Thank you to everyone who is reading/reviewing/following/favouriting this – I think it's starting to get bigger than Broken!

I've taken a canon case but have had to modify it to fit (for obvious reasons!).

Enjoy!

oOo

"I'm a terrifying danger."

- Nobody Praying for Me, Seether

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

The farmhouse stood alone in a sea of green, a single beige dirt track leading up the side of the property. Grass grew down its centre, the rest worn down after years of abuse from heavy machinery rolling over it. A makeshift fence made from warped tree boughs encased the house and a small trimmed garden area. The house itself was a weathered grey, the original browns drained from it from years of heavy rain and bleaching from the sun. Some newer planks ran along the top, passed the two upper story windows, replaced after one of Kansas' frequent tornadoes. A stone chimney breast protruded at its centre between the staggered roofs.

Anna stood on the veranda by the front door, a porch swing to her left as she held two cups of tea, sipping hers daintily as she observed the quiet world beyond. Their American contacts had done them well; it was suitably isolated for them to be left undisturbed, surrounded by miles of flat farmland as far as the eye could see. It was perhaps a bit more…rustic than she would like, but, as farmhouses went, it had a certain character to it. It would be comfortable enough for her and Thomas, at least.

She walked down the steps and crossed the lawn, skirting around the side of a small whitewashed shed that sat just to the side of the house and made her way toward a raised mound on the edge of the lawn, tucked into a corner. Grass surrounded an angled entrance, a steel door flipped open and lying against the grass. The opening was around the size of a normal doorframe, steps leading down into the ground. Anna stepped carefully in and down, her small heels making sharp clipping sounds against the concrete stairs.

Inside, the cellar was compact: roughly twelve feet by eight. The walls were unpainted, the dull grey of the concrete creating a heavy dimness to the interior. It was mostly bare; the wooden shelves that sat on the left-hand side were currently empty and a single metal cot sat against the opposite wall. Thomas was standing on a small stepladder, screwdriver in hand as he fixed a small CCTV unit into the corner. His suit jacket was off, his shirt sleeves uncuffed and rolled up to his elbows. The jacket was folded neatly and placed across the top of the ladder.

"Thank you, Anna" he smiled down at her as she entered, offering him up his tea. He put the tools down and stepped off the ladder, sipping at the welcome drink.

"It's not up to my usual standard, I'm afraid," she sighed, glaring down at her own mug. "God forbid they should have proper tea here. I haven't used teabags since 1983. I must see if I can find a proper shop that will do loose leaf. I refuse to have my standards lowered because they don't know what decent tea tastes like."

"I'll see what I can find when I head out later" Thomas assured her, smiling gently into his mug. Anna was a woman of principles; it was something he respected in her as he had with Miss Toni.

"How are you getting on?"

"I think we're nearly ready for Sam's arrival. I'll have the camera operational by this afternoon. Then I just need to do one last shopping run and we'll be ready. Mr Winslow was absolutely right when he said this place was perfect. It seems there are storm cellars like this all over the place and they're meant to be fairly indestructible. It's exactly what we need for Sam's rehabilitation. Home from home for him rather than that hovel of a bunker."

Anna smiled; she was glad to see Thomas happy, filled with purpose. If caring for the Winchester did that, as well as letting him get their vengeance, then she was satisfied. The more Thomas spoke of Sam, the more intrigued she became. She had had no contact with the American except for when he had entered their home and during his ill-advised escape attempt. He'd been a recalcitrant brute when she'd first laid eyes on him, fighting Thomas and James as they escorted him in. Anna had presumed him to be no better than a thug; a means to an end for Toni's purposes. Yet, Thomas' occasional comments over the last few months and weeks had piqued her interest. Maybe he wasn't beyond redemption; Thomas certainly thought as much. The same couldn't be said for his brother – the one she had never met. He would die; of that, she was sure. Thomas' fondness for the younger one pushed him to want to save Sam. She would help – where she could. However, re-educating wayward youths was not her forte. If Sam was anything other than cooperative, he would see just how strict the proper English could be.

"It won't be long now" she grimaced, finishing her revolting tea.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The trip to Jody's had done Sam the world of good. They'd stayed with Sioux Falls' sheriff for a few days, despite Sam's guilt over disturbing everyone else through the night. Jody refused to pander to his emotions, insisting that she'd had worse with teenage angst. The storm had dissipated eventually, leaving the world bright and clear for the remainder of their trip. Dean, Cas and Jody had spent the rest of the time helping Sam readjust, slowly but surely.

While the nights hadn't improved, Sam's days weren't quite so dark. They coaxed and encouraged him, guiding him through the things he found difficult, comforting and reassuring him whenever he started to panic. Their patience was endless. By the third day, they got him to go out, taking a short trip into the centre of Sioux Falls. They flanked him, keeping him safe, getting him to talk through the things that made his heart race. Rationalising everything became second nature. Yes, plenty of Americans drove black SUVs but, no, they had no interest in him. Yes, that stranger was looking at him, but that was Ellis Baldwin: he stared at everyone who wasn't a local.

Such an insignificant outing would never have bothered him before, but the crowds of strangers, the noises and the general chaos was overwhelming. Yet still his family encouraged him, helping him push through the barriers in his mind. Jody did nothing but smile reassuringly even when Sam squeezed her hand so hard it hurt in the middle of the supermarket.

His panic attacks lessened, small moments of confidence reappeared. Dean felt nothing but pride in his little brother; he never stopped fighting. Why should he? He was a Winchester and that's what they did. They would celebrate the small victories because they were all they had at the moment.

That was good enough for Dean.

The three of them walked back into the bunker, bags in hand, chatting about nothing in particular. Dean slid the leftovers boxes onto the control room's table; Jody had sent them with enough food to last them a good few days, provided Dean didn't tuck in on the sly. Sam headed down the hall, rucksack slung over one shoulder. Rounding the corner, he reached in and turned on the lights in his bedroom.

He stopped dead in the doorway, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

It was completely immaculate. The clothes that had been draped over the desk chair were gone, the sheets on his bed were different – clean and crisp as though he hadn't slept on them. His iPad sat on his bed, the books on his desk were neatly aligned.

"Huh. Finally got round to cleanin' your room before we left" Dean remarked, making Sam jump when he peered in on his way past. He moved on before Sam could answer. Had he? The hunter had no recollection of tidying up at all before they left, yet he couldn't think of any other plausible reason. Dean wouldn't have commented on it if he'd done it and no one else could get into the bunker.

She did.

The voice was quiet and unsettling in his mind until he pushed the thought away. She was dead and she wasn't coming back. Sam sighed heavily; as if being afraid of damned near everything wasn't enough, now he was blacking things out? The same vicious little voice nagged at him, prodding him with the idea of Lucifer yet again. He couldn't tell Dean. His brother was burdened enough without Sam beginning to seriously consider the notion that this wasn't real. No, Sam needed to deal with this on his own.

Slinging his bag down on the bed, he wrenched it open, tugging his clothes and his battered copy of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde out. He left the clothes on the foot of his bed, moving to place the book back on his desk. His hand stopped when he looked at the neat line of books. His mouth went dry.

Where the hell was his dad's journal?!

He'd left it on the end – he knew he had. Dropping Jekyll and Hyde, he pulled out the other books, double checking their titles, knowing full well that the journal hadn't mystically turned into any of them.

"No, no, no!" he repeated desperately, jerking the desk drawers open and scrabbling through them. The journal wasn't there. Crossing the room, he checked both bedside tables and their drawers. He looked under the bed, in the bed, on the shelf, in the wardrobe, hell, he even looked in the damned laundry hamper.

John's journal wasn't there.

How could he have lost it! It was the one link they truly had to their father and he'd lost it! Unless he'd put it back out in the library. He needed to check, but Dean would ask what he was doing and how was he supposed to tell his big brother that he'd misplaced it?

It was the last thing he needed.

"Sammy! Food!" Dean's bark wafted through. Shit. Sam took one last look around his room. He would find the journal later; he had to.

oOo

The next morning saw the Winchester brothers sitting quietly in the kitchen, Dean reading a local paper, Sam brooding over his cornflakes, stabbing at them half-heartedly with his spoon. He had searched everywhere but couldn't find the journal. Guilt riddled him but he couldn't bring himself to tell Dean. The damned thing had to be somewhere; it couldn't just walk off.

Dean looked up when Castiel appeared in the doorway.

"Mornin' sunshine. Want some coffee?"

"No, thank you. I have to go" Cas replied, walking off. Dean looked at Sam, confusion written on his features. They both got up, hurrying for the doorway.

"Cas? Wait up!"

"Wait a second; where are you off to?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Cleveland, Ohio" the angel stated. Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes, it was like pulling teeth.

"For what?"

"I think I may have a lead on Lucifer" he explained. Sam's heart thumped. "I found a police report in Cleveland about a man whose eyes 'flared a glowing red'. It could be Lucifer in a new body. I need to go and follow it up." Sam watched the war rage in Dean's face; the urge to go with Cas, to back him up versus the need to stay. He knew exactly which one Dean would pick and he was grateful; Sam was in no fit state to be confronting the Devil again and he knew it.

"Okay. If you need anythin', you call, got it?" Dean replied. Cas nodded. "Be safe."

The angel left without another word, leaving the boys in the hall, watching him go. Sam felt his heart start to slow as he concentrated on his breathing. He turned, heading off towards his room.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean called. Sam turned and met his anxious look with a small smile.

"Yeah." Dean's look turned sceptical. "Honestly, Dean, I'm okay. I just need to process it."

Dean watched his brother go, half tempted to follow him anyway before deciding against it. Sam was calm and sometimes he did just need space. It was a better reaction to Lucifer's name than he would have given even two days ago. He wandered back into the kitchen to clean up the remnants of breakfast.

Sam padded softly down the corridor, wandering listlessly into his room. He stood in the centre, chewing on his lower lip. Moving to the desk, he sat down, avoiding looking at the space where his dad's journal should be, opening the drawer instead and taking out his own journal.

Recording what was happening was therapeutic for him; if he really was losing it, writing it down would help keep it clear in his head.

Grabbing a pen from the desk tidy, he flipped the book open to the next clean page which sat opposite his last entry. He was about to write the date when he noticed the date of the last entry. It was from the day they'd left to go to Jody's; the day when he'd apparently tidied his room. He couldn't remember writing in it. Curious, he scanned his own writing, his frown lifting to a look of bewilderment.

I can't trust him. There's something strange in the looks he gives me when he thinks I'm not looking. Something deep, dark. Unsettling. I can't put my finger on it, but whenever I catch that look, it sends a chill through me. He did everything he could to help with the detox – I know that – but something just feels so wrong. Even Cas has been abnormally quiet around him. I know how I should feel around Dean, he's my brother, my best friend, but I don't feel that way – not at the moment. The more I'm around him, the worse I feel. I need to get out. If I don't…I don't know. There's only one other person who's ever made me feel this way: Lucifer.

Sam slammed the journal closed, holding a hand to his mouth as he ran for the bathroom, emptying his breakfast into the nearest toilet.

oOo

"I found a case."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he sighed. He looked up at Sam who stood in the doorway of the library, his iPad clutched in both hands.

"Sam, we've talked about this…" Dean grumbled. The very fact that he'd found his brother vomiting in the bathroom a few hours earlier did nothing to persuade him that a hunt was a good idea. Sam hadn't said what made him ill, but had gone back to bed when Dean ordered him to.

"Dean," Sam's tone was forceful, more so than it had been in a long time. "We need to go out and do something."

"So we'll go visit people, do normal things" Dean countered. Sam shook his head, approaching the table.

"No, Dean. I want to hunt. I want to get my life back and hunting is a part of that. Not being stuck here waiting around for nothing. I won't do it."

The pair glared at each other, a stony silence electrifying the air. Finally, Dean huffed, motioning with his hand for Sam's iPad.

"Fine. But it depends what this is" he growled, snatching the tablet, curiosity stabbing at him when Sam leaned over to give him the computer but backed away almost like a child giving up something to a parent. It was an odd gesture. Dean scanned the screen and the article.

PRIEST CLAIMS DEMONS WALK AMONGST US.

"It's out in Mason City, Iowa. A priest says he saw a girl get flayed alive by an 'invisible force' in his church. My thoughts? Demon. It's an easy win, Dean. Something to get back in the game with" Sam insisted, his hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets.

He was right; it was an easy win. Dean couldn't deny that. Find the demon, exorcise it – if possible – or kill it if necessary. Maybe it would help give Sam back another shred of confidence. Running a hand over his face, Dean nodded, shutting his laptop and putting the iPad down next to it.

"Alright. But if anythin' and I mean anythin' feels off about this, we're outta there. This is only gonna work if you're 100% honest with me, ok?" Dean conceded, watching his brother carefully.

"Yeah, of course," Sam nodded. He gave a small smile. "I think we're gonna need the priest suits."

Dean groaned. "I hate the priest get up. I feel like a damned Chippendale."

"I think that'll give the congregation something new to repent for" Sam chuckled as he disappeared back down the corridor.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

John Winchester's journal was…fascinating. Thomas had never realised what an unusual and varied life Sam had had. Hunters were utterly barbaric – there was no denying that, in fact, John's journal confirmed it – yet Thomas couldn't help but admire their determination and grit. Men of Letters were obviously superior, but the practical field knowledge the Winchesters had collected over the last three decades was truly impressive. John Winchester seemed like a practical man; there was little emotion, little personality in his journal. Facts, figures, dates. The things he deemed important. Thomas could respect that.

It was a quality he'd seen in Sam. Not in anything he'd said or done; they had had few real conversations during his residence in London, but Thomas had an eye for such people, an instinct. As a Man of Letters himself, he had been around genius for his whole life and it was something he could spot a mile away. When this was all over, he would enjoy those moments with Sam where they could properly hone his talents. The anticipation for such a time sent a thrill through Thomas.

Yet…Sam was more emotional than his father. There was a passion in him, an almost obsessive drive. There had to be, else he would never have waited so long to break even though he'd thought he'd lost all he held dear. There was an empathy there for Thomas, now that Miss Toni was gone, which he would build on, cement the foundations of their future. After all, Sam would lose his brother – properly this time.

Thomas would need to be there for him. He had no doubts that Sam's transition was going to be difficult.

The Man of Letters would have to be careful though, particularly in those first few days. Sam had lost his trust, not once but twice, and Thomas, while he may forgive, he certainly didn't forget. Discipline would be the order of the day until Sam could prove that he was responsible. Even then, Thomas would still have his doubts.

He was a cautious man, after all.

The phone next to his hand chirped, vibrating on the table. Putting down the pen he was using to make notes with into the spine of his open notebook, Thomas picked up the phone and swiped. A new notification from the tracker on the Impala popped up. It had already gone off earlier, informing him that the vehicle had left the safety of the bunker. Now it confirmed that the car had been stationary for a couple of hours. Thomas zoomed in on the map. Mason City, Iowa. Bringing up Google Maps, he calculated the time from Geneva to Mason City: six hours.

Perfect.

He wasn't aware of a connection the Winchesters had to Iowa, but that was a very long drive for nothing. Given what he'd read of Sam's mindset in his own journal, the likelihood was that they would stay somewhere out there. Dean was quite oppressive; he would restrict his brother's exposure to long bouts of travel, of that, Thomas was sure. A small grin lit up his features as he locked the phone.

It was time.

oOo

Mason City, Iowa

The boys stepped out into the glaring Iowa sunlight, the heat stifling as they left the air-conditioned lobby of Child Protective Services. Walking side by side, Sam clutched the box of case files to his chest, concentrating on slowing his breathing. He knew returning to hunting would be difficult, but so far it was also exhausting. He was beyond tired, but refused to let it show.

"Well that was easy" Dean remarked, heading for the concrete stairs which lead up to the building. Sam frowned, catching him up.

"What?"

"What? The wicked witch of the west in there," Dean replied gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. He smoothed down his tie when the wind ruffled it up. "Little Miss Positive Energy. Wanted the bigger office – did a little hoodoo. Boom. I say we put a witch-killing cap in her ass and call it a day."

"Yeah, but we checked the church and Olivia's house; we didn't find any hex bags" Sam countered. Dean shrugged as they approached the Impala, pulling his keys from his pocket. Sam ignored the spike in his pulse at the jangling sound. They stopped at the back of the car as Dean pulled the trunk open.

"So she covered her tracks," Dean shrugged.

"Or we're not looking at a witch."

Dean huffed, shooting his brother a look. They'd already ascertained from the body – which Dean hadn't let Sam go and see – that it wasn't a demon like the headline had suggested. He didn't like the complication in this already; it was supposed to be an easy case. A witch was viable and the hunter was sticking to his theory.

"Look, I'm not saying it's not Beth," Sam continued, ignoring the screech of the trunk as it opened. Dean reached in, pulling out a small brown box neatly filled with a variety of different coloured bullets. "I'm just saying we need proof. Look, if it's her, I'll shoot her myself."

Dean gave him a hard look.

"No, Sam – we agreed on this. You get to do the leg work but the moment it gets dangerous – like going up against a witch – you're stayin' out of it. I know you want to be ready and I get it – I really do – but you're not. Baby steps, man. It'll come" he replied, levelling his baby brother with a no-nonsense look as he slammed the trunk shut. Sam clenched his jaw, the muscles working in the sides of his cheeks. He opened the rear passenger door of the Impala and slid the box onto the seat.

They drove off without another word, the silence uncomfortable for Sam. His gaze slid over to Dean, doubt gnawing at his gut. Why did he think he couldn't trust his brother? Ever since he read that diary entry that morning, he couldn't shake what it had said. He watched for the look he'd written about but couldn't see it. Bringing it up wasn't an optional either – after everything Dean had been doing for him, it wasn't fair to start accusing him. But what Sam was supposed to be accusing him of, he didn't know. He'd tried – and failed – to bring up their dad's journal several times, yet he couldn't bring himself to say the words. I lost Dad's journal. Dean would flip, Sam knew he would and he couldn't deal with that right now. Deep down, he knew Dean was the only thing holding him together.

Yet Dean did seem off. Normally he wanted evidence, the same as Sam did, but this time he had fixated on the idea of a witch. It wasn't like him. Dean ran on instinct, but usually their instincts were the same. Sam's didn't ring any kind of witch-bell. Maybe he was just off his game.

Either way, the doubt still goaded him.

oOo

Mason City, Iowa

Thomas sat waiting patiently, watching through the window. He was obscured from view by the net curtains but he could see everything that happened beyond. The carpark of the Commandeer Inn was filling slowly as the darkness descended. His BMW was parked off to one side, away from the black Impala that was parked almost directly outside his door. He concentrated on the voices bubbling through his ear piece, the speaker in the Winchester's room picking up their low voices clearly. He was glad Sam was working, getting back on his feet. He had purpose too. It also meant he was distracted – which was even better.

Headlights flared as a car pulled into the lot, pulling up across the back of two parked cars. Thomas rose, removing the earpiece as he left his room. The warm air of the outside swirled around him as he stepped out, putting his hands in his jeans pockets – he detested how they felt – and walked casually towards the Winchesters' room as the delivery boy stepped out of his car.

"Oh! Excuse me!" Thomas waved at him, walking over, "is that for room 11?"

"Err, yeah" the delivery boy replied, surprise flitting across his features.

"That's me. I'm just on my way back now. Thanks" Thomas smiled at him, offering him a smoothed out note which the boy eagerly exchanged for the pizza box.

"No problem. Have a good night!"

"Oh, I will. Trust me" Thomas replied, walking away.

oOo

"If they don't hurry up, I'm gonna die" Dean groaned, listening to the angry rumble of his stomach. He was sprawled across the bed nearest the door, the protective barrier between his brother and the world, surrounded by what felt like endless sheets of paper. He rubbed his abdomen pitifully, sending longing looks towards the door, willing it to knock. Sam rolled his eyes as he wandered into the tiny white bathroom.

A soft tapping rapped against the door. Dean leaped up in a flurry of paper, wrenching the door open. The delivery guy had a red baseball hat pulled down over his eyes, his broad shoulders encased in a plain white shirt beneath a casual black jacket. Dean near enough snatched the huge pizza box from his overstretched hands.

"Thanks!" he grinned.

"Enjoy" the man replied, his soft accent indistinct as Dean turned and kicked the door shut behind him. Sam reappeared, grabbing two beers from the small fridge in the kitchenette. He popped the caps with ease, throwing them in the bin. Dean placed the pizza box on the table by the window, his eyes alight with excitement. Reverently, he lifted the lid and grinned at the gigantic pizza that lay before him. Sam slid into the seat opposite him, shaking his head with a grin as Dean picked up the first slice, wolfing it down like he hadn't eaten in days. Grabbing a slice himself, he tucked in.

"Well so far, I haven't found anyone that really sticks out as an obvious 'go and die' type" Dean mumbled around a mouthful. He took a swig of the beer, chasing down the pizza. Sam chewed slower than his brother, taking his time.

"Me either. Yeah, she had a lot of enemies but I can't find any links to the occult or the supernatural. We may have to go to each family."

Dean groaned, pulling a face. "Great. That's, what, 30 cases? That's gonna take forever."

"We'll start early. It's fine" Sam replied, watching the darkness outside the window. He was glad the motel was quiet. It was unusual for them to find a motel that was rowdy, but it did happen on occasion. Growing silent, the pair finished their meal in relative peace.

oOo

Thomas sat and listened. Their case did sound interesting. It was a shame that Sam wouldn't be there to solve it. That would be the kind of detail that would play on Sam's mind, but he would survive. A bit of guilt never hurt anyone.

He checked his watch, calculating how long he should wait. He'd already moved the BMW next to the Impala. The narcotic he'd laced their food with and dissolved in their twist-cap beers when he'd broken into their room earlier was slow acting and not particularly strong. It would be enough to subdue them, but he needed to time it right.

He waited.

oOo

Sam lay on his bed, struggling to keep his eyes open and focused on the case file he was currently reading. The words kept blurring together, moving around the page. With a huff, he threw it down on the bed, rubbing his eyes wearily.

Dean looked over at his brother, stifling a yawn. He was on his second beer, his tie off, the top of his suit shirt unbuttoned. Sam's eyes slid closed as his head nodded forward. It had been one hell of a day for the both of them, stretching muscles that neither had really used in months. He jumped when the motel phone between their beds rang. Frowning, he leaned over, picking up the receiver. Sam blinked blearily at him, woken from his doze by the loud ring.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, clearing his throat when his voice came out thick.

"Hi, err…Agent? This is the front desk. I'm sorry to bother you but we need your assistance at the front desk. Is there any chance you could come down?" A timid male voice squeaked down the phone. Dean sighed.

"Dude, I'm off duty."

"I-I know and I'm sorry, but your Impala…"

Dean jerked upright. "What about it?"

"Sir, could you please just come to the office?"

Dean growled, slamming the phone down and standing up, blinking when he overbalanced slightly.

"Everythin' okay?" Sam asked, his voice tired.

"I gotta go out for a sec. You gonna be okay for five minutes?" Dean replied. Sam nodded, waving a hand tiredly. Dean scooted around the bed and headed out, shutting the door behind him.

Sleep was pulling gently at Sam's conscious and it nearly had him when a loud rapping sounded on the door. He groaned and hauled himself up, bumping unsteadily into Dean's bed. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Did you forget your keys again?" he grumbled as he opened the door. He gave a surprised yelp when the door was knocked open fully and a man barrelled in, shoving him up against the wall, a hand clamping over his mouth. His fuzzy vision focused on the man's face.

"Evening, Sam" Thomas greeted him. A muffled shout escaped from beneath his hand as recognition set in. Sam thrashed, bringing his arms up and wrenching Thomas' hand from his face, knocking him back. He aimed a punch at Thomas' head but his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, allowing Thomas to duck easily. Thomas lashed out at Sam's face, slamming his cheek with a balled fist. Sam fell back, dazed but panic took over, fuelling his moves. He sidestepped again and stumbled for the door.

"DEAN!"

Thomas latched onto his arm, throwing him back into the room before he slammed the door shut. Sam righted himself, squaring off against the Englishmen who stood between him and freedom.

"Sam, this doesn't need to be violent. Calm down and it will be a lot easier on both of us" Thomas stated, that familiar, soothing tone sending ripples of fear through Sam. His eyes gazed around wildly, still struggling to focus – why couldn't he focus? – as he brought his fists up in front of him.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" he snarled, sounding more confident than he felt. Where the hell was Dean?!

Thomas flew forward, feinting left and driving right. He caught Sam off-guard landing a hit to his stomach, doubling him over. Sam gasped as the air rushed from his lungs, one arm snaking around his stomach protectively as the other was caught by Thomas. He righted himself, managing to elbow the other man, catching his jaw. Thomas stumbled back but drove forward without missing a beat. They grappled again, Sam's punches clumsy and weaker than they should have been. He just needed to fight long enough for Dean to get back. That's all he needed.

Yet, Thomas was relentless.

He caught a hold of Sam's wrist again, twisting his arm back viciously and yanking it behind his back. His foot connected with the back of Sam's knees, dropping him to the floor, bending him forwards over the edge of the bed. Thomas straddled him, pressing his torso down into the mattress, catching his other wrist and holding it against his back like the other one.

"Let go of me!" Sam roared, struggling desperately.

"Shush, it's alright, Sam. Calm down. It'll be alright" Thomas soothed as he dropped the bag that had been slung over his shoulder onto the bed next to his ward. Keeping an iron grip on both of Sam's wrists with one hand, he pulled a length of rope from the bag with the other. He crossed Sam's wrists over each other, binding them together tightly with the rope, leaving a long end hanging, all the while ignoring his thrashing and shouting.

"You son of a bitch. Let me go! DEAN!" Sam yelled, trying to knock out Thomas' legs with his own but he was at the wrong angle and barely grazed him. He gasped in pain when Thomas grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked up, shoving a wadded cloth into his open mouth. He howled and writhed, bucking furiously.

"Nearly done, Sam" Thomas murmured calmly as he pulled off a strip of silver duct tape and pressed it over Sam's mouth, sealing in the cloth. He pulled the Winchester up and away from the mattress, winding the long end of rope that secured his wrists around his stomach. Thomas looped it a few more times, making sure it went back over Sam's bound arms. He tied it off and helped the Winchester to his feet. Sam twisted and tugged but his arms were completely secure, pressing into the small of his back. He moaned as Thomas pushed him back onto the bed, lifting his legs up so that he was lying flat. Sam kicked out again but missed; Thomas wasn't a fool. He pulled a cable tie from his bag, snaring it over Sam's ankles, binding them together. "It's only temporary, Sam; a few more minutes and we'll be out of here" Thomas explained, patting Sam's leg comfortingly. The hunter glared up at him. Grabbing a bottle from the bag, he folded a white handkerchief and poured a small amount of the clear liquid onto it.

"Come here" Thomas said softly, wrapping a hand under Sam's head, holding him still as he pressed the cloth over his nose. Sam moaned and thrashed, but Thomas held firm. His panicked lungs drew in an unintentional breath, sucking in the fumes.

Thomas held on until his struggles lessened, pulling away a second or so later. He wanted Sam incapacitated not unconscious.

Picking up the bag, Thomas moved back across the room, placing it by the door. He pulled out a small black box, flicking it on with a thumb. Glancing back over at Sam, he smiled softly. The Winchester was on his side, facing him, trying to get a full grip on consciousness.

Thomas moved into position and waited.

oOo

Dean stalked back to the room. Damned teenagers. If they'd pranked a real agent, they'd be in so much trouble. He was sure they were probably hiding around a corner somewhere laughing at him when he'd stormed into the office only to be met with a gnarly old woman who ranted and raved at him about the trouble they'd had with the youth of today.

Reaching their room, he slotted in the key and opened the door, grumbling as he entered.

"Damned kids are nothin' but-"

A muffled yelled had his head snapping up, eyes widening in horror when he saw his little brother bound and gagged, lying on the bed. Sam thrashed his head, desperate yells that were unintelligible filling the air as he tried to motion at something.

A sharp blast of agony shot through Dean from his shoulder, dropping him to his knees. His whole body went rigid as electricity sparked through him. He lay convulsing on the floor, locking eyes with a cold blue that glared down at him.

"Dean Winchester. You took someone very dear to me. I'm going to be repay the favour" the man snarled, his lip curled in disdain. Dean watched helplessly as he walked across the room towards his brother. Try as he might, Dean couldn't get his muscles to cooperate. They spasmed uncontrollably.

Thomas produced a small knife, severing the cable tie holding Sam's ankles.

"Time to go, Sam" he remarked, hauling Sam up by his arm. The Winchester fought the lingering grogginess, struggling and digging in his heels as Thomas dragged him forcibly across the room. His calls for his brother barely made it passed the gag in his mouth, the cloth weighing down his tongue.

"No…Sammy…" Dean choked, trying to rise. Thomas adjusted his grip on Sam, leaning down and jabbing at Dean with the taser a second time. A shriek of pain ripped from Dean's throat as he shook and quivered on the floor, barely conscious. He watched, horrified, helpless, as his brother was dragged from the room. The last thing he heard was the stifled call of his name before the door slammed shut and consciousness failed him.

Thomas grappled with Sam, shoving him into the back of the BMW. He didn't have time to see to Sam properly – not yet; there were too many people nearby. He pulled the cloth from his back pocket and shoved it back over Sam's face, holding him firmly, until he stopped wriggling completely. He smiled softly.

"It's alright, Sam. You're with me now."

oOo

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