Sorry for the delay – it's been a hectic couple of weeks here at Angst Towers! Thank you so much for all your wonderful feedback, particularly regarding whether you thought Sam was out of character. It's such a tough one because he is – he can't go through everything and still be the same. But I'm so glad that you're all enjoying it!

oOo

"And if you can't tell: I'm scared as hell."

- Lullaby, Nickelback

oOo

US-54E, Outskirts of Fort Scott, Kansas

After so many setbacks, Dean was relieved to finally push the Impala to devour the ground between them and Jefferson City. The road stretched off towards the horizon in a continuous straight line, greenery speeding past them as they shot along. The journey had been silent between him and Jody; she had been on the phone to the Jefferson City sheriff's department, trying to determine if Don Tupper had been found in a car accident. She'd been on hold for five minutes and, to Dean, it felt like hours.

"Ms Mills?" A voice crackled back down the line.

"Yeah, hi," Jody confirmed, sitting up a bit straighter, her phone pressed to her ear. Dean glanced over at her.

"I'm real sorry, but none of the RTAs that have been reported in the last three days have involved Don Tupper. I'll keep my ears open though and, if he does appear, I'll be the first to call," the sergeant explained, his tone sincere and apologetic.

"Thanks anyway," Jody finished, pressing the end call button. She sighed and looked to Dean whose jaw was clenching and unclenching, the muscles visibly moving beneath his cheek. He didn't need to hear to know nothing had come up. "It just means no one's found him yet," she said softly, "it does happen when people come off down back roads that people don't use often."

"Yeah, but what's a guy out on business doin' down some back road that no one else seems to go down?" Dean asked, bitterly. He couldn't let the idea that this was another dead-end in. It wasn't. It had to lead somewhere.

"Maybe he was visitin' someone. We won't know until we get there," Jody murmured, wishing she could speak with more conviction. Dean's phone blared and he hooked it out of his jacket pocket, passing it to Jody when she held her hand out. She checked the caller ID and put it on speakerphone.

"Hey, Cas," she greeted.

"Where's Dean?" Cas' tinny voice floated through the speaker. She rolled her eyes.

"In the seat next to her, Cas. You're on speaker," Dean replied haughtily.

"Oh. Where are you?"

"On our way to Jefferson City."

"I thought you were leaving first thing."

"Yeah, well, the tornado didn't help with that," Dean grumbled, his knuckles whitening as his hands twisted around the steering wheel. "Where's Ketch?"

"I'm right here, Mr Winchester." Jody's eyebrows raised and Dean rolled his eyes at her dramatically. Yes, he did use surnames. "I must say, you seem to have got yourselves into a complete mess with all of this. You should have called Jonathan earlier; we could have helped avoid a lot of this."

"it wasn't like we knew Sam was gonna get grabbed by one of your crazy ex-members who you were supposed to find," Dean growled.

"Alas, we are past the point of just stating the obvious and passing blame. What's done is done and we must move forwards," Ketch retorted, keeping his tone perfectly civil. "Now, Castiel informs me that you're looking for an individual – Don Tupper – whose phone Sam used to contact you, yes?"

"Yeah. We looked into his business trip itinerary. We're about three hours out," Jody explained.

"Have you contacted the local law enforcement to ascertain if Mr Tupper has been found?"

Dean's jaw clenched; he wasn't in the mood for Ketch's patronising nature. "Course we did. They haven't found him. We reckon he came off down a backroad somewhere."

"Hmm."

"Hmm? What does 'hmm' mean?" Dean barked, glaring down at the phone.

"It seems highly unlikely that a businessman would have any need to venture down country roads when travelling. That is, unless, he has known associates in the area. Have you looked into that?" Ketch explained, his voice cold almost bored.

"I was about to when you called," Jody answered, bristling. She didn't like the Englishman's manner at all.

"Well, I would assume that, unless you do find a personal connection, you've been thrown a red herring."

Dean's blood chilled. He didn't want to think that way and having Ketch voice it certainly wasn't helping.

"What makes you think that?" Jody asked. She shifted in her seat.

"You're not dealing with some unorganised miscreant; you're attempting to track a Men of Letters. Thomas has proven himself to be resourceful, cunning and meticulous – everything we train our associates to be. Hacking into a company's system and changing a few details is exactly the type of activity he would do," Ketch explained, almost impatiently, like he was teaching children.

"How do you know?"

"Because that's exactly what I would do. Whatever Sam saw of Mr Tupper's would have been seen by Thomas as well. He knows you would track the vehicle."

"So are you sayin' we shouldn't follow it?" Dean snarled through clenched teeth. What if he was right? They couldn't waste time following a lead that didn't exist!

"Not at all; there is the smallest chance that I'm incorrect. Ergo, it must be followed up. As with all cases, all areas of enquiry must be thoroughly checked," Ketch remarked. "On that note, Castiel has finally discovered the original of that symbol."

"I can talk for myself," the angel growled across the line.

"My apologies."

"Dean, it's a very specific symbol and Sam was right: it does block angels. If he's been branded with it, there's no way I can contact him. I'm sorry," Cas clarified.

"Shit," Dean swore quietly.

"However, it does give us another line of enquiry which is certainly something," Ketch interjected again.

"What kind of lead?" Jody questioned.

"Thomas would have had to have had that symbol made into a brand. Skilled though we are, individual Men of Letters are not blacksmiths; we have a department of those. I called them to check if such a symbol had been commissioned in the past few weeks and it hasn't. Therefore, Thomas would need outside assistance since making it himself would not ensure accuracy. It's an unusual symbol and if myself and Castiel work together, we might be able to track down where it was manufactured. That will help us narrow the geographical window."

As much as he didn't want to feel indebted to the Englishman, Dean was. It wasn't a lead he'd even considered.

"Awesome. Well if you find anythin' let us know," Dean instructed.

"Obviously. Don't spend too long searching up and down roads; go with your instincts and if that doesn't work, you'll know Thomas sent you on a false trail," Ketch replied. Jody mumbled a goodbye and hung up. She looked up at Dean who was back to clenching his teeth again. His eyes were narrowed and he pursed his lips into a thin line.

"He's just some stuck-up Brit. He doesn't know everythin'," she offered gently, knowing his pride was hurt.

"Yeah, well, hopefully he does. We need all the help we can get – especially if this isn't gonna take us anywhere," he sighed, running a hand back through his hair. Somehow, he knew Ketch was right and the thought that he was heading to nothing was…unbearable.

Yet, it had to be done.

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

"Where do you want this?" Anna asked, holding up the license plate in one hand. Thomas looked up from his laptop, reaching out a hand for the chunk of metal.

"I'll put it with the rest of Mr Tupper's effects; we can dispose of it all when we eventually leave here. I don't want any of it to somehow end up found and used to identify him," he explained, putting the discarded metal in the top drawer of his desk, placing it carefully on Tupper's wallet and destroyed phone. Anna went back to polishing the sideboard, rubbing the wood vigorously with her cloth. Tidying the debris in the yard had put her in the cleaning mood. She'd attacked every surface in the kitchen and living room so far, meticulously scrubbing everything. As the morning had waned, they'd reached an unusual kind of limbo. Normally Thomas was up and down to the cellar or was preparing something for Sam. But the decision to keep the hunter in isolation for a few days had left them both with less to do. So she was making the most of it.

"Right, I think that's the transmitter sorted," Thomas declared, although he didn't have the usual triumph in his tone. He held up the small device for Anna to see, but she looked past it to him, noting the bags beneath his eyes and the worry lines forming around his mouth. It was going to be a tough few days for him.

"Are you sure you should be travelling all the way to Lebanon? You hardly slept last night," she chided softly, frowning. Thomas shrugged.

"It's a nine hour round trip and I would much rather do it today when Sam is a bit more stable. I need to be here tomorrow just in case and we need to know what Dean's doing and where he's going to be. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can be back," he explained, twiddling the small black transmitter in his fingers. Suddenly, he stopped and pocketed the device before rising.

"As long as you're sure," Anna sighed, following him as he made his way into the hall. She put down her cloth and unhooked his jacket from the coat stand. He took it from her and smiled.

"I am. Now, while I'm away, do please keep the laptop on and check on Sam regularly through the CCTV. I'm sure nothing will happen when I'm gone. If there is an emergency though…"

"I'll call you first if I'm unsure," Anna cut in, smoothing the shoulders of his jacket when he slipped it on. He turned and faced her, grasping her upper arms gently.

"I know I'm just being paranoid and that nothing will happen – I have the camera feed linked to my phone as well, but I obviously can't watch and drive. I just don't want to jeopardise this part of the plan by having to go down earlier than we expected," he explained. Anna patted his cheek, smiling.

"Everything will be fine, Thomas. Sam is suitably contained and I won't let anything happen to him. Go on, before something else crops up," she shooed, nudging him towards the door. He grinned and moved towards the door, heading down to the car. He climbed in, shooting a worried frown towards the door of the cellar.

It would all be fine.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The bunker was almost oppressively silent. Castiel had always wondered what it would be like to do research with someone who didn't need to talk (sometimes needlessly) about inane details and trivial things. Now, working alongside Arthur Ketch, who was single-mindedly driven and entirely focused, the angel realised how much he enjoyed the banal parts of researching with the Winchesters. Ironically, Ketch was too much like an angel: cold, emotionless and task-driven. There was nothing else there. For once, Castiel found himself on the uncomfortable end of awkward company. Ketch didn't appear to be bothered at all.

Between the two of them, they'd researched and located nine different blacksmiths in Kansas. Taking half each, they'd called each one, questioning with a thoroughness that was only excelled by Ketch's apparently endless patience. Whenever Castiel was apparently being curt on the phone, he would look over, not missing a beat of his own conversation, not even lifting an eyebrow or changing his expression and yet the angel found himself feeling chastised.

He'd worked through three of the four on his list while Ketch was still on his second. Cas was about to call the fourth when he saw the Englishman straighten up just a little more, which almost seemed impossible.

"Emporia, you say? I can be there in…" Ketch typed quickly, balancing his phone against his shoulder, "…three and a half hours. Will your man be in by that time? …Excellent, I'll see you then." He hung up, placing his phone on the table top next to his computer.

"Did you find it?" Cas asked eagerly.

"Potentially, yes. The manager seems to think one of his apprentices may have done an unusual commission. We'll go with the drawing and see if we can confirm it. We'll leave as soon as you're ready," Ketch replied, gathering his things. Cas blinked.

"I am ready."

"Oh." For once, the Englishman seemed to have been caught off-guard. "Right, well, come along then."

Ketch strode from the library, not waiting for the angel to keep up. Castiel rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long trip. They stalked into the underground garage of the bunker where the selection of vintage cars gleamed in the artificial lights.

"I still don't know why you got a cab here," Cas remarked. Ketch looked over at him.

"I knew there were plenty of vehicles here. And your American cars are so…flamboyant. I'd much rather drive a true classic – something British," he answered, heading over to the spotless grey Rolls Royce Silver Wraith which dominated the other vehicles.

"We could take one of the others."

"Nonsense. A car like this deserves an outing," Ketch retorted, speaking with the most passion Castiel had ever heard him use. The Englishman climbed into the driver's seat, bringing the engine roaring to life as Cas got in beside him.

Honestly, he couldn't understand humans' obsessions with cars.

oOo

I-135, Outskirts of Bridgeport, Kansas

Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata eased its way around the interior of the car, wrapping around Thomas in a soothing melody that massaged the tension from his nerves. He'd felt every mile since leaving the farm, constantly plaguing himself with concerns of worst case scenarios. The last thing he wanted was for something to happen to Sam now; they were so close. He'd refrained from calling Anna, knowing that he needed to wait a reasonable amount of time before doing so.

It had been two and a half hours; that was more than reasonable.

Turning down Beethoven, he used the car's inbuilt function to bring up Anna's phone number before hitting dial on the steering wheel. The phone rang through the speakers, going on forever as he watched the road. Thomas' eyes lingered on the smooth curves of a vintage grey Rolls Royce which zoomed past in the opposite direction. A Silver Wraith – he hadn't seen one outside of a museum for quite a long time. It would seem that some Americans had taste after all. As much as he disliked the bulk of the BMW X5, it certainly had its uses with its technology.

"Hello?" Anna's voice echoed around the car. Thomas breathed and focused forwards again.

"It's me, Anna – just wanted to check in."

"Where are you?"

"Outside Bridgeport – probably about another two hours from Lebanon," he answered. "How's Sam?"

"Fine. He's been quite quiet again. He had a bit of a walk alongside the bed, but he's back on it now," she explained. Thomas nodded even though she couldn't see him.

"Good, good. Has he called for me again?"

"I haven't heard anything, but I did have the hoover running for a short time just after you left. I will call if anything drastic happens, Thomas; you don't need to concern yourself."

"You know me – I am a worrier," he smiled, his tone self-deprecating.

"I know. Call me when you get there. Samuel and I will be waiting, don't you worry," she replied. He could almost hear her rolling her eyes at him, but knew the gesture would be tempered with a smile. Saying goodbye, he hung up and turned the radio back up again. She'd settled his mind for another couple of hours. He didn't know what he and Sam would do without her.

oOo

Outskirts of Jefferson City, Missouri

Trees hid the horizon, blocking the view of the state's endless fields. Shadows blackened the edge of the road, stretching across ditches and concealing pools of stagnant water. Animals roamed through some of the fields, pulling up the short grass with small tugs, ripping the plant out at the roots. Tractors rumbled across other vast green expanses; it was the picture of a working agricultural hub.

Which wasn't what Dean wanted to see.

The roads they'd ventured down were smaller than the interstate, but they were by no means real backroads. Traffic flowed along them intermittently and everywhere he looked were signs of workers. If Sam had escaped near here, someone would have seen him or, at the very least, Don Tupper's car would've been discovered. His stomach dropped lower and his anxiety grew.

Approaching another barn, he slowed his pace to stop his boots crunching over the loose stones that paved the way. They'd visited three farms so far and all of them had been fruitless. Jody had spoken to the owners, giving Dean time to search around for storm cellars and any sign of his brother or the Englishman. He listened as Jody was greeted at the door to his left as he snuck around the side of the barn, keeping to the shadows. Ducking beneath a window, the hunter rounded the outhouse, looking for signs of a cellar. There was no point looking in the barn; Sam had specifically said it was a storm cellar and no one in their right mind set one up inside a barn.

Spying a small mound across the lawn around the back of the house, Dean fixed his gaze on the metal door that was slanted at a forty-five degree angle. Glancing at the house, he waited for any signs of movement. Seeing none, he jogged across the yard, heading to the cellar. The metal was warm under his palm when he reached it, fingering the padlock that kept it closed.

"Sam?" he called, voice low. He waited. Heard nothing. He tried again, louder this time. "Sam!"

Nothing. That didn't mean anything though; anything could be stopping his little brother from responding.

Pulling his lock pick from his pocket, the older Winchester made short work of the lock. He slid it off easily, checking again over his shoulder before easing the door open. It opened silently and he stared down into the darkness below.

"Sammy?" he called again. Still nothing. Dean stepped down into the cellar carefully, switching on the flashlight he'd pulled from his pocket. He had to duck to get down into the main cellar, swiping the light across the room.

It was full of boxes.

The hunter let out a frustrated growl. It was yet another dead end. Switching off the flashlight, he stalked back up the stairs and slammed the door shut, no longer caring whether anyone heard him or not. Ketch had been right all along, but, deep down, Dean knew that he would never have been able to turn back and ignore the lead. It wasn't who he was.

He met Jody back at the Impala, saying nothing as he slid back into the driver's seat. They sat in silence for a few moments, his hands clenched around the wheel.

"I don't think there's any point checking any more farms," Jody said quietly, watching Dean carefully. His eyes slid closed and he sighed heavily.

"I know. He's not here," he whispered. He'd wanted nothing more than to rip open that cellar and find Sam waiting at the bottom for him, but Dean rarely got what he wanted. It was something he'd come to accept after years of bitter disappointment.

"What do you want to do?"

Drink until I'm dead, he thought bitterly but didn't say it. Jody didn't deserve the sharp end of his tongue. Turning the ignition, Baby's rumble soothed him.

"We'll head back to the bunker. Regroup with Cas and Ketch. Hopefully they've turned up something more useful than us."

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

Thomas eased open the door to the bunker soundlessly. Poking his head through the opening, he listened carefully. The lights were on but dim and it was completely silent. Of course, considering the size of the bunker, that didn't mean a thing. Slipping inside, the Englishman clicked the heavy door shut and padded softly across the mezzanine floor. He crouched and edged towards the railings, training his eyes on the library below; if Dean was here, that was where he would be. The table was clear.

Silently, Thomas made his way down the stairs, heading for the door to the garage from memory. Peeking through, he was satisfied; the Impala was gone. He'd be cautious – as always – but the likelihood was that he was alone.

Walking through the library, down the right-hand side of the table, he looked at the shelves, his gaze calculating. Past the shelves, set into an alcove, were another set of shelves, lined with books and, on the top shelf, an ornate set of intricately carved throwing axes were balanced upon a wooden stand. Judging by the layer of dust that coated the shelf, no one had been near the weapons in quite a while. Anna would be horrified, but, for Thomas, it was more of a blessing. He pulled the small transmitter from his pocket, switching it on and placing it behind the weapons stand. Moving away, he backed up to the table, checking that it couldn't be seen as he took his phone from his pocket at the same time. Switching apps, the Englishman brought up the one for the speaker.

"Hello?" he tested, maintaining a normal, conversational volume. His voice fed back through his phone, perfectly clear. He tried again, lowering his voice. It wasn't as clear but it was still audible. He couldn't imagine why they would choose to whisper in a large room which they thought was safe, but it never hurt to be prepared. After programming the transmitter to its sound detection mode, he pocketed his phone again and headed for the living quarters, keeping his footfalls light and his ears pricked.

The door to Sam's old room opened easily and Thomas stepped in, eyes surveying the organised abode. Sam probably missed this. While there weren't many personal effects cluttering up the room, there were a few. Perhaps when the business with the other one was over with, he would give Sam the opportunity to come back and get a few pieces. No…that would never do. He would want reminders of his brother and Thomas couldn't have that. Maybe he should take a few pieces now and he could sort through them. Before, he'd taken John Winchester's journal because he'd needed it; now he needed Sam's, but there were so many treasures that belonged to his ward just waiting to be explored.

Thomas began exploring the youngest Winchester's room, admiring the titles on the bookshelves – he knew Sam would be a fan of the classics – before running his fingers over the spines. He drifted to the wardrobe, opening it and staring in disapproval at the army of plaid that lined the inside. The shirts were soft but well-worn to the touch; luckily, they would never be worn again. Sam would look so smart in a properly tailored suit. Not like the cheap ones that hung on the end of the rail – an array of striped ties draped limply over the hangers. Thomas frowned and picked them off, rolling each one individually and placing them on a small bit of space on one of the shelves. When they were all lined up neatly, he closed the wardrobe, turning back towards the desk. The drawers slid open easily. He pulled Sam's journal out, knowing it would be where he'd left it last time, caressing the worn cover lightly with his thumbs. So much to learn…so many things he had yet to discover about his protégé. He'd only had time to give Sam's reflections a momentary glance during his last visit. Now, he would take his time. Learn all he could about Sam – right from his own mind.

What a beautiful thing a journal was.

Thomas turned, looking for anything else he might need. A black metal box poked out from under the bed. Crouching down, he picked it up and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was a reasonably large box with a metal latch on the front; it's lid coated in scratches and dents. Flicking up the latch, Thomas opened it slowly. His grin lit up his eyes. The box was awash with mementos – playing cards, a leaflet for Oak Park Retirement Home, a necklace, photos: Sam's keepsakes. He'd struck gold. His fingers itched to rummage through, to analyse each and every item, but the nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he was on a time limit.

As he began to close the lid, one of the photos slipped and caught his eye. Pulling the small item out, he stared down at it as he closed the lid on the box. Sam and Dean were leaning back against the Impala, side by side, beers in hand as they laughed at some unknown joke. They hadn't even realised the photo was being taken; both wore the easy smiles of two brothers enjoying each other's company.

Thomas' grip tightened.

Dean was too happy. Ungrateful little bastard. He didn't deserve Sam. Didn't deserve anything! He'd ripped Lady Toni away from the people who'd loved her and he'd done it without thought and without reason. He was visionless and destroyed the dreams of those with ambition.

Taking the photo in both hands, Thomas wrenched it down the centre, separating the brothers. Placing Sam's half down on the bed, he tore at Dean, shredding it into small pieces. Dean Winchester would never interfere again; he would get what was coming to him. Scrunching up the pieces in his palm, Thomas dumped them in the trash.

Grabbing the black box and the journal, he left, leaving Sam's half of the photo on the bed. Let the bastard find it. He needed reminding that he was useless against a true Man of Letters. Thomas could go wherever he pleased, whenever he wanted and Dean could do nothing to stop him. Thomas wanted him vulnerable.

He walked back down the corridor, heading for the library – still cautious – but feeling his anger at Dean subside as he went. Climbing the stairs to the library in two swift strides, he walked down the left side of the table.

And stopped when a suitcase caught his eye.

It was strangely familiar, nondescript as it was with a hard, black shell coating the outside. Theoretically, it shouldn't even have caught his attention. Moving closer, Thomas' stomach plummeted when he saw two discreet letters engraved into its surface.

A.K.

His mouth went dry and he raced back to Sam's bedroom, grabbing the picture he'd left on the bed and putting it back in the black box under his arm. The Englishman rushed back through the bunker, unwilling to waste any more time. Yanking out his phone, he pressed it to his ear, waiting for Anna to pick up. The memory of the Rolls Royce Silver Wraith sparked through his mind and his heart froze; he'd passed him. It was exactly the kind of car from the bunker's collection that he'd go for. They'd been meters apart for milliseconds. The thought was chilling and sent a widespread panic blooming through him.

"Samuel is still fine, Thomas," she greeted, almost exasperated. Thomas exited the bunker, locking the door behind him.

"We have a problem."

"What is it?" she asked, alarmed by his tone.

"Ketch is here."

oOo

Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas

He was parched. It was all he could think about – all he could focus on. The worst part was that the open bottle of water, with its straw sticking out the top, was right there – sitting on the table. Within reach. Hell, he could pick it up if he wanted to but that was all he could do with it. It was pure torture.

He'd been reduced to no more than a pet; something that relied entirely on others. It was strange to think that humans rarely thought about the impact of the devices they placed on animals. Sam swore he would never be able to look at a bitted horse the same ever again. To constantly have something foreign shoved in his mouth, compressing his tongue, stopping him from satiating the thirst that was driving him crazy, left Sam with an empathy he had never considered. He'd tried to reach up and pull it out, but his hands couldn't even get close. It was tied too securely for him to push it out with his tongue.

He needed to drink.

A hollow anger smoked inside him: not anger at Thomas – he knew the Man of Letters was doing his best to protect Sam – but at Lucifer. It was all his fault. He'd forced Thomas' hand, forced Sam's. Everything that was happening was because of him. Thomas was just trying to help.

It had been hours since Thomas had left and he hadn't even appeared when Sam had shouted for him. He couldn't wait any longer for the Englishman to come down and let him drink; he wasn't useless – he just needed to be logical. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam looked around, scanning the objects near him, scrutinising everything. The edge of the metal post at the head of the bed caught his eye, his memory flashing back to his first day of captivity in the cellar when he'd tried to remove the blindfold. He'd nearly managed it before he'd fallen off the bed. It was the same principle now; he could do it. Shifting further up the bed, Sam aligned his cheek with the corner of the metal post and began trying to snag the edge of the cloth on it.

He had the time – he just needed the patience.

oOo

Anna sat at Thomas' laptop, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, a gold chain hanging from each arm and around the back of her neck. A fountain pen was balanced in her right hand as she made notes, copying down phone numbers and details. She heard a small grunt and flipped over to the CCTV screen. Frowning, she squinted at Sam. What on earth was he doing? He was bent over near the top of the bed, making small sliding movements. Odd boy. Flicking back onto the internet screen, she clicked onto the next page.

oOo

Sam gasped, reeling away from the bedpost when another vision pelted him. This time it was a man, his cheeks stained with tears as he wailed and pleaded. Sam bent forwards, chains rattling as he tried to move his hands up to grasp his head, squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his head to try and dislodge the images. It didn't work and he moaned in despair as the man was flung from the edge of a rooftop, the skyline behind him, his arms wind-milling almost comically as he fell into the ether.

The sickening crunch as he hit the tarmac snapped Sam from the vision.

Panting miserably, he stayed bent forward for a few minutes, trying to calm himself. The visions had been awful since Thomas had gone. The minutes crept past and slowly his heart returned to normal and his breathing evened out. Focusing himself once more, he started again, dragging his cheek up against the metal corner. He could already feel the gag beginning to loosen; he would do it. It snagged properly and he pulled hard, but it came unstuck from the post.

Just a few more goes.

oOo

Pleased with her findings, Anna closed down the internet and set her pen to one side. Looking at her watch, she calculated the time. It'd been an hour since Thomas had called; it would be another three and a half before he got home. Peering back at the CCTV footage, she glared as realisation of what Sam was doing set in.

That wouldn't do at all.

oOo

The cloth hooked onto the corner and stayed. Stilling himself, Sam concentrated and manoeuvred his head carefully, relaxing his jaw and pushing with his tongue. Slowly, centimetre by centimetre, he pulled up, feeling the knot in his mouth edge out, rolling over his bottom lip. Giving it a final tug, the cloth fell out, hanging loosely around his neck.

"Finally," he groaned, straightening up and sighing deeply through his mouth, eyes closed. The red behind his eyelids blackened suddenly and, when he opened them, he was in pitch black. "Oh c'mon," he grumbled, blinking rapidly. The lights didn't come back on. What the hell? Had the bulb gone? Was it…

No.

His heart thumped against his ribs. He was fine. He was. Thomas had made sure he was safe. Lucifer didn't know where he was. He couldn't.

Could he?

Sam waited, barely daring to breathe. He didn't want to be alone and his desperation grew. The silence pressed in on him, squeezing around him as he strained his hearing. Waited.

Nothing.

Beat by beat, his heart slowed as nothing happened. He licked his cracked lips and turned his head blindly towards the table. Shuffling up the bed carefully, Sam nudged his foot along the floor, trying to find the table leg. His foot bumped it gently and he stopped. Reaching out a hand, he felt the edge of the table top with his fingers but couldn't feel the water bottle; it was too far in. Standing up, Sam reached out his hand blindly, the chain connected to his wrist clinking in the silence. A loud burst of static blasted into the cellar as his fingers brushed the plastic. Sam jumped violently, his hand jerking, knocking the bottle over.

"No!" The sound of the precious water trickling off the table in wet spatters undercut the static.

All of that for nothing.

oOo

Anna bared her teeth in a grin as she watched Sam through the camera's night vision capabilities. That would teach him not to defy them. Thomas was driving – if he happened to see that the lights were off, she'd claim a short power surge. She'd put them back on when he got home. For now though, Samuel could stay alone in the dark and wait. Pressing a few buttons, she increased the sound on the static, satisfied to see her captive trying to lift his hands up to cover his ears to block the uncomfortable sound but the chains connected to his wrists were far too short.

Her grin spread when the music of his first scream came through the speakers.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

The slamming of the Impala's door reverberated around the garage as Dean trudged back into the bunker, Jody trailing behind him. The empty results of their trek weighed heavily between them and Dean wanted nothing more than to open – and finish – the Johnny Walker Red that was lurking in the kitchen. Until Cas and Ketch got back, they were leadless and, even when they did return, there wasn't going to be much more they could do that night anyway. Dean knew deep down that that wasn't the attitude he should have but he was just so damned tired. Tired of being wrong, tired of having nothing work.

He just wanted his brother. That wasn't much to ask for.

Walking through the war room and up to the library, the hunter felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He stopped, holding out a hand to block Jody. She looked up at him, confused.

"What's wrong?"

"Somethin' ain't right," he said quietly, drawing his gun. He moved forwards cautiously, hearing Jody draw her own weapon; she trusted his gut. They split up: she headed towards the kitchen while he went to the bedrooms. Each footstep was careful and measured, placed with caution to avoid making needless sound. Dean listened hard but heard nothing, yet the unease inside him didn't ease. Something was wrong. Peering inside his own bedroom, he saw it was empty – left in the exact state he'd left it in that morning. Moving on, he headed down the corridor, the feeling intensifying as he got closer to Sam's room. It was probably nothing – nerves and strain after a long few days.

As he got closer, he saw that the door was ajar. It shouldn't have been; he'd shut it. Tightening the grip on his gun, Dean pushed open the door with the flat of his palm and switched on the lights.

Empty.

And still his instincts screamed at him, getting louder as he walked in. He lowered the gun as he looked around.

"There's no one here, Dean," Jody said as she stepped in the doorway. She watched as Dean bent down, pulling out small pieces of paper like confetti from the trash. He turned them over and swallowed visibly. He held out his palm, showing her the small fragments of a broken photo. Dean's face was on one of the pieces.

"He was here," Dean whispered. "That bastard was here. And we missed him."

oOo

I quite enjoyed doing the near-misses in this one! Question is: how close can they get? =D

Please review!