Bit of a disclaimer: Ketch WILL act differently compared to the show. He was written into Broken before we saw him properly in S12; he therefore looks and acts differently in this as I would rather keep him true to this series than reinvent him.

oOo

"Baiting every hook with filthy lies."

- Feed the Machine, Nickelback

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The door banged shut, echoing throughout the bunker. Castiel looked up, frowning, a hefty tome cradled in his hands. Sliding the volume onto the table, the angel rose and stalked out of the small sub-library where Sam had organised their lore on ancient languages.

"Dean?" he called, sliding his angel blade out from underneath his trench coat. The last text he'd got from Dean had said they were stuck in a tornado and were waiting it out. That had been the previous night; he wasn't expecting them back. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he treaded softly, silently, grasping the cold metal of his blade.

Rounding the corner and entering the war room, he saw a figure standing with his back turned to the angel, putting a briefcase on the long table in the library.

"Who are you?" Cas barked, coming to a stop at the bottom of the steps up to the library. The man turned. Piercing grey eyes stared down at him dispassionately.

"Castiel. A pleasure to see you again," he remarked, his tone almost a complete contrast to his words. He sounded almost…bored.

"Arthur Ketch," Cas responded, surprised. He slid his angel blade back into his trench coat. "I expected you yesterday."

"Yes, well it would appear that your weather was less that accommodating. Where is Dean?"

"Following a lead down in Carlyle although I haven't heard from him in a few hours."

"And you didn't go with him?"

"No. I've been doing research here," Cas answered, annoyance slipping into his tone. He'd forgotten how…curt the Englishman was.

"Right. I'd suggest you get me up to speed with what has happened, what you've discovered and what this lead is. Jonathan Markham gave me most of the details, but I would prefer to hear them again from you," Ketch explained, taking a seat at the table and pulling out a leather-bound notebook. He opened it and pulled a gold-tipped fountain pen from the inside pocket of his suit. Motioning for Castiel to take the seat across from him, he clearly had no qualms making himself at home. Cas sat down and took a deep breath, writing a quick text message before meeting Ketch's unnerving gaze.

"From the beginning, if you will," Ketch prompted, his pen poised. Shifting in his seat, the angel began.

oOo

Carlyle, Kansas

The ground was a mess of sludge and water, the hailstones from the previous night melting into giant pools of water that were a murky brown. Tree branches were strewn across the carpark and the Crossroads Motel sign was swinging sideways in the now gentle breeze, hanging on by its one remaining screw. Considering the sound and the length of time the storm raged on for, it would seem Carlyle had had a close escape.

The Impala hadn't been quite so fortunate.

"Fuckin' sonofabitch storm," Dean snarled as he yanked on the tree branch that had lodged itself through the windshield. It grated past the glass, sending shards tinkling into the car's interior. Wrapping his hands around the rough wood again, the hunter wrenched the offending limb free and flung it away. He'd been fired up and ready to hit the road and then…seeing a tree sticking out of Baby was not what he had expected.

Or needed.

Jody walked over, perching on the hood of the car.

"Repair guys will be here in a couple of hours – best they can do. Lotta damage this mornin' so they're swamped," she explained softly. Dean glared at the gaping hole in the glass. Jody patted his arm. "I know it's not good enough, Dean…"

"Not 'good enough'?!" Dean bellowed, his eyes flashing with rage. "How many more fuck ups are there gonna be before I can find my brother?! When is fate gonna give us a goddamned break?"

"I know, but we've gotta keep it together and just ride it out. We will leave as soon as we can and we will find Tupper," Jody soothed, gazing up at the seething Winchester. "C'mon. We might as well go find coffee." She gave a gentle tug on his jacket sleeve as she got off the Impala. Dean began to follow her, pulling out his phone when it vibrated.

Ketch is here. – C

"Well somethin' might be goin' right," he grumbled, showing the message to Jody.

"Good. Cas can fill him in and then we can put him to work," Jody nodded. Dean huffed a chuckle. She glanced up. "What?"

"Oh, you wait til you meet the guy. Ketch isn't the kinda guy you 'put to work'. He's…creepy." Jody rolled her eyes.

"We can deal with creepy as long as he's useful."

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

Sam had had many, many long nights in his life. The stay in hospital after the truck hit the Impala and Dean had fallen into a coma. The night when Dean was ripped apart by the hellhound. When he realised he'd started the Apocalypse. Bobby's death. Looking for Dean when he was a demon. So many endless nights over the years.

But all paled in comparison with now.

Trapped with his grief inside his leaden body, the Winchester had agonised, unable to sleep, unable to move. All he could do was think. Hell, he hadn't even been able to cry. He'd felt every sickening stroke of Thomas' hand through his hair though. The Englishman hadn't said anything, assuming Sam was asleep, but his touch had been constant. At first, Sam had wanted nothing more than to escape from beneath his hand, but slowly, as the minutes became hours, the touch became warm and comforting. Alone in the dark, Sam could almost pretend it wasn't Thomas.

When the movement did eventually stop, Sam found himself craving it. He needed comfort; that Thomas was the one to give it to him no longer mattered. So when Thomas' hand stilled, a part of Sam wished he could ask him to start again. Instead, his lungs just continued to inflate and deflate. He didn't want to feel so alone. Thomas' hand came to rest on his shoulder, his palm spreading warmth through the thin material of Sam's t-shirt. And, god help him, Sam focused on it. He used it, trying to remember moments of comfort he'd shared with his brother, with Jody, with Charlie, with any of his family. Yet, the memories became tainted; he would never share those moments again. He had to push them from his mind when they became too much, bringing a new, sharp edge to the throb in his chest.

Eventually he just…gave in. Let the flood gates open. He couldn't do anything else. The pain spread wide before cloaking him in a heavy numbness, deadening his already decaying senses. He didn't care anymore. He wanted it to end. It never would.

For the first time in a long, long time, Sam Winchester truly wanted to die.

Yes, he'd wished for it during his captivity with Toni but never like this. He'd still had a modicum of control back then; he was the one saying no to her, to Lucifer. Yet, he'd given in. And now he was stuck in a hellish nightmare of his own making.

He had no issue with attempting to kill himself – it had happened enough times – and he was resourceful enough to do it. The problem was that Thomas was resourceful too. Even if Sam could get hold of something to use, the Englishman would never let him get that far. Hell, it was probably the reason why he was so…meticulous about Sam's restraints.

Thomas wasn't the true cause of Sam's reluctance though; Lucifer was. The Devil had created a world for him where he was supposed to think he was mortal – that he could and would die. Hunting wasn't exactly a safe profession. Lucifer intended to ride him for all eternity and that meant the hunter had to be shotgun on the ride too. If Sam's life continued to just stretch on endlessly, he would notice something was wrong and, since he wasn't supposed to know that Lucifer was occupying him, the archangel couldn't risk him fighting back.

Sam had every reason to believe that if he died, he'd be brought back. Yet, the problem was how. Again, he doubted that he would just wake up from wherever he'd died. No, Lucifer was more cunning than that. He'd reset, caught in an endless timeless like Gabriel had done to him all those years ago, but this time without his memories. Not only could he end up reliving this nightmare over and over again, but, if he did, Lucifer would win.

What would your brother say if he could see you now?

There it was. He couldn't ignore the fact that Lucifer was riding him. He couldn't let his brother down. He needed to fix this – all of it – and dying wasn't the way out.

Even though he was loathe to admit it, Thomas' way seemed to be the only way out. As much as he long to end it all, he just…couldn't. Not yet.

Sam knew it was edging towards morning when he heard Anna start to move around. Thomas had whispered conversations with her, but Sam wasn't listening; he didn't care what was said. Yet, he did care when Thomas moved, cradling his head gently so that he could edge his leg out from underneath Sam, replacing it with a pillow. The material was cold compared to the warmth of Thomas' leg and Sam found no relief in the exchange. Whatever Anna had given him was strong; he still found himself barely able to move his extremities, although feeling was starting to come back into his fingers and toes. He assumed that meant it was wearing off.

Eventually, Thomas lifted him, still believing him to be asleep, manoeuvring him onto the bed. He heard the door creak open and squeal shut as Anna left. Sam's stomach turned. The bed no longer smelled of the lingering traces of Dean's cologne, which, while Thomas had stopped dabbing on a few days ago, had remained, soaked into the fabric, giving him an ounce of comfort. Now, Anna's sickly sweet perfume invaded the air around him. It attacked his senses, bringing a lump to his throat. He didn't want anything to do with her.

Thomas began removing his encumbrances one by one as the leaden feel of his body began to fade, letting him twitch his toes and fingers. It wasn't quick enough, but he couldn't find it within him to get frustrated. It wasn't like he was ever allowed to move freely anyway. What did it matter than it was a chemical that restrained him this time?

A thin chain was wrapped around his middle and the metal contraption was removed from his wrists and neck. Thomas carefully straightened out his arms, keeping all his movements smooth and gentle as he enclosed Sam's wrists in the leather cuffs. Sam knew the ones; they attached to the chain at his waist, giving him some movement in his arms but not much. If he was right, they'd be accompanied by the same cuffs on his legs, a short chain between them and the other chain connecting him to the wall. At least he'd be able to move around a bit. Not that he could go anywhere, anyway. Nowhere was safe and there was nowhere he wanted to be anymore.

Thomas lifted his head and Sam was mildly surprised to find that he could contract the muscles in his neck enough to lift his head up. The buckle of the gag was undone and – finally – the silicone bulb was removed from his mouth. The ache in his jaw was like fire and he struggled to close his mouth fully even though the paralytic had mostly worn off. He licked dry lips with a parched tongue but said nothing.

"How're you feeling, Sam? Rested?" Thomas greeted softly as he removed the blindfold, smiling down at Sam sadly. He was surprised to see how awful his ward looked, considering he'd slept for over six hours. It was a good thing Anna had suggested the sedative; he'd look even worse if he hadn't taken it.

Sam slid his gaze away, staring up at the ceiling.

Thomas felt his heart thrum; they were so close. Sam's reaction wasn't defiance.

It was defeat.

It oozed from him, almost palpably, sliding from him slowly wave after wave. He hated making Sam feel that way, yet, he was Thomas' very own phoenix; he would rise from the ashes of his despair, becoming a new, greater legacy. His true protégé. Seeing him suffer was unpleasant, but wholly necessary. All it would take would be one final nudge and Sam would be his. Unequivocally. Thomas had never felt such eagerness before; it was intoxicating.

"That's alright, Sam; I know you're hurting," he murmured gently, rising from the chair when he heard the door scrape again. He met Anna at the door, taking the tray from her with a grin. "Is it in the water?" he whispered, keeping his voice soft and low. She gave a single curt nod and left without a word, the door echoing again. Traipsing back down the steps, he smiled warmly at Sam. "Anna's brought your breakfast. Hopefully you'll feel a bit better after you've eaten."

Sam turned his head, watching, eyes hollow, as Thomas set the tray down. Some vague part of his mind wondered what Anna had tainted his food with this time and yet he just couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He was starving and he was pretty sure Anna wouldn't actually try to kill him. She wouldn't be helping Thomas, putting herself in so much danger if she'd wanted him dead. Plus, if she did (and his death theory was right), they'd just end up going through all of this again. No, she just liked dealing out her brand of education. It wasn't like she was down here so it was unlikely that she'd done anything. She seemed to get her kicks from watching.

Thomas helped him sit up, resting his back against the cold metal of the bed's headrest. He put a straw in the uncapped bottle of water, holding it out. Sam took it between his lips and sucked greedily, finally glad to have some relief for his parched mouth. It was cool as it slid past his tongue, a slight acrid taste to it – the kind that sometimes came from different water sources.

The Englishman watched as Sam gulped down the water, drinking more than half of it before he took the straw away. He gave no reaction other than relief; Anna had mixed in his…special dose well. It was for the best; Thomas had waited a long time to use it. Now was the perfect time to test it.

Sam watched as Thomas put the water bottle down on the table and dipped a spoon into a heaped bowl of cornflakes, holding it up to Sam's mouth. With his hands fettered to his waist, he couldn't feed himself and so resigned himself to being fed by the Englishman. Maybe a day or two ago, he would've objected but now he was too hungry and too tired to care.

That's my job, right? To look out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother.

Not anymore. The black hole inside him widened and it was only Thomas' gentle coaxing that kept him eating. There was no one else to look out for him anymore.

Thomas continued to ladle the cereal, helping Sam finish his breakfast as they sat in a companionable silence. It gave him the chance to study his ward closely. He wasn't overly happy with what he saw. Sam's cheeks were hollowing slightly and his white shirt was a lot looser than it had been. It wasn't surprising, really; Sam had been down in the cellar for nearly two weeks and, in that time, they'd had that small spat over his refusal to eat in the early days and obviously his recent punishments. His…energetic escape attempt had been his only real form of exercise. Thomas would need to monitor him closely during his absence. Perhaps it wasn't the most ideal time for it, but it needed to be done. He would prepare for any potential mishaps, just in case.

Sam licked his lips as he finished the final mouthful that Thomas held out to him. He relaxed back, feeling full despite the fact it wasn't exactly a huge meal. The straw was held out to him again and he readily accepted it, washing down the remaining vestiges of food with the water.

Thomas always seemed to know exactly what he needed.

Sam's body stilled and he paused. Where the hell had that come from? A soft ripple of calm spread through his mind, easing his tension. It wasn't important: nothing was. He drank until his thirst was quenched. Thomas put the bottle on the table.

"Better?" Thomas asked and this time he nodded. "Good. I know you've had a lot to take in and I can only imagine the pain you feel. But I am here for you Sam; I want to help you through this."

"I know," Sam murmured, fighting against the grief that threatened to bubble up.

"The best way I can do that is by stepping up my research on Lucifer and how he is controlling you. I need to go out to do that," Thomas explained. Sam felt panic flicker through him, unbidden, unwanted.

"You don't need to go," he replied, trying to keep the desperation from his voice. He didn't want to be alone. Not now. Not when it meant leaving him to confront his waking nightmare on his own.

"Look, let's get you lying down," Thomas soothed, helping Sam slide back down, fluffing the pillow and positioning it gently under his head. He sat on the edge of the bed, a clean strip of cloth in his hands. "I know it's not ideal, Sam, but it must be done."

"Please," Sam was horrified to hear the pleading in his own tone. "Don't leave me here alone."

"I have to, Sam," Thomas murmured, brushing Sam's hair from his forehead. "I'll only be a couple of hours and then I'll be right back with you, alright?"

"Please," Sam tried again, hating himself even as he did so. He couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Come on now, open up," Thomas coaxed, holding the new cloth up in front of Sam's face.

"Nommph" Sam moaned, his protest cut off as Thomas gently slid the knotted centre of the cloth into his mouth.

"Good lad, it's alright. Lift your head for me," Thomas reassured him, as he tied the new gag off behind Sam's head. He smiled down at his ward, whose large grey eyes were mournful and pleading. He cupped Sam's cheek with one hand, brushing his thumb over his cheek. "I'll be back soon, alright? Try to get some rest."

Sam whimpered as he got off the bed, picking up the breakfast tray and heading out the door. Moments later, he was gone.

oOo

Anna was sat at the kitchen table, her empty breakfast bowl in front of her and her usual cup of tea balanced delicately in one hand. She was reading on a tablet when Thomas entered.

"All sorted?" she asked politely, sipping from her cup as she motioned to his breakfast which she had already set out at the seat at the head of the table.

"Yes, I think so. It's going to be a tough few days but, once it's over, I think we'll finally be ready to start the next phase of our journey together," Thomas replied, putting the tray containing the remnants of Sam's breakfast by the sink. "I'll get started on clearing the mess outside later on today as well."

"We can do it together," Anna offered, sliding the tablet away as he sat down with her. "Considering the racket it made, I'd expected a lot more damage – particularly to the house. I could only see a few broken tiles from the roof and a section of the fence missing besides all the debris."

"We'll have a proper look in a bit, but, I agree, we certainly seemed to be very lucky," Thomas agreed, buttering a slice of toast. They sat in companionable silence, Anna looking out of the window, her expression thoughtful while Thomas ate. He studied her look. "What's on your mind, Anna?"

"That…mixture you asked me to put in Samuel's water. What was it?" she asked curiously. Thomas smiled around his mouthful of toast, chewing and swallowing before answering.

"A special little concoction that I found a few years ago in the Men of Letters' library. I strongly suspect it was the inspiration for Mr Ketch's notorious interrogation serum. I don't know the specifics but I know that his recipe represses free will and forces the victim to tell the truth. However that's a far cry from the original spell which I have stuck to. There's no truth element to it but it will suppress Sam's emotional free will; he won't be able to defy the emotions it creates. There's a mixture of siren venom, djinn blood, lavender, rose thorns, powdered moonstone and a sample of my hair. It's designed to create feelings of…attachment to the benefactor," Thomas explained, drinking his tea.

"So Sam will start to, what, crave your attention?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. He will come to see me as a protector, as the person he can rely on. For all intents and purposes, I will become the new Dean." Saying it out loud sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine. While he loathed the despicable Winchester, he couldn't deny Sam's love for him. Sam would be the son he'd never had.

"Why didn't you use it before? We could have saved ourselves a lot of time and effort," Anna pointed out, frowning mildly.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way; it's a very subtle kind of magic. Sam needed to already foster some of the emotions that the potion intends to replicate and amplify. He was too defiant before; now, with the realisation that Dean is dead, he cannot escape and has no one, we have already planted the seed that he must rely on us to save him. The spell is simply allowing that feeling to grow and spread."

"How will you know when it's working?"

"I already do," he smiled.

"How?" Anna asked curiously.

"He begged me not to leave him. That hasn't happened before. Poor lad, he looked quite taken aback when he said it. With the isolation of the next two days, coupled with the spell that makes him see visions of the 'real world', which I intend to perform again later on, he'll be desperate for me to return by the time I do eventually go back down. Then we'll know if he's actually ready for our next stage."

"Now that I'm certainly looking forward to. We've already been away from England for far too long. Let's hope it's all over soon," Anna remarked primly, finishing her tea. Thomas grinned.

"It won't be long now, don't you worry."

oOo

Carlyle, Kansas

Dean was hovering. He watched and scrutinised every move the repairmen made, flitting around Baby with the look of an overbearing parent. He'd put his beloved car through hell on a number of occasions, rebuilt it himself on many more and yet he still hated seeing strangers working on it. That wasn't the source of his agitation this time though.

He just wished they'd hurry up.

"Dean will you just…stop?" Jody hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. He glared down at her. "You're pissin' them off and that ain't gonna make them finish any quicker." Dean huffed and moved away, plonking himself down on the curb, running his hands back through his hair. He dragged them down his face and exhaled slowly. Jody came and sat next to him.

"I just keep thinkin'…"

"I know you do. And it's not helping. Focus on what we're gonna do not on the stuff that may or may not be happening to Sam. I know that's hard, but that's what's gonna help him now," Jody insisted, keeping her eyes on the repairmen as they began fitting the casings around the edge of the new windshield back onto the Impala. Dean gazed at her, noting the worry lines that had formed between her brows and the unusual downturned set of her mouth. She was holding him together – he could freely admit that to himself – but he hadn't fully appreciated the effect of losing Sam on South Dakota's tough sheriff. Jody had stuck with him since Sam had been gone, calling her girls frequently to check they were alright, but, when he'd insisted she should go back to them, she had simply said her boys needed her more.

And that little statement had filled him with a relief he couldn't describe.

Now, he realised that he hadn't been looking out for her – not like she had for him. He gave her a small nudge with his shoulder, getting her attention focused up on him.

"How you doin', Jody? Really?" he asked, tone sombre. Jody pursed her lips and, after a moment, gave a little shrug.

"Same as you, I guess. I just have to keep to the belief that everythin' will be fine when we get Sam back. And I can't wait to get my hands on the damned Brits who took him. It's been a while since I decked someone," she grinned without humour. Dean huffed a dark chuckle.

"You and me both. Gankin' them is second only to gettin' Sam outta there."

"They're still human, Dean." It was neither accusatory nor exculpating. She was simply stating a fact.

"And not all monsters are evil," he replied without malice. Taking human life wasn't something hunters ever took lightly, yet, Dean saw no other conclusion for the man who had tortured, abducted and branded his baby brother. He had learnt the mistake of letting threats go with Gordon all those years ago. He would not let Thomas be a danger to Sam. The final words he'd heard down the phone had sent a chill through him.

He's mine and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

"You're good to go, sir!" one of the repairmen called, breaking the hunter from his reverie. He rose alongside Jody, stalking over to the Impala. They'd wasted enough time. The engine roared to life, Dean's expression grim, his jaw set.

I'm coming for you, you sonofabitch.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

He blinked – he could feel it – but it was completely involuntary. It sounded stupid, even to him. Blinking is an unconscious motion that doesn't require thought. Yet, doing it when feeling so…disconnected from his own body was a wholly strange experience. He'd felt it before though.

His head turned, surveying the area. An intense feeling of satisfaction flooded through him, but it wasn't his satisfaction. What was there to be satisfied with? The walls were dank and dripping, covered in a thin slime that reeked of decay and despair. There was a steady dripping echoing around the room, intermittent, annoying. His gaze swung back around to a bloodied figure sitting slumped in a chair. Their head was tipped forward, shoulders shuddering with each breath. They looked…defeated. Lost. Sam stared at them curiously as he walked forward.

"Do you know what, I think we could make this last forever. I've got so many…tricks I haven't even considered using yet." His voice spoke, soft and taunting, tickling his throat but they weren't his words. Hands – his hands – placed themselves on the figure's shoulders, making them jump. They didn't reply. Sam's hand reached back, pulling out a long silver blade that caught the dim light, glinting brightly. He brought his face down, nuzzling the side of the figure's face. They flinched beneath the proximity. Sam wanted to look at them but his gaze was focused downwards at the blade he had poised in his hand, as it hovered lazily over the figure's chest, scraping against a torn and greying shirt, flicking a tie, discoloured by blood, with its tip. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? It would make up for your…failure. I wonder if I can punish you more than you punish yourself," he crooned, rubbing his cheek against the soft, damp hair on his victim's head. "Shall I try?"

Punish? Who was he talking to?

The blade sank in, through the shirt, past the blue tie, drawing a line of intense blue light from the cut. Sam's head remained pressed to his as Cas flung his back, his scream mingling with Sam's silent wail, his own laughter ringing in his ears.

oOo

His own muffled scream woke him up. Disorientated, Sam looked around wildly, trying to place where he was. This wasn't his room in the bunker! The blank walls bore down on him, closing in as he snapped his head the other way, looking at the other blank wall before looking down and seeing himself. A garbled moan of anguish fell from his throat as he clenched his teeth around the cloth in his mouth. His reality crashed back around him, knocking the air from his lungs.

Sam looked to the door, wishing desperately that it would just open. He didn't want to be alone. The more he stared, the less the door opened. Why wouldn't it open? It wasn't like he wanted out anymore – it was too dangerous with Lucifer around – but he just wanted to hear that familiar bang and creak that signalled when Thomas was coming down.

Struggling upright, he sat, bent over, trying to steady his breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Again.

It wasn't helping. He looked up through the locks of hair that had fallen forwards into his eyes, fixing his gaze on the small black camera in the corner opposite. The longing for company, for comfort, tugged at him, tearing at the black hole that was already filling his chest. He wanted Dean but he would never get his brother's comfort again. A dulled part of his brain was horrified by the thought that he wanted Thomas instead. It tried to tell him that it was wrong, that he shouldn't. But he had no one else.

Cas…

Hell, look what he'd done to the angel. Of course, Cas would have tried to save him – it's what the angel did. And Sam had made him suffer. All because he couldn't take his own suffering anymore. He was weak; he knew that now.

Looking up at the camera, he hoped Thomas could see him. Wanted Thomas to see that he needed him. Long minutes passed. Nothing happened.

"Omm-mas!" he bellowed, his words muffled as he tried to form Thomas' name around his gag. He hollered over and over again, trying to call for the Englishman.

He was weak. He no longer cared.

oOo

Thomas sat at the dining table, completely torn. Immense satisfaction had flooded through him when Sam had started looking to the door and then the camera; the zoomed in shot revealing his imploring look. A huge grin broke out across his face when Sam started calling for him; it was definitely him that his ward was calling for – the syllables of his name were easily recognisable.

Yet, as Sam's cries continued, his heart ached for the poor lad. He needed Thomas, desperately, which, while it was exactly what Thomas had hoped for, he hadn't realised how much he'd find himself wanting to comfort Sam. He wanted nothing more than to go to his protégé, but he couldn't. It had only been a few hours. He had to be strong. For Sam. If they were ever going to achieve the happiness they deserved, they had to complete this step.

Cruel to be kind as the saying went.

Eventually, he couldn't take Sam's whimpers anymore and went out to the kitchen, helping Anna with her cooking preparation. He would get through this. It was hard now, but the rewards would be…immeasurable.

Picking up a knife, he began slicing through the vegetables that were laid out beside the chopping board. Selecting an onion, he peeled it before chopping it with thoughtful detachment.

He'd performed the spell which conjured the visions of the supposed real world again, adding the name of the angel into the mix. Before, Thomas hadn't specified targets for Sam's visions. He let the spell devise random images of non-existent people so that Sam could 'see' what was happening in Lucifer's supposed reality. Now, he needed targeted imaging of Sam's loved ones. Once Sam saw what his decision had done, he would be desperate to do anything he could to get free of the Devil.

The problem Thomas had was that he didn't have many names. He knew of the angel, but no one else. Sam had always been…closed off when it came to talking about the people he knew. It left Thomas with limited options; he couldn't go down to the cellar and drawn Sam into a conversation – trying it beforehand would never have worked either – which left him with another visit to the Men of Letters' bunker. Sam had had so many journals. Even if he could take the most recent, he was sure he could get names he could work with. He wanted to bug the bunker anyway – so that he could monitor Dean – thus it gave him another reason to go.

Picking up a bell pepper, he sliced the knife through it carefully. It was settled then; he would go to the bunker tonight.

oOo

I know Sam is starting to appear OOC, but that's partly due to Thomas' spell work but, also, the poor guy's been through one helluva journey so far in this story! So I hope you keep sticking with me – I'm trying to be as realistic to his character as I can, but the effects of this much psychological manipulation makes it unchartered territory for me (and him!).

Please review!