So this is now part 1 of 2 chapters: it grew exponentially throughout the week until it reached 13,000 words…oops? On the plus side, the next update will be pretty quick since it's already written.
Prepare yourselves for Uber Sammy Angst!
Enjoy!
oOo
"They'd never understand:
That I don't do this for pleasure,
I just do it 'cause I can."
- Father's Son, 3 Doors Down
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Everything ached.
That was the first thing he noticed as awareness began to crawl back through him. Surfacing was hard – a thick fog cloaked his head, filling it with an uncomfortable cotton wool fug. He was so tired; he wanted nothing more than to fall back into the oblivion, but consciousness was nagging him, stopping him from falling back into the comfort of the void.
Why was he so tired?
Trying to piece together what he'd done before he'd fallen asleep was proving impossible: he'd grasp a fragment, try to make it fit but it would disintegrate as soon as he pushed. The more he tried, the more exhausted he was. A slow feeling of panic began to bubble softly in the far recesses of his mind. Something had happened. Something that sucked anything positive he felt away, tossing it into the empty.
Eventually, real feeling crept back into his skin around his aching muscles as the prone hunter slowly regained movement in his extremities. Only to find that they didn't work.
Sam's head jerked up away from the hard mattress, his eyes snapping open, only to be met with darkness. Panic tightened his throat as his memories suddenly bombarded him, crashing in full force through his mind. The shower, running to the copse, the images, the car, calling Dean…
"Sammy?! Are you okay?"
A sob welled in his chest as Dean's voice echoed in his head. He'd been so relieved, so completely relieved and then…
Thomas.
Sam tried to straighten up but could only wriggle. He focused his attention on what was stopping him. His wrists were bound tightly behind his back, palms pressed together, the rope soft but immovable. When he tried tugging his arms, it pulled at his stomach – another length secured his hands to his torso, rendering them useless. His legs were bent up, his heels nearly brushing his fingertips. His ankles were lashed together and tied to his wrists, pinning him down in an unyielding hogtie. He could feel yet more rope above and below his knees, anchoring his legs together.
"You put us all in danger, Sam." Thomas' voice made him jump. Sam turned towards his voice but couldn't see anything. He became aware of the familiar tightness around his eyes. Despair: absolute, numbing, consuming, filled him.
He'd never get another shot. He'd failed.
"I did what I needed to do," he whispered, trying to find the fire he'd felt before but it was gone. There was no bite in his words. He couldn't manage it.
"It was reckless and who knows what would have happened if I hadn't found you," Thomas reprimanded him, his tone exasperated yet full of concern. "You could have drawn Lucifer here. Contacting Dean? A sure mistake – of course Lucifer is going to be watching your version of Dean. I had to get you back quickly – I won't apologise for drugging you. It was the safest method." As he spoke, Sam heard the chair groan as Thomas got up, followed by metal tinkling against metal. He shifted uneasily.
"Nor will I apologise for your restraints. I told you that poor decisions would be punished. This is what running back to the devil brings you," Thomas remarked. A warm hand pressed against his forehead, pulling his head back as something hard – and horribly familiar – was forced into his mouth. He whimpered pleadingly, thrashing as the silicone bulb filled his mouth, stifling him. Thomas' hand disappeared from his forehead, catching one of the leather straps as he pulled the supple material back, covering Sam's lips and further muting his incoherent moans of despair. He heard the metal buckle clink behind his head before Thomas pulled sharply and cinched it off. Sam shook his head, trying to flex his jaw, howling forlornly when he couldn't loosen the vile gag at all. He squirmed around, trying to move onto his side, but felt Thomas push him back and another rope snake over his back. It tightened, anchoring him to the bed. "I don't want you falling off and hurting yourself. Now, you're going to think about everything that happened, including the visions you saw–"
"Mmph?!"
"Yes, I know what you saw Sam. You know what they really showed you if you think about it. We'll talk about it when I think you're ready – not beforehand," Thomas said, his hand slipping through the locks of Sam's hair, soothing him. The hunter moaned, dropping his head onto the mattress, twisting his hands and tugging at his ankles uselessly, fighting the anguish that was building inside him as he breathed heavily through his nose. The bed lifted as Thomas got up, his footsteps fading before the door clunked shut.
Alone in the darkness, Sam fell apart.
oOo
"You just can't trust people these days; it's awful."
"Oh absolutely. We just couldn't believe it; being this far out, we'd assume that we'd be safe from the likes of vandals and thieves. Although a part of me was glad that it happened while we're staying here – I'd have hated for the owner to discover it when they got back from their holiday," Thomas agreed, his tone conciliatory. The window repairmen had arrived later that afternoon, taking one look at the gaping hole and shaking their heads. Thomas' tale of woe over a band of thieves smashing it whilst he and Anna had been out to dinner the night before had them shaking their heads in disgust. That they'd returned home and, when he confronted them, attacked him, breaking his nose explained the ugly black bruise that had spread over his nose and under his eyes. When he told them how Anna was afraid to sleep in her own bed, they scowled. Thomas won their trust as easily as breathing. They would never suspect a thing.
"Don't you worry; it'll be good as new and just in time too," the lead workman replied, his brawny arms crossed as he squinted up at the sky. The afternoon had got darker and more forbidding as it drew on, thick clouds that had taken on a sickly greenish hue which suffocated the sky, deadening the atmosphere. It was unusually quiet and still. Had it been winter, Thomas would've suspected snow.
"Oh?"
"Tornado's comin'," the guy nodded up at the sky. Thomas looked up and frowned.
"How do you know?"
"A feelin'. Nine times outta ten I'm right. See those clouds? Way too low for normal clouds and they've got that weird green look. The owner showed you where your storm cellar is, right?" he asked.
"Yes, he did. Do you think we'll need to use it?" Thomas asked, keeping his face interested and polite. The repairman looked at him, stunned and then laughed.
"I guess you don't get a lotta storms in England, huh?"
"Not tornadoes, no. Just a lot of rain," Thomas smiled sheepishly.
"Okay, so we're get tornadoes pretty regular round these parts – you've been lucky not seein' one yet. Keep your radio or TV on tonight. Or there's a load of apps you can download on your phone these days. Warnings come quick 'cause the tornado comes quicker. You get the warning – you get straight down in that cellar, y'hear? No way you're gonna outrun those winds. It might last a few seconds, might last an hour. If we're lucky, there'll be one or two. If not…well, I'd make sure you've got enough down there to see you through the night."
A shiver ran down Thomas' spine. If what he said was true, then it was perfect: just what Thomas needed. And it would bring Sam that little bit closer to him too. He nearly sighed in contentment, but reined himself in.
The Englishman smiled appreciatively up at the workman just as the rest finished fitting the window.
"Thank you for that. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."
oOo
Carlyle, Kansas
Dean couldn't wait for the moment when frustration, disappointment and heartache weren't on the menu all day every day. He longed for the quiet moments when he and Sam would sit on the hood of the Impala, somewhere near a waterfront, sipping beers and just...being.
When this was all over, that was exactly what they'd do.
He just needed to find Sam first.
Dressed in his usual green jacket and jeans, the older Winchester hadn't cared about grabbing his fed threads and changing when he charged up to Carlyle. It had taken Jody no time at all to track down the license plate number for Don Tupper, Carlyle, Kansas.
They'd arrived in the middle of the night, the drive taking a little over three and a half hours (speed limits were hardly high on Dean's list of concerns and Jody let him be), stopping over, ironically, at the Crossroads Motel. A quick sweep past Tupper's darkened house revealed that no one was home. Begrudgingly, Dean had agreed to go back to the motel, knowing that there wasn't anything he could do until morning.
Now, he'd visited the neighbours, trying to ascertain who Don Tupper was. North Kentucky Street was a quiet rural cul-de-sac situated away from the main road, surrounded by lush tree lines and wide open fields. The houses were spread apart, sat alone in their small patches of well-tended land. Some were littered with an array of brightly coloured children's toys, others were precisely manicured lawns. Don Tupper's was unassuming: average in every way. The house remained dark which he had expected; if Tupper had been in an accident, he wasn't going to miraculously appear.
"Such a shame, really. Lovely woman is our Alison," Mrs Watkins trilled, blinking up at Dean owlishly through thick lenses. He stood on her front porch as she rocked herself with her toes on her porch swing, both hands grasping the top of a worn cane. "She just couldn't face the endless days alone. Not what she agreed to when she married Don. All the travel, you see. He was never home."
"Is he on a business trip now?"
"When isn't he? He comes home every now and then but never for more than a few days. I go over, make sure Alison's roses get watered. They'd have died long ago if I'd left them to him to do," the old woman replied, clearly exasperated by Don's lack of horticultural skills.
"I suppose you don't know where he's gone do you?" He didn't know why he asked; he already knew the answer.
Mrs Watkins shook her head. "I'm sorry. I rarely see him long enough to have a conversation."
"Thanks anyway, ma'am," he smiled and hopped down the stairs, finishing his keys from his pocket. As the door screeched open, his phone went off. His heart skipped a beat, hoping it would be Sam, knowing it wouldn't be.
"Anythin'?" Jody asked when he put it to his ear.
"Guy works a lot – away on business. None of the neighbours know where he's meant to be; they rarely see him," Dean huffed, sliding into the Impala.
"We'll track him through his work then. If we can find out where he was goin', maybe we can work out the route he'd have taken," Jody suggested.
"Good idea. I'll be there in ten."
Above him, the clouds grew heavier, turning a gruesome shade of green. Dean's mouth pressed into a hard line. He'd worry about the storm later.
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Anna sat quietly in one of the rigid armchairs, her ankles crossed delicately, her knees together. She was the image of a true lady: the perfect posture, poise and grace all combined to show her natural elegance. She sat watching the TV, the volume high enough to be heard, but not intrusive. Her eyes watched the news with interest, the channel set to the BBC World Service so that she could follow the events of home while her fingers worked effortlessly, a crotchet hook snagging and pulling at the royal blue yarn ball that sat in her lap. It was in these quiet moments that Thomas truly appreciated her; she was obviously missing England (not that she would ever vocalise such a feeling) and she had given up a lot to accompany him on his mission to save Sam even though she hadn't believed in what he was doing. He would make it up to her when they got back to England. He would show her that her faith in him would be rewarded.
The Englishman's eyes flicked back to the laptop screen, eyes alighting on Sam who was squirming around yet again, fighting against his penance. That he was uncomfortable was completely understandable – hogties aren't known for their comfort – but he had to learn that violence and escape attempts were not going to be tolerated. His ward would think twice before considering either again. The occasional stifled moans that drifted through the speakers, sounding a lot like his name being called, made him so…content. Sam was beginning to realise how much he needed Thomas.
How Thomas was his only salvation.
Thomas would release him soon and Sam's relief, his gratitude, would be instantaneous, even possibly overwhelming, towards him. The whole debacle of the previous night had to have shattered Sam's defences. He would find out how much when they eventually discussed the images Sam had seen. The fear he'd heard in Sam's whimper when he'd mentioned them before leaving that morning confirmed that his spell had worked exactly as he'd intended it to. Of course, they weren't going to be discussing it yet. Sam would have to wait for the privilege of having his voice back.
Turning back to John Winchester's journal, he continued reading, a contented smile hovering on his lips. It had been a productive day; the window was fixed and he'd managed to hack into Don Tupper's work records, changing a few…minor details about his latest business trip. Dean would undoubtedly look into the owner of the license plate which Sam had given him. Changing his destination for his business trip had been one of the first things Thomas done after getting Sam settled back in the cellar the previous evening. He couldn't risk Dean getting close to the farm. The Englishman was convinced now that that devil of hunter wouldn't. Soon, he wouldn't be a problem.
His eyes snapped back up again though when the volume suddenly increased on the television.
"…Severe weather alert," a voiceover announced before the screen changed to a wide map, covered in a host of colours. The weatherman began to talk, gesticulating at the map. "Good evening everyone, we do have our first tornado warning of the evening now in effect for the majority of Allen County. There are several storm chasers and spotters in this area and the last bit of information we received was a rotating wall cloud – keep in mind that that's a lowering of the cloud base that's often a precursor to a developing tornado. The storm is tracking north west at the moment and the areas of greatest concern are around Geneva and Carlyle."
Thomas got up and stood in the doorway, watching the screen. The whole process was really quite fascinating; he'd never seen anything like it in England.
"That's us, isn't it?" Anna asked, her crotchet hook still working furiously.
"It would appear so."
"If you are in one of these areas, you are officially under the tornado warning and should be heading to the nearest designated safe place. That could be a basement, a closet or a storm cellar. You want to put as many walls between you and the tornado as possible," the weatherman explained, pointing to an angry red blotch that was travelling across the screen quickly. Anna sighed, putting her needlework down in her lap and picking up the sewing bag that was sat at her feet.
"We'd best head down then. I'll grab the bags," Thomas remarked, heading back into the dining room. Shutting off the laptop, he slid it into one of the bags, making sure that he turned off the lights and electrical devices as he went. He heard the TV shut off as Anna shuffled around in the other room. It was rather exciting really; storms in England were average at best and tornadoes were a rarity – the last one had been in 2005 in Birmingham. He'd been miles away in London at the time. The Englishman had no idea how much damage to expect – if any – but he was sure the storm cellar would keep them perfectly safe. And he would keep Sam and Anna safe.
Anna appeared, a small portable radio in her hands.
"We'll need to know when it's safe to come back out."
"Good thinking," he smiled at her, picking up both bags as he followed her out of the front door into the dim world. The wind was already picking up, whipping around them in a frenzy, making the pair squint as the dust from the ground was flung up, stinging their cheeks. The bags wavered and pulled in Thomas' hands as they crossed the lawn. Anna reached down and unlocked the cellar door, pulling it open. She walked down first, Thomas bringing up the rear. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and put the bags down before climbing back up and shutting the door firmly, blocking the screech of the wind from outside.
The light overhead was bright, illuminating his small, imperfect family. Anna was already unpacking one of the bags, placing their spare clothes inside the metal locker alongside Sam's. The radio sat on the small table beside the bed, quiet for the moment. Thomas moved further into the room, watching Sam carefully. His ward was fidgeting, his head turned towards them even though he couldn't see. He gave small tugs on his wrists, twisting his hands nervously. The ropes anchoring him to the bed groaned as he arched up against them, his breathing rapid and verging on panicked. He didn't utter a sound though.
"It's alright, Sam," Thomas murmured when Sam flinched as he reached around the back of his head and untied the blindfold. He pulled the material away and brushed back the hair that fell into Sam's bleary eyes which blinked furiously against the light after hours in darkness. He didn't pull away from Thomas' touch, instead he locked pleading grey eyes on him. The lad really did have a talent for speaking volumes with a single look. Thomas wouldn't be surprised if that gentle, imploring look had won him his way multiple times in the past.
"Nice try, Sam," he said with a soft smile that was sympathetic but firm. Sam groaned, wriggling desperately when he straightened up and moved over to a small pile of air mattresses and blankets which he'd brought down earlier.
Sam watched the Englishman helplessly, wishing he had his voice back. He'd bellowed for hours, trying to call Thomas' name, trying to get him to come and release him from the restraints that had rendered his hands numb and left his shoulders throbbing, but Thomas wasn't having any of it. Even when he'd come down earlier, he'd completely ignored Sam, simply dropping something on the floor and leaving without a word. If he could just persuade him, hell even apologise, Thomas might let him out of his current predicament. But Thomas' unyielding look, while pitying, made Sam's stomach plummet. It had been hours since Thomas had shoved the silicone bulb in his mouth and it was as tight now as it had been then. Thomas meant to keep him quiet, that much was obvious.
The hunter watched Thomas, frowning at the scene in front of him, his confusion overtaking his discomfort momentarily. The Englishman was busy sorting out a pile of bedding while Anna sifted through the metal cabinet. A small radio had appeared on the table. It almost looked like they were planning to…stay down there. With him.
The thought made his heart pound.
Thomas turned around at Sam's quiet insistent moan, meeting his eyes again. Sam jerked his upper body even though he had to know it was useless. His brows were knitted together in confusion, his head tilted slightly to the side. His eyes demanded answers.
Thomas turned away.
Sam's growl of frustration made him smile. Just because he wanted answers didn't mean he was going to get them. Patience was a virtue that the lad needed to learn. Nothing was on his terms anymore. Thomas listened to the creak of the bed as Sam writhed, becoming more agitated the more Thomas ignored him. He crouched down, separating the blankets and folding them neatly, meticulously, taking his time.
Standing up, he turned around, seeing Sam's eyes fixed on him again in his peripheral vision but Thomas didn't even glance at him as he walked straight past. Sam pulled at the gag with small incoherent moans, trying to get Thomas' attention, his frustration clearly building. That was fine; Thomas didn't mind him getting annoyed. He would just have to wait longer. The older man climbed the steps, listening intently at the door. He could hear the winds increasing, a screeching howl that flew across the world over their heads. He double checked the bolts before descending again.
Sam had twisted his head around as far as he could, following Thomas' movements. Having Sam's undivided attention on him was a good sign; he looked to Thomas for answers, just as he should. Thomas' heart swelled.
Yet again, he refused to look at his ward, but this time, Sam didn't utter a sound. His eyes moved to Anna as she pulled up one of the high-backed chairs, putting her sewing bag down next to it and resumed her crotcheting. Removing his jacket, Thomas draped it over the back of the chair nearest Sam before sitting down. Now, he fixed his eyes on his charge who met his look head on, his frustration and confusion still evident. Thomas simply gazed at him.
When he saw the frustration begin to win over the confusion in Sam's expression, his throat starting to work as though he was going to try and talk again, Thomas simply raised an eyebrow. Challenging him. Sam stopped. He huffed quietly and let his head drop onto the mattress, defeated. Thomas gave a tight, fleeting smile. It vanished quickly.
A rumble of wind shot past the cellar, the sound hard and wailing. Sam's eyes widened and he lifted his head, looking back towards the door.
"I told you that your foolish actions would have consequences," Thomas murmured, his tone disappointed rather than angry as he started fiddling with the radio. Sam looked back at him. "I'm pretty sure you know what's happening outside, don't you?"
Sam gave a small nod. He knew what the beginnings of a tornado sounded like.
"You're only half right, Sam," Thomas murmured as he got the radio on, turning it down low as chatter came through. Sam looked from it to him, his breathing picking up. Thomas set the device down gently, a woman's tinny voice explaining the logistics of the tornado warning. "When you went out and contacted Dean, you set off a chain of events. One that Anna and I have been trying to avoid this whole time. You've put us in real danger, Sam, when we have only tried to help you. That's no ordinary tornado outside."
Sam whimpered, shaking his head. He knew where this was going and he didn't want to believe it, didn't want to hear it. Thomas was wrong. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Lucifer is searching for you, Sam. He has been this whole time, but now you've given him a place to look."
Thomas smiled sadly when Sam wailed, his garbled cries of 'no' perfectly understandable through his tone even though the word itself was incomprehensible.
"Sam, shhhh, look at me," Thomas instructed gently, placing his hand on the hunter's bicep and stroking softly with his thumb. Sam turned terror-ridden eyes up to meet him as he leaned in closer. "I won't let him get to you. I promise you that. But we need to be even more cautious right now, alright? Anna and I need to be down here with you. We didn't have time to get out before the storm started and we feared that doing the incantation we use to get out would lead him here."
Thomas watched the horror fill Sam's eyes completely, his nostrils flaring as he fought the waves of panic that were starting to overwhelm him. He was completely, utterly hooked on Thomas' every word. It took everything Thomas had to keep the victorious tremors that rippled through him out of his voice and his expression.
"Lucifer cannot find you – you have the marks on your ribs and that brand stops him from communicating with you psychically. You've got to understand though that I can't risk him hearing you or even you trying to communicate with him in anyway. The gag has to stay on. I won't put Anna in danger like that. We're in enough danger already without making it words. I have no idea how close he'll get so I have to take the precautions I deem necessary. I know it's uncomfortable, but there's not a lot I can do about that right now. Safety comes first and I can't trust that you don't want to go back to Lucifer."
Sam shook his head empathically, another string of incoherent groans escaping past the leather panel. He squirmed with renewed desperation against the ropes holding him down. Thomas reached out his hand, stroking his hair, soothing him while Sam's eyes pleaded with him, his struggles petering out.
"I want to believe you, Sam, I really do. But you've not given me a lot of opportunities to trust you in the last twenty-four hours, have you? I will do everything I can to protect you from him and yourself. We're safe down here, you and I, and I'll be damned if I'm letting the devil come between us."
This couldn't be happening. He wanted, more than anything, to refute Thomas, argue that it wasn't – couldn't be – Lucifer, but deep down, in the hollow of his gut, Sam knew.
He could read the signs, see the omens. If it was Dean or Bobby or Cas telling him, he'd believe them, no questions asked. He'd do his research too, but he would never doubt them. The only differences now were that it was Thomas telling him, not his family and how he didn't want to believe it because, if he did, then Thomas was right about everything. Partnering it with the visions he'd seen on the run, which he was pretty damned sure were glimpses of what Lucifer was doing, made it all the more likely.
He had said yes and he was trapped in his own mind.
Turning his head, Sam pressed his forehead into the mattress and tried to fight off the waves of fear that dragged at him, all the while feeling the warm presence of Thomas' hand on his shoulder.
oOo
Carlyle, Kansas
Outside in the blackened streets, the winds screeched past the motel, whipping up leaves and rubbish, flinging them through the air mercilessly. The windows shuddered under some of the stronger gusts but stood firm. Jody glanced out in dismay, her phone pressed to her ear.
"Thank you, you've been so helpful," she finished, hanging up and placing her phone back on the table. She looked over at Dean as he munched his way through a cheeseburger, his eyes focused on his laptop. "So, turns out Don has been on a trip to Jefferson City. He finished yesterday so must've been on his way home."
"Okay, gimme a sec," Dean replied, bringing up Google Maps on his laptop. Putting in the parameters, he hit enter and watched the map zoom in, the blue and grey lines indicating three potential routes. "He could've gone down the US-50, up the I-70 or down the US-54."
"Which is the fastest and which is the shortest in miles?" Jody questioned. Depending on whether Don was eco-friendly, he might have chosen the shorter route.
"There's only five minutes between each one; shortest is US-54 by ten miles."
"Sam said he was near farmland, right? Look for roads near the interstate that have that," Jody instructed. Zooming in, Dean looked at the mass of green surrounding Jefferson City, trying to spot potential spots. Jody's phone chirped, but he didn't look up.
"Shit."
"What?" Now he did. Jody got up and grabbed the TV remote, switching it on. A weatherman stood in front of a multi-coloured map, gesticulating as he spoke.
"…We do have our first tornado warning of the evening now in effect for the majority of Allen County. There are several storm chasers and spotters in this area and the last bit of information we received was a rotating wall cloud – keep in mind that that's a lowering of the cloud base that's often a precursor to a developing tornado. The storm is tracking north west at the moment and the areas of greatest concern are around Geneva and Carlyle."
"Shit," Dean growled. They didn't have time for a damned tornado! He clenched his jaw, glaring at the weather reporter, before sliding his gaze back to the laptop. He'd found two roads that could fit the parameters of their search.
"Don't even think about it, young man," Jody barked, snapping his laptop closed, keeping her hand resting on it. He looked up at her, matching her scowl with one of his own.
"What the hell, Jody?"
"If you are in one of these areas, you are officially under the tornado warning and should be heading to the nearest designated safe place," the weatherman continued in the background.
"We are not goin' anywhere. I know we've found a lead, but we can't go out when they've issued a full-blown warning," Jody answered in her no-nonsense tone.
"It probably won't be that bad…"
"No, Dean. I'm not letting you get us killed because you won't wait for it to pass. We're no good to Sam dead and Cas will be pissed too. We do the sensible thing: wait it out and go as soon as it's clear. Do not make me handcuff you to the bathtub," Jody threatened, narrowing her eyes. Dean hated it when she was right but every fibre of his being told him to go. He couldn't; he wasn't indestructible.
"Fine," he grumbled, picking up the computer and his phone. Jody grabbed her flashlight and the blankets and pillows from the beds, carrying the armful into the interior bathroom. Wolfing the remainder of his cheeseburger, Dean followed her, grabbing another couple of beers as they stepped into the tiny bathroom. He left, entering again with the three large brown cushions from the sofa and shut the door.
Luckily it was one of the cleaner bathrooms Dean had been in, but there wasn't enough room for them both to sit on the floor comfortably. Jody was already spreading out the blankets and pillows, putting some in the dry bathtub before clambering in and passing Dean the other blankets. He propped the sofa cushions against one wall and took the proffered blankets, exchanging them for a beer before settling himself on the floor, his back against the tub, his long legs extended out past the doorframe. Opening his laptop again, he sighed heavily through his nose.
Nature was a pain in the ass.
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Anna watched as Thomas straightened out the air mattresses, using a bicycle pump to inflate them. The hollow whoosh filled the cellar, temporarily drowning out the noise from outside.
Wind, unlike anything she had ever heard, had battered the world outside. They had heard things move: crashes and thumps resounding in the cellar as the storm smashed against the farmland. She imagined that the destructive power of such weather was a sight to behold; it was a shame to miss its display of dominance, really.
Her needlework had kept her hands busy as she watched Thomas with Sam during the worst of it. Sam had become increasingly agitated as the storm picked up, grumbling and wriggling incessantly. For once, Anna found herself unable to blame him. He was exhausted – mentality and physically – not to mention uncomfortable and it seemed he was finally beginning to believe Thomas' story about Lucifer. The man really did have manipulation down to an art form; it was nothing less than impressive. Sam was terrified. She supposed that if she was under the assumption that she had the most dangerous archangel in existence on the hunt for her then she might be rather flustered too. He was not the powerful hunter he had been; he was finally beginning to break properly this time.
But through it all, Thomas was patient and understanding, offering comfort to the Winchester, talking to him, soothing him all the while remaining firm. Any fool could see that Sam wanted to be released, to have his own say, but Thomas was resolute. Eventually, he had quietened until it was just his eyes that betrayed the wild panic that was bubbling inside him.
oOo
Massive thanks to MJ Ellsworth for all the help with the tornado stuff over the next two chapters. Any inaccuracies are my own.
Please review!