Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews and, of course, to everyone who follows! I'm really glad that Thomas is provoking some pretty strong reactions!

Thank you to MJ for all your help with this one whenever I got stuck!

oOo

"I still hear him screaming 'where do I hide?'"

- Where Do I Hide?, Nickelback

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

"Thomas, you really ought to go and rest; you must be exhausted" Anna chided, standing in the doorway with her arms folded. Thomas gave her a worn smile that didn't quite reach the darkening blue of his eyes. His breakfast plate sat empty to one side of his laptop. The sun had risen, casting a soft yellow light into the farmhouse but the temperature hadn't quite picked up yet, leaving a blanket of glistening dew on the lawn beyond the window.

"I'll go soon, Anna; I just want to see Sam settle first or I shan't sleep for worrying" he replied, glancing at his watch. They'd been home for around an hour and the hunter had yet to calm down, leaving the Man of Letters concerned. Anna stood by his shoulder, her hard gaze focused on the clear video feed displayed on the computer. The camera was high definition – none of this grainy, half-lit rubbish – allowing them to watch Sam as if they were stood right beside him.

"You need to be firmer, Thomas; if you want him to settle, you must make him do so. It's the same with children – and animals – they need strong, clear boundaries to be established or he will walk all over you. You need to re-establish that from your time with him before or he won't learn. Mark my words: if you give him an inch now, that boy will run a mile" she remarked, her tone cold, almost exasperated.

"He'll be alright, Anna; he won't have forgotten the most important boundaries. It's a difficult time for Sam – I need to allow him time to adjust."

"Well, you're much more lenient that I am. I'd be stamping on this uncooperative nonsense already, but you must do what you think is best" she answered, collecting his breakfast things and striding from the room. Thomas turned his attention back to the laptop, his gaze focused on his charge.

oOo

Sam was exhausted but he couldn't let himself stop. He was alone (as far as he could tell) and should take the opportunity to free himself. Except…that was easier said than done. He had no idea how long he'd struggled for – it could've been hours or minutes – but his bonds were unyielding. The straps around his legs were never going to loosen; they were buckled tightly and he needed to be able to use his hands to undo them. He'd twisted onto his stomach, trying to stretch his ankles up closer to his hands, but, with the damned rope fastening his arms to the small of his back, he couldn't quite make it – not even when he arched his body to a painful degree.

He rolled himself around, onto his back again, trying to work out his next move. He needed to know where he was. Thomas had descended a staircase whilst carrying Sam, suggesting he was somewhere underground. The air had been cool and fresh outside, compared to the stuffiness of the car, but the air around him now had a vaguely musty tang to it; like the room wasn't used very often. Again, that was typical of almost any basement or cellar. Sam strained his ears, listening intently, but, wherever he was, there was only silence; no traffic, no voices, no city racket. He had to be somewhere in the country – in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't a comforting thought.

If only he could see.

Thomas had left him completely vulnerable: blind, mute and restricted. It was a display of utter dominance; Sam had no rights, wasn't allowed to voice any protests unless Thomas allowed it. The enforced submission bothered the hunter more than it should; after all, it wasn't like he hadn't been in this position before. Yet, he still found himself constantly fighting off the waves of panic that threatened to pull him under.

Shoving it down as best he could, he'd taken stock of what else was around him. He was on a bed – a single one, based on the edges he could feel when he ran his feet along the width of it; it was only just long enough for his tall frame, although there was no real footboard, just a metal frame that was the same height as the mattress. Exploring it again with his feet, he found it was squared at the edges with two short posts that jutted up on either side. If they were at one end, there were probably matching ones at the top end too. Grunting, he wriggled his way up to the top of the bed, wincing when he bumped into the headboard. Definitely metal. Definitely squared off. Lifting his cheek and running it along the edge of the metal, Sam tried to find the post at the end of the headboard. He had no idea what kind of edge it would have but he needed something that he could snag the blindfold on so that he could get it off – even if it took him all day.

He couldn't – wouldn't – let Thomas win.

The metal left a trail of cold along his skin as he shifted himself, wriggling over to try and find it. Something cold brushed against the hair that had fallen over his forehead; he'd found the post. Satisfaction filled him. It was higher than the ones at the foot of the bed and Sam had to struggle up further to try and rear up to the top of it. It wasn't particularly tall, but, without the use of his arms, it wasn't easy. Lining it up against his cheek, just below where he could feel the cloth of the blindfold, Sam tilted his head down, trying to catch the edge of it.

Nothing.

His second, and third, attempts yielded the same frustrating results. He clenched his jaw, biting down on his gag, growling in annoyance. Shifting yet again, Sam could feel himself getting precariously closer to the edge of the small bed, his knees nearly hanging off. He was trembling by now; the physical exertion was taking its toll on his nerves and it had been well over twenty-four hours since he'd slept. Breakfast with Dean in the bunker seemed like a lifetime ago. His heart ached. Yet he couldn't dwell on it now – not if he wanted his freedom. He used his emotions to stoke his determination; he would get free. And he would start by getting the damned blindfold off! Bringing the side of his face up to the post yet again, Sam put more pressure into it, felt the edge of the blindfold lift – just a fraction – before it dropped back into place. He was so nearly there!

Sam had just stretched to catch the cloth again when a loud screech, deafening in his quiet world, made him jolt violently, involuntarily, the sudden movement tilting him too far forward. Without the use of his hands or legs, the hunter overbalanced and fell with a muffled yelp, unable to stop himself or buffer the impact. He smacked onto the concrete floor, landing on his back, his head striking the stone with a resounding crack, stars exploding behind his eyelids.

"Well, that wasn't very clever, was it, Sam?" Thomas chastised as he walked across the room. The Englishman was glad he'd decided enough was enough and had come down; Sam was a liability to himself. He gazed down at the prone hunter, kneeling down next to his head. Thomas reached a hand under his head. "Shhhhh, let me see" he soothed when Sam jerked, moaning as Thomas' fingers probed the back of his head, feeling a bump already starting to form but luckily there was no blood visible when he pulled his hand away. "This is why you should be more careful, Sam; that could've been dangerous. What if I hadn't come down? Clearly I can't trust you yet – but assuming that was my fault, not yours. It's easily rectified though – not to worry."

Standing up, he left Sam grumbling on the floor as he walked over to the shelf on the opposite side of the room. He picked up a water bottle and two pairs of wide brown leather cuffs, a short silver chain running between each attached a small metal loop. The prongs of the buckles were looped, like the eyelet of a needle, and were wide enough for the U-shaped shackle of a padlock to fit through. Sam's wrists were going to be a mess if he kept fighting against the rope; softer restraints would protect him, keeping him safe without Thomas having to worry about open wounds and infection.

Crossing back over to the bed, he sidestepped around Sam who had curled up into a ball on his side, still relentlessly twisting his wrists. Honestly, the lad was hopeless; he'd been restrained for hours and, even though nothing had changed, he still fought. He knew that when Thomas tied a knot, he did it properly. Well, whatever made him feel better, Thomas supposed. He unbuckled the straps on both sets of cuffs, looping one cuff of each pair around the posts at the head of the bed. He threaded two of the padlocks through the prongs, snapping them into place.

Returning to Sam, Thomas pulled him up to a sitting position and swivelled him around so that his back was against the bed. Sam tried to shrug off his hold, incoherent protests escaping the gag. The Man of Letters frowned; his pointless defiance was going to get very old, very quickly. Hooking a hand in each armpit, Thomas hoisted Sam back onto the bed.

Now for the tricky part.

"Right, Sam. We're going to have a bit of a shift around. You know the drill; the more cooperative you are, the easier it will be. That rule hasn't changed and you were always mindful of it during our time together in England. You know I'm a man of my word" Thomas explained carefully, noting the tension in his charge's shoulders. "Are you going to be good?"

The tension dropped, draining wearily from Sam's shoulders. He gave a tiny nod. Thomas scooped up Sam's legs and turned him so that that he was back on the bed properly.

Sam sat silently, willing his body to stay relaxed even though Thomas' touch made his skin crawl. It was torture with his lack of senses; everything was heightened – the sound of clinking that he couldn't identify; Thomas' soft, measured footfalls; his vexing, patronising tone. Alone in the dark, he had to fight not to fidget. The seconds dragged. He couldn't help flinching when he heard a quick slicing sound followed by a click. The rope around his middle tugged and pulled as Thomas began sawing through it; the knots must've become so tight that he couldn't undo them. It was almost ironic; if he had been able, Sam might have even laughed. Finally, the rope fell from around his waist, bringing with it the first taste of freedom. His wrists remained tightly bound.

"We're going to do the next part with absolutely no fuss. If there is any, there will be consequences. When I untie your wrists, you're going to lie back and raise your arms on either side of your head. Do you understand?" Thomas' voice was firm and clear. Sam could almost picture the stern set of his jaw; he'd seen it enough times. He nodded again, keeping his head bowed, waiting. Thomas brushed against him, his warm hand holding Sam's right wrist as he reached to slip the knife into the rope between his hands.

Sam sat perfectly still, calculating. Thomas would be behind him, just to the side. He would probably move a step to his right so that he could turn and face the headboard when Sam lay down. He would get rid of the knife quickly – probably just throwing it on the floor for the moment, knowing Sam couldn't find in blindfolded. He would have to bend down to reach the new restraints, bringing his head nearer to Sam. He would start with Sam's right wrist; it was closer. The ropes popped, Sam's arms falling free.

Finally.

His relief was tangible. He heard the knife clatter across the floor.

"Lie back, Sam" Thomas instructed, his tone laced with warning. Sam obeyed, easing himself backwards until his head hit the pillow. He moved his arms up. Heard the soft whisper of Thomas' step, the shift in his weight. Felt him grasp his right wrist.

Sam swung up with his left.

His balled fist connected with something that moved beneath the blow: Thomas' jaw. The hold on his wrist disappeared, the sound of Thomas hitting the floor reaching his ears. Sam shot up, reaching for the straps around his thighs, fumbling with the buckle. He unfastened it, letting it fall as he scooted down and reached blindly for the other one around his ankles.

He'd just managed to pull the strap from its loop when something – Thomas – tackled him, knocking him back flat on the bed. Sam growled, grappling with the older man who straddled his waist, trying to catch his hands. Sam landed another punch, this time on Thomas' chest but it wasn't enough to throw him. The hunter reached up to yank the blindfold up – getting it off hadn't been the priority; after all, John Winchester had taught his boys to spar sightless as children – but now he needed to even the playing field.

"No you don't!" Thomas barked, grabbing his hand as his fingers grazed the cloth. The Man of Letters wrenched his arm down forcibly. Sam felt the weight shift on top of him as Thomas' knee pressed down into the crook of his elbow, jamming his arm between the Englishman's leg and the mattress. Still Sam fought and bucked, swiping at his captor with his free hand until Thomas caught it in a vicelike grip and hauled it up. Sam bellowed with rage, thrashing furiously, trying to tug his other trapped arm free as he felt cold leather being snapped around his wrist. Thomas' hands disappeared and Sam pulled desperately at his cuffed hand. It wasn't tight but it didn't budge either. The knee lifted from his elbow as Thomas grabbed that wrist with both hands, wrestling to lift the hunter's arm up above his head. Sam yanked with everything he had, trying to keep his hand away from what he assumed was a matching restraint. He bent his legs, pushing up, aiming to buck Thomas off but the Man of Letters was relentless. One of the hands let go of his wrist momentarily and stars exploded behind his eyelids when Thomas backhanded him across the face. Dazed, his fighting ceased just enough for Thomas to trap his wrist in the second leather cuff, tightening it much more than the first. He dropped his hold and Sam pulled, the cuff clanking against the metal post. He moaned dismally through his gag as the first cuff was tightened. Two sharp snicks came from either side of him, sounding a lot like padlocks being snapped shut.

Thomas slid off the unruly reprobate, seething. He had never assumed Sam would be able to land such a hit without being able to see. It was a lesson the Englishman wasn't going to forget – that was certain.

"That, Samuel," he snarled as he retrieved the discarded strap from underneath Sam's legs, "was anything but cooperative." Thomas wrapped the strap around Sam's thighs once again, cinching it tighter this time – pulling hard enough for it to lock in two holes higher than before. Sam howled, writhing when the leather dug into his skin. Well, he should have thought about his actions! "I gave you one warning in the car. I had expected that to have been enough," Thomas continued talking as he stalked over to the shelf, grabbing a chain and padlock before prowling back over to the hunter. "Clearly you think it's acceptable to push the boundaries." He threaded the chain through the underside of the strap around his ankles and then up through the same position of the one he'd just reattached. Jerking on the chain, he pulled the hunter's legs straight, looping the chain around the metal footboard, making sure it was taut, before padlocking it in place. He stepped back and glared down at the secured hunter who was panting heavily, trying to bend his legs up but the short chain kept his limbs straight. Thomas probed his tender cheek gently, wincing. It was going to leave an awful bruise. He picked up the water bottle, putting it back on the shelf.

"I had originally come down here to remove your blindfold and gag, but it's obvious that you need the calm and quiet to help you reflect on the negative effects of your behaviour." Thomas understood Sam's stifled whimper of 'no' even through the gag. He put a hand over the Winchester's mouth, pressing down and holding his head still in a final display of dominance. Sam squirmed beneath him, pulling feebly on the cuffs around his wrists. "Now, you are going to get some rest and then maybe – maybe – we will discuss your behaviour. I'm very disappointed in you, Sam."

Sam felt the hand release his jaw and heard Thomas' footsteps move away. He hollered desperately after the Englishman, trying harder to talk – god help him, to apologise – than ever before but the cloth in his mouth weighed his tongue down, holding his words captive.

The door slammed shut on his muffled protests.

oOo

Mason City, Iowa

Jody had floored it from Sioux Falls, making the whole journey in just over two hours, breaking the speed limit the entire way. It was a complete abuse of her police vehicle, but she didn't care and lord help the person who tried to stop her.

Dean was a mess. More so, perhaps, than he had been four months ago when he first told Jody that Sam had gone missing. Back then, he'd known that his brother was gone – taken – yet he hadn't been there to stop it.

This time he had.

At least, that's what he thought. As he brokenly told Jody everything that happened, she could see the guilt pressing down on him, dragging him down like an anchor.

She'd found him sitting on the edge of the bed just staring, almost catatonic, at the floor. Without a word, she'd tugged him into her arms, holding on when he tried to pull away – as if he didn't deserve the comfort – and finally getting him to let go. Dean had never cried in front of her before: not like this. She cradled his head and soothed him, brushing her fingers through the soft brown of his hair, whispering comforting nothings against the top of his head. Jody held him until he had no tears left to fall.

Her poor boys.

Anger filled her, radiating fire through her veins. How dare someone do this, again! She wasn't going to be side-lined this time; no, she was going to throttle whoever was responsible with her bare hands.

Despite his protests, Jody had made him rest, almost putting him into bed herself. He was no good to her half-dead and he was exactly that; she could see it in the exhausted, pained glint of his eyes. Only when she'd reassured him that she would start investigating straight away did he concede.

Now the pale morning sunshine forced its way in through the curtains as Jody entered the motel room, two coffees and a bag containing stacks of waffles clutched in one hand. Dean rushed out of the bathroom as soon as he heard the door open.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked as she put the breakfast items down on the table.

"Like shit," he replied, the dark circles under his eyes testament to his words. "What did you find?"

"Sit. Eat." She ordered, ignoring the question and motioning to the chair opposite her. Dean did as he was told, grabbing one of the coffees but leaving the food in the bag. "Okay, there's not a lot to go on – yet. The woman at the front desk said that she'd seen you around 10.30, which we knew, but no one checked out before or after that. No one has checked out this morning either. I think you should go and talk to her again, give her the description of the guy – what you can remember at least – and see if she recognises him." She frowned and motioned for him to sit back down, "after you've eaten."

"I'm not hungry" Dean countered. She shot him a stern look, one eyebrow raised.

"Dean Winchester, I have never known you not to be hungry. Stop tryin' to punish yourself for somethin' you couldn't control and eat your breakfast. Don't make me say it twice."

Suitably chastised, Dean pulled out one of the cartons and dug in, satisfying his grumbling stomach. Appeased, Jody sat back and sipped her coffee.

"So we need to go back over what we know. You think you were drugged, yes?"

Dean nodded around a mouthful. "Yeah, I felt off…woozy. I didn't think a lot of it – just that I was tired. It's not like any of us have been gettin' a lot of sleep lately."

"What did you eat last night?"

Dean pointed over his shoulder with one thumb, gesturing towards the discarded pizza box and empty beer bottles. Jody stood up and walked over. She flipped up the lid and found the box empty – except for one half chewed slice. She gave the beer bottles another look, her expression thoughtful. Moving to the fridge, she pulled out one of the other bottles and looked at it. Dean watched her, mystified. She touched the cap gently, frowning.

"This isn't on properly, see?" she remarked, handing the bottle to the hunter. Dean took it, studying it carefully.

"Son of a bitch."

It had clearly been capped; the looseness of the top a dead giveaway. Jody took it back, placing it on the table by the window. She grabbed a ziplock bag from her bag and put the pizza slice in it.

"Once we start gettin' together evidence, I'll take what needs analysin' to the local sheriff department. I know him – he won't mind."

"Jody, the last time I got you involved, someone died; I can't do that again" Dean murmured, his eyes downcast.

"You ain't gotta choice, Dean. Scott didn't die because of you. He died because of some son of a bitch who thought he was above everyone else. I'm involved in this whether you like it or not. You and Cas are not facin' this alone. Not this time. And we need all the help we can get" Jody replied fiercely, her jaw set resolutely. Inwardly, Dean was glad; Jody was a damned good sheriff and he needed her expertise – not just her resources – she would look at it from the analytical, human world perspective rather than the supernatural. They needed to consider both sides until they figured out who the mystery guy was.

Finishing his coffee, Dean stood.

"I won't be long."

"Walk the way you came back last night and try visualising it. See if anything was different – particularly the cars. Sam's a big guy – getting him out relatively unnoticed wouldn't have been easy" Jody suggested. Dean nodded and left.

The woman at the front desk leaned idly against the counter, flicking through a magazine, her head resting on one hand. She smiled and stood up straight when she saw Dean entering, giving him the same appreciative look she'd given him the night before. She may have been pushing sixty, but the things she thought of when she looked at him…they were definitely the daydreams of her younger days.

"Mornin' sweetheart" she greeted, brightly. Dean gave her a brief soft smile.

"Hey, so I need to find this guy," Dean began, leaning in on the counter. She shifted in, almost conspiratorially. "Y'know those kids from last night? This guy helped me out – he'd seen them hangin' around, but I didn't get the chance to thank him after I'd spoken to them. I wanted to know what room he was in so I could say thanks."

"Oh, sure thing, honey. What did he look like?"

"Inch or so shorter than me, dark hair, had a beard" Dean listed, trying to picture Sam's assailant as best he could but his memory was still hazy.

"Oh yeah! Mr Wemmick…weird name but what a lovely guy! And I just adored his accent; you don't get it a lot 'round these parts. He was just so polite; I'm not surprised he helped you out. He's in…" she checked her computer screen, "room ten! Right next to you!"

Dean's heart stopped. The woman's smile faltered when he froze, before he righted himself, giving a small shake of his head.

"That's great. Thank you" he replied and walked out, stalking back towards his own room. Jody's advice popped back into his mind, slowing down his angry footsteps. He needed to concentrate. Looking around, Dean noted the cars in the lot – some he recognised from the day before, some were new. None of the new ones were important; Sam was gone. So which ones from last night were missing? Which had moved? Drawing on his memories, he compared the darkness last night to now. It wasn't easy – he hadn't been thinking clearly, what with the drugs and the nuisance teenagers (who he now suspected didn't exist at all) but still he tried. Looking at Baby, he stopped.

He hadn't been able to see her yesterday. Another car – an SUV – had been in the way. Dean focused, trying to draw up the details in his mind. It wasn't the biggest SUV around, but it was big enough to transport someone as tall as Sam with relative ease. It'd been black, non-descript…he huffed in frustration. It wasn't coming up clearly at all. Making a mental note to search up SUVs later, he walked back into his room.

"Bastard was stayin' next door" he growled as he entered.

"That's not the only thing" Jody replied, holding up a small black box. Dean took it, studying it closely. "I found it up on the cupboard. He was listening in – he knew when you'd gone, what you said…everything."

Son of a bitch! Dean's grip tightened on the black box as he fought to keep his rage under control. He grabbed his lock picks from his bag and went out, heading to the adjacent room. Bending down, he made quick work of the lock as Jody stepped up beside him. He barged in, knowing he would find it empty, but still feeling the bite of disappointment anyway.

The room, identical to his and Sam's, was immaculate. The bed was made, the surfaces all completely clear. They both searched but found nothing.

"I doubt he really touched anything. He must've set up here, watched you guys and left" Jody remarked, her tone heavy. "Right, we need to go and get your food analysed – it'll take a while so we might as well do that next. By the time we get back, Castiel should be here."

Dean nodded, holding the door open for her before following her out.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Thomas awoke, feeling refreshed. He'd gone to sleep in a foul mood – the worst for a long time – but he was fine now. He wasn't one to hold a grudge, at least, not for trivial things. As long as Sam learned his lesson, all would be well. It was close to four o'clock; he hadn't wanted to sleep all day and hoped it wouldn't keep him up later that night.

Dressing swiftly and walking downstairs, he sat down in front of the laptop, bringing the screen back to life again. His mind settled as he felt the familiar waves of a routine being established washing over him.

It was just like home.

He'd accepted, at the time, that Sam was going to be taken from them by Lucifer – it was Miss Toni's wish and he acknowledged that – but the thought had still left him feeling...lost. Sam was going to move on and realise his potential – he was going to fly free. Thomas had never been more proud…or more bereft.

He'd taken such pride in caring for Sam, helping him realise his capabilities through Miss Toni's sessions. Yes, he'd pitied Sam and even regretted some of the things that had happened to him – Thomas was not a violent man, after all – but he had trusted in the vision he was presented with. They had tried so hard to help Sam fulfil his destiny, putting so much effort into moulding him – especially Miss Toni. To honour her, Thomas was going to start over: help Sam find his new path. No Lucifer this time. They would carve a new destiny. Together.

The thought of having Sam back in their small, unofficial family brought such comfort to him; Sam was the little piece of Miss Toni that Thomas could hold onto. Caring for him brought a shred of normality back into his life. After all, routine was so important during times of grief.

Thomas sighed deeply; if only Miss Toni was there too. He missed her, more than he could even admit to himself. He knew Anna felt it too; she kept herself busy constantly (not that she had ever been an idle woman), covering her grief with her work. It was alright though: this was the beginning of a new era for all of them.

Double clicking on the icon for the video feed, Thomas brought the programme up, a sense of tranquillity passing through him as Sam appeared on the screen. He clicked on the unmute icon and leaned forwards, resting his chin on his clasped hands. Soft moans floated up through the speakers, sporadic and nonsensical. Thomas frowned, concentrating on Sam's form. The hunter was, of course, in the same position that Thomas had left him in, but it was his movements that the Englishman was interested in.

Working so closely with Sam for months had left Thomas attuned to his every movement, every vocalisation – regardless of whether he was restrained or not. Thomas had watched over him, seen him through so many trials. He could tell from the tone of Sam's voice – both in his words and his moans – what kind of mood he was in. Where it hurt, how much. He knew all the minute changes in Sam's expressions: the tightening around his eyes meant he was about to fly off the handle; the slight downward curve of his lips meant he was close to breaking point for the day. Just by the set of Sam's shoulders, Thomas knew how stubborn he was going to be. There were even days when he would advise Miss Toni on how…thorough she needed to be. Their relationship was so much more powerful, more special, than Thomas could explain to an outsider. No one knew Sam like he did.

Now he studied Sam's body, noting each twitch, each jerk of his limbs. To the untrained eye, Sam appeared to be awake, struggling once more. Thomas knew better.

Sam was dreaming.

The sporadic jerk of his head, from left to right and back again, accompanied by a tiny whimper, close to a sob, told the Englishman that he was upset – it wasn't a pleasant dream. His legs tensed, pulling against the chain while his fingers twitched. Rising from his seat, Thomas grabbed his keys and headed out towards the storm cellar.

oOo

Toni stood over him, a cattle prod dancing idly between her hands as she twirled it like a baton. Sam lay on the floor, twitching and convulsing, curled into a ball. He gazed up at her fearfully, unable to find the words to make her stop. He wanted it to end: he'd never wanted it more, but whenever he tried to say 'yes' the word choked him. His body was betraying him. Toni said nothing; she just continued to stare down at him, her expression cruel and amused. She prowled around him, her heels clicking across the floor rhythmically. Sam crawled forwards, dragging himself along the floor with his forearms, unsure of where he even thought he was going – anywhere away from her. The tiles were cold and slippery; when he looked down, he saw that they were red, an endless sea of red that stretched across the whole room. His blood. It had to be his.

He couldn't take this anymore; it was supposed to be over.

Her heels clicked closer and suddenly he was arching, screaming, when the cattle prod sank into his back.

Sam woke with a start, breathing heavily, vestiges of panic clinging onto him in the darkness of the room. When he inhaled, the soft scent of sandalwood mixed with a dry hint of patchouli seeped into his mind, instantly quelling his panic and letting the fear drain away. It was one of the comforting smells of home; not the place – the person.

Dean.

It wasn't fragrance Sam smelled often; usually Dean only wore it when he was out for the night, but it was one that brought back memories of pool hustles, extended arguments over who really won the last pranking war, laughter and good company. Nothing bad happened when the warm woody undertones drifted over Sam.

He welcomed the calm that it brought, finding comfort when a gentle hand brushed through his hair softly; it was a gesture Dean had used over the last few days whenever he woke from a nightmare. It took him back to when they were little and Dean would comfort him, saving him from the monsters under the bed that he'd believed in before he knew what their family business really was.

Sam tried to ease his eyes open but his eyelids were so heavy. As awareness slowly began to seep back in, he realised how thirsty he was; his mouth was so damned dry. The hand continued to stroke his hair as he tried to lift one arm, frowning when it didn't cooperate. His detox had finished so why would Dean…?

"How did you sleep, Sam?" Thomas asked, smiling down at Sam, his tone gentle, soothing. Sam jerked away from his hand and went completely still, his whole body tensing.

"Here, let's take that off" Thomas murmured, reaching underneath Sam's head and fiddling with the knot in the blindfold. He pulled it off carefully, Sam blinking blearily up at him several times when the light hurt his eyes. He let out a choked sob, despair pooling in the depths of his eyes when the memories of the last twenty-four hours flooded back in. Thomas gave him a sympathetic smile as he sat back in the chair he'd place by Sam's bed.

"You were having a nightmare, Sam; I thought Dean's cologne might bring you some comfort," Thomas explained, holding up the small glass bottle so that Sam could see it. "It would seem I was right. That would've been useful a couple of months ago, wouldn't it? At least we know now. It's a shame your brother has such…unpleasant tastes, although I can't say I'm really surprised." Sam grunted angrily, glaring up at him. Thomas sighed. "Now this morning's antics were…regrettable – I'm sure you'll agree. So, we're going to go through the boundaries again, just so that we're all on the same page." Sam shifted uneasily beneath his unwavering gaze, alarmed by the glint Thomas' eye.

"I want you to be happy, Sam. Together, we're going to build a whole new future."

oOo

Thomas giving anyone else the creeps yet?

Please review and make my day!