TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains cannon-level violence against a little halo...

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
PART 3: IN THE PRESENCE OF MINE ENEMIES

Mary felt lost. And because she felt lost, she was doing the one thing she felt capable of handling—making the coffee. So while the others were utilizing the war table for its intended purpose, she hung back in the kitchen and stared at the black liquid slowly dripping into the well-used pot.

Technology today was so beyond her imagination. The boys had shown her a few things like how to use the Google and helped her set up an 'E-mail' account even though she had no one except them to communicate with. They insisted it was necessary for 'other accounts' so she acquiesced, but she honestly had no idea what 'other accounts' she would need.

So when Dean and Jody started discussing what systems to hack to find Sam, Mary wandered off with the excuse of making coffee. She sighed and rubbed her temples to ease the forming tension headache. Her mind kept racing with the checklist of things they would do in her day as a hunter. People to call, walking door-to-door to find witnesses, driving to libraries and local government offices to do research—today, all those steps were replaced by a single machine that could be used anywhere. And there was no time right now for anyone to teach her. Not with Sam and the angels having been missing for...what time was it? She checked the microwave clock—they'd been missing for twelve hours.

"How are you doing?" Jody's voice broke through her thoughts and Mary startled The sheriff smiled kindly just like she probably did all the time for families with missing kids, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Thought you heard me come in."

"It's okay. I was just lost in thought," Mary shrugged and tried to smile back.

"You don't have to pretend," Jody said.

"Excuse me?" Mary said defensively. She felt anger flare in her belly and she didn't even know why.

Jody paused, studying her, then patted the back of a chair at the table. "It's okay to not be okay. It's okay to be angry or scared when our kids and loved ones are in danger."

Slowly, Mary walked to the table and sat down. The sheriff went and poured two mugs before joining her. Taking the offered cup, Mary frowned, "I appreciate it." She didn't know what else to say.

"Did Dean tell you how I got started with hunting?" Jody asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"Uh, no, he didn't," Mary answered, now confused as to where this was going.

"My son died—Owen. Just a little guy. He got cancer when he was six, and fought it for a couple years before his body gave out. Then he came back."

Mary's head flew up, "What?"

"About twenty people were brought back from the dead in our town several years ago. At first, it felt like a miracle. Then they all started turning into these aggressive, hungry creatures. My little boy...ate and killed my husband Sean. Your boys saved my life, and the life of almost everyone else in this town."

"Oh God, that...that's awful! I'm so sorry, to lose your family..." Mary shook her head, amazed when Jody was still able to smile.

Jody acknowledged the sentiment with a nod of genuine gratitude, "I know you and I don't necessarily have similar situations, but I know what it's like to lose a child and husband. And it has been the hardest lesson to learn."

Mary blinked rapidly and pushed her cup to the side. "What did you do?"

Jody thought about her answer, "I was alone for the first time in my life, and part of my lesson was learning who I was separate from other people. I grieved. I learned everything I could about the supernatural world. I worked a lot of overtime," she leaned forward and covered Mary's clenched hands with her own, "And I've since learned how to love a new family. I adopted two wayward teenage girls, both of whom I have thanks to Sam and Dean. All of them gave me a purpose I didn't know I needed. One that I thought I'd lost with my son and husband.

"How..." Mary cleared her tight throat, "How did you do it?"

Jody squeezed her hand, "I realized that I needed those girls as much as they needed me. They aren't replacing Owen and Sean. I never got to change their diapers or read to them or rock them to sleep, but I love them for who they are now. I meet them where they're at, and they do the same for me. Baggage and all—and believe me, we all came with more baggage than I thought possible. We're still unpacking it."

"It's been hard...these past couple weeks," Mary admitted quietly, "Dean is so different from the little boy I remember. He's harder than most hunters I've known—even harder than John after Vietnam. But then I'll see him with Sammy or he'll rush to do something for me with this big goofy grin and he is just as soft and tender as he was the day I died."

Jody leaned back, grinning. She took her hand away to pick up her drink, "Believe me, that's nothing new. Dean's been that way with Sam since I've known them. Well, there were a few times when they went through some rough patches..." she tilted her head and stared in the distance for a moment before shaking the memory away, "But I've never seen someone as protective as Dean is of Sam. I'm actually surprised he isn't tearing the bunker apart just for something to do."

"He tried to bust us out with an ax for forty-five minutes before calling you."

"There we go. That sound's more like him," Jody laughed.

"I see that side of him and I know he's Dean—my Dean who used to crawl into Sammy's crib or sit with me in the kitchen after I'd fought with John. He's always looked out for others. But Sammy is different," Mary's voice broke with tears that hit her suddenly. She looked at Jody and saw only understanding and empathy—a fellow mother who knows loss. "I was still lactating when I died, and I keep expecting to feel milk and there's none!"

Jody stood and came around to sit next to Mary. She wrapped an arm around crying woman and sat quietly while she spoke, offering her presence for comfort and strength.

"And I do love this Sammy—he's a beautiful boy who has been broken so many times that I just want to hold him constantly and never let go. Sometimes, I worry that I've replaced my baby with a new one, which then makes me wonder if I can replace someone with the same exact person, so I don't know..." her breath hitched, "We were just learning how to be a family, I think. Me, the boys, and the angels—all of us were suddenly thrown together but it was good. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose him again. I can't."

"Then I guess we better find him, yeah?" Jody said with an encouraging determination. Mary nodded, grateful someone understood. "Come on, let's get some of this coffee to Dean. I can show you what I'm doing on the computer. It takes almost no effort or time to find the video databases, but we need an extra pair of eyes looking through the footage."

"I can definitely do that," Mary finally gave a real smile and felt something unclench in her chest—the grip of helplessness that had been growing tighter for hours. She went to prepare Dean a coffee with more optimism.

"Good," Jody nodded, "The twins will be here soon. We lucked out on them being in our general vicinity. They are powerhouses of information and ability."

"Oh yeah? How did you meet them?"

"In passing. They came through town and we're mutual friends with another hunter who told them about me. We had coffee and traded stories. Oh boy do they have some stories. Not all hunting related either."

"Hunters always lead outlandish lives. Most have trouble fitting into the rest of society."

"True, but these two are special. Their mom was a witch—the good kind, who didn't get her abilities from a demon deal. She trained them in magic and how to hunt the 'bad' witches. Max thinks he knows a locating spell that would help us find Sam. And they're making calls to all their contacts as they drive here for info and ideas. The word is going out that a Winchester is in trouble. Most I know in the hunting community would jump at the chance to help. Not all of them, but most. And the twins know which ones not to call. Hopefully, it's enough."

"Thank you, Jody," Mary said as she brought a tray with all their stuff on it over toward the sheriff, "You've done so much for us—driving here from South Dakota, and calling in people who can help, and listening to me. Just...thank you."

"Anytime, Mary," Jody smiled, "I know it can get a little male-heavy around here, so if you ever need another woman to talk to you just call me. Or better yet, make those boys bring you up to my neck of the woods and let me cook you dinner. You can meet my girls, and they've been dying to see the boys again. And make sure you bring Cas with you, okay? Claire's been asking about him."

"Claire is one of your girls? And she's friends with Castiel?" Mary asked, wondering at the angel's connection.

"Cas is...well, he's kinda wearing her father's body. Jimmy Novak was Castiel's vessel. But Jimmy's dead and Claire's mother died a couple years ago. It's a long story."

Mary stared at the sheriff, "You know, I hear that phrase a lot these days."

Dean stabbed at the computer keys as though intimidation would magically make it reveal Sam's hidden location. He glanced over to where the others were working. Jody and Mary were side-by-side on separate computers, combing through footage of traffic cameras. Whatever happened in the kitchen had changed something between the two women—but Dean wasn't about to ask. He was just glad to see two people important to him getting along.

Jody's hunter friends were scheduled to arrive within the hour and Dean was hoping to have something to go by when they got here. Any hint of Sam and the angels' whereabouts would feel like a victory at this point. In twelve hours, they had only succeeded at opening the front door. Not quite celebratory when his brother wasn't waiting on the other side.

Dean needed to talk to Sam—needed Sam to be okay and come back because there was too much still unsaid between them. His conversation with Castiel that morning kept echoing in his brain while he glared at the unhelpful computer screen. That thing Castiel did still made his skin feel like it was crawling and he fought the newly-constant urge to shower. This is how Sam has felt for two years. Longer, if he was like this after the cage.

And that shook him to the core. Sam Winchester was Dean's number-one subject in life. He knew how the kid operated and how his mind worked. They had whole systems of communicating that depended on Dean knowing these things. He knows all those things only understood by big brothers and mothers. And if nothing else, Dean usually knew what the kid needed, even if he didn't understand why.

For Sam to function so well while experiencing that level of terror means Dean missed something enormous. When had he stopped being able to read Sam? He'd felt more in tune to his brother since the kid was pocket-sized again, and he thought it was because they had grown so much closer after the year battling the Darkness. What if Sam just wasn't able to hide things anymore? Why had it taken Castiel spelling things out for him and using his angel-mojo before Dean could understand? And where was Sam when Dean was mid-way through the biggest revelation of his life?

"Careful there, mister. That computer never did anything to you," Jody's voice drew his gaze and he saw both women staring at him in concern.

"Sorry," he said gruffly and frowned back at his screen, "I'm not finding squat and I really want to shoot someone."

"Yes, but if you damage Sam's laptop, he's going to really want to shoot you when he gets back," Jody reminded him.

Dean cringed, "Point taken. Any luck on your end?"

"Nothing," Mary answered, "There aren't any cameras stationed near our area of the road. The closest is just outside town and there's no guarantee they went that way. Or that they even traveled by car."

"Let's go over your list of suspects again," Jody said, "Sometimes it helps to talk through them a few times to find something you've missed."

"We've got a lot of enemies floating around out there," Dean started, stretching back in his chair, "Lucifer is probably the biggest, but I don't think he can do an angel-banishment without knocking himself out of the picture. Crowley's been on good-ish terms with us lately. I mean, he joined Team Chuck for last month's apocalypse. Plus, he loves the chance to brag. We would have definitely heard from him by now. Rowena is too much about self-preservation to chance coming after us. And I don't think the Book of the Damned included a banishment like this—or she didn't mention it when we were coming up with ways to defeat Amara."

"There's also the Englishwoman who shot Sam," Mary added.

"Right, what do we know about her?" Jody asked as she made notes.

"We know the British Men of Letters are a bunch of pricks who think Sam and I should be tried for sins against humanity, or some other bullshit." Dean growled, remembering the pool of Sam's blood on the floor just a few feet away. "She didn't get a chance to tell him anything else after Chuck showed up. We've looked through a bunch of the bunker's old records but all we could find was some old letter from the 1930s that was mostly blacked out. Nothing helpful except it confirmed that there was a British Men of Letters chapter."

"Have you ever heard of supernatural activities in Britain?" Jody looked up from her notes to frown at Dean, "Because I haven't. I've been following stories of hunters around the globe, but none of them come out of Great Britain."

"No, I don't think so. But Sam would be the one to ask—he likes to keep up with stuff like that, which doesn't help us now." Dean took a gulp of cold coffee, wincing at the taste.

"Well, we know that they are knowledgeable enough to banish an angel and get into your bunker. They must have had a plan if they were ordered to bring you in. A well-funded plan if they can travel internationally." Jody stood up and started pacing, "I mean, look at this place! It was abandoned decades ago, but the Brits didn't have Abaddon to wipe them out or a dozen apocalypses to hurt their numbers. A generational secret society with all this at their fingertips must have massive wealth and power at their fingertips."

"You think they might show up on the books somewhere?" Dean felt a thrill of excitement.

"I think we should check private and public international flights to Britain and see if anyone's taking a child passenger. And we may want to see if anyone's recently rented or sold local property to people with British accents. If it is these people, and if they did stay somewhat close by, and if they warded their location, it may be possible for the twins to find them. They know how to search for wards instead of an object or person." Jody pulled out her phone, presumably texting the twins about the idea.

"Unconventional," Mary commented.

Dean just grinned, "I like it."

Sam knew he was dying. His body had stopped shivering a while ago, and his skin felt inhumanly cold to his own touch. Exhaustion made him want to fall asleep until he either miraculously woke up in his own bed, or faded into the great nothingness Billie had promised him. If she was kind, she wouldn't take the time to tell him before delivering him to the beyond.

But his grace wouldn't allow him to fall asleep as the night dragged on. It rolled through his body, an angry tempest that scraped his insides raw. He saw small sparks light up along his arms once in a while and felt the jolt whenever one hit the shallow pool of water he laid in. His spine felt like it was breaking from the constant spasms that twisted with each breath.

Sam wondered what would happen if his grace continued to build unchecked. Would he explode? Or burn up from within? Whatever it was, Sam just wished it would happen soon. The collar felt hot against his freezing skin and he'd tried to unlatch it until his fingers bled. Not that he really knew how to use his grace for defense or fighting, but he'd do anything to relieve the storm of destruction.

The Olive branch was a tool unlike anything Sam had ever experienced. Of course, he hadn't been tortured in the two weeks he'd had grace and a tiny body. Two weeks—must be a new record, Sam though as he groaned and shifted on the ground. The lash marks had mostly faded from the skin Sam could see. Underneath, however, he could feel each place like a brand. The pain came from his grace instead of his skin and muscles. It was like a mild, but ongoing, soul-grabbing. The kind of experience that usually required being held down and biting on belts.

The muscles around his shoulder blades twisted violently and he arched off the floor, muffling a scream through clenched teeth. It felt like his spine was trying to snap through his skin. The pain was confusing—was it part of his grace's reaction or from having his arms tied in terrible positions for so long? He had never felt like this in his countless times being restrained.

I can do this, he told himself even while another internal voice told him he was lying. I've survived three decades of Heaven and Hell's manipulations, centuries of torture at the angry hands of two archangels, and being raised by John and Dean Winchester. I can do this...

Curling into a ball on his side, Sam tried to breathe and not break before dawn.

Alicia and Max Banes were unlike anything Dean expected.

He had worked with other hunters on occasion. Most were gruff men, older than their ages who led relatively short and solitary lives. Hunters who worked in pairs or groups usually lived longer—the burden of survival was easier when shared. But none of them were like these witch-twins.

They were sassy and smooth, completely in sync with each others' words and movements. It reminded him of how he and Sam were together in the days before Stanford. All easy-going humor and silent speech. Both wore simple black outfits that allowed their skin to glow—the sister golden bronze to her brother's darker russet. A black utility bag hung from their outside shoulder.

They walked down the stairwell side-by-side with identical expressions of astonishment.

"You live here?" they asked at the same time.

Dean cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with their electric elegance. "Yup!" he answered in a decidedly inelegant way, "Welcome to the Men of Letters, American edition. I'm Dean Winchester. This is my mom, Mary. I can't thank you enough for helping us." He stepped forward to shake their hands.

The young woman descended the last few steps, her long chestnut curls swinging as she met him with a brilliant smile and firm grip. "Alicia Banes. I hope you'll give us a chance to explore this place sometime. I've never felt so much magic in one place."

"Yeah, absolutely," Dean said, nodding. He'd probably give them the bunker if it meant getting Sammy home safely.

"Careful there, pretty boy," Max said as he joined them. His green eyes shone bold and warm. "She'll be moved in by the weekend." A shudder rolled though the young man's body in a way that was almost indecent, "Of course, I might just move in too. She's right—this place is vibrating." He shook Dean's hand as firmly as his sister, "I'm Max."

"Awesome," Dean said feeling tongue-tied around the two. He cleared his throat...again. "So what all do you need? We've got a fully-stocked storeroom of supplies for rituals and spells, and all the research books available on the North American continent."

"Actually, we only need something of Sam's—a hairbrush would be perfect if he has one." Alicia said as she swung her bag onto the war table and started unpacking herbs and tools.

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem," Dean said over his shoulder, already moving to retrieve the item. It was easy to find. Studying it on the way back to the war room, he found several hairs of varying lengths. Frowning as he rejoined the others, he asked, "Um, does it matter if..." he cut off, unsure how to phrase the question.

"Does it matter if what, sugar?" Max asked.

"Sammy, he was changed a couple weeks ago. A...thing...happened, and God changed him with grace, and Sam's kind of an angel-kid now. Will it matter if the hair is from before the change? Because there are a lot of hairs in this brush and I don't want to fuck this up by choosing the wrong one."

"Woooow," the twins said in unison.

"Sam is an angel?" Alicia asked.

"God made Sam an angel?" Max added.

"A thing happened?" they ended together with mirror expressions of ridiculousness.

Dean stared unblinking, "How are you doing that?"

Jody slapped him on the shoulder, jarring him from his shock. "Ha! Like you and Sam don't do the same damn thing."

"We do not!" he sputtered, "Whatever, yes, yes, and yes. Sam's soul was damaged and God used His grace to fix it and it made Sam a tiny kid with a lot of power. Like, a lot. 'Littlest Archangel' amounts of power and I swear to that God if any of you tells Sammy I called him that I will lock you in our dungeon."

"In your what?" four voices said at once and Dean took a step back at the sudden surround-sound. Everyone was staring at him with looks ranging from shocked to scandalized to intrigued.

"Well, that wasn't in the 'Welcome to the Bunker' tour," Mary said wryly.

Max strode forward and eased the hairbrush from Dean's white-knuckle grip. "I want you to explain what you know about grace to Alicia so we can make adjustments. Me and Mamma Mary are gonna sort through these hairs. We won't need much to make this work."

Dean glanced at his mother who looked pale but steady. She met his gaze with a smile and gave a reassuring nod. He returned it and felt some of the day's tension trickle away. It felt good to do something.

Max Bane had heard many stories about the fabled Winchester brothers. They were legends among hunters everywhere—the Righteous Man who became a Knight of Hell, and Lucifer's blood-addicted vessel who conquered the devil to save the world. They were forces of destruction and salvation and myth. As the son of a witch and hunter, and the brother of a twin sister with whom he was of one thought and spirit, he knew what it was like for people to tell stories based on a single, detail-free fact. People were idiots.

He had felt the magical energies of the bunker over a mile before they physically saw it. Ancient spells were laid out through the building and grounds, overlapped by newer and more powerful wards. Angelic grace saturated the air, the scent of ozone after a thunderstorm blending with leather and old paper. It was like walking over subway grates, never knowing when a gust of hot air would take you by surprise. Or maybe a gauntlet of perfume-wielding kiosk workers.

The twins' empathic abilities immediately picked up on the overwhelming tension and emotional stress of both Dean and Mary. Being raised by a woke witch-woman combined with growing up in the pocket of a psychic twin meant Max was well versed in healthy boundaries and communication. Being a hunter meant he could put those skills to constant use within a community famous for their emotional illiteracy. And sometimes he got to use them to soothe a lost mamma's longing for her missing child.

He sent Jody a mental 'thank-you' for updating them on the situation here before they arrived. Context was important—knowing that Mary was the newly-resurrected Winchester mother was vital. Sidling up beside the sad woman, he said, "Hey there, beautiful. I bet that the kitchen here has better lighting than this cavern. What do you say we go there to sort through these and I can make you my mamma's favorite kind of coffee." She looked drained and discouraged, but she nodded with a smile anyway.

"Max," Alicia's voice rose in warning. 'I know you're up to something.'

"Sister, don't test me. I know you're a granny's girl. Black and bourbon," he called back. 'I hear you. Now, trust me.'

"Make it strong. The coffee, not the bourbon!" her voice followed them into the hallway. 'Go for it. Don't get drunk.' Born three minutes before him and she acts with all the authority of an oldest sibling. Typical.

Mary led the way down a dark hallway to their spacious kitchen area. "Nice system," he said, impressed, as he gestured toward the flawlessly installed speakers.

"Thanks," she said with a laugh, "I don't think any of us know how to use them. Gabriel put them there when he first arrived and usually just snaps his fingers to control the music."

"Sounds like having an archangel around keeps life interesting." He saw her head toward the coffee area, so he redirected her to the table. Seeing the multi-colored surface, he snagged a roll of paper towels and laid them out in front of her. "Now, I want you to sort through what you can. Focus on what you know Sam's hair looks and feels like and put everything else to the side. We really only need one strand."

Mary's hand shook as she took the brush from him. "I...I don't know if I can do this," she said in a small voice.

Max crouched down next to her with a hand on her shoulder, "And what makes you think that?"

"Dean knew Sam was physically six and a half based on his hair alone. I've only known Sammy for a couple weeks. What if I get it wrong?"

He smiled and went around to sit opposite of her. "Close your eyes, mamma."

She gave him a look somewhere between doubtful and suspicious, but did as he asked. "Okay, now what?"

Reaching across the table, he pressed her hands flat on the surface, palms down, and covered them with his own. "I want you to picture Sam as you've known him here. Can you describe him to me?" his voice was smooth and slow.

Mary took a deep breath and nodded, keeping her eyes shut, "First time I saw him, I didn't know who he was. Dean had just found me wandering in a graveyard and brought me here to the bunker. There was a pool of blood on the floor and the sound of metal clattering down the hall. He was standing there—this little boy, barely past the toddler-stage, standing barefoot with an adult's t-shirt hanging off his shoulder. Giant hazel eyes full of fear. I was so worried I'd made a mistake trusting Dean. I mean, who keeps a baby like that half-naked in a bunker? Didn't take long to figure out what had happened."

Max slid his hands off of hers and picked up the brush, carefully extracting the mess of strands from the bristles. He laid them out on the white paper. "What does his hair look like?"

"A mess of curls bouncing everywhere when he moves. They tighten into ringlets after it's been washed, and when it dries the hair is soft as silk," she sighed wistfully, "Sunlight makes the dark brown look more auburn. It hangs an inch or two past his ears, depending on how you measure. The curls hide a lot of length."

"Open your eyes," Max said and watched her blink in the cheerful kitchen light. "Now, you take a look at those hairs, and if you don't recognize it put it aside. Made a few piles if you get some 'maybes.' I'm gonna go over here and make myself at home. I think you'll like my mamma's coffee."

Mary stared at the piles of hair. Hesitantly, her fingers traced over some of them. "Oh," she said, a hint of surprise and joy in the sound. Soon, she was sorting through at a steady pace. Max was proud to see there were only two piles.

He pulled a bag of coffee grounds from his bag—his own personal stash of Hawaiian ambrosia. Setting it to brew, he pulled out the other two secret ingredients. Bulleit Bourbon for Alicia. If he was reading the man right (and he was an excellent reader of men) then Dean would probably side with her on their adult coffee preference. But Max suspected that he and Mary were more like his own mother. They liked things a little sweeter. Emergencies and celebrations both called for Bailey's Irish Cream. Besides, Alicia was right, gods and goddesses damn her—they can't afford to get drunk while gearing up a rescue.

Pouring their drinks, he waved a hand over them to stir them with a small push of his magic. The speakers suddenly sprang to life with the intro riffs of Donovan's Season of the Witch. The song rocked through the bunker at party-volume.

"Well, that's a little rude, but clever," Max said with a roll of his eyes.

"What is that? Did you find a remote?" Mary asked, her hand clutching at her chest in surprise.

Before he could answer, Dean barreled into the kitchen, gun at the ready. "Is it Gabriel?" he asked breathlessly, gaze sweeping over the room for any new occupants.

"Whoa! Easy there, man. It was me," Max said with his hands up, "I used a bit of juice to stir the drinks and must have set off a magic detector."

Dean stilled, listening to the song, and it clicked. "Damn it, Gabe! I told him we didn't need musically coded alarms!" Exhaling noisily, he plopped down next to his mother. "How's it going?" he asked, leaning over to see her progress, "Oh man, that looks like a mess. How are you doing that? I couldn't see the differences when they were clumped together, but you totally got it. How does such a little kid have shed that much hair in such a short time?"

"You shed a lot too," Mary mused as she continued sorting. She already had a good-sized pile of curly strands separated from the unfamiliar longer straight pieces.

"I did?" Dean asked, hand going to his hair as though worried it might fall out any second.

"I was always amazed by how much you'd leave behind after baths," she smiled in a way that told Max that the blush on Dean's cheeks was the effect she was going for. "How are things on your end? Does Alicia have what she needs?"

Max brought their drinks over. Dean nodded a thanks and took his before answering, "Yes, which is good because we are all out of angel-retrievers to send for rare items," he paused his exasperated rant to take a drink and his eyes grew enormous, "Holy crap! You are awesome!"

"That's what they all say," Max replied, playfully flippant. Grabbing up his sister's cup lest she murder him and handing Jody's to Dean, he gestured toward the door, "Come on, folks. Let's go make some magic."

They formed two plans. The first was a location spell for Sam himself using his hair. If that failed, they had a revealing spell to find areas with high-concentrations of magics. If neither worked then the witch-hunters would be set loose on the library's magic section.

The twins moved like dancers, arranging ingredients and drawing symbols across a white cloth spread out on the floor. Alicia placed a large map of Kansas and the surrounding states in the center. The simple ritual began at midnight—a call-and-response chant that ended in unison, a lit match thrown into a bowl containing several things including Sam's hair, and a careful toss that spread the flaming mixture across the map. They all stood in silence, holding their breath and watching the as the fire instantly extinguished on contact with any surface except one—a single spark burned a perfect tiny hole on the map.

"I think we found your lost boy," Max said with a grin.

"Jody!" Dean bellowed.

"I'm right here, Dean. I see it. Just outside Winfield." Jody was already bringing information on her phone as they raced to get started.

Max worked some with Jody and Alicia on figuring out the exact location burned into the map but left them to hacking whatever systems it took to get an address. Instead, he studied what was used to seal the bunker. There was residue of a complex sigil that glowed when he ran energy over it. It appeared to be designed to break when touched. Perhaps whoever left it believed the Winchesters didn't have allies close enough to free them in time to prevent anything. It was a chilling thought.

He gently nudged Dean to have Mary help him collect supplies and weapons for everyone. It was the right suggestion to make—the woman turned out more knowledgeable than her son realized. She came back dressed as a hunter and strapped with enough blades and guns to be an assassin. Dean kept shooting her nervous looks. Good. It was healthy for a man to be nervous of a strong, furious, armed woman.

Research found a third party person had bought the property situated out in the middle of several large farms. It was an old closed-down animal hospital. A good amount of land and privacy for days was perfect for an invading secret society. Alicia did a remote viewing session and confirmed that the area was bursting with magic.

By three-thirty in the morning, everything was ready. They loaded up in two cars—the Winchesters in the sexiest black Impala Max had ever seen, and the twins with Jody in their Jeep. Their GPS put their arrival in just under three hours. Watching the Impala peel onto the road and quickly rocket to full speeds, Max decided to shave a few minutes off the computer's estimation.

"Rise and shine!" Shepard sang as he flipped the switch and suddenly filled the room with harsh florescent lights.

"Oi! Shep, it ain't doin' too good." Ms Watt's said, moving up to the bars for a closer look.

Sam stared up at her through half-lidded eyes. Nothing he'd done through the night would relieve the pain in his back and bones. Thoughts of rescue had dwindled to the occasional daydream, but the escape was a fantasy to distract from a reality consisting once again of bars, pain, and ice.

"Nah, I've seen what a halo's capable of surviving. I bet you his temp is twenty-six degrees right now, and he's still conscious. We'll let him warm back up a bit first, and he'll be right as rain." Shepard grabbed a large blanket and shook it out over the exam table.

"Yeah, but his eyes are glowing all bright and weird," she insisted.

"Oh? What color?" he called, opening the laptop.

"I dunno. White with, like, sparks of violet. It reminds me of those plasma globes in science class." The sound of Shepard typing followed her description for a minute.

Joining Ms Watt at the cage, he unlocked the door. "I've never seen one do that so quickly," he crouched down and turned Sam's face up to get a better look. Sam didn't have the energy to pull away.

"Do what? Glow?"

"Yeah. Only saw it happen once, and it was on a halo we'd had collared for a year. He got beat bloody all the time, and it took thirteen months for his grace to react."

"What, so it's a freak even for an angel?" Ms Watt looked amused, and Sam tried not to flinch at the word freak.

"Seems like it, yeah." The man's body shuddered when he gathered Sam into his arms, "Jesus, it's like touching a bloody zombie."

"Creepy," Ms Watt said from behind them.

Sam felt himself be set down on top of the blanket and shut his eyes against the harsh lights in his face. His back spasmed against the table, arching to get his own weight off the areas in agony. A whine worked its way through his throat as Shepard and Ms Watt both grabbed hold to keep him from bucking off the table.

"Whoa there! What's got you doing that now? Surely you aren't hurting this bad after a few licks of a little stick," Shepard's voice was oddly soothing as hands turned Sam on his side so the man could see his back. "Some bruising from where he hit the bars, but nothing from the branch. Get some pictures and I'll take his vitals. Then we'll get him warmed up and take another look."

They rolled him onto his stomach and he felt the camera flash behind closed eyelids. "What's its back doing?" Ms Watt asked sounding horrified and Sam's gut clenched in new fear. He couldn't see his back, but he know something was wrong.

"Where?"

"Right here," she didn't touch him so Sam didn't know where she pointed, but he could guess, "It looks like something's moving under his skin. Is that the muscle?"

A large hand pressed between Sam's shoulder blades and he screamed as he tried to burrow down through the table. It felt like broken glass was slowly shattering under the increased pressure. "No, it's not his muscles—they don't move like that. I'm not sure what this is, but it feels like...liquid. And it's twisting between his skin and spine, not just along side it." The hand moved away and it took a few minutes before Sam could breathe without gagging.

They took his vitals while he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Then, soft fabric moved up his legs and Sam sobbed with relief at the return of his pajama pants. An adult-sized shirt was pulled over his head and they moved his arms and torso to quickly get it situated. Another blanket, heavy and heated, was laid across his body.

"Ugh, I'm gonna have to wash my hands after this," Ms Watt mumbled loud enough for Sam to hear before addressing Shepard, "I thought Sam Winchester survived some ungodly amount of time under Lucifer and Michael in Hell. Shouldn't he be...well, tougher?"

"Don't know about tougher. Human Sam seemed pretty broken from what I read. Spent time in a mental ward for extreme hallucinations and insomnia. And our reports say he went back to the cage this year to get Lucifer's help. Like the girl that keeps going back for more, right?" he chuckled at his own joke and Sam started dry heaving.

That's not what happened. I'm not... his thoughts spiraled with all the things he wanted to not be. Not the victim who returned. Not broken. Not a freak. The feeling of pins and needles formed along his skin from the heated blanket and his body immediately began to shiver. Emotions teetered on the edge of overwhelming Sam's senses. Since the change, it seemed like his emotional control had been stripped. Everything he felt was right on the surface, refusing to be buried or pushed aside.

Sam didn't know if the collar had muted that or if the pain and shock had allowed him to disconnect at first, but the reprieve of emotional disassociation appeared to be over. As his body thawed, so did his mind. Images playing past his closed eyes—waking up in the ice bath during the trials, Lucifer solidifying the blood in his veins with a touch, a time when he and Dean were huddled in the woods as kids on a winter hunt. Each one brought a different kind of terror and it left him drifting between the past and present.

Shepard continued to check Sam's temperature and once it was deemed high enough again, they removed the heated blanket and sat him up. "Okay, boy-o, let's talk," Shepard said as he moved to stand directly in front of where Sam sat with his legs hanging over the table's side. "Have you learned last nights lesson, then?"

Sam stared into the pale blue eyes and nodded.

"And what was the lesson you learned?" Shepard asked like a long-suffering mentor reviewing a lecture with his pupil.

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out right away. He tried to slow his breathing and work up enough spit to make his throat cooperate. Eventually, he croaked out, "To...listen."

"Not just listen," Shepard pushed with a frown.

Sam swallowed some more and dropped his eyes to his knees. He hated himself for even pretending to submit for the sake of survival. "Obey," he whispered, throat too raw for speech, "No questions."

"Good boy," the man praised and ruffled Sam's hair. "And what is the lesson you are going to learn this morning?"

His eyes went back up to the man, wide with surprise. They had just spent over an hour to bring his body temperature back up and given him clothes, only to turn around and punish him again? Why? Mind turning with questions, Sam stared in disbelief.

"I told you, Sam. You are here to learn and be useful. If you die in the process, that would be regrettable, but no one would mourn your passing." Shepard took Sam's jaw in his hand and brought his face closer. "Do you think we left the rest of them alive at the bunker? Leave the man who bore the Mark of Cain and the thing wearing your dead mother's body? And you will never again see the archangel or your brother's blue-eyed pet. This is your life now. When we've deemed you safe to transport, you'll be returning with us to Britain for further training and tests. If you wanted different treatment, you should have gone willingly with Toni while you were still human. But you will start to learn consequences here and now. So, one more chance to answer before I go get my Olive branch."

Despair darkened Sam's mind as the world narrowed. Each passing hour had made rescue seem less likely, but he'd held out on the hope of seeing his family again eventually. Was Shepard lying? Or had there been other agents waiting to rush the bunker once it was cleared of angels? Could a banishment be powerful enough to kill?

A pinch to his thigh brought him back to Shepard's disapproving face and he barely managed to remember the question. "No...no running." He had no where to run if the others were dead.

"Good boy," Shepard smiled and released his jaw. "Remember the rules and you won't have to be punished again." He picked Sam up off the table and took him back to the kennel. Sam found himself clutching the man's shirt to stave off being put down, but Shepard just chuckled and peeled him away.

Removing the handcuffs, Shepard returned Sam to his place in the manacles on the floor. Heart pounding as he found himself face up this time, he tried to take comfort in the fact that they were allowing him to keep the clothes. His back seized and he lost his breath. He saw Ms Watt join them inside the cage and give Shepard some kind of small canister before returning to the doorway to take up her post as 'look out against the kid chained to the floor.'

"Ah, thank you Ms Watt. Quite helpful, as always."

"Welcome, Shep," she answered in her usual bored tone.

Shepard retrieved a small stool from outside the cage and sat on it by Sam's feet. He held up the canister so Sam could see it. "Do you know what this is?" he asked as he unscrewed the bulbous top to reveal a burnt wick. Sam shook his head and the man lit it. The flames burned blue and orange. "It's holy oil. Have you ever seen an angel burned by holy oil? I'm told it's the worst pain imaginable for your species."

Sam shook his head again, frantically this time, and stared at the ceiling. His breathing was too fast so he forced himself to inhale slowly through his nose. The man grabbed Sam's right ankle in a rock-solid hold and used it to maneuver him—leg raised, knee bent, and the sole of his foot parallel with the floor.

"What's the lesson this morning, little halo?" Shepard asked again.

Clenching his hands in their restraints, Sam felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes. "N-no r-r-running," he stammered and tried to brace himself.

Nothing prepared him for the sudden scalding burn that began on the ball of his foot and worked its way down to his heel. It radiated all the way up to his finger tips, a searing heat that made his blood feel like lava flowing through his veins. Something snapped against his spine and his back bowed off the ground.

He didn't see the flash of pure light explode through the room, causing glass to shatter and machines to rain sparks. He didn't hear the shouts of Shepard and Ms Watt as bolts of electricity threw them unconscious to the ground in motionless heaps. He didn't feel the building shake as though caught in an earthquake. All he knew was agony. The tempest was free and he howled, raging with it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HOLY CRAP this chapter wanted to be SO long I had to split it. It was well over 13,000 words before I was like, "Enough is enough!" The upside means that the next part is almost completely done! Which means this story (story, not series) may be done in time for Christmas! WootWoot! I want to thank everyone who has commented and messaged me. You are all the reason for the season to me 3
So don't forget-more comments equal more story!
(not really, but I figured it's worth a shot...)