Happy 2017!

Thank you to everyone who is reading/reviewing/favouriting – I never thought this story was going to get this long or take the turns that it has!

oOo

Westminster, London

The evening was drawing closer, the dismal grey clouds dropping a fine drizzle – the kind that didn't seem heavy but soaked unassuming pedestrians to the bone – coating London in a darkness that was almost unnatural. Jonathan Markham, head of the British Men of Letters, sat at his huge cocobolo desk, the lights already on to chase away the impending gloom. He held a report in his hands, resting his wrists on the edge of the desk, deep grey eyes scanning the document. His teams were as efficient as ever, tackling the supernatural forces with skill and speed. Yet there were systems he wanted to change, that he would change. Nothing could stay as it was before the discovery of Toni Bevell's activities. Markham had already been in meetings with many of his associates, trying to determine who had known, who had been involved. Ketch had been at his side throughout, proving to be a useful…persuasive device for those he thought might be less that forward with their knowledge. So far, he'd found nothing which was most aggravating.

His phone lit up, vibrating hard against the ornate wood of the desk. Frowning, he picked it up, the look dissipating when he saw the caller ID. He swiped and pressed it to his ear.

"Dean Winchester. Good to hear from you. How is Sam?" Markham greeted, leaning back in his chair, checking the time: 5:30pm in London meant it had to be around 11:30am in Lebanon.

"That's what I'd like to know," the hunter's reply was pure steel and it sent a cold shiver straight down the Englishman's spine. Markham sat up, saying nothing, unsure of how to respond. Not that Dean gave him time to. "You're meant to be on our side! That's what you told me when I left! And somehow now my brother is gone again because of you!"

"Hang on a minute, Dean," Markham interjected, his eyebrows shooting straight up in surprise. "You need to go back a few steps because I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam is gone. One of your guys took him and I wanna know who," Dean snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. Markham swallowed his own frustrations; it wasn't going to help if his hackles rose too.

"Okay, Dean, I want to help you but to do that I need you to start from the beginning. I am on your side, but I can't be useful if I don't know details," Markham answered slowly and clearly, keeping his voice calm. He heard murmurings on the other end, a soft female voice that sounded soothing. Dean exhaled, the sound heavy and exhausted. The Man of Letters listened as Dean began, explaining from the beginning, leaving out nothing.

The more Markham heard, the lower his stomach plummeted.

"He's been gone nearly a week and it's taken me this long to work out that the guy – or one of the guys – who took Sam is English. You told me Toni was dead," Dean finished, his tone softer and less accusatory than his words.

"She is, Dean; of that you can be assured. Lucifer was not…pleased that she let him down. However, she was succeeded by two residents of her household who we have been searching for: Thomas Maguire and Anna Bullard," Markham explained, his voice heavy.

"This Thomas guy, he about 5'10"? Dark hair, beard?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Jonathan replied, his heart sinking. "Thomas resided in Toni's residence, completing research with her and Anna was her housekeeper. We don't know the extent of their involvement, hence why we've been searching. I'm so sorry, Dean; if I thought Sam was in any danger from either of them, I would have contacted you immediately. I hope you believe that."

"Why would they take Sam? What's in it for them?"

"I don't know," Jonathan admitted, gazing at the gathering storm clouds outside the window. "My gut instinct would be that Anna had very little to do with Sam when he was here; Anna is very…traditional. While she knows about the Men of Letters – obviously – she is not a member and has very little to do with what we do. Thomas, on the other hand, is a member. He's also a retired doctor. When Jacob went to visit Toni, he saw Thomas attending to Sam. I imagine he was heavily involved. As to their plans now…I wouldn't like to hazard a guess for fear of being wrong. However, there is someone who might know."

"Who?" Dean barked, his voice urgent.

"James Ketch. He worked alongside both Toni and Thomas. He may know more than I can assume."

"Okay, so go ask him," Dean instructed.

"It's not quite that simple, Dean. It will take some time. Our reconditioning programme is…intense. I will send Mr Ketch straight away and will call you as soon as he has answers."

"Thanks." The line clicked off as Dean hung up and Markham sighed deeply, clenching his phone in his hand and holding it against his forehead. Yet again, guilt coursed through him. Sam Winchester was in danger again because, yet again, the British Men of Letters had missed the signs. It was becoming too much of a regularity and Jonathan Markham would stamp it out.

Unclenching his fist, he searched for Ketch's number and dialled.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Sam lay on his side, head resting on his bent elbow, using his bicep as a pillow, his other hand curled up in front of him. He was simply lying there, breathing in and out, staring at the wall. His legs were curled up too, bent slightly at the knee beneath the thin blanket that covered him to just below his shoulders, a single chain snaking from a shackle around his ankle to the ring on the wall. A crisp white shirt covered the brand which had been dressed again. It was healing nicely, thanks to his ministrations. Thomas watched the hunter on the screen, pleased with the turn of events. He'd stayed with Sam for the rest of the afternoon, barely speaking but just being a comforting presence. Sam had surprised him by asking fewer questions about the information he'd levelled him with before. Why, Thomas didn't know. Perhaps Sam was still processing, still trying to wrap his head around everything that had been said. Yet the questions would come and Thomas had to be prepared, had to be convincing.

Sitting there, watching Sam, he was becoming less and less certain that he had enough information to be wholly convincing. He needed more. He needed to get back to the Winchester's bunker. Sam was going to be probing and examining everything he said and if there was a single discrepancy then the whole plan could be jeopardised.

Thomas couldn't have that.

It was too soon for him to go though. Much too soon. He needed to prepare. Sam was vulnerable now, more so than perhaps he had been in a long time. And that made him dangerous. Oh, he was quiet now, cooperative, but Thomas knew him better than that. Now was the time that Thomas needed to tread carefully. That Sam was only secured by the single chain was a deliberate demonstration of trust. Well, not quite…trust. A test, definitely. Thomas sat back, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on their tips as he watched the screen thoughtfully. Sam was perfectly secure with the chain – he had nothing on him or near him that could be used to loosen it. Thomas wanted Sam to think he was getting softer, getting lax. He needed to see what Sam would do.

And he would be ready.

oOo

Sam lay on his side, resting his head on his bicep, thankful for the ability to lie in a position of his choosing. He desperately wanted to go running, to quell the storm raging through his mind. There was just too much flying through his head to allow him to concentrate on one strand at a time. He was trying, god, he was. Usually he would escape out of the bunker, running until his lungs burned and he couldn't think about anything but the road ahead. Only then could he start picking up the pieces one at a time, sorting and rationalising them until he had his answers. Thomas was never going to let him do that. For someone who had once been so active, the constant confinement, even by Dean when they'd got back – if they had in fact got back – was stifling him. The urge to just…escape was so overwhelming. He didn't want to deal with any of this. He couldn't. If what Thomas had claimed was true was actually real, then what the hell was he supposed to do? If he was telling the truth (not that Sam believed him for a second), that would mean going back to a world without…

No.

He wasn't going to go there. He couldn't. Thomas was a liar so it wasn't even worth considering. And yet, Sam knew the Man of Letters was going to do anything and everything he could to convince Sam. Hell, there were going to be times when he was going to be more than convincing. Lucifer had been like that; one of his favourite games in the cage had been to made Sam believe that he'd escaped. It had taken years, even after the wall in his head had cracked and Cas fixed him, for him to truly believe that everything was actually real. Toni had solidified that truth; Lucifer wouldn't let someone else get the credit for torturing him.

But Sam needed Thomas to believe that he had won. Not outright – the older man would never fall for it. While Sam didn't want to admit it, Thomas knew him. Not the real Sam Winchester, but certainly the husk who was constantly clinging to the edge of his control. If Sam made out that he was completely compliant straightaway, Thomas would suspect him. It was much too soon for that. He needed to prepare. Thomas had more control than perhaps he'd ever had over Sam. It made him ooze confidence but not arrogance – never arrogance with Thomas. And that made him dangerous. Oh, he was soothing now, comforting, but Sam knew him better than that. Now was the time that Sam needed to tread carefully. That Sam was only secured by the single chain was a deliberate demonstration of trust. Well, not quite…trust. A test, definitely. The hunter resisted the urge to roll over, knowing his shoulder would scream its protest, instead raising his hand to probe tentatively at the skin around the bandage. He stared at the wall thoughtfully. Sam wanted Thomas to think he was getting malleable, giving in. He needed to see what Thomas would do.

And he would be ready.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

"For the love of god, Dean, will you sit down?! You're drivin' me crazy," Jody huffed, levelling the oldest Winchester with an exasperated frown. Dean turned his glare on her but the look slowly fell, replaced by the hopeless frustration that felt like it was constantly gnawing at him these days. He needed to kill something, preferably this Thomas guy. The vision of his hands wrapped around the Englishman's throat was intensely satisfying, but not real enough to take the edge off. But god help the man when Dean did find him; he was going to rip him apart and all that the waiting did was help Dean to get more inventive.

He dropped into one of the empty chairs, lacing his fingers together, thumbs twiddling over his stomach. He fixed his emerald stare on Jody, watching as she typed.

"What's on your mind?" Jody asked softly, her fingers continuing to click across the keyboard. She didn't need to look up to know that Dean was watching her, a barely contained rage flickering in the backs of his eyes. He'd been pacing ever since he'd hung up with Markham, wearing a dent into the library's floor. Jody had continued to work, exuding her own quiet confidence that, while it didn't dispel his anxiety, it helped to quell it.

"What if this Thomas guy is gonna try and sell out to Lucifer again? What if he's putting Sam through all…that again?" Dean murmured, his voice rushing and then beginning to break as his hands clenched into fists. He locked eyes with Jody, his beginning to glisten. "Jody, what if he…I-I can't…"

"Stop it," Jody barked, her voice hard. "Do not start doing that to yourself, Dean. It's not helpful and it won't get Sam back." His gaze dropped away. Her tone softened. "We don't know what he's planning; that's why we need to wait for Markham to call. But you listen to me, Dean Winchester, and you listen hard. Sam may have nearly given in before, but that would have been his last resort. He thought he'd lost everything. Even when the Devil confronted him, Sam still said no. Again. Sam is not gonna give in. He knows we're coming for him, that we won't stop til we get him back. He didn't know that when he was in England. He will hold out, for as long as it takes. And then we will pick up the pieces. We will put him back together and we'll do that for as long as it takes. Don't you go giving up on us. Sam needs you. I need you."

There ain't no me if there ain't no you.

The words echoed through his mind, pulled up from so long ago. He meant them then and they rang true now. Jody was right: it didn't matter who Thomas was or what his motive was.

Dean would get his brother back.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Sam stopped pacing when the door creaked open, letting a pool of weak sunlight in from above. He leaned forwards, trying to get a glimpse of the outside – not that it was going to be any help – before he stepped back, apprehension filling him when both Anna and Thomas descended. The memory of her last visit was vivid and unsettling – it was not an experience he wanted to repeat. He backed up, the chain scraping across the floor. Thomas smiled at him brightly, but there was a disdainful glint in Anna's eyes.

"Anna has come to work with you Sam, to help you," he declared, standing between the two of them. Like the last time? Sam thought acrimoniously but bit back the words before they came out. He needed to play nice. She looked up at him, her brown eyes cold and challenging.

"Thank you," he choked out, the words sounding forced even in his own ears. Thomas' grin widened.

"Now Sam, if you wouldn't mind taking a seat on the bed, that would be helpful," he instructed as he walked over to the shelf opposite the bed. Sam eyed him warily as he sat down, pursing his lips and huffing through his nose when the Englishman approached him with a pair of handcuffs.

"Is that really necessary? I'm not going to try anything," he grumbled.

"It's a safety precaution only Sam – for you and Anna. As long as nothing happens, I'll remove them as soon as your session is finished. I think that's quite reasonable, don't you?" Thomas replied, keeping his voice smooth and calming. The whole scenario took him back to England, the same words, the same actions a replay in his memory. Sam answered by placing his hands behind his back, letting Thomas lock the cuffs around both wrists. They were neither tight nor loose: they were a symbol if nothing else. "Alright, I'm going to leave you both to it. I'll be back later," Thomas chirped, heading back to the door, leaving Sam and Anna silently standing off against each other.

Anna made the first move.

"Now, we're not going to have any repeat performances of last time, are we, Samuel?" she asked, her tone clipped and challenging. Sam met her eye and shook his head. She continued to eyeball him, waiting.

"No, we won't," he said quietly, fighting the anger that bubbled in his throat. It was going to be a long few hours. She smiled tightly, satisfied as she took a seat.

"I'm sure you have specific questions about Lucifer and your current predicament but those will have to wait for Thomas; answering them is not my role in this," she explained, folding her hands in her lap. Her whole demeanour reminded him of one of the doctors he'd experienced during his multiple visits to psychiatric wards. He wondered if she realised what she was doing; theoretically, if Thomas was telling the truth, she probably did.

"Thomas claims you're psychic and a spell caster," Sam remarked, his tone level.

"You don't believe him." It wasn't a question.

"I don't believe in most things without proof. I believe in research and seeing things for myself. It's nothing personal," Sam shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. Anna smiled, baring her teeth.

"Well, finally something we can agree on, Samuel. Perhaps you're more astute than I gave you credit for." He gave her a tight, livid smile, anger flashing in the depths of his eyes as he fought the urge to retaliate with his own sarcastic bite. "However, I am not a performing monkey, here for your amusement. Whether you believe it or not is quite irrelevant because this is all happening regardless. You and your brother followed your father for many years without questioning him…too much."

"You don't know anything about my father," Sam growled, his fists clenching behind his back, unseen by Anna.

"I know that he was far from happy that you constantly undermined him, particularly before you went to Stanford. Funnily enough, I think I can empathise with him," Anna replied, her tone remaining the same even though her eyes goaded him.

"It wasn't as simple as that," Sam murmured, forcing his hands to relax, his shoulders to lower. The throbbing in his shoulder blade flared.

"No? You continued to do so even after you left college. You were prepared to jeopardise getting the Colt and potentially let a nest of vampires hurt innocent people just so you could waste time arguing about control with him. You only stopped because Dean made you."

Sam's eyes widened, a jolt running cold down his spine.

You're the one who said don't come back, Dad! You're the one who closed that door – not me!

"How could you possibly know about that?" he whispered, horrified.

oOo

"Excellent, Anna," Thomas praised, watching the screen on the laptop excitedly. The colour drained noticeably from Sam's face, leaving him unsettled. The hunter hadn't expected that.

"That's what a psychic usually does, Samuel. You should know that." Anna's voice was soft and reprimanding, the kind of tone used to scold a student who had forgotten the easiest answer in the test. Thomas flicked through the bookmarked pages of John Winchester's journal. He stopped on a page and skimmed it quickly. He brought the small microphone up to his mouth again.

"He disobeyed John on that vampire hunt – John was angry with them even though they saved his life after he got ambushed," he paraphrased, noting the barely perceptible nod from Anna as she received the information. The tiny earpiece had been a stroke of genius. Together, they could outfox Sam with little issue.

oOo

"Granted there were times when he was…I suppose…pleased with you. If you hadn't rushed in when those vampires ambushed your father, he probably would've died. He was still livid because you didn't listen."

She couldn't know any of this. Hell, he'd forgotten half of it, barely thinking about it properly for years. Sam stared at her uneasily, uncertainty filling him. He didn't know how to retort; he hated the idea that this cold, heartless woman knew anything about him. That she knew things about his past, about his family, was just…sickening.

He set his jaw, averting his eyes and said nothing, willing himself not to rise.

"Of course, your disobedience has got you into trouble plenty of times in the past. However, for once, it seems that doing as you're told has got you into trouble this time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Those feelings you have, that desperation to flee, to get back to your brother, that is what you're meant to want. You're doing exactly as Lucifer tells you and you don't even realise it. He's got his hooks in you so deep that you can't even see it," she sneered, reaching down into the bag she'd brought with her.

"That's what you say. Even if – and that's a pretty big if – you were right, you have no idea what it's like to have Lucifer riding you. You don't just 'say no'." Sam muttered, sending a soft sideways glare in her direction.

"I'm not here to have philosophical debates with you, Samuel," Anna replied, sliding her finger into the book on her lap and opening it, pulling the black ribbon from its centre. "Anyway, enough chatter. Once all this is over, you are expected to return to…playing your part."

"You mean hunting."

"No. You are a legacy not a neanderthal. And what separates them? Knowledge. We must continue your proper education so that you can continue to be a useful and eventually become a full member of the Men of Letters. I trust you have no problem with the continuation of James I's account on demonology?" she asked politely, a malicious glint in her eye behind her tight smile. The warning was unspoken but clear. Sam wanted to throttle her. He wanted to wrap his hands around her skinny neck and squeeze until the sadistic light vanished from her eyes.

Instead, he bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, eyes flashing with frustration.

"Whatever you say."

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The phone rang, its vibration harsh and loud against the wooden table top. Dean pounced on it, relieved to see Jonathan Markham's name came up on the caller ID. He pressed accept and put the it on the table top, Jody and Castiel sliding their chairs in closer.

"You're on speakerphone; what you got?" Dean greeted, skipping past the niceties; the moment's pause before Markham answered showing it had caught him off guard.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid," the Englishman replied, his tone grave. Dean felt his heart drop, but Jody's hand squeezed his shoulder, radiating calm. "The likelihood is that it is Thomas Maguire so that is a positive in that we at least know who we're looking for."

"Okay, but who the hell is this guy and what does he want with Sam?" Dean demanded.

"Thomas is – was – a Man of Letters," Jonathan began.

"You don't consider him one anymore?" Jody asked, her brows furrowed.

"Not after all this, no. The Maguires are one of the longstanding families within our chapter – just like the Winchesters were until Abbadon wiped out the American one – and Thomas is the last of his line. He was the resident physician, amongst his other duties, for many years but he stepped down completely a year ago after we'd modified his role about three years ago. We were becoming increasingly concerned with his mental state at the time."

"In what way?" Cas asked.

"He became…obsessive."

"With what?" Dean questioned.

"With vessels," Jonathan said. "Do you recall when the angels fell after you attempted to close the gates to both heaven and hell? At the time, the UK saw a peak in supernatural activity – the same as America – thanks to the fallen angels and their hunt for suitable vessels. Thomas had a younger brother – Phillip – who he doted on. Phillip thought it would be…beneficial for the Men of Letters to gain inside knowledge into what had happened and how it had occurred."

"Don't tell me: he invited an angel in," Dean predicted, clenching his jaws.

"Exactly that. Obviously it was not sanctioned by myself or anyone else in the chapter; Thomas didn't even know until it was too late. Phillip was…unable to contain the angel he let in."

Dean and Castiel both winced visibly.

"What does that mean?" Jody asked, looking from the hunter to the angel.

"Contrary to popular belief, not all humans are adequate vessels; not all are strong enough to hold an angel's essence. When the angels fell, there were many cases of humans saying yes and then, well, exploding," Cas explained. Jody paled.

"Wish I hadn't asked," she mumbled. "So did Thomas' brother…y'know…"

"He was killed, yes," Markham confirmed. "Thomas didn't take it well; he was very close to his brother. They'd worked together for many years and their family was very close-knit. Thomas changed at that point; he almost went rogue, which, in our chapter, is taken particularly seriously. He was obsessed at first with finding the angel and demanding he reverse what had happened. Of course, he never found the angel and so turned his attentions to finding out about the specifics of physiology behind vessels – specifically why Phillip hadn't been compatible. I still don't understand what he was hoping to gain from it."

"How did that make him 'about to go rogue'?" Dean asked.

"He wanted to…study those who had been or were possessed. Angel, demon, it didn't matter to him. Either way, human experimentation's absolutely out of the question. I only found out what he was planning when one of his closest friends came to me."

"Let me guess: Toni," Dean growled.

"Yes. He'd become blind to the ethics of it. She had seen what Phillip's death had done to Thomas and she offered to help divert Thomas' attentions, to bring him onto her research instead. She was researching you both, continuing to monitor you. Looking back, I think she knew that his fixation on vessels would be invaluable for Sam and Lucifer. While he hadn't go to the stage of experimentation, he had gained an impressive understanding of vessels through other research. I imagine she felt he would be useful when preparing Sam for Lucifer."

Dean's hands clenched.

"Thomas quickly became enthralled with the research he was helping her with – I was happy as it gave him direction – focus away from the death of his brother," Jonathan continued. "He requested to step down from his duties as physician, which I agreed to as long as he trained his replacement. It was the obvious move as there was so much work to do when Amara was released that it made sense for Thomas to concentrate on his work with Toni. That work was pivotal. He had moved into her residence a couple of years ago; again that's not unusual within our chapter. But I should've seen it. Looking back, Toni had already begun her plans even back then and Thomas became her first accomplice. I should've known that his obsession wouldn't go – instead it just redirected itself. At some stage during Sam's captivity, his fixation on vessels must have become personal, evolving into his obsession with Sam. Maybe it was because Sam is the vessel, but, having met Sam, I would imagine that Thomas saw a reflection of Phillip in your brother. His need to…protect, to perhaps make amends for what happened to Phillip could well be the driving force here."

"Fantastic," Dean snarled, rage filling him. Theoretically, he should be able to empathise with a guy who'd lost his brother. But for that guy to then take Sam? His anger flared and he fought to keep his cool as Markham spoke.

"I didn't know, Dean," Markham replied quietly, apologetically. "They were both still Men of Letters and the research they were producing was first class. That they were master manipulators is as much a surprise to me as it was to you.

"From what Mr Ketch could get out of James, Thomas' primary role with Sam was his physical care. He was never there when Toni was…with Sam, but he would help James to prepare him and tend to your brother's needs afterwards. James implied that the longer it went on, the more attached to Sam Thomas got. You've seen what James is like; he would have had no issue being ruthless with Sam, but Thomas apparently intervened a lot of the time. James found it…frustrating."

Bile rose in Dean's throat as his fists balled tightly, his nails digging in. The thought of some nut job thinking he was helping his baby brother in his own warped way made him want to hurl. The thought that the same guy had Sam again…

His stomach turned almost painfully.

"So what's his motive? What is he hoping to do?" Castiel asked, helping Dean to refocus.

"That I don't know."

"Is he likely to try and get Sam to say yes to Lucifer again?" Jody asked, the question hanging like lead in the air. Dean hadn't realised he'd stopped breathing until Jody nudged him.

"I can't categorically say no, but I will say that I think it's less likely," Jonathan replied, his voice troubled. "Lucifer killed Toni and Thomas was very close to her, as was Anna. I doubt Thomas would want him to have what he wants – which is Sam. Giving Sam to Lucifer would also mean that Thomas would lose Sam too which is too close to what happened to Phillip – even though he knows Sam would survive. In his own bizarre way, he probably, at least, thinks he cares for Sam and therefore wouldn't want to hurt him. Thomas has never been a violent man – not like James. But it does leave us with the dilemma of working out what he is actually planning and where he is."

"Yeah, so far we've got nadda," Dean huffed, rubbing a hand back through his hair.

"I'd like to send Mr Ketch to help," Markham offered, rushing when he heard Dean about to interrupt. "Ketch is methodical and damned good at his job. He will be invaluable, I can assure you. We want to help, Dean. We allowed this to happen and we must help put it right."

Dean hated the idea. He had his friends, his family, the people he trusted on his side and adding some cold, emotionless stranger felt more like a hindrance than a help. But when he looked to Jody, she nodded.

"That'd be appreciated. Thanks," she answered for him.

"Good. I will send him straight away. I'll arrange for him to get to you by tomorrow morning. If you need anything else in the meantime, do contact me," Markham offered.

"Thanks. We'll be in touch," Dean replied, hanging up. He slumped in his chair, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Well, we know more than we did," Jody remarked, downing the dregs of her coffee.

"Yeah, not that it helps us find Sam."

"That's not necessarily true, Dean," Cas intervened. "Understanding motive is usually the key factor in finding the unsub."

"You've been watchin' Criminal Minds again, haven't you?" Dean asked, one eyebrow rising. Cas looked at him sheepishly.

"Cas is right though," Jody replied, "the more we know about him as a person, the more we can get in his head and try to work out what he's gonna do. It's the most information we've had to work with in days."

"Yeah I know," Dean murmured, staring down at his phone. He wished it would ring, wished Sam's name would pop up and hated that it was just wishful thinking. "But it is worse than we thought. Takin' Sam's one thing, but havin' him taken by someone who's obsessed with him? That's way worse. We all know what obsession makes people capable of."

Visions of his own obsessions raced through his mind, most recently Amara. He'd wanted her so badly…and had resisted through sheer force of will. Thomas didn't need to resist; he had the object of his 'desire'. The thought left Dean cold.

Things just seemed to be getting worse and the harder they tried to rectify them, the more messed up it got. Dean locked eyes with Jody, his expression grim.

"We need to end this soon, Jody. If we don't, we might never get Sammy back."

oOo

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