I'm so sorry for the late update – life has been hectic! Have a long chapter as compensation :)
Enjoy!
oOo
"You've taken away everything
And I can't deal with that."
- It's Not Over, Daughtry
oOo
US-50E, Toledo, Kansas
They were so close. The Impala was filled with a heavy, determined silence; it gave power to Dean's right foot as he pushed the car hard, forcing it to devour the road. The anticipation – to see Sam, to wrap his hands around Thomas' throat – was overwhelming. He needed to see Sam, to know that his baby brother was alive, even if he wasn't alright.
Dean was in no doubt that Sam was broken. He hadn't been whole when he'd been taken; they'd made small bits of progress when they'd got through the detox, stayed at Jody's and gone on that damned case, but it wasn't going to take much to push him back the other way. Hell, Sam had been physically and psychologically tortured for four months, had suffered through his grief for that whole time, had faced off against Lucifer – again – been force-fed demon blood, detoxed, got abducted and now he'd spent weeks living in a hell that Dean didn't even know about. Could he have dealt with all that? A large part of the older Winchester's mind knew that he couldn't and he had never seen himself as strong as his brother. Sam was tough but he wasn't that tough; not when he'd had no chance to recover.
Stone Number One.
That had been enough to help them build the blocks for Sam's recovery last time, but Dean wasn't sure it was going to be this time. They'd dealt with the trauma created by monsters and the supernatural, but this was all manmade. It was different. They were meant to be invincible; how was he ever going to be able to convince Sam that he was safe when Dean didn't believe it himself? The English had taken everything they'd had faith in and ripped it away.
Dean had no idea what he was going to do.
The helplessness, even though he knew he was flying to his brother's rescue, hung heavy on his shoulders and threatened to undermine his courage. He needed everything to be alright, but the pit in his stomach told him that the fight was only just beginning.
He needed to quieten the doubt and the despair that was consuming his resolve: getting Sam out of Thomas' clutches was the most important thing right now.
oOo
Outskirts of Cameron, US-36E, Kansas
Every clink of the chain in the backseat sent a spike of irritation through Anna's nerves. She sat and seethed, staring straight out of the windshield. As with all things that cause annoyance, she was hyperaware of the miscreant behind her. Every hitched breath, every small knock of his feet against the door behind her was like a pounding in her ears. Of course he was too tall for the backseat. If she'd had her way, he'd be in the trunk, tied tightly wrist to ankle so that he didn't make any noise. But no: Thomas wanted to be nice. He wanted to be gentle.
Oh, if she'd had her way…
She glanced at Thomas; he was quiet as he drove, staring ahead with a serene expression. Getting away from Ketch had begun to sooth his anxieties and his blind faith that Samuel was supposedly obedient blinkered him. She would not make that mistake.
Her gaze slid to the corner of her eyeline where it landed on the little wretch. He was led with his head on the pillow, torso covered by the blanket Thomas had draped over him. The black cloth covered his eyes but his mouth was open and his chest rose and fell evenly. At least Thomas had had the forethought to sedate him; the motion of the car coupled with the drugs had lulled him to sleep. She honestly didn't know what she would have done if Samuel had been fully awake. It was going to be a problem later – that she knew. For now, she tried her best to ignore him, instead mentally considering which spell would be most appropriate for what she wanted.
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
"There it is," Ketch pointed, his hand sneaking up between Dean and Jody, gesturing to their left. A pale farmhouse squatted in the distance at the end of a driveway that was lost amidst widespread fields of green. They all set their eyes on it except for Dean who pressed down harder on the accelerator until he felt Jody's hand on his shoulder.
"Dean, wait."
"What?" he barked, still not easing his foot off.
"We need to stop, get a lay of the land and see what we're up against. We can't just go barrelling in. Go past and see if you can find somewhere to pull in up ahead," Ketch instructed, cutting in. Dean pursed his lips and clenched his teeth so hard it hurt but he lifted his foot a fraction and pushed the Impala on, past the entrance to the farm. He drove for another half a mile before swinging the car into a layby on the right. Dust rose up as the tyres crunched across the loose gravel. Silence engulfed them as Baby's comforting rumble cut out. Dean opened his door, the creak comforting as he slammed it shut and walked around to the trunk while the others climbed out. Opening the wide lid, he lifted the false bottom and propped it up, revealing the array of weapons that lived in the car. Ketch quirked an eyebrow at the sight but said nothing.
"What's the plan?" Jody asked as Dean strapped a machete to his thigh and riffled through the numerous guns he had stashed in the back. He handed her one, knowing she couldn't use her own service weapon.
"We needed to work out where the storm cellar is and where they all are," Dean remarked, glancing up at the farmhouse in the distance as he shoved one gun in the back of his jeans under his jacket. "A house like that? I reckon the cellar's at the front. That's got to be where they're keepin' Sam. It's probably, what, ten feet square? No way they'll all be down there. The bitch'll be in the house; Thomas might be in either."
"What's the play?" Ketch asked, shaking his head when Dean offered him a firearm. He opened his own briefcase, revealing an impressive selection of weapons.
"You and Jody are gonna take the house. Make it stealthy – no chargin' in. We don't know what we're up against. They don't know we're comin' but I don't want you gettin' your heads blown off. Me and Cas'll take the cellar – Sam's my priority. You find the woman and do whatever the hell you want to her – I dunno if you want to take her back to England or not; I don't care. If Thomas is there, you leave him alive – he's mine," Dean growled, his frown tight and directed straight at the farmhouse. He slammed the trunk shut with a bang, a second gun in his hand. "We all good?"
They nodded their replies and followed at a jog towards the fields opposite, leaving the Impala behind them. Dean led the way, Castiel keeping pace alongside him; Jody and Ketch fanning out behind them. They climbed over the wooden fence that imprisoned the field and continued forwards, slowing slightly as the ground became more uneven. The hunter would have preferred to have taken a more concealed route but there didn't appear to be one nor did they have the time to look for one – not when Sam was so close. So they ran in the open and prayed that they weren't going to be noticed.
The farmhouse loomed up, its greying walls flaking and dismal, battered by the elements for too long. Some panels were a dark brown – replacements for the sections swept away in recent tornadoes. The sight made Dean's stomach drop; the tornado that had attacked him and Jody would've hit here. It had lasted all night and the two captors would have had to move into the cellar.
With Sam.
The thought sickened him and pushed his feet onwards; he couldn't begin to fathom what they might have done to him in that time. He couldn't think about it now – not when he was so close. A stone chimney reared up at the centre of the house between the staggered roofs. A makeshift fence made from bent tree boughs snared its way around the property, broken in two places, the beams lying on the ground – further evidence that the tornado had struck.
I'm comin' Sammy.
As they came up on the property, they slowed, drawing weapons and spreading out. Dean signalled with one hand for Jody and Ketch to veer off towards the house as he headed for the garden with Castiel. Everything was quiet and he couldn't see a car; the dirt driveway wound up the centre of the front lawn but it was empty. The car being missing wasn't a problem; it just meant one of the abductors was gone. They wouldn't risk moving Sam for no reason. Sam would fight them every step of the way – Dean knew he would.
He glanced at Jody and Ketch, watching them crouch lower and edge along the fence, heading for the shadow cast by the house. A small whitewashed shed was stood in front of him; he hopped the fence with ease and went around the back of the shed, pausing there with Cas by his side.
"There," he mouthed, pointing to a raised mound on the edge of the lawn, cowering in the corner by the opposite fence. Cas nodded. Dean peered around the side of the shed and saw nothing. He sprinted across the driveway, feet kicking up dust as he slid to a stop in front of an angled entrance set into the raised mound: the steel door glinting dully in the sunlight. The opening was around the size of a normal doorframe; it was shut but not locked – the bolt wasn't across and there was no padlock to be seen. Dean's hand clenched around his gun, a grim smile baring his teeth. One of them was down there with his brother.
His trigger finger twitched.
His heart thrummed as anticipation flooded through him. It was only the door that now stood between him and his brother. His revenge.
Signalling to Cas, he waited while the angel reached down and grasped the handle. Cas counted down from three with his fingers; Dean stood tensed, gun raised, eyes trained on the door. The angel yanked the door open; Dean ran down into the darkness, gun up, finger ready, head bent, eyes looking, searching for Sam's face as he descended down.
"Sammy!" he shouted, his voice echoing around the room. His feet thudded against the concrete as he reached the bottom, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, Cas coming right up behind him.
And stopped.
Dean stared, eyes wide, horrified, his gun wavering in his hands.
"No…" he choked as he stared at the empty room in front of him.
oOo
Jody followed alongside Ketch, her gun drawn and pointed down, her arms straight but ready to snap up at a moment's notice. She'd taken the lead on raids in the past, but Ketch oozed dominance and, besides, he knew the people they were up against. She didn't. The sheriff had expected him to aim for the back door but he'd set their course for the front instead. With a large farmhouse, the front door would most likely give them the clearest view and the straightest path to multiple areas of the house whereas the backdoor would most likely lead them into the kitchen, narrowing their field of view.
The wood of the porch creaked beneath their boots as they crept across, keeping out of the view of the windows. The storm door opened soundlessly but the front door didn't budge when Ketch tried the handle. Jody watched him reach into his pocket, extracting a long thin brown box. She frowned when he pulled an ornate gold key from it. He slid it into the lock and waited a few seconds, an odd sound of scraping metal ringing up quietly from the lock. Ketch turned the key, unlocking the door with ease, Jody's eyebrows rising. The British Men of Letters did seem to be full of surprises. They entered the house, Ketch taking the lead.
Inside it was silent, except for the ticking of an ornate grandfather clock that was stood in the hall in front of them. Ketch held up a hand, motioning for her to go right – towards the dining room – while he went left. The sheriff slipped off, keeping her gun raised and her ears straining, listening for the tiniest sound.
oOo
"GOD DAMMIT!" Dean roared, his fist flying and connecting with the nearest concrete wall. He felt something crack inside his knuckles, the bone splintering under the impact but he didn't care. It hurt less than the ache burning through him.
They were too late.
Again.
"Maybe he's in the house," Cas suggested, gently grabbing Dean's hand, holding it firmly when the hunter tried to pull away. His palms glowed with a soft gold light, sending warmth through Dean's hand, fixing the break instantly.
"He won't be there," Dean snarled, glaring around the room. He ran his hands back through his hair, holding the sides of his head. "Fuck! Why the fuck have they gone?! It doesn't make any sense!"
Cas just shook his head; he didn't have an answer and, as much as Dean needed one, the angel wasn't going to give him a falsehood. A deadweight had fallen heavily inside his stomach; it was an uncomfortable sensation and not one that he was overly familiar with. Was this what it felt like to constantly keep losing hope? They had all faced numerous setbacks throughout the years, but they just didn't seem to be able to keep up with Thomas no matter how hard they tried. The angel gazed around the room, disheartened, as Dean moved further inside.
The cellar was bordering on claustrophobic at roughly twelve feet by eight. The walls were unpainted, the dull grey of the concrete creating a heavy dimness to the interior. It was mostly bare; a wooden shelf hung on one side opposite a single metal cot sat against the opposite wall. A table and two wooden chairs were placed inside, one near the bed, one against a wall.
It looked like a prison cell.
Sam had been there; Dean knew it. He could smell his brother. It was faint – much weaker than if he walked into Sam's room back in the bunker but it was there. And it made Dean's heart ache. It was the familiar scent of safety, family: home. He hadn't realised how much he had missed the simple comfort it gave him. Tears prickled in his eyes and he blinked hard, turning away from Castiel, his throat working as he fought to keep his composure. Because, underneath that comforting scent was one that was just as familiar but less than welcome: fear.
His baby brother had been trapped in this hole, alone, afraid, and he hadn't been there.
Dean swallowed. Moving to the bed, he bent down, scooping up a long chain attached to a metal cuff. Lifting it, he watched it go taut as he pulled it up and away from the wall it was fastened to.
"Jesus," he whispered, flinging the chain away from him and back onto the bed.
"Dean."
"What?" He turned when Castiel spoke softly and pointed to a small black box situated high up on the wall opposite them, its glass lens catching the light. "You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me." He looked from the camera to the bed, bile climbing him throat. "They were watching him?! He's not an animal!" He swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down.
Looking around, avoiding the bed, the older Winchester prowled over to the wooden shelf, his gaze falling on a few discarded pieces of rope and chains. A bottle at the back caught his attention and the hunter frowned. Reaching up, he grabbed it and held it in his open palm. Cas looked down at it.
"Is that cologne?" he asked quizzically, frowning.
"It's mine," Dean murmured, turning the cool bottle over in his hand, knowing that it wasn't just the same one that he had – it was his bottle. "But why…" He couldn't finish. His stomach roiled. He didn't want to think about the reasons why that deranged sociopath would have taken his cologne. Mentally, he shored up the wall, pushing back the avalanche that was threatening to wipe him out.
Not now. Not yet.
With trembling fingers, he put the cologne back up on the shelf, fighting the temptation to fling it against the wall. If he did that, he'd let go and he couldn't. Sucking in a heavy breath through flared nostrils, the hunter regained control and moved on. The metal cabinet that was opposite the bed was empty; Dean didn't even know what he was looking for. Something to confirm that was Sam alive, that he was okay. Of course, he didn't find anything.
Castiel stayed silent behind him as he moved about, stilling when his gaze landed on something poking out near the head of the bed. Bending down, Dean picked up the screwed up bundle. Its texture was soft and worn like it had seen too many washes but was still as good as new. The softness was familiar, the memory etched into his fingers; how many hours had he sat with Sam scrubbing blood from shirts just like this one? The red chequered pattern was dirty from the floor, but it wasn't…right. Dean opened out the scrunched up shirt, eyes widening, heart stopping and stomach dropping as he stared at the tattered remains of his brother's shirt. It had been cut – shredded – into pieces, left in ruins.
Removed by force.
Blood screamed in his ears and suddenly the room was too much, too small. The ruined shirt fell to the floor as Dean ran up the stairs, barely making it out before collapsing on the lawn, doubled over, bringing up the little food he'd consumed.
Sam.
oOo
Rail Splitter Rest Stop: Northbound, Sherman, Illinois
"Are you sure you don't want anything specific?" Thomas asked quietly, keeping his voice low. Anna gave a small shake of her head, giving him a tight, but polite smile.
"No – anything that you think we can eat on the move is fine. Just don't be long," she replied. He gave her a warm smile, patting her hand as he climbed out of the car.
Be just long enough.
Her gaze tracked Thomas as he walked quickly across the parking lot towards the two squat buildings that were huddled underneath a broad blackjack oak tree. They had parked in the furthest space they could without appearing suspicious, leaving eight spaces between them and a 2016 Chevrolet Sonic. Anna turned and looked down fully at their captive. Samuel was breathing evenly, but no longer deeply; he was awake. The Englishwoman was mildly surprised – she had expected him to have started kicking up a fuss of his own by now. Maybe Thomas was right: maybe he was learning.
That wasn't enough to appease her though.
"Would you like a drink, Samuel?" she asked, satisfied when she saw his tongue snake out and run over his lips, giving away his answer before he could voice it.
"Yeah, please," he answered, his voice crackling and dry.
"Alright, hold on." Unbuckling her seatbelt, Anna slid out of the large vehicle, landing lightly on the tarmac before rushing around to the trunk. The wind slid over her, making the royal blue scarf around her neck flutter. The lid popped up and she grabbed the spell book she'd been perusing the night before. Selecting one of the pages she'd bookmarked, her finger traced over the incantation. Picking up a vial of powdered nightshade from her bag, she emptied a small amount into her palm.
"Timeo parvus tractus," she intoned, fascinated when the nightshade flared black and seeped into her skin, disappearing completely. She smiled, grabbing a water bottle and shut the trunk. As always, she would get her way. Heading around to the driver's side, Anna checked around her: no one was nearby and Thomas was nowhere to be seen. A quick peek in the tinted window showed no sign of movement from the delinquent. The door popped open quietly and Anna stared down at him, her lips twisted in a disgusted sneer. She uncapped the water and leaned over him, tilting his head to the side with one hand so that he was facing upwards blindly. An odd pulsing sensation rippled beneath her skin before she took her hand away.
"Open your mouth, Samuel," she instructed, her tone calm but firm. He complied without fuss – disappointingly – and she tipped the bottle so that the sports cap was between his teeth. His lips closed around it and he sucked huge mouthfuls of water. Honestly, it was like he hadn't had a drink in days; the boy was far too dramatic. Anna rolled her eyes as she reached out a hand and cupped the side of his face in her palm. He froze momentarily, flinching in surprise at the contact. Her thumb stroked his cheek below the blindfold, her fingers brushing the coarse stubble that was growing near his jawline. That would need to change.
The tingling in her hand flared again, this time a soft black glow emanating from between her fingers and seeping into his skin. Samuel didn't react; perhaps he couldn't feel it. While Anna would have enjoyed seeing him recoil in pain, it wasn't exactly appropriate in the middle of a rest stop.
"That's enough for now, Samuel," she murmured, taking the water from him when the glowing stopped. She heard him murmur a soft 'thank you' as she shut the door and walked back around to her side of the car, wondering vaguely how long it would take for the spell to kick in. Climbing back into the vehicle she waited for Thomas to reappear.
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Castiel watched Dean as he walked off towards the road, going on the pretence of collecting the Impala. They knew Thomas had gone; there was no point in hiding the car out on the road anymore and they were going to be at the farm for a while. But, more than that, the angel knew the hunter needed the time to collect himself. He'd pinned everything on finding this place, thinking that once they found it, they would find Sam. None of them had doubted that. Why would Thomas have moved? It wasn't like he knew they were coming. And, as much as Castiel wanted to believe that they'd come back, all the signs had pointed to the cellar being abandoned. You didn't move a hostile captive unless you had no other choice; they all knew that.
Dean's shoulders were hunched over, his head bowed as he walked away. Cas had offered to go down with him, but Dean had simple clapped his hand on the angel's shoulder as he moved past him.
Now the angel was stuck; he didn't know how to help his friend. Unless Ketch had a bright idea, they were all the way back to square one. Again.
Turning away from Dean, Castiel made his way up to the farmhouse, hoping that Jody and Ketch had managed to find something useful. The house was squat and tired, but something made Cas' skin crawl the closer he got. It was the same tingling sensation he got whenever he was near something that was warded. Peering curiously at the walls, he studied them, concentrating as he walked. Swiping a hand in front of him, a host of red glowing symbols revealed themselves across the whole of the house. It was warded – heavily so, yet he didn't recognise the marks. Who were they warding the house against? They weren't for angels – they would have glowed a bluish-white.
Stepping up onto the porch, the angel stopped just in front of the door, a high-pitching keening sound screeching. It got louder and higher, the wood beneath his feet suddenly emanating with a bright white glow, an intricate design that had been concealed now flashing bright. His eyes widened as understanding dawned.
"Oh cra–"
The light flashed and he was gone, the sigil on the floor fading, leaving a scorch mark in its place.
oOo
Rail Splitter Rest Stop: Northbound, Sherman, Illinois
Thomas strolled back across the parking lot, bag in hand. His stomach rumbled but that was his only discomfort. A sense of peace had settled over him; every mile the BMW consumed, the further they got from danger. From Ketch. Finding evidence of that psychopath in the bunker had unnerved Thomas – he would freely admit it – as only a fool wouldn't fear Ketch. He was one of the British Men of Letters' most terrifying assets; a ruthless killer, interrogator, weapons master and tracker. Every task was carried out with clear, calm precision whether he was leading a raid on vampires or interrogating his own flesh and blood. Thomas hadn't seen James, but he knew exactly what kind of techniques Ketch would have used; they'd all heard the stories even if they hadn't witnessed the acts. Ketch had a reputation and it was well-maintained. If he was willing to interrogate his own son, Thomas knew that he had no qualms dealing with what Markham had apparently deemed a 'rogue' member. Thomas bristled at the thought; he wasn't rogue – he was getting out, making his own mark. Fine, revenge was in the mix too but his grievance wasn't with his own chapter. The British Men of Letters had no loyalty to the Winchester legacies – why they couldn't leave well enough alone, he didn't know. It wasn't like he was trying to make a deal with Lucifer. Perhaps, when his dealings with Dean were done, he should send a message to Markham, reassure him that Thomas wasn't a threat. He just wanted to live in peace with his family.
He'd taken the necessary precautions though before they'd left the farmhouse. If Ketch had managed to locate it (Dean would never have managed alone), the traps he'd set would be enough to keep them at bay long enough to allow him to get Sam moved and the next phase of his rehabilitation done. The angel would find himself far, far away if he tried to enter the house.
Thomas smiled at the thought.
His stomach growling broke him from his reverie; they were all hungry but, for obvious reasons, they would have to wait to find somewhere more secluded to satiate their hunger. He smiled politely at a couple walking past him, his eyes returning to the BMW as soon as they'd gone past. He could see Anna through the windshield, her head bowed slightly; she was reading. If she was calm, that meant Sam was. Thomas had been delighted by the journey so far; it had been wholly uneventful. Sam had slept for most of it – the poor lad was exhausted after all – and even when Thomas knew he was awake, he'd remained lucid and amiable. All were excellent signs indeed. It meant that Sam was nearly ready to hear Thomas' truth. While it was going to be difficult for Sam to hear, once he was truly ready, it wouldn't take long for him to succumb to it.
They would finally be into the final stages of the plan – on the home stretch with the finish line within touching distance. Anticipation filled Thomas, tingling through him with delicious chills as he reached the car and opened the door.
Sam heard the pop of the car door near his head as it opened, a cool rush of air blowing in gently. The car rocked as Thomas climbed in, a distinct rustle of plastic accompanying him.
"I've picked up a few different things; we'll find somewhere to stop in a little while," he heard Thomas say, his voice spreading a warm comfort through Sam that died quickly.
"Good idea. I was looking at the map earlier; there appears to be a suitable area about ten miles from here – there is somewhere a tad closer, but around here is too built up." As Sam listened to Anna, he became aware of the weight of the blanket pressing down on him. Its warmth became too much as if someone had flipped the temperature switch in his body, jacking it up. Twisting on the seat, he grabbed a handful of the material with his hand and pulled as much as he could, tugging the whole thing off.
"Are you alright, Sam?" Thomas asked. Sam's head turned towards his voice.
"Yeah, I'm just hot," he replied quietly. The car engine started and he felt the air conditioning blast through, raising the hairs on his forearms. It was a welcome sensation. The car rumbled backwards, Thomas and Anna's conversation low in the front.
Sam twisted again, the chain around his waist and wrists feeling like they were tightening. He tugged, assuming that the one around his waist had caught on something. It didn't loosen, in fact, it began to dig into his stomach. Hooking a thumb under it, he tried to pry it away, surprised that he could even get his thumb under it. Blood began to drum in his ears. The darkness behind his eyelids seemed to get blacker – if that was even possible. His chest rose and fell, each breath heavy, laboured, as though someone was sitting on his torso.
Anna glanced out of the corner of her eye, spying movement in the backseat. It would seem that her spell was beginning to work, although she was disappointed; she had expected it to have had more of an impact. Huffing, she turned her attention back to her book.
Sam inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to quell the rapid beating of his heart. It wasn't working. Every breath felt like he was sucking in warm, oppressive air, like that of a sauna, despite the air conditioning that he could hear blowing. His t-shirt itched and rubbed against his skin, crackling fire with every movement. He tried lying still. That didn't work either; he could feel the car closing in around him.
There wasn't enough room.
He needed to get out.
He couldn't; he knew it but didn't care. Reason fled from Sam's mind, flattened by the claustrophobic darkness that was squeezing him. Panic rose, flooding his body with adrenaline.
"Stop the car!" Sam's bellow made both Brits jump. Thomas' gaze flew up to the rear-view mirror, his eyes wide and alarmed. Sam was bucking and shouting, his whole body contorting.
"Sam! Calm down!" Thomas barked, his peace from earlier dissipating in an instant. Not now. They were too close to civilians; the whole area was teeming with cars.
"I need to get out! Let me out!" Sam roared, slamming his booted feet against the car door with a dull thud, tearing Thomas' eyes back to the mirror again and away from the road ahead. "Open the door!"
"Sam! Stop! What is wrong with you?!" Thomas snapped, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Sam didn't listen, his howls getting louder as he thrashed harder.
"Thomas, we need to pull over!" Anna shouted, her voice nearly drowned out by Sam's.
"We can't just pull over here!" Thomas growled, his panic rising. His eyes narrowed at the road before him. He swore, grinding his teeth when the cars ahead began to brake, a red traffic light visible above them. Instantly, his foot eased off the accelerator.
"Thomas let me out!"
"Dammit, Anna, find something to shut him up with – if we hit that queue, someone is going to hear him!" Thomas thundered, his heart racing. He saw Anna wrench the delicate blue scarf from around her neck. The car alarm added to the cacophony as she unbuckled her seatbelt, twisting between the two front seats.
Sam smelled it before he felt a silken piece of material crammed into his mouth, cutting off his cries. He wrenched his head to the side, trying to dislodge the insistent hand that was pushing the material further into his mouth, moaning softly as the overpowering stench of Anna's sickening perfume filled his nose, adding to the oppressive waves that were washing over him.
Thomas eased off the accelerator completely, letting the car just roll, cars passing him in the left-hand lane as Anna buckled her seatbelt back on. The traffic queue loomed closer. He held his breath, heart racing. It came out in a rush when he jerked, surprised by the sudden bang from behind him. Sam was kicking out, hitting the door behind Anna repeatedly.
"Sam, pack it in! You are not getting out of this car!" Thomas barked, his tone patronising, livid. He heard Sam groan behind him but he didn't stop kicking. They couldn't stop him – not in the middle of traffic. The light ahead turned green, just as they came up behind the queue of traffic. The Englishman shot a worried look over to the left, noting the strange look from the driver at the banging sound. Thomas had never been more thankful for choosing a car with tinted windows; they might hear the banging but they certainly couldn't see his precious cargo.
"Thomas, put your foot down!" Anna snapped, gesturing at the opening in the queue as the other cars accelerated. He slammed his foot down, the BMW lurching forward, roaring past the other vehicles as he swerved into a gap in the fast lane and pushed forwards.
"Find me somewhere we can get off!" he ordered, ripping the map out of the glove compartment. Anna's jaw clenched as the banging continued, the sound of splitting plastic ringing through the car. She glanced over her shoulder, saw a huge crack in the handle, the whole thing pushed in, broken by Sam's foot. She turned her attention back to the map, using her finger to find their location.
"Turn off in another couple of miles," she instructed hurriedly, "it leads to a housing estate, but there looks like there's an entrance to a creek – we'll be concealed there."
Thomas nodded but said nothing, his jaw visibly working, teeth grinding with each pound from Sam's kicking legs. It seemed that her spell may have worked a little bit too well, but then, it needed to. She had a point to prove and Samuel was proving it very, very well. Even Thomas needed to learn lessons the hard way sometimes.
The next thud was less hollow; she twisted again and saw his foot connect with the window as Thomas swerved off at the approaching junction to the blaring of another car's horn. His foot connected again and again and again. The glass cracked.
"Thomas, hurry up!" she shrieked. The last thing they needed was a fully broken window and nowhere to hold the little nuisance. "There!" She pointed to a dirt track, the entrance almost invisible amongst a spread of trees. Thomas wrenched the steering wheel, the tyres screeching as he turned down the lane. They bumped and jolted down the track, racing into the trees. Anna held onto the door, her whole body tensed as they shot along. Even Sam had stopped kicking as the car bounced and rocked.
They slid to a stop in a small round clearing, tyre tracks visible and one other car parked to the left. Dust was still rising from beneath the tyres as Thomas leapt out, slamming the door behind him. He ran over to the other car, peering into the window. It was empty. Looking around, he strained his ears but heard nothing except for the thumping from his own car.
Scowling deeply, he stalked back over as Anna climbed out too. He went straight to the trunk, lifting the tailgate and reaching into the duffle bag he'd put at the front. Ripping it open, he pulled out several items and prowled around to Anna's side of the car, his frown deepening when he saw the crack in the glass.
"Thomas let me out! Please! I can't breathe!" Sam hollered as he opened the door. He'd managed to spit out Anna's scarf, the material now lying in the foot well.
"Anna! Use this and quickly," Thomas snapped, holding out a roll of silver duct tape as he put everything else down on the seat.
"Wouldn't you rather I use the other one?" she asked. He shot her a glare.
"I would have said if I did! Use the tape!" he snarled, ignoring the frosty look she gave him as she took the roll. She disappeared around the other side as he turned his attention back to Sam.
"Thomas, I can't – please, it's too much, I need to –"
"You need to do as you're damned-well told!" Thomas growled, grabbing both of his ankles and holding them together, looping a belt around them. He cinched it tight, ignoring Sam's protests and pleading. He didn't know what had happened and didn't care. Sam had put them in danger in a moving vehicle, in a crowded place and that was unacceptable. He'd been too trusting too quickly. Grabbing another strap, he wrapped it around Sam's thighs, just above his knees as Anna opened the door on the other side. Thomas saw him look up blindly, unable to stop Anna as she pressed a long strip of tape over his mouth, finally silencing him properly. Thomas grabbed his legs and roughly rolled him onto his side. Forcing his ward to bend his legs, the older man looped a short tether through the strap at his ankles and through the back of the chain around his waist. He pulled it tight and yanked Sam onto his back again, eliciting a soft moan from him.
"There, that should keep you," Thomas grumbled, loosening the strap around Sam's thighs by a notch. He lay with his feet planted horizontally on the seat, his legs bent double and unable to kick anymore thanks to the tether. His hands remained manacled to his waist but he was unable to reach any of the restraints. Finally, Thomas attached a cargo strap – one with a carabiner attached on either end – to the strap around Sam's thighs and hooked the other end to the pole of one of the backseat's headrests, shortening it, loosely anchoring him in place. It wasn't perfect but it would do given the circumstances.
He slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes. That had been too close for comfort. The door on the other side thumped softly as Anna closed it.
"Are you alright?" he heard her ask, her hand rubbing his arm gently. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, nodding.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said softly. She gave him a small, tight smile.
"It's alright, Thomas. I hate to say 'I told you so' but…"
"I'd deserve it," Thomas finished for her, running a hand back through his hair. "You were right; I should've pre-empted the dangers. I wanted to trust him, perhaps a bit too much."
"You'd made such good progress; it's only natural that you'd want to. But Samuel is still unpredictable, despite our best efforts."
"I just don't know what has got into him. What happened while I was in the rest stop?"
"Nothing," Anna lied smoothly, shrugging, "I gave him a drink and that was it. He didn't say – or do – anything. It's very bizarre."
Thomas pushed off from the side of the car, turning and running his fingers across the crack in the glass. It was still smooth on the outside; they were lucky it wasn't worse. It was such a strange turn of events. Perhaps something in his system had caused the reaction; they'd used a lot of different concoctions on him recently, both magical and chemical based, so perhaps they were the cause. The Englishman felt a pang of regret at his anger, but he couldn't take that back now. He would apologise later.
When they were safe.
"Would you please sit with him in the back? It might help calm him down," Thomas asked. Annoyance sparked through Anna; the last thing she wanted was to spend the rest of her journey in close proximity with the wretch. Honestly, for all the bad luck she appeared to be having, anyone would think she had performed some great sin.
"Of course I will," she patted his arm, her smile dropping as she turned away and walked back around the car. She paused at the trunk, pulling out her carryall. Grabbing her perfume, she sprayed it copiously; Samuel hadn't showered in who-knew-how-long and she was not going to spend her time completely repulsed.
Sam fidgeted when he heard one of the front doors open, trying to call out but the sound was just a muffled whimper. The claustrophobic feeling hadn't left him – now it was worse – and he pulled and strained as much as he could, but nothing gave an inch. His breath rattled through his nose, each one short and panicky. He wanted out. Needed it. The door by his head opened again.
Anna lifted up his head, pulling the pillow out. She wanted nothing more than to put it down again, over his face this time, and press down. Frustration ebbed within her as she shoved the urge back down, putting the pillow down in the other foot well instead. Sam squirmed as she slid in.
He didn't know what she was doing until he felt her leg underneath his head. The door thumped shut. Her lap was warm beneath him, adding to his anxiety. He didn't want to be near anyone; he wanted to get out. The strong, overpowering scent of her perfume invaded his nose, polluting the very air he was trying to breathe in. Sam lifted his head, trying to wriggle further down the seat to get more space.
"Calm down, Samuel; it's alright," Anna soothed. He shook his head, grunting when he felt her hand press down on his mouth, forcing his head back down on her lap. He moaned and she shushed him, smoothing the tape with her thumbs. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest as the car rumbled back to life and they pulled away. They needed to listen! He needed to make them understand! His words were unintelligible mumbling until Anna's warm palm cupped his taped mouth, further silencing him. When he tried to turn his head, she simply tightened her grip until he stopped.
"Good boy, Samuel, that's better," she crooned, sneering down at him. Uncapping a bottle of water with one hand, she drank deeply, watching the world pass by outside of the window, keeping her hand over his mouth, smiling when she thought about how it would add to the effects of the claustrophobia spell. She could feel the heavy pants from his nose brushing over her hand, informing her that the spell was still in full effect. It had worked much better than she could have expected; she was a more proficient spell caster than she'd given herself credit for.
Now he would suffer in silence, which was just the way she liked it.
oOo
Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Dean stepped into the farmhouse, his gun stuck in the back of his jeans. It wasn't like he was going to need it. He'd taken his time going down the Impala, the walk full of blank staring and a complete lack of thought. He couldn't – he didn't know what to think anymore. All his plans had rested on the fact that Sam was supposed to be there. Only once he'd opened the Impala, climbed in and smelled the familiar scent of home, did he let himself go. Alone, away from prying eyes and sympathetic looks, the older Winchester had cried and screamed until he was hoarse, letting his despair consume him entirely.
It had taken him longer than he would have liked to pull himself back together, to repair the mask that he wore so well most of the time. Looking in a mirror that hung on the wall in the entrance hall, he could see the slight reddening of his eyes, but that was all that had slipped past the mask. He blinked, turning away.
"Jody? Cas?" he called, moving through the house. He felt like he was floating, disconnected, as he moved. Jody appeared from the kitchen, her soft eyes sad and knowing. She stepped up to him wordlessly and wrapped her arms around him, smoothing a hand up and down his back. He just stood there, unable to do anything else. If he hugged her back, he'd crack again.
"This is not over," she whispered fiercely, reading him like a book. "We'll use whatever we find here and go from there. There's always a way, honey."
She let him go and he nodded, looking past her vacantly.
"Where're Cas and Ketch?"
"Ketch is upstairs. Cas was out with you," Jody replied, frowning. Dean moved his gaze down to her.
"No, he came up here while I got the car."
"I haven't seen him," Jody repeated. She followed Dean as he turned around. "Maybe he went back to the cellar."
Dean walked back towards the door, looking down at the marks in the porch that he'd missed coming in in a daze.
"Shit," he swore quietly. Walking towards the door, he went to step outside. And stopped. Jody almost bumped into him.
"What? Why did you stop?"
Dean went to walk forwards again. And again, he stopped.
"You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me," he snarled, turning and stalking through towards the kitchen. Jody watched him go before turning back to the door. She went to lean forwards out of it and…couldn't. Something stopped her. Bewildered, she held out a hand and felt something hard and cold beneath her fingertips but she could see nothing. Dean's boots thumped back through the house. "Back door's the same, so are the windows."
"What the hell is goin' on?" Jody asked, incredulous.
"It would appear the house has been warded," Ketch answered, appearing at the top of the stairs, a frown etched into his forehead.
"God dammit!" Dean spat, running both hands back through his hair.
"What does that mean?" she questioned, looking at both men.
"We're trapped."
oOo
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