Dean snap his head up. Mary was bent over the table, fingers gripping the leather-bound book until her knuckles turned white. He was out of his seat and around the table in a flash. "Mom, it'll be okay. We'll find them. I promise. If anyone can get out of sticky situations, it's those three." His hands gently pulled her back up so he could wrap her in a hug.
"I know, it's just," her voice broke as she tried to talk through the crying, "I've lost him too many times over already. I lost him as an infant. Lost an entire childhood and sending him to college. Lost him each time he died and came back without me there. Lost the adult son he grew into and now I finally found him only to lose him again." Laughter tinged with hysteria ebbed quickly, leaving a resigned weariness. "I know they are all capable, powerful individuals. I know Sammy's not really a child, but he is physically defenseless. I mean, he still struggles with balance while walking in kids' shoes. It's not exactly like he's battle-ready."
Dean forced a laugh, "Mom, Sam started learning basic self-defense when he was four. Yeah, he's still getting used to being small, but he's got decades of hunting experience at his disposal. And even more knowledge of lore. Hopefully, they're all together, or in a position to help each other. We need to get some eyes outside..." He pressed a quick kiss to his mother's head and walked back around the table. "Let's table that spell for right now. We can keep it as a last resort, but I've got an idea."
"Your father started training you kids at four years old?" Mary asked emptily.
Dean paused, "We didn't let Sammy find out about the supernatural world until he was older, but dad still had him training. Things like how to get out of holds and physical stuff like running and push-ups. Dad wanted us to be able to defend ourselves once he knew what kind of things really existed."
"He made you do push-ups? At four years old?" She didn't sound relieved at all.
Dean felt his cheeks burn. When Sam would point these things out, it had always made Dean feel a familiar bubbling anger and need to defend their dad's actions. Over the years, that response had tapered with the growing understanding that Sam wasn't wrong. His own experience as a father to Ben had only reinforced the realization that John's parenting skills sucked.
"I know. It's not normal, and it isn't what you wanted for us. But it kept us alive, and hopefully Sam won't even need it. He could be on the other side of the front door while we're sealed up in here. So we can..." he shuddered at even the thought, "talk about dad later, okay? Let's get out of here first."
Mary nodded, wiping her tears and taking a deep breath. "What was your idea?"
"We've got this friend—I think you'll like her," Dean answered with a grin as he scrolled through his contacts. He hit 'dial' and put it on speakerphone, "Jody Mills! How's my favorite sheriff?"
Sam had no idea how long they'd been driving. The windows were so tinted he couldn't make out anything through them. The only light came in through the windshield and it was interrupted by trees and bridges and clouds. Usually, he could judge time by his body's physical reactions when he was in restraints. It happened often enough that he knew how long before his muscles would shake, or burn, or go numb. But he had no experience in this new body.
His kidnapper didn't talk to him while driving, so Sam took advantage of the silence to think through his options. He sat in the corner across from the cage door, directly behind the front passenger seat which allowed him to see both the driver and the doors. Helplessness was no excuse for ignorance and he planned on paying attention to everything.
The collar was upsetting. Not just the effect it was having on his grace, but its very presence. Humiliation and fear rose every time the metal shifted across his skin. Enemies always loved to wrap things around Sam's neck—usually crushing hands trying to strangle him.
Grace buzzed along his arms and spine. It had been building since the blast, reacting to the light-explosion but not anything Sam tried to do. If he was in the bunker with Gabriel and Castiel, he would have already asked for their help. Drawing his knees to his chest, Sam buried his face against the soft pajama pants. Which was a bizarre thought—him willing to ask for help. From angels.
A wave of longing hit Sam hard as he thought of the others. He hoped Gabriel was safe and unharmed by whatever that light did to him. It had looked like an angel banishing but juiced up to be something far more powerful than they'd witnessed before. Certainly strong enough to reach Castiel inside the bunker.
Leaning forward caused the collar to dig into his throat until panic choked him even more. Shifting back pushed his arms down and they burned with the strain. Irritation ate away at his focus. Cas! Gabe! Where are you? I'm in a black SUV. I don't know where, but we're driving. I hope...I hope you're both okay.
The inside of the SUV fell dark. He turned to look out the front window and saw a concrete ceiling—they had driven into a garage or compound. Sam's heartbeat pounded against his chest and he forced himself to breathe through his nose so he didn't hyperventilate. He tried to arrange his body into a better defense position, but quickly discovered there wasn't one.
A deep chuckle came from behind Sam, and he twisted to see the man staring at him in amusement. "Not sure what you're doing there, but if rolling around on the floor makes you feel better then by all means, go ahead."
Sam stayed silent as they parked, fear thrumming under the surface. The man whistled as he got out of the vehicle and moved around to the trunk. It opened to reveal a three-car garage with a door leading into another building.
A woman with a severe bun, sharp face, and large gun hanging across her shoulder walked through the door. "It give you any trouble, then?" Her voice was lower than Sam expected. He wondered if there was some vocal requirement here, and if they'd try to recruit Cas...
Dizziness made their faces swirl in spots of light and Sam realized he'd been holding his breath. Gasping in air, his vision cleared to show the woman much closer. She peered into the cage, studying him. He studied her back.
"No trouble at all! It was all rather easy, actually," the man sounded disappointed, "I sent the ArchJoke and other halo a few systems over. You should have seen its face when it realized it couldn't sense me!"
"Powerful and useless," the woman scoffed and shook her head, "Go ahead and get this one settled, Shepard. The old men are anxious for any type of report. If he really is some kind of angel-infant, then he's the first since humanity's creation. They want to know everything."
"Right away, mum," he gave a half-mock salute and unlocked the cage door.
Hoisting her gun, she pointed it through the bars, "No funny business, itty bit. You're only as cute as a diseased puppy. I will not hesitate to put you down if I think you'd bite."
Sam stared down the barrel of the gun, remembering to breathe, as the man grabbed both his ankles in one hand and effortlessly pulled him out. He quickly found himself hoisted over the man's shoulder again and tried to map out their area as they went through the door. The place looked like an abandoned clinic recently cleaned and reopened.
Old benches lined the walls of a waiting area decorated in pictures of pets and advertisements for flea medicine. The air smelled musty and stale with an eye-watering blast of strong, familiar cleaners. Sam's stomach clenched as they went through a narrow hall that led to an area with steel tables and a large kennel. They were in an animal hospital.
There was a metal clanging noise and Sam felt the arms lower him. Hands flipped him around and laid him on his stomach on a sheet-covered floor. He only managed one push with his cuffed legs before a large hand clamped onto the back of his neck and squeezed painfully.
"No!" the man's voice turned harsh for the first time and Sam immediately stilled. The pressure increased as the man leaned closer. "Learn to listen, little halo, and you'll be fine. But if you fight us, or ignore us...if I see even a hint of those pretty baby teeth, you will not be fine. Understand? No, don't try to nod. I've heard you prattle on about everything from Enochian translations to the philosophies of pop song. I know you can talk, so use your tongue. Do you understand?"
Sam's jaw clenched in outrage at the implication that the man had been watching them. He had last discussed the language with Castiel while Gabriel groomed their grace four evenings ago, and music the following morning. How had these people managed to spy on an isolated bunker filled with paranoid hunters and powerful angels? Fear blurred into fury that left him shaking, but knowing they had plans beyond killing him made him determined.
"Oooh, Shep, I think you made it mad," the woman laughed.
"You should have seen how they spoiled him. Always petting and fussing over him, playing games and catering to every whim." The man—Shepard—snapped the cuffs open and hauled Sam to his knees by the grip on his neck. Before Sam could react, the hoodie was pulled from his torso. The move yanked his arms above his head and he couldn't stop the pained gasp.
"Are we sure this is Sam Winchester?" she asked.
"Definitely. Don't let this angel-face fool ya. He's still the same person who worked with dark creatures and released a whole host of other shit into this world. And he remembers everything. More now, actually—including all the details of the devil's cage." Without the hoodie, the cold air leached any remaining warmth from Sam's thin body. As soon as the sleeves slipped off his hands, his body tilted forward. Shepard stopped his descent by grabbing a handful of Sam's shirt without effort.
"That will make the old men happy. I just didn't picture him being this quiet. Or small. I mean, I've read your recent reports, but after seeing so much footage of the giant he was just a few weeks ago..."
"Well, be thankful for small miracles. Smaller is easier. Size is out of his control." Fingers covered Sam's jaw and tilted it up until he was face-to-face with pale, cruel eyes, "This silence, though? That's about spite." He paused, like he was waiting for something. Sam stared at him. "Still no answer?"
Sam's eyes glanced over at the woman. She was leaning casually against the bars, but her hold on the gun was solid and it was still pointed directly at him. Looking back at Shepard, Sam narrowed his eyes and took a chance. It wasn't like these arrogant pricks could do worse than Lucifer. "Screw you."
Shepard dropped his hand from Sam's face and gave a vicious smile. "Wrong answer."
Sam slammed into the bars of the cage when the man backhanded him. It was like being smashed in the face with a baseball bat. His body curled inward on instinct, muscles screaming as he tried to shield his head with limp arms. Crumbling onto the cement floor, he had a brief moment of gratitude that his back had hit instead of his head. There was enough ringing in Sam's ears without being bashed against metal poles.
A bruising grasp clamped onto his wrist and dragged him to the center of the kennel. Sam blinked through blurry vision to see manacles that seemed to be a recent addition drilled into the floor. Two small metal bands lay open at the hinges and separated from each other by roughly two feet of space. His wrist was pressed tight into one and the manacle glowed briefly when snapped shut. It was almost too tight, leaving no wiggle room to even turn his hand. The man stretched Sam's free arm to the other restraint and repeated the action while Sam watched, stunned and disconnected from what was happening.
The new position was awkward and uncomfortable, forcing his body low to the ground. His palms stuck straight out from the manacles and hovered a couple inches above the ground, providing no leverage to hold himself up. He couldn't roll onto his side or sit up. The most he could hope to do was push up on his forearms and elbows and maybe get his knees under him—and he would rather lay flat.
The choice was taken from him when Sam's foot was grabbed and he strained to keep his chin from scraping as he was pulled back a few inches. His shoes and socks were removed and thrown out of the cage. "What do you think, Ms Watt? Do monsters get to wear pants?" the deep voice sounded both frustrated and amused. Not a reassuring combination.
"On a normal day, or when they've been bad?" 'Ms Watt' asked in a bored tone.
Shepard chuckled and reached for Sam's pajama pants.
"No, please!" Sam finally rasped, squeezing his eyes shut in shame for giving in at all.
"Oh, it's 'please' now, is it?" Shepard mocked, but left the pants in place. "How quickly the tone changes! Well, let's see if some quiet time works on that attitude." He gave Sam's hair a rough sweep of his hand and stood up. Grabbing the sheet off the floor, he walked out. Ms Watt locked it and followed Shepard to the door.
Sam turned his head as far as he could to watch them. He saw the woman glance his way with an empty smile. "Rest while you can, puppy. Hopefully you'll remember your manners when we return." She flipped a switch and the room plunged into darkness. Emergency lights kicked in and emitted a faint red glow from somewhere outside his range of vision.
As his eyes adjusted to the loss of bright florescents, the red seemed to grow stronger, reflecting off all the metal surfaces of the hospital. For several minutes, all he heard was his own heavy breathing and rush of blood in his ears. His cheek felt fractured from being hit and the cold ground eased some of the pain at first. However, the rest of his body was losing heat quickly through the concrete.
Sam shivered as he tried to adjust his shirt by shifting his body and pulling the material against the ground. The fabric had been pushed up to his chest when Shepard yanked off his shoes. Thin cloth offered almost no protection against the freezing floor, but it was better than bare skin.
A fan kicked on in a loud, grinding roar and Sam's whole body jumped. It alarmed him further when icy air poured into the room. Soon, his body was shaking and trying to curl in on itself, but couldn't with his arms clamped down the way they were. Echoes of Lucifer's laughter overlapped with the deafening air conditioner and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, praying someone found him soon.
Somewhere in a galaxy approximately 1.6 million light years from Earth's home in the Milky Way, an archangel clutched tightly to a smaller seraph as they both fell blazing through space. Gabriel had only been able to catch hold of his younger brother by chance as they had been propelled from the Earth by an object humans shouldn't even know exists, let alone have and be able to operate.
The banishment had been mixed with other components which left the angels' wings bound and unable to stop their uncontrolled hurtling. But the further they got from Earth, the weaker the binding grew until Gabriel was finally able to extend his wings. It was enough to redirect their course and slam them onto a comet.
Hold on Cassie! Gabriel's true-voice screamed.
Ice shattered in an explosion as they crashed several miles into the massive space debris' surface. When they came to a stop, their vessels were slightly shredded despite trying to shield them with grace. Gabriel didn't wait for Castiel to heal himself and just pieced them both back together with a thought. Wide blue eyes stared in horror out the tunnel they had created in the collision.
Gabriel, where are we?! Castiel sounded shaken to the core. What happened?
Stretching out all six of his wings, Gabriel tested them by jumping them a mile closer to the asteroid's surface. Whoa! That was weird. I can physically fly but I can't fold time and space as I go. It's like going from a space rocket to a pogo-stick! He jumped them four more times, each time going a little further and feeling his control strengthening. They emerged onto the breathtaking ice-giant, stunned by the beauty of their Father's creation. Oh my Dad—this is Barnard's Galaxy! I haven't been out this way since it first formed...
Gabriel, what happened? Castiel finally repeated even as he continued to stare around at the sea of stars.
Sam and I went for a walk and we came back to find a man sitting at the picnic table. But I couldn't feel him, Cas! It was like he was just this black hole of nothing. I could see him with my vessel's eyes, but that was it. Gabriel shook his head, remembering how shocked he'd been. Especially when he had seen what the man was holding. Cassie, he has a Tear.
A what? Castiel turned to him with a frown.
A Tear of God! He has a Tear of frickin' God! And he knows how to use it, which is way more upsetting... he trailed off to contemplate that thought and jumped them a few hundred miles across to a towering mountain of crystallized water and rock. He few more of those, and he'd be strong enough to start the journey home.
I thought those were just a myth, Castiel commented.
That's because no one has seen them in ages.
What are they?
Exactly what the name implies—Tears of God. The story goes that there were three times in all of creation that our Father truly wept. We're talking full-out ugly crying, not some single man tear. In each of those occasions, the tears solidified into an orb of immense power. There was a fourth major orb formed the day we defeated Amara—it was actually the first. But Dad immediately used it to create the Mark that locked His sister away.
They are that powerful? Castiel asked with wide eyes as they jumped into the tail of the comet and stared in wonder around the cloud of gasses.
Gabriel pushed as much grace as he could into his wings and felt most of the binding finally break away. It wouldn't take long for it to completely dissolve once they really got going. They are the most powerful artifacts in existence. Let's just say it's a good thing I caught you on the way out of Earth's atmosphere or you may have never made it back. He sighed mentally. They were supposed to be under guard, locked away in Heaven's weapon stores.
Ah, yes. Well, many of them were emptied and hidden in caches by various factions during Heaven's civil war. Castiel turned away in obvious embarrassment and brushed icicles from his trench coat.
We may want to check on that. But first things first, Gabriel held out his hand and Castiel took it without hesitation, Let's go save us some Winchesters.
Gabriel took off with an almighty crack that pulverized the comet below their feet. Even with the ability to fold the universe around them, he knew it would still take time to return. He let loose his grace, ramping them to breakneck speeds even by angelic standards.
Suddenly, in the cold silence of space, a small scared voice reached the angels' ears. Ca...abe...are yo...ack SU...I don't kn...ere...driving...I hope...oth okay.
Gabriel gasped. A second later, he felt Castiel's grace surge against their bond, pouring in to help fuel their flight. The archangel squeezed his brother's hand and tried to answer back to the lost fledgling. We're coming, Sammy!
Sam lost track of the passing hours. He had counted the fan turning on and off a total of three times so far, but there was no way of telling if it had a set schedule or if the two Brits were manually controlling it. His body shook hard with a cold that sat painfully in his bones. During the second arctic storm of air conditioning he'd given in and forced his knees under his chest. It was less comfortable, but would hopefully allow him to retain some body heat. Rescue was pointless if he froze to death first.
Grace built steadily through the hours of disuse. Sam couldn't tell the difference anymore between muscle aches, needles of numbness, and the crawling static of grace. It made him shake worse and tears trickled down his nose to pool on gray concrete.
'We've done a lot more with pain.' Lucifer's voice sang through the room and the red-light glow intensified.
Sam clenched his eyes closed against the flashback and tried to recite the Enochian alphabet. He reached for the memory of Castiel tracing the ancient language in warm grace against his back, patiently explaining each symbol Sam couldn't guess, and smiling proudly when he got one right. The fire crackling warm and pleasant, bright flames dancing around Gabriel's special never-burning-out cedar wood.
'All I got is you, floating over the coals with half a hope that you're gonna figure it all out.' Lucifer taunted him. The flames rose up as cage bars returned. 'You poor clueless son of a bitch. Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?' The devil burned cold around Sam and he curled his body tighter against the pain and panic.
"Pa, Veh, Ged, Gal, Or, Un," Sam's teeth chattered as he forced air and sound with a tongue that felt swollen, "Graph, Tal, Gon, Na, Ur, Mals, Ger, Drux, Pal, Med, Don, Ceph, Van, Fam, Gisg..." As soon as he reached the end, he started the letter names over again.
'I'm bored! Pay attention to me!' The collar dug into his throat as he tried to suck in air. Stuttered Enochian was met with laughter that slowly circled closer. 'You look good on your knees, pet. How long have I kept you there now, hmm? Seven days? Or is it months? I can never keep track of time. No windows. I've made complaints to management. I'm still waiting for a word back.'
Sam kept his head down, knowing he wasn't expected to answer. But hadn't he just been speaking? It seemed an important thing to remember, and he grasped at thoughts as wispy as fog.
Fog. He had seen fog that morning. With Gabriel...and Castiel.
His eyes opened to reveal the cement floor. The pool of water collecting there was larger than he remembered, and that bothered him for some reason. It took a while to separate out the past from the present. Every time he felt himself getting a hold on reality, there was a voice in the back of his mind that whispered how Lucifer was free and searching for a vessel.
What if he's trying to reach me? Convince me to say 'yes' again? he thought wildly as his hands clenched, digging fingernails into numb palms. The lack of mobility and sensation in his extremities made the grounding gesture futile. Anxiety had no where else to go, and he was physically incapable of responding to it with his body bound and frozen.
Bright white light flooded the room suddenly, and Sam's eyes burned for the split second before he could shut them. He heard voices muttering incoherently to each other and the clattering of objects being dumped out on the metal exam table.
"Naptime's over!" Shepard said cheerfully as he unlocked the cage. Cramped shoulder and neck muscles made it impossible for Sam to turn his head, and there were still spots of light blinking behind his closed eyelids. He just hoped whatever these people planned included him being allowed to warm up or move out of this position. Preferably both.
"What's it doing, Shep?" Ms Watt asked, still over by the table.
Footsteps walked around to stop in front of where Sam's hands were locked in place. When the man spoke again, his voice was even closer, crouched down near Sam's head. "I do believe he's sorry for his earlier rudeness. How about it, little halo? Regretting your choices yet?"
Sam just kept his head against his knees, too exhausted to respond. Shepard chuckled and unlocked the manacles. Unbound, Sam still couldn't move his arms after holding the same position for so long.
"Up you go," the man grabbed him by the armpits and pulled him upright. Sam tried to muffle a cry as agony shot through his body when he was made to sit back on his heels. Pale eyes appeared in front of his face and Sam could do nothing except hang limply in the man's grasp. "Not feeling so spiteful anymore, are ya?" Hands cupped Sam's face and wiped tears and snot away with a handkerchief in rough swipes. He noted that the man was wearing another pristine black suite and looked like he was on his way to a meeting business executive, "Now, here is what is going to happen. We are going to ask you questions and run some basic tests. You are going to answer everything to our satisfaction and behave. Do that, and we may give you that sheet back tonight. Disobey like you did earlier, and the past few hours will feel like a trip to the spa. Understand?"
Sam's teeth chattered hard enough to hurt. God, he hoped he wasn't still here for another night. He gave a nod when he couldn't work up enough moisture to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There was nothing he'd like to do more than claw the man's eyes out, but Sam had to remain realistic about his situation. Dissent would have to be dispensed with care if he planned to survive.
"Good boy," Shepard ruffled Sam's hair and fisted a handful of the messy locks, hard enough to control but not really hurt. Standing, the man circled behind Sam without releasing the curls. A large arm wrapped around his stomach and lifted him. The man's body heat soaked into Sam's icy skin and seared through to his muscles. It was simultaneously painful and a relief.
They moved toward the table where Ms Watt stood ready with her gun and a camera. Medical equipment was organized on a standing tray, and Sam's body tensed. Something registered on Ms Watt's face and she grinned at his reaction. "Smile, puppy!" she said and the camera gave off a series of light bursts.
"Oi! Quit that, it's bloody irritating." The man laid Sam out on his back across the steel table. He was held in place by a large hand resting flat on top of his chest, fingers skirting along the collar at the base of his throat. It was less restraining than it was a precautionary move to keep him from rolling off. The man didn't even glance at Sam as he prepared what looked like an human thermometer.
Turning to Sam, he pushed the plastic tipped end into his ear for a few seconds until it beeped. "Fucking American piece of shite," he mumbled as he read the number, "What's eighty-eight point two degrees Fahrenheit converted to Celsius?"
"Thirty-one point two," Ms Watt drawled.
"We should let the monsters take the whole lot of them just for their bastardized measuring system," Shepard said frowning as he typed into something Sam couldn't see above his head. No one seemed concerned that Sam's body temperature was ten degrees too low. The process was repeated with the rest of his vitals. The man tested his reflexes, felt the glands in his neck, and shined a light into Sam's eyes, ears, nose, and throat. He ended the exam by taking a few vials of blood Shepard spoke again as he placed labels on each tube, "Okay, let's strip him so we can get his weight and you can do your photo shoot for the old men."
Sam fought to bring his hands up but barely managed to drag them onto his belly. His body was kitten-weak from being cold and bound for so long. Fighting tears, he tried to ignore the mortification of losing what little dignity his pajamas afforded him. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of the exam table lights. They formed patterns through the thin skin of his eyelids and he mentally traced them, trying to form symbols in the shifting swirls of illumination.
Brightness pulsed, whiting-out the distracting patterns. Sam flinched and he felt the man's hand lightly press high on his chest again. "Settle, now," the hand went away and another several flashes followed, "You're a rare beastie, little halo. And the old men are collectors of rare things."
"Nothing more rare than this kid. What word do they use to refer to their own young again?"
"Fledgling. And if I never hear that word again, it'll be too soon. ArchJoke and the other one used it constantly, always making sickening googly eyes."
"Aww, poor Shep," more flashes as she teased her co-worker, "I'll tell ya, though, it's kinda cute. If it was human, I might be tempted to make googly eyes at it too."
They talked about him like he wasn't in the room and capable of understanding speech. Sam let the words wash over him and drifted closer to being disconnected. Shepard laughed heartily and Sam's body was suddenly turned over without warning, "Whatever, Ms Watt. I've seen you around kids—you'd sooner eat a baby than make any kind of eyes at it." He arranged Sam's arms against his sides and gave a warning squeeze to his wrist before removing his hands again. The camera clicked a few more times.
"Okay, that should be enough. We can take more later when he can stand if they're needed," she said.
"Let's get his weight real quick, then we can start." Shepard lifted Sam off the table and walked him over to a floor-scale in the far corner of the room. "Stay still," he ordered as he sat Sam down.
It took several seconds before he was able to keep upright without swaying. There was an intense pain building between his should blades where the muscles kept spasming. The best he could do was get his arms loosely crossed over his lap and hunch forward before he fell over. He didn't see the number that appeared, and Shepard didn't comment about it.
The man haphazardly scooped him up with one arm and brought him back to the kennel. For a heartbeat, Sam feared they would cuff him to the floor again and he started to struggle against the hold. "Hey!" Shepard barked in his ear and a brutal pinch twisted into the muscle of his right thigh, making him gasp. "You cannot be this stupid."
Sam's body fell to the floor, sending jarring vibrations through his knees, and his arms instantly failed to support him. His face hit the cement and blood seeped warm from a busted lip. A dress shoe connected with his leg and sent him rolling into the bars. He curled into a protective ball as best he could with what felt like a broken leg and useless arms.
Shepard took a loud deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright, Samuel Winchester, tell me how you came to have grace." This was the voice of a professional interrogator who was confident in his own abilities. Silence fell in the room as Sam struggled to make sense of what was happening. Footsteps moved away then returned. "Sit up and open your eyes." He paused. "One...Two..." He never said 'three.' Instead, something whistled through the air and fire streaked across Sam's back from the right shoulder to his left hip. He didn't scream because he couldn't breathe around the pain searing past skin and muscle and bones to something deeper.
Spasms rippled along his spine as his grace reacted to the lash. Sam opened his eyes in search of what could inflict pain on more than just his physical body. Shepard towered over him holding a long, thin wooden rod. He stared as the man knelt down and ran his fingers along the branch's glossy surface.
"Beautiful, isn't she—a holy relic. It's made from the same Olive tree the dove plucked a leaf off of to give Noah as a sign of life after the Flood. A holy relic from a holy relic," he stood and paced around the cage, swinging the branch, "Did you know Olive oil is used to make holy oil? This piece in particular has been meticulously cared for with holy oil for over three thousand years. By the time it made its way into the Men of Letters' hands, it had many documented uses. One of them was its effectiveness in bringing stubborn angels to heel. I said sit up!"
Sam cut off a cry through clenched teeth as a second strike landed straight across both shoulders. His body convulsed with another furious storm of grace. Slowly, he rolled onto his knees and leaned against the bars. He used the leverage to push himself up. Static sparked along his nervous system in growing distress. Straightening his back, Sam stared up at the man.
"Better," the man said in triumph, "Maybe you can be trained. Let's try this again—tell me how you came to have grace?"
Sam's mind raced—how much did the British Men of Letters know? They obviously knew about the grace and who all was living at the bunker. Did the woman who shot him realize Chuck's real identity?
A flurry of strikes left Sam scrambling against the bars to escape the feeling of fire. He bit through his already busted lip to keep from shrieking. The branch fell over the small of his back and a sob broke past his control.
"Five lashes for five seconds of disobedience. How long do you think you can hold out? Answer the question—how did you come to have grace?"
A second later, another lash landed on the side of his thigh. "Why?!" Sam finally yelled. The man paused and looked at Sam with smug fury.
Ms Watt sighed dramatically, "I'll get it ready." She walked past them to a door hidden in shadow that led to another room. That did not bode well.
Shepard shook his head slowly, then turned around and walked toward the exam table. Sam's eyes darted from the man's broad back, to the place Ms Watt disappeared, to the doorway that led to the garage. He didn't think about it. He ran. Lucifer taught him that—always take the chance to run.
Or he tried to run. The burst of adrenaline got him several steps before pain and numbness made him stumble. His leg gave out where Shepard had kicked him and he tumbled in a tangle of limbs. His fingers curled against the cement in frustration as tears blinded him.
"And where exactly did you think you were going?" Shepard's voice was deadly calm as it drew closer to where Sam lay huddled. "You realize that's two now."
Gabriel! Castiel! Please hear me! Sam prayed as hard as he could, screaming the words in his head as his hair was viciously twisted. He tried to reach up and grab hold of Shepard's hand to relieve the pressure when the man started dragging him back to the kennel. "Gabriel! Cas! Find me. Please find! Find find find!" he shouted in Enochian, unable to keep his prayer silent.
"There it is. That blasted tongue. Ugliest damn language I've ever heard," Shepard said conversationally, "You will learn my rules, little monster. You have no choice here." The man crouched down to Sam's level. "My lovely stick? She's just for training—a guide to mind your P's and Q's and keep ya on track. But now?" He grinned like a predator with a full show of teeth, "You disobeyed by refusing to answer while simultaneously questioning me. Then you tried to escape. That's two separate acts of defiance that each deserve their own punishment."
Shepard released his hair and picked up Sam's hands. Slipping the cuffs from the kidnapping out of his back pocket, the man secured both of Sam's wrists in front of him. With a tug, he brought the chain down to one of the floor's manacles and locked the metal band over the chain.
Sam stayed frozen in place, only moving his eyes to watch the man through his knotted curls. He took stock of his situation. Yes, he was naked and kneeling while his hands were again secured to the floor. But at least this time, he would have a much greater range of motion if they allowed him to stay this way through the night.
"Alright in here?" Ms Watt's voice emerged with her from the shadows. Sam turned to see her carrying a long garden hose that she gradually unwound from her arm as she moved into the room.
"You missed it," Shepard announced cheerfully, "He tried to do a runner."
"No!" she gasped, "Naked? Where the hell was it gonna go?
"Like a newborn colt trippin' on its own legs!" Shepard walked out of the cage, locked the barred door. He leaned against the bars, staring intensely at Sam. "You'd have probably taken a picture."
"I always miss the good stuff," she sulked, finally reaching him with several extra feet of hose to spare. Shaking out the coils, she handed him the end where a spray nozzle was attached. "Here—it's all ready to go."
"Thank you, Ms Watt." Shepard said without breaking eye-contact with Sam. "There's only one rule, Sam—unquestioning obedience. It means you obey without question. And if you break that rule, then I get to break you. So here is lesson number one."
Sam barely had time to shut his eyes and duck his head when it hit him. It was like being thrown through the icy surface of a pond and plunging breathlessly into freezing waters. He tried to get away from the blast but he was limited to a radius of a few feet by the cuffs. The water seemed directed primarily at his face at first, forcing the high-pressured flow to pour into his nose and mouth and ears no matter how he twisted his head. Eventually, Shepard seemed to grow bored of trying to drown Sam and spent the rest of the time pummeling every inch of his skin with the frigid spray.
By the time it was over, Sam's whole body was bright red from the temperature and force of the water. He coughed fluid up from his lungs that he'd accidentally inhaled. It had swirls of blood from his lip which he watched slowly drain away through a small grate. Shivers wracked his frame as he watched Ms Watt finished the task of coiling the hose back up.
"See you at dawn," Shepard called as he flipped the light on their way out, "Then I'll teach you what happens to mutts who try to run."
Sheriff Jody Mills pulled her truck up to the abandoned-looking building. If Dean Winchester hadn't described it perfectly and provided its exact GPS coordinates, she would have thought she was in the wrong place. She got out and stretched slowly, joints cracking and popping from staying in the same position too long. The six hour drive from Sioux Falls to middle-of-nowhere Kansas could have been pleasant if not for the cloud of tension following her the whole way.
Dean had been suspiciously vague over the phone about their apparent predicament. The only details he'd shared was that magic was keeping them locked inside their bunker. The false bravado, over-the-top charm, and too-loud laugh combined with Sam's fishy inability to come to the phone had been far more informative than any words passing Dean's lips. It told her something was very wrong.
With a sigh, Jody walked around the building's exterior. Her gaze swept over the ground all the way to the tree line looking for signs of foul play. The sunlight was already low in the sky, and they would be limited to flashlights if they had to find anything out here in an hour or so. She made her way to the back and stopped when she rounded the corner. It was clear that someone had been out here recently. The firepit held a roaring fire beside a blanket and pillows. Other than that, the clearing was void of any significant clues.
Continuing her trek, she circled back to where she'd started and pulled out her phone. "Dean, I'm here. I just..."
Dean cut her off, "Is there anyone out there with you?"
"No, I didn't see anyone out here. I walked all the way around your ugly-ass house. Although...were you having an early morning bonfire? Because you got one going pretty strong back there. Someone's obviously been keeping it going if you've been locked in there. It's been seven hours, right?"
"Don't worry about the fire—Gabe brought some kind of special logs that never burn up. But, yeah, Sam and Cas and Gabe like to...meditate, and brush each others' hair and shit. Sammy and Gabe were still outside when Cas got banished and we were put on lock-down."
"Who's Gabe?" she asked, peering closer at the front door. There didn't appear to be anything visible interfering with entering or exiting the building. And sadly there wasn't anything obvious like a giant sigil painted in blood to give her an idea of what had been used to seal it.
"He's...it's a long story, but he's like Cas." Dean's voice sounded strained.
"What, you mean like an angel? Or just socially awkward?" Jody teased before the words clicked in her head, "Wait! 'Gabe?' As in Gabriel the archangel?" she stood up straight in surprise.
"Well, someone remembers their Sunday school lessons. But yeah, he's Gabriel. He's a pain in the ass Trickster, but he's been helping us. And I don't mean we teamed up with him out for some desperate world's end kind of mission. He's kind of a friend now. God, this is so weird to try and explain over the phone!" She heard him growl in frustration.
"Calm down there, sport," Jody said using the same tone that worked on her girls when they got worked up. "We'll find them and you can tell me all the sordid details over beer and pizza." She hesitantly reached a hand to the door and held her breath as her fingers connected with the handle.
A shimmer rippled across the surface and then dissolved with a soft 'pop,' Huh, she thought as the door swung open easily with a gentle tug.
Dean stood on the other side, red-faced and pacing along the banister. He stopped when the door opened and spun around to stare at her with his mouth gaping wide in shock. "Jody?" he whispered.
"Hey Dean," she smiled at the obviously stressed hunter, "I thought you said you were trapped? Did you try the doorknob?"
"Jody!" Dean threw his arms around her in relief and crushed her in a hug. "Am I glad to see you! And the outside...oh God, don't let the door shut!" He pushed her away and ran to keep the door open. "Can you grab that cinder block over there? That will hold it. Did it just open? Did anything happen?"
She raised her eyebrows at his frantic actions, but chalked it up to Sam being missing and helped the guy out. "When I touched it there was this light that flashed across the door and it sounded like something broke or snapped. I didn't feel anything though, and the door just opened." Once the door was secured, she followed him into the bunker. "You live here? In an underground bunker? You Winchesters..." she shook her head fondly as she took in the expansive space and easily pictured the boys in it, "So, what's this 'long story' you keep mentioning? I can't help you find Sam if I don't know what's going on..." her voice trailed off when she saw a woman sitting at the long table below the stairs. Jody shot Dean an unspoken question.
The woman stood, long blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she moved. Her eyes were red and swollen with dark circles that spoke of sleeplessness. She smiled and Jody's stomach clenched at how familiar that expression looked. "Hello," the woman said in a scratchy voice, "You must be Jody. Dean's told me so many good things about you."
"Oh, has he?" Jody looked pointedly at the hunter this time, "Well, don't be rude Dean! Introduce me to your friend."
"Yeah, that's, um..." he broke off, flustered if a completely different way than from Sam's disappearance. This was full of blushes and smiles and glances brimming with love toward the blonde. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Jody Mills, this is Mary...Winchester. My mom."
Jody snapped her head around, eyes wide and warring between excitement and fear. "Your mom? But I thought she...wasn't she..."
"Dead?" Mary answered with a smirk that was all Dean. Jody realized that the earlier, softer smile had been familiar because it was all Sam.
"Yeah, dead," Jody said breathlessly before turning toward Dean but keeping Mary in her line of sight, "Dean? Why is your mother back from the dead? Is this a Winchester-thing? Because my experience with family members returning from the grave was a little more...horrifying."
Dean's pleased fluster fell immediately and he stepped closer to Jody. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turned serious, "I'm sorry, Jody. I shouldn't have...You're right, that was horrifying. But I ran the basic tests when I found her. She was brought back by God's sister almost two weeks ago, so it's legit."
Jody searched his face for any deception, then turned her focus on Mary. There was only sincerity and exhaustion and anxiety. She gave the other Winchester a nod and Mary gave the softer smile again. "God's sister, huh? Let me guess—another long story?"
"The longest," Dean huffed and led them to the kitchen. He put on a pot of coffee and they sat at the table waiting for it to finish. "I don't even know where to start. Part of me was hoping Sam was just hiding in the woods if he wasn't waiting by the door. But he would have hunkered down somewhere with a clear line of sight and come out when you got here."
"Do you think he was taken by whoever did the banishing?" Jody asked.
Dean scoffed angrily, "If the spell didn't get him too."
"I thought angel banishing didn't hurt humans. Was this different?" It was obvious she was missing some big pieces of this picture.
"Well, the banishing was on a level we've never seen. Powerful beyond belief if it was capable of reaching into the bunker. But I'm more worried because Same is different."
"Different how?"
"Long story short? Amara brought my mom back to life as a gift for me getting her and God back on speaking terms. God decided to help Sam out by healing his soul with His grace. But it changed Sam—made him part angel, or like a baby angel or something. I don't know all the details, but the process changed him physically and now adult-Sam's mind is in a six-year-old-Sammy's body lost out there somewhere."
"Wow," Jody stood and retrieved the full coffee pot, grabbing mugs from the stack on her way back to the table. She saw Mary doing the same with cream and sugar. "Wow! You boys, I swear to God I am going to lock you both in a padded cell with helmets. And maybe wrist, shin, elbow, and knee pads too. How do you two manage to get into so much trouble on such a regular basis?"
"Don't look at me," Mary said as she fixed her mug, "I've been dead. But they've caught me up some of their adventures and I'd probably help you. I think a trail of beer bottles and pie would be all you need to get this one to willingly walk in."
"Yeah, Sam's too calculated. He'd need more effort," Jody smiled at her new ally.
Dean cut in. "But we have to find him before you can wrap us in bubble wrap. So any ideas?"
"Let me make some calls," Jody said as she sipped her coffee and pulled out her cell phone, "I've made some good friends within the hunting community these past few years. Dependable, trustworthy people who are good at thinking outside of the box. You'll like them—they're siblings too."
AUTHOR'S NOTES
WHEW! That was a big'un!
Tell me what y'all think...should I be running?
I should be running, shouldn't I...
*running*
*trips over 12 cats, 7 video game controllers, 5 guitars, and lands in a pile of clean but unfolded laundry*
*all of which are legitimately in my house*
I'll just wait here then.
QUICK AUTHOR'S RANT ABOUT SLEEPLESS AUTHORS NOT SLEEPING BECAUSE THEY ARE RANTING ABOUT BEING A SLEEPLESS AUTHOR:
I really hope that this path I'm on where each new story's chapters keep growing in word count does not continue. Otherwise, I'll be writing 10-15,000 word chapters three stories down the line...that's not even a joke.
And I will sleep less than all the no sleep I am currently sleeping!
OMG, INTPAquarius, you may be right. I may have no soul...
Sidenote: I am not a scientist. Some of the sciency things I researched as best I could...things like the closest galaxies to the Milky Way, and what forms a commet, and ancient sacred trees, and conversion charts. But when it came to physics, I made it all up. If you tell me that there's no way for an angel to fly blah blah blah by the blah because blah, I'm going to tell you angels don't really exist. Not because I don't believe in angels, but because I'm embracing my evil side.